Chapter 7

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

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

He had regained a little more composure by now. Unfortunately, the more sensation returned to his body, the more bruises became apparent. 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 was understandably very upset.

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

"Alive? Yes," Tony replied blankly.

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

"I'm fine, Pepper."

"Let's go inside first," Romanoff interrupted, touching Tony's back. She pushed him gently forward.

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

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

Tony didn't listen. He still couldn't believe what just had happened. There was nothing he could have done. And a child had died.

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.

"Will you be able to hold out?" Romanoff asked too, stepping up next to Pepper.

"Yes."

"Good. 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 the police investigation and we try to find out where the terrorists have holed up. 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 will 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.

While they were waiting for the doctor Tony eased himself into a reclining position on the couch. His body protested in pain and Tony made a face, but not a single sound escaped his lips. Pepper hesitantly sat down next to him, and when he didn't seem to want to engage in conversation, she patted him uncertainly on the shoulders, but then changed her mind and dropped her hands into her lap.

A week later, Tony seemed to be doing better. At least he hadn't let anyone stop him from spending hours in his workshop again. Pepper still saw him flinch every time he made a wrong move, but he looked much better. The bruises he had suffered from the explosion were still visible on his body in various colors, but many of the cuts were healing very well and Tony was back to his nonchalant self. Maybe because he was relieved that there had been no more deaths from the explosion. There had been some serious injuries, yes, but only the child and the terrorist had died.

So she reluctantly made her way down to see him that afternoon. It was not good news she brought with her. Pepper typed in the code and then entered the workshop.

"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.

"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 added, almost regretting telling him. But she was sure that Tony would find out through the media anyway.

"Well... I should go, right?" he said quietly.

"What?" Pepper asked uncomprehendingly.

"The funeral. I have to go."

Pepper paused. Was this really a good idea? S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted Tony out of the public eye for now, and she felt the same way.

"No, Tony... No, I don't think so."

"I'm going. And it's not up for discussion, Pepper," he added quickly before she could argue further.

Tony continued to work on his armor and now 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 again. "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 -"

"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."

"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 make sure it doesn't get into the hands of anyone else."

Tony cleared his throat and shook his head. "Pepper, would you go to the hearing for me? I'll give you power of attorney as my representative. And I'm sure it's enough to send a lawyer anyway."

"I'm sure, it's not enough. And 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. Once again, pain seemed to be reflected in his puppy eyes. She couldn't take it well.

"We can say I can't travel yet because of my injuries," Tony thought aloud. "You'll be fine, Pepper, I'm sure. And most of this will be handled by the lawyer anyway."

"I said no."

Pepper 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 there. And she was sure it wasn't good for this hearing either.

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

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

Tony stood up and walked over to her, taking her hands in his.

"Pepper. If anyone can do this right, it's you. And if there's anyone I can count on, it's you."

Pepper hesitated. Besides, she couldn't concentrate much right now with his warm hands clasping hers...

"Well... Okay. I'll try," she said before she could stop herself.

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

It was raining again when Tony let Happy drive him to LA. He was more than nervous. He didn't really understand why he felt the need to go to this funeral 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.

Tony fingered his tie nervously. As they approached the graves, he felt completely out of place. The last funeral he had been to was that of 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 Obadiah's death. Tony had not been to his funeral. He just couldn't bring himself to go after Obadiah had tried to kill him. It also reminded him of Yinsen's death. And the more he thought about Yinsen, the more he thought about Afghanistan. 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? How many people were buried here whose deaths he was partly responsible for.

Tony's head began to spin. 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 be lifted from his shoulders? It certainly did not.

"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 memory 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.

"Boss!" 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.

"Tony!"

But in that 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 put the images of Afghanistan out 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 probably the weather..."

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

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

"How dare you come here!" she shouted at him in no uncertain terms, her eyes red with crying and her face streaked with tears. "You of all people! The man in America with the most blood on his hands!"

And with those words, she slapped him hard in the face. Happy stepped forward uneasily, waiting for an order from his boss. Tony, however, was so perplexed that he didn't react and just stared at her without saying a word. For once he didn't have a witty remark ready.

Again, images of Afghanistan flashed before his mind's eye. Yinsen and him in that cave, the terrorists pointing guns at them, Yinsen translating the words of one of them: Welcome, Tony Stark, the most famous mass murderer in the history of America.

"Are you even listening? Why are you here today? To polish your image? How dare you come to my son's grave!" She slapped him again.

"Hey!" Happy shouted, dropping the umbrella.

"Yeah, good for you to have a bodyguard! My little Marcus didn't! 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.

"I don't want him here!" the mother cried hysterically, and not knowing any other way to help herself, she spat directly in Tony's face. "Asshole!"

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, away from him.

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

"Yeah, no. It's okay. I-uh-"

Tony was still too stunned to form a full sentence, but apparently no one was interested in one anyway. He looked at 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 with worry, and Tony knew why. Happy was probably waiting for him to have some kind of 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 go home...

Tony was sitting in the living room for a while now. He had already drunk a whole bottle of whiskey during the day. A little more didn't matter now. Without looking at the label, he took a bottle from his bar, poured himself a new glass and took a sip. Clearly bourbon. Expensive. Fine, slightly smoky flavor. Tony looked out the window. Judging by the position of the sun, it must be early evening. The rain clouds had all disappeared during the day.

Tony cleared his throat loudly just to do something. He was alone in the house. Pepper wasn't there, Romanoff had accompanied her to Washington, he had given the rest of the day off to all the employees who took care of the house and the garden, 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 but didn't even think about putting the bottle away. He was back on his mission to not care about anything.

"Um, Mr. Stark?"

"Huh?"

Happy was suddenly standing in the door. 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. He wasn't sure which of the two Happys in front of him was the right one.

"Get out," Tony mumbled.

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 fell through the large window and cast long shadows. Tony leaned back and closed his eyes. He couldn't get the boy out of his mind. Nor his mother.

When he'd been that age, his father had always been the figure he'd admired, even if he hadn't gotten much attention. Tony remembered a day when his father had suggested (at his mother's request, of course) that they should do something together. Since Tony had been very interested in science as a child, they had planned to go to a museum and then have lunch in a good restaurant.

Full of anticipation, Tony had gotten up at eight in the morning, Howard Stark at eleven. It was after two when his father had finally been ready to go. Then the phone had rung and Howard had disappeared into his study. Tony had known he wouldn't be coming out anytime soon, so he had sat on the floor against the far wall and listened to his father's voice. He hadn't understood a word, just listened to the sound of the voice. Howard had ended the call at five-thirty that night - and forgotten about the plans with Tony.

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

He opened his eyes again. The sun's light was fading, the shadows were thinner, and finally the room was dark. Meanwhile, something very dark has appeared inside him. A heavy... sadness perhaps? He wasn't sure. Tony poured himself another drink because he couldn't stand that feeling and stood up. He also felt nauseous, so he thought some fresh air might do him good.

He realized that he had clearly overstepped his bounds when he staggered against the wall and dropped his glass, which slowly rolled away from him. But he didn't really care. The darkness inside him made him indifferent to everything - except the darkness itself. But Tony didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about anything right now. Wasn't that the whole point of tonight's drinking session? Apparently, it hadn't worked so well.

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

Suddenly, his foot caught on something, and he stumbled sideways to the edge of the lighted pool. Drunk as he was, Tony had no chance of regaining his balance. Without understanding how or why, he found himself underwater 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.

Having hit an emotional low, Tony wondered why he should even bother trying to surface, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. And then, without warning, the images of torture flooded back into his mind. Being pushed underwater, experiencing the lack of oxygen to the point of unconsciousness, and the constant fear of dying.

Tony was drunk and numb - yet he could feel the paralyzing, growing fear inside him overshadowing everything else. In a matter of seconds, the paralyzing fear turned to sheer panic. Tony could not move. He saw them right in front of him: The masked men torturing him. The darkness. The water trough.

Reality and memory blurred. One moment he was in Afghanistan being pushed underwater, the next he was aware that he was in his swimming pool and just had to surface. But he couldn't. Tony was frozen. In panic, he turned his eyes upward, outward, where there was plenty of air, where life would go on. Without him, he thought, terrified, he couldn't move at all.

Then something large and heavy fell into the water.

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 for reading and commenting!