Chapter 23

Pepper and Tony sat across from each other in the kitchen. The cook had just served them a fragrant omelet with a variety of herbs before discreetly retreating. The savory smell filled the room, but Pepper couldn't concentrate on the food. Her eyes were on Tony.

He had burst into tears and begged her for help, a scene she hadn't thought possible. Now he was sitting in front of her, visibly ashamed of his breakdown. His hands were shaking, a clear sign that it had been too long since his last drink. He only picked at his food, pushing it from one side of the plate to the other without taking a bite.

Pepper felt insecure. She knew they needed to talk, but how would she start the conversation? The tension in the air was palpable and she didn't want to say the wrong thing, anything that might put Tony on the spot again.

"Look," Pepper said tentatively, and Tony looked up. "Maybe we should talk about where we go from here."

"Uh. Yeah." Tony was equally hesitant. He looked so fragile that Pepper feared she might break him with every wrong word.

"You said you want my help," Pepper said slowly. "Well, the only thing I can do for you at this point in time is to help you stop drinking." Now there was fear on his face, but Pepper continued anyway. "Tony, there is nothing more important."

"By stop drinking, you mean completely?" he asked.

"Of course."

Tony's eyes dropped back to the plate in front of him and he continued to pick at his omelet. Doubts rose in Pepper's mind. Was this not what Tony wanted? Wasn't this what Tony had meant when he had asked for her help?

"You do wanna stop, don't you?" she asked as a result.

Tony avoided her gaze again.

"Tony?"

He looked at her, his eyes searching for something, an anchor, something to hold on to.

"Yes, I want to. But... I'm so scared, Pepper." His voice broke, and Pepper felt her heart grow heavy with pity and pain again.

"I know," she said sympathetically. "I understand very well. But let's be serious. There are only two choices. Either you keep drinking, in which case there's nothing I can do for you. Or you stop, and together we'll think about how to do it. But you have to want it. You have to decide."

"Sure. I... But... Pepper, I feel like shit... Can we maybe not do this right now?"

"We need to do this right now. I'm asking you to take a stand. Make a decision."

But Tony was staring down at his plate in silence, a variety of emotions on his face.

"You still won't talk to me," Pepper sighed. "I never know what's going on inside of you. You just won't let me in."

Tony put down his fork. Then he met Pepper's full gaze for the first time.

"Sorry, your're right," he said. "I've lost everything. You and Rhodey. Happy in a way. Natasha and Phil. I can't be Iron Man anymore and do what I set out to do. I have no idea what's going on at Stark Industries and who's taking care of everything right now. I've lost myself because everything has become the same. Everything is like a viscous, dark mass of bad feelings. I don't know what to think or feel anymore because everything is constantly numb..."

Pepper felt her breath catch. She was relieved that he was finally talking, but at the same time she couldn't get rid of the fear that he might get up at any moment and pour himself a drink. Every look at his trembling hands told her that everything inside Tony must be screaming for it. But if he did, she would have to leave, because then there would be no point in continuing to talk to him.

"I never wanted it to come to this," Tony said, still maintaining eye contact. "I was in a constant battle to keep the panic inside of me at bay. The nightmares were killing me, the images I kept seeing... all of that has gone away to some extent in the last few months due to heavy drinking... but so has everything else. And what is life still worth then?"

Now Tony lowered his eyes again. "And I... I asked you for help. So I guess for once I have to accept the help that is offered to me. And I have to accept it without questioning it, criticizing it or pretending that I know a better way... I lost everything, Pepper. Quitting can't be worse than living like this, can it?"

Pepper could feel a glimmer of hope rising in her. Tony had agreed, at least partially. That was more than she dared hope for.

"No, Tony," she said gently. "It can't be any worse than what I've seen of you these past few months. But there must be an end to this now. No more alcohol. No more excuses, no more compromises."

Tony nodded slowly, and Pepper could see that he was struggling with himself. The tension in his shoulders, the shaking hands, the watery eyes. But there was also determination in his gaze, a spark that told her he was at least willing to try.

"So, yes?" she asked hopefully. "It's decided? You're going to stop drinking? Right now?"

"Yes," Tony said and then added quietly, "if it means you'll talk to me again."

"I already am," Pepper said, unable to suppress a smile. "Okay. That sounds like a good start. And I'll support you, of course. There are... well, I can look for some good... rehab centers."

"Rehab centers?" Tony looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"...Well, yes."

"No," Tony suddenly seemed as forceful and determined as he used to be. Almost a bit like the old Tony. "You know how I feel about hospitals, Pepper. They make me sick! It's out of the question."

"But Tony!" Pepper said exasperated. "Then how do you plan to go through withdrawal? Don't think it's going to be easy!"

"Of course it won't be easy... but I'm not going to rehab! I'll quit... I'll just quit."

"Just quit... How? Here? Alone?"

"Alone if I have to." Tony looked into her eyes again. "Or with you," he added, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"With me?" Pepper asked, irritated. "I'm not a doctor. How am I supposed to be helpful with this? You need professional help. There's a reason these things are done as in-patients. It's too dangerous. You could hallucinate, you could have a seizure, you could become delirious... You don't even know what you're getting into."

"I know exactly what I'm getting into. It's going to be intense, it's going to be hard... But people have been doing this quietly for themselves for ages. Why shouldn't I be able to do that?"

"Tony..."

"Pepper," Tony stared at her as huffed as she did. "You of all people know how much I hate hospitals. I'd cancel the whole thing anyway. I do this here – or I don't do it."

And Pepper knew that it would be exactly like that. This was Tony at his best. No matter what else she said or did, she would not be able to convince him. As always, he would do it his way - or not at all. Nice that he said only moments ago that it was time to accept help without questioning it. So much for that.

"You still don't know how bad it's going to be," she tried anyway.

"It can't be that bad. I have not been an alcoholic for 20 years. Plus, I don't want anyone to know. What if it becomes public? Iron Man in rehab. Come on, Pepper -"

"Then it will become public. Your health is more important! Besides, the media's already talking about you being an alcoholic."

"You wanted me to make a decision, and now I have. I am quitting, but I am doing it my way. Pepper, please... help me with this. It's hard enough as it is." His voice sounded vulnerable again.

Pepper bit her lower lip. It was irresponsible to let him go through withdrawal at home. But she was afraid he might change his mind if she told him now that she wasn't going to go along with it. The last thing she wanted was for him to get drunk again now that he had finally decided not to. He had asked her to help him and she was determined to do so. Maybe she would ruin the decision he had just made if she said no now. Because this plan was built on a house of cards, she knew that. And Tony wouldn't go to rehab. He just wouldn't. She couldn't force him.

"Fine," Pepper finally said, sighing, not knowing what else to do. "I'll support you. We'll do it here... But if you get too sick, I'll call Phil and ask for help."

Tony thought for a moment, then agreed and smiled weakly. Pepper was relieved and frightened at the same time. She watched as Tony picked up his fork and then began to eat the omelet, obviously with more appetite than before.

"I missed you," Tony mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, barely audible.

Pepper nodded slightly and lowered her eyes.

As the first symptoms of withdrawal began to set in, Pepper knew they couldn't waste any time. Tony's recovery environment had to be free of temptation. She took a deep breath and looked at him with determination.

"We need to get all the alcohol out of the house," she said firmly. "And I need to go home and get some clothes and other things for the next few days. Since it would be downright stupid to leave you here with all these bottles, let's tackle the alcohol first."

Tony, who was starting to look pale and edgy, nodded weakly.

"You're right. Let's get it done."

"Where's Happy? We could use some help with this," Pepper said, glancing across the living room to the bar, seeing all the bottles and feeling the weight of the task ahead. Tony's expression changed to one of embarrassment.

"I... I don't know where he is," he admitted.

"No problem. Jarvis, please contact Happy and ask him to come here immediately. We need his help," she said matter-of-factly.

"Of course, Miss Potts," Jarvis replied promptly.

Pepper fetched some boxes from the cellar and began to stow the bottles inside, noticing that Tony was trying to help, his movements unsteady. He managed to carry a few bottles before Pepper intervened.

"Let me do this," she said sternly. "You're in no condition for that." And I don't want you anywhere near a bottle.

Fortunately, Tony complied and sat down on the couch, although he seemed a little offended. Half an hour later, Happy arrived, looking worried and confused. Pepper briefly explained what was going to happen which made Happy lighten up. With his help, they made faster progress. But Pepper was still uneasy. She knew Tony too well. She knew that he was struggling not only with the physical symptoms, but also with the urge to drink. She kept an eye on him, looking for any sign that he might try to sneak a drink. At one point, she saw him reach for a bottle that had been missed. Her heart skipped a beat and she rushed over.

"Tony, no," she said firmly. "Just sit down and let us do the work."

Tony looked at her, a mixture of frustration and resignation in his eyes.

"I was just trying to help," he said quietly.

"I know," Pepper replied softly. "I'm sorry to say it, but right now you're giving me a heart attack when I see you reaching for a bottle."

As they continued to clear the house, Shaw and Bennett, who had been standing guard, stepped in to help. It was unusual for them to participate in such a task, let alone offer their help, but they too had obviously understood the seriousness of the situation. With their combined efforts, the shelves of the bar were now empty, and they continued to clear the wine cellar.

As they worked, Pepper's mind raced. She had to leave sooner rather than later to gather her things, but she didn't want to leave Tony alone in this state, because she could see that he was really starting to struggle. She turned to him, her voice soft but insistent.

"I'm going to get my staff now, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can, but you have to promise me something."

"What?" Tony asked, looking at her, his whole posture tense.

"Promise me you won't drink while I'm gone. Happy, Shaw and Bennett will be here and I will tell them to keep an eye on you. I'm sure they'll help you if you need anything."

"Sure, yeah. I promise. I won't drink," Tony said quickly.

Pepper searched his eyes for any sign of deception but found nothing. Although she knew how good he was at hiding and lying. Besides the fact that all addicts lie.

"Alright. I'll be back."

With a last look of reassurance, she left the house, her heart heavy with worry. She knew that the next few days would be crucial, and she hoped that Tony's promise would hold. As she drove away, she couldn't shake the feeling that their battle had just begun.

Tony watched Pepper's car leave the property, then headed back inside. The first real waves of withdrawal began to hit him harder, his body betraying him as it craved the alcohol it had become addicted to. His hands were now shaking uncontrollably, not just from withdrawal but from the sheer anxiety of the situation. He felt nauseous and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He had promised Pepper he wouldn't drink, but the temptation was like a gnawing beast inside him.

Happy, Shaw and Bennett worked efficiently to pack the remaining alcohol. They moved methodically through the house, checking every nook and cranny. Tony could hear the clinking of bottles and the muted conversations. Happy glanced over at him occasionally, concern etched into his face.

Eventually, Tony decided to sit down in his workshop because he couldn't stand the clinking of bottles anymore. The humming of the various machines in the shop was a familiar background noise that usually gave him a sense of control. But not now. Now, every sound seemed to amplify the chaos inside him.

As the hours passed, Tony began to feel the symptoms of withdrawal slowly intensify. A mild headache at first, something he could ignore. But it quickly escalated into a pounding throb that seemed to reverberate through his entire skull. He tried to concentrate on a piece of equipment in front of him, but his hands were shaking too much to hold his tools steady. He dropped a wrench, the clang echoing louder than it should have.

His heart was pounding and he could feel the sweat on his forehead. He wiped it away with a shaking hand and tried to focus on his breathing. In, out. In, out. But it didn't help. His mind was a swirl of thoughts, none of them coherent. He remembered every mistake, every failure, every person he'd pushed away. The guilt ate at him, a relentless pressure that only made his symptoms worse.

He needed a distraction - as he always did - something to take his mind off the growing discomfort. He picked up his phone and almost called Pepper, but stopped himself. She would be there in a few moments. But even as he thought that, he longed for her presence.

Pepper had been gone for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, it had only been three hours, but every minute seemed endless. When she finally walked into the workshop and told him that the others were done and the house was officially alcohol-free, Tony felt a brief flicker of relief.

She stood in the doorway, watching him closely. Tony could see the concern on her face, the way her eyes scanned him, noting every tremor, every bead of sweat. She approached slowly and sat down next to him.

"How are you holding up?" she asked gently.

Tony tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

"I've been better."

Pepper reached out and put a comforting hand on his arm.

"I can imagine. Are you still sure about this? You know, doing this without medical support? We could still find a good place."

"It'll be fine," he said, but it felt like a lie.

The withdrawal was getting worse. His muscles ached and the room seemed to spin around him. He had to close his eyes to keep from getting dizzy. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white from the effort.

"Hey," Pepper said quietly, touching his hand. "How about we go upstairs, maybe order a pizza and just sit for a while?"

Tony agreed and let Pepper lead him into the living room where she told Jarvis to order two pepperoni pizzas and find a good movie. Tony was too tense to really pay attention to the movie and he was starting to feel really sick, only able to eat one slice of pizza. But there was something very comforting about sitting here with Pepper and doing something so normal. Around 10 p.m., Pepper shooed him off to bed, saying he should get some sleep before the symptoms got worse, and even though Tony was afraid to sleep, he agreed. He was tired, and glad if he could maybe even sleep through a few uncomfortable hours. So he lay down.

The last thing Tony saw was a missile hitting right next to him. Stark Industries. Then there was an explosion and he was thrown through the air, landing on his back on the desert sand.

Pain. Excruciating pain in his chest. And blood... he was wearing a protective vest, but the grenade had simply penetrated it. Which was no surprise, since that was exactly what he had designed the weapon to do.

Tony wanted to get up, he wanted to run, but it was impossible. Every bodily function seemed to fail one by one. His breathing was uncontrolled and spasmodic, and his ears were ringing from the explosion, almost completely drowning out the screams and gunshots around him.

Then fear. Fear like he had never experienced before rushed through him. It was a completely new fear. The fear of dying. He didn't want to die. Another part of him wanted nothing more because the pain was unlike anything he had ever known. He felt his breathing getting faster and shallower. A thick cold spread through his body like poison. With trembling hands, Tony tried to press against the bleeding wounds, but he couldn't, he was too weak. He could feel the blood seeping through his fingers. With each passing second, he felt worse.

So this was it, he was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't even want to run anymore, he didn't want to try to get somewhere safe, he just wanted it to stop. No matter how.

Tony began to shake uncontrollably all over his body. His consciousness was slowly fading away, and at the same time the pain was diminishing. That was just fine with him. At least it would stop this way. The screams around him grew fainter, his vision darker. As the pain eased, an icy coldness penetrated him more and more.

Someone grabbed his legs. He barely noticed that he was being hastily dragged across the ground. Tony was almost deaf now; the only thing he could hear was his own ragged breathing. There were people running around. He could see them only in jerky movements, like a video being paused and resumed again and again. Tony gave up and let himself fall into the deep blackness that welcomed him with open arms.

Tony snapped out of his dream with a start. Tony snapped out of his dream with a start. So they were back, the nightmares. After almost four months of silence, one sober night was apparently enough to bring them back. Tony felt the panic rise, as it always did when he was startled out of these dreams, but he managed to suppress it as he was immediately distracted by something else: the desperate cries of his body. He noticed that he was soaking wet with sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead, and he was freezing. On top of that, he felt super nauseous. Tony wanted to change his clothes and sheets, but he couldn't get up. For a while he just lay there shivering, pulling the blankets up to his ears, then he felt the nausea start to ease a little. The clock told him it was shortly after three. So he had gotten a few hours of sleep after all.

Shaking violently, he forced himself to sit up in bed. He was feeling sick, like he had the worst flu. Tony got up and went to the bathroom. Although he felt weak and shaky, he pushed himself to take a short, hot shower until he stopped feeling so cold. Then he slipped into a pair of black linen pants and pulled on a sweater over a fresh shirt. Tony wiped his sleeve across the fogged mirror and caught sight of his reflection. He looked fucked up. Despite his shaking hands, he managed to get his beard into the usual shape and put some gel in his hair. It wasn't perfect, but it was passable. Then he considered lying down for another hour or two. At the thought of having to change the sheets, though, he decided he'd rather continue his rest downstairs on the couch. Halfway there, he stopped in the kitchen and made himself some tea, which he drank in small sips while sitting on the couch. Wasn't tea the drink you needed when you felt sick? Well, it definitely wasn't the drink he wanted right now...

Sitting on the couch in total darkness, Tony was already sweating and shaking again. His stomach was churning. The withdrawal was hitting him harder than he had anticipated, and the worst was yet to come. The urge to drink was like a persistent voice in his head, growing louder by the minute.

Shortly after the last sip of tea, he regretted having taken it at all. His stomach seemed anything but pleased. Tony considered waking Pepper, he was so restless and nervous that he didn't think he could stand it any longer. But something held him back. This wasn't the worst of it. He was going to need Pepper, he knew that, so he didn't want to put her through that kind of stress just yet.

Tony groaned. The nausea was getting so bad that he had to struggle to get up and go to the bathroom just as a precaution. Inside, he rested his head on the cool tiles and closed his eyes. He felt like he was on a ship at sea in a bad storm. Then a particularly strong wave came crashing against his ship. Tony quickly turned around and threw up in the toilet. There goes the tea, he thought. Tony got down on his knees in front of the toilet, knowing full well that he wasn't done here. He had hoped that this would make the nausea a little better, but instead it seemed to get worse.

If he had been shivering just a moment ago, he was now hot and sweating even more. After only a few minutes, the next violent wave of nausea hit him, and he vomited again. Sensing that this would go on for a while, he tried to calm himself down. He told himself that he could stop this project at any time. He didn't want to, but theoretically he could. He didn't have to do this, he wanted to go through this to get better. At least he thought that was what he wanted. Yesterday he had been more certain.

Tony took off his sweater and dropped it carelessly on the tiles next to him. His stomach rotated as if he were constantly bungee jumping. Tony didn't want to throw up again, he wanted to stop it, but there was no way out. Until his stomach was empty and there was nothing left but dry heaving, which unfortunately was even more exhausting.

It was getting light outside. Somehow Tony hoped Pepper would get up soon, but on the other hand he didn't want her to see him like this. The shame of what he had been doing for the past year being seen now was immense. He tried to breathe through the fear and not think too much, but it hardly helped.

And then his stomach tightened again and he had to gag so hard that he felt like his eyes were going to pop out. Tony barely had time to catch his breath. After minutes of dry heaving, with nothing left in his stomach to vomit, he fell backwards and leaned against the wall, completely exhausted. His eyes were watering and his nose was slightly runny. Panting heavily from the effort, he wiped his face with one arm and held his stomach with the other.

Minutes felt like hours. Tony was sweating, then freezing, then sweating again. His limbs ached and he felt dizzy, then he was wide awake and restless again. At irregular intervals he would hang over the toilet, agonizing over the painful dry heaving until he was sure parts of his stomach were about to be forced out of him. His whole body shook, and when he tried to grab a large towel from the closet, his legs buckled from weakness and he gave up. On all fours, he crawled back to the toilet and stared into the bowl. A single drop of sweat dripped from the tip of his nose into the water. Then the vomiting continued. Tony felt helpless. His body was now showing him with all its might what he had done to himself with alcohol.

Tony gasped in exhaustion and grabbed the sides of the toilet with his hands. He was incredibly thirsty, but for one thing, the mere thought of ingesting anything made him feel sick, and for another, he didn't think he'd even be able to get up and get some water.

Tony felt so incredibly sick that he thought he had swallowed some deadly poison. Which, he bitterly realized, might not be so far off.