Chapter Text
It’s not that Tony runs away, exactly.
That is--it’s only really running away if no one knows how to find you, right? Not if you politely update everyone present about some pressing business, sorry, really need to attend to that and then leave. Tony even left the address he was planning to be at, in case there was some sort of further emergency, which is practically mature by his standards. So what if he left first Asgard, then New Mexico, like the hounds of hell were right on his heels? That’s what Tony Stark does. Impulsively jetting across the country is not a new move in his playbook.
He’s not running. He’s just home in California, ensconced in his workshop with his cell phone turned off and with Jarvis instructed to turn away all callers who aren’t A. on fire or B. Pepper.
Normal Tony Stark stuff, right?
...Right.
…
“Sir,” Jarvis says, mildly, approximately twelve hours into his Very Important and Urgent work on the suit.
Tony, who’s about arm deep in microcircuitry, with welder’s goggles perched over his eyes and a healthy coating of engine oil up his forearms, says, distractedly, “Not now, Jarvis.”
…
“Sir,” Jarvis says again, maybe...six hours later? Twelve? Tony’s lost track. He’s about three cups of coffee and a stale sandwich further along than he was, if that’s any metric. Sometime, a nebulous amount of time back, his hands started to shake, very slightly. But that was no big deal--he doesn’t need perfect stability to play around with his schematics, and he thinks he’s right about to have a breakthrough here. “I really think--”
“I need you on this calculation, Jarvis,” Tony says.
It’s even mostly true.
…
Tony sleeps, catching snatches of rest on his workshop cot, which, despite being kind of a piece of garbage, still feels more like home than anywhere he’s been recently.
(Untrue, a deeply unkind part of his mind reminds him, and he’s thinking of another bed, and another body--)
He drinks Gatorade out of his workshop fridge. He eats, even, sometimes--usually right around when Jarvis starts making noise. Maybe his dreams aren’t the best he’s ever had, but he sleeps. Pepper emails him some paperwork, and he skims it before he signs the dotted line, same as he always has. Tony doesn’t quite understand why Jarvis starts to sound increasingly frustrated; he’s fine. And when he’s not doing any of that boring stuff, he does the important part, the thing that matters: the work. He’s getting close now, really close to something big, and he’s not sure what that something is, but he can almost fucking taste it.
“Please,” Jarvis says, quietly. “You must leave your workshop eventually, sir.”
“Sure,” Tony says, stripping away part of his schematics, “sure, of course I will--but look at this, J--”
…
Tony wakes, bleary eyed, from an unintentional nap, to the sight of Pepper’s immaculate heels.
“Pep,” he gets out, before he realizes that he’s apparently been sleeping on the floor in front of his newest armor, and scrambles to his feet. “Well. That’s not the most undignified position you’ve ever found me sleeping in.”
“Very funny, Tony.”
Tony winces at the dry tone, and meets Pepper’s eyes. Yup, there’s the expression to match the tone; Pepper is on her lowest tolerance level for Tony’s usual bullshit. There’s something glib lurking at the back of Tony’s throat, but he makes a conscious effort to swallow it. “What time is it?”
Pepper raises one eyebrow. “Five p.m.” She very visibly looks Tony up and down, noting--Tony realizes, abruptly--the disheveled clothes he hasn’t changed in way too many days, the grease he’s wearing like a second layer of skin, and--god, that smell is him, isn’t it? Showers. He knew he was forgetting something. “Alright, Tony. I want you to explain, preferably in relatively few words, exactly why I got a panicked call from Jarvis about your mental state.”
“Traitor,” Tony says, less fondly than he usually would.
Unrepentantly, Jarvis says, “You would not speak to me, or take care of yourself beyond the barest minimum I could enforce. Contacting Miss Potts was the only logical course of action. You did program me to be logical, even when you could not be, sir.”
“Ouch,” Tony says, and is, surprising even himself, a little stung. “I mean--it hasn’t been that bad.” Silence answers him--silence, and Pepper looking profoundly unimpressed. “It hasn’t! Look, I was--I was working, just look at this suit--”
He turns to look at the chassis behind him, which has the dual bonus of not requiring him to face down Pepper’s impatience, and bringing him eye to eye with what is unarguably the best armor he’s ever made. Everything else pales in comparison to this suit. “Okay,” he admits, “it isn’t all painted up yet, so maybe it doesn’t look that impressive from a layman’s perspective, but look--I managed to push triple, maybe quadruple, the power into the repulsors, and the unibeam, safely, by smoothing out some of the wiring. New alloy in the plating, which is significantly lighter with only sliiiightly decreased tensile strength, so I ought to get much more bang for my buck when it comes to maneuverability and acceleration. Which--I know what you’re thinking--might also reduce my sheer stopping power, but! I had another look at the servos in the joints, and I really think that I’ve gotten around that issue when it comes to fighting on ground, and the increased repulsor power ought to compensate in the air. Admittedly, the calculations there are a little less definite, but I’ll make adjustments as needed once I have combat data. Plus, all my optimizing actually managed to reduce power draw on the arc reactor, which should mean I can fight for longer without tapping my personal Little Engine that Could. And I was thinking of having a transmitter that could act as a homing beacon--maybe a bracelet? Is that tacky? It might be too tacky--anyway, the bracelet thing isn’t the point, the point is, a homing beacon, so no matter where I was I could summon the suit to me--”
And then Tony turns to look at Pepper again, and she...doesn’t look excited, or impressed. If anything, Pepper looks a little scared, and Tony doesn’t understand. “Pep, Pep, why aren’t you excited, this is the most powerful suit I’ve ever made, we’re talking magnum opus quality here--”
“Tony,” Pepper says, reaching out towards him.
Tony draws back from the touch, instinctively, and says, desperately trying to make her understand, “Pepper, this suit is--it’s--it could kill a god!”
And there it is, Tony’s breakthrough, the truth, finally, finally, bursting from his tongue like an opalescent bubble breaking open, too fragile to keep contained, and too final to undo.
“Oh,” Tony says.
And then, appallingly, he’s sobbing, and there’s something jagged in his chest, catching at him with his every breath, tearing.
“Oh, Tony,” Pepper says, and the last thing he’s aware of for a long time is her arms wrapping around him, holding him upright.