Summary: SEQUEL TO THE FOURTH YEAR. The greatest suffering a parent can know is the loss of a child, and Tony Stark and Pepper Potts-Stark are about to experience first-hand what this painful journey truly means for their lives. Story 7 of 8 of The Last Chronicles.

Standard disclaimer for all my stories: My stories are graphic, angsty, frustrating, filled with cliffhangers, drama and foul language. Read at your own risk – medical issues and subsequent bills are not covered by yours truly ;) If you don't like, please don't read. I appreciate reviews and constructive feedback but if you cannot stand the plot, save yourself and me some time and walk away. You don't have to love all IMAA stories :) I don't own IMAA. My stories are better viewed by using the "half screen" option of FFNET

THIS IS A SEQUEL TO THE FOURTH YEAR. Start with The Last Month, then The Last Summer, then The First Year, The Second Year, The Third Year, The Fourth Year and just read your way here.

READ THOSE FIRST OR BE FOREVER CONFUSED!

The Fifth Year

Prologue

Even the weather was betraying her today. Although it should have not surprised her that everything was against her this morning, it had actually taken her by surprise. The day had started out icily cold, cloudy, rainy and gloomy – just as her heart and soul felt. Yet, before it had been time to leave the penthouse, Mother Nature had done a 180º on her. The sun had come up, the skies had cleared, and the birds sang; even the rain, in its wake, had left behind a triple set of bright, colorful rainbows. All in the month of December!

No one seemed to understand her pain, not even Mother Nature. Or perhaps it was just that no one other than her cared.

Then again, believing that no one was hurting as much as her was a lie – a disrespectful one, at that. Her son had been loved by so many people besides her, and every single one of them was here today to say goodbye to the little boy. She had silently thanked every single one of them by simply returning the gaze full of disbelief and sadness that everyone sported in their eyes with one of her own. She had a lot of grief to give, and plenty of sadness to go around. What she lacked, however, was the will to speak, to wail, to love.

Even in the depths of her never-ending despair, her mind fought for an opportunity to be heard. It wanted so desperately to point out that she was not the single most affected person in this entire ordeal. There was one other person, the other half that had made her son become a reality in her life, who was also suffering at the same lengths as her. Even if he had been able to make all the arrangements; even if he had been the only voice of the family for now; even if he still had enough sanity to organize the event and not break down crying like she had, that did not mean that his heart was not as broken as hers.

None of that meant that he was not in bone-deep pain.

She saw it in the way he stared into nothingness when he believed that no one was looking. She saw it in his slow, defeated gait, which no longer spoke volumes of his pride and self-confidence that he had before radiated in loads with every step he took. His electric blue eyes no longer sparkled. His voice was strained and almost mechanical. His responses were short, calculated and devoid of any love.

Love.

Maybe, just maybe, he had also forgotten how to love.

Or so she had thought and hoped, for she felt it unfair that she could no longer reciprocate the feelings that had once fueled the fire within her; the same fire that had driven her to move mountains to be with him. Sometimes, she was certain that he had given up on her as well, even if only ten days had passed since their perfect world had been shattered. But, every time, she had been wrong.

Sometimes, she had been certain, that her genius boy had finally had enough of her disinterest, her apathy, her distant form. She had sworn on her life many times that Tony no longer cared for her, that the loss of their child was so great that he blamed her for it, albeit irrationally, but she hoped that he did. Sometimes, she had prayed for Tony to suddenly forget who she was and what they were, if only to not feel guilty about her lack of interest in what they had once been, what they had once accomplished, what they had once lived through together.

Sometimes, she was as sure as ever that he hated her, that he was ready to be rid of her, and as she prepared herself to leave his side forever at the first sign of duress, he would look at her, really look at her, and her resolve would grind itself to pieces in an instant. Every time he had stared at her since she had woken up after their son had been taken from them, his posture and his blue eyes told her that he had not forgotten about her – they told her that he still deeply cared.

His soft, timid caresses when he thought her asleep were loaded with love, compassion and a terrifying inability to make things right for her. He had always fixed all broken things for her. He had always found a way to ease her pain and please her soul. But this time, it was different. He knew that all the riches and intelligence in the world could not bring back the dead. He could have given her anything, taken her anywhere she wanted to go, but the truth was that all she wanted was her son, and the only place she wanted to be was with him.

And that alone, that single thing she wanted, he could not give to her.

Her thoughts dissipated when she felt his warm touch on her cold skin. She followed him blindly to wherever he wanted to take her. Despite everything that had occurred, she still trusted him wholeheartedly, and knew that he would not steer her wrong. Everything around her was a blur, much as how her life felt nowadays, overall. His pull was mindful yet strong, commanding yet flexible, and before she realized what was occurring, she found herself standing before the open grave of James Howard Stark.

Her eyes filled with tears again, but as opposed to the many times before now, she cried silent tears. The waterfalls coming from her eyes were evidence of torrents of inner pain and grief, but other than some random sniffs here and there, she made no other sound. It was difficult to stare at the tiny mahogany coffin over her watery eyes but she did her best to look at the final resting place of her only son.

The inventor held her right hand and guided her to grab a fistful of fresh dirt from the pile beneath them. With the same care that one would have when carrying a piece of very fragile glass, he led her hand towards the three-foot wide hole in the ground. He was standing behind her; his chest pressed against her back, his left palm secured her hip and kept her in place while his right hand held her right fist. Slowly but surely, he helped her release the brown substance from her hand. Soon enough, her hand was empty again.

He pressed a light kiss to her left cheek from his position behind her, intertwined the fingers on his right hand with hers, and then rested his forehead against the back of her head. Silence was all that she could hear for the longest time until he finally spoke to her.

"Forgive me, Pepper. I failed you, I know. But please, don't leave."

She closed her eyes shut, wondering how in the hell had he known about her intentions to end it all. She was not sure if he knew what kind of departure she wanted to make, but it appeared as if it was obvious to him that she had long ago lost the will to live. She did not blame him; she had no reason to, but she felt inadequate around him, guilty even, and the last thing she wanted to do was be around anything or anyone that reminded her of what they had lost.

"I still love you," he added after a pause. "I still want you with me."

She failed to verbally respond to his plea. She could almost hear his heart sink because of it, but she could not afford to make any promises to him; especially promises that she was not sure that she could keep. And even after her lack of response, even after her cold demeanor around him, and after everyone else had gone, he still held her close and tightly against him, and stood with her by the soon-to-be closed grave until the night fell – until she decided to leave.

A/N: Wow! Talk about depressing! But, I will fix it. Can't say that too many times. I don't have anything else for now but I thought I'd give you something while I continue working on the outline for this story. Also, this gives you time to go buy tissues in bulk and to re-read all the stories as everything in this story and the next heavily reference the other 6 stories before this one. Welcome back, my Faithful Readers!