Tony had barely seen Pepper in weeks, and it was killing him—not in a sappy, metaphorical way, either. He was drinking too much and eating too little, couldn't even remember the last time he had taken a shower. It was starting to take a toll, even by Stark standards. The worst part was that it was entirely his fault.

Pepper had been there at the beginning, right after…well, just after, when he was redesigning Stark Tower. Everything was fine while he was busy with data and blueprints and speculating about exactly how much Hulk weighed in relation to the tensile strength of support struts because no one—especially not Banner—wanted to see if the other guy felt inclined to step on a scale. Then Pepper had gone away to run Stark Industries, and he felt just how empty his large tower really was without her, even with Bruce skulking in the corners. So big and vast and completely devoid of air and…and suddenly he was back in the Iron Man suit with a nuke on his back and a phone that would never, ever be picked up ringing and ringing and ringing in his ears.

Tony didn't notice he was really falling until he hit the ground. Somehow, he managed to crawl back into the safety of his workshop, the pain in his chest a parody of when Obie had ripped his tinman heart right out of him. He was shaking hard enough to rattle the instruments on his desk as the cold of space seeped deep into his bones and settled there. Every breath was a struggle as the darkness of the cosmos crept in from where it had been waiting for him just at the edge of his vision.

He fought it. He really, really did. But he was just a man without even a tin can suit to protect him. The great vacuum that was his life ripped him apart as he slid a hand across the counter to his phone, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder until it was the only thing he was aware of, and his mind checked out of existence for a while.

Five months later and nothing had changed…at least not for the better. Tony didn't go outside anymore, couldn't even look out of the windows at the top of Avengers tower. It was too much, too big. Only Iron Man left the tower now, the weakest parts of Tony hidden safely in the gold and titanium alloy plated depths.

And those weakest parts of Tony were very, very weak. Even sitting with his phone in his hand waiting to call Pepp nearly sent him over the edge, the imagined ringing feeling like it was vibrating up through his hands and straight into his brain. He took a deep breath as the air in the room evaporated, and he pulled over some scrap sheet metal. A few snips, bends and solders later, and his phone disappeared inside of a metal box—viciously kicked under his desk for good measure.

He couldn't help the frustration at his lack of control. Him and Pepp lately was like watching a romance in reverse: weekends apart, clothes disappearing, until finally not even a toothbrush was left. He was doing everything in his power to push her away when all he wanted was someone to come closer. If it wasn't for his science bromance with Banner—they were really coming close to the next evolution of his armor—Tony was pretty sure he would have offed himself by now.

With a stiff drink and a wry smile, though, Tony would always tell himself it would just be wrong to show off his suicidal prowess when Banner couldn't do the same, himself…rude, really. And Stark was nothing if not considerate, as proven by his generously allowing—inability to stop Pepper from arranging—a Christmas party for the Avengers in his tower. It was the big unveiling of their renovations, after all, and Tony was as giddy as a virgin on prom night whether he would admit it or not.

He even had a new tux and everything…all he needed to do now was keep it together long enough to convince everyone—himself included (hell, especially himself)—that he hadn't completely lost it.

Tony tried out a smile as he adjusted his bowtie in the mirror. It looked fake even to him, and he deflated. "Yeah, this is going to be a long night."

He grabbed the Scotch bottle on his dresser for a little liquid courage before heading out to his living room.