A/N: One of the first IM3 fanfics! So, HERE BE SPOILERS! Yar, maties. Because Nick Fury is totally a pirate. Anywho, my friends and I were freaking out during the entire, glorious movie opening night…until the surgery and 'happy ever after', which was when I spent the credits wailing to my poor boyfriend J ("THE TRAILER LIED TO ME! How dare Tony not take the virus?!"). Three seats down our friend A was similarly shouting at the screen for dashing her hopes and not properly killing off Pepper (so that Stark Spangled Banner could reign supreme). Then the extra scene came on. As the camera panned out to show Tony Stark talking to Bruce Banner, we all simultaneously screamed and jump-hugged. This had the added benefit of freaking out everyone else in the theater.

Post-movie: A and J attacked L for insulting Science Bros, I was in a haze of awesome delirium, and the rest of our group was backing away slowly. While still in my 'happy-fangirl-squeeing' state this plot bunny hopped up, and while writing this I somehow fell in love with the movie's finale.

By the way, assume that any strange references are from 'Doctor Who'. Yeah, Tony Stark strikes me as an utter fanboy. Look at how he reacted to meeting Bruce! With his love of science and inventing, our favourite billionaire playboy genius philanthropist has got to be a Whovian. There's no question about it, none whatsoever. Nope, nada. I absolutely refuse to leave my fantasy and hear otherwise.

Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

General Disclaimer: If I had written/directed the movie, I'd have been Greg. Tony Stark being jumped by a crazy fangirl? Totally awesome. On that note, the actual filmmakers have my eternal thanks for listening to fanon and being epically amazing.

Creating had always been simple. Rebuilding had never been an issue; Tony Stark was a mechanic, he hadn't been lying. It could even be argued that it was one of his main job titles, though linguistics didn't matter so long as it got the kid off his back. Still, there was the bonus that hearing the story had made Pepper genuinely smile (what a rare thing that was these days).

So maybe he might not entirely, exactly, plausibly mind the idea of being 'just' a mechanic. Though he'd distract any mention of his non-existent sentimentality by joking about 'connections' before segueing into a debate on thermonuclear physics. The last always cleared the room.

The actual problem? It came after Maya, after Killian, after he'd made his armour go Kablooey!, after the President had patted his back, and after Rhodey had stopped overtly worrying that he'd spontaneously combust while shattering into a million pieces. The real climax—not the good kind, this time—reared its ugly head when he'd begun to allow himself to hope that everything would be better. That his old life was still salvageable. At the surface, this wasn't a ridiculous notion: the company hadn't been ruined, the bad guys were dead or behind bars, Tony's ruined house was being cleared, and he was still breathing (halted, stammering, panicking at times, but there).

Most importantly, Pepper was alive and here. So alive, but not whole. Not yet. Because he kept finding her gazing at her reflection, scrutinising her newly fragile bits of heart with a guilt complex he knew well. The first time, she'd flinched away when he wrapped an arm around his waist. A hotel mirror was transformed to a fiery blob in the process which, oddly enough, added to her stress.

As the Mandarin faded from the television screens and the world moved on, Pepper couldn't stop gazing at herself in horror. Refused to believe that Tony couldn't care less, that she didn't burn him, that they would make this work, that he loved her, that he needed her and she needed him, that they were both broken and that was okay, that of course she was human—what else could she be? But with every argument, every stubborn protest, Tony clamped onto the knowledge that it'd be fine. He knew it. He was so close to breaking the Extremis virus that he could taste it.

Once he did, Pepper would stop staring into space with her haunted big blue eyes (always blue, just blue, a color he adored even more than hot rod red). She would. She had to. He would heal her, repair everything. Not in Malibu, though (even with frequent trips to visit Happy and ensure that the hospital badges were up to par). Nor elsewhere in California or the West Coast. He wasn't sure why. Well, no, he did. Stark Tower—the name didn't sound right these days—was now his only residence with useable labs for extensive experimentation.

Tony had two anxiety attacks on the flight over. There would've been three and a press scandal if Pepper hadn't done the impossible and calmed him down before Newark (while glaring with fiery heat at any who tried to disturb him). Once they reached the city he tried to lock himself in the workshop, claiming that he had plenty on his hands what with fixing up JARVIS, shipping out Spud Gun Mark 2, decoding and curing the Extremis virus, and making sure AIM was truly gone. Pepper had gazed at him imperceptibly, before she sighed at his poor excuse of bandages, gently replaced them, and side-tracked them both in the shower. It was stilted, awkward, but they were both trying.

Tony only truly grinned when Pepper arranged for her work to be moved to New York. He probably should have protested. He didn't, and instead opened up the master suite—happy to be with Pepper, happy she at least was returning to life, happy to hopefully end his marathon of insomnia, happy to gain an ever after.

'Let go! Pepper, I'll catch you. I promise! Trust me. Jump.'

'Pepper please, please pick up. Try again, try again J, damn it, TRY AGAIN! She'll answer. She will. Try again. She always answers.'

'The one thing I can't live without. The one person I need to protect—'

'She's safe! Hell, why'd I give the address? Happy would've hated that. But he'll be okay, she's out of reach, she's fine, it's fine. Now to get out. J!'

'God Peps. Don't—you can't be dead. You can't. Don't you dare! YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE I HAVE! —had. I, I had you. I did. You listened to me…I dropped you.'

'Pepper, why do you trust me?'

Shaking and cursing, Tony thrashed out at the nightmares. But instead of hitting the monsters, his punch contacted with a feisty redhead. One who, glowing and burning bright as fire, didn't hesitate to kick back. As soon as her foot connected she jerked awake, confused and disoriented, until her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"TONY!" Pepper, properly awake, hurtled over to her boyfriend beneath the new crack in the wall. Her arms waved frantically. "Oh god, oh god, did I do this? I'm so sorry! Are you hurt? You're hurt! I'll, I'll call for help. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please be okay!"

"Peps, it's fine." Tony groaned, tenderly picking himself up off the floor. "I'm fine. What happened?"

"I ATTACKED YOU! I, I think!" Pepper, seeing he was awake, scurried away from him in horror. "Oh god oh god oh god…"

"It's fine." He repeated in confusion, lightly rubbing his back while glancing at the bed. The memories trickled back; he suppressed another groan. "Don't worry, I think it was my fault. Bad dream. Must've disturbed you and your subconscious took over."

"So my subconscious kicked you half-way across the room?" Pepper said in a tone layered with self-blame; Tony hated to hear it and wished he could fix this, vanish all the hurt with a snap of his fingers.

"So Extremis attacked me." He corrected, pulling himself to a stand with a wince. Seeing her haunted expression he moved closer, ignoring her wince to wrap his arms around her soft camisole. "It was a reflex. I'm fine, you're fine, and I'm close to a cure." She nodded without believing him, head resting on his shoulder. Her hug became tighter as shakes from the nightmare rolled down his spine. "I'll cure this."

In contrast to Pepper, Tony did believe this would happen. In a matter of speaking. At least, maybe as far as Extremis went. The chemicals had already been diluted from her blood sample, and once he'd recreated the virus it would only be a matter of distilling the anti-thesis. No problem. Easy-peasy.

Simple, at least, until a week after they'd both moved in (three weeks since he'd arrived, and three weeks plus five minutes since he'd had to restrain himself from bribing the pilot to fly him back permanently to California. Even Tennessee was looking more tempting by the day). This latest news was, actually, good. Fantastic even. It was. So brilliant that Tony could only believe it after, however many tests later, the conclusion was undeniable.

"Congratulations, sir." JARVIS intoned, his voice containing a touch of worry. "Shrubbery the Thirteenth is stable enough that an explosion does not appear imminent. Fluffy the Third, while still chasing her tail, shows no signs of spontaneous combustion. You have successfully reproduced Extremis. While the final tests are concluding, might I remind you that it has been eighty-four hours since you last slept and—"

"Mute." Tony muttered, his voice tense. He spun his chair around, staring at the vial in question; it was clutched in his hands, his newest (re)creation looking like molten lava trapped within highly breakable glass. "Not much of a virus, are you. Not a sickness. A liquid philosopher's stone on steroids." He held it up to red eyes, inspecting it as his tone grew steadily harder. "Not much to cure. You fix the body. You even fix the mind; Pepper hasn't had any nightmares. She's had no problem strolling around, leaving everyday for whatever the hell is—"

'Bzzzzerrruuu.' A faint mumble of concern turned his attention from glaring around the workshop.

"QUIET, DUMMY! What, trying to lecture me with that obviously faulty wiring in your head? Seriously, like a program could ever be better than a brain—" Tony snarked, turning his poisonous stare to where the robot should be. He blinked. Dummy wasn't there. Never had been.

"Oh. He's…still in Malibu." Tony stilled. Shaking off the unsettling hallucination, he cast around for any distraction. All of a sudden it came to him from his previous words. Eyes widened in a realisation that should have come days, weeks before. "A program that's better than a brain! A program. A virus. Of course Pepper hasn't had any nightmares; she hasn't been dreaming."

"Exactly, sir." JARVIS quietly spoke from overhead as Tony shakily retook his seat, still staring at the vial. "I must insist you sleep. You are hearing things and—"

"I should've known that about Extremis. Didn't I mute you?" He shook his head, gazing at the virus as though entranced. "Doesn't matter. Why didn't I know that? Did I know that? Check my heart, check my brain. Anything off? Any, any poison?"

"My readings show that there is nothing physically wrong, except that you are severely exhausted and recuperating from numerous small injuries." If Tony didn't know better, he would've thought that JARVIS was channelling a concerned Mary Poppins. "That you have not collapsed yet is remarkable. That you are able to work is nothing short of a miracle. What you are contemplating, however, is a mistake. Sir, I suggest you go to sleep. I believe Miss Potts is waiting for you."

"What am I 'contemplating', J?" Tony asked, scooting his tiredness away and ignoring the last part of the recommendation. He spun the vial around his fingers, shooting the empty space where Dummy should-have-been a cautious look.

"Taking the virus yourself." JARVIS answered simply, though he paused before the next. "That—would be unwise. It is not a miracle cure. It will not 'fix' you; it will turn your brain into a computer."

"Which would be bad, why?" Tony resolutely pushed away Pepper's recent haunted expression, her hesitant touches, the smile that never reached her otherwise fiery (too enflamed) eyes. He plopped his feet onto the table.

"Because you are human, sir." JARVIS said quietly, emphasising every word. "You are not a program. I believe you destroyed the Iron Man armours over a similar principle."

"Which was probably a mistake." Tony pointed out, skirting away from the main issue and why exactly he was still holding the vial. "It's like Harry Potter breaking the Elder Wand. Who the hell gets rid of their ultimate weapon-y shield?"

"A good man." There was no hesitance this time.

"I think someone's programming needs rebooting, buddy." Tony yawned, stubbornly pushing aside reality.

"A great man." JARVIS pressed. "Even if you do not believe this, you are in no state of mind to make a life-changing decision. Sir, please get some sleep."

"Okay, okay. Touchy." Robot and man watched as he reluctantly put the vial back. "Tell me how the last trials go."

Rushing into darkness. Into blackness as the world twisted around him, nothing making sense except the missile within his clutch. How it began, how it ends, and he hadn't rewritten anything. He created weapons. He was a weapon. A man in a suit, what more was he? His dad was right, Rhodey was right, Pepper was right (where are you where are you where are you, I can't hear you!), and they were gone. JARVIS clicked off with a 'Cranberry', leaving him to the stars.

Only, that didn't happen. The Mandarin had sent the bomb, maybe. Or Trevor. Not SHIELD; Fury was too busy with a bazooka. What's-his-name-tattoo-guy and Captain America stared at him from the darkness, faces twisted in disappointment. And all at once the shrieks hit him like a Jericho missile (did Obie fire it?) and he knew what to do. He did, he knew! It was crystal clear, so obvious, and he was an idiot for not seeing it sooner. Too damn blind and oblivious: he had to get rid of the weapon. Let go of the bomb! Release it! Make everyone saf—

He wasn't holding the nuke. It was now the little crayon girl, staring at him as though he'd ripped out her heart (he had, oh god, what had he done? Now her hair was red and he couldn't handle this, he wasn't fine, he wasn't sure if he'd ever been). She was falling away from him! He tried to grab her, he did, he tried to scream and swoop to the rescue, but he was rushing back down the wormhole (too fast!) and there was nothing he could do…

'NO! I'll save you, I'll catch you. YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE! Please…help me.'

Tony didn't like to sleep. Not these days. Not when he woke up in a sweat, clutching tightly at his arc reactor—only to squint through red eyes and realise it wasn't Erin. Wasn't Pepper. Wasn't even a damn cocoon.

What hurt most was his certainty that everything would miraculously be better once he found the cure. When he could wake up and Pepper (his Pepper, not this shadow, this guilt that fell so short of the truly beautiful her) would be hugging him tightly to chase away the monsters. And…this did happen. It did. For after weeks of tension, sleepless nights as the world moved too slowly, she was finally injected with the cure.

Pepper had taken a deep, unsteady breath of life. Touching her cool skin, she gazed at him with love and non-fiery eyes, practically shining with warmth. Within moments she was herself, a ball of energy and compassion, hopping off the workshop's table, kissing him breathless, pushing him to the kitchen, grabbing his favourite fruits ("You aren't eating enough! What have I been thinking? Here! Eat! Blueberries!"), and pulling them to the bedroom. Where they had fun. They had a lot of fun. Which wasn't surprising: Pepper was celebrating her return to humanity, and Tony was happy to put off the inevitable.

But afterwards, he couldn't sleep. He rolled over, kissed her red hair, and tried again.

After the fourth time of waking in the dead of night (convinced that Yinsen's corpse lay before him; fireworks and shouts of Y2K blasting overhead; a short-cut to the ground floor, where he's dunked over and over into icily chilled waves), he quietly left the room. He didn't disturb Pepper. She needed sleep and, besides, the injections had put her so far out that even his muffled pants and cries hadn't woken her.

So Tony found himself sitting in the lab, knees pulled up to his chest. Staring at the vial.

"Sir, I really must insist—"

"Mute."

"You think I'm nuts, don't you."

"I don't."

"That your medical diagnostic, doc?"

"I told you. I'm not that sort of doctor."

"Destroyer of Worlds, then?"

"Tony—"

"Oncoming Storm?"

"You're watching too much BBC."

"Hey, my not-really-bodyguard got me addicted. But you were asleep, don't deny it."

"I wasn't! I was just resting my eyes."

"Sure you were. So, any advice for a guy who had a gun in his mouth?"

"WHAT? Tony, the hell?"

"Bad reference, sorry. Thought it was appropriate…wait. Have you, have you actually been sleeping?"

"…no. Course not. Err, go on? Something about a—gun?"

Pepper forced Tony out of the Tower, and not for their usual biweekly flights to the West Coast and Happy. This time, they lingered. In the sun. Under the sky that had all too recently (for him, at least) been filled with aliens and a wormhole leading to the blanketing, silent expansion of empty space.

Tony took in a swift breath, closed his eyes, forced himself to calm down. See? No aliens, no Hulk CPR, nothing in the clouds. He was fine. Everyone was fine. He was fine. Fine fine fine. Just cold…and if he told himself this enough times he might start to believe it.

He stubbornly shook away the panicked thoughts and, blinking, pushed his sunglasses up while staring blearily around Central Park. Who would voluntarily come here in the snow? Pepper, that's who, so he couldn't really complain. Only shake away the chill, cross his legs, and link his arms around the topmost frozen metal of the bench. The few passersby gave him odd looks; he distantly heard kids exclaim over Iron Man while their parents ushered them away. His thoughts flickered to what the media must be saying about him, and almost hoped that his 'not-actually-dead' state had produced calls for a zombie doomsday. That'd at least be a laugh, or at least give Fury a well-deserved migraine…

"Have you locked yourself to that bench?" Pepper sat beside him, handed over a hot dog, and smoothed her skirt. She, unlike him, hadn't been stubborn enough to refuse to wear a winter coat. "Before you ask: yes, that has everything on it, though it's disgusting and horrendously bad for you. Eat up, you're too thin."

Tony loosened his grip. "I always need an anchor. Thanks Peps." A quick kiss, followed by a bite of mustard, meat, bread, ketchup, onions, lettuce, relish, and a dollop of pickles. "Oh god, this completes me. Pepper, you're amazing, but I swear I have a connection with this hot dog."

"Like you could replace me." She chuckled while opening up her tablet. After seeing the effect of the sun's glare on her screen, she gave it up for lost and sat quietly for a long pause, letting the gradual silence filter around her. Realising that it was, indeed, silent, she turned back to her boyfriend in surprise. As she did, she noticed that after the first enthusiastic chew for show he'd been playing with his lunch rather than eating it. She opened her mouth to lecture, thought twice about it, and changed for a teasing tone in their previous conversation. Neither had an issue catching up. "Like I could replace you. You, and those ridiculous sunglasses of yours. Did you have to dress like this to go to the park? It's January."

"What? There's sun. It's even more blinding than usual, since the light reflects against the snow and—you know what? Never mind. This is casual."

"It's Armani. Tony, this isn't you."

"Course it's me. I'm a fashion icon and—"

"This is you before everything." Pepper slipped her fingers into his, finally detaching him from the bench's metal. The barely-touched hot dog was scooted over onto the seat. "New York, Afghanistan: everything. You're wearing this suit like an armour and refusing climate appropriate clothing 'for your image'. I half expect to find a playgirl in your bed tonight."

Tony looked at her in surprise, not having expected anything like this. He gently squeezed her hand. "You're the only girl for me. You know that."

"That's not what I meant." She sighed as she leaned her head against his, their noses brushing with a dust of chill. The tablet leaned between them, forgotten, slowly freezing against the metal. "This isn't healthy. You aren't you. You're breaking and it's like I, I can't do anything about it."

"A bit melodramatic. Have you been taking lessons from Trevor?"

Pepper snorted humourlessly. "Don't joke, not about this. I'm going to be busier than ever repairing the company, but you know I'd set it all aside if you asked."

"You don't have to." He gently kissed her, insistent, but enjoying the mellow warmth as their lips met. His hand curled around her neck, gently tugging against the thick parka. "I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar." She gazed up at the sky, eyes shining. "Please talk to a doctor. Find out what's wrong."

"Pepper, I'm fine." Tony rolled both his eyes and the words, though the effect was somewhat lost behind the sunglasses. "Really. Completely well-adjusted and sane. I'm out in New York and not freaking out, notice that? No anxiety or PTSD to be seen. I'm just cold. Very, very cold, actually, and why are we out here again?"

"You can't actually believe you're okay." Pepper ignored the last question to gaze at him incredulously. "For a genius you can be such a—you know what? Forget it. Look, just—think about what I said. You need help, and as much as I hate it I can't give it to you. I'm not like you, Tony. I can't wave a magic wand and make the person I love better."

"Ov-er-dra-ma-tic!" Tony half-sang with a sharp smile, one that fooled no one. But their conversation paused there into another comfortable silence. They nestled against each other, drawing innocent warmth from their wrapped arms. They sat there without any interfering witticisms or paparazzi, content to watch the frozen park and the soft, fluttering snowflakes.

Neither mentioned that Tony's stilting breathing coincided with a quick exit back to the Tower. They did, after all, still tightly grasp onto a few safety blankets.

This time, Tony wasn't the only civilian in the Fun-vee. Pepper poked him when he quipped about the driver's excellent bone structure, and adjusted the camera while rolling her eyes with the straight-faced joke about gang signs.

This time, she screamed at the rocketing blast. He threw himself over her in reflex (he was proud of that, at least). She grew silent with the slams of the soldiers crumbling, and he rushed them both out, keeping himself planted as her shield while shouting for a gun that would never come.

There was a fall to rocky sand as the air erupted in explosions. The same blind, scrambling panic, and the clench in his throat as he saw the bomb with his name on it. But this time? What he glimpsed before the world went dark (with pain and his heart ripping open), was her frightened, wide blue eyes, a sapphire sky, tears bright like Californian waves. God, forget running. He wished they could fly—

This time, his first demand was to know where she was. Didn't care about the cave made of nightmares, the missile, the boxes with his blasted name, or the rotting car battery in his chest. "WHERE IS SHE!" Yinsen tried to calm him (knew it was suicide, knew it was stupid, knew nothing could stop him), but the captors grinned with malice and said something he couldn't understand.

Yinsen winced, turning mournful eyes to the man caught between fury and horror. "She's…Stark, they're bringing her out. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He growled just as the door opened and he spotted red hair. In a single instant his heart leapt (he ignored the imaginary crunch of metal). He expected a pained scowl, a strong and resistant expression, a broken arm or leg or both, her managing to lecture the terrorists to submission or, maybe, worse case, she was damaged too. But they could fix that. He could heal them both and—

She was thrown at his feet, limbs tangling like a paper doll's. One high heel was missing; the smart jacket and pencil skirt were oddly unruffled. Her ponytail was gone while the locks had knotted about her face. More than just her hair was crimson.

The captor chuckled something. Yinsen hesitated and only translated when a gun was thrust in his face. "He said—he said they didn't need her. Only you. The Prince of Death."

Pepper stared at him, unseeing. A single bullet hole nestled between her glassy blue eyes.

"They say that the best weapon is the one that you never have to fire. I respectfully disagree! I prefer... the weapon you only have to fire once. That's how Dad did it, that's how America does it... and it's worked out pretty well so far."

This time, Pepper was standing next to the generals. As his speech continued he saw her gaze fall in disappointment. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I personally guarantee you the bad guys won't even want to come out of their caves." He struggled to hold onto his patented grin, struggled to remember his arguments, struggled to believe he was a man who had everything, struggled to remain proud of the Stark legacy as he flung his arms wide ("For your consideration… the Jericho") and the world exploded.

Tony didn't sleep. Not really. Not truly.

Though he did try. Or at least attempted to return to his semblance of normality. He figured the principle was the same. With Extremis and the cure done (with the little vial staring at him pointedly from a corner; Pepper didn't know about it as JARVIS had been sworn to secrecy), he turned his attention to his bots. Or, he tried to. But he couldn't bring himself to rebuild the others, not when there was still hope with the Malibu basement only partly uncovered.

So in the following days Tony, bored and jumping at shadows, drifted back to weapons. Not for him, though. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 'Clean Slate', eh?

The whole endeavour started by accident. One moment he was staring at the vial, and the next he found himself with stretchy purple cloth in his hands. After the Extremis challenge, it was remarkably simple to make the material expand and shrink on command. So that held his attention for a bit. But Pepper was busy with business meetings (which at least one of them had to go to, she claimed), and this project really didn't take that much time. Not nearly enough time. So after the pants were done he was bored, again, and soon found himself drawing up plans for a new shield: stronger than ever before, and with so many extras it'd be hilarious seeing Capsicle gawk at it.

Next up were the arrows (exploding, stunning, self-replicating, paint ball splattering, tracking, and yodelling (just for the hell of it)). Before long he was digging through old blueprints, making smaller and sleeker guns with ridiculously destructive force, pulled together with a slick black and red design.

But he was at a bit of a loss for the next. Seriously, what in any dimension did a demi-god need? So he opted for a holographic cloak (that might or might not scream out 'Thunder Cats, GO!' at random intervals). The last came as a surprise, when on one particularly boring, sleepless night he decided that every decent eyepatch was in dire need of an accompanying theme song. None of these inventions were shipped off. Tony didn't need to bother. What with living in the Avengers' unofficial base, there were plenty of superpowered beings dropping in and out.

Clint received the gift with a broad grin, and gave his thanks by dragging away a speculative Natasha before she could interrogate Tony on his zombie-like appearance. Thor dropped in (literally, and on the third replacement piano), crushed him in a bear-hug, shouted his eternal thanks, and proudly donned the cloak to zoom off to New Mexico with a war-cry. Later that same say Capsicle had taken the shield in shock, but had barely glanced at it before shifting his scrutinising gaze to his teammate. Luckily for Tony's nerves, it only took a short look to find whatever the Cap was looking for. Swiftly dropping the gift, the inventor found himself in another hug. That was, until a not-so-light punch collided with his shoulder.

"You are such a self-sacrificing, pompous ass!" The Captain scowled at the startled billionaire. "Instead of calling SHIELD, calling me, you go up alone against the Mandarin? Of all the stupid, idiotic…and letting us think you were dead! Letting Bruce think that? We had to stop him from 'breaking' Malibu when he heard—then Miami! If he sees you like this he'll go berserk. I wouldn't blame him; have you been eating or sleeping at all? Jesus, Stark. I'm this close to forcing food at you before knocking you out!"

"Sure you will, gramps. I'd like to see you try." Tony laughed humourlessly. Once the annoyed but concerned man had finally been waved away out of the Tower, Tony took a moment to stare at the closed door. With a contemplative smile, he shook his head and went off to contact a certain scientist (while wincing: Captain America had a damn good right hook. It was a wonder Hitler was standing at the end).

Meanwhile, JARVIS had recruited Pepper (or vice versa) to force Tony out into the actual world. It started with Central Park, but moved to the streets of New York, museums, toy stores (he did admittedly enjoy those), or just out of his lab to the living room. The dining room. The bedroom (which was rather enjoyable as well). On one memorable trap, he found himself forced to the hospital. This last occurred with a visit from Rhodey, where the colonel had taken one look at Tony and forced him out the Tower (with Pepper breathing a sigh of relief from the doorway).

Amid curses and strangled, "The hell are you doing to yourself?!", the reluctant billionaire was all too soon in a seat in front of a doctor. But, not the right type of doctor. This was some pretentious idiot who'd been reassured from the cradle that he was the smartest person in the room. Tony knew the type. He was the type, though at least he had the intelligence to back it up.

Rhodey smacked Tony's hand away from the lollipops. Even a patented puppy dog look failed to make a difference. "Ah, come on honey buns. A spoonful of sugar!"

"You've gotten high off of less. No."

"If I wanted to get high…"

"No, Tony."

Doctor Whoever stared at them oddly. "Colonel, if Mr. Stark and I could get some privacy—"

"I'm not leaving." Rhodey stated, his voice and arms crossed leaving no room for argument. "I'm here to stop this idiot from escaping out the window with the candy as hostage."

"Platypus, I'm hurt." Tony pouted, waving a hand around at the bare walls. "I'd make out with the drugs, and there's not even a window in here. Though, if you insist, one repulser blast could take out—"

"That, that won't be necessary." Doctor Something-or-other stammered. "Mr. Stark, what seems to be the problem?"

"Rhodey here thinks I'm going mental." Tony drawled as his best friend protested. "Peps and JARVIS do too. My girlfriend and AI butler, that is. They don't like my new 'I-can't-sleep' habit, and aren't thrilled over the whole 'I-hear-voices-in-my-head' thing."

"You what?" Rhodey and Doctor So-and-so stared at him, expressions comically identical.

"It's cool." Tony yawned. "Audio hallucination. It was just Dummy, and it's not like he'd harm a fly or tell me to kill people. Unless he, you know, finds a fire extinguisher. Then he turns into something out of Asimov when his inner pyro comes out; I swear that bot enjoys seeing me on fire. So, yeah. When Dummy gets out of the ruins don't give him any machinery. Or shiny objects. Definite no-no on the shininess."

"I—see." Though Doctor What's-his-face did not. Rhodey seemed torn between strangling the billionaire and laughing. Doctor Notwho flipped back to the file as though he could hide behind it from the insanity. "When did this begin?"

"Give or take a—"

"After the Battle of New York." Rhodey sent him his patented look. "It got especially bad in the past month."

"You mean after the events with fiery monsters and the President?" Doctor Bob raised an eyebrow, curiosity fluttering just under the surface of concern. "Were you hurt?"

"Scrapes, bruises, bondage burns: nothing I haven't seen before." Tony said absently, stretching back while Rhodey's 'look' intensified. The doctor opened his mouth, decided not to ask, and returned to the file.

"Nothing that harmed your heart or the arc reactor?" Tony shook his head negatively, wondering how much information Rhodey had given him. Then he remembered he didn't really care and yawned instead of protesting. "Good, good. Shame the shrapnel's not operable. So about the mental symptoms. With tests for any underlying complications I can prescribe sleeping pills, as long as you begin seeing a therapist and—"

"Wait wait wait." Tony, at once alert, held up a hand to stop Doctor Anonymous in his tracks. "Repeat?"

Doctor Lacking-a-sonic-screwdriver looked at him with a hint of pity. "For your insomnia. It's most likely induced by trauma and—"

"No!" He interrupted again, brushing an impatient hand through his hair. Rhodey stared, startled at his ruffled demeanor. "Before that. The shrapnel."

"I, well," Doctor John Smith/Doe, surprised, looked to Rhodey for guidance. He only got a confused shrug in return, "I'm sorry the injury wasn't operable. I imagine having a machine in your chest and shrapnel so close to your heart can't be comfortable."

The words struck Tony's thoughts like a lightning bolt, causing a sharp inhale. Because the truth he'd only just grasped was that the reactor was comfortable (not only the armours; it had never been them). Too much so. So much so that he—for long periods of time—even forgot it was there. The reactor had all but become a part of him. He hadn't thought about it, he hadn't questioned it, and maybe (with a sinking of his stomach, at last noticing the jolting in his chest) he'd come to like it. Come to love it, need it.

Not that it wasn't surprising in hindsight. A built-in power source for Iron Man, what wasn't to love? No drawbacks. Better than his own heart. It was a constant reminded of his genius and could keep him running for hundreds of lives. But that wasn't even the point. It was simply better than being human and—Tony mentally shook himself, holding back a nausea he hadn't realised he'd been feeling. He looked up blearily, and judged from the others' expressions of concern that he'd been silent for too long. Or that they'd asked him questions he hadn't heard. Oops. He coughed. "So you, you don't think surgery is an option?" His voice was too shaky and uncertain to sound like his own.

"An option?" Doctor Pseudonym's brows shot up almost as high as Rhodey's. "I—haven't the faintest. Mr. Stark, I know nothing about this. I only saw from your file that the device has been in place for over a year, so I assumed it was permanent. Whatever that is, could we get back to your current problem? I have the number of a wonderful psychiatrist and—"

Tony tuned the rest of it out as unimportant.

Because maybe Doctor Noname was smarter than he'd assumed. Oh, the guy was still clearly an idiot: the comb-over wasn't fooling anyone, Tony didn't need therapy (not if he wanted the press to keep out of this), and sleeping pills had already failed. Still…still, his thoughts were now whirring with another possibility. An idea that should have occurred to him ages ago, though a part of him knew that couldn't have happened. This was something he could only ever have been done post-Iron Man. After he'd made his cocoon go Boom! like the 4th of July (Rhodey had been furious once realising there was a self-destruct; he wouldn't listen that it was there to ensure no one stole the armour). This could have only ever happened after the fireworks and insanity. Maybe, if he was lucky, it'd even resemble closure. Though he'd never admit that Pepper's sentimentality was rubbing off on him; pun intended.

Sure, Tony was a genius. But he was also a bit of an idiot. More than a bit.

Funnily enough, no one gave Tony a hard time about it.

He had a feeling JARVIS and a few quiet words were behind this, but whatever had happened everything went smoothly and with a minimal amount of teasing. He'd barely mentioned the idea when, next thing he knew, the surgery was planned. For even when Pepper wasn't his PA she was as efficient as ever.

Rhodey had apparently also been talking to her. Within hours of the appointment with Doctor Who, Pepper was shoving him out of the workshop and the vial (he still wasn't sure if she knew, or if his AI was gossiping behind his back) to the bedroom. His innuendoes gliding off her, she shoved sleeping pills and a glass of water into his hands.

"Peps, it doesn't work—"

"Try again." She pulled him onto the bed without another argument. He took a quick moment to appreciate her strength—even while balancing on high heels—before shaking his head.

"I've tried. A lot." She continued staring pointedly at him, so he laid greater emphasis on the words. "These? Me?" He pointed at the pills then to himself, with a soppy face that was enough for her to smile. "Nada. I'm hopelessly immune."

"They're sugar." She said drily, forcing blankets over him. "Maybe a reverse-placebo will work."

"That's, ah, not exactly how it go—"

"You have surgery-prep beginning next week." She smirked slightly at his surprised expression. "I was able to pull some strings, are you really surprised? But you are not going to be half-dead before going under the knife. So sleep! Now!"

"What a way to make me relax, Pep." Tony said but, sighing under her gaze, popped a pill in. He ignored the water. "Will that be all, Miss Potts? Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Good night!"

The pill partly worked, and the next day he was feeling less zombie-like. Whether this was from hope or from waking up in a cold sweat only once, he didn't much care. Instead he kissed Pepper, scarfed down something resembling breakfast, and for the first time in a long while forewent hiding in his lab. With the upcoming surgery in his thoughts, he had more important things to do.

Tony called in sick for Pepper, appeased her protests through buttery popcorn, and steered her to the living room. With a quick shout to J, the series he'd been too busy to watch was booted up on the main screen. It was a bit shocking to see how many seasons he'd missed but, with a redhead cuddled against him, there wasn't anywhere else he'd prefer to be.

After however many episodes, kisses and more, groans for Tony to "Stop shouting out the twists!", and hiccoughed laughs that he couldn't fake a British accent to save his life, he haltingly told JARVIS to pause the DVD after the fourth season. Pepper looked at Tony, her amused expression falling away to understanding. "That became depressing quickly."

"Nah." He tried for a nonchalant wave, knocking the mainly empty popcorn bowl over in the process. "Don't know what all the melodrama's for. The guy can regenerate! He's not actually dying."

"Four knocks." Pepper leaned closer, lightly kissing him. He absently wondered how she could taste like cinnamon. "We should watch, do something else. This is—"

"Not a bad idea." Tony mused. Catching her anxious expression he quickly backtracked. "Not the radiation poisoning. Just the, you know. Taking precautions."

She hesitated, her hug became tighter. Her smile was strained. "Allons-y."

"We'll watch the rest after next week." Tony began getting up, kissing her and stretching his legs. "I hear the next guy's even crazier. Something about a bow-tie?"

The following week consisted of 'just-in-case-but-don't-freak-out-I'm-fine' good byes (and numerous unanswered calls to India). There was a last (first) pilgrimage to five graves: two people he'd never made proud, a father-figure who broke his heart, a butler who'd been his true inspiration, a man who'd have adored the shield prototype left leaning on his headstone, and a hero who everyone forgot but had found his everything. Tony briefly stopped off at the helicarrier, hacked their personnel files to change a certain first name, left a gift, and raced away from the troops for a trip to Cali (where only the background sound of "Downton Abbey" broke the silence). Then Tony found himself nibbling something inedible in a middle of nowhere diner, grinning proudly as an enthusiastic boy waved his burger around, babbling about committing blasphemy in taking apart a hot rod.

He was going to do the next by himself, but on the trip back he realised that sometimes you had to walk before you could fly. Well…no, actually not. That was a blatant lie. But sometimes you did need a flight stabiliser. So with one call Rhodey was shanghaied into a playdate. The Colonel was understandably confused why the Warhammer (Iron Patriot, whatever) schematics had been altered to land him amongst high-end New York boutiques, but once Tony explained what the hell was going on Rhodey had rolled his eyes, asked how the hell Pepper managed to put up with him, before calling base to inform them that, no, he had in fact not been kidnapped. Thus, by the end of the afternoon, the two were coated in snow, Rhodey had snorted at the exhorbant price of a heart necklace (neither mentioned that the second, smaller box Tony also bought was worth so much more), and they were so distracted by their familiar banter that neither dwelled on aliens falling from the sky.

Every night and morning of that week, Pepper was there. Sweet and ruthless as always, she'd put away her work to glare until Tony would acquiesced to regular-ish meals and sleeping pills. He still wasn't sure how the last were actually effective, and was half-convinced they were placebos. Because maybe, after all, perhaps cuddling beside her was all he'd ever needed—which was a thought so corny and sentimental he was appalled it was contemplated while sober.

In the last day there was no work, no chores, no death, nothing resembling hardship, nothing to cross off the haphazard bucket list. Instead, it was a lazy day. One spent entirely with Pepper, lying curled up on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. Of rebuilding their Jackson Pollock collection, if AIs could actually become alive, on how he still owed her a drink ("With extra olives, lots of them. See? I remember."), and musing on whether or not they should rebuild in Malibu. Pepper vetoed Miami. Neither mentioned which city Tony was against.

But as it's wont to do, reality set back in all too soon, as in rapid sequence Rhodey arrived, they were at the hospital, the anesthetic was in place, and his final bleary gaze was of Pepper. Crying, her light fingers cradled his face. And in that single instant, he realised he was finally a man who had everything.

As the numbness set in, Tony tried to scream out in panic. Why was he doing this? He was risking it all right when he'd won! He couldn't lose this, the reactor wasn't so bad—but he already felt himself falling and, damn it, he was struggling for breaths just like when Obie ripped out his heart. No, wait, proof he had one. But Pepper hadn't answered? No no no, she had done so much more than that, she was all he had … that might be her, but it was only a red smudge and fuzzy … he couldn't breath, why couldn't he scream! Oh, wait, he was still in space, that'd make sense but … why hadn't he just taken the vial…he didn't want to go…

"I slept that time. Well, in a manner of speaking."

"…"

"More than a manner of speaking, actually. No nightmares!"

"…"

"Course it was probably the drugs, but I'll take what I can get. Actually, that'd explain the bow-tied Dalek singing Christmas carols. Good baritone voice, though a bit robotic."

"…"

"…Bruce? Bruce-y boy?"

"Huh? Yeah?"

"You were asleep! Again! Even after, out of the goodness of my heart, I made Hulk-proof pants. Really."

"I was awake! But, err, thanks again for those. Though they're very—purple. Speaking of which, please show me the video of Fury getting that eyepatch already. Hill burst into giggles when I mentioned it; do you know how unsettling that is?"

"Purple is awesome and the video's classified. Now, if you'd actually been awake I'd be more lenient…"

"I wasn't asleep! I swear I was listening. Intently."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yes-uh. Go on."

"I'm hurt. Here I am spilling my guts, and you aren't even listening!"

"I was. Am. I definitely am. You were—talking about Pepper?"

"Lucky guess. I always talk about her."

"So keep talking."

Tony was in California. Again.

He found it hilarious that Happy (who was finally awake! Okay too. No brain damage, nothing that time wouldn't fix) was too busy catching up on lost episodes to properly chat. Though Stark Industries' Head of Security did drive one nurse to sedate him after a shouted protest on her distinct lack of any badge-like-object. God, he'd missed his ex-bodyguard.

After the hospital, Tony hadn't planned on coming here. Pepper was waiting in their hotel room with a DVD at the ready, and though he'd love nothing better than to collapse into bed and pull her close, he needed to finish this first. He'd be lectured by her later (both for this relatively short detour and for 'putting himself at needless risk') but, meh, she was used enough to his impulsive ways to see this coming.

So one call and drive later (he'd gone to her voice mail: "Sorry Peps, I'll be late. But I'm sober, feeling great, not kidnapped, and am bringing a gift that isn't strawberries—so don't let J call the cavalry! Don't worry, don't blink at any statues, love you, bye!"), and here he was. Driving into view he found the remains of a robot sitting right where he'd asked. Thank god at least some of the workers were competent. So it was easy enough to load the machinery into the back, and all too soon he was only left with the actual task. Grabbing a bag from the front seat, he had a passing thought that this (this situation, this ending, this beginning) was too simple and uncomplicated to happen to him. But the idea of living someone else's life was brushed away like a pesky paparazzi.

Standing in the middle of the houseless concrete circle, Tony turned from the car and stared out into the ocean. The clear blue sky, actually. But he knew this view by heart and was perfectly aware that the chilly waves were a single drop away (a short-cut to the ground floor). Likewise shaking away this macabre thought, he fingered the paper bag. The object within rattled around. Hearing this sound, he relaxed and took a fresh gulp of air as he walked towards the cliff. He felt lighter than he had for ages (years, practically a lifetime). Still, his pace was tinged with hesitance. His new center of balance was a bit lost. 'It'll come in time', the doctors said. 'You'll be fine', Rhodey insisted. 'Lean on me', Pepper breathed.

The breeze whistled as he stepped up to the edge. An odd sensation came over him as he realised, incredulously, that he was missing New York's snow. Maybe it was nostalgia from standing in the ruins of a new beginning. Maybe it was closure. Or maybe he was overanalysing this and he was merely happy to not be fighting back a yawn. For his eyes were no longer bloodshot red and, though the nightmares hadn't disappeared, his sleeping pattern was approaching the edge of normal. That is, his normal. Pepper—curled up against him—joked it was because his nightlight was gone.

As the remnant of a nervous quirk, Tony reached up to touch the reactor. He chuckled at feeling only skin beneath his shirt and, redirecting his destination to the bag, pulled out the arc reactor. He stared at the machine contemplatively, before lightly shaking it. He couldn't suppress a grin at hearing the vial rattle about inside.

In a single, swift movement, his Ninth Symphony was tossed into the ocean. There was no second thought, no hesitation. Because whoever said this had to be his greatest creation? He was a mechanic, after all.

He was human.

With a short nod, Tony smoothly walked back—balance already found, as was a small screwdriver. Not sonic. Not yet—gaze lighting on the waiting car. Patting the broken Dummy and getting inside, he considered what would come next: a promise, a question, and a sapphire ring that matched her dancing eyes (as well as a certain backless dress).

Feeling the small velvet box in his pocket, Tony Stark drove away with a smile.

"…which was when I found a giant shawarma."

"…"

"Humongous, really, though Pepper couldn't eat it because of the strawberries and—BRUCE! Finally. There you go, rise and shine. I can't believe you slept through the story! I gave you everything: adventure, humor, horror, romance, even mounds of angst. This? This is ridiculous. Some shrink you are."

"You know, I'm not that kind of doctor…"

A/N: Marvel evilly raised my hopes with the trailer's 'surgery scene' as I was looking forward to Tony choosing to give himself the virus like in the comics. Because of this misdirection, I needed closure before I could truly embrace the ending. Thus, this. Where Tony copes with the trauma and, ultimately, turns away from destroying his humanity. But don't get me wrong, the movie's twists from the original were utterly brilliant (The Mandarin! Mark 42! I love you for being so freaking awesome!), and I understand why they did this.

So, yeah, I've falled head over heels with the 'Tony Stark Will Return' ending. The relative lack of Iron Man technology in this movie led to a recreation of Tony's character; affirmation that Tony Stark is the hero, not the armour. By side-stepping the Extremis virus he embraced his humanity more than his comic book alter ego, while also cementing his symbol of American entrepreneurship through his constant reinventions. The awesome, amazing point is that he's an in-flux, highly flawed character! The series has always focused on his evolution from the 'Merchant of Death' (a man existing day to day, huddled in his workshop or on one-night stands, only able to relate to his machines) to a tragic protagonist (one who relates too much to humanity without them emphasising back; someone haunted by his own mortality, self-sacrifices, and the people he failed to protect) who's struggling to live and look to the future. Which is so damned cool, especially for a superhero arc!

This latest movie was incredible because, instead of the armour solving everything, Tony Stark evaded his self-imposed demons through his bull-headedness, genius, compassion, and unnerving love. That is what I hope to see in 'Avengers 2'. I don't want drones, theatrics, or an 'Iron Patriot': I want a wonderfully imperfect hero. An Iron Human. A creator. A mechanic.

Oh, and Science Bros. Cause yeah.