Disclaimer I own no part of the marvel universe although I have wished for it. Thank you for reading, reviewing (fingers crossed) and enjoying. This is my first fan-fiction so criticism is welcomed just not too harsh.

People leave all the time it's to be expected; good things only last for as long as it takes to see the cracks in the frame that outlines life.

Days melting and ticking into harsh weeks and then morphing into cruelmonths; half ofthattime he couldn't remember who he was. Thatmade things peaceful for at least a little while. But whenthose nights came, when he could remember his past or at the very least the pain, the agony and suffering of heartbreak…hecouldn't help himself, but unwillinglysummon another bottle even though he knew happiness wouldn't be found at the bottom. What it could provide was the numbness he needed just make it through the couple hours of consciousness, The release from what people called 'life' and 'love.' This was no way to live, he was merely surviving and he knew it. He couldn't face the past, the screams of his failure, the hurt and betrayal etched in the faces of all he knew no he couldn't face that.Or the eyes, when he dared to dream of a happier time, he spotted their gasping mouths and reaching arms, sightless gaze asking only 'why?'

In the day, the world kept spinning around, moving on so he couldn't even have the courage to face the past without having a bottle at his side. The years went so slow even if he didn't know the date anymore; no he didn't know anything about the world around him. He shut himself in small corner in the out-skirts of a town that didn't matter where he resided in a small home, that he knew, no one from the past could find them, find him, even though they probably wouldn't everlook for him anyway; he hurt them so much already why bother pouring salt in the scarcely healedwounds. To have nothing was better to have something that could be hurt.

Stumbling to his feet to get to the bathroom his eyes had to adjust to the bright light, his head began reeling from last night's drink. He looked in the mirror that was partly shattered from the first time he tried to quit being so angry with himself for letting it get this bad and partly from the withdrawal. He wasn't angry enough to stop, to give up with everything,with what he'd done.Upon looking at his appearance he had to take in how haggard and aged he looked like time was moving at a rapid pace unable to slow down but only to him, time stood still for no one. 'Where had the years gone?' His mind whispered over the thick haze. Maybe it was so hard to answer due to arc reactor glowing and his eyes having difficulty concentrating. If he couldn't will himself to stop looking at the past there was no need to see the future. His hair had grown longer and more unruly than usual but that's what comes with an unkempt appearance. A five o'clock shadow was going strong, giving him a slightly snarled look. He turned on thenearby sink faucet, splashing some cold water on his face to keep himself awake. These were the few hours he felt some sort of will to do something. Venturing to the most unused part of the house, the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat; nothing looked safe in the fridge the bread was covered with a mold that scientists could experiment on.

Perhaps he should go out for bit to grab a bite eat, the weight he had from being fit had diminished giving him a small frame. Fresh air should make him feel better; the town he lived in was one of the smallest in Morocco, a place where everybody knew each other but with none of the familiarity of home. There was a small Pastry Shoppe on the main avenue that would fill the growinghunger. Some of the looks regarding his appearance made him regret even setting foot out of the door; he was just a shell of his former self. Quickly he bought a coffee and bun which would give him enough to survive on, knowing that he'd need to go the grocers soon. He didn't want to go straight home he instead took the long way and strolled along the side walk and ate what he bought. He guessed it was the weekend due to the amount of people about, but seeing these people reminded him of what he lost the friends, the house, and ability to be happy; he couldn't stay out there long it hurt too much. He was thankful that this town wasn't very technologically advanced even though his emaciated physique could cause some confusion, the glowing blue arc reactor would identify him almost immediately.

He remembered the first time he found out about the Avengers and although he'd hate to admit it, it filled the void left after the parties died and the drinks ran flat. When he was kidnapped he realized all that he didn't have and the Avengers ripped opened the wounds with swift brutality. Looking back on it the torture he received was a blessing in disguise it changed him it made him be a better man if only for a brief amount of time. The more he thought about it the more he realized that he was just a pawn to be played, the sacrificial lamb that although had skill had no provided to be useful if only in one way.

Do let me know if a continuation is in order although I have a good ending the first two chapters are just to introduce you into Tony's frame of mind; it will not be sad for the whole story it will get better and if you want him to be paired with someone who is non-cannon (like Bruce, Steve, Natasha, or Clint) just let me know and I can work them in if not it will be with Pepper. It will never become very sexually graphic.

Ciao,

Chloe