I know it has been forever since I've posted anything, and I apologize for that. RL has been super-crazy. I'll be out of town for a week or so, but when I return, I will post some more on a couple fics.
Chapter 7
Tony steps out onto the roof of his house, observing the way the moonlight hits his bare skin. He looks up at the moon, and the Extremis in his head can't help but instantaneously calculate the distance between himself and it, the amount of time is takes for the light to reach him, how much power it would take to reach it. Frustrated, he forces the Extremis away, clearing his mind, but not before he calls up the armor. He feels the familiar sensation of the golden under-armor seeping through his skin, covering every inch of him. He wills the transformation further, feels the armor plates surge out of where they are stored inside his bones, and he and the armor are one. He runs, compelling his strong, armored legs to carry him faster, faster, until he is jumping out into the dark night sky.
He lets himself fall for a second, savoring the velvet feel of the cool wind against the armor, his second skin, then activates the jet boots and propulsors, and he is flying.
Tony is beginning to think that Extremis is controlling him, instead of him controlling Extremis. If that's true, then he knows that the only time he can fight against it, overcome its command, is when he is flying. The feeling of soaring through the skies, unimpeded, is a feeling he always has loved. It's his new need: better than girls or cars or alcohol. Flying through the skies in the suit he made, the suit that is the epitome of his life's work, the epitome of himself, sparks something in him that is hard for him to feel anymore.
He knows that the Extremis will end up overloading his brain, and probably soon. The human brain simply isn't made to handle the invariable flow of information that the Extremis involves. Even Tony's exceptional mind is no match for it. He sees that the only way to fix that problem is to rewrite his brain to be able to handle the Extremis. That much is obvious. But he has no idea where to even start. He needs to find a solution, and he doesn't have much time.
The headaches are becoming progressively worse. No amount of aspirin will remedy the pounding in his overwhelmed head. And he hasn't told Pepper yet, but he has been experiencing memory loss. Just last week when he drove the Audi into the city for a board meeting, he arrived to find that he had no idea how or why he was there. And two nights ago, he had been working on the suit until he found himself upstairs in the kitchen, leaning heavily over the sink, his heart rate spiraling out of control. Because he can't remember. He always remembers everything, down to the smallest, most precise detail.
Even without knowing all this, Pepper is still worried about him. He can see it in her eyes that she is confused and guilty and concerned. He often wonders if she wishes she hadn't injected him with the Extremis, if she thinks it had been worth it. He never asks her, but her answer is clear; he can see it in the way she stays up late waiting for him to return from a mission, in the look she gives him when they are alone together.
He hasn't been in a serious relationship since he was at MIT. He had kind of forgotten what it was like, but now that he has Pepper, he can't see himself going back to his old polygamous ways. Being in Afghanistan changed him like that. He loves her.
She loves him. And she does think it was worth it.
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