A/N:

Please note that this part deals with PTSD and torture aftermath, so it might be triggery.

It was hard to write and I am really unsure and anxious about it, so please tell me if it is believable? I'm afraid of over-doing things. I'm always glad to read your thoughts.


It's six and he's already awake, he's been for maybe half an hour; he's been trying not to think about the fact that if he wants to get out of it, he needs to sit up and stand, then take uncertain steps around (he knows the numbers already, of course he knows the numbers), with his good arm outstretched pathetically looking for some kind of support, some surface that he can trace not to feel like in the middle of a black hole. It doesn't help much, knowing that it's a summer morning, nice weather, bright and lovely – it could be the middle of the night. That's going to be repetitive, he thinks. I hate thinking about the same stuff for too long. Too boring. I can't stand boring, that's the big problem. I am physically unable to stand boring and doing nothing.

(He'll learn.)

Pepper comes at seven sharp, he's sure, though seeing him awake she doesn't offer information about what time it is, just asks him if he wants food before cleaning himself up or after.

'I can get my own food' he spats, not knowing where it came from, and regrets it immediately. They both know it's such a lie.

'You've never been able to get your own food' Pepper points out and fuck, of course she is right, remember every single time she dragged me out of the workshop for a meal, or brought one when I blatantly refused to get out of the room. Of course.

Tony grumbles something in response, but gets up and goes to the bathroom when she leaves. It feels as if her presence made the strange shadows hovering over his shoulders go away.

He doesn't get into the shower, very aware that soon he is going to reek, if it continues like that, but he doesn't want Pepper to know something is wrong. Because nothing is, really; time, I'm already running out of the fucking time. And Tony isn't a person for waiting.


The breakfast is quiet and boring; Tony munches his food mechanically, it's the tiny sandwiches again and he stops himself again after third, almost daring Pepper to scold him for eating too little for a man like he is. She says nothing and he's more relieved than he'd have expected, because lying to Pepper would unmistakably lead to the 'something-is-wrong' talk.

'I will be leaving soon' she tells him apologetically when they finish eating. 'I need to go to the office before the press conference and leave some documents. But I will come back as soon as I can. Oh, and Rhodey texted me that he will come tomorrow in the evening, alright?'

'Yeah, perfect' Tony replies swiftly.

'Don't do anything stupid while I'm out' she orders him, gaining a distracted nod.

Back in the bedroom, Pepper leaves him a soup in one of SI-manufactured cups that keeps temperature up to 12 hours without more than 2 degree drop, and reminds JARVIS to take care of 'sir', making Tony roll his eyes (oh?) and clench his fists so hard his knuckles go totally white instead.

'J, you've got the info?' Tony asks the A.I. from the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. He was very eager to dismiss the dull ache in his chest, all around in his chest, with all the other pain distracting him since he – woke up, after the desert, or maybe since he woke up to see Yinsen's face (stop stop stop fucking thinking about that) – yeah. But now, when his skin almost healed, the hunger in his gut i disappearing; when his fractured arm and sprained shoulder are getting better, probably good enough to free it from the medical equipment soon; when he feels the silk and not sand under the surface of his skin – now the only sensation he's left with is the ache in his chest. Lungs twisted and squeezed, the heart moved to side and making his ribs almost hurt with its soft, constant beating in the wrong unused place, the scarring that looks okay on the outside but goes all around the arc reactor and he can feel them being pulled and stretched every time he moves.

I'd really love to drink myself to unconsciousness, he thinks, though pain meds and passing out could be just as good.

(The ache is never going to stop, he knows.)

'Sir?' the A.I.'s voice catches his attention and he realizes he must have spaced out. 'Do you want me to cite you the legal facts?'

'Shoot.'

'According to the information I checked, you are allowed to appoint your successor at any given time, there are no requirements as to the person's formation, experience or background. It requires you merely stating your choice in speech, later confirmed by the lawyers with right documents and your impression.'

'Ookay, good that they do not need my signature for this – oh, hut how am I supposed to know is it's the right documents they give me?'

'I have no reply for that.'

'Hasn't been as issue before, hmm? Well, look for a way to resolve this sometime soon.'

'I will start immediately.'

'Good boy' Tony replies out of habit.


It's over an hour of Tony tossing in bed before the press conference starts. JARVIS pulls up the feed without instruction and Tony concentrates on Pepper's calming voice, saying all the things she prepared the night before, making her words sound apologetic and sad but firm when she informs the public there will be no questions; listening, Tony keeps wondering if she was reading it or if she learned it by heart. When she's done, he fancies she can hear the echo of her shoes in the speakers, but there is such a rumor of shouting voices that he must have imagined that.

'Turn it off' he tells the A.I. and all sounds immediately cease.

'Do you want me to follow the media and stock response, sir?'

'Whatever' Tony murmurs in reply.

(He already knows what he has to do, but he'd much much prefer to put the decision off for as long as possible.) Going to the workshop sounds like a perfect idea, he has missed it – misses it more than he could have imagined, and being so close makes it ever worse. He's not sure how the bots are, all alone down there, knowing that he is back but not having him close; they must be panicking, they must think he's not going back for another three months which is an endless period for them since they have no other thing to occupy themselves with but the creating unit. When he's not there, it is emptiness, and even JARVIS being there doesn't help because he is just a phantom. The bots must feel useful to maintain sanity – really, are we trying to ascribe that to bots now? – they need action. Yes. It's been much too long.

So Tony gets up from the bed slowly and when his hand finds the night stand, he remembers the soup he was supposed to have for lunch and drinks it in a few greedy gulps; it's still warm enough to make his mouth feel numb for a moment. His back and chest and shoulder hurt steadily, the pain dull and pulsating; he pushes it into the depths of his mind quietly.

'J, give me the route to the workshop' he states when he finally stands up, not dizzy this time, bravo, a new accomplishment, a new Scout's badge.

'I'm afraid I can't help you with that' the A.I. replies smoothly and Tony can feel raising anger. What. The. Fuck.

'Oh, how so?' he asks in the same smooth tone, trying not to think about everything that is (is?) around him that he doesn't know; the more he tries to forget, the more it comes to his mind. Of course.

'First of all, Miss Potts and Colonel Rhodes would have my head if something happened to you, or if they learned that I disobeyed them concerning an order that I was given for the sake of your own good. Moreover, I find it risky to guide you all that way when you are still recovering and visibly in pain. And finally – do not worry yourself about Dummy and Butterfingers and You, they are doing well now. You might have underestimated them, sir.'

'You don't have a head' Tony feels obliged to point out, more spitting than saying the words. 'And I do not underestimate my bots. I just know how they work because I fucking wrote their codes.'

'They are learning entities' JARVIS reminds him, the voice slightly scolding, can he really do that? 'They have you, sir, for primary example, but there is also Miss Potts and me.'

'You know what, J?' he pauses for a second. 'Fuck this. Fuck you and Pepper and Rhodey and your overreacting. I'm not some fragile porcelain suddenly. I can't fucking see and we'll going to have to find a way around it, won't we? I can't bear coddling, you know I can't, you've seen me and Pepper fight about it enough times, you learning entity! Haven't you? I can do this, it's just walking, moving my legs! Don't you dare to tell me I can't do it!' he shouts, his chest hurting at the end from the tensing of his muscles and too-deep breaths.

'… are you all right, sir? Shall I call Miss Potts?'

'No calling. And shut up. I'm angry at you here.'

'As you wish.'

The room goes completely silent, a hollow echo of the computerized voice's words ringing in Tony's ears. Okay, so maybe no workshop for today, I'm not going to stumble around this too-fucking-big place with my one good arm looking for walls and waving in the darkness. I hate this. I hate this I hate this I hate this! J, you traitor, he keeps thinking, although he is fully aware that they all have his well-being in mind. He can even understand (a surprise here, again.)

He misses those cold metal bodies so much. They are like the most familiar element in this whole black puzzle.

After a few moments of standing in the middle of the room helplessly, shoulders slumped, the anger rising and boiling, boiling is his blood, he turns his attention to something else than the bots and decides that he's not going to play that stupid game anymore. No way.

'J, bathroom?' Tony asks, his voice steady and he is proud.

'Eight meters to your eight o'clock. May I inquire about what you are going to do, sir?'

'Just a long-due fun' he replies and he can feel the A.I.'s confusion. 'A shower' he clarifies, leaving out everything that this little word is suddenly associated with; there is no need for precautions and warning because there are no secrets between him and JARVIS; the A.I. knows everything. Secrets are kept from everyone else, staying inside the family (like that about time when he was nineteen – but only Dummy is old enough to remember it, though Tony is not sure that it's actually possible – but the bot is, well, unpredictable.)

Tony goes through all the routine slowly: taking a piss – sitting down was something new, hmmm – brushing his hair and teeth and rubbing his chin, feeling the three-day hair and wondering if he is going to have his goatee done every morning by someone else or not at all. I don't know about clean-shaven, he thinks, could do the trick for a new season. But it'd be like saying, hey, the poor me here can't even shave – not something we're aiming for, right?


The procrastinating takes him almost half an hour, and most of it is even legitimate, but then he's faced with the fact that he's running out of things to do.

'I am being ridiculous, aren't I?' he asks into space, starting to take off his clothes, dropping them easily on the floor; he's checked and there is a fresh set waiting. Taking socks off makes his body hurt strangely as he bends down, then his forearm brushes against the arc reactor bulge and it sends cold shivers down his spine. In the end he manages to be out of all clothing, standing on the cold marble floor of the bathroom, with soft waves of warm but fresh-scented air engulfing him, thanks J, thanks.

'I am not sure what you mean' JARVIS replies but Tony doesn't think he is up to explaining. 'Do you mean your apparent sudden aversion to personal hygiene?'

'Very funny' Tony spats, fully aware that he is overreacting. c.

So after three deep breaths and reminding himself stop being like this, what, are you now unable to do as much as a simple fucking shower? he turns around violently and takes the few steps towards the shower, stepping into it, the porcelain under his feet burningly cold.

(If you don't do this now you'll never –)

'Water, J' he orders and clenches his jaw in an angry anticipation, almost daring; a split of second later it hits his body, a warm-but-not-hot, perfectly chosen stream, and wow, he can do that, it's just a simple mundane stuff, he is okay, he is Tony fucking Stark, he can do that –

But when the water hits the face, running down his nape and delicately massaging his skin in a completely harmless and unobtrusive manner (he is so aware of that, rationally) – fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! There suddenly is an image in front of his eyes, how cruel is that?; it's more of a messy blur of the terrorists' faces and their brown and white-clad bodies, all around; then a bucket of cold black water, with rays of light seeping through the thick plastic – water down his throat, water in his esophagus and trachea and bronchi and in his ears and eyes and everywhere; cold cold cold, shouldn't the water be burning me, being so hot, oh hell the steam, my skin is – is my skin red, it must be all red and sore, breathe breathe breathe; he knows he's panicking, he knows it's crazy but he can't help it; there suddenly is a multitude of stars shining around him (not making the darkness any brighter, oh no) and he's not sure if they are real or if he's just imagining them; he's not sure his brain can even play tricks like that – th is everywhere, he's back there. The last ten days feel unreal, fuck his mind for screwing with him like that, he's going to die oh fuck they are going to do that this time –

the stream stops abruptly and some voice is talking to him, but he can't concentrate on it, the ringing and the murmur of running water too loud in his ears; he crouches, his back finding support in some cold glossy surface; his mind is clouded and there are still words being said to him in a language that's not his own so he puts his hands over his ears; he can feel his bones prodding sharply in a few places and the reactor (reactor? what happened to the battery –) pressing against his thighs, it'll leave a perfectly round imprint on his skin, or a bruise. He stays like that for what feels somewhere between Planck time and a light-year; he can feel tears running down his face – they are salty when he licks them off his lips. His legs are going numb but he can't move into more comfortable postion, can't move, so he stays all naked on the shower tray, maybe trembling, he's not sure anymore –

– and that's how Pepper (why is she here?) finds him.

'Ohmygod Tony, are you okay? JARVIS, what is going on?' Pepper says with panic in her voice and it draws a bit of Tony's attention. He doesn't move though, he's not sure if he'd be able to move with his body freezing like that – he can hear Pepper and the A.I. exchange some words but it all seems blurry and muffled to understand. So he focuses on breathing.

Pepper's hand suddenly appears on his shoulder and he shrugs it off violently; he can't bear it right now. He can't – ('I will see my family when I leave here, and you, Stark?')

'Tony, calm down, please, calm down' Pepper's voice drills into his head with a constant stream of words. 'Tony, please, you're here calm down, I'm with you…' she goes on for some time, Tony doesn't know for how long, but when her hand touches his body again he accepts it, and a moment later Pepper is by his side, embracing him delicately, loose strands of her hair tickling his neck. 'Tony, are you with me now? Let's get you to bed, okay? Can you do that?'

He shakes his head. Simple. Go away, go away, go away –

'Okay' he hears Pepper saying; she lets go of him for a second, there is a noise of something tossed on the marble floor – he realizes it's her shoes – and she's back sitting by him, with her arm around his back and resting head on his shoulder. 'Okay, Tony. Okay. Breathe. We have time.'

No, we don't, no time, not enough time, I have to do so much I need to change – ('don't waste your life') – I have to

'Tony Tony Tony Tony…' she whispers his name like a litany and Tony focuses just on her voice and nothing else.

'P'per' he says at some point, words rough for no reason, and she tenses a bit. It feels like waking up slowly, his brain finally catching up with the fact that no, he isn't half across the world, he is safe, he is in his house – he is naked, curled, with the arc rector visible and the scars too, and all other marks of the past three months and before, and his ribs and vertebrae sticking out – oh fuck, he isn't supposed to let anyone see him like this, not even Pepper, and it is painful to realize – how he hates himself for this – he takes a deep breath, goosebumps all over his skin, and flinches, but Pepper doesn't let him go.

'Tony, you need to tell me what is wrong' she says a few minutes later; he stops breathing for a moment. No.

'N'thing' Ton says as firmly as he can manage.

'This isn't nothing.'

He has no reply.

'How am I supposed to help you when I don't know what's wrong?'

'Maybe I don't need your help!' he snaps, shrugging violently, and this time her body moves away; he doesn't let himself be disappointed. Yeah, perfect, make everyone go. ('… and you, Stark?')

'No, because I find you naked unresponsive, you are apparently doing so well!' Pepper retorts angrily. But – knowing that she's so right doesn't make it easier. 'Okay, I'm sorry, that was too much' she adds in a much softer voice. Tony hears her taking a few steps, stopping, and walking some more, then, suddenly, there is a soft warm towel being wrapped around his back and arms.

Tony wants to say 'no, it wasn't too much, you are right' but he can't make himself ('if you admit your weaknesses, they will tear you apart,' that's another lessons he's been taught before he could calculate functions.)

'Tell me when you are ready to get up' she says, staying next to Tony, but not close enough for him to feel her skin's warmth; it's only steady breaths as an indication of her presence (ten less per minute that he has to do to provide enough oxygen – stop fucking counting). Tony feels a soothing feeling spread over his body with the towel around his skinny figure; it feels secure and comforting and he's not feeling so exposed, exposed to all of the stares he can't be aware of – you are at home, at home!

'Pepper?' he says finally, giving up, his voice so pathetically weak; he wishes he could at least lash out in anger, yes, that would make sense.

Her breathing disappears.

A moment later she's back and she's helping him to stand up; Tony's legs hurt from sitting in the crouched position for so long and it takes him a few moments to regain balance, Pepper's hands steadying him.

'Put this on' she says and takes the blanket off, offering a warm cotton dressing gown that hugs his body softly from his nape down to his knees. He is led to the bed, small steps, and tucked it; the silk feels cold and sleek against his bare calves and feet and he's glad it's not warm (not hot, like the sun-sweating sand he was walking on –)

He feels the mattress move under Pepper's weight next to him; neither of them says anything. Tony tries to count seconds – minutes – hours, but he fails after two hundred seventy something.


Time passes, but Tony has no means of checking the hour without breaking the silence what he doesn't feel like doing at all.

So Pepper is the one to speak, in the end.

'Tony, can we talk?'

There is nothing to talk about.

'Tony?

There is nothing to talk about.

'Tony, talk to me? You are scaring me.'

There is nothing to talk about.

'Tony? Please?' she adds so, so quietly.

There is nothing –

'JARVIS, call James' she states firmly, and that is too much.

'No' Tony cuts in. 'No. J, no calls. In fact, block all calls– block all access to the house.'

'What are you doing, Tony?' Pepper asks and it hurts to hear her pained, frightened voice; Tony feels like a monster for making her sound like that, for making the unbreakable woman so fragile. 'Override –'

'Cancel overrides' he snaps.

'I believe it's not in your best interests, sir' the A.I. comments easily and Tony wishes he would at least feel angry, okay, no anger? he can pretend. He's been mastering his act since he was old enough to understand how certain things worked (Howard, Howard, the world, Howard…)

'I didn't ask you for a comment, J. Proceed.'

'Very well, sir' the artificial voice surrounds him, and its cold tone makes Tony shiver.

'I think you are crossing a line here, Mister Stark' Pepper states and gets up, starting to pace around the room, her footsteps echoing hollowly. Everything sounds hollow here. Lifeless. 'If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to help you. And you are not letting me. All you tell me is lies and you've never lied to me, you were very happy to tell me too much on various occasions, with painful honesty, and now? It scares me. And what are you doing now – trying to lock yourself out, not letting your best friend to come, because what? He has seen you broken? Welcome to the real world, Mister Stark' she says and it's bitter. 'It's full of human beings who have emotions and who are vulnerable and who get hurt. It must be painful to realize all of this at once.'

Pepper's words are sharp and cut through whatever defenses Tony has created in the short time. Of course she's right. She's always right. He's always known she's always right.

But – he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to act differently. He's never had to – not with people, hey, it's been him and the bots.

It's a strange feeling in his gut, realizing that there is him and the bots, but there is also someone else. Shouldn't I have noticed that, like, years ago?

A few breaths, good, a few deep breaths.

'J, cancel lockout. Let Rhodey in if he wants. Send a message to Happy that he can take a few more days of, like five, unless Pepper needs him.'

'I don't' Pepper cuts in, her voice back to normal ( t)

'I'm sending the message now, sir. Anything else?'

'Warm up some soup' Pepper asks and Tony can feel nausea building up in his stomach, so he says:

'No food for me, J.'

'You've got to –'

'Are we going to argue now?' he snarls, turning around to lay on his side, trying not think how pathetic he must look. 'Okay, I can admit this – if I swallow as much as a bite of food, I will end up throwing it up on my bathroom floor, not that you're not familiar with the drill, here, are you satisfied to hear me admit it?' he spats the words out. Fuck.

'… no, Tony, you know that's not what I mean –'

'Than what do you mean?'

'I said it already! I'm just worried. When I was just near heree I had JARVIS sending me a message that my presence is urgently needed in the house; I swear he would be panicked if he had the capability, I was just a few minutes out of here, luckily… When I came inside, I had am A.I. directing me to you, and I found you naked, shaking, in the bathroom, not talking, not responding, so what the hell should I be thinking? You've just came back from captivity. There've been some… traumatic events, it's a hard time. And James…' she stops the stream of words abruptly.

'Rhodey?'

'He asked me to look out for you, because you might…' she trails off.

And then Tony laughs (he really does, and it makes the hole in his chest ache) and Pepper must stare at him as if he's really gone crazy, have I? That wouldn't be so much of a surprise, after all that time.

He knows what she's about to say, of course Rhodey would brief her about all the psychological trauma that he knows of because he is a soldier – or it could have been JARVIS to tell her of PTSD because the A.I. is overprotective and too smart, and since Pepper was staying in the mansions, their extensive interaction was inevitable. Especially since JARVIS likes Pepper.

'There is nothing to talk about' Tony terminates the conversation, knowing much too well that it's not going to be the end of it, but he's willing to take a chance.

'… Rhodey will come tomorrow evening' Pepper says in the end, changing the subject.

'Okay' he replies flatly and closes his – okay.

Pepper doesn't leave. Tony doesn't know how to thank her.

She just gives him the sleeping pills later, it's an easy running-away routine, and he drifts off, moving from blackness to blackness (re-pe-ti-ti-ve.)


The next day passes mostly amidst strained silence and half-sincere sentences. Tony is not sure how can everything work – it shouldn't. Maybe it doesn't.

But they go on.

Pepper is on the phone a lot and Tony sits in the big living room, in one of the tall comfortable armchairs he had delivered from Denmark. A news channel is on, Tony pays attention to bits and pieces, especially when it's the market information and he can listen to all the after press conference uproar he missed the previous day.

He east breakfast (mini pancakes, no maple syrup, just blueberries inside; maybe it's an outstretched hand and an attempt to corrupt him because he loves blueberries and he hasn't eaten them in ages. The taste like ambrosia) and lunch like a good boy he's pretending to be. For now. For as long as he can.

Because pretending is what he decides to do, sitting in the middle of the stretching time that he's not able to count, in the middle of nowhere, both literally and metaphorically – and he hates metaphors. Because pretending is what he's been taught; maybe the only lesson that he excelled at out of Howard's teachings. I can do as much, he tells himself, ignoring the weakness in his limbs and his too-fast beating heart (the shrapne crawling in his veins, the thought making his head hurt.) He knows it's pretending to himself more than to anyone else, but he refuses to acknowledge that he's just a – of Anthony Stark.

Rhodey comes and they talk; if Pepper has told him anything about the events of previous day the colonel doesn't make any indication. Tony listens to him recounting his meetings with the other army people and the federal organizations that want to talk to Tony – 'No way, tell them to be happy with all I said in Germany, they are not getting anything more, there isn't much to say. I was held captive, you know all about Ten Rings, then I escaped and then you found me, and the last two parts are foggy, a mess in my head and I'm not able to be more detailed because I don't remember' – and Rhodey promises he's going to pass the information. They eat dinner together, Rhodey brought their favorite pizza, and Tony somehow manages not to get himself all dirty; it's hard though when he knows each of his movements is watched and analyzed by three beings, really, he would have thought three pairs of eyes but technically JARVIS, more than something as simple as eyes, is using hundreds of cameras of various types, scattered all around. I wonder if people will stop themselves mid-sentence when they make an 'eye' reference. 100 points for the first person who applies my 'no bullshit' policy to myself.

It is almost familiar, almost calming: being with Rhodey; Pepper somewhere in the background, typing on her phone or tapping on her tablet and walking around with her heels clicking; JARVIS cutting in with sharp comments and data whenever it is requested; the soft background noises and soft silence (there was always water dripping somewhere in the cave, always some hollow rhythm carried by the long corridors, always some footsteps echoing too close.)

At some point Rhodey gets up, patting Tony on the back and making him promise that he will see a doctor about his arm soon, a regular check-up (Tony's never needed those. Huh.) Then the colonel says he will come soon, again, and leaves.

'Half past nine p.m.' JARVIS supplies when Tony looks up – rises his head up – in a newly and wordlessly established rule.

Tony is sleepy; he doesn't want know how is it possible that with straight nine hours of sleep every night he still feels his eyes closing after dinner. Lack of caffeine, check, lack of booze, check, lack of sex, check, lack of a fucking thing to do, check. He's always been too impatient to take his time recovering, and it's the first when he can't skip that step.

But for some time he acts like he can in fact skip the step, until he's proven wrong (it's almost a week, full 156 hours, 12 short of seven days, not that he's counting, the numbers just force themselves into his head.)