For lack of a better term, Tony looked like shit — even by his own standards.
The bag under his unharmed eye drooped more than an old woman’s boobs and was darker than an Afghan cave. His eyes were bloodshot, clouded like the dead’s. The area around his injured eye was turning into a bad artist’s rendition of a plum — a bruise that contrasted starkly against the ill pallor, with a hint of bitter irony as it complimented the blue-grey tints to his skin. To top it all off, his entire body was shaking and sweating.
He knew he’d overdone it on the plane; one bottle in half an hour was a bit much, even for him. He looked more sick than Robocop had when the ex-assassin first got pulled out of the cryogenics chamber.
He took a shaky breath and pushed himself off from the bathroom counter, trying to stand straight, forcing himself to meet the gaze of his own reflection. The bruising took up almost half his face. Rhodey had gotten him good with that left hook. And the kick to his ribs. And the tackle. And everything else. Tony had deserved every single blow and more.
Despite how it looked, Rhodey had saved his life.
The bruises would be a chagrin to Tony’s reputation if spotted. The tabloids would have a field day the moment he stepped into the public eye, their aspersions ready to destroy Tony’s reputation while the authors took sadistic pleasure in seeing him fall. Unfortunately for them, he didn’t plan to make a public appearance again for a time, unless it was well within the safe space of his Iron Man suit. Pepper already handled almost all of the Stark Industries PR anyways; it wouldn’t be a tough sell to say he buried himself in a lab for a few weeks.
The rumor could not be further from the truth, of course. Because this time, he planned to do it. Or, if nothing else, die trying. He was tired of hurting his friends.
The bruises Rhodey left were a reminder that at least he’d hurt someone capable of fighting back. Would James/Winter have been able to do the same, even when Tony gave a direct order to back off? Would Pepper have been able to overpower him and force the bottle from his hands? Would JARVIS have been able to defy him for his own good? What would win out, the word of the creator or the core tenants of the AI? Or would it just melt JARVIS’s processors until every Stark Industries property the AI controlled shut down for good?
Tony reached up with an equally bruised hand to touch the purple around his eye, wincing when it unsurprisingly hurt. As much as the next few weeks would be hell, he knew he’d made the right choice in activating the Party’s Out Mom’s Home protocol, even if he already missed the taste of his finest whiskeys.
“JARVIS?”
“At your service.”
“Don’t let me fail this. Whatever it takes… make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
He didn’t elaborate; he hoped he didn’t have to. JARVIS was always learning; Tony wouldn’t be surprised if the AI knew him better than he knew himself by now.
“As you say, Sir.”
Tony lowered his hand, took a breath, and left the bathroom. It was the evening, which meant it was time to go find Pepper and get ready for bed. No late-night labtime for him.