A/N Thank you Anna Katari (I'm glad you're enjoying, but please, spare me! I'm a weakling when it comes to beatings! Haha! And I agree with you about Whitney, although I may be biased. After all, I've always been a Pepperony fan. Wait! That reminds me, didn't Rhona escape at the end of her episode? Ooh, ideas, ideas, ideas. Haha, merry Christmas! Thank you again.), SilverPedals1402 (Thank you very much! I always grin like crazy when I see you've commented. And I agree. *glares and points accusingly at Tony* If you could just stay alive, mister, that'd be great. Wow, that's a fantastic compliment! Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying it. Especially coming from a gifted fellow writer.), and apps (Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter!).

Well, here we are! Down to what is probably going to be the final chapter on this one. I have other ideas for other stories that I might start on soon, including a few one-shots; but as for now, merry almost Christmas! I hope this message finds you in high spirits. (More notes at the bottom.)

IM:AA doesn't belong to me.

In a janitorial closet off to the side of a subway tunnel, Whitney Stane hurriedly packs her meager belongings.

She shoves her clothes into the duffel bag she's brought, followed by her rolled up cot and pillow. Her weapons she leaves untouched, not sure how she can get out with them unseen now that her disguise- the mask- has been stolen from her. More than likely she'll have to leave them behind, but maybe she can at least smuggle out a handgun or two. For insurance, if nothing else right now.

She's muttering to herself under her breath, all defamations of the Starks and of Iron Man and his accomplices along with a few half-formed ideas of vengeance. As she starts to zip up her bag she hears a grinding noise behind her, like something heavy and solid is being dragged across the grimy floor. She whips around, her fingers closing around one of her laser-guns as she does so.

"How long have you been standing there?" she demands of the silhouette in the doorway. Her mind flares with panic; she can hear blood thrumming like a bass drum in her ears. Iron Man steps forward out of the shadows, the shaky fluorescent lights glinting off of the red metal of his armour.

"Not long. I figured you would have noticed me when I first got here." Iron Man- Tony- takes another step forward, peering around the bleak little room, and Whitney feels her face burn with shame at what she's been reduced to. Squatting in this hovel, hiding from the grid with barely a cent to her name, and stealing when she can get away with it. "So this is where you've been holed up."

"How did you find me?" she asks shrilly. Tony sighs, his face-plate disconnecting with a click so that she can see his face. She's surprised at the dejected expression he wears; she'd expected him to arrive gloating at her failure. Instead he just looks like he's been told his puppy had to be euthanised.

"I used Extremis to route through the police scanners listening for descriptions of a young girl carrying an arsenal of weapons. When one came through, I told the cops I would handle it." He paused, searching the room again with curious crystalline eyes. "What made you finally decide to clear out? Did you know you'd been seen?"

Whitney doesn't answer. In all honesty, she'd been planning to vacate the moment she'd learned Tony had been released from the hospital. She knew he would come after her, but he'd been released far sooner than she had expected. Maybe this occurs to him, then, because suddenly a light dawns in his eyes and he nods knowingly. Whitney's grip on the gun tightens, a muscle jumping in her clenched jaw.

"You're supposed to be dead," Whitney sniffs, steely eyes meeting his probing gaze as she continues, "I wanted you to die." Tony frowns, one hand lifting subconsciously to hover at his abdomen where she knows his wounds are still fresh and painful. Good. She has that satisfaction, if none else.

"I kind of got that feeling, when you shot me twice in the stomach. I mean, I wasn't exactly sure, so thanks for clearing it up."

Whitney can't handle the snark that she once found endearing; not now, not ever again. She quickly hefts the gun, aiming for Tony's exposed face when she pulls the trigger. She isn't surprised when the shields immediately deflect the beam- he must have been anticipating her reaction- but that doesn't stop her from screaming in frustration and attempting again in desperation. She fires off several shots against his armour as his mask once again conceals his face, not thinking to care as they rebound wildly through the room. One of the light fixtures overhead explodes in shards of glass and sparks when it's hit.

"Whitney, stop! One of them will ricochet and kill you!"

She barks out a cold, mirthless laugh. "And that would be such a shame, for you." Despite her words, the hand holding the weapon drops limply to her side. She doesn't want to die. Tony steps forward cautiously, hands raised in a defensive manner.

"I don't want you dead, Whitney. I don't want to hurt you. I'd say I'd want to help you, but I think we're long past that." He glances down at the floor where a pile of weapons lay discarded. "But I can't with a clear conscience let you go free. I'm sorry."

Something akin to loathing hardens in Whitney's eyes. "You don't get to decide that!" She drops to the floor and scrabbles for another weapon; Tony doesn't give her the chance to even wield it. He lifts one of his gauntlets and issues a modified sonic blast in her direction, his planned end-game from the beginning; she screams, hands pressing to her ears, trying to block out the sound, before collapsing to the ground like a fallen marionette. Blonde hair spills out around her head, and for the first time that Tony has seen in years her expression is serene and peaceful.

Tony's arm drops to his side as he kneels next to her. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice swallowed up in the deafening noise of a train rumbling by outside. "Whitney, I'm so sorry."

A few hours later...

As he talks, Tony slips a hand beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch at the gauze wrapping around his waist. The doctor had given him strict orders to keep his hands away from the wounds, but half the time he didn't notice what he was doing until he'd irritated the skin or caused it to bleed again. This time he manages to catch himself before he does any damage, though it's difficult when the skin is so inflamed and itchy.

"Fury elected to throw her in the Vault, which I think is a bit overkill." Tony glances over his shoulder at his friends; Pepper is perched on the arm of the plush couch he recently lugged into the armoury at the insistence of his friends. Rhodey paces behind her, hands jammed in his jacket pockets. "Without the mask and her guns, she's just a girl who's taken a few kick-boxing lessons. No threat to them or anyone else."

"Can't you help her?" Rhodey interjects; Tony looks at him quizzically. "If she's sick like she was before, can't you-?"

"I don't think this is the mask anymore, Rhodey," Tony says quietly, gaze shifting towards the floor. He doesn't want to talk about the guilt he bears, about how he blames himself for Whitney's fragile mental state. Intentionally or not, he had been largely responsible for the vegetative state of her father, for the incident with the Iron Monger Mecha. "This is just... This is what she's become. I can't help her. She wants me dead." Tony is about to turn back to the holographic images he has pulled up when he catches sight of Pepper, sitting quietly. Too quietly. She's been strangely silent since he'd gotten back from the Helecarrier. "Pep? You okay?"

"Huh? Oh, uh..." She smiles weakly at him. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just... A few days ago you were in the hospital and we didn't know if you were even going to live. Doesn't that..." She turns to look at both of them. "Doesn't it bother you both, how normal it's becoming? One day, it's not going to have a happy ending. Someone's going to..."

Tony walks over to her, laying a reassuring hand atop Pepper's own. "I know," he says simply. "That's why I'm working right now to take care of all of my loose ends." He squeezes her fingers, turning away once again to observe all the images on display, shimmering faintly in the air. Rhodey circles and sits down on the couch as Tony gestures to the pictures and blocks of text. "Whitney could have started with any of you, and we may not have been so lucky if she had. I think it's time I stop leaving things to fate." With a wave of his hand, new images spring into being like playing cards spilling out of their box; mugshots, police reports, and more. "I'm going to check in on Arthur Parks, try and locate Ghost, see what he's doing now. I've heard the labs in Latveria are in use again, and that obviously can mean nothing good. I'll see what AIM's latest project is, while I'm at it, and make sure everyone else I've gotten locked up is still in their cages."

"And then?" Rhodey asks. "Once you've done all that?"

"And then..." Tony falters, ears popping with a massive yawn that cracks his jaw. He's very zapped of energy suddenly- likely a side effect of the pain medication he's been prescribed. "And then I'm gonna sleep for about a million years." He stumbles forward and collapses onto the couch, resting his head on Pepper's knees as the electronic images flicker out of existence.

"You just got shot a few days ago, and then you were in surgery for seven hours. I think all of this can wait while you rest." Rhodey smiles, clapping a hand on his best friend's shoulder as he stands. "At least let that bullet wound close up before you start tackling Dr. Doom and everyone else."

"Yeah," Tony says, lifting a hand to scratch absentmindedly at the bandages bulging out beneath his shirt. Pepper slaps at his wrist.

"You're gonna rip the stitches! I swear I'm going to have to duct-tape your fingers together, or glue mittens to your hands if you don't stop."

Tony just yawns again, eyes watering, and Pepper stops griping to softly card her fingers through his messy hair. Rhodey regards them disinterestedly for a moment before he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contact list.

"I'm starving. I'm gonna call for dinner." He pauses with his phone to his ear, grinning sheepishly at Tony. "Oh, right..."

"I have to eat that stupid baby-food stuff for the next few weeks," Tony groans, blinking hazily up at him. "Au revoir, greasy pepperoni pizza. You will be missed."

"Ooh, pizza! That actually sounds great." Pepper flinches under the intensity of the glare Tony shoots her. "Ah, sorry Tony."

Rhodey snickers, dialing the number anyway. "Hey, is this The Pizza Palace? Yeah, I'd like to order two pizzas, one pepperoni and one three meat. No. Yeah." He exits the armoury, still on the phone, leaving Pepper and Tony alone to their own devices. The redhead bumps him aside with her knee as she lowers herself onto the couch cushion, allowing the inventor to relax more fully against her side. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nuzzling her cheek against the top of his head. One hand creeps upwards, her fingers twining into soft dark hair.

"I'm really glad you're okay, you know," she whispers. "I know I'm probably being overly sensitive- you're literally a super-hero, after all- but I just worry about you so much. Especially when I'm stuck on the sidelines when you're... You know."

"I'm sorry that I give you so much reason to worry," Tony mumbles back, his voice muffling as he turns to press his face into the crook of her neck. His breath tickles pleasantly against the tender skin there. "I don't really try."

"You don't have to try, you trouble-maker." She squeezes him tightly against herself, feeling the vibration in his chest as he hums happily. "But you can make it up to me by taking it easy until you're all better. I understand that you had to go after Whitney, but now you need to wait before you get back in the suit. Take a breather. New York will still be there when you're ready. Probably."

"Got it," he whispers, voice thick with sleep as he begins to slip into unconsciousness. His blue eyes grow distant as his eyelids droop. "Think I'll... Take both of your advice right... now..."

When Rhodey arrives back at the armoury, victoriously holding two pizzas in his outstretched arms like trophies, he finds Tony curled up in Pepper's arms on the couch, their legs tangled together and both sound asleep.

Ah, well. More pizza for him.

It's a few days later that Tony finds himself at the hospital again; only this time for a very different reason.

"You can go in now," the nurse tells him as he stands to greet her. She presses a clipboard into his hands. "Since we don't know if he can hear us, we talk to him from time to time. Try to ease his nerves if he's lucid in there." She taps her temple with her index finger to indicate her meaning. Tony nods, attempting a smile that he knows must look forced, and pushes the door open.

The hospital room is in every way identical to the one where he spent the better part of the week recovering after his surgery; one lonely sealed window, four white walls, and the overpowering smell of antiseptic. Tony pauses to take a calming breath when he catches sight of the stately man, tucked beneath white sheets and hooked up to an IV; alive in only the biological sense, clinging to breath with the aid of the machines infiltrating his lungs. This is not Tony's area of expertise, not by a long shot, but he's a quick learner.

Besides, he owes it to Whitney. Like he'd told her a few days previous, at one point they'd practically been family.

Tony closes the door behind him and approaches the hospital bed, folding his free hand over the railing and examining the forlorn figure with as much clinical detachment as he can muster.

"Hey, Stane. Remember me? I'm here to help you."

A/N Aaand that's a wrap for now! (I wasn't very happy with this chapter so I delayed posting it for a few hours after I typed it up, haha.) I hope you've all enjoyed this story, and thank you for your kind feedback! Let me know what you thought of the ending- whether it was a satisfying wrap-up or not. Have a wonderful Christmas, as well!