Masking The Pain
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Setting: 2008 Movieverse
Synopsis: Tony can't forget and he won't forget.
Disclaimer: SO not mine. Really.
It sits on a shelf in the back of the workshop; almost hidden behind the metal scraps and pieces that used to clutter the floor until Pepper twisted her ankle and threw a fit. So Dummy cleans up the mess and shuffles it back and forth on the different shelves because he never throws anything away; nothing goes into the garbage unless it's been cut into a thousand pieces and destroyed down to almost a molecular level.
But he knows it's there. And every once in a while he goes to it and brings it over to the couch in his workshop; turns it over in his hands. Rough, dented metal that smells of sweat and oil and charcoal; gasoline and something that he thinks just might be burnt flesh. Sand still fills the small cracks and a few grains fall out onto the table as he puts it down, facing him.
The bottle of Good Scotch comes out; two glasses. He fills both and picks up one; sipping it while staring at his creation, his first Great Idea as he sees it in his mind. Never mind the Jericho, the other inventions he's pried out of his fertile imagination in the past - this is the Best One.
But the cost was high… oh, so high.
From a battered cardboard box under the table he pulls out a makeshift backgammon board; the pieces misshapen and the wood warped in so many places that it barely sits flat. The wooden dice are almost circular; the edges rolled away through a thousand games. He pushes the pieces around the black triangles and sips his drink, recreating each game from memory.
He runs through every conversation; every bad meal of beans and rice that tasted like caviar; every botched attempt at getting a decent haircut and shave and every vacation planned and discussed ad nauseum. The bandages on his blistered, bloody fingers and the foreign curses he learnt working the hot metal. And the prayers, as well.
The bottle is half-empty when he sits back on the couch and puts it on; inhales the smell of panic and fear and trepidation and waiting for that damned load bar to creep across the screen and there's an explosion; gunfire and he can't move because he's trapped in the harness and the bar isn't moving fast enough…
He hasn't cried this much since his parents died. Maybe not even then, a voice in the back of his mind whispers and his stomach lurches, threatening to expel the liquid contents.
The bottle is empty when she appears at his side, carefully taking the glass from his hands and putting it on the table; packing up the board and pushing the box back under the table. He looks up at her with bloodshot, teary eyes before curling up in her lap, still weeping in his half-sleep as she gently takes it out of his hands and covers him with the threadbare blanket from the back of the couch; informing Jarvis in a whisper not to bother him for at least four hours as she settles in, quietly working on her Blackberry as her boss finally goes silent.
Dummy rolls on over at her gesture, picks it up and puts it back on the shelf exactly where it was before. And will be again.