Chapter 30

The effects of the diazepam wore off. As a result, all the discomfort became very palpable again. Tony's body was aching, and his mind was poisoned by fear.

You're doing good, Tony. You can do it, Stark. Just hold on a few more days.

Empty words. Phrases. Without meaning.

God, it hurts so bad... I need alcohol. I need a fucking drink.

He didn't say it out loud anymore. They wouldn't let him get away with it. They didn't understand anything. Ignorant assholes. He was in agony, and they were just standing around him watching. Didn't they realize it was impossible? He had gone too far with the drinking. Was it so hard to understand? He fucked up. It was too late.

Fuck, I need a drink...

At least Happy had driven Coulson to the airport and hadn't come back afterwards. Two less idiots. But Natasha stayed, so only minus one idiot after all…

I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink.

Pepper dabbed his forehead and the back of his neck with a wet cloth. The touch alone hurt his skin. Please just fuck off. He didn't even want Pepper to be around anymore. He wanted her to go away. He wanted everyone in this world to back off.

I don't want any of this anymore. Just a drink. Please just a drink. My head hurts. I'm sick. Please make it stop.

"I need another Valium," Tony muttered out of glassy eyes.

"You had one just an hour before. You're not supposed to take so many," Pepper explained gently.

"I need one now."

"Soon."

Fuck you.

Tony slid from one anxiety attack to another. He lay stiffly on the bed, his hands clenched into fists. He held his breath and closed his eyes so no one would notice what was going on inside him. He was so sick of them talking to him repeatedly how good he did. No, he did not!

Panic flooded through him, passing him like a train passing a subway station. The train left again, but the next one was sure to come.

Tony was alone. He forced himself to stand up. Next to the bed was the pillbox of diazepam, so he reached for it and, without thinking, popped two of the pills. The floor under his feet felt wobbly and as if it would give way as he took a few steps. Tony stretched his hands a little to his sides to keep his balance and to brace himself in case he fell. He felt so damn weak. With unsteady steps, he headed for his closet, pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and slipped into a pair of sneakers. It took some time and needed to pause for breathing afterwards. His head was spinning.

Tony walked toward the door, pausing briefly as a wave of nausea hit him. Waited. Breathed. Walked carefully down the stairs. Carefully, slowly, quietly.

By now, the nausea seemed to have been drilled into his bones and was stuck there, making him lethargic, powerless and desperate. Tony felt like a mere shadow of his former self. He was falling apart. Disconnected from life. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Except one thing.

In slow motion, he moved down the stairs. The coast was clear. The others didn't seem to be in the living room. Voices from the kitchen. They were thinking he was asleep.

Tony held onto the banister and took another deep breath before he took the next stairs. Down into the workshop. There was a dangerous flickering before his eyes. He stopped again. Waited. Breathed. Walked on.

The R8 was closest. Tony lowered himself behind the wheel and started the engine.

Go back.

Get alcohol.

Go back.

Get alcohol.

Go back!

Alcohol!

Pepper... She'll never forgive you, she'll give up on you once and for all.

She has to accept it. I'm done.

I'm gonna hurt her so bad.

She'll get over it.

Go back and apologize.

Keep driving to the next bar.

Tony sped down the road, with his glassy eyes barely able to see where he was driving in the darkness of the night. He felt like he was on the run. Running away from anxiety. He had had to throw up the medication as soon as he had left the property due to exhaustion. Accordingly, panic was sitting on his neck again. He should have taken the pillbox with him.

Tony pressed on the gas pedal, half hoping he'd just crash and this would be over. Then he spotted a gas station and decided to pull into the parking lot without further ado. Tony stumbled out of the car, still feeling sick and dizzy.

I need alcohol.

I need Pepper.

I NEED ALCOHOL!

Tony dragged himself into the gas station and walked straight toward the liquor. He blindly reached into one of the shelves and then staggered to the cash register as fast as he could. He didn't care what it was that he had grabbed. The clerk stared at him suspiciously, but scanned the bottle.

"You alright, sir?" he asked.

"Sure," Tony choked out, holding onto the cash register. He didn't want to know what he looked like.

"Nine Dollar and ninety cents."

Oh great, cheap booze… Whatever.

Tony dug a ten-dollar bill out of his back pocket and muttered a 'Keep the change.' Then he grabbed the bottle and headed outside. Tony walked around the house, stumbled, and fell to the ground. He sat up and stared at the bottle. It was whiskey. Wonderful.

Finally.

Natasha rode the motorcycle down the highway as fast as possible. She and Rhodey had split up to search for Tony in different directions. Where could he be? That damned idiot! Would he drown himself in alcohol in a bar right now? Was he lying injured on the side of the road somewhere? Or was he throwing himself off some cliff?

Natasha passed a gas station and registered a white car out of the corner of her eye. Too fast to get a closer look. Natasha braked, turned around, and backed up slowly.

Clearly, a white Audi R8. Tony's R8. She pulled up next to the car, got down and peered through the windows. No sign of him.

"Come on, Tony, where are you? What are you doing?" she muttered nervously.

Quickly she hurried into the gas station. There was no one inside except the clerk.

"Did you just see Tony Stark in here?" she called out to him.

"Tony…Stark? Uh, no..."

"Are you sure?" Natasha asked, holding up her S.H.I.E.L.D. ID briefly, too briefly for the clerk to get a closer look. "Police investigation."

"Yeah, sure. The only one who's come in here in the last few hours was some bum or vagrant. Looked pretty bad. Bought some hard stuff and then took off again."

Fuck!

Natasha ran outside and surveyed the parking lot. No sign of Tony. Where did he go from here? She ran around the house. And there he was.

Tony was lying on the ground – beside him a bottle of whiskey.

"Tony! No!" Natasha cried in horror, dropping to the floor beside him.

Tony was crying. He just lay on his side, crying softly to himself. Natasha touched his arm while she picked up the whiskey bottle with her other hand.

"Natasha," Tony gasped, "I'm sorry... so sorry."

Natasha looked at the bottle more closely. Had he even touched it? It appeared to be full.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked him forcefully, shaking his arm lightly, but he didn't answer right away. "Have you been drinking?! TONY!"

"No..." Tony sobbed.

It took a load off Natasha's heart. The bottle had indeed not been opened. Thank God!

"Why did you run away? You gave us a huge scare," she said, but relief just outweighed everything else right now.

"…sorry…"

Only now did Natasha register how much Tony's body was shaking. His skin felt hot. Apparently, he had a fever again. The effort of getting here must have been too much.

"Come on, let's get you back."

Pepper was waiting downstairs in the workshop. Her nerves were frazzled. She shouldn't have let Tony out of her sight. Romanoff had called twenty minutes ago that she had found him. Which was a relief – but still, he could have easily been drunk right now.

Then finally - the white Audi R8 rolled in and stopped at its regular spot. Natasha got out and then held her outstretched thumb up from herself. The passenger side opened, and Tony got out as well. Or at least tried to. He held onto the car door, inches away from slipping to the ground. Pepper ran toward him and caught him just in time.

"Pepper..." he mumbled through tears. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I shouldn't have done that. Please forgive me."

"Tony..."

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I drove away. I lost control."

"Tony."

"Please forgive me. I'll make everything right now. This damn alcohol. I'm not myself anymore and I hate it. I hate myself. Pepper, please don't you hate me. Please!"

"Tony!"

Pepper forced him to look her in the eye as she continued to hold him.

"Tony, just listen to me," she said gently. "I'm not mad at you. I can see how bad you are. You didn't drink and that's what matters. Okay?"

Tony nodded, then threw himself fully into Pepper's arms. Pepper was too weak to support his body weight and so they sank to the floor together. She held Tony tightly and stroked his back.

Even though he seemed like a different man right now, even a bit strange to her, and even if he didn't smell like that beguiling scent she usually knew from him, she sensed that Tony was still there. Locked away or buried somewhere. But he was still there, she just wanted to believe that.

Tony apparently calmed down in her arms, his muscle tone cycled down a bit and he stopped crying. Pepper brushed the wet hair out of his forehead and then stroked his cheek. He felt hot again.

"You need to get some rest, you hear me?" Pepper said in a low voice. "I'm with you. We can do this - together."

"Together," Tony repeated, giving Pepper's arm a quick squeeze.

Natasha came to her side and signaled her help. Along with her, Pepper got Tony up to the living room and onto the couch. There he curled up holding his stomach.

"I'll get you some water," Pepper said.

She turned away, but Tony grabbed her hand. Astonished, she turned to face him again.

"Don't go," he muttered. "Stay with me."

Pepper joined him on the couch, still holding his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Tony's still asleep," Pepper said, stepping into the kitchen to join Rhodey and Natasha.

"It'll do him good," Rhodey nodded.

He was standing at the stove preparing a pasta dish. With a hint of a smirk, Pepper noted that the stove in Tony's house was almost never used. Tony constantly had food delivered to his home or he simply went out to eat somewhere.

"I hope things get better quickly now. After all, it's been five days," Rhodey said, chopping up some tomatoes.

Natasha stood there leaning against the sink with her arms crossed, watching Rhodey. She didn't look happy. Pepper still wondered what kind of relationship she and Tony had. Had there been something going on? Why had she been ordered elsewhere so suddenly back then, anyway? Were they close? Or did they end up having an affair?

"Pepper?" Rhodey asked.

"Hm?"

"I asked if it's okay if I make the sauce a little spicier."

"Ah, yes, it's fine."

Pepper sat down on a chair and scratched her head. She had been able to catch up on some sleep, but she was still dead tired after the last few grueling days.

"Maybe we should have taken him to a hospital after all..." Natasha said suddenly. "Coulson had refused it point blank. But when I saw him lying there with the bottle... I thought he'd already gotten drunk. Everything could have been for nothing."

"But he didn't drink," Pepper said with a hint of confidence. "He chose not to."

"Thank God. Nevertheless… How did we miss that?" Natasha asked. "That he became an alcoholic...?"

"I think we missed it because we wanted to miss it," Rhodey said, turning off the heat. "At least Pepper and I did. But probably mostly me."

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"I mean there were enough signs. Over the years."

Rhodey retrieved three plates from the kitchen cupboard, and then filled them with pasta and a fragrant tomato sauce. Pepper nodded silently. Maybe they had overestimated Tony. The great Tony Stark. Child prodigy, genius, billionaire, superhero. Filthy rich, aloof, and always on the move. Always at a party, a congress, in the workshop. She hadn't seen it coming. She had let her be dazzled by his lightness. And by his charming smile, with which he could cover up almost everything so well.

"Here," Rhodey said, setting a plate out for all three of them.

Natasha joined them at the table with some reluctance, and the three began to eat. "So?" she then asked expectantly. "What exactly are you talking about, Rhodes?"

Rhodey finished chewing his bite and put down his fork.

"I met Tony at MIT," he began thoughtfully. "He was only fifteen years old when he got accepted there. However, he seemed so much more mature. He was a fascinating person, he could express himself more elegant than many professors. Well, and he also corrected them as much as he could. The profs were so annoyed sometimes." Rhodey smiled briefly. "Well, he enjoyed being so smart and he enjoyed even more to show that. Like a lot. My fascination with him was shared by many others. Tony quickly became popular on campus and was invited to every party. At the first party we both attended, I was quite surprised. Tony was suddenly like a teenager discovering the world, on his way to adulthood, looking for his first relationship experiences and his place in life. It was a clear contrast to the image of himself he revealed in the lectures. However, of course it was not surprising in the end - he was just fifteen. I watched Tony party like there was no tomorrow. And the better I got to know him, the more I realized how sensitive he was. We lived in the dorms on campus at the time, but because Tony was so young, he went to his parents' house almost every weekend. When he came back from there, he usually was very quiet. He never told me why. But, of course, I drew my conclusions. When Tony returned to the dorm on Sunday night, he was usually sitting at his desk with a bottle of beer. Then a year later with a bottle of wine, and again a year after that with a few shots of vodka."

Rhodey cleared his throat and clasped his hands as if in prayer while putting on a serious face. Pepper had forgotten to continue eating. She knew nothing of this time in Tony's life and was eager to learn more. Was Rhodey suggesting that he had started drinking by then? At fifteen?

"One time Tony didn't return to the dorm after the weekend which was totally unusual. He also wouldn't take my calls. When he did come back a week later, he had several hematomas. Healed up a bit, but still visible. I remember talking to him about it and he grinned happily at me that he had fallen off his bike. He was lying to me, I could see that. Then he persuaded me to go to a party that night – where I found him passed out outside the house sometime during the night. I had to call an ambulance, he had drunk himself into unconsciousness. He was sixteen. Neither his father nor his mother visited him in the hospital. No one seemed to care. Maybe they punished him with their absence, but this I don't know... The second time it happened was a year later after the semester break. Tony was totally gloomy when he came back from the vacations. He was squatting depressed in his room all the time, not going to classes, and letting his projects slide too - not that it really mattered. And he stayed on campus on weekends now. I peppered him with questions about what was going on, but you know him, it was the same then as it is now, he told me nothing. However, when Tony missed an important exam one morning, I went to his room afterwards and found him lying on the floor covered in vomit, with an empty bottle of liquor next to him. I had no choice but to call 911 again, I couldn't get him to wake up. So hospital again. This time his father showed up and I witnessed one of his tantrums while still in the ICU. Howard seemed to me to be a choleric man. Even though he could be quite different, and I personally have always known him to be a very polite person as well. He threw mean and hurtful things at Tony. It was really devastating, I was shocked."

"So Tony drank that much because of Howard?" Pepper interjected.

"Yes and no. Of course, Tony's family situation played a big and pretty sure crucial role. But keep in mind that Tony was also just a kid who went a little overboard. Tony overextended himself on the fly. Not with the projects and the brisk studying, not with exams or grades. But with his pace. He acted like an adult even though he was a kid. He did everything on his own, even though he still needed adult help. And yes... of course there was Howard, from whom he never felt seen, with whom there was always stress - and his mother, a good-hearted woman, who unfortunately could not really show him her love for whatever reasons. Nor could she protect him from his father. Tony was on his own."

"Tragic," Natasha said, and Pepper couldn't identify whether she was serious or there was a hint of sarcasm in there.

"That's honestly how I imagined it," Pepper agreed, looking at Rhodey. "I had heard a lot about the Tony-Howard-thing."

"So he'd already had two bouts of alcohol poisoning by the time he was seventeen. Could indicate a problem, but it's not that unusual," Natasha said, emptying her plate. "Well, he really isn't the only teenager who did that."

"True," Rhodey said. "What I found unusual, though, was how he used alcohol. Not to have fun at parties, or only then dare to finally talk to a girl. But to cope with emotional stress and to keep issues at bay."

"There's something to that," Romanoff admitted. "I read in his file that there was a third alcohol poisoning on top of that."

"Yes. After his parents' fatal car accident. He was twenty-one then. It knocked him out. There were so many unspoken things between him and his parents. And with their deaths, it was clear that these things would never be discussed and resolved. These conflicts would stay with Tony forever. That and the grief led Tony to take refuge in alcohol a lot again. Obadiah found him this time and took him to the hospital. Obi then took very close care of Tony. He took Howard's place and did a much better job. Tony found his way back into life and was also well advised by Obadiah concerning the company, which he then took over after some time. Well, it went uphill, Tony made a career, we know what happened next."

"So there's always been a trend," Natasha said. "Still, nothing went wrong all those years, did it?"

"Depends how you look at it," Pepper said, poking at her noodles. "Tony always drank a lot. He always had a glass of whiskey in his hand. He gave lectures at congresses drunk as a skunk. He never skipped a party. Sometimes, instead of taking him to a meeting, I had to hinder him going there because there was no way I could let him go out in public like that. In retrospect, I would say the subject of alcohol was always there. But everything always kind of worked out. I allowed myself to be blinded."

"It's not just you, Pepper," Rhodey said reassuringly. "I drank with him, I went to those parties with him. I never said anything, either."

"Well, if you're done passing the buck, you can finally start blaming me. Because it's me who's responsible."

Tony opened the kitchen door and looked into the surprised faces of Pepper, Rhodey and Natasha.

"Sorry, I overheard a little bit," Tony admitted, sinking into a chair.

Tony was still nauseous, and the sweating hadn't stopped yet either, but he was doing much better at drinking enough water and after a few hours of sleep he wasn't quite as exhausted as before.

"You seem a little better," Pepper noted happily.

"A little. Could be better, though."

"But you've managed to get yourself down here. That's a good sign," Rhodey said, smiling a little.

Tony nodded and propped his forearms on the table. The smell of the tomato sauce made him nervous, his stomach not yet ready for confrontation with food.

"It's not about blame," Natasha said after a moment. "What happened is for a reason. You've been traumatized. People have been through less bad things to become an addict."

Tony thought about it for a moment and then nodded, barely noticeable. He had almost grown fond of Natasha by now. She was understanding and appreciative of him, and Tony was grateful for that.

"I didn't want to admit it," he said, though every word he uttered offended him himself. "I couldn't accept that I was having panic attacks. That I kept seeing these bad images and had no control over these feelings. I didn't want it. And so I tried to make it go away. The way I've always done it, the way it's always worked... I have copied it."

"Copied?" Pepper asked.

"My father also had numerous excuses for why he would have a drink. He didn't get that much drunk, but he drank constantly. I grew up with it being completely normal to drink anywhere, anytime."

Tony paused for a moment as something occurred to him. He hadn't thought about that in a long time. "When I was a kid, my parents had a dinner party at our house. Outside, as they were saying goodbye to the last of the guests, I snuck into the dining room and tasted from a half-empty wine glass. My father caught me in the act. He got really angry and yelled at me. Then I had to finish the glass as punishment. And then another. That was my first time being drunk. At the age of eight. My father probably thought he was teaching me a lesson. But it didn't quite work out that way. I liked the feeling."

Pepper looked at him in disgust. "He didn't do that..." she whispered, shaking her head.

"I'm afraid he did..."

"Oh, Tony..."

Pepper put her hand on his and looked at him sympathetically.

Let it happen, Tony told himself. Just let it happen. Compassion. Why was this so damn difficult?

"I should have asked all of you for help a lot sooner," Tony then reluctantly admitted. "And I want to say thank you."

Three beaming faces twinkled at him, and Tony felt something like warmth welling up inside him for the first time in a very long time. There they were sitting before him. Pepper, Rhodey, and Natasha. And he could feel that they cared about him. They had been fighting for him for the last five days. Had taken care of him when he hadn't been able to do anything at all. And still they were sitting here with him. And were happy for him that things were gradually getting better.

Tony looked down at the table in front of him as he couldn't take their stares anymore. He would still have to learn to allow such things. But it was a start.