Sorry for the long delay in chapters. First writer's block. Then work. Then the online class I take. And so on to infinity. I want to complete this story, need to. So I'm putting this chapter out here without a beta (apologies to my wonderful beta), because I feel like I need to keep going. I'm sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy!

It was the same dream he'd had off and on for months. In reality, the moment was maybe half a minute long, but in his dream it stretched for hours. He could feel the soft sand beneath him shift as he ripped the shirt from his body. Blood was collecting between his body armor and skin, hot and sticky, but Tony still made himself tip up his head and confirm that the shrapnel done some damaged. He let his hand drop back down and stared at the sky. Three minutes ago he had considered this a beautiful day. The sand around his hand became moist, and Tony felt his heartbeat slow. Gasping for air, the very clear awareness that he was going to die overwhelmed him, and he realized… nothing. No questioning if this was it, no moment of self actualization or flash of genius, nothing that books and movies so blandly state as reality. Just pain, a suffocating silence, and an overwhelming sense of regret and anger masked by fear. In his dreams Tony was like this seemingly endlessly, paralyzed and hopelessly alone.

And sometimes when he awoke, his heart couldn't tell the difference between dreams and reality.

XXXXXXXXXX

Tony drifted into consciousness in a lonely room. He'd fallen asleep on Pepper's bed, on top of the covers. This had been his routine for the last two days. He'd sleep here, fully clothed, and then pad around the house, lost. The first morning he'd tried to contact Pepper, against a small part of his better judgment. But when this produced no immediate results, he gave up. He might watch TV, or tinker with what was left of his workshop, but his heart wasn't really in it. Jarvis constantly reminded him that there were emails and phone calls that demanded his attention, but Tony ignored the machine with a brush of his hand. If people showed up at his door, he turned on the sprinklers. If they wouldn't go away, he put "A Chipmunk Christmas" on the outside speakers so loud that everyone eventually threw up their hands and retreated to their cars. But not even this could make him laugh.

When it got dark he'd try to force himself to eat dinner, but could usually only muster enough energy for a bowl of cereal. He'd wash the new gash on his back in the shower like the doctor ordered, and curl up in his own bed after drinking scotch chased by sleeping pills. For a while he'd be alright. But then the dream would come, and he'd wake up choking, streaking to Pepper's room to realize too late that she wouldn't be there. Tony would look at the bed telling him to leave. But instead he simply stretched out, placing his hot cheek against the cool comforter and willing himself to rest.

The morning of the third day started like any other. He woke up gradually, feeling the hot sun and sand give way to the cool of the air conditioner and bed. Tony shifted onto his back, the stitches being both itchy and slightly painful. He had been taking painkillers for it, but he needed stronger stuff. A while back a doctor had given him an injectable pain killer in several small syringes after a nasty battle that had resulted in a dislocated shoulder and several cracked ribs. Tony remembered sitting in his workshop as Pepper wrapped bandages around his middle. "I don't remember this being in my job description," she'd grumbled just loud enough for him to hear.

"Let's be honest Miss Potts," Tony said, examining a syringe of clear liquid as it glinted in the light, "you do many things that could never conceivably be put into a job description."

Pepper snorted as she taped the bandage into place making Tony wince. "Yeah well, it's going to take me a little bit to get used to patching you up."

"I don't see why. You've certainly done it in the past."

Her eyebrow shot up. "When was this?"

He nodded in a relaxed way. "How many times have I come home fall down plastered, huh? And there was that one time when I threw up in the hot tub…"

Pepper couldn't help but cringe. "I choose to block out that night, thank you."

"My point is that you are quite adept at managing my various foibles and pratfalls. I'm sure you will handle this new…development with equal grace. I have great confidence in you, Miss Potts."

She smiled, but motion was sad. "Thank you, Mr. Stark."

Tony reached for a shirt but kept his attention on his assistant. "I sense a retraction of that smile coming."

She turned away from him to wash her hands in a nearby sink, and Tony studied her shoulder blades as they rose and settled in a large sigh. "I really like my job."

"Tell me."

"Maybe I don't want to help you with this."

Tony gave Pepper a confused look from inside the shirt he was putting on. "What?"

She turned her body back toward him, but kept her eyes glued to the towel drying her hands. "I can handle you being drunk and late, fine, I figured that would be part of the job. You are Tony Stark, after all."

"But."

Pepper looked at him clear eyed. "But I'm not sure I can handle this."

"Where is all this self doubt coming from?"

She shook her head, "That's not it."

Tony scratched his arc casually. "Then what?"

"I don't like seeing you hurt. Watching you drag yourself home looking like this? And the fact that you don't even seem to care…"

Tony puffed out his chest a little. "I care about getting my ass kicked, about looking bad. I care about being in pain."

Pepper parted her lips to say something else but stopped, looking away from Tony. "I just don't like to see you hurt, that's all."

They stayed in silence for a moment. Tony wanted to hold Pepper's hand, and his own reflexively grasped the side of the bench he was sitting on. Instead, he let his mouth attempt to make things better. "If you really don't want to see me in pain you can give me an injection of the good stuff the doctor gave me. I'll even let you shoot me in the ass."

And Pepper had laughed. Not the small laughs that made her cheeks turn red or hid inside her chest like tiny earthquakes. But a large, open laugh that showed her teeth. As he lay in bed with his eyes closed Tony could remember how her laugh had made his heart clench a bit, and that he'd resolved to make her produce that sound more often.

He'd failed. Miserably.

But as the memory faded, the silence of his empty house reminded him of reality. He kept his eyes closed for as long as he could, desperately clinging to the memory of laughter, but it was gone.

Slowly, Tony let his eyes open and focus, his mind again adjusting to the idea that Pepper wasn't there and it was his fault. He was cold and sore, just like the other mornings, and there was an uncomfortable lump under his body. Taking his left hand he dug under his back until he grasped something soft. He pulled and pulled, ignoring a loud ripping sound. Tony put the offending object over his eyes to see. It was the pony he'd given Pepper, now absent of one front leg with some stuffing seeping from the hole. He sat up quickly to discover the lost appendage in the imprint of his body on the covers. Tony sighed and turned the toy all around, noting how sad and hobbled it looked now. He checked the tag, which read "Made in America."

'Figures,' he thought to himself.

Grabbing the now two part horse Tony sat on the side of the bed and examined it, feet involuntarily swinging. He supposed that the horse could be repaired since it had ripped at the seam. But what was the point? Who would want it now, knowing that it had been broken?

"You were a stupid idea anyway." He shook the horse a little and some stuffing came out. "Useless."

The horse had no comment, and before he left the room Tony unceremoniously deposited both pieces into the trash.

XXXXXXXXXX

James Rhodes sat in the driveway of his best friend's house for ten minutes repeating in his head "Stop being such a pussy." Now this was not language he often used, his mother would slap him, but the situation seemed unique. On paper it was simple. Go to friend's house. Get other friend's stuff. Leave. To most people it appeared like an easy afternoon outing. Of course most people's friends weren't post traumatic stress addled billionaire superheroes who'd almost accidentally killed the other friend. Rhodes put his head onto his steering wheel.

"I'm so screwed," he told to gas gauge.

He'd been going back and forth in his own mind for the past few days about what he wanted to say to Tony. Back at the hospital he'd wanted to rip off the man's own arm and beat him senseless with it, but had punched the wall until his knuckles were bloody instead.

Listening to Pepper tell Tony her story from just outside the doorjamb calmed him down greatly, and he'd held his opinions mostly in check while with Pepper in the hospital. But now Pepper was coming home, and she needed her personal belongings in order to stay at his place, which meant the elephant that followed him everywhere could no longer be ignored.

James flipped open his cell phone, checking to see if he had maybe, hopefully, missed some important call which could give him reason to put this off for another day. But all his phone gave him was the date and time. He looked up at the house, then caught his own eye in the rearview mirror. "Pussy," he told himself one more time before climbing out of the truck and trudging to the door, letting himself in easily with an extra key.

James found him in the living room, Tony was on the couch. The TV was turned on, and even though Tony's body was facing it, James doubted it held his attention. To say his friend looked like hell would have been a terrific understatement. Shaving, eating, and sleep had obviously been optional activities the past few days. He was dressed in sweats, and even though it was only 10:30 he's managed to poor himself a drink. James guessed, with slight repulsion, that this was breakfast. And even though the large bruise on Tony's cheek was turning a nice yellow color of healing James doubted any real progress had been made.

He felt like there was cement in his stomach. Maybe it was because he was still so angry at Tony for trying to cover up his issues and creating a royal mess that he would, once again, be forced to clean up. Maybe it was because looking at Tony now he could still see the scared fifteen year old who couldn't make eye contact when asking if James wanted to hang out and watch a movie. On his jet.

Most likely, it was a painful combination of both.

James shook his head and opened the conversation with the first thing that came to his head. "Hi."

Not even a little startled, Tony turned his head slowly and observed his friend, letting his face turn all the way back before speaking. "Can you believe they cleared out my shop? What a crock."

This was not what he thought Tony might say, but he couldn't say he was terribly surprised. James flexed his fingers out of frustration. "Yes Tony, let's address that problem first."

Tony took a long sip of his drink. "I can't work on my machines. I haven't gone this long without working in a long time. I don't think it's good for me." Tony picked at the hem of his shirt. "You know what they say about idle hands."

James shook his head and took a seat as far from Tony as he could. "Believe it or not, there is a point to this madness."

"I doubt it."

"You would." James looked around. The house was in a state of disarray, trash and debris scattered to every surface, a sharp contrast to the modernity of the furniture.

Tony set his drink down on the table, next to but not on a coaster. "I just need some time to work with the suit, to fix it. Time, something that no one seems capable of giving me."

"How long do you think we've been waiting already Tony?"

They sat for a moment, staring at the walls, the window, anything but each other. James laced his hands together. "I'm going to give this next thing to you. I don't know why you haven't asked yet. Well, I do know, but you don't know and that's the problem, so…" He took a deep breath, "She's fine."

A muscle in Tony's cheek twitched, but he didn't look anywhere but straight ahead. "Who?"

"Pepper," James answered, adding 'you asshole' in his head.

"Oh."

"There's the broken arm and two cracked ribs. But beyond that it's really just cuts and bruises."

Tony nodded, leaning back on the couch. "That's good to know," he answered, as if just learning what the lunch specials were.

"The doctors say it could have been much worse. She's lucky."

"Sure. Lucky." James felt like he was talking to a robot. But suddenly he could see the tendons in Tony's neck relaxed, and for the first time his friend met his eyes. "I tried to…did she get the flowers I sent."

"Yes."

"And the fruit basket."

James nodded his head solemnly. "Oranges fresh from Florida. Yeah, she got them."

Tony shook his head, dirty hair flopping. "You made her send them back, then. Or didn't tell her."

"No." James voice was low and clear. "Returning your gifts, that was her decision."

"She didn't like them?"

"She didn't want them."

"Because she's angry."

James couldn't resist chuckling. "Oh, Pepper is definitely angry. But that not it, not really."

Tony leaned forward and put his head into his hands rubbing the temples with his palms. "Then what?"

Ah, James thought, now they were getting to the heart of it. "Look man, I know how you think, but things aren't going to cut it."

Tony froze, hands still on the sides of his face. "What?"

"Things."

Tony's forehead crinkled. "What things?"

"Any thing."

Tony stood and paced, his socked feet making small brushing sounds on the carpet. "You are talking in riddles. And my brain, at the moment, doesn't seem up to par. So please, clue me in here."

James considered this for a moment, and then leaned back in his chair. "Do you remember when my mother died?"

The pace of his stride became quicker. "I thought we were talking about Pepper."

He ignored Tony's slight ignorance. "Do you remember?"

Tony stopped. "I do. She had a heart attack."

"Yes. And do you remember what you did to help me?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair and let it drop to his slide with a loud slap. "I…chartered you a jet so you could go home. Paid for the arrangements. I think I even sent caterers to your place to help with the visitation and a lawyer to go over the will." James gave him a hard look. "What? Was that not good enough? Are you still angry about that? It's been years. You should have said something…"

James waved him off. "No Tony. All that was helpful. Wonderful. It's just that…I really wanted you to come back with me."

"I didn't know."

James felt his anger growing, letting his toes curl a bit inside his boots. "I asked you."

"I don't remember."

"You were on the phone."

"I run a business, how can you not expect me to be on the phone?"

"That's not an excuse."

Tony's straightened his back defensively, hands on his hips. "If I was on the phone like you said, you should have waited until I was done."

"Don't turn this into my mistake. You were my best friend, Tony. You had every resource available to me except yourself."

Tony blinked, rocking back on his heels. "Are we, like, having a gay moment or something?"

In a flash James was out of his chair and inches from Tony's face. "Listen carefully, the only reason that I am not beating your ass at this moment for any number of reasons is because of my mother. Do you remember when I took you home for Christmas the first time?"

Tony's left eye twitched a little. "No."

James backed up a little. "Fine, you can lie. But I know you remember that my mom hugged you before you could even get in the house, just because you were my friend. And you were so shocked that someone could love you for such a simple reason that you didn't hug her back." Tony's eyes dropped to the floor. "My family, they doubted me, wondered why the hell I would make friends with you. But my mom, she understood, saw that behind that bluster and brains was a scared, good hearted boy, who wanted everyone to like him because his last name was like a noose around his neck. And she pulled me aside and said that no matter what I needed to look out for you, even when you didn't want it."

The Stark in the Tony couldn't help but put on a jeering smile. "It's nice to know that our entire relationship is based on harping and pity."

"Did you ever stop to think that a little pity would be OK for you?"

"I don't want pity. Pity is for the weak."

"For Christ sake Tony, you were an orphan. A genius with no friends expected to grow up into some sort of mogul. You deserve a little pity. And with Obadiah…"

"Obadiah Stane did his best for me…"

"Wait a minute…"

Tony felt his blood boil unexpectedly. "He could have kicked me out of the company; he could have wrecked and ruined everything my parents had built. But he didn't. I can't account for what happened these past few years, but…"

James shook his head fiercely. "That man has been nothing but a snake in the grass since…forever Tony. The first time I met him I knew he was an asshole. And guess what, I was right. I'm glad he's gone, but you seem unusually torn. My mother thought…"

"Why do you keep bringing her up? She's the one who stopped inviting me to holidays."

James took a step back. "No Tony that was me." James went to look out the window. This next piece of information was one of the more shameful secrets that he'd kept, but the moment was certainly now or never. "Obadiah came to me just before that fourth Christmas. He told me that I shouldn't invite you. That he'd pay for me to not to. I told him to go to hell. Obadiah didn't yell. He just clapped me on the back. Said he didn't expect me to understand that it was time for you to grow into the person you were meant to be, and that meant spending time with the type of people who could shape you into the type of person you were meant to become. I should have stood up to him, but I was twenty. And broke."

"And what, he just wrote you a check."

"Cash."

"Like a whore."

James shut his eyes. "You have to believe me; I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You did."

"No, I didn't. Maybe if I'd made you come back with me you would understand why it's not appropriate for a friend, a best friend, to not come to his mother's funeral."

"I went to the funeral."

James felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Excuse me."

"I went. How could I not go to your mother's funeral? She let me use the last good chair at the dinner table at Christmas. I just didn't want you to know…no one needed to know."

"Why?"

Suddenly Tony was yelling. "Because that's not what Tony Stark does. It's not who I am."

"Then who in the hell are you Tony?"

Tony counted on his fingers, bending each back so hard they turned white and looked like they would break. "I'm a business man. An inventor. A leading public figure. I'm Ironman."

"No Tony, that's what you do." James pointed. "It's what you do, not who you are. And until you understand that, you'll never understand why Pepper doesn't want things from you."

There was silence that filled the room like toxic smoke. Each friend's chest heaved with frustration. When James' cell phone wrung both men jump as if electrocuted. He looked down and winced a little. Pepper. If he didn't answer she'd be worried, just like being back in Afghanistan. Tony was lost again, and they were left shell shocked.

"Is it her?" Tony asked, his voice small.

James pressed the on button and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello."

"You wouldn't be answering it unless it was her." Tony said blankly.

"Hi James, they're ready to release me." Pepper's voice crackled a little with interference.

"Let me talk to her." Tony reached for the phone, but James swatted away his hand like a mother with a pestering child.

"Look Pepper," James said, walking rapidly to the bedroom he knew she'd been staying it, "I'm still at Tony's trying to get what you wanted, so it's going to be a little longer, hey…"

XXXXXXXXXX

In a flash Tony swept past James, grabbing the cell phone from his hand. Before James could grab Tony in return, Tony had darted into the bathroom of Pepper's guest bedroom and locked the door. He took a moment to calm himself, ignoring James' almost panicked bangs on the door before bringing the phone up to his own ear. "Hi Pepper."

There was a long pause, and Tony could hear a sharp intake of breath. "Hello Mr. Stark. I'm going to hang up now."

"Wait, please…"

There was another pause, and Tony started to sweat, "I don't think you've ever said those words to me before."

Tony looked at himself in the mirror. He was sweating, but he kept his voice calm. "I doubt that you can remember every conversation that we've ever had."

"True. Maybe just not those words in that order."

"And?"

"It sounds nice. Coming from you."

Tony sat down on the edge of the bathtub. "Coming from me?"

"You're not a fountain of platitudes most of the time."

This made him smile. "I never pegged you as a fan of clichés, Miss Potts."

There was a pause, and Tony imagined that Pepper was smiling on the other end of the line because it made him feel less terrified. This conversation was like strolling along the side of a cliff, each word a pebble broken off from under foot sent tumbling to the floor below. Tony tried to dislodge his pebbles carefully. "You didn't keep my gifts."

Her voice was resolute. "I didn't want them."

"That's what James said."

Pepper's frustration was palpable. "And you didn't believe him."

"I didn't understand him." Tony's terror was quickly becoming panic.

"I can't…" Pepper's voice hitched a little, "just tell James to hurry up. Please."

"Hurry up with what?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"I have the distinct feeling that I'm being left in the dark a great deal lately."

"They're letting me out of the hospital today."

Tony grinned. "So you'll be coming home, then." He immediately regretted his word choice. "I mean, you'll be coming back here, right?"

"No."

Any happiness disappeared from his face. "Why not?"

"Do you understand yet?"

Now Tony was just overwhelmingly frustrated. "How can I understand anything if you won't tell me what in the hell I'm supposed to understand."

"Do you know why I don't want the gifts you sent me."

Now, even though his brain was filled with rage, Tony did understand that at that moment showing weakness was probably what most people would do. "I understand that you're being very ungrateful right now."

"I can't believe that you'd be stupid enough to think that some flowers and fruit can make up for everything you've put my through lately."

"When exactly did I tether you to me and force you to participate in my life?" Reflexively, Tony was on his feet, yelling. "You could have abandoned me at any time."

Pepper sounded a bit shocked. "Abandoned you?"

"Yes. If you're confused about what that means, think back to when your father kicked you out."

The bitter sarcasm in Pepper's voice was unmistakable. "Oh yes, I should just bow down to the gravitas of Tony Stark, just like everyone else?"

"I never said you were special."

"Neither are you."

"I'm Ironman."

"You're a scared little kid with a gun and a vocabulary. And I'm finished waiting for you."

"I'm sorry to have wasted your precious time."

"Up until a week ago, Mr. Stark, I never thought of it as a waste. Consider this phone call my resignation."

"That's funny; I was just about to tell you that you were fired."

"Very mature. And to think I once told James that I just wanted to hug you until you talked."

"Well, at least then I could finally feel you up."

"Fu…" Tony hung up the phone, but could guess the rest of the phrase. Her anger fed the bitter parts of him, and it felt good.

XXXXXXXXXX

After banging on the door for about a minute, James decided that he could either hurt himself and break down the door or wait. He pulled out a simple swivel chair from the desk and slouched down until he was staring at the ceiling. A fan spun hypnotically above him and he left his brain fade into denial. Maybe if he stared at it long enough he might be transported back into the past, just like a movie. He'd stop himself from going into that physics class and smiling at the awkwardly endearing skinny boy in the front row. Because if he'd never met Tony Stark, he wouldn't have to be dealing with this shit.

The bathroom door flew open, jolting James from his reverie so significantly that he fell out of his chair and onto the floor. Tony winged the cell phone at him, but James missed it and the small machine bounced on the carpet. James gave him a confused look. "What was that for?"

Tony rocked on his feet, arms plastered to his sides, his entire body a straining personification of anger. "Get out."

"Not without Pepper's things."

"Things? What things?" Tony rocketed over to the closet, shoving the door so hard its mirrored surface cracked. "These things?" He took out some clothes, flinging them so hard against the bed that the friction might cause a fire. Next, he stalked over to a chest of drawers, opening one and throwing various undergarments over his shoulder. "What about this? Or this?" Tony whipped around. "Because if these are her…things, then Miss Potts has made it clear that she has no need for them, or anything." Tony hurriedly bunched up the comforter with Pepper's clothing inside of it. "So I'll just get rid of it for her," he said plainly, before marching from the room, bundle in tow.

James followed him numbly, more curious to see what Tony would do then to make the effort to prevent him from doing it. He trailed his friend cautiously all the way to his stripped down workroom and watched him dump the pile in the center of the floor. The thing that made James finally take action was when Tony returned from an alcove with a bottle of lighter fluid and began liberally spraying the pile. "Whoa, wait."

James touched Tony's arm, but Tony jumped away like he'd been burned. "Don't."

It was obvious that coaxing him was out of the question, so James simply dove for the bottle. But Tony was quicker, punching his friend in the gut so he tumbled to the floor. More surprised than hurt, James scooted back just as Tony emptied the lighter fluid bottle and tossed it onto the pile. He pulled some matches from his pants pocket, striking one and pausing to watch it burn for a moment. "Tony wait," James pleaded, "think about what you're doing here."

James could see Tony's back heaving, a fresh path of blood emerging on his shirt from where he'd torn his stitches. "They're just things," he said flatly, flicking the match into the pile.

Everything burned so quickly, a few flickering flames rapidly becoming a supernova. Fabric burned, twisting into itself like agonized worms. For about half a minute James could only watch, ironically frozen to the spot. Eventually his voice came cracking out "Jarvis!"

Sprinklers sprang to life above their heads, dousing the flames and tamping out most of the smoke in the room. Tony remained motionless, arms down at his sides, head slightly hung, the stretch of red on his shirt like a highway on the map of his own self destruction. James rose to his feet, his steps squelching on the floor. "I want you to know that Pepper didn't mention anything about clothes or shoes or anything like that when she asked me to come over here. She just wanted one thing." He stood next to Tony, studying his profie, but Tony said nothing. "She wanted me to pick up a stuffed animal. A pony, I think. If you could just tell me where that is, I'll be going."

"It's gone." Tony turned his head toward James, face expressionless. "I lost it, in a dream. Tell her that I wish I could have saved it. Protected it better. Tell her I'm sorry. Please." Then he turned his face back to the ashy pile.

James backed away, defeated, and let himself out of the house. Uncaring of who saw, he changed into dry clothes in Tony's driveway before climbing back into his car. Flipping open his cell phone, he quickly scrolled through his contacts to find 'Hell in a Hand Basket' and hit send. Before the person on the other end of the line could even say hello, James blurted out "I think it's time to call in the big guns."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hours later Tony still hadn't left the pile in his workroom, but he had conceded to exhaustion and sat on the floor. He heard footfalls behind him but didn't bother to turn around. "I'm really not in the mood James."

"Not the right black man, Mr. Stark. But nice try."

Tony scrambled to his feet, not even attempting to hide the genuine surprise on his face. "Mr. Fury," he held up his arms to indicate the room, "welcome to hell."

The man in the long dark coat shook his head. "You are mistaken, Mr. Stark. I've been to hell. So have you. This isn't hell."

"Then what is this?"

"They said you were favoring the big questions lately."

"And?"

"So I look like fortune teller's ball, do I?"

"Just your head."

For a moment Tony thought that he was going to get shot and no one would find his body, ever. But Fury's mouth just twitched a little. He walk forward and examined the pile of soggy, charred material in the middle of the floor, as Tony stood nearby rubbing his neck. Then Fury looked around the room, as if examining a boat he already knew he was going to buy. "I am a man, Mr. Stark, who deals almost exclusively with people who possess certain emotional highs, one specific spike per person. I believe that your particular high would be in egotism."

"Am I supposed to be embarrassed about this?"

Fury shook his head, "No. I suppose it's good you accept this. I'm more curious about what made you think it's alright to be so self absorbed."

"Wait a minute; you are talking about two different things here." Tony ran a hand through his hair, slightly grossed out by how greasy it was. "Having a healthy ego means survival, strength, leadership. You don't get to be where I am without having an ego."

Fury looked genuinely interested. "Go on."

"But self absorbed, that indicates a level of unawareness to the rest of the world, of intrinsic self gratification. One is about preservation. One is about pride."

"Very interesting. Who told you that?"

Tony shrugged, suddenly cold. "No one, it's my idea."

"Mr. Stark, you sound like someone reading from a well loved pamphlet. So who told you that?"

Tony wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the window while he thought. The sun was coming down, and its last rays made his eyes squint. "Obadiah," he said finally, quietly, "Obadiah told me that."

"He was like a father to you, wasn't he?"

"I had a father, a real, good father. Obadiah never took his place." Tony spit back.

"That may be true. But then why does someone who has the verbal tick of calling everyone by their last name only routinely call one person by their first?"

Though it was rare, Tony was at a loss for words, arms crossed defensively across his chest. He held Fury's gaze steadfastly, though it made his eyes water. Not from tears, mind you. Tony assured himself that he was just very tired. He rubbed circles into his right arm with his thumb, trying to make himself stay awake or present. But no matter how strong Tony was, Fury was better. "You still haven't answered my question."

Tony cocked his head to the side, trying to edge his security wall back up. "You are like a dog with a bone with these things, aren't you?"

"You wouldn't want to see my teeth."

"I have a feeling that your bark is much worse."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm sorry, who first responded in our little repartee here?"

Fury shook his head. "You," he said, "need to answer the question. Why do you think you always call Stane by his first name?"

"I don't know," Tony tried to sound nonchalant. He relaxed his posture a little while still managing to stand straight, like he was at a board meeting about to close a deal. "Why don't we go upstairs and have a drink and really think this out. I have a bottle of brandy from the Pope and…"

"No."

"Come on, aren't you the least bit interested in what hooch the Pope keeps tucked away?"

"I'm interested, invested, in you."

"You know, I think that he keeps a bottle in that tall hat he wears. Perfect hiding spot."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously going to deflect my questions with a joke about the Pope?"

"Would you prefer a joke about Hitler? Too soon?"

Fury regarded Tony for a moment before speaking. "I think I understand now why the people in your life keep leaving you." His tone was not cruel or patronizing. In fact, it seemed as if he could have been speaking about the quality of one spatula over another. But for Tony it made it the words cut that much deeper. Fury wasn't trying to scare him. He was trying to tell him the truth.

Tony rocked back on his heels and rubbed the hem of his shirt. "Well, I'm not sure I should be taking advice from you," his voice sounded like a six year old but he couldn't stop talking. "It's not like there's a Mrs. Fury waiting in something small and lacey for you to come home."

"True enough, Mr. Stark. But it's not like Pepper is waiting for you upstairs either."

Tony looked at the floor and corrected Fury quietly with, "Miss Potts."

"Yes, Miss Potts." Fury walked closer, and Tony almost expected to be patted on the arm but that never happened. Eye patch code of honor, he suspected.

Tony continued to study the muted grey of the floor. "I don't remember my father all that well."

"I guessed as much. But Obadiah, you remember him."

"Yeah. History is a funny thing. You carry it around with you all the time, but you can't interact with it. Ask it questions."

"Sometimes we can."

Tony shook his head. "Not me."

"And why's that?"

"Death, it seems, puts a real damper on touching reunions."

A smile crossed Nick Fury's face. "Not always."

Tony finally looked the other man right in the eye. "What?"

"Go get changed. There's someone you need to talk to."

To Be Continued (soon)...