Chapter 22

Pepper was still wondering what Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. were discussing. For the umpteenth time she explained to Rhodey, who by now was just rolling his eyes in annoyance, that it could only be about the terrorist thing.

And suddenly Romanoff rushed past them. Without a word, she disappeared, her face flushed with anger. Pepper looked questioningly at Rhodey, but he shook his head in perplexity. Only minutes later, Coulson and Fury appeared, saying their polite goodbyes and not being in quite as much of a hurry as the agent.

Pepper watched Rhodey picking up Tony's cup of coffee and smelling it with it a weird expression. Just when she was about to ask him about it, Tony showed up. She had rarely seen such an angry expression on his face. He was a little sweaty, had a slightly red head, and looked like a volcano about to explode.

"What did they want?" Pepper asked.

Despite her impatience, she tried to control herself and not push him, fearing that she might actually cause the volcano to explode. It took Tony a moment before he was able to speak. Then he told them what just had happened. Pepper could read every single slight on his face. They didn't think he was ready, not capable. Indirectly, they were denying him the ability to be Iron Man. Actually, Pepper felt the need to be upset with Tony, to stand in solidarity with him and rail against the "evil" S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Because it would have been a lie. Secretly, she thought the same way.

"And then Natasha wrote in her fucking report that I have PTSD!" Tony shouted angrily.

"Hm. What made her think that?" Rhodey asked gently.

Tony stared at him, opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he looked away, silent for the first time after his rant. Pepper tensed, thinking about what Romanoff had told her the last time she'd been here. The torture in Afghanistan…

"Tony..." she said cautiously as a result. "What did she put in the report? Why does she think you have PTSD?"

"Tony, come on. Talk to us," Rhodey said.

As if in slow motion, Tony turned back to them, and Pepper could see how much effort it took him to say anything. "She wrote that I have panic attacks. And flashbacks. And nightmares. Insomnia. And some dissociative bullshit."

"And do you -?" began Pepper quietly.

Tony looked her straight in the eye. His anger instantly seemed to fade. Suddenly he seemed fragile. "I… am okay."

"We both know that's not true."

"Fine, I'm fucked up. I'm a mess. At the end of my rope. Is that what you want me to say?"

Pepper sighed, but it was Rhodey who answered. "We don't want you to say anything, Tony. We want to be there for you."

"I didn't ask you to be."

"True. You should, though."

Tony stood up, swaying a bit. Pepper noticed this with a mixture of pity and annoyance. So, he'd been drinking again. She hadn't even noticed. Or rather he didn't let her see it. But now he apparently wasn't going to hide it, because he grabbed a bottle of gin from the bar.

"I've got to go. Endure a few more panic attacks and recover from the nightmares," he said with a sarcastic undertone and a pitiful attempt to make light of everything.

"Tony..." Rhodey groaned. "Please wait for a moment."

Pepper got in his way and took the bottle from his hand. "You leave that here," she said sternly.

"I most certainly will not," Tony said, and gently retrieved the bottle.

Then he disappeared into the workshop. Pepper looked after him, feeling absolutely helpless.

Tony was blotto. He had spent the rest of the day in the workshop drinking gin until the disappointment had reached a tolerable level. Still in a bad mood, he sat in a chair at his desk and screwed on his Iron Man glove. He had no idea why he was even doing it. Natasha had been right; he hadn't worn his armor in months. So why bother to try improving it?

The television in the background was on, and apparently the news were just sending a short report on Stark Industries. Tony didn't listen, he didn't want to know what nastiness the press had come up with now.

Tony felt impulsive and destructive. His anger still hadn't subsided. How could these suits and eye-patch fanatics presume to decide what he could do and could not do? So he would look for the Ten Rings on his own. He would destroy them. Soon. Pretty soon. Maybe soon...

Tony caught sight of his own face on the television.

…rumor that in the next few days an employee of Stark Industries will meet with star architect Joe Ramirez in New York. The meeting is supposed to be about the construction of a huge tower. But what direction will Stark Industries take? In two weeks, a press conference is scheduled to present the new concept…

Tony put on the glove to test if it functioned. It did.

…but what else can we expect from Tony Stark? He hasn't been seen in public for months, he didn't give any interviews and he didn't appear as Iron Man anymore. Some critics accuse the billionaire of having invented the armor only for prestige. In their view, Stark doesn't care about peace, but merely about getting good publicity. With his company in the red for months, that should come as no surprise…

Tony charged the repulsor on his hand and then fired at the TV, which blew up with a loud crash. He was sick of it. He was so sick of everything. Cursing loudly, he got up and held onto the desk, swaying considerably by now. Then he fired at one of his expensive cars. Then at his desk. At the wall. Tony stumbled through the workshop, firing indiscriminately at objects. Glass splinters and shards of metal flew through the air. All frustration was released. Stumbling, he came to a stop in front of the Mark II armor. A strange emotion spread through him. He had the feeling of looking into a mirror. Tony Stark. Iron Man. One and the same person. A hard outer shell, difficult to get through - and nothing but emptiness inside. Tony slowly raised his hand, then fired at the Mark II armor. The force of the energy blast rebounding off the armor caught him completely off guard. Tony was knocked over backwards, skidded across the floor, and then stopped. His back ached and he was momentarily out of breath.

"Yeah… Good idea," Tony muttered to himself, then slowly straightened up.

His eyes roamed around the workshop. Everything was in shambles. Everything lay in ruins.

It was very loud in the club. Tony pushed his way through the crowd back to the dance floor.

"For you," he then said to the black-haired girl in front of him.

"Thanks, Tony," she replied with a smile, accepting the cocktail Tony had procured.

Olivia, he had learned earlier, was the model on the latest cover of Vanity Fair. She was indeed downright pretty. The good thing, moreover, was that Olivia was also a law student, which meant that not only was she nice to look at, no, you could even have an actual conversation with her. A rare combination, Tony thought. He toasted her and drained the cocktail. When he threw his head back in the process, he had to be held up by Olivia because he lost his balance.

"Oops," Olivia said grinning.

Tony glanced down at her hand on his arm. The touch felt good, as far as he could tell. Maybe other things did as well. Tony leaned over and kissed Olivia on the mouth. Then he paused and watched her reaction. She seemed perplexed, but not averse. Of course not, what other reason could there have been tonight for the pretty model to get involved with Tony Stark, who was a good twenty years older and obviously drunk off his ass. Either sex or a photo on the red carpet. Most of the time it was both.

Olivia was leaning against him now and Tony felt her smell his neck and then kiss him there. The two began to move a little to the rhythm of the music. Tony closed his eyes and enjoyed the touch. He felt a slight arousal beginning to set in, and Olivia probably felt it too. She broke away from him, only to smile seductively at him and kiss him impetuously. Not for the first time Tony sensed that all it took was enough alcohol to make him not give a single shit. What did he care about Stark Industries, what did he care about any terrorists, what did he care about Pepper? Nothing mattered.

Tony grabbed Olivia's hand and pulled her along with him. The dancing crowd reluctantly made way. The constant change of light and dark in the club was already throwing Tony off balance again, so Olivia quickly caught up to his side, then put her arm around his waist to support him a bit.

"This is the ladies' room!" Olivia exclaimed with feigned indignation, as Tony pushed open a door with his foot and slid inside.

"What are you doing?" she then added with a laugh as he grabbed her hand again and pulled her into one of the restroom stalls.

Tony stumbled against the wall ungently at first before locking the stall and starting to kiss Olivia again. The music was so loud in here as well that Tony didn't know if the other stalls were occupied. Not that he cared if anyone was listening.

"Tony, wait," Olivia said, but she made no effort to stop him from doing anything.

And by then there was no turning back anyway. Tony grabbed Olivia's boobs and she moaned briefly. Then he suddenly felt her hand on his pants and grinned over a kiss. He was already hard, which Olivia noted with a giggle. She stroked his pants while Tony continued to knead her breast. Then he pushed Olivia hard against the wall and pressed himself against her, panting. He just wanted sex. Quick sex, without consequences or strings.

But at that very moment, Tony felt his stomach lurch. Just in time, he broke away from the kiss with Olivia to bent over the open toilet before throwing up. He involuntarily got rid of some of the alcohol he'd been feeding himself with such staying power for the last few hours.

"Oh," Olivia simply made, holding Tony with both arms in front of the toilet to keep him from falling over.

"Fuck," Tony gasped afterwards, wiping his mouth.

Then Olivia couldn't hold him any longer and he toppled against the wall but managed to stay on his feet.

"Oh no, do you want me to take you home?" Olivia asked, genuinely concerned, while she absent-mindedly flushed the toilet.

"I'm fine," Tony replied. "Shit, now that was unsexy."

Tony laughed over the embarrassment and Olivia smiled briefly too, but the concern in her gaze hadn't disappeared.

"How long did you say you've been partying here at the club now?" she asked worried.

"Little more than two days. Who cares?"

"Do you want me to call someone for you?" she asked again.

"No, I'm fine."

Olivia didn't seem convinced. Tony realized how much this was bugging him. He didn't want to be pitied by the twenty-one-year-old college student. And he could probably forget about the sex, too.

"All right, just go," Tony said bitterly as a result.

"What?" Olivia asked, completely irritated.

"Get out."

"Why? I just -"

Olivia fell silent, looked mercifully into Tony's eyes, and then muttered a weak, "Take care of yourself, okay?" before unlocking the door and walking out.

For a moment, he regretted sending her away. She seemed to be really nice. Tony sighed deeply, tucked his shirt neatly back into his pants, and decided to go back to the bar. He needed to refill himself with the drinks that had just landed so wastefully in the toilet.

As Tony staggered outside, he fretted about his stomach. Couldn't it have waited a little longer? On the other hand, who cared? There were plenty of other women around. Tony walked to the bar and sat down on a free stool.

"A Cuba Libre, please," he ordered.

"Coming right up," one of the bartenders said.

While he was waiting, Tony looked around the club. People were dancing, laughing, drinking, kissing. The movements could only be seen in a choppy way because the light was so flickering. Like snapshots. Each picture told a different story. Tony thought bitterly how little this touched him. He just fucking didn't care. He felt somehow cut off from all the others. Like the connection to the whole world had been cut. It made him feel lonely. Abandoned. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. had left him behind. Well, almost. His agent-bodyguards were loitering around, too. For more than two days, he thought, and chuckled briefly in amusement about that.

Tony registered that dark thoughts were popping up in every quiet moment, so where was his damn drink? The last few weeks had been rough. The panic was getting worse. Did he really have PTSD? Pepper became increasingly withdrawn. Which was a product of his own behavior. He had gotten Natasha in trouble, and she was now gone, too. He kept Rhodey at a distance, and he didn't even know why. And Fury and Coulson had humiliated him. He would find these terrorists even without S.H.I.E.L.D. How absurd that thought felt in this exact location. He was sitting here in the club, partying, when he should have been working on his armor, training his body, and getting some sleep.

"Your Cuba Libre, Sir," the bartender finally said, setting the cocktail down for him.

"Jesus, that took some time. Have you been to Cuba to get one?"

"Sorry, Sir," the barman apologized politely.

Tony turned back around and just watched the people. He brought the glass to his lips, only to find that it was already empty. Tony ordered another drink, another, another, and then another. Until he couldn't see straight. And then he ordered another drink. Until his stomach began to complain again, but Tony pretended not to notice. And then he ordered another drink. Until he couldn't sit on that bar stool anymore without holding tightly onto the counter. And then he ordered another drink. But the bartender wouldn't give him another. Asshole.

I need another drink, he thought just as he fell off his stool. He lay there for about a minute until someone helped him up. Some guy was talking to him, but Tony wasn't listening.

"Thank you," Tony said loudly to shut him up, and then tried to walk along the bar to find another bartender. Surprisingly it worked. Then he ordered another drink.

Just one more, he thought. Just one more and then I'll stop.

Tony felt nauseous and insanely dizzy, but once again he didn't care. He almost felt like he's in New York again. As if he was somehow provoking to let something like that happen again. But also, if he just had to push himself further and further, to the absolute limit - or beyond.

Stark, you're out of control, he heard Fury once again in his head. No, this was exactly what it felt like being in control. Navigating his emotions with drinks. This was control. The only control he had left.

Just one more.

Tony wanted nothing more than not to feel that deep, lingering pain that had settled inside him like a parasite. The familiar twinge that nagged him constantly to remind him of what had happened in that cave about a year ago. The pain of losing his parents too soon, of being tortured, and of Obadiah's betrayal. That pain was a reminder of reality. The numbing that alcohol brought felt good while it was there, but it was not reality. Reality was dealing with the pain, dealing with the betrayal. So, reality had to be suppressed. Tony downed another drink.

Just this one, then it's enough. This time for real.

When Tony walked out of the club, it was dark and heavily raining. It was time to get home and get some sleep. He'd probably black out immediately when he'd lie down. Holy shit, he felt like he had drunken the whole bar. But there he was, somehow still on his feet. So how bad could it be?

He passed a younger man smoking in the shelter of a balcony above him.

"Hey, wait!" the smoking guy called for him. "You ain't Tony Stark, are you?"

Tony waved it off, not wanting to get involved into a conversation, but the man grabbed his shoulder to stop him from walking further. It was just a second he was seeing that water trough in front of him and feeling the tight grips on his shoulders before the picture disappeared again. But it was enough to make Tony jump and whirl around.

"Back off!" he shouted.

"Man, sorry. I didn't wanna scare you," the man told him apologetically. "But it is you, right?"

Tony stared into the young guy's face for what felt like a decade. And then Tony punched him in the face. Not with much force. Not to hurt him. Just for one purpose…

"What the –" the guy screamed furious, holding his cheek with one hand. "Are you out of your mind?!"

Tony closed his eyes and waited. He didn't raise his hands to protect himself, nor did he bother to watch what was coming next. He just waited. And then it came. Tony took a hard punch in the face. Followed by one more to his forehead. The blows were powerful enough to knock him off his feet. He felt the wet and cold ground on his back as he came down hard. Tony opened his eyes just in time to see the man bending over him and giving him the next blow. Flashes of light flared in his field of vision and Tony felt the skin above his left eye split open.

"Hey, stop it! Get off!", Tony heard someone yell.

He only had to take one more hit before the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents yanked the guy off him. A brief scuffle ensued.

If his head hadn't hurt so much, a laugh would have almost escaped Tony's lip. He got up, momentarily losing his balance and falling back against the wall of a house. God, his head hurt really bad. He was feeling dizzy and nauseated, not sure if from the punch or from the alcohol. Giving in, he remained sitting down on the street, letting the heavy rain flow over him. He leaned his head back against the wall, his vision flickering. Life sucked. He could feel the dark and oppressing weight of his inner pain still clouding his vision and crushing his chest. But now the outer pain limited this feeling a bit.

Blood from the cut ran into his eye and made his sight turn red. Tony did not try to wipe it away. He just sat there until one of the agents crouched down in front of him. Tony blinked a few times. He looked at the agent, as if this was the first time he had noticed him.

"Almost a year. And I don't even know your name," Tony mumbled barely understandable.

"What?" the agent asked.

"You are always with me. For almost a year now. And I never asked for your name." Because I'm an asshole. A huge one.

The agent looked at him for a while. "It's Shaw", he then responded calmly. "Are you ok?"

Was he ok? Tony almost had to laugh again. Instead, he shook his head. No. He was not ok.

When the name Stark had appeared on Happy's cell phone display, he had immediately had a bad feeling. It had been very quiet the last few days. Five days ago, he had taken Pepper to the airport, and she had left for New York. That had been his last work assignment. Stark hadn't needed him for anything since then. As far as he could tell, Stark had hardly been home.

Actually, Happy had been waiting for Pepper's message this morning about whether he should pick her up at the airport. Now it was shortly after 10 a.m. and Happy was surprisingly on his way to Stark. Who was apparently in an emergency room. Happy had barely understood a word on the phone and finally had learned from a nurse which hospital Tony had crashed.

Normally, Happy wasn't worried when he got a call like this. Picking up his drunk boss somewhere. But normally it wasn't the hospital that called. Tony Stark usually was under the influence of alcohol just as capable of giving a lecture on complex quantum systems, nano magnetism, or mesoscopic superconductivity to a crowd of professors and research groups. He could literally work and party at the same time. The problem was rather that he had done nothing of the sort in recent months. No inventions, no contracts, no press appointments, no lectures or congresses. Just the drinking. And that was what worried Happy. Stark just didn't seem to be functioning anymore, and Happy had never seen this before. Tony also stayed away from the public and stopped bringing women home. Although the latter might have been because of Pepper. He wondered when the two idiots would manage to tell each other how they felt. Any blind person could see what was going on.

Happy sighed and steered the car into the destination street. He parked the car in the shade, as after the cloudburst a few hours ago the sun was now shining hot down on the streets. At least there were no paparazzi in sight.

Inside the ER Happy asked himself through to Tonys's treatment room. Then he caught sight of Stark, who was lying on a gurney with an IV needle in his arm and hiding behind sunglasses. He was wrapped up into a large towel, his shirt and jacket placed on a chair, obviously to dry. On his forehead a band aid was placed. Next to Tony two agents were standing, looking not very delighted.

"Boss," Happy said and approached Tony. "What happened? Why are you here?"

It was hard to make out what condition Stark was in behind his sunglasses. When he answered Happy, however, the mystery quickly cleared. Hammered. Happy hadn't understood a single word.

"Someone has beaten him," a nurse suddenly said, entering the room. "It's not that serious, though. He needed five stitches, but apart from that his head is ok."

"What? Who punched him?" Happy asked confused.

"Just some guy," one of the agents answered the question. "Outside a club."

The nurse removed the IV needle and applied pressure with a compress to the crook of Tony's arm.

"More worrisome is definitely something else. He was already halfway to alcohol poisoning when he came in. We put him on IV fluids and after he finished with the vomiting, we let him sleep for five hours before calling you. Also, his blood levels are abnormal. He should get a medical checkup soon. For now, though, you can take him home. He should get some more rest as he told us he hasn't been sleeping for three days."

"Uh, oh. Thank you," Happy said perplexed.

The nurse attached a band aid to Tony's arm and then helped him sit up.

"The forehead wound can be cooled if there occurs any pain. Did you hear me, Mr. Stark? You can go now, ok?" And with those words, she walked into the next treatment room.

Happy looked down at Stark. He had a very uneasy feeling but pushed it away for now. "You heard it, Boss. You can leave."

He grabbed Stark by the hips and helped him stand up. Tony muttered something that Happy interpreted as an "I can walk on my own", but Happy didn't trust those words as Tony seemed to be still wasted. The agents followed the two silently.

A short time later, they were back at the property. The agents got out right behind them and one of them made a phone call while resuming his post at the gate. The other watched impassively as Happy struggled to get Stark out of the car and then drag him into the house before turning away as well.

"Happy, there you are! I've been trying to call you. I thought you were going to pick me up at the airport in case I... oh."

Pepper stood just a few feet away of them. She looked a little worn out. And now angry as well.

"Aaaaand here comes the Pepper-you-always-do-everything-wrong-Potts face," Tony immediately shouted and applauded.

It didn't help that Tony also started laughing hard at that moment, swaying so heavily that Happy was almost pulled to the ground with him. The two of them slammed into the wall unsteadily before Happy could support Tony properly again. Pepper seemed to take a running start to vent her anger, but Happy shook his head vigorously. What was the point in his condition?

Pepper watched Happy dragging his boss up the stairs to his bedroom. She was so angry she began to shake. Was this all Tony was capable of doing anymore? Getting drunk? When had it actually gotten this bad? She kneaded her hands, not knowing where to canalize her anger. But there was also fear hiding behind her anger. Tony had a drinking problem, plain as day. It had been coming on for months. And he was obviously already deeper in this than she had thought.

When Happy came back down the stairs just a minute later he greeted Pepper with a nod.

"He is sleeping for now," he said, still panting from the exertion. "I'm sorry I didn't answer the phone. I honestly didn't notice."

"Whatever," Pepper said, exasperated. "I got a taxi. Besides, I don't think he would have made it home without you."

"Looks that way."

Happy was acting strangely reticent. "How... um... how did it go?" he asked. "In New York?"

"What's been going on here all week?" Pepper asked, without answering.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Happy, please. Wrong time for loyalty."

Happy spoke to his shoes as he answered. "He's been out all week, I think he's been hanging out in clubs and bars most of the time."

"And his face? What happened?"

"He apparently got into a fight. He needed some stitches. I picked him up from the ER."

Pepper frowned with mounting anxiety. Where was this heading at? "I want you to tell me what happened all this week. And then we need to talk to him."

Happy scratched his head. "Well... I think you've got the better chances there..."

Pepper turned away, exasperated. Great, Happy would chicken out. She herself had been shirking for too long.

I hope this is still interesting for you. The first chapters were more about action. More happened in general. The last chapters are all a bit "calmer" and focus more on psychological aspects and Tony's emotions. I am not sure about this, though. But we're heading towards the absolute rock bottom now. I just hope you guys are still enjoying the story.