For the next seven months, Tony and Martha met up at least once a week. They took turns with the location, a feat made easier by Martha's security clearance at the Tower and the spare key she had given Tony to her flat. Barring any scheduling conflicts, most of their meetings took place on Saturdays nights.

The visiting person usually arrived an hour or two before midnight. In Tony's case, he often brought snacks when he visited Martha. Pizza. Dumplings. Barbacoa tacos. Shawarma. Anything she mentioned craving in passing or just things he thought she'd enjoy.

"I'm going to end up weighing a ton dealing with you," Martha scolded playfully one evening as they sat on her couch indulging in cheese fries and frozen custard from the Shake Shack, instead of their usual bedtime tea. "I can practically feel my bum getting bigger with each bite."

"Is it?" Tony asked, allowing his eyes to sweep over her figure. "Here…" He pushed the rest of his food in her direction. "Finish mine too." Martha rolled her eyes in response, but it didn't stop her from snagging a fry off his plate.

After they ate or had their customary cup of tea, next came Tony's favorite portion of the evening, the part where they curled up in bed and talked. Martha wanted to know about the man behind the armor and little by little Tony allowed his façade to fall away.

He told her about his childhood. About his parents and the real Jarvis. He told her about his work. His days at MIT and meeting Rhodey. Growing up in his father's shadow. He told her about Pepper and Happy. The caves and Yinsen. Phil Coulson and the other Avengers. The Battle of New York and his face off against the Mandarin.

Martha, in turn, told him about her family. About her mom's career as a barrister and her father's affair. About her sister Tish's wild antics and the fact that her baby brother got his wife pregnant back when they were still teenagers. She told him about the time she broke her arm as a kid and realized that she wanted to be a doctor. About medical school and the first time she met the Doctor. She told him about all the beautiful things she saw and all the hatred she experienced. About the Master and the Year That Never Was. Torchwood and UNIT. The friends she gained and the ones she lost, either by death or distance.

No topic was off limits. But when things got too heavy, they turned to lighter fare. Like how Martha accidentally got addicted to the soap opera General Hospital since living in the States. "I reckon it was the hospital in the title that piqued my interested even though as a rule I try to avoid medically themed shows," she informed him.

"Too real?" Tony questioned.

"Hardly." She scoffed. "I went on such a big tirade during an episode of Grey's Anatomy one time that my sister banned me from her flat whenever it's on." She sighed softly. "Luckily for me, the people of Port Charles are usually more concerned with love triangles and mob wars than engaging in unrealistic medical practices."

On a different occasion, they discussed how Tony's mother had taught him how to play the piano as a boy and the one summer he thought about giving everything up and becoming a professional musician.

"You sing?" Martha asked with interest while they spooned in his bed.

Tony shrugged. "I can carry a tune."

"Prove it," Martha challenged.

Tony scoffed. "You want me to sing to you?"

Martha turned to face him fully. "Think of it as a lullaby," she insisted with that disarmingly bright smile of hers.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., play a lullaby for me," he requested.

"Right away, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. responded. A moment later Metallica's Enter Sandman began to play.

Martha laughed. "This is what you consider a lullaby?"

"I told you metal was a way of life," Tony retorted. "J.A.R.V.I.S., let's try something a little less metal and a bit more mellow," he suggested. "How about a little Billy Joel?" The first song ended abruptly and was replaced by Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel).

Tony cleared his throat and began to sing along softly. Martha's eyes went a bit wide in shock at the sound of his singing, but her expression eventually settled into an appreciative smile. She cuddled up closer to Tony, resting her head against his chest and closing her eyes. Tony closed his eyes as well and continued to sing. By the time, the song was over, Martha was asleep and Tony found himself drifting off not long after.

Tony's second favorite part of their ritual always came the morning after. The perk of their Saturday night sleepovers was that they could have lazy Sunday mornings. Most days, one of them would sleep in while the other cooked breakfast. They did cook together on occasion though.

In their time together, Tony expanded his egg cookery repertoire to include quiche, eggs benedict and huevos rancheros. Martha gained confidence in her cooking as well, treating Tony to a full English breakfast one late summer morning.

"You have no idea how hard it is to find decent back bacon in this country," Martha informed him as she set a plate between them laden with fried eggs, smoked bacon, thick sausages, grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, fried bread and baked beans. "Most shops only carry the streaky sort you lot love so much."

Tony stared down at the food and the daunting task that lay ahead of him. "When this meal inevitably leads to me having a heart attack, you have my permission to administer CPR," he announced as he picked up his fork. "Feel free to use tongue."

It was a comfortable routine they had developed. And the fact that Tony hadn't had a nightmare or anxiety attack in a while went a long way in assuaging the collective worries of Rhodey, Bruce and Pepper.

All in all, life was on the upswing. So naturally, the dark part that resided in the recesses of Tony's mind was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And come November 4th, it did.

The morning before, Tony had returned to the Tower from Martha's place in good spirits. After a quick shower, he retreated to his workshop with renewed inspiration and a fresh pot of coffee. He worked all night and well into the afternoon of the next day. By the time he emerged, news of the battle in Greenwich was everywhere.

Tony watched the footage keenly. Thor and some freaky looking aliens, or whatever the hell they were, were falling in and out of portals on and around the grounds of the Old Royal Naval College. The damage may have been of a different scale, but the chaos still triggered memories of the Battle of New York in Tony's mind.

With no warning, Tony's body began to react. It was suddenly hard to breath. His head, stomach and muscles began to ache all at once. His heart was racing. Sweat was beading on his skin. His surroundings suddenly felt too loud and too bright.

Tony stumbled over to the bar and poured himself a glass of scotch with shaky hands. Half of his first attempted sip ended up down his chin and shirt, but he still managed a good gulp. He was in the middle of refilling his glass when he forced himself to speak. "J.A.R.V.I.S., I need Martha." He sank to the ground with his glass in one hand and the bottle in the other. With his back pressed against the bar, he closed his eyes and tried to regain control of his mind and body.

"Tony?"

He opened his eyes and looked directly into the brown ones belonging to Martha Jones. He didn't remember hearing her arrive, but he also didn't recall abandoning his glass and draining the rest of the scotch directly from the bottle either.

"Hey," Martha said gently. She held her hands up on either side of his face as if she wanted to touch him, but was afraid to do so for whatever reason. "I'm here, alright?" Tony closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against one of her palms. That must have been the signal she was waiting for because he suddenly felt her other hand on the opposite side of his face. "I've got you, love. We're going to get you through this."

Next thing he knew, Tony was up on his feet and moving with Martha's hands guiding him gently. He was aware of what was happening and yet none of it felt real. It was almost as if it was all a dream or he was watching this happen to someone else that vaguely resembled him.

"Open your eyes," Martha asked softly. Tony didn't even remember closing them again, but he silently obeyed. "I know you're feeling out of sorts right now," she began. "You need to regain control and that's easier said than done, but I'm going to help you. So I want you to listen to me, alright? Listen to my voice. Listen to the sound of my breaths. Do you hear it?" She exhaled slowly through her mouth. "Can you match my rhythm?" She took a few deep breaths and Tony forced himself to match her pace. "There you go. That's brilliant. Keep breathing. Just like that."

She took a step away and Tony followed her with his eyes. It was at that point that he realized they were in his workshop. He didn't even know how he got there, but Martha must have brought him there thinking it was the place he'd find the most comfort.

"Can you give me your hand?" Martha requested when she returned to stand in front of him. He raised his arm slowly, careful to keep breathing. Martha took his hand gently, turned it over so the palm was facing upward and placed a Rubik's cube in his hand. "Solve it."

Tony stared at her in confusion. "What?" he thought aloud between breaths.

"I know it sounds daft with everything that's going on, but trust me," she insisted. "Solve it."

Tony inhaled deeply through his mouth and exhaled slowly through his nose. He gripped the cube in one hand for a few minutes before he conceded to matching up the squares by color. When he finished, he held up for her to see.

Martha promptly plucked it out of his hand, undid all of his work and passed it back to him. "Do it again."

Tony had felt a lot of things when Martha was around, but for the first time, he was feeling angry. Genuine anger. He was already trembling and now he felt even worse. "No."

"Do it again," she repeated firmly.

"No!" he shot back in a shaky voice, breathing techniques forgotten.

"Tony…trust me."

Tony snatched the cube back and worked through the puzzle as quickly as he could. Once done, he slammed it back into her hand. "Satisfied?"

"Nope." She screwed it up again and handed it back to him again. "Keep going."

They went back and forth a few more times until he finally had enough. "What's the fucking point of this?" he demanded.

"It's a distraction," Martha replied calmly. "And it seems to have worked. Your breathing has normalized." She reached for his wrist and glanced at her watch. "Your pulse is still racing a bit, but I imagine some of that from you being so cross."

At that moment, Tony noticed the changes in his mind and body. The tension was all but gone. The aches stopped. His focus felt sharper. He glanced down at the cube then up at her. "How?"

"Grounding technique," she answered, releasing his wrist. "I needed to get you out of your head for a bit and back into the reality. Give you something that you could control. Your breathing was a start. Then I noticed the Rubik's cube. I know you like to use your work to cope with things. So I figured that tactile association in conjugation with breathing techniques with help center you."

Tony lowered his eyes, allowing all his anger to melt away and the shame to wash over him. "I'm sorry for going off on you."

Martha shook her head. "It's fine. I mean I've said meaner things than that when I've been pissed."

"Pissed angry or pissed drunk?"

Martha paused to think. "Both." She cracked a smile and Tony felt himself relax a bit more.

He sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair. "I feel like shit."

"You look like it too," Martha teased, reaching over and smoothing his hair back down. "When's the last time you slept?"

"When I was at your place," he admitted, sheepishly.

"You've been up since Sunday morning?" She checked her watch again. "Bloody hell, Tony! What about food? Have you eaten anything at all since then?"

Tony shook his head. "Not unless scotch and coffee count."

Martha exhaled sharply. "You bloody well know that they don't." She took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. "C'mon," she said as she began to drag him up the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

"Well first we're going to get some food in your system," Martha announced. "Something light. Maybe just a turkey sandwich to start. And water. Lots of water. And no coffee or alcohol for a while, yea? And then after that, you're going to get washed up and you're going get some sleep even if that means I have to give you a sedative." She stopped and turned to face him once they reached the top of the stairs. "Are we clear?"

Tony nodded slowly. "Clear."

"Good. I'm going to need to borrow something to sleep in. I came straight here when I got your call. I didn't have a chance to go round to my flat."

"You're spending the night?"

Martha scoffed. "Of course I am." She lifted her hand to touch his cheek. "It seems as though I can't trust you to take proper care of yourself unsupervised. So I guess I'll just have to take matters into my own hands."