On Friday, May 29, 2009, Tony Stark emerged from a fitful doze in a pique of terror. JARVIS, the shit, had the audacity to ask him if he wanted to consult with a shrink.

Well, JARVIS actually recommended several discreet offices he could probably go to, and he strongly hinted that Tony had PTSD.

Tony ignored him and looked around, gathering awareness of where he was. What he was doing.

Right. He'd already improved the arc reactor, that had taken him all of a week. And he'd been "laying low."

Because sitting still had obviously always worked so well for him.

Sitting still was a hell of a lot like looking back.

And as diligently as Tony labored over the course of the days, his thoughts kept returning to Pepper as she'd held up the first model of the chest plate. (You don't want to keep it? It saved your life…)

And there was no way to explain to her what was really going through his head. That every time he looked at it, it brought back memories of Yinsen that were becoming increasingly painful. He couldn't look back. He had to focus entirely on moving forward because the past was too difficult for him to cope with.

(Because he was just one man. But his was supposed to have been an army of two. And one of them didn't make it. When he looked at the chest plate and saw Yinsen in every piece. Whatever it looked like to anyone else, it was actually a final testimonial to a great man. A man far greater than Tony himself. A man ten times what Tony would ever be. And yet Tony was alive, and he was gone.)

Being awake meant that Tony Stark's house came to life.

In the weeks since his escape from captivity, Tony still hadn't acclimatized himself to the correct time zone yet. But he had never been one for a normal sleep cycle, anyway. He slept, scant hours at a time, and it presented no challenge for JARVIS, who simply waited for Tony to stir.

And when Tony awoke as though it were morning, although it was night, JARVIS adjusted the household patterns accordingly.

Sketches and diagrams were splayed out all over the worktable. No one else would have been able to figure out any of it. In Tony's case, it didn't matter what order they were in; they were just sitting out so that he wouldn't have to go and dig them up.

He'd had to break his project into small pieces, by virtue of the trouble he'd had with concentration, paired with the nightmares, and the occasional tremors in his hands. He kept having to rely on JARVIS to check math equations he'd had cold since he graduated MIT when he was fifteen.

"Your recent brain fog is another symptom indicative of PTSD," JARVIS pointed out.

Tony felt a twinge of annoyance. "Progress report. List," he said as flatly as he could.

The shift in tone was not lost upon JARVIS. "Why are you talking to me like a computer?" JARVIS didn't sound hurt; merely curious.

"Because you're acting like one."

JARVIS paused, and then, "Shall I disable random pattern conversation?"

"No, it's okay," Tony sighed. "You're the only one who understands me."

"I don't understand you, sir."

Tony frowned, and looked up, as though JARVIS were standing in front of him. "Were you always this dry? I remember you having more personality than this."

"Should I activate sarcasm harmonics?"

"Fine. Could you please give me your report, now?"

"It would thrill me to no end."

"And that's more like it," Tony smiled. He looked at JARVIS' list, nodding, tracking where he'd left off before he'd fallen asleep.

And then happened to glance over at his messages, seeing…an almost disturbing amount of them.

"JARVIS, what the actual fuck is going on? Why is my inbox blowing up?" he muttered, genuinely curious.

"It's your birthday, Sir."

Tony blinked. "Oh."

He was…39. If he could be counted on to do the math right…which he always could. Unless he needed JARVIS to check it for him.

"Okay. Um. Okay, JARVIS. Let's. Let's finish the boots. There's still soldering to do, and a testing area to set up. Get DUM-E in here," he said, putting the thoughts out of his head.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

"Still having trouble walking, sir?" JARVIS quipped sardonically, and Tony stepped forward, reaching for his tool, ready to go, since the metal had long since cooled from the work he'd done previously.

DUM-E stationed itself on the worktable, holding a soldering iron of its own.

"These aren't for walking," Tony grinned.

And they got to work.

-o-

In writing this, the MCU continues to exist and mess up my timeline, retconning events that happen and rearranging them. And I haven't been able to move forward with this story with this in mind. I want to. I have ideas and an outline and all this good stuff. But since this story is only a handful of chapters, it means I might have to change the order of some things, too. Thus part of the reason for the hiatus.

(I don't know why I'm like this. I've asked. No answer is forthcoming. I have to take it up with my manufacturers.)

It's largely to do with me wanting to accept this truly as my set cannon.

So anyway. MCU moved my whole Tony/Rhodey chapter two weeks into the future. And I'm dealing. And I might have to write new stuff for Tony.

Anyway. Take a new chapter. Still processing this.