Chapter 18

After his encounter with Brown or Everhart or whatever her name was, Tony had looked for Romanoff. Unfortunately, one of the agents outside the gates had informed him that she was currently unavailable. He had not provided any further information about her whereabouts. However, after Tony had nearly thrown a tantrum, he had promised to let Romanoff know that Tony wanted to talk to her.

If the Ten Rings had been seen and a reporter knew about it, then S.H.I.E.L.D. definitely had to know what was going on. Why didn't any of them talk to him anyway? They only showed up when he screwed up, they were never helpful in the first place.

Over the next few days, while he waited impatiently, Tony tried to stay away from alcohol and focus on other things. As Pepper had asked him to - or begged. He wanted to make an effort, also because he knew he really had to pull himself together now and couldn't let things slide. So he dutifully drove to Stark Industries and shook up the R department. He presented his ideas for vertical wind turbines, environmentally friendly electric motors, and hydro panels to the department heads and researchers and also designed a modified version of an arc reactor that would power the entire tower in New York, but could also supply all of New York with green electricity.

As he walked through the departments, lecturing, showing hastily constructed designs, drawing plans, and giving instructions along the way, the senior department heads trotted after him like interns, hopelessly overwhelmed by the speed at which Tony was telling them how these mechanisms worked and could be manufactured. Tony couldn't tell how many times he heard phrases like "it can't be done", "it's impossible", "we don't know how to implement this", or "it will take us years to develop". Tony was completely unimpressed, recording exactly how it could be done, and secretly amused at the excessive demands of the staff, almost all of whom were wide-eyed and sweating as they hurried after him. It felt good to get things moving again, to be good at something, to solve problems. Maybe that would at least bring some peace to the company.

However, Tony realized that physically he wasn't feeling too good. He felt shaky, as if he was trembling inside, and even noticed that his teeth were constantly chattering slightly. It was as if not 5 liters of blood, but 5 liters of liquid stress were permanently circulating through his body. He was constantly hot and cold at the same time, and he was becoming more and more irritable.

Tony noticed that the symptoms were getting worse and worse until he had the frightening thought that it might have something to do with the fact that he hadn't had any alcohol in four days. At first he dismissed the idea, because if that were the case, he should have shown symptoms during his hospital stay, when he obviously hadn't had anything to drink. But thinking more about it he had to admit that he had been unconscious for more than two of those five days, and that they had kept him sedated with benzodiazepines until he had checked himself out and gotten drunk again. Troubled and unsettled by these thoughts, Tony thought that there was actually a very simple way to find out if it really could be mild withdrawal symptoms.

So when he got home that night, he found a bottle of good red wine in the wine cellar and drank a big glass while he continued to pore over the plans for the hydro panels. After the first glass Tony felt calmer, after the second the symptoms were almost gone, and after the whole bottle he felt as if he had completely cured a flu within an hour.

But of course, that wasn't the end of it. As the next day progressed, Tony faced the same problem. With each passing hour, he felt shakier and less focused, and soon he was back to where he had been before the bottle of red wine the night before.

He knew he had to be strong now and stay away from alcohol at all costs before it could get worse - and maybe he would have made it. If it hadn't been for the nights. The dreams tormented Tony in a way that threatened to suffocate him - and he had nothing to counteract them. When he woke up, the panic would come and push him into an abyss and torture him there, just like the terrorists had done. And every time the panic was done with him and he struggled to crawl out, he would feel like he had become a little more broken.

However, when he woke up from the nightmare and then drank something, he was able to nip the rising panic in the bud. He felt in control. As if he could decide for himself how fast he would come back from the abyss with his head held high. So in a way, he needed the alcohol. He needed it.

As shocked as Tony was by this fact, on the other hand it was easy for him to pretend that he hadn't noticed anything. Pretending nothing was wrong - he had always been good at that.

However, he was in a dilemma because his promise to Pepper had been that he would quit. And he sensed that he couldn't test her patience much longer. She was smart, she had long since figured out what was going on with him. She might not know all the details, she didn't know how the Ten Rings had tortured him and what he saw in his dreams every night. But she knew that he was not well - and that he was trying to self-medicate by drinking.

Tony felt his conscience pulling at him, but he couldn't stop himself. So he started adding vodka to the many cups of coffee he already drank every day. At the same time, he put on a little too much perfume and made sure to always chew mint gum near Pepper and keep his distance. During the day, he was able to make do with a certain amount of alcohol and without losing control of his speech center. But at night, when he could be alone, he would let himself go and drink bottles upon bottles of wine or stronger liquor.

After three weeks of intensive work at Stark Industries, all the reservations were gone and everyone knew what to do. He had developed prototypes, and in a few weeks the team would present him with the final products, which he would revise and optimize himself. Then the first series could go into production.

Pepper went home with Tony that evening because they still had a few things to discuss. While he sat on the couch in the living room and began to leaf through the documents for the proposed tower in New York that Pepper had put in front of him, she happily filled him in on what the board had said about the progress. She was also relieved that the company would soon be back in production.

But most of all, she must have been under the impression that Tony was back on his feet. Which was not the case. In fact, Tony felt that all he wanted was a sip of vodka. He was glad Pepper couldn't see inside his head.

"I'm getting a little tired," Tony said as inconspicuously as possible and stood up. "I'll get a coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah, but you just sit there, I'll get it."

"No, I wanted to stretch anyway."

"Stay. I'll get the coffee."

The firmness in Pepper's tone worried Tony. Why wouldn't she let him go? Had she noticed something? Had she noticed that he kept mixing vodka into his coffee and now wanted to stop him? Or test him?

"I want you to finish looking at the documents," Pepper said impatiently. "You still have to look at all the proposals and approve them, and I'd like to call it a day at some point."

"All right then. Black and no sugar, please," Tony said with relief and flopped back onto the couch. So it was just about finishing for the day.

"Nice of you to remind me. Like I don't know how you drink your coffee," Pepper remarked, shaking her head.

Soon after, she returned with two cups, which she placed on the living room table. She sat quietly next to him on the couch while he made notes in the margins of the papers and signed certain contracts. By now it had grown darker outside and the automatic lights had come on. Just as Tony put the papers down and looked up, he caught Pepper watching him for a moment with a - was it a worried? - expression on her face. Pepper quickly put on a neutral face and cleared her throat quietly.

"Do you have any siblings?" Tony asked to distract her.

"What?" Pepper asked confused.

"Isn't it strange that we've known each other for years and yet we hardly know anything about each other?"

"I'd say I know a hell of a lot about you."

"See, that's pretty unfair."

"No, not really. You're my boss. We have a professional relationship. A working relationship. It's only natural that I don't know anything about you... er, I mean that you don't know anything about me. Besides, it doesn't matter..."

Tony fought to keep himself from laughing out loud. He contented himself with smiling at Pepper and nodding in agreement. When she realized he was teasing her a little, she gave him a light elbow in the side which made Tony chuckle even more.

"I have two brothers," Pepper then said to Tony's surprise; he hadn't really expected an answer. "But we hardly ever see each other. My whole family lives in New Haven and we've... grown apart a lot." Pepper brushed an invisible strand of hair from her face and then let her hands slap her thighs. "Well. I never really fit in. My parents weren't thrilled that I didn't want to work for their company like my brothers do. They weren't thrilled when I moved to Los Angeles to go to college, either. And they absolutely hated when I started working for you." Pepper laughed briefly. "It's okay. We like each other, but we don't like to see each other. I'm happy here - or to put it another way: I'm exactly where I want to be."

Tony looked at Pepper and felt a pleasant tingle somewhere in his stomach. But before he could say anything about Pepper's story, she picked up the papers and started to leaf through them. Tony could see that her cheeks were flushed and smiled at the sight. Pepper met his gaze again and for a moment they just looked into each other's eyes. This moment kept happening, Tony thought. Again and again he had that ... feeling when he looked at Pepper. Again and again the air seemed to crackle, and yet the moment always disappeared as quickly as it had come. Pepper was the first to look away - as usual.

"Can we go over this again?" she asked, waving the papers in front of his face.

"Sure," Tony sighed. "But you know, the only thing that really matters to me is that it says 'Stark' in big, bold letters at the top of the tower."

Pepper shook her head disapprovingly, but clearly trying to suppress a grin.

When Tony opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the couch. It had gone completely dark outside and Jarvis had dimmed the lights. He must have fallen asleep sometime during the conversation with Pepper. Yawning, Tony sat up and saw a dark blue blanket slowly slipping from his chest. Perplexed, he stared at it for a moment until he realized that Pepper must have covered him. Smiling, he touched the fabric and let it slip through his fingers. For some reason, the gesture touched him. The idea that he had dozed off and then Pepper had tucked him in... it was so nice and caring. He wondered how she had felt. Had she really done it in the affectionate way he imagined? Had she been happy that he had fallen asleep, knowing that he desperately needed it?

Or had she been annoyed that he just dozed off in the middle? But would she have tucked him in then?

Tony closed his eyes and remembered the hug in the S.H.I.E.L.D. safe house after the attack on his home. How intimate the touch had been. How worried and scared and angry she'd been after he'd been hospitalized with alcohol poisoning, how she'd sat by his bedside and held his hand. How she had always been there for him. There had been this energy between them for years, a flirt here, a few glances there. But ever since he had changed, ever since Iron Man had come into existence, something had changed between them. The contact had become more intense, more emotional, more intimate. Maybe it was because they had been in life-threatening situations together several times. But... was there more?

Tony stroked the blanket one last time with this inner warm feeling, then he got up, went to his bar and poured himself a whiskey. He was about to go back to the couch to pick up the blanket again when he heard a noise behind him. Startled, he turned around. It was Romanoff.

"Sorry I made you jump," she said with a sarcastic smile.

"Glad you could finally make it," Tony said in a sour voice. "Three weeks and you couldn't call me?"

"I've been out of the country," Romanoff replied simply. She studied his face for a few seconds until her gaze drifted down to his hands holding the drink. "So, what do you need?"

Tony downed half the whiskey, preparing himself for the heavy subject he was about to discuss.

"It's about the Ten Rings. A reporter from Vanity Fair told me that they have been seen. The Ten Rings were seen near Kabul. Is that true?"

"Oh, that's what this is about," Romanoff asked, watching Tony intently. "Who told you? Let me guess... Sandra Avens? Christine Everhart?"

"The second."

"She really needs to stick her nose in everyone else's business," Romanoff said, rolling her eyes.

"Let's just focus on whether or not her sources are accurate," Tony said sullenly, finishing his glass.

"Yes. Supposedly they are."

"Near Kabul? For real? Why didn't I know about this?!" Tony growled, an angry frown forming on his forehead.

"Stark... this happens a lot. Mostly it's just rumors and bullshit, we rarely get any real confirmed information about their temporary whereabouts."

"So has this particular rumor been confirmed, Romanoff?" Tony couldn't hide his anger any longer.

"...Yes."

"What the fuck! You're withholding this information from me! If I knew where they were hiding, I could take care of them right now!"

"Exactly! You'd fly right away and get yourself into trouble again. It worked so well the last times."

Romanoff's deadpan expression met Tony's angry face.

"This isn't about any... it's... the Ten Rings... this is important!" Tony shouted furiously, wiping his forehead.

His facade seemed to be crumbling, and he hated it. It was as if he could no longer use his casual, funny, cool, and sometimes sarcastic manner as a protective wall. The protective wall had holes in it, the plaster was peeling off, and anyone who wanted could see right through it. As slowly and controlled as possible, he walked back to his bar, poured himself another glass, and then returned to Romanoff, careful to keep his expression calm.

"I know," Romanoff said, almost sympathetically, and continued to watch him closely. "But I don't think there's much you can do right now."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, there are other things in life than just the Ten Rings. Why don't you just -"

"There aren't! There's nothing else but this!" Tony shouted.

There was complete silence for a moment. Romanoff narrowed her eyes and watched in silence as he sipped his drink, fighting for composure.

"I understand that this is not just some trivial matter," she said at last. "I can imagine that the Ten Rings are of the utmost importance to you. And that it's hard to get some closure about what happened when the kidnappers are still out there, going about their business as usual. But... Stark, in all honesty... you strike me as not being yourself right now. There's nothing you can do in this state."

"I don't think you're in a position to judge anything here, Romanoff. You don't know me."

"You think? Maybe I see you."

"If you say so." Tony tried to sound indifferent, but found the anger boiling up inside him again. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. I designed and built Iron Man in a cave with nothing but junk while being threatened with death."

"Yes, and that is remarkable. It's also the reason S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to work with you. But everything you've done in the last few months has been impulsive, dangerous, or self-destructive. You kept going off on your own instead of working with us as a team. And repeatedly, it backfired. You are distracted, and I understand. But it also means that you need to get your shit together - and that you're not ready for any kind of mission. You made that very clear in New York."

"New York was just an accident!"

"A near fatal accident. And it doesn't even seem to bother you, as I can see." Romanoff pointed to the glass in his hand.

Tony felt like he was about to lose his temper. At the same time, he could feel the force with which each of her words struck something inside of him.

"So you're not going to help me," he said defeated.

"We are. But not in the way you want."

"Then just get out of my way..."

Tony tried to walk past her, but Romanoff grabbed his upper arm tightly, possibly to make him listen. "Wait, that doesn't mean that-"

But what Romanoff was about to say was obscured by a buzzing in Tony's ears. He looked down at his shoulder, where Romanoff's hand was still touching him, and felt a violent surge of disgust and horror. His arm and shoulder began to hurt in a way that was familiar. Suddenly everything went dark. Romanoff's outline became blurred. Tony could see her talking, but he could not hear her, and then she just disappeared.

Tony felt that his hair was wet, as was his face and chest. He felt the pain in his shoulders where they grabbed him. The terrorists pushed him to his knees and under the water, and Tony held his breath. It was freezing cold. Tony struggled and tried to resist getting pulled down. Numerous bubbles rose from his mouth as he tried to wriggle out of their grip.

They let go and he surfaced, panting and coughing. He heard someone shouting at him in Arabic and someone laughing. Then they pushed him back down. The ice-cold water crept into every fiber of his head, numbing his thoughts. Tony tried to push off with his legs to get away from the water trough, but someone kicked him hard in the back of the knee and he let out a strangled cry of pain. More bubbles rose to the surface. Tony was scared to death.

"Stark!" someone shouted.

Suddenly, they pushed him deeper into the water, and the wires from the car battery in his chest came in contact with the water. An indescribable pain shot through his chest; it felt like it was on fire. Thousands of small bubbles swirled around him as he tried to scream the pain out of his body. His ears were ringing, and he was on the verge of losing consciousness.

"Stark!"

The grips loosened and Tony emerged.

"No!" he pleaded, gasping. "Please! Not again! Please don't do this!"

The terrorist holding him responded with a hard punch to his face. Tony's head snapped sideways from the force, craning his neck. Screaming in pain, Tony tried again to wriggle out of the grip. In vain. Tony tasted blood. And again they grabbed him roughly, held him in front of the trough, and pushed him underwater.

"Stark!" someone shouted again and he felt a hand on his neck. "Hey, Stark! Come to your senses!"

Tony blinked, the water cleared, and he thought he could see a face in front of him. Then he saw Romanoff at the bottom of the trough. Confusion washed over Tony. How could Romanoff...? What did this have to do with...?

Tony blinked again and the water disappeared. It was still dark, but now he could clearly see Agent Romanoff standing in front of him. The painful grips on his shoulders loosened and disappeared, replaced by a gentle touch on the back of his neck. Romanoff's outstretched arm.

"Can you hear me, Stark? Tony?" Romanoff asked eagerly, a strange look on her face.

Tony couldn't answer. Instead, he could feel his heart taking off in a running start. It took off like it was preparing for the sprint of the century. Uncontrollable panic coursed through his veins. His chest tightened so much that he could barely breathe. His whole body was shaking.

"Please... don't touch my shoulder..." he gasped. "It causes... it reminds me of... just don't."

Romanoff let go of him instantly. Tony ran his fingers through his hair and tried to catch his breath. Without giving it much thought, he walked back to the bar, poured himself another large glass of whiskey and slumped down on a stool. His attempt to keep a low profile and appear as controlled as possible had failed anyway. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to feel safe. He needed that damn drink. So he drank the whole glass and refilled it, avoiding to look at Romanoff.

But she sat down across the bar from him, and he knew he couldn't ignore her.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Tony looked into her face and found nothing derogatory or critical in it. On the contrary, Romanoff suddenly seemed very gentle.

"I think so," Tony said uncertainly.

Romanoff remained silent for a while, watching him as if she feared he was about to have another episode. Tony was still shaking, but with the alcohol slowly being absorbed by his body, his heart rate slowed, his breathing became more regular, and he was able to think more clearly.

"What was that?" Romanoff asked quietly.

Tony gave a short snort and avoided her gaze again.

"You were completely out of it, you couldn't even hear me. What happened?" Romanoff carefully placed her hands on his and tilted her head to make eye contact. "Talk to me."

Tony locked eyes with Romanoff, then decided to say what had frightened him so much. "It was a flashback. I was back there. In Afghanistan. Everything suddenly went dark, I could feel the cold, the wet, how tight they held me. Even the pain."

"What did you see?" Romanoff whispered, spellbound.

"How I was tortured by the Ten Rings."

There was silence for another long minute, then Romanoff let go of his hands. "I think I could use a drink myself now."

Surprised, Tony watched as she picked up the bottle of whiskey next to him, grabbed a fresh glass, poured herself a drink, and then poured another one for him.

"So this is what distracts you so much. You relive what happened to you over and over again."

Tony finished his glass and nodded. "I don't want to go there anymore. I don't want to feel and see it anymore. And it's so absurd because whenever I think about it, I come to the conclusion that it all started with Obadiah. And that makes no sense because Obadiah was my closest confidant."

There was another moment of silence.

"Okay," Romanoff finally said. "You know what? I'm going to contact Coulson tomorrow and ask him about the Ten Rings. I don't know if he'll listen, but maybe I can get him to talk to you. About where we go from here and how we can work together."

"What?" Tony asked, frowning as Romanoff poured herself and him another whiskey. "But I thought you said I wasn't ready for any kind of mission?"

"I did say that, yes. And I think it's true. You can't think clearly, you keep making the wrong decisions, you obviously have a weak spot in this very case. But..." She looked at him gently. "You're traumatized and trying to find a way to deal with it. Who am I to judge how you do that? Besides, I know what it's like when something goes horribly wrong, when people die around you while you survive, when you're the only one to crawl out of the wreckage you've caused... I know what loss and guilt means, and... maybe you should get your chance to move on."

Tony was surprised at her words. He hadn't thought Romanoff would talk to him like that. For the first time, he wondered who this agent really was, and what she had already experienced.

"You want redemption. But there isn't one. I know how painful it is not to be able to do anything when it's the only thing you want to do anymore," she continued, finishing her drink and pouring herself another. "That's why you're Iron Man. You hope you can hide behind an identity that doesn't have your flaws. And that's why I'm Black Widow. But you're still Tony - and I'm still Natasha. Even when we put on our masks."

"Black Widow?"

She shrugged and finished her whiskey. He felt strangely touched by her candor. As if she had managed to create a connection between them. A comfortable emotional closeness. Someone who might have experienced some horrors herself.

"One of the terrorists had called me the most famous mass murderer in the history of America... It felt like I was falling apart inside when I realized he was right. When I saw who held my guns. Who, with my help, extinguished countless lives," Tony admitted, trying to dull the pain with another drink.

"But as far as I know, it was Stane who sold the weapons under the table, not you," Romanoff interjected.

"Does it make such a difference to whom I delivered the weapons? Did I give them to the right people? And Stane to the wrong ones? I've done more damage than I could ever repair," Tony said sadly.

"You can try, though. You saw reality with your own eyes out there in the desert. You didn't deny it, you accepted it and changed." Romanoff made a face as if she was about to say something that made her uncomfortable. "You're a good guy, Tony. At least you try to be."

Tony laughed briefly and looked at her. "Never thought I'd have a conversation like this with you."

"Same goes for me. Here," Romanoff said, holding out another glass of whiskey. "How about a fresh start. I'm Natasha, and I'm - well, almost - happy to be working with you. Now just shut up."

The two toasted and downed the high-proof alcohol. Romanoff looked at him, almost looked into him, and smiled in a way that made Tony's insides sting. And Tony couldn't help but smile back. Was she flirting with him again? She was so hard to read.

Tony had become quite drunk by now and that had certainly helped him to calm down. However, he also had the impression that talking to Romanoff - or Natasha - had helped him as well. For a moment, he felt as if all his burdens had been lifted, which made him almost elated.

Natasha put her hand on his again, tenderly and carefully, and Tony felt himself yearning for some comfort and affection. Then she slowly ran her forefinger over his hand and looked at him with a slightly open mouth. So she was flirting with him again.

Tony looked into Natasha's eyes, still gripped by the elation, and Natasha returned his intense gaze. The mood had changed abruptly, as if something was in the air. Tony felt the alcohol flow through his head, clouding his senses and confusing his thoughts. Then he followed his impulse, leaned forward over the counter, and before he could think any further, he kissed her.

Tony was actually surprised that she let him, even more that she returned the kiss, and when he leaned back, she was still looking at him with the same intense gaze. But then she suddenly grinned mockingly.

"Nice. Maybe you haven't changed in every way," she said still giggling.

Tony snorted, finished his umpteenth whiskey and then looked away. Natasha was still playing games with him, he was never sure what she had in mind. Luckily for him, he was too drunk to give a shit about it. His eyes fell on the dark blue blanket on the couch. The blanket Pepper had covered him with. Pepper, who he had actually wanted to kiss.

"You alright?" Natasha asked him.

"Always," Tony said, forcing a smile.