End of first movie.
Thunder booms above me, glimmers of electricity crackling within the gray clouds lighting up the roof for a moment. That moment, however, is long enough for me to spot him. He lays flat on his back, staring up at the stormy sky with closed eyes.
"Tony?" I whisper, my voice breaking. He doesn't respond, doesn't even move. "Oh my God—Tony!"
I scramble over hunks of jagged, smoking metal and shards of broken glass to reach him, scraping my palms and knees on their sharp edges. At his side, I drop to my knees and stare down at him. His skin is this awful chalky-white, his lips violet, rusty-red blood caked in his hair and the little creases of his angular face. Bending over, I cautiously lean my head against his chest, straining to hear anything to indicate that he was still alive.
But… there's nothing. My throat tightens painfully as my vision blurs and the tears spill forth from my eyes, splashing on the dented metal of his armor.
"Please breathe, Tony," I plead weakly, although I know he won't listen; he never does. Sliding my hand beneath his neck, I lift his head into my lap and stroke his filthy, matted hair away from his face. There's one curl that always escapes from his slicked-back hairstyle to grace his forehead, and even as I brush it away it falls back, returning to its original position as if to taunt me.
Life is cruel. I was so close to breaking down the armor-plated walls he'd constructed around his heart, so close to fixing him. He was in so much pain; I could have healed his broken heart.
But I can't fix this.
"Please don't leave me Tony," I choke out, squeezing my eyes shut to prevent the tears from escaping. "I still need you. Don't leave me."
A warm gust of air breezes past my ear, jerking my head up. And, as I stare down at the body in my arms, Tony's eyelashes flutter slightly before his eyes open completely, and he gazes up at me, confused and exhausted but very much alive.
"Hey," he rasps. "God, you look awful."
I cough to hide fact I'm on the verge of an emotional breakdown. "As if you look any better."
"Of course I do. I'm me." And he grins up at me, so bright and happy and arrogant it makes me want to burst into tears all over again.
"Crying over me already?" he murmurs, reaching up and touching his rough, bleeding fingertips to my cheek. "I'm gonna be okay, you know. I always am, aren't I?"
I brush back that curl again, and this time it stays out of his eyes. "You are."
His fingers are cold on my skin as his grin broadens. "You should see the other guy."