Chapter 8

When the black Cadillac turned into the driveway, Pepper and Happy were both standing in front of the house.

"Do you need assistance with getting out of the car?," Romanoff asked, and Tony shook his head.

He had regained a little more composure by now. Unfortunately, the more feeling was returning to his body, the more bruises made themselves well aware. His whole body ached, and he was shaking violently.

The agent and Romanoff got out first, Tony took a deep breath before following them. His eyes immediately fell on Pepper, who understandably seemed very upset.

"Thank God!," she exclaimed in relief. "You're..."

"Alive? Yes," Tony returned.

"My God, the explosion... it was all on the news. I thought..."

"I'm okay, Pepper."

"Boss!," Happy said very worried, too. "Shit, that was..."

"Let's go inside first," Romanoff said quickly, touching Tony on his back. She gently pushed him forward.

A moment later, Tony was sitting on the couch, staring at his shaking, bloodied hands, which were full of cuts. There were even some shards of glass still stuck in them. By now, the roaring in his ears had turned into a tinnitus and his chest hurt the most.

"Agent Coulson sent us someone from Medical Services, they should be here any minute," Romanoff explained, engaged in a heated conversation with Pepper.

Tony wasn't listening. He still couldn't believe what just had happened. He hadn't been able to do anything. And a child had died.

"Ah, there she is," Romanoff said, greeting a woman who was carrying a large bag and had another younger companion with her.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Stark," the woman said. She was a brunette and had her hair tied back in a bun. "Marlene Brown. This is my assistant. We're going to check on your injuries, ok?"

Tony nodded.

"Can you take off your shirt?"

Brown helped Tony remove the shirt and then inspected his back. After that she set about removing a few pieces of glass. She did the same with his hands and the back of his arms. Brown disinfected the wounds and bandaged them, then she palpated his entire body and Tony winced in pain several times. At last, she checked his pupillary reflexes with a penlight and asked him to follow her raised finger with his eyes.

Romanoff and Pepper followed his examination, but were engrossed in their conversation, which Tony tuned out. In the meantime, Happy had stepped outside to talk to the agent about what had happened.

"I'm done," Brown finally said, turning to Romanoff. "Several cuts, but most of them not that deep; he needed just a few stitches. However, I can feel a broken rib and he has several bruises. He also has a concussion, but it's not new?"

"A few days old," Romanoff replied.

"He needs a lot of rest. If his condition suddenly worsens, he will have to go to the hospital after all. Otherwise, I anticipate everything will heal with rest. The rib doesn't seem to have punctured anything. He is breathing freely, no major swelling. Looks good so far. The shoulder should be kept still again, though."

Brown removed her gloves and stowed her equipment in her bag, which she then handed to her assistant.

"Thank you, Marlene," Romanoff said.

The doctor disappeared as abruptly as she had appeared. Pepper was suddenly standing right in front of Tony.

"Are you okay?," she asked concerned, but composed.

"Yeah." Tony felt like a robot, mechanically giving answers when asked.

"Well, you heard it," Romanoff said, stepping up next to Pepper. "Lots of rest. I want you to stay in the house for the next few days. Leave the rest to S.H.I.E.L.D. We'll take care of press matters and try to find out where the terrorists have holed up. Maybe we can find out where they hide. I'll give you a report if I hear anything. For now, I must go, there are a lot of things to sort out. In case you might wonder, we have more men posted on the property. Just a precaution."

Tony nodded again mechanically.

"You'll also get two agents for protection from now on, Miss Potts. Just in case."

"Thank you very much, Miss Romanoff."

"Make sure he gets some rest. He still seems in shock to me." She said goodbye, then strode quickly outside.

Tony eased himself into a reclining position on the couch. His body protested painfully, and Tony screwed up his face. Pepper hesitantly sat down with him and when he didn't seem to want to get involved in a conversation, she picked up her laptop and started working beside him. Her presence calmed Tony down a bit and so, at some point, he even dozed off.

A week later, Tony seemed to be feeling better. At least he hadn't let him be stopped from spending hours and hours in his workshop again. Pepper still saw him wince every time he moved in a wrong way, but he was looking much better. The bruises, especially the one on his head, now glowed in green-yellow, but many of the cuts were almost completely healed and Tony was back to his casual behavior. Perhaps because he was relieved that there had been no more deaths from the explosion. Partly very seriously injured, yes, but only the child and the terrorist had died.

That was why she reluctantly made her way down to see him that noon. This was not good news she was bringing with her. Pepper put in the code and then entered the workshop. Tony greeted her with a raised hand without looking up.

"I just got a call," Pepper said in her usual businesslike manner, watching Tony. He was apparently working on a new armor. She took a deep breath, then quickly got it over with. "The boy, Marcus Anderson, will be buried in three days."

Tony dropped a screw and didn't move.

"I just thought you might want to know," she said, almost regretting telling him. But she was sure that Tony would find out through the media anyway.

"I'll participate," he said quietly.

"What?," Pepper asked, uncomprehending.

"The funeral. I'm going."

Pepper paused. Was this really a good idea? S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted Tony to stay out of the public eye for now, and she herself saw this similarly.

"I don't know, Tony..."

"It's not up for discussion, Pepper."

Tony continued to work on his armor and still had his back turned to her. Pepper bit her lip, because unfortunately, that wasn't the only reason for her visit.

"Listen, there's something else. A letter came from Washington today, from the government. I guess they think your activities are... too dangerous."

"My activities?," Tony immediately shouted with anger, turning to face her. "So I'm the danger?"

"They didn't write it exactly like that. It's an invitation to a hearing."

"Because of what?"

"Because this terrorist had loudly proclaimed that he only did this because of you. And because you took off your armor and it could very well have just been stolen by someone. I think the main issue is whether you are capable of taking responsibility for the armor. We should get that sorted out as soon as possible and -"

"Is this an April Fool's hoax?"

"Well, it's October, but -"

"So they think it was my fault!"

"It's not your fault. And the hearing is probably also to evaluate what kind of weapon your Iron Man armor is."

"It's not a weapon!"

"Tony, I know that. So would you please stop snapping at me like that?"

Tony's expression softened a bit, and he mumbled a quiet apology.

"When is the hearing?"

"Before the committee in Washington, this weekend."

"But that's when the funeral is, too."

"Tony, you have to go there. You've got to take this seriously and explain what the armor is all about and that you're capable of possessing and using it responsibly, and, of course, that you can ensure it doesn't get into someone else's hands."

Tony moved back and forth, shaking his head. "Pepper, would you go to this hearing for me? I'll give you power of attorney as my proxy. And I'm sure it's enough to send a lawyer anyway."

"No, absolutely not. It's your hearing. I can go with you, but -"

"Pepper, I have to go to this funeral. It's… important to me…"

Pepper thought about it and looked at Tony.

"We can say that I'm not able to travel yet because of my injuries. You'll do great, Pepper, I'm sure. And most of it will be handled by the lawyer anyway."

Pepper was still thinking and hesitating. She could see how important this funeral was to him, and she understood why. But she wasn't sure it was such a good idea for Tony to go. And she was sure it wasn't good for this hearing either.

"Pepper," Tony said, looking into her eyes almost pleadingly. "Please."

"But... No. What if I can't do this right?"

Tony stood up, came close to her, and took her hands in his.

"Pepper. If anyone can make it work, it's you. And if there's anyone I can count on, it's you."

Pepper was still hesitant. Besides, she couldn't concentrate much right now. His warm hands clasping hers...

"Well... Ok. I'll try," she said with strong discomfort.

"Thanks, Pep. You're the best."

It was raining again when Tony let Happy drive him to L.A. He was more than nervous. This wasn't a charity event or some party. This was a funeral... He didn't quite understand himself why he had the urge to go there. And what he hoped to get out of it. But the boy had died...

... not because of me, not because of me, not ...

"We arrived, boss."

Happy turned off the engine and got out. Tony waited until the door was opened for him and took the opportunity to take another deep breath. Then he got out as well. Happy opened a black umbrella and held it for Tony. At least that's what the rain was good for: He didn't have to go alone. Happy would come along. After all, celebrities weren't trusted to hold an umbrella by themselves. Thank god.

Nervously, Tony fingered his tie. As they approached the graves, he felt completely out of place. The last funeral he had attended had actually been his parents' and that had been half a lifetime ago. A group of about fifty people had gathered at one spot. A priest had already begun to speak. Silently and unobtrusively, they joined in. One of the mourners gave him a look as if to say that Tony Stark couldn't even be on time for something like this. But Tony knew that kind of gaze well enough to know how to ignore it.

He looked at the people who had come. It was obvious who the mother was. A slightly plumper, quite pretty, young woman with long brown hair. She was being supported by an older man, presumably her father, and a friend. She was crying unrestrainedly into a handkerchief. Tony could not make out a man at her side. Along with the priest's voice and the drumming of rain on all the umbrellas, her sobs were the only sounds.

Tony's thoughts drifted away. The grief reminded him of his parents' death - and of Yinsen's death. And the more he thought about Yinsen, the more he thought about Afghanistan. He couldn't help but feel responsible for all of it. And when he thought about the weapons he had produced and sold for years, he felt sick. How many innocent people had died because of his weapons? Everything began to spin inside Tony. Maybe coming here hadn't been such a good idea after all. Did it make anything better? What had he hoped for? That the burden of guilt would fall from his shoulders?

"Mr. Stark?" Happy whispered. "Are you not feeling well?"

"Yes, I am, Hap. All good," Tony murmured back.

Could you tell from his face what was going on inside him? He was just about to tell Happy that he'd rather leave when the coffin was lowered with terrible finality.

"Boss?" Happy whispered again.

Tony did not hear him. Like a bolt of lightning, the memories of Afghanistan flashed through him again. He could see it vividly before him. The bullets that had hit the car, the soldiers who had been riddled by them. And the missile marked Stark Industries that had landed next to him, piercing him with the shrapnel he still carried near his heart. He could hear himself breathing in jerks and shudders, the world spinning around him. Reality and memory mingled.

"Mr. Stark!" Happy breathed, and Tony felt that his bodyguard was suddenly holding him by the arm, because he had apparently lost his balance and was swaying.

"Boss!"

But at that very moment it was over. People turned away, talked to each other, walked slowly back to the parking lot. Tony regained his composure and forced himself to push the images of Afghanistan to the back of his mind.

"We'd better go, right?," Happy asked insistently and with concern in his voice.

"Yes," Tony replied. "Um, I feel a little dizzy... it's the weather probably..."

"Of course," Happy replied, grumbling in agreement, though he didn't sound convinced at all.

Tony tore away from Happy with gentle force, turned around - and looked directly into the young mother's face.

"You pathetic fuck!," she shouted at him in no uncertain terms, her eyes red from crying and her face streaked with tears. "It's your fault my Marcus is dead! You have his blood on your hands!"

And with those words, she slapped him hard in the face. Happy stepped forward uneasily, waiting for an instruction from his boss. Tony, however, was so perplexed that he didn't react and just stared at her wordlessly. For once, he didn't have a snappy comment ready.

"Because of your little private war, my child had to die! Why are you here today? How dare you come to my son's grave!" She slapped him again.

"Hey!," Happy shouted, dropping the umbrella.

"Great! Good for you to have a bodyguard! No one helped Marcus! You let him die!"

The woman raised her hand again, but Happy grabbed her by the arms to stop her. She pulled and tugged to free herself, but Happy had no trouble holding her arms down. Some of the mourners had now gathered around them and were watching the scene with nervous expressions.

"How dare you come here!," she repeated, and not knowing any other way to help herself, she spat directly in Tony's face. "Asshole!"

"Now that's enough!," Happy shouted angrily, but some of the other mourners had already rushed over to take the woman, who seemed to be on the verge of a breakdown, from him.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, Mr. Stark," the older man Tony had assumed to be her father said. "She didn't mean that... please... I'm sorry. I know you tried everything and even put your own life on the line. I have to thank you for that."

Tony, still too perplexed to respond, looked after the mourners, who were now slowly moving away. Then he wiped his face with his sleeve to remove the spittle.

Happy's face was contorted in pain, and Tony knew why. Happy was probably waiting for him to make an outburst. So he had to keep it together... at least until he was alone. Happy picked up the umbrella, which was unnecessary since they were wet anyway, and waited tensely. With a simple motion of his head, Tony told him to move. He just wanted to get home...

Tony was sitting behind his bar for a while now. He had already drunk a complete bottle of whiskey during the rest of the day. A little more didn't matter now. Without paying attention to a bottle label, he poured himself a new glass and took a sip. Clearly Bourbon. Expensive. Fine, slightly smoky taste. Tony looked out the window. Judging by the position of the sun, it had to be early evening. The rain clouds had all vanished during the day.

Tony cleared his throat loudly and slid around on his bar stool just to do something. He was alone in the house. Pepper was in Washington, Romanoff had accompanied her, and the pesky watchdogs were at least just loitering outside his house, leaving him alone. That's all he wanted right now. Just being alone. Tony was already seeing double images, but didn't even think about putting the bottle away. He didn't care about anything right now.

"Um, Mr. Stark?"

"Huh?"

Happy was suddenly standing in front of him. He'd forgotten all about him. So not alone in the house. He wondered if he could get rid of him faster if he just fired him.

"Do you need me for anything else today?"

"Do I look like I do?"

Happy frowned, as if to say that he very much did look like that. Tony felt the urge to throw a bottle at him, but in his condition, he probably wouldn't hit him at all.

"Boss?"

Tony had trouble focusing Happy. "Get out."

Happy seemed to hesitate for quite a while, then made an abrupt movement toward the front door.

"All right... I'll go then," he said, still undecided.

"I'd be infinitely grateful," Tony said, watching with relief Happy leaving.

Finally alone.

The last rays of sunlight were falling through the large window front and cast long shadows. Tony leaned back and closed his eyes. He couldn't get the boy out of his mind. Neither his mother.

When he had been that age, his father had always been the figure he had admired, even if he hadn't gotten much attention. Tony remembered a day when his father had suggested (only at his mother's request, of course) to do something together. Since Tony had already been very interested in science as a child, they had wanted to go to a museum first and then have lunch in a good restaurant. Full of anticipation, Tony had been up at eight in the morning, Howard Stark at eleven. By the time his father had finally been ready to go, it had been past two. Then the phone had rung, and Howard had disappeared into his study. Tony had known he wouldn't get out anytime soon, so he had sat on the floor against the opposite wall and listened to his father's voice. He hadn't even understood a word, just listened to the sound of the voice. Howard had ended the conversation at five-thirty that evening – and had forgotten about the plans with Tony.

"Good old Howard," Tony muttered mockingly, full of bitterness.

He opened his eyes again. The sun's light grew sparser, the shadows thinner, and finally it was dark in the room. Tony poured himself another drink and stood up. He felt nauseous, so he thought some fresh air might do him good. He realized he had clearly overshot the mark when he staggered against the wall, dropping his glass, which instantly shattered. But he didn't really care.

Ungainly, he pushed open the patio door and stepped outside. A few of the couches there were still a little damp from the rain. The light from the outdoor lamps was reflected in the swimming pool next to them. A cool breeze swirled his hair as he took a few steps forward.

Suddenly, his foot got caught on something, and he stumbled to the side and to the edge of the lit swimming pool. Drunk as he was, Tony had no chance of regaining his balance. Without understanding how or why, he found himself underwater in the next moment. Face up, he slid almost to the bottom of the pool and stared up at the sky. The stars flickered back and forth through the refraction in the water. A dull gurgling sound assaulted his ears.

Hitting emotional rock-bottom, Tony was wondering why he should even bother swimming to the surface, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. And then, without warning, the images of his torture popped into his head once again. Being pushed underwater, experiencing the lack of oxygen to the point of unconsciousness, and feeling a constant fear of dying.

Tony was drunk and numbed - and yet he felt the paralyzing, growing fear inside him overshadowing everything else. In a matter of seconds, the paralyzing fear turned into sheer panic. Tony was unable to move. He saw them right before him: The men who were torturing him. The darkness. The water trough.

Again, reality and memory mixed. One moment he was in Afghanistan, the next he was aware of being in his swimming pool and just having to surface.

But he couldn't.

Tony was frozen. He had his eyes turned upward in panic, outward where there was plenty of air, where life would go on. Without him, he thought terrified, he wasn't able to move at all.

Then something big and heavy fell into the water.

So, I enjoyed writing this chapter very much, I hope you have fun with it, too. As always, I'm still interested in what you think. And thanks again for reading and commenting!

Also, thinking that the Ten Rings showing up is one of Tony's nightmares is what I somehow intended. Because flashbacks are like that. You experience - for a short time - exactly what you already experienced, all the emotions, maybe also some smell, and it feels real. Like you are back there, again. So it's getting hard for Tony to process what is going on (But you can identify the nightmares, of course, as the things that already happened).