2 a.m.
He came back to bed at 2 a.m.
Pepper waited up for him. She always did. Sometimes it was easy, staying up late organizing a charity gala or teasing out whatever had happening in SI’s shipping department or having a meeting with someone on the other side of the world.
Sometimes it was hard. sometimes she had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and hope he came back to her. Hope he didn’t just collapse in the lab, his face smudged with drool and motor oil. Or worse, not sleep at all, but putter around in a manic state, making God knows what; his head somewhere else.
In a cave in Afghanistan.
In the vacuum of space.
In the ocean, buried beneath his house like the Wicked Witch of the East.
Pepper didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to deal with it, except to stay. To stay and hold him when he let her. When she could do it without shaking apart herself.
He came back to bed at 2 a.m. She was still awake, because she always was, waiting for him. But tonight, and not for the first time, she pretended to be sleeping. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t… she didn’t want him to see her break for him.
Pepper could fix anything. She could smooth over Tony’s less than politically correct interactions with the press and politicians. She could keep the authorities from arresting him for what really was vigilantism. She could keep Stark Industries functioning, growing, steamrolling over their closest competitors like Hannibal crossing the Alps.
She couldn’t fix Tony, though. Couldn’t save him, couldn’t help him like he needed. Hell, a ten year old in Tennessee had apparently done better than she had. Tonight, she couldn't even kiss him goodnight. She couldn't let him see her cry for him.