Author's note: Well, I REFUSE to believe that Tony and Pepper would ever break up for real, so this is what I think REALLY happened. Because, let's face it, they can't exist without one another. This scene takes lace before Tony receives a package with the phone.

It was almost 5 in the morning when Tony stumbled into his dark apartment in New York. There was no need to bother with the lights – the brightly lit billboards of the city that never slept slipping in through the tall windows were enough to move around by without stumbling into furniture.

Everything hurt.

It occurred to him that he should've asked Friday to do a basic scan, see how bad his injuries were, remembering if a little belatedly that he did mean to do that, if only to make sure he wasn't going to hemorrhage and die in the new few hours. But he forgot, too tired and too shocked by the events of the previous day to go through with it.

Steve and his one-armed friend – the one who shot his father and broke his mother's neck like it was nothing – had left that cold, horrid place long before Tony found it in him to haul himself up to his feet again, his broken bones grating against one another and sending shocks of sharp pain through his body with every breath he took, every move he made, however small it was.

There would be a moment, sometime in near future, when he knew he would have to face what had happened there. But not now. Not this soon. Not when his wounds, both literal and metaphorical, were so fresh he could barely stand it.

There were missed calls on his phone. Eight since last evening. She was going to kill him… And, inexplicably, this thought made him feel warm on the inside, his lips curving ever so slightly.

Wincing with every step, Tony walked over to the liquor cart and reached for the bottle of brandy. Considered skipping the glass, too, but—

"Tony?"

Dressed in his boxer shorts and a tee that was hanging loosely on her frame, Pepper was blinking sleepily at him from the doorway as if she couldn't believe she was seeing him. In the eerie light that rolled and flickered across the room, she looked ethereal, her pale skin glowing.

Or maybe his concussion was worse than he initially thought.

"Hey," he breathed out, suddenly overcome with such relief it was a miracle his knees didn't give in under the weight of his battered body.

And then, in a blink of an eye, she was suddenly right before him, throwing her arms around him with a half-sigh, half-sob that reverberated through him, washed over him like a tidal wave.

"Ow," Tony stiffened when his wounds screamed in protest.

"Sorry," Pepper muttered, but when she tried to draw away, it was he who didn't let go, pulling her against him gently and breathing in her sweet, sleepy scent. This was it, Tony thought. This was what was worth it all – fights and battles and blood and death. So he could come home to someone who was making him whole.

He let out a shuddered breath and kissed her hair, feeling that his crazy heartbeat was finally slowing down. Safe. She was safe, and here, and-

"You okay?" She whispered, pulling back just far enough away to take in the bruises on his face, the cut over his eyebrow that he could feel every time he so much as blinked, and god only knew what else.

A chuckle echoed painfully in his ribcage, reminding him of his broken ribs and turning what was meant to be a smile into a crooked grimace. "I will be," he promised her softly, pushing her hair from her face to tuck it behind her ear, feeling its silky softness against his skin.

This time, when Pepper moved closer, she did it slowly so as not to hurt him ever more, resting her forehead against his, her fingers clutched against fistfuls of his shirt. He smelled of blood and sweat and metal, motor oil and something that was just Tony, and she was momentarily torn between laughing and crying, and maybe yelling at him for scaring the living hell out of her. For letting him talk her into skipping the speech and doing his usual Tony stuff that could have killed him.

Her lean fingers traced his face. "We need to patch you up."

Tony pressed a long hiss to her forehead. "We might," he agreed.

By the time Pepper returned form the bathroom with their first aid kit, he was half-sprawled on the couch, trying oh so hard not to think. He turned his head to the sound of her footsteps, offered her a weak smile. A handful of ibuprofen he gulped down five minutes ago was starting to work, the instance, consuming pain inside him slowly reducing to a dull ache, which, although not the most perfect solution, was the best he could deal with right now.

"I didn't know who to call," Pepper said, her voice a mixture of apology and accusation, as her fingers moved over the worst scrape on his face, sharp-smelling antiseptic burning his skin.

"S'okay," he muttered and let out a long, weary breath. "I told them we're… we're not together."

He watched her for a long moment, watched the words sink in and a slight crease appear between her eyebrows before her gaze met his.

"Tony…"

"I know, I know." He reached for her hand, brought it up to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, her skin so soft and smooth he feared he might leave scars on it with his two-day stubble. He sighed. "It's better that way."

"How's that better?" She asked not without exasperation. "I was worried sick and-" Pepper cut off and shook her head.

"Because this," he gestured down himself, and it was the first time that she noticed rips in his clothes, spots where they got nearly burned off him, "is nothing. Because if they really wanted to hurt me, they'd come for you." His voice dropped, and her face fell. "I can't let it happen, Pep, and if I have to lie to the whole world to keep you safe, then so be it."

She set the first aid kit aside and scooted closer to him, resting her chin on his shoulder, her forehead pressed to his cheek. They might have to take him to the hospital tomorrow – today, she reminded herself, taking note of the sky that started to grow pale, turning from near black to indigo, the Manhattan cityscape dimming in the faint light of the promised sun. But for now, all she needed to know that he was back in one piece.

"Want to tell me what happened?" She asked quietly. "I saw the news but-"

"Later," Tony responded in a distant, hollow voice, his thumb running in slow circles over the back of her hand. Tomorrow, he told himself. Or next week. Or maybe a week after that. All he knew right now was that at some point in near future, the truth would click in and he would tell her everything. About Steve. And Bucky. And his parents. Not yet, though. For now, it felt too big and too overwhelming to exist outside of his own mind. Too impossible. "Rhodey?"

"He's steady," Pepper assured him, brushing his hair from his forehead. "He'll be okay." Tony nodded slowly. "I'm so glad you're back."

He squeezed her hand. "Tell me about it…" It was silly and sentimental and such a fucking cliché to be this ridiculously happy to be alive it almost hurt on a whole new level. He brushed a kiss to the top of her head and asked, nodding toward the window behind which the sun was peeking uncertainly over the vast sea of skyscrapers, "Hey, since when do we have such a new view over here?"