If this looks familiar, you're not crazy. It's the rewrite of an older version of this story called Half-Baked Equations.

I will finish writing out this idea, even if it kills me and I've already written five of the seven parts. On a similar note, if you like this verse you should check out my other piece "i want to throw up on your naked body (stop pretending to be a hero)". Sorry, if the title grosses you out ^^
Again, the story starts out with Tony/Pepper and slides into Tony/Steve. It's more or less a Tony!character study so warning: there's a lot of PSTD and angst.

Anyway, I'll shut up now. Enjoy.

XXX

part one

XXX

There is Tony before Pepper. Then there is TonyandPepper.

It's good, being them without spaces. He's always surrounded by them—spaces.

The consequence of being rich, then of being smarter then all the other rich kids. It's part of being an only child, and then an orphan. It comes with the fame and the trust fund and, of course, the college diplomas. And yet, always, there is space between Armani leather and his wriggling toes when he tries to slip into his father's shoes.

Pepper doesn't know all of the details but she might, someday. She knows about the space between a glass and a bottle. She knows enough to hold him close when he shakes; that's enough for now.

He thinks he might love her, you know?

But.

There is Tony before Ironman. And then there is isn't.

See, there is no space between his wriggling toes and the smooth metal casing; the suit is his, his alone, and fits him like a second skin. Sometimes, he thinks, it fits better then his first.

Playboy billionaire philanthropist, he says but it doesn't taste right.

Put your suit on—it's not an answer because Tony wasn't asking questions. It's a command and he obeys.

The metal mask clicks shut in front of his eyes and the world opens.

Big man in a suit of armor, take that away and what are you?

You can't. Rip the glowing, robot heart out of him and the simple fact remains that he will die. There are no take-backs this time, no Tony without the humming of reactor beams and the dizzy rush of flight. Do you know what it's like to never feel steady on your feet, to never feel like the world beneath you is solid, and then be granted the miracle of flight? There is no Tony without Ironman, not anymore.

Pepper doesn't know all the details, doesn't know what it feels like when she reaches into his chest, tears streaming down her face. She talks about before, with a soft little half-smile. Sometimes, she talks about after.

They are TonyandPepper. But he is also IronmanandTony.

He doesn't know how to fit Pepper into this newest calculation, doesn't know how to rewrite the formula for the old solution when the elements are so fundamentally different. When she watches the news obsessively-expressionless but not emotionless; her nails are half-way through her palms at this point-even when he's home, waiting for the next disaster to strike, trying to predict which crisis will need him next.

He doesn't say, our relationship. It's unfair; she's usually right.

Fact is, Pepper fell in love with only half of the equation.

But what is a y without it's mx + b?