Pepper was the first person to join Tony on the balcony.

Shivering as she pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, she asked, "Tony, what are you doing out here? It's cold."

His eyes traveled to her face slowly, slurring out, "December twentieth." Lifting the drink he held into the air, he pretended to toast someone before downing another mouthful.

"What?" Pepper asked, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew exactly why he was sitting out. December twentieth, twenty-twelve. The day before the Mayans had predicted the end of the world. "Really?" she asked, coming to sit down next to him. "You're going to sit out here, make yourself sick, and all because the Mayans probably got tired of making their calendar?"

"I know," he replied, looking at her. "Time change, Mayans got killed off. It's illogical. But, what if it's true?"

"You're drunk," she replied, smiling at how sleepy he was looking. There was no way he was going to stay up another half hour.

"What if it's true?" he asks, his voice urgent, and suddenly, she remembers how afraid he is of death.

He's confided in her—in the late, dark hours of the night, when nightmares roam through sleeping minds—that he's afraid of where he will go when he dies. She'd tried to reassure him that he was a good person, but—what with all of the war-industrial stuff he did in the past—he was convinced he was definitely going to a place for the damned.

Reaching over and taking his hand in hers, she says, "I will be back in a second. Stay here, okay?"

He nods, responding, "Okay." Pepper gets up to leave, turning to look at him before entering through the doors. He's leaned over, and she's pretty sure his shoulders are quivering from panic. Sure, he was thinking irrationally; but, she knew that was all he could think about. Even though he had become an expert at hiding it, he could have panic attacks from time to time. It worried her, but he always managed to ride the waves as smoothly as possible.

That's why, when she came back five minutes later, she was followed by all of the Avengers, each of them holding a lit candle and some form of alcohol, blankets tucked under their arms. When Tony glanced up and saw them, his face split into a sad smile; Pepper could almost read his expression perfectly.

He was thinking something along the lines of, If this is really my last night, at least I get to spend it with my friends.

That's how they spent the merging of December twentieth and December twenty-first. They partied, they drank, they enjoyed each other's company, telling stories and singing whatever song was started (most of them by Thor, which were songs they didn't know, but they made up their own words).

And, when they woke up in the morning, their heads spinning from a hangover, a smile lit all of their faces. The world was supposed to end a couple hours before; they were still alive.