Chapter 20

The air in the VIP area of the club was heavy with the scent of expensive perfumes and the throbbing beat of the music. Tony was surrounded by many people who enjoyed his presence. It wasn't hard to find people who wanted to party with him or who considered themselves to be his friends.

Tony was in a constant state of intoxication. The last few days had been filled with disappointment and a feeling of powerlessness. S.H.I.E.L.D. had let him down. Fury and Coulson had come only to humiliate and expose him. Natasha, whom he had seen as a new ally just two weeks before, had actually been manipulating and deceiving him all along to create a profile of him that painted an absolutely disastrous picture.

And Pepper had caught him. It had only been a matter of time, of course. He had always known that Pepper was too smart to hide it from her for long. How was he supposed to get out of that situation? Not at all. Tony felt he had gone too far. Rhodey, yes, maybe he could wrap him around his finger, because he had been in Iraq for a long time and hadn't witnessed everything that had happened. But Pepper? Never.

Tony had the feeling that he'd lost everything. So why hold back any longer? It was over. The attempted game of hide and seek had ended, Pepper wasn't going to accept what he was doing, S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't going to help him, Natasha had been transferred to New Mexico. The battle was lost, he could do whatever he wanted now, it didn't matter anyway.

So Tony immersed himself in the world of opulence he knew so well, ordering champagne and cocktails and having his glass refilled over and over again. The drinks eventually burned in his stomach as they were the only thing he consumed, but the pain was nothing compared to what was tormenting him inside. It was still not enough. It wasn't enough to forget, to numb, to put himself in another state. So he went on and on.

Tony ran his trembling fingers over his face as he sat in an armchair in the lounge, a White Russian in his hand, already half empty. From time to time he felt the eyes of the other guests on him, saw them whispering and pointing at him. He ignored them, concentrating instead on banishing one particular thought from his mind - the thought that he had a problem he needed to take care of.

With each sip, Tony grew louder and more energetic. He told stories that made people laugh, gesticulated wildly with his arms, and then broke into sudden moments of silence in which he heard himself searching for words he couldn't find. As the hours passed, Tony became more and more lost in the maelstrom of his own self-destruction. But he was sure he had everything under control - until the next glass, until the next lie he told himself.

The club pulsed around him, a world of flickering lights and thunderous bass that made his heart beat faster. Tony was in freefall, driven by the darkness of his own thoughts and the pressure to escape them. Each glass was a small act of rebellion against reality, each further sip made him lose touch with himself.

The people around him laughed, patted him on the back and seemed to enjoy his jokes. But beneath the surface, Tony was alone, trapped in a battle he couldn't win. It was like in New York. It was just like when he had lost control. Just like when he had watched himself fall over the edge. But how much further could he go today? Obviously further.

The atmosphere in the club was charged with energy and allure. At some point, Tony found himself surrounded by a beautiful woman. Her smile was seductive, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. They flirted, their bodies magnetically drawn together as they moved through the crowd in search of a quieter place.

Tony felt the desire in him, the chance for a moment of escape, of distraction. But when she pushed him against a wall and pressed her lips to his, he was suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea. His hands trembled as he abruptly pulled away from her and turned, stumbling a few steps away. The music echoed in his head as he threw up in a corner of the room. He could feel the others staring at him, but he was too hammered to care. The woman followed him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh no... Are you all right?" she asked softly, her voice full of concern.

Tony raised his head with difficulty. "Yeah, I... I just need a moment," he mumbled, the nausea still in his stomach.

She looked at him sympathetically, maybe even pitifully. "Do you want me to get someone? Your bodyguard?"

Tony shook his head, even though he knew that what he really needed was some help. "No. Just go back and enjoy the party. I'll be fine."

She did, and after a brief moment of rest, Tony returned to his seat and collapsed into it. He was so exhausted he thought he could never get up again. The music felt duller, the faces around him blurred into a distorted mass of laughter and glinting eyes.

"Mr. Stark, another drink?" the waiter asked, and Tony just nodded silently, staring at the sparkling glass in front of him as it was refilled.

The liquid in it was like a promise - a promise he made to himself to numb the pain. A promise that it would get better with the next drink. He raised the glass to his lips and drank, feeling the fire of alcohol go down his throat. However, nothing got better with the next drink.

Day and night passed, and Tony stayed where he was - in the darkness of the club, surrounded by people who admired him, but no one who could save him. Time seemed endless, a never-ending series of moments that faded into a blurry fog. Tony sank deeper and deeper into the chair, his thoughts lost in a maze of agony. He was trapped in his own drunkenness. There was no turning back.

As the hours passed, Tony lost the battle against fatigue and exhaustion. Again and again he would come out of his drunken sleep, awakened by the noise of people and music, only to fall back into a state of half-sleep after a few moments. His body felt heavy and strange, every movement an effort. Meanwhile, the people around him began exchanging worried glances. Tony heard distant voices trying to communicate with him, but his response was nothing but a low murmur, fading into the air.

"Tony, can you hear me?" a voice asked close to his ear. He struggled to open his eyes and tried to make out the figure in front of him.

Tony tried to speak, but his tongue was too heavy. He shook his head weakly and closed his eyes again, trying to return to the darkness of his drunken state. Please, just leave me alone.

Tony leaned heavily against the pillows, his head spinning in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He was so drunk that the world around him was out of focus. His shirt was wrinkled, his face pale from exhaustion and overexertion, his eyes bloodshot and glassy from too much booze. He kept falling asleep, only to wake abruptly when nausea shot through his stomach.

"Tony, you need to stop drinking," someone said worriedly, taking the glass from his hand, but Tony's lips only moved in an unintelligible mumble.

By now he had spent more than two days here, in an uninterrupted cycle of champagne and cocktails. Silhouettes still danced around him in the flickering lights of the club. Time no longer had a beginning or an end. Everything was the same, nothing mattered.

Another guest handed him a glass of water. "Here, drink this." Tony reached for the glass, but his hand was shaking so badly he could barely hold it. He took a sip, but his stomach immediately rebelled. In a sudden reflex, Tony turned to the side and threw up next to the chair. It was only a pitifully small amount of liquid, but his shoulders shook with the effort as he recovered from the convulsion and coughed into his arm.

The bystanders looked at each other uneasily, some rushing to help him, others keeping a respectful distance. The atmosphere grew strained, and some of the guests began to whisper. "Is he okay?" one woman asked anxiously. "I think someone should look after him. Can someone take him home?"

However, before anyone could respond, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents approached. Tony recognized Shaw and Bennett, who looked at him with tense expressions.

"Mr. Stark," Bennett began, "it's time to go. Your location has been leaked and posted several times. There has been a call on the Internet for people to come down here to see you. This is a security risk. You need to leave the club."

"No," Tony said, squinting at the agent. "I'm staying here."

The agents exchanged a brief, meaningful look at each other. Then Shaw stepped closer and leaned toward him.

"There are a lot of people gathering outside the club right now, and some of them have probably already made it inside. It isn't safe anymore. Please come with us."

"I'll stay," Tony muttered again, reaching for his champagne glass.

Shaw knelt in front of him, gently taking the drink from his hand and placing it back on the table.

"Is Hogan here yet?" he asked his colleague.

"He's supposed to be waiting outside with the others," Bennett replied.

"Go get him, maybe he'll have an easier time getting Stark to come with us. I don't want to risk a scene right now. It's dangerous enough as it is."

"All right, I'll be right back."

Tony could only half understand the words. What he did understand, however, was that their intention was to rip him away from this environment. From his refuge of the last few days that had allowed him to make time stand still. Tony reached for his glass of champagne again, but before he could get it to his lips, Shaw took it from his hand once more.

"Mr. Stark, that really is enough now," he said quietly. "You run the risk of collapsing like you did at the charity event. This has gotten out of hand. Let us take the lead now, please."

Tony leaned forward and reached for the glass again. He heard the agent groan in frustration as he took it from him for the third time.

Then even Tony could feel the mood in the club changing. It became more agitated, louder, more chaotic. Shaw seemed immediately alarmed. And indeed, people were suddenly trying to get into the VIP area, shouting for Iron Man or taking pictures of him. A few agents squeezed through the crowd to get to them, trying their best to keep the people at a distance.

Then Happy was beside him. He had leaned down and was looking at him with a serious expression on his face.

"Tony, you have to come with me," he urged as he helped Tony firmly to his feet. "Trust me."

Tony could sense that something was wrong, so he let Happy support him without resistance. As they moved through the crowd, some of the partygoers kept trying to get through to Tony.

"Tony, just one picture!" someone shouted, aggressively elbowing his way through to them.

The agents pushed them all back as they led him through the club. Happy had a hard time keeping Tony on his feet, so Shaw helped a few times by holding him up as well.

The night air hit Tony's face cold and refreshing as they helped him out of the building, Happy to his right, Shaw to his left. Tony's ears were ringing and throbbing from days of loud music. The world was spinning at breakneck speed and he still felt nauseous.

Outside, fans and paparazzi crowded behind the obviously hastily erected barriers. Photo flashes flickered like small explosions, making his eyes water. But despite his condition, Tony put on a charming smile and raised his hand in the peace sign. The crowd cheered louder, their shouts ringing in his foggy head.

"Tony! Look over here! Here!"

The photographers' voices were little more than noise, but Tony enjoyed the sudden positive attention. Finally, someone seemed happy to see him. Happy and Shaw were using all of their powers of persuasion to get him to hurry up, but Tony was still busy waving to the crowd. Eventually, they pulled his raised hand down and then continued to support him in the direction of several black Cadillacs.

Suddenly, a couple of women started screaming, and as Tony looked in their direction, he saw a masked man break through the barrier and run toward him. Two of the agents immediately pounced on him, overpowering him and pinning him to the ground.

Then total chaos broke out. More people, all of them masked, jumped the barrier. Screams filled the air as the crowd panicked. The barrier was toppled, some fled in panic, others rushed in their direction. Security forces were unable to keep track of the situation as they desperately tried to fend off the attackers and control the crowd.

Tony felt the grip of Happy and Shaw on his upper arms loosen and they were pushed away from him. Tony staggered to the side, barely able to stand without help. Then he saw one of the masked men break through to him. Tony, too drunk to react, could only blink in disbelief. The attacker was fast. He grabbed Tony's shoulder, his eyes full of anger and pain.

"This is for my family!" he shouted, his voice shaking with emotion.

The next moment, a blade flashed. Everything suddenly seemed to happen in slow motion. Tony felt the cold touch of the knife against his side. The pain was sharp and clear, piercing the alcohol mist in his head. But before Tony could fully grasp what had happened, he was knocked over and he hit the ground painfully on his back. The man now threw himself on top of him, punching him brutally in the face. Tony's head recoiled and hit the ground again, blood immediately streaming down his mouth and chin.

"Tony!" he heard Happy yell several times over the noise as Tony tried to fight off the man.

But the attacker had no trouble overpowering the drunken Tony. He pulled Tony's hands to his sides and punched him hard in the face again. Silver flashes of lightning flickered in front of Tony's eyes. Then he felt the man in front of him being roughly pulled away from him.

Tony's head was heavy, and his nose was bleeding noticeably. The pain in his side and face mixed with a feeling of total disorientation.

"Fuck... what the..." he groaned, his words completely drowned out by the noise.

Then Happy's distorted face appeared in front of him.

"Tony, get up quickly!" he shouted, pulling at him. "We have to get in the car!"

Tony was still barely able to react, and the pain wasn't helping, but without knowing how, he suddenly found himself in an upright position. The faces around him were hazy and all he could feel was Happy and someone else holding him and pulling him forward. The screams and flashing lights merged into a single, chaotic carpet of sound.

Then he was in the car and the doors were shut tight. Tony sank against the upholstery, breathing heavily and pressing his hands to his aching side. The sounds outside gradually faded as the car began to move.

"Damn, he's hurt!" he heard Happy panicking, but the words barely penetrated the dizziness in his head.

Nevertheless, he followed Happy's gaze and looked down at his own body. He pulled his bloodied hands away from his side and stared at them without understanding. Bennett immediately climbed over from the passenger seat and crouched in front of him, so close that Tony could smell the agent's cologne. As quickly as he could, he unbuttoned Tony's shirt and for a moment their eyes locked, hundreds of unsettling emotions behind them. Then Bennett pushed the shirt aside and inspected the wound.

"Shit... Hospital, now!" he shouted to the driver, and a moment later Tony felt a cloth pressed against his wound, making him cry out in pain.

"Who... who did that?" Tony asked, his face contorted in pain.

"We don't know yet," Happy answered as he kept pressure on the wound.

The car accelerated, and the speed and bumps in the road made Tony's body ache with every movement. The alcohol in his blood intensified the disorientation, and every jolt sent waves of nausea through his body. The dizziness that overcame him was too much, and eventually he could no longer fight it. His stomach clenched and he had to turn to the side to vomit again. The sour taste burned in his mouth and Bennett held him tight while Happy rolled down the window to let in some fresh air. Tony was shaking, his breathing shallow and erratic.

"Fuck... I'm sorry," he mumbled weakly, his eyes half closed.

"No problem, Mr. Stark," Bennett said reassuringly and helped him to lean back. "Don't worry about it."

Tony nodded weakly, unable to do more. The pain in his side throbbed violently and he felt his strength leaving him. Once again, his vision was out of focus and the voices of Happy and Bennett seemed far away.

"Don't fall asleep, Mr. Stark," Bennett urged, his voice more insistent now. "We're almost there."

The car drove on, the streetlights passing in a blur. Tony concentrated on Bennett's words and the steady pressure of Happy's hand on his wound. He saw their worried faces and felt guilty, small and weak.

Tony leaned his head back and closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the situation, overwhelmed by the pain, unable to contribute in any meaningful way.