Chapter 2

The room was so dark he couldn't see the walls. There was just one lamp hanging from the ceiling, providing only sparse light. A fog made of fear and despair was crawling up inside him as he looked down at the water trough in front of him. Strong hands pushed him down to his knees.

"No!" he cried out several times, and tried to resist against the gloomy men, but they only laughed.

Quickly, he took a deep breath before they pressed him under water. A muffled gurgling filled his ears, bubbles swirling around his face. He struggled and kicked, trying to get back to the surface with all his strength. It was pointless.

But he needed oxygen! He needed to get his head up again. They would drown him, he couldn't breathe! They would kill him!

Suddenly, the grips loosened, and he emerged from the water. Quickly, he took a deep breath, before he was pushed under water again. There hadn't been enough time to get oxygen. This time he wouldn't last so long. He prayed that his tortures would take this into their consideration. He was already feeling dizzy. He needed air.

The grips loosened, he was allowed to breath in, but immediately was pushed under water again. Fuck! If they continued like this, he would drown! Desperately he tried to count the time he had to endure under water. In vain. The lack of oxygen made him unable to grasp a clear thought. Dark specks started to dance before his eyes.

Air. Then water again.

His head was spinning. He felt sick. How long would they do this to him? Limitless panic was rushing through his veins – and there was no escape. No hope. Nothing. His strength gradually left him, and he no longer resisted.

Air. Water.

I'm going to die. The words echoed in his head just like someone was standing right next to him whispering the same words into his ear over and over again.

Air. Water.

The ice-cold wet seemed to creep into his head like poison. No… Make it stop… please make it stop…. It don't care how, just make it stop… please…

Water.

Everything went completely black. He didn't know where he was anymore, couldn't feel the water, but couldn't feel the air either. When could he breathe, when couldn't he? All he could feel was that he was drowning. He was at the end of his rope.

He gave up…

… and choked on water.

It was pitch black around him as he coughed and retched. There was a roaring in his ears. Then – very slowly – his field of vision brightened again. He was lying on his back on the floor. The terrorists were looking down at him, obviously waiting for him to recover a bit, then two of them nodded at each other and reached out for him again.

"No! Please not! No!"

The men laughed hollowly and picked him up, pushing him back to the water trough.

"Please!" he cried in anguish. "Don't! No! I can't do it anymore! No..."

He closed his eyes as he was thrust again into the icy cold. An unbelievable pain jolted through his chest, and he screamed...

… Tony Stark screamed his head off.

It was dark and he was shaking all over. His scream was fading away and turned into an uncontrolled gasp. Automatically, his hand slid to the blue reactor in his chest. He was clearly in bed in his own bedroom. But the adrenaline wouldn't subside, even though he tried to calm himself.

"Jarvis," he said, gasping for breath as if this had actually happened.

"Yes, Sir?" the AI asked.

"Turn on the lights! All over the house! Every single damn light!"

"To what purpose -" Jarvis remarked with distinct dubiousness in his voice.

"JUST DO IT!" Tony shouted hoarsely, and stood up.

He couldn't stay lying down. Not after this. It was just a dream, he tried to reassure himself, just a dream…

"Sir, the lights are on now."

Tony walked out of the bedroom, shaking so violently he could barely stay on his feet.

Just a dream…

But it had been a dream about reality. It had happened exactly like that in Afghanistan. Everything seemed to be back. The terrorists. The captivity. The torture. The constant fear. The dark, terrifying cave. Three months of captivity during which he hadn't known if he'd make it out alive.

"Check all security systems," he ordered, while walking to his bar in the living room to pour himself a whiskey.

"But Mr. Stark, I haven't detected any unusual activity around the property."

"Do it anyway!"

It took a moment for the highly intelligent computer to answer again.

"All security systems are functioning properly. No reports about any abnormalities."

Tony nodded. "I know..."

He ran his hand over his forehead and realized he was sweating. He flopped down on the couch and just stared. Overreacted. He had totally overreacted. Everything was fine.

"Sir…" Jarvis said carefully. "Your heart rate is still notable accelerated. Also, judging from the other body symptoms I've just analyzed, I must conclude... well... that you just had a panic attack."

Tony bit his lip. "You're kidding," he said. He, fucking Tony Stark, having a panic attack? This had to be one of Jarvis' pathetic jokes.

"For once, I'm not."

"Jarvis, I was only having a bad dream."

"I suggest you tell Miss Potts about it."

"No," Tony said immediately. "No... It's just... it's nothing. Nothing to be concerned about."

"But I am quite concerned, Sir."

"You're not. You're a computer," Tony said, snorting. "I got this."

"Whatever you say, Sir." Jarvis did not seem convinced, but decided not to contradict.

Tony stared at the amber liquid in the glass in his right hand and sipped it. It admittedly reminded him of his father. Have a drink had been his motto. It had seemed to be the solution to everything. He had always seen his father drink, it had been normal. However, Howard Stark had never really seemed drunk; he had been drinking all the time, but never so much you would notice. Tony clearly remembered Howard's critical look with which he had always regarded him, his persistent absence, and the slight hint of alcohol on his breath, not strong, but constant. Tony sighed and finished his whiskey. He didn't want to be like his father at all… His eyes fell on his bar. Well, one more drink wasn't going to make him a Howard.

"Turn off the lights, except for the living room." It really didn't make any sense.

Jarvis ran his command without any comment. With his second glass of whiskey in hand, he walked over to one of the large glass fronts and told Jarvis to open it. All he wanted was breathing. Breathing as much as he could. Sighing, he enjoyed the amazing view of the ocean of Malibu.

It was hard to forget Afghanistan when being forced to return there constantly in dreams. And that had happened a lot in the last few weeks. The terrorists had tortured him because he was supposed to build them the Jericho. A deadly weapon. He had been a such an idiot. How arrogant it had been of him to enable wars, to decide on death and life without even a thought for the innocent people who had had to suffer under his ignorance. A merchant of death, as some reporters in the media had called him.

Had. He would build no more weapons. Never again. He would help people, protect them, fight for peace.

Maybe he was no longer Tony Stark. Maybe from now on he was just Iron Man.

A man in an armor.

Pepper opened the door to Tony's house, carrying three folders under her one arm, holding a coffee with her other hand.

"Is Tony already up?" she asked without much hope.

"Mr. Stark is downstairs in the workshop," Jarvis answered promptly.

Pepper paused for a moment. "Are you sure?" It was shortly after eight in the morning. Not quite a time to run into Tony Stark.

"Perfectly sure, Miss Potts."

"Since when?"

It took a moment longer for Jarvis' answer. "Since seven hours, thirty-six minutes and twelve seconds."

"Hmm… Has he been in bed at all?"

"For forty-three minutes and fifty-eight seconds."

Pepper frowned and made her way to the workshop. "What happened?"

"I am not authorized to give you any information about that, Miss Potts. I'm sorry."

"You don't say."

She descended the steps to the workshop, entered the code and stepped in. Tony was sitting at his desk and seemed to be working on something.

"Hi," Pepper said.

"Oh, hey, Pepper," Tony said, spinning around in his chair and acting surprised, even though she knew full well that Jarvis had informed him of her arrival.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Sure."

Pepper looked into Tony's deep brown eyes but couldn't find anything suspicious in them. He just smiled at her.

"Well… We've got three new requests from the military."

Tony's smile died.

"We don't build weapons anymore."

He turned back to his screens on his desk.

"I know. It's just…" She hesitated for a moment. "We're not making any money at the moment. We have nothing to sell. Nothing to offer. And since you haven't decided yet…"

"No."

"So what do we do?"

"Cancel and make clear that we are irrevocably out of the weapons business."

"And then?"

"And then what?" Tony turned back to her, an almost angry glint in his eyes.

"What are your plans for the company?"

"Energy technologies. I thought we'd already worked that out."

"We did. But that's not a plan. It's just an idea. You haven't done anything about it yet."

"That's because I'm busy."

"With what?"

"With things."

"Iron Man things?"

"No."

Tony got up and walked away through his messy workshop. Pepper followed him; she wouldn't let herself be brushed off like that.

"What things, Tony? What is bothering you?"

"I didn't say something is bothering me."

"And you're totally sure about that?" Pepper asked loudly.

"Miss Potts, is there anything we need to talk about, or will that be all?"

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"There are in fact about thousand things we need to talk about."

Tony stopped in front of a toolbox and started searching for something.

"Are you listening?" Pepper asked, less than hopeful.

"No. I'm busy."

"I see…" she said, eyeing her boss some more before turning around and heading back upstairs. It was pointless when he acted that way. But she could swear something was up.