Chapter 26

It was just after midnight when Tony emerged from the bucket that Rhodey held out to him. By now his stomach was a painful, cramped lump. Tony wasn't able to think straight anymore. His whole body hurt. In the end, he had drunk a good two bottles of high-proof liquor a day, and on a very bad day, three. Going from one hundred to zero was, of course, only possible under violent protest from his body.

With each passing hour, Tony felt his will waver. Was it really worth it? Going through this hell, to lose the only thing that helped him keep the anxiety and panic at bay? He found himself wishing Pepper and Rhodey would go away so he could get his hands on a bottle of whiskey. A few sips and this would stop. He could end this pain so easily.

"I'll rinse him out quickly," Rhodey said and took the bucket from him.

Tony mumbled an embarrassed 'thank you' and slumped back into the pillows. The sheets were soaked with his sweat. But the worst part was the anxiety. An unbearable, constant anxiety - without a break. It would not leave him alone for a single moment. It clung to him, chasing his pulse, making him tremble and planting terrible thoughts in his head.

Again, Pepper held out a glass of water. He would have liked to knock it out of her hand because he was just going to throw it up anyway. So he shook his head.

"We're not going to discuss this again," Pepper said sternly. "Drink."

Tony turned on his side and held his stomach, a drop of sweat dripping from his forehead. Pepper now held the glas directly in front of his eyes.

"Tony, drink this."

Tony shook his head again. Every time they gave him some water or some of that disgusting sweet shit, he was back hanging over the bucket ten minutes later at the latest. He needed a break.

"Don't be an idiot," Pepper said. "You know you have to drink. There's got to be more in than out."

Yes, I have to drink, Tony thought. But not water. I need a drink. I need a goddamn strong drink!

Rhodey came back and started talking at him, too. It sounded too loud to Tony's ears, like there was a whole group of people here, all yelling at him. He needed silence. He needed them to go away.

"Just a couple of sips," Rhodey said.

"You need fluids," Pepper insisted.

"I need alcohol!" Tony shouted at them, covering his ears.

Finally there was silence. But it was short lived.

"Tony..." Pepper said, startled. "You've come this far... don't give up now."

"You're doing fine, Tony," Rhodey agreed. "You're holding up really well."

"Shut up," Tony yelled, looking up. "I'm not doing good at all. None of this is good. I can't take it anymore!"

He saw Pepper and Rhodey exchange a worried look. Angrily, he glared at them both. He felt extremely irritated.

"Tony..."

"No! Don't give me that 'Tony' again," he shouted angrily. "I give up! I'm done!"

"You won't," Rhodey said quietly.

I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink. I need a drink.

Tony hated how patiently and compassionately they looked at him. The way they stood there in front of him, with their non-alcoholic bodies. It was easy for them to talk like that, anyone could do it.

"You can do this," Pepper repeated. "We're with you."

"Fuck off!"

Tony could see Pepper flinch. He didn't want to say those words, he didn't want to be so mean, so angry. But he just felt so fucked up. Tears were welling up in his eyes again, he couldn't stop them. It was all too much. He couldn't even control himself. This was humiliating.

"Sorry, but… Fuck… God, I can't... I can't do this..." Tony said, desperation written all over his face. "I need a drink. I swear on everything, I'll fall apart if I don't get a drink right now. Please."

"Not gonna happen." Rhodey said firmly.

More humiliating. More pathetic. Pathetic alcoholic.

"I mean it, Rhodey. I can't take it, I really can't. Give me some alcohol, anything, I don't care. Just give me... aftershave, it's fine."

"No! What are you saying?" Rhodey looked like he was horrified by this idea and like he was making a mental note to get rid of every aftershave in this house as soon as possible.

"I want to drink! I want it! I don't give a shit! I just want to get drunk!" The tears silently left his eyes now. "Please. Give me something. Please!"

"No. We won't. Believe me, you don't want to."

Tony didn't argue, but he glared at Rhodey angrily.

"Help is on the way. Coulson will be here soon and he can help you," Pepper tried in a trembling voice.

"If you want to help me, give me a drink!"

"We're not going to do that," Rhodey said.

"I can't take it anymore!" Tony finally sobbed, unable to hold it in anymore.

"Please don't give up," Pepper said softly, wiping her own tear-stained face.

Tony felt Pepper join him on the bed, then her hand on his back, stroking him gently. No one said anything. Only his soft sobs could be heard. His whole body was nothing but pain, nausea and weakness. Every movement was too much, every thought too much, every extra second too much. He just wanted it to end.

The situation was dire. It wasn't just Tony who was in emotional distress. Pepper and Rhodey were suffering along with him. They could see the anguish and despair. They could also both understand that Tony wanted to drink again. That his body craved the stuff. And that he wanted his drug back to control his emotions. But they would not allow Tony to give up now. They helped him best by protecting him from himself until he could do it himself again. Even if it meant that Tony hated them for it.

If they hadn't known that Coulson was going to be here soon, they probably would have taken Tony to the nearest hospital after all. They were afraid that his condition would deteriorate to the point of being acutely life-threatening, that it might even be too late. But Jarvis kept assuring them that if Tony's vitals slipped into the critical range, he would speak up immediately.

So Pepper and Rhodey breathed a small sigh of relief when Jarvis announced the arrival of Coulson.

"Thank God, finally," Pepper whispered.

"Pepper, Colonel," Coulson greeted them, his eyes immediately going to the figure on the bed.

Tony looked fragile, a stark contrast to the man Coulson was used to dealing with, and for a moment Coulson's professional demeanor cracked and his eyes widened in surprise at the sight before him.

"Yes. He's in bad shape," Pepper confirmed, her voice tinged with desperation. "We were able to get his temperature down, but there's nothing we could do about the other symptoms."

"Well, that's worse than I expected," Coulson said matter-of-factly, though his features still did not look as composed as usual. "I've been instructed by one of our doctors on what to do, and I have everything with me. Let me see what I can do."

He had a bag with him, which he opened and pulled out a needle and an IV bag of fluid.

"What symptoms has he had so far?" Coulson asked.

Rhodey explained the extent of the symptoms while Pepper began sullenly chewing the inside of her cheek. She hadn't slept in 2 days and had barely eaten. Not to mention the stress. Slowly but surely, she was reaching her limits.

Pepper watched anxiously, hoping that Coulson's presence and the medicine he brought with him would finally bring Tony some relief. Coulson attached an intravenous line with a surprisingly practiced hand, his face a mask of concentration. Tony stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open for a moment before closing again.

"How long has he been like this?" Coulson asked, his tone calm but tinged with concern.

"Since yesterday morning," Pepper replied. "It got worse with the vomiting, though. He's been vomiting constantly and has barely been lucid since."

"I see. Mr. Stark," Coulson said, leaning over Tony. "We're going to start you on an IV of an electrolyte solution and vitamin B to help balance your mineral levels," Coulson explained. "You're probably mostly dehydrated."

Coulson finished securing the IV and attached an IV bag to the tube. Then he hung the bag on the top of Tony's bed.

"And this is an antiemetic," Coulson said as he took out another syringe and added the liquid to the bag.

Pepper watched nervously as the fluids slowly made their way through the tube to Tony's body.

"Phil, will this be enough?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It will help him. The rest we'll see," Coulson replied, turning to them and holding up a bottle of pills. "This is Valium, which should help calm him down and reduce the risk of seizures, and it will probably help him get some sleep as well. The antiemetic will help with the nausea and vomiting. The fluids will prevent dehydration, which can be dangerous in his condition. That is all I can give him."

Coulson then paused and looked at them both seriously. "But I must warn you, benzodiazepines like Valium can be highly addictive, even after a short time. Both physically and psychologically. They're effective for treating acute symptoms, but they have to be used carefully. You don't want him to slide right into another addiction."

Pepper nodded. She knew about these kinds of drugs. It was no secret to her that these pills were prescribed a little too often. "I'll make sure they disappear as soon as they're no longer needed."

"Good, I would suggest we wait a few minutes. If the antiemetic is helping, the pills are more likely to stay where they're supposed to. Also, the fluids should help perk him up a bit."

Pepper felt herself nodding again and watched Tony, who seemed to be falling asleep. She turned her attention back to Coulson.

"What else can we do to help him?"

"Keep him comfortable. Make sure he stays hydrated. And just... be there for him. Knowing he has your support will make all the difference."

Pepper looked at Rhodey, who gave her a reassuring nod, and she felt a little courage rising.

A deep blackness surrounded him. The air was so thick he thought he would suffocate. Voices he didn't understand; they were far, far away. A pulsating pain gradually settled in his chest, getting stronger and stronger. It made him come to his senses a little. It felt as if he had a piece of cloth in front of his face. An extremely foul-smelling, stuffy cloth. His mind was sluggish and slow. Suddenly the cloth was pulled away from his head, an iron door fell shut – then silence.

A creeping, bone-chilling cold gripped his body more and more. He found himself lying on his stomach on a stony, hard ground. Very slowly, life returned to his limbs. And so did an excruciating pain in his chest that almost took away his consciousness again. He wasn't sure if he should open his eyes. He probably wouldn't like what he would see. But his growing fear made him open them; he had to know what was going on.

At first it was just dark, and then he saw a faint and dim light coming from a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Nothing but rocky walls and a heavy gate to his left. Tony dared not move. He tried to think rationally and reconstruct the situation. What could he remember? He closed his eyes again and thought.

Flickering lights. Dancing stewardesses. Rhodey next to him with a drink in his hand. On an airplane. His private jet. On his way to Afghanistan. Demonstrating the Jericho. A shockwave. Clinking ice cubes in a whiskey glass after the presentation. Obi on the phone, not wearing the pajamas he got him for Christmas. Soldiers in a car giving the victory sign. Gunshots. The missile with the Stark Industries logo…

His mind began to clear a little. Tony moved slightly. He was thirsty and his mouth was so dry that he had to cough, each time sending a sharp pain through his entire body. He tried to sit up. Had terrorists captured him? But who? What would they do to him? Boundless panic set in like a predator at the back of his neck, then paralyzed his limbs. Helplessly, he watched his body take control. His pulse raced, his breathing accelerated, and his body shook with panic. The room blurred before his eyes and his panic increased. Never before had he felt so much fear.

Tony ignored the pain and stood up even though his body protested. Tony slumped forward against the heavy iron door, unable to stay on his feet. It went dark around him.

This is it, he thought, this is the end.

But the end did not come.

There was a sharp pain when he regained consciousness. How much time had passed? Seconds? Minutes? The iron door creaked open and Tony scrambled to his feet, only managing a few steps. Several men entered, all carrying machine guns. Their faces were covered with scarves, and they were shouting in Arabic or Farsi or whatever it was they spoke. Tony crawled away from them. The men shouted louder. Then a kick in the back and Tony collapsed. One of the men was talking to him, but he couldn't understand a word. So the terrorist pointed to Tony's chest. Tony looked down at himself. A bandage was wrapped around his chest, soaked through with red. The injury from the missile. Tony looked up again. The man was pointing at his chest again.

"Wound!" he shouted in English, or at least it sounded like it. "Doctor! Wound!"

Tony's mind was not working, the words made no sense. Apparently impatient, the terrorist shouted again and then grabbed Tony's shoulder roughly. Sharp pain. Blackness.

When Tony woke up, he almost threw up. The pain in his chest was overwhelming. Tony jerked his eyes open. Light blinded him. Men were bent over him. They were holding him down, by the arms, by the legs. And someone was obviously fiddling with his chest.

Pain. Excruciating, piercing pain.

Tony began to scream, trying to break free of the firm grips. No chance. The grips were as tight as a vice. Tony cried out as someone apparently pulled one of the shrapnel out of his chest with tweezers and then held it up to the light for a moment. The blood gleamed reddishly on it. A cloth was then placed over his nose and mouth. An acrid smell immediately rose to his nostrils, making him dizzy. Blackness again.

Noise. Screams in Arabic. Tony jerked his eyes open again. The first thing he saw were hands holding him still. His eyes fell to his chest, where the reactor was glowing. Then to his arm, where an IV was inserted. Tony managed to break free and rolled sideways. He fell from a bed to the floor and got up again. Then he ripped the IV out of his arm and stumbled into a cold, rocky wall.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw them surrounding him. He had to get away. He had to get out. Someone in front of him spread his arms. The men came closer. Tony was scared to death. What should he do? Fight or flee? Escape seemed impossible, he didn't know where he was or where to go. So fight. Desperate, Tony lunged forward, toward one of the men. Tony was sure he had landed a blow or two. Then two more men came at him. The next thing he knew, Tony was on his back, held down by three of them.

"No!" he screamed. "Let go of me! Let me go!"

"Stark!"

"Tony!"

Tony?

The rock walls disappeared. The Arabic screams disappeared. Tony looked into the faces of Rhodey, Coulson and Agent Shaw, the three of them pinning him to the ground. His arm suddenly hurt. A trickle of blood ran down his arm and dripped onto the floor where the IV had been. None of this made sense. Or did it? A flashback. Or a dream? Maybe both. In any case, he seemed to have lost himself in Afghanistan again. Pepper's face appeared now, too. She looked so worried, so afraid.

"Tony?" she asked, "are you back with us?"

"Yes," Tony mumbled, though he was not sure.

Immediately, the others let go of him. They also looked very worried. No wonder. He'd probably just caused a total drama. But it had felt so real again...

"What did you see?" Rhodey whispered.

He and Coulson were still kneeling beside him while Shaw positioned himself by the door.

"The first hours of the abduction," Tony replied mechanically. "I was injured by my own missile. And then, uh... I had a cloth over my head and I couldn't see, and after they made a ransom video, they left me in this cave in a room. I kept losing consciousness. The next thing I knew, there were men bent over me while Yinsen removed as much shrapnel as he could from my chest. Without anesthesia at first, I was awake and witnessed it all. The pain was..."

Tony stopped, feeling unable to go on. Yet this was the first time he had ever told anyone. It felt almost forbidden.

"I'm so sorry..." Rhodey said softly.

Tony wanted to brush it off, but why was that necessary? They were all there for him. They saw him at his worst. There was no need to pretend that everything was okay.

"Don't push it," Coulson said, taking his arm carefully. "Let's get you to bed first."

Rhodey and Coulson helped him to the bed. He dropped onto it and took a deep breath. Fear was driving him half crazy.

"Here," Coulson said and handed him two pills. "Valium."

Tony accepted the pills and swallowed them dry. Pepper sat down beside him and began wiping the blood from his arm with a tissue. Then she pressed against the torn wound in the crook of his arm. Coulson, meanwhile, took his other arm and started a fresh IV.

"It was only halfway through," he explained.

Tony nodded distantly, not even understanding what was meant. Pepper looked him intently in the eyes. He tried to find his footing in her gaze. The pressure she applied to the crook of his arm also had the effect of connecting him to reality. It was almost embarrassing how they all stood around him, looking worried and sad.

Pepper lowered the tissue, rummaged through Coulson's bag for a Band-Aid, and applied it to the wound. Tony lay there in silence for quite a while, lost in thought.

"It's been horrible," he said at one point on an impulse. "Those three months were more than I could bear. I only refused to build the Jericho for the first few days. Then they had already broken me. But even after I agreed to build the Jericho, they didn't stop. They still tortured me."

Tony paused. But somehow he felt he would suffocate if he didn't talk.

"Yinsen helped me so much," he continued, his voice cracking. "I couldn't have gotten through it without him. He was there every time they threw me back into that cave we were trapped in. It wasn't until I was allowed to start building that the horror eased. They left me alone most of the time and I got better. I was also busy building the armor I was going to use to save us... But I... I couldn't save Yinsen... He didn't deserve it."

"No," Rhodey said. "He didn't deserve it. And neither did you."

"Maybe I deserve it now. Because I didn't do what he wanted me to do: Don't waste your life..." Tony swallowed hard and stared down at his hands. "I threw it all away. I fucked it up."

"Nothing is lost, Tony..." Rhodey said, but Tony shook his head.

"I thought I could handle it all. And at first it seemed like I could. I managed to track down my own weapons and destroy them. And it felt good. But at some point... suddenly I was confronted with nightmares of my captivity and torture. And then these panic attacks started, and I didn't know what to do. It was like a dam burst and all the horrible feelings that had been bottled up since my return to America were able to come out and flood me. I am an idiot. I started drinking. And I realized what I was doing. But I continued anyway. I made it worse. And now it may be too late..."

"One step at a time, Stark," Coulson also said. "Detox first. Take it slow. It's not over yet."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Tony," Pepper said with an attempt at a smile. "You tried to hang in there and you found something that gave you relief."

"I did something very wrong," Tony said, looking at Pepper with watery eyes. "You warned me, Pepper, and not just once. And I heard you, and I knew you were right. But I just couldn't stop. It was the last hope that kept me from drowning."

"And now you have a chance to do it differently. To find a different way to deal with it," Pepper said.

"But I haven't found it yet..." Tony replied weakly. "Why should anything change?"

"Because you just changed something. For the first time, you've talked about how you feel. You can share that with us and we can listen and help you. You're not alone in this anymore, Tony."

"But..." Tony said, feeling himself desperately searching for a counter-argument. "I can't even get sober. I can't keep detoxing. I can't take it."

"Yes, you can," Coulson said. "The meds will help. But you have to hold on a little longer. You're stronger than you think. You're going to make it. It gets easier now. And when you're not in such a desolate physical state, you'll get better mentally as well."

Tony didn't disagree, although he wasn't convinced. Then suddenly his heart felt a little lighter. A comforting warm sensation spread through his body. His vision blurred a little. It reminded him of alcohol, of the sedation it brought. But it was also different. He felt less intoxicated, somehow more clearheaded.

"I think the benzos are starting to kick in," he muttered.

Coulson glanced at his wristwatch. "Could be, half an hour has passed."

Maybe it was the pills, maybe it was the fact that he had talked about what had happened to him. Either way, Tony felt a little lighter. The anxiety was fading. Tony leaned back and closed his eyes. He could breathe again.

I know this one is tough, but I have seen people going through really bad withdrawals when I worked in psychiatry and I always wanted to write this. And of course, I like the drama :D
With alcohol in particular, it actually takes years for such a severe addiction with such withdrawal symptoms to set in. But I didn't want to let so much time pass, because it was actually meant as an alternative for the second Iron Man movie (and I also know my story turned out to be darker than originally intended, but now it is what it is).