Hey guys, this will be the last update before Christmas. Unfortunately I got Covid so I guess I can't see my family this year which is very sad. But I wish you all Happy Holidays and a great time! I'll be back before New Year with the next chapter, see you then!

Chapter 26

Pepper tied a knot in the bandage. She sat on the living room table in front of Tony, who had settled on the couch. He still looked very damaged but had calmed down a bit. Pepper checked the bandage she had wrapped around Tony's hand. The cut had stopped bleeding some longer time ago, but it was still in an awkward place in the palm of his hand, and it certainly wasn't wrong to bandage it. And it gave her the feeling that she could do something useful.

"Is it too tight?" she asked.

"Huh?" Tony made, looking at her uncomprehendingly.

"The bandage. Too tight?"

"Oh. Eh, no," Tony replied, "Thank you."

He seemed totally embarrassed and cleared his throat multiple times. Earlier Pepper had honestly been shocked by his outburst. Never had she seen him like this. Now she didn't feel like going away. Now she felt more like she couldn't leave anymore.

"So, this was one of your panic attacks, huh?" she asked cautiously.

Tony avoided her eyes and nodded slightly. Pepper wondered how he had managed to keep most of it from her. Pepper didn't ask more about it because he seemed so uncomfortable. She suddenly realized she was still holding his hand and therefore let go perhaps a little too abruptly, causing Tony to look at her in surprise.

"Look," Pepper said timidly. "Maybe we should talk about where we go from here."

"Mm. Yes." Tony was equally hesitant. He looked so fragile Pepper feared she could break him with every wrong word she chose.

"You said you want my help," Pepper said slowly. "The only thing I can do for you is to help you stop drinking." Now there was even more fear on his face. "Tony, there's nothing else that's more important right now."

"By stop drinking you mean completely?"

"Of course."

Once again, doubt arose in Pepper's mind. Was this not what Tony wanted? Wasn't this what Tony had meant when he had asked her for help?

"You do wanna stop, don't you?" she asked as a result.

Tony was now avoiding her gaze again.

"Tony?"

"I don't know if I can..."

Pepper stood up and inwardly took a deep breath. "Ok, let's be serious here. There are only two options. Either you keep drinking, in that case there's nothing I can do for you - and I'll leave. Or you stop and together we'll think about how to do that. But you have to want it. You have to decide."

"Pepper, I feel like crap… I can't do this now..."

"You have to do this now. I'm asking you to take a stand. Make a decision."

Now Tony stood up as well, staring angrily at her. But Pepper didn't care. Let him get angry. All that mattered to her was which path he would choose.

"You don't understand!" Tony yelled, and Pepper had almost expected him to say this.

"Yes, I do! I perfectly understand!" she shouted back just as loudly. "You've been through a horrible time there in Afghanistan. It's perfectly normal and understandable that you got mentally ill over it. I can even understand that you desperately tried control yourself with alcohol. But now there must be another way."

"But there isn't another way! Nothing else ever helped! Nothing! I didn't have a choice, Pepper!"

"That's not true! No one made you drink that much. You didn't have to do anything. You chose to do so! And that's okay, Tony. I get it. I really do. But the first step is to realize that you are responsible for what you did and still do. You drink because it helps you control your emotions. It's a choice you made and still make - every time you reach for the bottle. You drink because you choose to drink!"

"No! I don't want any of this!"

"Then why are you doing it? Then why don't you stop?"

"I'm doing it because I don't know how else to suppress the panic and the… the flashbacks. I couldn't take it anymore, Pepper! Every fucking day I had these panic attacks! The nightmares, the insomnia! I see these images in front of me and it's like I'm there again. I couldn't stand it anymore! I thought I was going crazy! I don't do this because I want to. I'm doing it because I need to!"

"It's what you think you need!"

Tony cried out in frustration and moved a few feet away from her. But he did not run away. He was still here. He was finally speaking out what he was thinking. Finally, he faced the argument.

"I heard you, Tony, I understand you need the alcohol. And somehow you're right, because you're an addict," Pepper restarted. "But do you want to know what I need?"

Tony looked at her in surprise and slightly moved his head, which Pepper interpreted as a half nod.

"I need you. But I need you sober because you're not yourself anymore."

Tormented, Tony looked away again.

"Tony, I promise I will help you. With all your problems and symptoms. We'll deal with this together and find a way. But we can't do that if you drink yourself into a coma on a daily base. First you have to get this goddamn alcohol out of your system and be able to think clearly again. But I can't make this decision for you. I honestly believe you when you say you need alcohol and I believe you that you think you can't stop. But I also believe that you can make the decision to at least try. And that is what you have to want!"

There was a long pause in which no one spoke. In which no one even moved. Pepper was so tensed she barely dared to breathe.

"Okay..." Tony muttered.

"What?" Pepper asked irritated.

"Okay. I'll try," Tony said quietly.

Pepper froze and looked at him, speechless. This went faster than she thought. Maybe too fast. Did he know what he was saying? Did he know what it meant?

"Are you sure? Because if you're not, we can both save ourselves some trouble."

Tony was silent for a while and looking out the window while Pepper waited patiently. So much depended on his decision. She could feel everything trembling inside her. Torn between hoping and not allowing herself to get too hopeful, fearing the disappointment then would become too bad.

"Yes," Tony said after quite a few minutes of silence, speaking a little louder now. "I want to stop drinking. I'm going to stop."

"Absolutely sure?"

"Absolutely. All of this is... it's not... It is not as I have portrayed it. I've been kidding myself very long. That everything is under control if I'm just drunk enough. But at the same time, I threw my life away. I'm just drunk. All day long. Just drunk. And there is nothing else left," Tony said, his voice shaking. He seemed so broken. "And I… I asked you for help. So I guess, for once, I have to accept the help that is offered to me. And I have to accept it without questioning it, criticizing it, or pretending I know a better way… I lost everything, Pepper. Quitting can't be worse than living like this, can it?"

Pepper wasn't sure. She had no expert knowledge, but she knew that withdrawal was no fun. Not at all. But it was a first step in the right direction.

"Okay," Pepper said, unable to suppress a smile. "That sounds like a good start. And I'll support you, of course. There are... well, there are some good... rehab centers."

"Rehab centers?"

"…Well, yes. Rehab centers."

"No way!" Tony suddenly seemed as forceful and determined as he used to be. Almost a bit like the old Tony. "You know how I feel about hospitals, Pepper. They make me sick! It's out of the question."

"But Tony!" Pepper shouted. "Then how are you planning to go through withdrawal? Don't think it's going to be easy!"

"Of course it's not going to be easy... but I'm not going to let myself committed to rehab! I'm going to quit… I'll just quit."

"Just quit… How? Here? Alone?"

"Alone, if I have to." Tony looked her in the eye again. "Or with you," he then added, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"With me?" Pepper asked, irritated. "I'm not a doctor. I don't have any experience with this. You need professional help."

"No," Tony said firmly.

"It's too dangerous. There's a reason something like this is done as an inpatient. You don't even know what you're getting yourself into."

"I know exactly what I'm getting myself into. It's going to be intense, it's going to be rough... But people have been doing this quietly for themselves for ages. I can do it, too."

"Tony..."

"Pepper," Tony stared at her as angry as she did. "You of all people know how much I hate hospitals. I'd cancel the whole thing anyway. I'd feel worse there than I do here. I'm in a better place here."

He definitely had a point here. Tony had discharged himself from hospital early against medical advice before. He wouldn't go to a clinic, Pepper knew that very well.

"It's still too dangerous," Pepper said insistently. "You could hallucinate, you could have a seizure, go into delirium... You could die."

"That's not going to happen, I haven't been drinking those amounts for that long."

"You still don't know how bad it's going to be."

"I don't want anyone to know. What if it gets to the media? Iron Man in rehab. Come on, Pepper -"

"Then it'll get public. Your health is more important than Iron Man!"

"You wanted me to make a decision, and now I did. I stop, but I do it my way. Pepper, please... help me with this. It's hard enough as it is. I can't... I don't know if I'll be able to stop..." Again, his voice sounded vulnerable.

"You should be sure, though!" Pepper said sternly. "Tony, again! You've got to be sure to go through this! Not a single drop. Ever again."

Tony cleared his throat. He stared at a spot on the floor and Pepper watched him with an anxious feeling. Was he changing his mind now? Then he turned back to her.

"Yes. I know. I'm going to do this."

Pepper bit her lower lip. Actually, it was irresponsible to let him do this withdrawal at home. But she feared he would bail out if she told him now that she then wouldn't be available. He had asked for her help, and she absolutely wanted to help. Maybe she would ruin his whole plan if she said no now. Because this plan was standing on a house of cards, she knew that. And Tony would not go to rehab. She knew him well enough to realize she wouldn't be able to convince him of that.

Maybe it was doable? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad?

"Fine. Romanoff called me yesterday," Pepper finally said, sighing, "I'll support you. We'll do it here... But if you get too bad, I'll call her and ask for her help."

Tony thought for a moment, then nodded and smiled wanly. Pepper was relieved and scared at the same time. He would indeed stop drinking, but she didn't really know what she was getting into yet.

"Well then… I'm going home to get some clothes before this begins," she said.

Tony's smile disappeared. "Can't you send Happy?"

"Why?" she asked absentmindedly.

She followed Tony's gaze. To the bar. To all the bottles of alcohol.

"Ah… Let's... let's just get everything out of here before I leave. Jarvis, let Happy know we need some hands over here."

So Pepper, Tony and Happy spent the next three hours emptying the remarkable collection of liquor and the wine cellar, putting everything into boxes and placing them in the driveway, from where Happy loaded them into a small van. Tony looked a little pained but didn't say anything.

"Jarvis?" Pepper finally said, out of breath and wiping her sweaty brow. "Is that it? Another forgotten bottle somewhere?"

"That's all, Miss Potts," Jarvis answered promptly. "There is no more alcohol on the entire property. Which is the best news I've heard in months if I may say so."

"Good," Pepper said.

"Good…" Tony said, looking not good at all.

Pepper took Tony's hand and squeezed it very softly. "We're going to make it. Okay?"

"Good," Tony repeated monotonously.

"Is it okay if I go get a few things now? I'll be back here in three hours at the most."

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Tony watched Pepper's car leaving the property, then headed back into the house. He was feeling terrified, and not just of withdrawal. But also of what would happen if he stopped getting drunk all day. He was afraid of the feelings he then would no longer be able to suppress. Tony walked out onto the balcony and watched the sea for a while, then he looked down on his hands. They were already shaking violently. And this was all going to get much worse.

But it was the right decision, Tony knew. It was time to take responsibility and make a change. Things simply couldn't go on like this. In some corner of his brain, he thought he could almost feel a little relief at the thought of no longer having to drink bottle after bottle of hard liquor. One thing, of course, was how much it had helped him, but then the other thing was how bad his physical condition had become. And as he had told Pepper, he had lost everything. What was the point of keeping himself alive with alcohol if there was nothing left to live for?

Tony paced nervously through the house, shuffling through the garden, into the workshop, up and down the steps. It was too quiet, he thought. So, he told Jarvis to tell him something. Jarvis told him about the weather over the next few days, the composition of chewing gum, a video game called Minecraft, and how a vacuum cleaner works. But Tony didn't care what Jarvis told him, the main thing was that he didn't have to think about the fact that there wasn't a single drop of alcohol left in the house.

Happy finally stopped by to tell him that he had moved all the boxes. Tony was about to ask where, but then changed his mind. What good did it do him to know where all his stash was? He would never see it again. He thanked Happy and told him he could have the rest of the week off.

Pepper returned two hours later with a packed bag. She had changed clothes and smelled freshly showered. She smiled encouragingly at him, but Tony could see that she was also very stressed. They decided to go for a walk and mostly strolled silently side by side. There were a thousand things Tony would have loved to tell her. About his anxiety, how glad he was that she hadn't quit, about his doubts, about the flashbacks. But he couldn't bring any of it past his lips. When they were back at the house, however, he held Pepper back for a moment.

"It could get bad," he said seriously.

"I know," Pepper replied.

"There's a long range of symptoms."

"Yeah, I did some quick reading earlier."

"Not that you're... surprised - or anything."

"I'm bracing myself for the worst." Pepper smiled at him, but Tony couldn't return it.

"I'm serious," he said. "I know I asked you to, but I don't want you to feel pressured to do this-"

"You're not making me do anything," Pepper interrupted him. "I told you I want to help. I'm going to stay with you. And also, I'm very proud of you for doing that."

"Okay," Tony said wanly.

He wasn't sure Pepper really knew what she was facing. Did he know it himself? Reading about symptoms was one thing but experiencing them was another.

"Let's just go inside and order some food. The rest will begin soon enough," Pepper said.

So, they went into the living room and agreed on pizza, which they ate in front of the TV while watching a movie. Tony was too tense to really pay attention to the movie and he was already beginning to feel sick. But there was something very comforting about sitting here with Pepper and doing something so normal. Around 11 p.m., Pepper shooed him off to bed, saying he should get some sleep before the symptoms increased, and although Tony was afraid of sleeping, he agreed. He was tired, and glad if he could maybe even sleep through a few uncomfortable hours.

The last thing Tony saw was a missile hitting right next to him. Stark Industries.

Then there was an explosion, and he was thrown through the air, landing with his back on the desert sand.

Pain. Unbearable pain in his chest. And blood... he did have a safety vest on, but the grenade had simply penetrated it. Which was no surprise, because he had designed that weapon to do exactly that.

Tony wanted to get up, he wanted to run, he had to get away, but it was impossible. All body functions seemed to be failing little by little. His breathing was uncontrolled and convulsive, and his ears were ringing from the explosion, almost completely drowning out the screams and gunshots around him.

Then fear. Fear like he had never experienced before was rushing through him. It was a completely new fear. The fear of dying. He didn't want to die. Another part of him wanted nothing more because the pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt his breathing getting faster and shallower. A thick cold spread through his body like poison. With shaking hands, Tony tried to push against the bleeding wounds, but couldn't make it, he was too weak. He felt the blood simply seeping through his fingers. With every increasing second he felt worse.

So that was it, he was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't even want to run anymore, he didn't want to try to get somewhere safe; he just wanted it to stop. No matter how.

Tony began to shake uncontrollably all over his body. His consciousness was slowly fading away, at the same time the pain was lessening. It was just fine with him. At least this way it would stop. The screams around him became duller, his field of vision darker. While the pain decreased, an icy coldness penetrated him more and more.

Someone grabbed him by the legs. Only peripherally did he notice that he was hastily being dragged across the floor. Tony was almost deaf now; the only thing he heard was his own unsteady breathing. There were people running around, he perceived them only in jerky movements, as if a video was being paused and resumed again and again. Tony gave up and let himself fall into the deep blackness that welcomed him with open arms.

Tony awoke with a start. It had all begun with that, with Obadiah's ordered murder and with the terrorists who had kidnapped him instead. His heart was racing, but somehow he managed to swallow down the panic.

Tony noticed that he was completely wet with sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead, and he was freezing. On top of that, he was feeling very nauseous. Tony wanted to change his clothes and the sheets but didn't manage to get up. For a while he just lay shivering in bed, pulling the covers up to his ears, then he gradually felt the nausea getting better a little. The clock told him it was after 4. So, he had gotten a few hours of sleep after all. Shaking violently, he straightened up in bed. He felt sick to death, as if he had the flu.

Tony got up and went to the bathroom. Although he felt weak and wobbly on his feet, he forced himself to take a short, hot shower until he stopped feeling so cold. Then he slipped into a pair of black jeans and pulled on another sweater over a fresh shirt. Tony wiped his sleeve across the fogged mirror and caught sight of his reflection. He looked pale and unkempt. Despite shaking hands, he managed to get his beard into the usual shape and put some gel in his hair. It wasn't perfect, but it was acceptable. Then he considered lying down for another hour or two. At the thought of having to change the sheets, though, he decided he'd rather continue his rest downstairs on the couch. Halfway there, he stopped in the kitchen and made himself some tea, which he drank in small sips while sitting on the couch. Wasn't this the drink you needed when you felt sick? Well, it definitely wasn't the drink he wanted right now…

Sitting on the couch in complete darkness, Tony was already sweating and at the same time shivering again. Everything was turning in his stomach. What had he gotten himself into? He hadn't had enough time to mentally prepare himself. Why had Pepper pushed him so hard? On the other hand, maybe it had been better this way, otherwise he might have had too much time to change his mind.

Shortly after the last sip of tea, he regretted having taken it at all. His stomach seemed anything but pleased. Tony considered waking Pepper, he was so restless and nervous that he thought he wouldn't be able to stand it with himself any longer. But something held him back. This wasn't the worst of it yet. He would need Pepper, that was clear to him, so he didn't want to put this kind of strain on her just yet.

Tony groaned. The nausea got so worse that he struggled to get up and walk to the bathroom as a precaution. Inside, he leaned his head against the cool tiles and closed his eyes. He felt as if he was on a ship in the sea and in a bad storm. Then a particularly strong wave came thundering against his ship. Tony quickly turned around and threw up in the toilet. Well, there goes the tea, he thought. Tony got down on his knees in front of the toilet, knowing full well that he wasn't done here yet. He had hoped that this would make the nausea a little better, though, but instead it seemed get even worse.

If he had been shivering until just now, he was now hot and sweating even more. After only a few minutes, the next violent wave of sickness reached him, and he vomited again. Sensing that this would continue for a while, he tried to brace himself internally. He told himself that he could abort this project at any time. He didn't want to, but he could. He didn't have to do this. He wanted to. At least, he thought he wanted. Yesterday, he had been surer.

Tony took off his sweater and dropped it carelessly on the tiles beside him. His stomach rotated as if he was constantly bungeejumping. Tony didn't want to throw up again, he wanted to stop it by all means, but there was no way out. Until his stomach was empty and nothing remained but dry heaving, which unfortunately was even more exhausting.

Outside, it was beginning to get light. Somehow Tony hoped Pepper would get up soon, but on the other hand he didn't want her to see him like this. The shame at the fact that now could be seen what he had been doing for the past year was immense. He tried to breathe calmly through the anxiety and not think too much, but it hardly helped. And then his stomach contracted spasmodically again, and he had to retch so violently that he felt as if his eyes would bulge out. Tony barely had time to catch his breath. After minutes of dry heaving, with nothing left in his stomach to vomit, he dropped backwards and leaned against the wall, completely exhausted. His eyes watered and his nose ran slightly. Panting heavily from the effort, he wiped his face with his arm and held his stomach with his other hand. Shit, he thought, how am I going to get through this for days now? He was incredibly hot, sweat was already sticking to his hair again, and he could feel that his back and chest had soaked the shirt.

Minutes felt like hours. Tony was sweating, then freezing, then sweating again. He had aching limbs and felt light-headed, then he was wide awake and restless again. At irregular intervals he hung over the toilet, agonizing over the painful dry heaving until he was sure parts of his stomach were about to be forced out of him. His whole body was shaking, and when he tried to grab a large towel from the closet, his legs buckled from weakness, and he gave up. On all fours he crawled back to the toilet and stared into the bowl. A lone drop of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose into the water. Then the vomiting continued. Tony felt helpless. His body was now showing him with all its might what he had inflicted on himself with alcohol.

Tony gasped in exhaustion and clawed at the edges of the toilet with his hands. He was incredibly thirsty, but for one thing, the mere thought of ingesting anything triggered nausea, and for another, he didn't think he'd be even able to get up and get some water. Tony felt so incredibly sick that he thought he had swallowed a deadly poison. Which, he realized bitterly, was perhaps not so wrong.