Chapter 16

It was early morning and Pepper was in a state of half-sleep. In fact, she was so tired that she could barely hold herself upright in the chair, but she did not allow herself to give in to exhaustion. Her stomach was only one cramped lump. She hadn't been able to eat anything since Tony had been brought in. Which was about twenty-four hours now. Gradually she reached her limits.

Then she saw a nurse striding down the floor toward her. She couldn't tell anything from her expression. Was she coming to signal the all-clear? Or to tell her it was over, that there was nothing more they could do?

"So you're still here," she said with a smile. "Mr. Stark's condition has stabilized. We think he's going to pull through."

"Thank God..." Pepper exhaled, fear giving way to a sense of deep relief.

"Now it remains to be seen what damage the substances may have done to his brain. But all in good time. We have to be patient."

Pepper nodded and wiped a strand of hair off her face. She didn't want to know what state her own physical appearance was in by now.

"You can see him if you want. He's still asleep, but I suppose since you've been waiting here so long..."

"Yes. Thank you."

The nurse led Pepper to the ICU and into Tony's room and then left her alone with one last friendly look. With an anxious gaze at the noisy equipment beside his bed, she stepped closer and then lowered herself into a chair beside him.

Again, she saw Tony so vulnerable. Again, he was pale as a sheet and had only narrowly escaped death. It was a creepy picture. The tube down his throat, the machine next to it doing the breathing for him. The IV on his hand that was connected to a drip. The electrodes on his chest next to the glowing reactor.

But he was alive. And for now, that was all that mattered.

Tony felt the touch. Someone was squeezing his hand. It felt good. Familiar. He kept his eyes closed. Maybe he didn't like what he was about to see. He didn't know why, but on some impulse, he wondered if he even deserved to have someone sitting here at his bedside holding his hand.

For a few minutes he just enjoyed the touch, it soothed him. Then he decided to open his eyes after all. He wanted to see Pepper. He knew it was her.

Everything was still a little blurry, but he recognized Pepper's face, which looked very tired. A smile flashed at him that he would have liked to return, but he was too exhausted. What he had seen was enough anyway. He had wanted to make sure. Pepper was here with him. Everything was all right.

Pepper watched Tony's eyes fell shut again. But he was alive! He had been awake! He was going to be okay!

And with that assurance, she stepped out into the hallway to give Rhodey and Happy a quick call. Full of newfound confidence, she then went down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. Her stomach was already half in knots, she hadn't had anything to eat in so long. After that, she would head to the hotel and finally catch up on some sleep before coming back. Now that she knew he was alive - that he was surviving - she could finally do something for herself. And that, first of all, was simply to satisfy the most basic needs.

When Tony woke up again, he felt a little better. So well that he could keep his eyes open. The room he was lying in was white, clean, and bright. At first, he didn't realize where he was. Then he registered the nasal oxygen cannula in his face. Oh no. Hospital. Definitely. Not good. Not good at all.

Tony's brain rattled up and down, desperately searching for the memory that explained why he was here in a hospital bed. Which, as he already thought, was not good. Not good at all. But he just couldn't remember.

Tony felt panic, the uncertainty due to the lack of memory left him completely scared and confused. Suddenly the room was too white, too clean, and too bright. Tony Stark hated hospitals. He hated everything about them.

This really wasn't good. So not good at all. Catastrophic.

Again, the beeping next to him could be heard faster, it had been following him for what seemed like a while now. That must have been his telltale racing heart rate then.

The door opened briskly. A doctor in a long white coat, followed by a nurse, entered.

"Ah. Glad to see you awake, Mr. Stark."

Tony winced at these words, although he had seen the two enter.

"I'm Dr. Stanford, your attending physician here in the ICU," he said pleasantly.

"I-intensive care?" Tony asked croakily. His throat was burning, and he sounded hoarse.

"You were intubated, your throat might be irritated for a while," the doctor explained, now standing next to Tony, and looking at the monitors with raised eybrows. "I can see and hear that you are very agitated," he then commented, and turned off that annoying beeping with the push of a button.

"N-no, not at all," Tony said hoarsely, trying to hide his shaking hands under the covers but got stuck with the cannula in his hand, and winced again.

Dr. Stanford exchanged a quick glance with the nurse, then read something off the monitors. "Your vitals are much better. How are you feeling?"

"Good," Tony said, shifting restlessly back and forth in bed. "N-no, not good to be honest. W-why am I here? What happened?"

"Not having any memories is not unusual in this case," the doctor explained, then looked at Tony seriously. "Well, you were rushed into ER at 5.58am on Saturday morning. You suffered from alcohol intoxication and cocaine overdose; your blood alcohol level was .42%. Your condition was critical and you arrived here just in time. While we were administering first measures intravenously, you went into respiratory arrest, which is why we had to intubate. That was a close call, Mr. Stark."

Tony couldn't even comprehend the words at first. .42% blood alcohol level. Alcohol intoxication. Cocaine overdose. Respiratory arrest. What?!

"Alcohol and cocaine are a very bad combination. The substances have a dehydrating effect, thus depriving the body of water, while the cardiovascular system, however, is revved up by the activating effects of the substances. As a result, you were quite overheated, had a very high blood pressure and pulse, and eventually passed out. The quantity of your consumption did the rest, of course. This is how respiratory arrest came about. The oxygen cannula you have in your nose will help you breathe for a while longer..."

Tony nodded absentmindedly, trying to absorb and process the information.

"Your condition is stable now, however, we will keep you here for a few more days for monitoring. Now that you are awake, I will arrange for two of my residents to check you over."

Gradually, images started to appear in Tony's mind about the charity event, and the whole thing began to make more and more sense. Tony was more than just shocked by himself. He had definitely taken it too far. He had lost control. Completely.

"Mr. Stark?" the doctor asked, glancing at the monitor with concern. "Your heart rate is 170 right now. I know this must be frightening, but please try to calm down a bit."

Easier said than done. If Tony had known how to do that, he would have finally found a secret cure for his panic attacks. God, he hated doctors.

"W-wait, you said Saturday morning... does that mean... what does that mean? What day is it now?"

Tony's panic increased even more. This was an even greater loss of control than he had first thought. Dr. Stanford glanced at his wristwatch.

"Almost 4 p.m.," he then said. "Monday."

Monday. He had been knocked out for more than two days. Tony straightened up in his bed. He couldn't stand it another second. He had to get out of here.

"Don't even think about it," the doctor admonished him as he tried to get up.

There was no need to physically stop Tony. He was still far too weak. The room was spinning. It was all too much.

"Now take a deep breath. I know this is a lot to digest," the doctor said.

He again read some data off the monitors and gave Tony a chance to get himself together. The nurse smiled at Tony friendly and reassuring, and he decided to hate her, too.

"I'm afraid there are a few things that need to be talked about now, Mr. Stark," Dr. Stanford then said, his tone becoming even more serious. "A case like yours obliges us to ask you this. Umm… Did you drink that much and overdose on a suicidal impulse? Or are you currently having suicidal thoughts?"

Tony was stunned. "What? No!"

Dr. Stanford noted something and nodded. "I'm still going to arrange for you to speak to a psychiatrist. He will decide about the next steps after the ICU."

Tony stared at the doctor, uncomprehending. "The next steps?"

"Yes. A psychiatrist will determine whether psychiatric inpatient therapy may need to be initiated."

Tony was still far from fully up to speed, but after a short moment of silence, he realized. "You've got to be kidding me! I don't want to – I don't need to - there's no way I'm going to talk to a shrink. I'm not suicidal, and I wasn't trying to kill myself! I just... lost control."

Dr. Stanford smiled mildly. "Look, I'm not implying anything. But it is my duty to check what kind of mental state you are in and to make sure you get the treatment you need. I am responsible for you and therefore cannot take any risks. Nor would I want to, for that matter."

He paused briefly, giving Tony the opportunity to glare angrily at him.

"You have nothing to be afraid of. It may not have been your intention. But the very fact that you were willing to take such a big risk... I think you understand my position?"

Tony didn't know what to say. Yes, he understood his position, but there was absolutely no way he was in need of psychiatric help. He was fucking Tony Stark.

"I'm fine," Tony said in a desperate and pitiful attempt to somehow get out of this.

"Without a doubt," Dr. Stanford replied dryly, then looked at his clipboard, frowning. "Your liver enzymes are increased."

Tony didn't respond.

"Do you have a drinking problem?"

"No. I have a problem with being surrounded by stupid people. It makes my brain melt."

Dr. Stanford sighed, noted something else, then looked at Tony. "You've been lucky. Very lucky."

"I know," Tony said, "I don't want to seem ungrateful. I, um, I just don't like hospitals very much."

At that moment, the door opened, and Pepper walked in. The dark clouds in Tony's mind gave way to the first rays of sunshine. He was so glad to see Pepper.

"Tony!" she called in a high-pitched voice, smiling broadly at him. "You're awake!"

"A visitor. Good," Dr. Stanford said, glancing at Pepper. "I'll check back on you for evening rounds. Get some rest."

Dr. Stanford and the nurse left. Pepper stood indecisively in the room; her expression having hardened abruptly. Then she approached and sat down in a chair beside his bed. They both remained silent, avoiding to look each other in the eye. Tony suspected they were both waiting for the other to make the first move. The tension was heavy. Tony glanced nervously at Pepper, then cleared his throat.

"Pepper, I'm... I'm really sorry," Tony then finally spoke up.

Pepper gave a short snort and then looked up. "You're sorry? What for, exactly?"

"Um," Tony made uncertainly. "All of this? I crossed a line... I didn't mean to -"

"Really? You didn't mean to do this?"

"Of course, I didn't! This wasn't supposed to happen."

"Oh, this wasn't supposed to happen. What exactly wasn't supposed to happen? You going to this charity event in a completely miserable, overtired condition? You getting drunk even though I asked you to stop? You then yelling at me, claiming that you were fine and that I should leave you alone – or fuck off, to be precise? You getting hospitalized? Or being me who found you on that floor and watched you nearly die? Any of it? Or all of it? So you say, you didn't mean for that to happen. Are you sure?"

Pepper took a deep breath as Tony stared at her in surprise.

"Because I think you did want this to happen," she said slowly.

"Pepper..."

Her eyes reddened and tears began to stream down her cheeks. Tony struggled to sit up straighter in bed and watched as Pepper looked at him disappointed and anxious.

"Pepper," Tony began again, reaching out to her. "I'm so so sorry..."

Pepper grabbed his hand, more tears dripping into her lap. Finally, a quiet sob came out of her mouth.

"Please believe me, I don't know what got into me. You're right, I wasn't feeling well that night and I should have listened to you. I should have gone upstairs with you to our hotel rooms. I was frustrated... I was stressed... I... I'm sorry." Tony didn't even know if this was the truth. Had he not indeed provoked all of this to happen? Had he really not realized what he was doing while he was doing it? He wasn't sure, and he couldn't remember.

"Tony," Pepper said seriously, wiping her cheeks with her free hand. "This can't go on like this. There's something very wrong, something seems to be affecting you a lot. And I have a feeling it's getting worse. I'm scared."

"You don't have to be scared -"

"I can tell you're not feeling well. For quite a while now," Pepper continued, unperturbed. "Tony, please. You've got to do something. Something has to change. You drank so much alcohol lately, you need to stop this. And cocaine? Tony, cocaine?!"

"Yeah, that was… not good. But don't worry so much about me," Tony said, barely able to stand watching Pepper cry over him. "I know it's gotten out of hand, but..."

"But? But?! You almost died!" Pepper now yelled visibly desparate. "Are you seriously trying to understate that? This is serious! So please take it that way, I'm not saying this in jest, and I'm not saying this to piss you off either! I was so scared. I thought you were going to die! You nearly did! Don't you care about that?"

"I do care," Tony said upset, trying to stand her gaze. "And I'm sorry for what I put you through. That's exactly why you and I... why we can't..."

Pepper's mouth dropped open. Tony couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Damn it, why couldn't he just say it?

"Pep, please forgive me… I'll take better care of myself from now on. I promise."

Pepper still looked at him angrily, but then she nodded, barely noticeable. If it was up to her, this conversation was obviously far from over, but Tony didn't want to talk about it now. He was in a hospital and that meant only one thing.

"Pepper, can you get me discharged faster? They want me to talk to a psychiatrist first."

"Does this surprise you?" Pepper asked quietly. "And no, I can't. I don't want to. I want you to get better."

Tony averted his eyes from her. He could understand Pepper, but he could also understand himself. He wanted to get out of here, he wanted to go home, he didn't want to talk to anyone about how he was doing.

"I'm sure it won't hurt you to talk to the psychiatrist," Pepper added.

"The only person I would talk to would be you." The words came out of his mouth as if of their own accord, and he was as surprised by them as his assistant was.

"You... you can tell me anything, Tony. Whatever it is..." she formulated timidly.

No. He. Just. Didn't. Want. To. Talk. About. It. He didn't want to let those memories become fresh again. Tony felt the familiar fear rising inside him. He stared at the ceiling. Was it possibly the time to confess everything to her? Should he tell her about the nightmares, about the gruesome details he had to see again and again? About the panic attacks that came over him at the most inopportune moments? About the constant fear that the Ten Rings would strike again, that they might even capture and torture him again; or worse, that they would harm her, Rhodey, or the others around him? Should he tell her about the guilt that weighed on him like a ton because he couldn't protect anyone? About the pressure that came along with having the responsibility of being Iron Man? About the unbridled hatred and anger he felt for Obadiah, who had betrayed him? Was he supposed to tell her about it now?

Pepper's hand closed tightly around his and the spot tingled as if it was on fire. He felt so attached to this woman. She was the best thing in his life, she deserved to know the truth. But it was so hard. He felt like he needed her. And he couldn't stand this.

"Do you think I wanted to kill myself?" he asked softly, still staring at the ceiling.

Silence. Tony held his breath.

"You just told me you didn't want to, and I believe you, Tony. I trust you."

Smiling, he closed his eyes as a warm, comfortable feeling spread through his body. Pepper trusted him.

Tony wanted to tell her. Tell her what she meant to him, how he felt about her. There was silence for a long moment, then Tony opened his eyes again and looked at her. A hint of pink appeared on her cheeks as he squeezed her hand tighter.

"Pepper," Tony began, his heart pounding up to his throat. "I... I want to say... I, um, I -"

Why was it so hard to say a bunch of words? I kinda like you. Come on! Just say it! I. Like. You. Very simple. You mean a lot to me. Thank you for sitting here at my hospital bed. Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for caring about me. I needed you and you were there, you saved me.

Pepper's mouth opened slightly, and she went wide-eyed. He could tell her now. He had narrowly escaped death, what was he waiting for? The mood was almost eclectically charged.

The door slammed open - a nurse rushed in, then paused.

"Damn! Wrong room! Sorry!"

Quickly, she hurried on.

But the moment was over. Tony's courage faded away. He noticed that Pepper had withdrawn her hand. She cleared her throat loudly.

"Uh, what did you want to tell me?"

"Oh... it can wait."

"Uh, okay."

Pepper looked at him expectantly for a moment, then slowly stood up, her eyes still on him.

"I'm going to get myself a coffee," she said, looking at him indecisively. "...Right?"

Tony stared at Pepper as well. No, don't get a coffee, stay with me. I need you here. Please stay.

"Sure..." Tony replied, trying to smile. "Um, sure. Go get yourself some coffee. It's not like I'm running away."

Looking disappointed after Pepper, Tony sank back into his pillows. Sadness was the only thing left when the door closed behind her.