Happy becomes a constant, he's always around when you travel and when you go to parties and when you host parties, but you make sure he's away, far enough, when you binge. It's been months and you've learned to admit that to yourself, that you've got a problem, but as long as no one else know and it isn't exactly bad, it's okay.

It's a cycle that you can't break, you fast and eat and feel guilty and binge and get rid of the food and hate being weak like that so, so much.

And you can't help but notice that you've been gaining weight anyway, you observe your body with dread every morning and every evening and you have sex with those lovely girls only when the lights are out.

(That's only logical, your brain supplies, when you vomit you actually get rid of 40 to 50% of the calories you've consumed and it can be 6000 in one sitting and it's so much it makes breathing hard when you think about it.)

So you ask Happy this:

'How about you teach me boxing?'

Happy stares at him for a long moment, and then nods curtly.

'Sure, boss but you'd need to shape up a bit first –'

'Are you implying that I'm out of shape?' you inquire, keeping your voice leveled and playful, quirking one eyebrow, acting perfectly Stark-like and not letting Happy know that you're almost paralyzed when you wait half of a second for the answer.

'Not at all, boss,' Happy laughs, completely oblivious to your internal war, and you feel guilt wash over you for involving your friend in the whole mess without him knowing. (And for thinking that Happy is a bit pudgy and bigger than you and for feeling good because of that. It makes you feel like a monster, but you can't help it, and you can't stop comparing yourself to other people.) 'But if you wanna lay a punch on me, you'll have to train hard and I'm sure you're gonna say you want that.'

'I do,' you laugh and you start training the next day.

Happy gets a raise because now he's a bodyguard, a chauffeur and a personal trainer.


You run and do cardio and whatever Happy makes you do and you see your body slimming down, becoming more lean and stronger and amazing. You lose almost no weight, because of all the muscles you're building, but your body looks perfect and it makes you almost happy.

You go on like that for some time, wearing crazy 90s hairstyles and clothes and traveling the world and introducing one invention after another, making people want even more every day, and it works. It bring the world closer to 21st century. It makes a difference.

You introduce Happy to JARVIS almost half a year after you met the man, because JARVIS needs time to grow and change, he needs new servers for more data and more cameras and more everything and only when you're done with the upgrades, you take Happy down to the workshop and tell him to say hello to your A.I.

It's not a good decision because there's something you haven't realized: both of them care about you more than they care about anyone else. It's embarrassing and endearing at the same time, you decide, but you wish they wouldn't be like that because it's only a month later when this happens: you're entering the house after a morning workout with Happy and he stops you from running up to your room to get a shower.

'How about breakfast?' he asks and it's natural, because you've been friends for months now and honestly you should have started being around each other more. And being more honest.

'Nah, I'll have some later,' you reply, making the words sound offhanded.

'You're gonna work,' Happy says, frowning slightly. 'For the rest of the day,' he adds and you nod lightly. That's what you do every day. 'JARVIS told me you never eat when you are in the workshop but you obviously have to eat sometimes because you'd be dead by now if you didn't.'

'It's not your problem,' you snap and it comes out sharper than you've intended. Happy flinches slightly and you close his eyes and breathe. 'Sorry.'

'No, you're right, it's not my problem,' Happy agrees, shrugging, and disappears outside the mansion, surely going to the small guard's house he chose to inhabit. You stay unmoving there for a few more moments before going up and standing under almost too hot shower for a long time.

You want to say you're sorry again, but it would mean bringing up the subject.

It works until you almost faint during a run because you've been doing fine and barely eating for the last three days. You feel a surge of panic when you feel your legs give out under the weight of your body, but Happy catches you before you fall to the ground.

'If you tell me you're fine,' he says with an angry face, 'I'm gonna punch you for lying.'

You are kind of terrified.

Happy almost carries you back to the house, makes you sit on a sofa and offers you a room temperature soda to drink. He doesn't say anything, but he stares at you so intently that it means more than thousand words.

'I kinda got distracted and forgot to eat,' you say sheepishly, keeping your eyes fixed behind Happy's head, the way that makes him think you're maintaining eye contact while you're too ashamed to do that.

'People don't forget to eat,' Happy points out, still sounding angry.

'Geniuses do,' you counter. This is a fact, some crazy geniuses can forget to sleep or eat or talk with other human beings when they're engrossed in their thoughts.

And you've been doing okay. You haven't been vomiting that much, choosing to go for a run to burn off the excessive calories, because you've been freaking out about the marks on your hands and discoloration of his teeth that started to show. And (almost) not throwing up is doing okay.

'Do you trust me enough to tell me what's wrong?' Happy asks and a cold shiver runs down your spine, because Happy is genuine and really worried and you feel so bad for lying.

But you can't make yourself say what your line should be.

'No,' your reply instead of nothing is wrong and you run away before you can see the disappointment on Happy's face. You work until your body hurts from being hunched over the workbench for too long and when you emerge from the workshop, it's evening and Happy is not around. That's the only thing you're good at, you sometimes thinks, overall: fucking up. Because there are many amazing things you've done, countless amazing things, you're leading the world into the century of internet and technology, but there's always something you manage to fuck up.

It's probably a human thing, but you should be more than that.

You feel guilty for hurting Happy and in a masochistic moment you call delivery and order two pizzas. You want three and four and five, but you stop yourself from saying those numbers. When the delivery arrives, you pay the man with a conquering smile and then eat both of the pizzas in forty minutes, wash them down with some juice, and ignore the double guilt balling up in your gut.

The heavy feeling of the food pressing your body from the inside when you keep eating to the point in which physical discomfort is almost a punishment. You throw up, for the first time in weeks, and then take too many laxatives before hiding in your bedroom.

You manage through the first few hours of the morning, dragging yourself between bathroom and bedroom, and then around noon you go down to your workshop, but your stomach hurts too much to work so you just crawl onto the armchair, curl up, and ask JARVIS to play you some music and talk to you on the top of that so you can concentrate on something else than the pain.

That's how Happy finds you.

'We should go to ER,' he says and you almost laugh.

'Not going anywhere,' you murmur. The pain has lessened a bit and partially turned into the familiar empty achy feeling. 'Why are you here?' you add, because Happy has never come to the workshop without being invited.

'JARVIS called me,' Happy says, glancing at the computer with a warm look on his face.

You take in a deep breath.

You should be amazed because it's JARVIS' first completely self-made decision, but you feel terrible for making the A.I. worried like that.

'Does this have something to do with not-eating?' Happy asks, his voice much softer than before, and you really want to lie to him, you want to lie to him so much you can't breathe, but you are not able to. You don't want him to know because it's embarrassing and freaky and awful and you don't want him to know because you don't want to be a problem – but you are not able to lie.

So you say nothing and that is as much of a yes as there can be.

'You can talk to me when you're ready,' Happy says, scooping you up easily – it should be much more difficult, you note absentmindedly, you're so heavy – and he carries you to your bedroom. Several minutes later he comes back with painkillers and mint infusion. You drink it but you don't take the pills.

'Try to sleep,' Happy says and you still keep silent.

In the morning Happy brings you breakfast and you kind of tear up over it. It's been a few weeks – to your defense, a few very crappy weeks – since you ate a normal meal that wasn't either much too tiny or a binge one.

'I can't,' you tell Happy and turn over because you don't want him to look at you. 'Go the fuck away.'

'I won't,' Happy replies. You know that he won't. 'You like me too much to send me away for good,' he adds and you feel angry at him for being insistent, but you also grin amusedly at the comment. Happy is completely right.


It takes you six hours to choke those words out because by that time you understand that Happy is not going to move anywhere and he's not backing away. He'll stare at you until you talk and while you could really send him away, you won't, you both know it.

'I –' you start, still laying on your side the way Happy can't see your face. 'It's pathetic,' you say in quiet, almost shy voice that isn't Tony Stark's. You feel dizzy and there's a burning sensation of anxiety feeling all your body, but you force yourself to push past the embarrassment. 'Really.'

'You built an A.I., boss, a fully functional one, a decade ahead of everyone else, I'm pretty sure there's nothing that can outweigh your awesomeness.'

You consider, but it feels like a weak point, maybe because it's hard to look past the dull pain in your stomach that kinda makes your whole body ache in extension.

It's been over three years since you started and it's been slow and moderate and controlled, but it's still been three years and you can't believe it.

'Can I say what I noticed? Maybe it'll be easier for you,' Happy asks reluctantly and you wave at him to continue. 'You never eat in public unless you're kinda forced to 'cause of business, but you're not, you know, underweight, you just seem to… lose a bit of weight sometimes and then gain it back? It looks like that to me, not that I've been, I dunno, invigilating you, but I'm around and – I just notice. Bodyguard thing? I'm trained to notice details –'

'Right,' you say, your voice hoarse.

'So, what's the not-eating deal?'

'You've heard the stories,' you huff a bit too coldly. 'They talk 'bout that on tv.'

'So, you put a label on yourself?' Happy asks after the shortest moment of silence. 'Doesn't sound like you, boss.'

'Fits the criteria,' you chuckle dryly. It's all so surreal. You could honestly wriggle out of replying and keep your secret a secret a little longer, but you're not sure you want that.

'Which criteria?' Happy asks, as if it was nothing, and you find yourself answering, your words slightly muffled by the pillow your head is resting on.

'Eating and throwing up, rinse repeat and so on so on.'

Happy stays silent for a long moment.

'How long –'

'Over three years, since the first time,' you reply easily because if you started, you can finish the game. You can do this. It's – it should do you some good, Probably. Maybe.

'So you throw up,' Happy states, his voice bearing a slight note of tiredness that wasn't there before. 'That's like helluva unhealthy, you know that?'

'I've been – less,' you reply, making the sentence half of a sentence, but the meaning is still perfectly clear. 'Been running more, to keep… things under control.'

'I noticed, just didn't get why,' Happy says and you turn around to look at your friend. He's staring at the bowl of cold oatmeal he brought earlier as if there was at least chopped alien liver inside. 'Thought you were just exercising. But – ah. Okay,' Happy sighs and rubs his face. 'So, what we gonna do?'

'We?' you say before you realize and it sounds only a bit surprised.

Happy rolls his eyes and you offer him a smallest smile.

'It still doesn't cancel out your awesomeness, boss. Not at all,' he adds and this time, your smile is wide. 'I have no idea how anything is supposed to work right now, but we'll figure it out. JARVIS will help. 'So we just need to… break the cycle or something? First? You managed to do that?'

'Yeah. Tough as hell. Always relapse,' you offer quietly. It's good, it feels good and natural and reassuring that Happy isn't freaked out, at least not on the outside.

'Well, we've gotta try,' Happy says, taking the oatmeal bowl into his hand. 'How about we start with this?' he asks and you nod. You're pretty sure you can't eat it whole without feeling terrible, but you will try.

Happy doesn't try to feed you or anything and you love him pretty much for that.

'Explain it to me?' he asks when you're done with the food, after half an hour, a heavy feeling – completely inadequate to the amount of food you just ate – sitting in your gut. 'Walk me through it.'

'Eating means gaining weight,' you says, but then you correct yourself because that's only half of the truth. 'It means being out of control that I've got when I'm… fasting, I guess that's the word? Not eating. Eating means I fucked up so I can as well fuck up completely because it doesn't matter how much, I don't quantify it really – and there's hunger. From not eating. Insatiable.'

'So you eat until you're sick and achy and throw up.'

'Yeah.'

'Why did you fail when you tried to go on normally?' Happy asks without any other questions. You're grateful he doesn't ask much or about every detail.

'I dunno,' you reply and it's the truth. Many reasons come to your mind, but you're not sure any of them is the actual true reason. 'Control. Comfort, in a way. Punishment. Hunger. Something, a mix of all things.'

'… can I, like, look over you?' Happy asks with an unsure frown, watching you closely.

'As in?'

'We make a meal plan and I'll be around to make sure you stick to it and don't – vomit. Or anything,' he explains and you're fascinated because he actually sounds genuine and eager to help you and not disgusted in any way.

'We could try,' you agree. It's the most reasonable thing you can keep about, too, without mentioning therapy and all that psychiatric stuff. It's the 90s and you can predict the future the way everyone else can and you can tell the world will be more understanding in a few years, but not yet. Eating disorders are still for teenage girls and you don't think there even is someone who could help you.

And you've come this far so things are gonna be fine.


So you stick to the plan you make with Happy and JARVIS and it actually works, you're not gaining weight – you're not losing it, either, but that's ok – and you're feeling healthier, saner, more balanced. More yourself.

Happy is always there, hovering over you, and you trust him and it's fine.

There are more travels and more girls and more weapons and other inventions, Star Industries steadily climbs up all possible ladders and you're throwing your smiles all over the world. You cut down on alcohol but don't stop completely, a few drinks are always nice, moderation is the key and all the jazz, and things go smoothly.

You enter into year 2000 with clean record and that's what being happy means right now.

It's the longest you've been… fine – well, fine doesn't exactly describe you well because of what's going on in your head, but physically fine – since Ty.

You shine, you shine, you shine.


Then you relapse because that's what always happens. You've been clean for almost half a year and then all of sudden you enter one of your spells and that's the reason and it's crazy because you've dealt with them million times before without making things even more of a mess, but not this time, it's all just a bit too much at once and you don't tell Happy because he actually doesn't know about them. The spells. The funks.

You still manage to drag yourself out of the bed in the morning, go to Stark Industries' R&D and work, go to board meeting and present all the newest inventions, gaining yourself approving looks from all the old men and a supporting pat on the back from Obie. Then you go to a bar with a girl for drinks but you don't take her home, you don't feel like sex at all and you won't as long as the spell lasts. You know, rationally, logically, that none of what's happening is normal and you should seek help, but you don't.

You're not entirely sure why. It's just that everything is too much.

On your way back you stop by a fast food joint and buy enough food to feed four people and eat it all, there's no stopping until you're done, then you pull over by the side of the road and throw up. When you get back home, your stomach is swollen and half-empty.

It repeats for five days, until you're constantly sore and bloated and it's strange but you've never done five days straight before. You've been doing everything to avoid Happy noticing something is wrong, it feels like betraying him because he's made so, so much effort to help you.

But then he finds you, like in a cheap movie, when he gets home much earlier than he was supposed to. You are not supposed to be at home either, but you couldn't concentrate on your work in SI labs so you came home.

That's an excuse, of course.

Happy walks in when you're eating the lasts of a chocolate chip cookies, swearing to yourself that you're not gonna throw it up but go for a ten mile run when the food has settled, because sick is sick but running is still healthier than throwing up, even if it's obsessive running.

You ate a whole dozen in about seven minutes, after a lunch binge, and your stomach hurts and it's big and you feel like a fucking whale you are.

Happy shakes his head with this tiny sad look on his face, but he doesn't look disappointed.

'You're not gonna throw up,' he says and you nod. 'You sure?'

You nod again. Isn't that bad, it would be bad in another half an hour because you know you wouldn't be able to stop yourself.

'No over-exercising either. No nothing. We're just gonna… move on,' Happy says, eying you with that slight frown still present. You hate that idea so, so much, but it's probably the best thing you can come up with, too.

'Must've gained a few pounds,' you murmurs, feeling self-conscious because you are aware that the additional weight shows.

'If I were your girl, boss, I'd say you look as pretty as ever, but you're not, so I'm just gonna say you're all muscle so no one's even gonna notice and you know it.'

You both work it out again, there are a few days of lighter diet and some detoxy foods to make you feel better. JARVIS counts the calories and adds them up and shows you on a perfect diagram, the way you know every single detail and it makes you feel much better. You're glad those two are watching over you.

There are another slip-ups, but they are smaller and that's okay because it's just a part of recovery. No one can just go from being sick to being healthy in a day.

Right now you build your days around food and meals and calories but it's still a progress. You go to Stark Industries and rock the R&D, creating more weapons and computer-related stuff. You build two more robots that end up being Dummy's best buddies. You negotiate contracts, wearing snug suits and million-dollar smiles.

And in late 2000 you meet Pepper.


A/N: Thank you for reading and for your support so far! I hope that you liked this chapter and I would love to learn what you think about the story.