Chapter One - Reality? No thanks

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"Freedom can be freezing, take a picture from the pretty side."

Sleep Through the Static; Jack Johnson

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"I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I had created to defend them and protect them."

Tony Stark

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He kept having dreams. No, nightmares. Dreams were supposed to be nice, right? These weren't nice. And worse - they were memories. Not pleasant memories, either. Memories of Yinsen's last breath, of having his head forced underwater, of exploding bombs, of dying soldiers, of wandering in the dessert, of burning coal, of fire - so much fire. It was his own personal hell.

Every nightmare was the same in the sense that it took place during his three month stint. Always. But they were never the same. Sometimes when he dreamed of Yinsen's death it was night and sometimes noon. Sometimes it was completely silent and other times it was a loud cacophony of chaos. Sometimes he was in his new Iron Man armor, and sometimes he was wearing a black, pleated suit, staring clinically down at the dying man. But no matter the small, changing details, Yinsen always said the same thing. And those words haunted him even during his waking hours.

That night the nightmare was worse.

"C'mon, it's okay - laugh! Hey!"

"Is it cool if I take a picture with you?"

"Yes, it's very cool."

"Good God, you're a woman."

"You're kidding me with the hand up, right?"

"That is an excellent question."

"I'm an airman."

"Please, no gang signs…Throw it up, I'm kidding."

"You intimidate them."

"Peace. Yeah, I love peace. I'd be out of a job with peace."

Boom.

Bang.

Shouting and screaming.

"STAY HERE!"

The door slammed in his face and he moved toward it, but jerked back as an array of bullets tore through the humvee. Funvee. His ears were ringing, but he didn't move. Just stared at where the man last sat. Man - he was barely a man. Just a kid. And he was dead now. He didn't even know his name. He just wanted a picture.

Everything got darker as he still sat frozen in the car. Then dark liquid began seeping through the bullet holes that littered the vehicle. In an unconscious, surreal gesture, Tony lifted his hand to place a finger under the steady flow of crimson. The blood on his hand prickled. And then he was drowning. Drowning in the blood. He couldn't breath. And all he could see was the way the kid's body jerked in time with the bullets, falling to the ground. Stay here. He stayed. And now he was drowning.

A sound of whooshing, the feel of hands forcefully holding him under the water. Cold water, no longer warm blood.

Tony.

He jackknifed into a sitting position, gasping for air. He glanced around frantically, taking in his surrounds, all the while breathing like a fish out of water. Finally, his dark amber eyes zeroed in on Pepper's worried face.

- - - - - - - - - -

Running a hand through her unusually disheveled hair, Pepper hung up the phone with a world weary sigh. Did Tony purposefully try to make her job hard? Because if so, he deserved a medal for efficiency. Or a swift kick up the butt for stupidity. All it took was just a few words - "I am Iron Man" - and suddenly it was like she was trying to control Armageddon. As if managing Tony Stark's life was easy before, now she had to manage Iron Man's.

She sighed once more for extra measure and glared blearily down at her desk.

"Miss Potts?" Jarvis' voice interrupted Pepper's brooding thoughts.

"Yes?"

"I believe you should check on Mr. Stark." The surprisingly realistic voice woke up a latent whisper of worry in the back of her head.

"Why? Did he blow something up again?" she asked, already standing.

"No, Miss Potts. I believe he is having a nightmare. 37 minutes ago he fell asleep and his respirations, perspirations and heart rate have risen significantly since then."

Pepper wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. In all the years she worked for Tony, she couldn't recall him losing an hour of sleep. At least not that she was aware of, but now that she though about it, Tony wouldn't tell her if he was having problems that were messing with his sleep. She wasn't sure if it was personal, or if that was just how Tony was wired.

She was already moving towards the stairs and down to the basement where she had last left him. Sure enough, Tony was tossing and turning on the couch. She had once asked why he kept that old couch sitting out of place in his lab. He had answered that it was easier to crash there instead of walking up the stairs. Then she asked why he didn't get a newer, less ratty couch. He mumbled something about how it was comfy and held sentimental value. And then he cut off any following perusals with an effective, offensive topic change.

She stepped up to the couch, observing the distressed man. He was lying on his stomach, limbs akimbo, continuously jerking and mumbling in time with whatever he was dreaming about. His t-shirt that had twisted around his torso revealed the lower part of his back. That small patch of skin was rather distracting, but then again so was Tony's labored breathing.

She tentatively placed a hand on his shaking shoulder. "Mr. Stark," she said, attempting to wake him up, but he didn't respond.

"Mr. Stark," she said again.

No response.

"Tony." She shook his shoulder.

Suddenly he jerked and twisted into an upright position, sending Pepper recoiling backwards in response. She watched him gulp for air and the once niggling worry in the back of her head enveloped her, thrumming in time with her racing heart.

She saw his haunted amber eyes meet with her worried green, and then she watched as he tried to place a faux mask of indifference on his face. It didn't work very well but she could see that he was visibly attempting to slow down his breathing.

"Are you okay?" It was silly question. He clearly wasn't okay. But she couldn't think of anything else to say.

He didn't answer her question, just twisted off the couch, unsteadily gained his footing, then began walking away, offering only a mumbled "I need a drink and some pizza".

She hurried after him, following in his wake as she contemplated what to say next. Tony clearly wasn't going to offer an explanation and she felt that some talking needed to be done.

They had finally reached the kitchen and in the well-lit room Pepper could clearly see the dark bags under his eyes, the beads of sweat at his temple, the five o'clock shadow on his strong jaw, the disheveled hair that stuck up in every direction.

Tony opened the box on the counter and took out a piece of cold pizza, taking a large bite of inhuman proportions.

"Tony…" she began.

"I'm fine," he said shortly, hoping to quell any foreseeable conversations.

"Obviously." Her tone was dry.

The final dregs of the nightmare seemed to be fading away and he gave her a reassuring smile. He looked almost cute with sauce at the corner of his lip, pizza stuffed in his cheek and his hair sticking up comically. It was all too tempting to fall back into routine, go about with some witty repartee and let the nightmare be forgotten. She knew that's what Tony wanted, but someone had to be the responsible one in this outfit.

"I'm really fine," he tried again. "Just a corny dream. Don't worry about."

"Well, too late," she said, assuming her I'm-annoyed-yet-concerned stance with her hands on her hips. "I am worried. And it didn't look like a corny dream from where I was standing. It looked like a nightmare." She almost felt bad for harassing him like this, but sometimes when you wanted results out of Tony you had to be offensive right off the bat or else he took the initiative.

He sighed melodramatically and opened the fridge looking for some alcoholic drink, she was sure.

"A little late to be drinking isn't it?" she asked.

"I don't know. What time is it?" His voice sounded funny coming from inside the fridge.

"12:16, sir," intoned Jarvis, butting quite rudely into the conversation.

"Oh, then, no," he answered, "It's not too late." He closed the fridge door and Pepper was pleased to see that he had just a single beer in his hand. "But on a more potentially interesting note, what are you doing here this late?"

"Cleaning up your messes. You can't expect to drop a bomb like 'I am Iron Man' and not expect repercussions." She waved her hand before her flippantly.

"I'm sorry." He actually sounded sheepish and sincere.

"I know," she said, watching him twist off the top of the beer bottle. "But don't change the subject." Her voice was suddenly firm.

"What subject?" asked Tony innocently, taking a swig of his drink.

"You know which subject."

"You mean the one about it being too late for a drink?"

"No, the subject about how you're having nightmares and not telling me about them."

"What's to tell? Everyone has nightmares, Pepper. It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" she scoffed, incredulously. "Everyone has nightmares? Not everyone gets held in captivity for three months in Afghanistan. Not everyone has their partner and deceased father's friend try to kill them numerous times. Not everyone tries to parade around in an Iron Man suit saving others at the expense of their own life."

Tony winced.

Pepper sighed.

"I'm just saying…posttraumatic stress disorder would be normal after these last few months. And while I wouldn't readily put you under the category of normal, I don't think even you are exempt from PTSD," Pepper said.

"I don't have PTSD." His voice was adamant. "I'm fine. Nothing's changed."

"You can keep telling yourself that but it doesn't mean it's true."

"Mind over matter."

"This conversation is ridiculous. Quit being stubborn."

"I'm both annoyed and amused that you think I should be less stubborn than you."

"Well, this time I'm right, genius boy."

"Genius boy? You can do better than that, Pepper."

"Okay, how 'bout egotistical ass?"

"Better. I'd give you an 7.5."

"That deserves at least an - dammit! Quit distracting me! We're talking about how you're emotionally unstable. Not about the numerous names I could come up with."

"And here I thought you liked pet nicknames."

Pepper sighed, fell into a stool by the kitchen counter and buried her head in her hands.

The kitchen fell silent and she was acutely aware of Tony's quiet presence. She heard a deep breath come from the man and then the hesitant way he said her name "Pepper…"

Wearily she raised her head, observing the other man as he stared down at his toes, his forehead creased in frustration and concentration. He didn't look at her as he spoke. "I'm trying…I…" Another deep breath. "I'm dealing with this the only way I know how. I'm fine…I'll be fine…" He finally met her eyes. "Don't worry about me."

She let out a breathy chuckle. "That's like asking me not to breathe." She paused, starring at the counter. "…Do you want to talk about it?"

"The dream? No, not really."

"It might help."

"I really doubt that."

She sighed, frustrated again. "Tony, you don't have to deal with this by yourself."

"This is like a bad soap opera."

"Well, quit making it like one," she snapped.

Tony didn't react except for a tic in his jaw. Pepper knew he had a considerable temper and was relieved he was holding it back.

"It's late, Miss Potts. I recommend that you get some sleep. You're welcome to stay in the guest room, as always." His voice was cool, his amber eyes closed off, his smile bordering on impersonal. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen. She sat there, listening to his footsteps disappear down to the basement.