What time is it? NEW CHAPTER TIME! Woo!

It is absolutely cracking me up that so many of y'all had this same idea. Great minds think alike, apparently. I'm glad I'm getting to get it all written down for you!

Your reviews were lovely and useful as per usual. You guys are awesome. Seriously. I'm keeping all of your suggestions in mind, and I'll do my best to include them as I write.

I do have a climax in mind. Not gonna say what it is, but I have an idea of where this story will eventually end up. I will tell you that I think it's gonna be pretty action-packed, though. But before I get there, I'd just like to do some more exploring of the psychology of the different characters, and the relationships between them.

So, anyways, on to chapter six! If it's a tad melodramatic, I do apologize; it was a lot of fun to write, and I maybe kinda sorta got carried away. Oh, well.

The sky was falling down.

At least, that's how it felt to Pepper. Really, it was just snowing. But Pepper had never gotten used to the way the wind sounded during storms and blizzards in New York. It whistled and shrieked between the skyscrapers—reminding Pepper a bit too much of ghosts to be comfortable.

Pepper rolled over to look at the clock on her bedside table. 2:45. She still had a solid four hours of night to make it through before she could start getting up. Oh, just perfect. She tried to shut her eyes and go back to sleep, but every gust and crack made her heart skip a beat or two.

It was silly, maybe, but anytime she got uneasy, Pepper couldn't help but think of mass murdering Norse gods and Chitauri warriors and wormholes and fucking outer space monsters and, God, she'd missed Tony's call—

She bit down lightly on her lip. What had happened, happened. They'd made it through the…ordeal in one piece (mostly), and there was no good dwelling in the past. That had become their unofficial mantra lately. After all, things were more stable now and maybe they'd finally be safe once and for—

But damn if that wind didn't sound like something landing on their roof. Jesus Christ. Pepper flung back the covers and got out of bed as quietly as she could so as not to wake Tony. She briefly considered rousing him, but he looked so peaceful and still. And it wasn't very often Tony was either of those things.

So, instead, Pepper threw on her bathrobe and padded down the hall. Tea, maybe, would calm her nerves. If nothing else, it would at least offer a distraction for a few minutes. Once she was in the kitchen, she flipped on the lights. She sighed in relief at the warmth and comfort that simple movement brought to the room. Not that Pepper would evertell Tony, because she'd never hear the end of it, but she wasn't a…fan of the dark. She wasn't scared of it! At least, not really. It was just a bit…disconcerting. That's all.

Pepper was dipping a bag of chamomile into a mug of hot water and finally beginning to relax, when a dark shadow appeared in the doorway. Oh, no. This was not happening. Not happening. She swallowed and set her tea down carefully on the table. Without turning, she picked up the closest weapon—a knife—and held it tightly. Hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, she said, "You better watch it, because I'm armed!"

"Good to know," the shadow quipped.

A rumpled and pajama-clad Tony stepped into the room. Pepper whipped around, "Goddammit Tony," she hissed, "Don't do that!"

"'I'm armed'? Really, Pep?" Tony said sardonically, "You doknow that's a butter knife, right?"

"Oh, shut-up," Pepper said, "I made do with what was there. We don't all have dozens of Iron Man suits at our disposal."

"That includes me now," Tony pointed out, "Kind of blew them all up in a brilliant display of fireworks and selflessness. Just, you know, throwing that out there."

Pepper let out a long-suffering sigh, "I know, Tony."

Tony peered into her mug and wrinkled his nose in distaste, "Tea?"

Pepper shrugged, "It helps me sleep."

"I thought I had the market cornered on insomnia."

Pepper rolled her eyes, "Apparently not. Why are you up? You were out cold earlier."

Tony went over to the fridge and busied himself searching for something inside it, "You weren't in bed anymore."

Pepper's eyebrows rose in disbelief, "You could tell?"

"Sure," Tony answered, "Always can."

"How?"

The fridge still muffling his words, Tony answered, "When you're next to me, I'm okay. When you aren't, I'm not."

Pepper's breath caught in her chest. Tony had this subtle, painful way of addressing his fears that was endearing and guilt-wrenching and completely maddening—all at the same time. It was just so off-hand! Pepper couldn't tell if he was trying to protect her or himself, or maybe both of them.

Pepper realized, suddenly, that maybe there was a reason he'd stuck his head in the fridge to begin with.

"Tony," Pepper started, but the words got stuck somewhere in her throat. She swallowed, and tried again, "Tony, I know you've been in a good place since…everything with Killian, and that's wonderful. Truly. But—and I know how opposed you are to this, but hear me out—have you ever thought about maybe going and talking to someone? Just to make sure this good place becomes a permanent state of being?

Tony pulled his head back out of the fridge—a brick of cheddar cheese in hand—and said, "I talk to Bruce."

"Tony!" Pepper said, frustrated, "He's not that kind of doctor. How many times do we have to explain that to you?"

Tony waved a hand impatiently, "Semantics. Besides, therapy isn't really my thing, Pep. I'm more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants-and-hope-for-the-best kind of guy," he said.

"As if I needed reminding," Pepper said dryly.

Tony picked up Pepper's butter-knife-turned-weapon and sliced a piece of cheese off the block. He popped it in his mouth and leaned up against the table—studying Pepper. He swallowed and said, "Why the sudden interest in my mental health?"

"Tony," Pepper said softly, "I care about you. You know that."

"Ah-ah," Tony said, "Don't you pull out the sad eyes. Spill."

Pepper took a sip of tea before she answered, "Harley just mentioned you two had talked about therapy on the way to his appointment with Dr. Fields—"

"I knew it!" Tony exclaimed, "I told him not to say anything to you. If that kid thinks I'm ever telling him anything again, he's out of his mind."

Pepper continued her thought, "But, it's something I've been thinking about long before Harley brought it up. Everyone could use a good dose of therapy every now and again, Tony. Even Iron Man."

With a beleaguered sigh, Tony said, "Fine. I'll try it."

Pepper smiled and folded a kiss into Tony's hand, "Thank-you."

"But if I don't like it, I'm not going back. And trust me—I'm not going to like it."

"Oh, just shut-up and eat your cheese."

Like most self-respecting ten-year-olds, Harley Keener loved cinnamon buns. So, he should've been thrilled to discover Pepper had made them for breakfast to celebrate the nine inches of fresh snow that had materialized on the streets of New York overnight.

But Harley couldn't get more than three bites of cinnamon bun past the lump in his throat.

He picked at his breakfast half-heartedly while Pepper drank her coffee and read the paper. She looked up from the entertainment section long enough to notice that Harley wasn't eating and said, "Harley, what's wrong? Aren't you hungry?"

Harley shook his head, "Not really."

"Are you getting sick?"

Harley shrugged. Pepper frowned and walked over to Harley's side of the table. Feeling his forehead, she said, "Well, I don't think you have a fever, at least. But maybe you should get back in bed to be safe."

Harley pushed his plate away, "Pepper, no. I'm not sick. It's just—I just—I don't know," he faltered.

"Do you want to try explaining it?" Pepper asked gently.

Harley buried his face in his arms and mumbled something incoherent. Pepper laughed slightly, "Harley, honey, I meant explain it to me—not to the table."

Harley peeked up and quietly said, "My mom used to make cinnamon buns on snow days, too."

Pepper expertly blinked back her tears and wrapped Harley in a hug, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad, buddy," she murmured.

Harley shrugged and tried to put on a brave face, "It's not a big deal. It's not like you could've known or anything."

Pepper smiled sadly, "That's very true."

She picked up Harley's plate and scraped the picked-at cinnamon bun down the sink, and stowed the leftover ones in the fridge. Then, she walked over to the window and watched the snow fall for a few moments.

Still gazing out the window, Pepper said, "You know, I've never been able to work when it's snowing outside. It's just too pretty. I was thinking about maybe going to Central Park, and I'd like to bring a certain ten-year-old along with me. Maybe you know him? He's about four foot five in his bare feet, blonde hair, answers to Harley, and sometimes 'wiseass'?"

Harley laughed, "Pepper!"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "It's you! Well, Harley, do you want to come to Central Park with me?"

"Yeah!"

"Great," Pepper smiled, "But you'll need to actually eat something first."

"Do we have any toaster waffles?"

The walk to Central Park was frigid and blustery. Pepper supposed she could have gotten Happy to just drive them there, but she didn't mind the walk. Neither did Harley, it seemed, based on the way he was talking and laughing. He'd occasionally race ahead of her, and then wait patiently on the next corner for her to catch up.

It was nice, Pepper decided. Cold, but nice. Harley's enthusiasm for the weather was so contagious, Pepper managed to forget just how dirty New York snow was. Well, she managed to almost forget, anyways.

"Pepper, do you like sledding?"

"One time, in third grade, it was snowing like this and this boy—Tyler Lawson—stuck his tongue to the jungle gym on a dare and it stuck! They had to call an ambulance and everything. But he was a jerk, so I didn't care."

"Whoa, look at how big that snow pile is! Did a plow do that?"

"Would an Iron Man rust in the snow?"

"Do you think snow angels actually look like angels? Because I don't."

"Whoa, slow down, pal!" Pepper laughed, "We have all afternoon, Harley. Let's take it one thought at a time, okay?"

Harley nodded and fell into step next to Pepper. He was doing his best to watch the flakes that were swirling out of the sky, and simultaneously watch where he was going. The third time he almost veered off into the street, Pepper grabbed his shoulders and said, "Harley, I need you to pay better attention, please."

Harley sighed, but said, "Yes, Pepper," all the same. There'd be time for watching the snow fall later, he guessed.

They were at the last crosswalk before the park, waiting for it to turn green. Pepper was about to turn and ask Harley if he wanted to build a snowman or have a snowball fight first, when a rusty low-rider backfired as it sped through the yellow light.

"Idiot," Pepper muttered, "Harley, when you start driving, never, ever do what he…."

But Pepper's sentence trailed off when she realized Harley wasn't standing next to her anymore. Her heart began to pound, "Harley? Harley!"

Then Pepper spotted him. He had dropped down to the sidewalk—hands covering his head, he was shaking violently.

"Oh, Harley," Pepper knelt down beside him, "It was only a car, sweetheart. That's all. Just a car."

People were starting to whisper, so Pepper gently helped Harley stand up. He was pale as a sheet; his eyes were wild and unfocused. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. When he let it back out, he started to cry, "I'm sorry," he hiccoughed, "I thought it was another…."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Pepper wrapped her arm around his shoulder, "Come on," she said, "Let's go home."

"He dropped to the ground?"

"Almost instantly."

It was around 10:30, and Pepper and Tony were getting ready for bed. Pepper was filling Tony in on what had happened during her almost-outing with Harley, "Oh, Tony," she sighed as she put lotion on her hands, "It was just so sad. He's had so many good days lately, and even a few good nights. Seeing Dr. Fields has been wonderful for him, too. I thought we were making some progress."

Tony spit out his mouthful of toothpaste before he said, "We were. Still are, in fact. You know what they say—two steps forward and two thousand steps back. Or whatever it is."

He walked into the bedroom and sat down next to Pepper on the bed, "Look, Pep," he began, "It's going to take more than a few weeks and a therapist for Harley to beat this. Trust me. But he can do it. It's just going to take some time."

"I know," Pepper said quietly, "But I just keep seeing that terrified little face—,"

A sudden sob cut off the rest of her sentence. The frustration, anxiety, sadness, and just plain exhaustion of the last month finally broke down the dam. Pepper buried her face in her hands and cried harder than she'd let herself cry in a very long time.

Tony—never good with displays of extreme emotion—patted her on the back and said, "Whoa, Pep, calm down. It's okay."

Pepper looked up, "It is not okay," she said through her tears, "It's not. It's so unfair, Tony! He lost everything that night. He lost his mother, his sister, his home—everything! And I want to make it better, but I can't. I don't know how."

Tony pulled her slim form closer to him and let her cry it out. The thing was—he wanted to make it better, too. And, in spite of all his snark and confidence, he didn't know how to, either.

Tony had a feeling that he and Pepper were never going to be what Harley needed and deserved, and few things were scarier than that.

Oh, and bonus points to anyone who picks up on the not-so-subtle reference to the Iron Man 3 Easter egg scene!