I just watched Iron Man 2 on my blueray player for like, the eighty-millionth time! Gotta love that Robert Downey Jr…Or in my case, be obsessed with him. Again, please review if you are enjoying my little brainchild. Reviews are the only things keeping me going.

Me likey you all, thanks SO much for reading.

It was growing late in the day and Harmony was lonely. Tony had been gone when she had woken up at eight that morning. Although she had attempted several times to call him, she had not been able to contact him. However, Harmony wasn't worried. He was Iron Man, and he was also Tony Stark. Besides, the Iron Man suit was not in its pedestal, and Jarvis told her he could not disclose the whereabouts of "Mr. Stark". It was obvious he was simply doing a mission and would be back tomorrow. Or hopefully tonight – because Harmony was growing exceedingly forlorn. Jarvis had attempted numerous times to amuse her, turning on the television, making small talk. Even Dummy – one of Tony's very smart and yet very clumsy robots had made her dinner.

But Harmony missed Tony. She had spent every waking moment, however rough or troublesome, with him and wasn't used to being left alone. Not quite sure on what she should do, Harmony simply worked on the 'biodegradable' skeleton for the gas compound.

Finally, Harmony went upstairs to Tony's 'living room' of sorts and played piano. She played and played, singing and tearing through every piano book Tony owned. Six years of piano and voice had paid off. Strangely enough, the sound of the mellow piano and her own voice worked to comfort her.

"Miss Clay, I have warmed a bath for you in your bedroom. Your vital signs suggest excessive solitude and stress," Jarvis said. "Maybe a warm bath would be good to calm you."

"Thanks, Jarvis," Harmony said, sighing a little. She hated being left alone. Flashbacks of days upon days of being alone in whatever motel or apartment her and her dad had recently rented popped into her mind. Whenever her dad did come back, he was hung-over or high. Tony had almost become a reliability figure for her, although anyone else who knew Tony would have never called him reliable.

Harmony stripped down and climbed into the deep bathtub, the jets bubbling cozily. She let her eyes flutter close and began to doze.

/-\

Something crashing loudly awoke Harmony. Her bath had grown cold and she felt wrinkly. She heard a loud cough and started up. It had to be Tony – no one could get past Jarvis or security protocols in Stark Mansion. She quickly dried off and slid into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. The clock said it was almost midnight.

"Tony?" Harmony tried to mask her relief and joy. She turned the corner. "Tony?" He wasn't in the kitchen. She descended the stairs to the workshop and punched in the code Tony had taught her. "Tony?" She called out again.

"Hi," he said, blinking sleepily from across the room. He was leaning against the file cabinet, almost clinging to it. He was dressed completely in the Iron Man suit, except his helmet, which was carelessly dropped onto the floor.

"Are you okay?" Harmony said cautiously, picking up the discarded helmet. Tony didn't seem quite alright.

"Sure," he mumbled, and collapsed onto the floor.

"Tony!" she screamed, and ran to his side. Was he hurt? She quickly cradled his head in her lap, peeling open his eyelids to check his pupils. Tony coughed again. Harmony's nostrils were invaded with the acrid smell of vodka.

"Tony, have you been drinking?" Harmony immediently dropped his head to the floor.

"A little," his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Damn you," she wanted to slap him. "Butterfingers, Dummy, please help me get this off him." She had never seen Tony do anything irresponsible, least of all get stone cold drunk. The threesome, including Jarvis, were able to unscrew and disassemble the Iron Man suit. Harmony managed to drag him to the couch in the workshop and lift him onto it. For a relatively short man, he was very heavy.

She sunk down onto the floor next to the couch, breathing heavily.

"Don't worry, Miss Clay," Jarvis said, "He'll sleep it off and be quite alright."

"Does he do this often?" Harmony panted, still spent from dragging him to the couch.

"He used to, ma'am. Ever since Afghanistan, he has been relatively sober," Jarvis replied.

"And before?" Harmony almost didn't even want to know.

"Not so much, ma'am," Jarvis finished, becoming slightly saddened. Harmony let out an angry sigh. Did every man drink himself into a stupor? She brought a blanket down from his bedroom and spread it over his still form. He mumbled something and rolled onto his stomach, fast asleep. Harmony put a thermos of water, a bottle of aspirin and a bucket next to his bedside. She had plenty of experience to know what a man would need for a hangover.

However furious and blindsided she was by Tony's behavior, she paused by his couch and stopped to watch him breath lightly. She was just able to see a dim blue glow through the tee shirt he had on. The arc reactor. She pulled back the blanket a bit and touched the face of it gently. It was cool and slick through his sweaty shirt. Carefully she pulled the covers over his chest again and stepped back a bit. In spite of the irritation she felt boiling at his carelessness; she felt a strange sense of admiration, and feeling the bond they had developed. She gently pushed his hair out of his closed eyes and ran her fingers through his thick, wavy locks.

Maybe tomorrow she'd be able to sort her feelings out. She climbed the staircase to her bedroom, turning off the lights behind her. Not even bothering to change out of her jeans, she turned off the light, collapsed onto the bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin. In the darkness of the quiet room she cried silently.

She had thought Tony was different.

/-\

"Wake up, sir. It is approximately 10:35 am,"

Tony groaned and rolled over in the bed and burrowed deeper in the covers.

"Sir, please," Jarvis repeated his request. Sleepily, Tony sat up in bed. However, he wasn't in bed. He was on the couch in his workshop. How had he gotten there? How had he gotten anywhere? He thought back to last night's events. Nick Fury had sent him on a mission at 6am that day. He had arrived home at 12am. Sore, battered and extremely discouraged at his life in general, he had done what he had dared not to do for months.

Drink.

Drink himself drunk. Once again, he had left someone else to pick up the pieces.