Stark staggered on the ground, barely able to contain his feelings which bubbled over in his perplexed mind faster than he could process them, leaving him shaken and unexpressive. I'm in shock, he told himself; that's probably for the best. He was right; had he not been in shock for a while now, he would have despaired the instant he saw Pepper fall to her supposed death. He had been saved from the crushing depression by the shock caused by her "death," and by a fierce panic that overrode his emotions, if not his thoughts. After she had risen, not only alive but saving Stark, he felt no surge of relief because he had never truly accepted her death, and only took it as a simple fact in his mind. Pepper Pots had fallen, but she had lived. He gasped yet, but not because of relief; he gasped from a pang of emotions concocted from surprise, anxiety, and slight pleasure at seeing her in a sports bra. He felt slightly guilty about not rejoicing at her being alive, but still being pleased by her being scantily dressed.
A streak of battered silver and yellow soared downward, tracking in on her. Stark's adrenaline boosted mind kicked into action, figuring out why Jarvis sought her, thought his computer mind was currently set to kill. Instinctively he told Jarvis to stop, but knew even as the words left his lips that without the earpiece Jarvis was deaf to him, and watched in desperation. Shit.
Pots swung out, breaking through the suit and pulling her arm into the robot appendage, breaking it off. The suit turned to her, but she destroyed it almost casually. The sharp noises and action managed to stir Stark slightly out of his shock, but also aroused anxiety which he ferociously pushed down. Putting the piece in his ear, he finally addressed Jarvis.
"Alright Jarvis, I'm done. Let's end this."
"Should I run program 'Clean Slate,' sir?" Stark paused for a moment. I'm still in shock, he thought. I spent months of work on these suits. There is no practical reason for me to destroy them. He thought for an instant. Then again, they have been the root of considerable stress. What's the advantage of being in shock or drunk if you don't use it for something dumb?
"What the hell," he said tiredly, "It's Christmas." Jarvis scanned his voice patterns, ran it through its databases, and affirmed that as a 'yes' answer. A line of code was sent remotely from Jarvis's root location up to the orbiting satellite many times, which bounced the signals back selectively. The code was a mere twenty-six letters and numbers, but when it was picked up by the roaming parts, they fit into the base codes smoothly. A subprogram was activated, and micro-explosives embedded within the metal itself were ignited. A suit using an experimental explosive erupted first, shattering in a crash of twisted metal. Soon after the others ignited and other vessels burst into plumes of fire.
Pots stared in awe at the explosions, and Stark used the advantage to embrace her, to take her in his arms. In surprise she wrapped her arms around him too. She smiled up at him, and he felt the tension in the air as he stared back down, pulling her close to himself. As her arms bent he was pinched slightly by the metal arm she still wore, but otherwise couldn't be distracted from the moment.
Stark bent down to her ear, about to whisper quietly, when a thought struck him. Wait a moment… he looked down at her arm, still wearing the arm from the iron suit. "Oh shit," he said aloud. Pots looked at him in confusion for an instant, before the code finally managed to find the receivers in the disconnected arm, and the subprogram activated.
Pots screamed in pain as fire and metal tore through her arm, until it was no more. She covered the stump with her other arm in blind pain, however gasped and pulled it away when the stump heated. Slowly a new arm grew from the mangled remnants of the old, white hot and agonizing but growing. She gasped for a moment as it finally came in and the heat subsided, and tried to catch her breath.
She turned to Stark, expecting a derisive comment, but found only thin air.
"Tony?" she said uncertainly, but her only response was a gurgle. Her eyes dropped to the ground where he lay, his torso a bloody mess. "Tony!" she screamed as she dropped to his side. He tried to say something, but his lungs were shredded with metal and filled with blood. Half his body had been destroyed by the explosion, and now all he could do was stare. He lay there on the asphalt, staring at his lover as his blood poured over the pavement. Well that could have gone better, he mused to himself.