hello again! I'm back with a new chapter! I'm posting it kind of late, but it's it's finals week and my mom would not let me touch my tablet before I finished chemistry, and I don't really blame her.

So this takes place after the fight with Steve, and it's also where the story really starts! I'm so excited to get this going! Also, PEPPERONY YES. I got a crazy word count out of it compared to the first chapter.

Finally, I wanted to thank you all so much for the crazy good response this story has had! Twelve follows in just a few days is pretty big for me! I'm glad people are already liking this!

Enjoy!

"I've never so adored you

I'm twisting allegories now"

- Far Too Young To Die, Panic! At The Disco

It's two in the morning and two weeks later when an exhausted Happy finally deposits him at the tower. Tony offers to let him stay - it's not like any of those rooms are going to be in use now, anyways - but Happy doesn't waste time declining and drives into the scattering of lights that is the New York skyline, and it's now just Tony and a small suitcase at the door. He wants to talk to Pepper, but he hopes she's asleep - it's late, and his latest, hopefully last battle weighs him down like an anchor. He shoulders his suitcase and makes his way to the elevator, and declares that he'll get off on the thirtieth floor.

He'd rather be anywhere but here.

The Tower has always been home–his first home, in fact, because his childhood mansion was never homely. But this right here, this isn't home. It's an album and he doesn't want to rifle through the photographs. The people who lived here with him are all missing or imprisoned and he's part of the reason why. But he's made a promise, and F.R.I.D.A.Y. is with him as the elevator climbs up, reminding him of it.

The elevator shakes slightly on the way up. Has it always done that? He's designed it to be fast–more speed equals a higher kinetic energy and it's probably shaking because there's nothing to lose the extra heat to. He'll work on that later, but he doubts anyone else has noticed. Tony thinks it's the injuries making things so glaringly obvious.

As it stands, he feels like crap.

He's standing after being bedridden for a week. His body definitely isn't thanking him. Every step feels like thousands of`little needles shooting up his calves, and his chest convulses at random moments so it's like the panic attacks except he can think straight this time. He has a headache, it's awful and it's sheer willpower that keeps him thinking, keeps him talking. The elevator comes to a halt, innocently switching from breakneck speed to complete stillness. It's so unprecedented that Tony isn't prepared and he doubles over, trying not to groan.

At least Pepper's here. He lets the thought buoy him, and exits the elevator.

She's bound to be sleeping now, Tony imagines. She's worked harder than ever in Tony's absence. He wonders if she'll look the same way after so many months–messy nighttime hair scattered like a firework against the pillow, dressed in a tank top and only partly beneath the blanket. He hopes so. It's not ideal, but it's not a bad time to walk in, either. He'll rest now, medicate and get rid of the stupid headache, and he'll speak to Pepper tomorrow morning. He's even going to buy her breakfast. If there's one fight he can't bear to lose, it's this one. Tony breathes–he makes it short, because his chest feels like ice–and steers himself toward the living quarters.

The first thing he notices is that the lights are on, and Pepper is not asleep.

She's not smiling, either.

She's awake she's awake why the hell is she awake

Just like that he's a thousand times more aware of everything. Of how she's got her hair in an impeccable ponytail and probably hasn't changed since morning–she's in a snowy shirt with the sleeves are rolled up and black work trousers; jacket splayed across the couch. Of how he's in a ratty hoodie (he was standed in Siberia for days, alright?) and his face is more bruises than skin. Of how his words fail him and he's going think think think and his not-quite ex-girlfriend is taking it all in; is seeing Tony at his absolute worst with no jokes and no shield to protect him.

Tony tries for a grin, but he falters. Pepper's eyes are red-rimmed, and she's staring at him like she wants the drawstrings around his neck to throttle him then and there.

Well. Improvise, adapt, overcome, right? He can't make it worse. He puts down his suitcase and wears his most sheepish smile.

"It's F.R.I.D.A.Y., isn't it? Because if she had an issue with letting you in–"

She interrupts him, with a red in her voice fit to challenge the one in her hair. "Tony."

"–I can always deactivate her, she hates that–"

"Tony." She sounds lethal. It's dangerous to keep going.

Tony keeps going.

"–or, or, I'll take you out and we'll leave her here to weep–"

"Anthony Edward Stark."

"Okay, okay, point made."

He watches her, wary and silent, hoping he comes off as apologetic. She in turn glares back, and Tony inexplicably thinks of water overflowing in a saucepan. He's not stupid, he knew talking to Pepper like that would have most likely made it worse, but he hoped it would be better to watch her scream than watch her cry. There was a small chance she'd have laughed, too; isn't she here because she's worried about him? At least if he's making jokes, she'll think he feels happier than he is.

Maybe he should tell her. He keeps the snark out of his voice this time, and steps toward her. "I, uh, just thought it'd be nice. You know. Comic relief."

"Tony, what were you thinking?" Her brittle voice now cracks, and she's going to dissolve into tears; he can see it. "Of all the things, of all the people, you fight Steve, Tony? Steve?!"

Tony wants to explain himself. He knows she'll listen. But not now. She's having her moment; she's falling apart, and the sight of it feels like a blade, slow and uneven as it enters his chest.

"I don't–I don't even know where to start. I know Steve can be overbearing. I heard about the accords, I was appalled, disgusted, I've seen you guys and I know you're good when you're alone, but a fight?" Her glare has become an unsteady flame, and there are flashes of hurt in its blue. "I–I don't know what to say, what if you'd been hurt, what if you'd died–"

And there it is. She stops talking because it's useless now, both of them know it, and instead she's all tears and pain and barely restrained movement, and he shouldn't but God he wants to march to her and talk her out of it. He murmurs I'm sorry, Pep instead and looks away as she cries, trying to see anything but tears. First Rogers, then Natasha. What if he loses Pepper, too?

He hisses at the very idea and refuses to consider it again. He's Tony Stark. He fixes things. Can't he fix this?

He sighs, and hears Pepper hold her breath. She's expecting him to talk.

"Pepper, I–"

Be honest.

"I don't want to make this worse. I tried–I swear I did." He thinks hard before he continues. "Cap did too, I guess. But there's just–there's too much, okay? Bad blood. Hard to fix. We talked it out a couple times, and it all went south."

Her face is significantly drier. Tony can't judge how well it bodes for him.

But, well, he hasn't lied, has he? He's tried it, tested the waters time and time again until it broke him and Rogers both. And maybe, maybe today he'd be alright trying yet again, but Siberia and that rusted warehouse has been carved into his mind and he knows it'll never fade. He can't forget the smell of blood and ice as they fought; he can't forget his mother's last words, pathetic and blurred and pleading and he sure as hell can't forget the shame in Rogers' eyes as he whispered yes, that he'd known about it all along. He can't forget the resolve in Rogers' as the Avengers' leader stood by Barnes and kept fighting and very nearly fought to kill. Maybe Tony should have sat down, considered it all. But he thinks this and he remembers Maria's voice, and he doesn't care if it was the wrong thing to do. He regrets nothing.

Pepper's thinking about what she's going to say. He can tell; her arms are crossed and she's staring at him with more hurt than rage.

"Steve, I can see him being rash. But you–"

It hits like a gunshot. She's thinking of years ago. When he made her CEO, when he had a new girl every other week, when he threatened a terrorist on live television. Every time Pepper had nearly left him, back before he had become too much.

"I thought you'd grown out of it. I thought you would be okay, I wouldn't have to worry anymore." She's cracking again. But it's not screaming, it's soft, and it's all the more painful. "What were you thinking? Were you thinking?"

He wasn't. He wants to tell her, tell her why he's okay with not thinking. He's not sorry.

Or is he?

Does he feel guilty?

That's a stupid question. Of course he does, for God's sake it's three in the morning and the love of his life is bawling her eyes out because she nearly lost him, and he's just lost every Avenger to either Rogers or the Raft and he doesn't know what's better.

Is he sorry?

That's complicated.

Tony wants to tear his eyes out. He wants to hug Pepper and tell her he loves her and he wants to call Rogers and scream then apologize and he wants to rest. But his limbs are tense and he doesn't know where to put them–Pepper's the one who initiates hugs and he's lost without her, he hates fighting with her and it's eating at him.

"Can I, can I get us something? Wine, Chinese, and I tell you everything?" His words are all tangled up. He silently begs whatever is out there that she says yes. Pepper will want to say yes, right? She has to. She misses him. That's the reason she came, isn't it?

Pepper's quiet. Then, "Yeah, okay."

Something in Tony subsides, and he flies toward the fridge and brings out two glasses and more bottles–who's he kidding, one won't be enough–and for a long time they search online for a Chinese joint before they give up and he gets them McDonald's. Thirty minutes later they're washing Big Macs down with red wine and Pepper's waiting for him to talk, all wary eyes and studied movements.

So Tony talks.

He starts at what he considers the beginning–that's years ago, back when he first dreamed up Ultron–and he gets to the Accords and the hours he spent thinking them over, then Zemo and how he moved like a movie whose audio always came just a second too late, then Rogers and how he constantly had Barnes in tow. He makes it to the airport with ease, and it's a bit daunting now, especially when Spiderman (He's not giving her Peter's name just yet) comes up. Pepper's stare betrays just a shadow of fear. He doesn't like it, but he presses on: talks about the Black Panther, Wanda, Giant-Man, Natasha turning her back on him last-minute and his final pleas with Rogers before they both realized only a fight could bring them out of this. Pepper's trying to compose herself–he sees her tense brows, her hands clenching and unclenching–and he really wants to stop now, but she'll never understand him if he doesn't tell her.

It was not just the fight, at the end of the day. It was everything that led up to it. It was fuming when Rogers didn't want to understand that the Avengers were more important than some contract, it was balancing Ross' demands with Rogers' agenda, it was how he managed to push even Natasha away just by being himself, it was Rhodey falling from the sky and the way Tony was reminded of Pepper almost dying, and how every last person on this broken team still filled the tower with their absence. They each had their own floor, their own cheques that Tony himself had signed. It's not just the fight, it's how a buildup that lasted years has fallen to pieces before his very eyes.

Tony chokes up when he gets to the warehouse.

He got through the Raft–slowly, very slowly, and Pepper's eyes watered–and he can't seem to go on, so instead he goes back to it, talks about two men ripped from their daughters and Wanda in a shock collar and how they all blamed him, every last one of them, even when he apologized, even when he begged to help Rogers–

"Tony, God, Tony, stop."

Rambling. He's not making sense anymore, but Pepper's finally got the gist of it and she's crying, tears thick and fast and interrupted with sobs, and she's doing that thing where she hides her mouth like it's going to hide anything else.

Tony's crying too, he realizes. But not as hard. He wonders if there's irony in that.

But then Pepper reaches for him and pulls him close, and the tears come, really come this time, but it's okay because he's in her arms again.

He hasn't hugged anyone for some time now. No one's offered, except maybe Peter. But he realizes now none of those hugs would have mattered anyways, because it's Pepper Tony wants; Pepper who's smart and calm and knows him better than he knows himself. She smells like lavender and lime and the fries they've just eaten, and her hair is matted and looks more like licorice than fire. It's disgusting, but he doesn't care, because Pepper is back, really back, and it's the best he's felt in months.

"I'm sorry, okay?" She pulls closer and he can feel her stroking his damp hair. "I'm so, so sorry, Tony. I didn't know."

He thinks she's trying to stop crying so she can talk to him. She pulls out of the hug–Tony's heart is racing again, come back–and he sees that he's right.

"Tony, listen. Steve–he's wrong here, okay?" He looks down when she says this, and she tilts his chin so they're eye-to-eye. "Steve's wrong. Not you."

"He wasn't wrong about the Accords."

"But he was wrong in the way he fought them. You were the one who wanted to keep the team together." Pepper's less crying and more fuming now. "You tried to keep them together until the very end. You know that."

Until the very end.

No, no he didn't.

"Actually, we almost got it figured out. Almost stopped fighting." Pepper gaze turns sharp again. When Tony continues, the words taste like acid. "We found out about this–this scheme, a plan to let more supersoldiers loose. People worse than Barnes, worse than Ultron and the Mandarin put together."

He doesn't need to explain how horrifying that prospect is. Pepper's wide eyes and hitched breath do it for him.

"And we went, and instead of finding soldiers we find this man. Civilian. Called Zemo." Tony says the name and wants to punch Zemo until he bleeds. "Turns out he's the guy who got the Accords going. Planned it out for months."

Tony forces himself to remember the story he wants to bury forever. He sounds insane, even to himself, when he continues–he talks like he's impressed; he almost wants to laugh.

"He studied us. Personality, relationships, every little detail he found. He was ready when he found us." Here Tony does laugh, he speaks in slight singsong. "He had everything he needed to make sure the Avengers never came back. He had the reasons, had our fear, he had the goddamn video–"

"Wait, what? What video?"

Tony pauses.

"Tony, what video?"

He recalls it with haunting accuracy. "December 16, 1991. When my parents went to the airport, and–"

"And they crashed the car?" Pepper asks softly.

He looks her in the eye and he's half-mad, he's sure. "See, but they didn't crash the car. They didn't do shit, they just kept driving and Barnes crashed the car for them, he did everything I thought Dad did–"

"The Winter Soldier–you're saying Sergeant Barnes–"

"Killed my parents? That's exactly what I'm saying."

There's finality in his voice, and the silence that follows hangs like scattered dust.

Tony still can't believe it's true. He knows it is, he's not stupid and he's never forgetful, but it's a sentence that's clunky and bitter and wrong. And he follows it with one that feels even worse, Rogers knew, he knew and he didn't say shit, and Pepper holds her hand to her mouth and sobs, and goes oh, Tony and hugs him again.

He mumbles into her hair. "Wasn't very one-sided if you ask me. I fought too."

"Oh my God," Pepper says, moving back to look at him, "No, no, you can not compare him to you. You tried, my God, you broke after something that would have killed anyone else."

"I–"

"No, no. This is where I lead. I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I didn't listen, I'm sorry I ever doubted you, I'm sorry you had to do it all alone. I'm sorry Ross took your friends and the rest of them left, I'm sorry."

He chokes out a mirthless laugh–it sounds more like a sob–and they hold each other for some time, Pepper and her string of I'm sorry floating about the room like music. She's trying to get it stuck in his head.

"Pep," he mumbles. Then louder when she's still talking. "Pep. I've got my apologies too. I–I put my life in danger, and I scared you and stressed you out, and I wasn't thinking straight. That was awful to do."

He is sorry, he decides. He'll only ever be apologetic to Pepper, and right now his chest already hurts from all the talking and crying but he feels worse because it's his first time speaking to Pepper for months and this is what he does to her.

"It's okay," she whispers, "It's okay. Just this once. I know what Iron Man is to you, I know what the Avengers were." She pulls him closer but quickly lets go as he chokes out a protest–his bruises need space–but the sentiment is there.

He's shocked that she is still here, to tell the truth. He's given Pepper more grief in the last eight years than most people handle in a lifetime, and yet she's still here; cradling him and whispering kind words even though orange is bleeding into the sky and they've been here for hours. What he would do without her, he doesn't want to know.

Right there, he decides he has to make it up to her. He doesn't know if he can, he doesn't even know if she'll want it, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. It must have taken everything for her to convince herself to come here. Tony doesn't ever want to see her go.

There's only one question left to ask. It's a lot less scary than what Tony has already shared.

"Does this mean our break is over?"

Her muscles become taut against his, and there's a hitch in her breath.

"You won't stop being Iron Man, will you?"

"You know I can't. Not if it kills me."

Pepper stays quiet. Then relaxes. "Good. The world needs him now."

Tony bursts into laughter, and pulls at her like they're both dying, ignoring the way his cheeks flame up and his chest screams at him to stop. He knows how hard it is for Pepper to say this. But they're both drunk and the room reeks of greasy food, and he's seeing his first light–real sunlight, not the faded glow in Siberia–for the first time in weeks, and everything feels young and slightly crazy. They can make this work. He knows it.

"If we get together," he vows, "It we get together again–no more mistakes. No more sudden plans. It'll be Iron Man rebranded, I promise."

"You really want this to be over, huh?"

"Only if you want it, too."

Pepper pulls back, smiles at him, and at last kisses him. It tastes awful, neither of them has practiced in ages, but it's warm and sincere and different to any kiss Tony has shared with her before. It doesn't feel like flames or ice or fireworks or whatever else he's come to expect from her over the years.

It feels like the sunrise.

i actually feel quite proud of this scene! I'm not usually very good at romance, but I feel like I did an okay job here. I promise Peter will come in soon enough - I just need to establish a few plotlines first, as this is a Tony story in the end.

Please follow and favourite and review! I love every one! I'll see you guys next Friday!