A long way back home
Part one
Malibu 2004
This story begins a few years before the first Iron Man movie.
Tony Stark is trying to put his life back together.
"Good morning, Mr. Stark."
Tony woke up with a start. For a few seconds he didn't know exactly where he was. Was it the clinic? The hospital? Or was he at Sam's house, or one of those crummy motels he'd been ending up at lately...?
Then the uncertainty passed, and he felt something close to relief, (he wasn't at the clinic or the hospital), but dismay too, because he definitely wasn't at his dealer's house, either. He remembered, now; Sam was in jail, doing six to twelve months –which wasn't a bad deal, considering the charges. Stark Industries lawyers had done a great job there.
As to where he really was, well, who else but JARVIS would greet him as deferentially?
And yet, Tony didn't immediately open his eyes. Sure, it sounded like JARVIS, but he'd heard JARVIS' voice before, (and Pepper's, too), only to find he was in a hospital room, alone. No, not alone; there was always someone in there -cops, nurses or doctors; all asking questions, and all treating him like shit because, rich or not, he was nothing but a junkie...
"Good morning, Mr. Stark."
Tony opened his eyes this time. He recognized the ceiling –he was home. He was in his basement, to be more exact, which could only mean one thing: He'd failed to make it upstairs. Again.
Knowing JARVIS was waiting for a response, he managed a hoarse, "Good morning."
"It's seven O'clock," JARVIS announced as he allowed sunlight to pour into the room. "Weather conditions for the day are -"
Tony listened only vaguely to JARVIS' chatter. It was a perfect day for surfing and sailing, but he didn't intent to do any of those things. He rarely left the house now.
"You have been clean and sober for thirty-five days now, sir."
"Make another notch on the wall, then." Tony raised a shaky hand and rubbed his forehead. It hurt like hell. Like a hammer pounding on his skull from the inside out, was how he'd described it to the hospital shrink. But the woman had merely smiled at him. Physical pain was of no concern to her; 'feelings' were. 'I don't have any,' he'd said flatly.
The shrink had merely smiled that condescending smile that drove him nuts.
'Oh, wait,' he'd said, then. 'Hate. That's a feeling, right?' and he'd pointedly looked at her. And whatever she saw on his face was enough to erase that smug smile off hers.
That memory still made him smile.
"This is the third night on a row you have spent on the couch, sir."
"I'm aware of that," Tony said, shifting a little. His back hurt, too.
"Sir, sleeping in your bed was one of the conditions you agreed to when you were released from the Andersen Clinic."
"It's a stupid condition."
"It's part of a healthy routine, along with the chores you are supposed to be doing. The mere act of making your bed would symbolize your willingness to take full responsibility for -"
"Yak, yak, yak," Tony mumbled sullenly. "I should have never let you memorize that damn booklet." He tried turning on his side, but his aches only worsened. "Oh, shit," he sighed. "I wanna kill myself."
"You described a similar sentiment yesterday, sir. And the day before yesterday, too."
"I know."
"May I inquire whether you are seriously considering putting an end to your life?"
Tony frowned.
"Why?"
"I wish to be prepared, should you require my assistance."
Tony considered this. "That's a little ambiguous," he said. "I actually don't know whether you'd try to stop me or help me pull the trigger."
"My goal is to help you in any way I can, sir."
"Gee, thanks." Tony stared at the ceiling for a moment. "What time is it?"
"It's seven-ten, sir."
Tony sat up with some difficulty. He mentally checked on the things he had to do: take a shower, put on some clean clothes, shave -no, he couldn't shave yet; he didn't trust his shaky hands yet.
But first and foremost, he needed to wake up. He rubbed his eyes.
"I'm gonna need lots of coffee."
"It is ready, sir."
Tony looked up. The coffee maker was only a few feet away but he didn't have the energy to walk that far. He started to call out, "Hey, Dummy -" then stopped. Guilt crept in, though only for a second.
"You still haven't reassembled him, sir."
"I know," Tony said with a glare.
With no one there to help, he finally rose and stumbled to the kitchen.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, and even this simple task proved to be more than he could handle; he ended up spilling quite a lot on the counter and on himself. He didn't care. He still had time to make himself presentable. Put on a happy face for Pepper, so to speak.
"How long do I have before Potts gets here?"
"Miss Potts isn't coming today, sir."
"Really? Why?"
"She's indisposed."
Tony frowned. "Indisposed, how?"
"She didn't specify, sir. I believe it has something to do with her boyfriend."
"Oh. The Architect," Tony said with a sneer. Tall guy with an inflated ego who loved to look down on Tony. "Can't understand what Pepper sees in him."
Actually, he knew exactly what she saw in him. He was a handsome son of a bitch. And tall.
"She might not be seeing him anymore, sir."
Tony looked up with interest.
"You think so?"
"She made that very clear when she requested the restraining order, sir."
Tony started. For a couple of seconds he wondered if he might still be sleeping. "A restraining order? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Miss Potts placed a call to the police last night."
Tony looked into his cup. For a mad moment he wondered if he there might be something more than Hawaiian Blue in it. Pepper was the last person who'd get in this kind of trouble. Or any kind of trouble, for that matter.
"JARVIS? How do you know all this?"
"I encountered her name while doing a routine check on yesterday's police reports sir. Miss Potts placed a call to the police around midnight. Mr. Andersen tried to force his attentions on her."
Tony froze.
"Did he hurt her?" That son of a bitch better didn't -
"There were no requests for medical attention, sir. It seems she successfully fended him off until police arrived"
"Jesus."
" Shall I play Miss Potts' message?"
Tony listened as Pepper quietly apologized for not being able to make it. "I'm not feeling well," she said, and she sounded as if she had a cold, which could only mean she'd been crying. But rather than dwelling on her own troubles, she'd sought to reassure him. "I asked Human Resources to send you a nurse, Tony; please be nice to her."
"I'm always nice," Tony said mechanically. But he knew it wasn't true; he'd been acting like a son of a bitch lately.
He blinked when he realized her message had ended.
"She didn't mention last night."
"She probably didn't want to add to your troubles, sir. You are in no condition to help, after all."
Tony started to protest, then stopped. JARVIS was right, of course. He was in no condition to help anybody.
"Shall I call Miss Potts?"
"No. No, that's -" He didn't finish. He had a vague idea of what he should be doing: call her, of course; call her and offer his help –well, not his help; a lawyer's help. Stark Industries had enough of those. But if he called then he'd have to talk to her, and what the hell was he going to say? "She's ok, right?"
"I can only assume that she is, sir."
Tony was silent for a moment. "I should do something," he said uncertainly. "Right? Maybe I should –I don't know; call someone -" He started pacing around as he spoke. He couldn't decide what to do. He hadn't made a decision in months, it seemed. Or rather, every decision he'd made had ended in disaster. The only reason he wasn't in jail was because Obadiah Stane had struck a deal with the DA.
He couldn't even work anymore. His workshop was littered with projects he'd left unfinished –projects he'd only started to keep his overseers happy, not out of any personal conviction. He'd fooled everyone -even Pepper. But most of all, he'd fooled himself.
Until today. Today, he saw things clearly for the first time in weeks. He couldn't handle a crisis; he couldn't handle life.
"It's over," he said.
"Sir?"
"Nothing. Just something I've just realized."
"Shall I call Miss Potts?"
"What for? It's not like I can do anything for her. You said so yourself." Leave it to JARVIS to be the only one who wouldn't sugarcoat the truth.
"You are behind schedule, sir. Your shower -"
Tony wasn't listening anymore. His gaze had fallen on the farthest end of his workshop, where his robots lay in a heap, the first victims of his restlessness.
Relief had been there all along, he realized; he'd just forgotten. No, he hadn't forgotten; he'd simply tricked himself into thinking he could do without it.
He'd tried; he'd let Pepper take the mandatory blood samples and he'd assisted to every therapy session. He'd done his best to convince everyone that he was working again, and that drugs hadn't tainted his creativity, or his ability to deal with setbacks.
He was tired of trying. Exhausted.
Sweet oblivion had been here all along…
Determined, Tony went to his robots and started pulling them apart even further. He'd stashed a couple of bags in there a few days before the law caught up with him. It was the one cache that Obie's people had failed to discover.
"Shit." His hands were shaking so badly he'd cut his finger, but that didn't slow him down. He needed that cocaine now –was it cocaine? He hoped so; he needed the boost –but anything would do, really. "Fuck, fuck, fuck -" He'd stashed the bags in too deep; he could touch them, he just couldn't retrieve them. "Son of a bitch! I'm gonna cut you up -"
"Sir, the circuits are too delicate; you said so yourself."
"Fuck what I said."
"Sir, may I remind you that -"
"MUTE!"
Tony tried picking the robot, then gave up. Dummy was too heavy and he was out of shape.
"Fuck!" he growled, mentally cursing himself for building the robots so sturdily. "Damn kid," he muttered, for he was only a teen when he built them. Growing desperate, he grabbed a metal bar that was lying about. He lifted it over his head –
And just as he was about to let it fall, he looked down, right into Dummy's eye-like bolts.
TBC