i wrote this at one point as part of an oft paid price and i still like it
warning for post-afghanistan tony ptsd
Pepper remembers the early days after Tony’s return, and one afternoon in particular when she’d woken Tony after he’d fallen asleep in the kitchen mid-cereal. That afternoon is seared into her memory because it had been the first time she’d been present for one of Tony’s flashbacks. He had startled awake, at least, into what she thought was wakefulness, and screamed in the most horrific way, his hands groping at his chest. She wouldn’t realize until later what it was his fingers were scrabbling at and she had been terrified. “Tony!” she’d yelled, skittering back from him and Tony had gone abruptly still, eyes wide and hopeless, his face shadowed and white with terror all at once.
“Yes, Tony, it’s me,” she’d said and moved closer, close enough that she’d had to bend to look into his face. Her hair had fallen over her shoulder and Tony had shuddered from head to toe, started shaking his head, repeating over and over, “No, no, no, not here, not here, she’s not here.”
“Miss Potts, Mister Stark is experiencing a flashback,” JARVIS had cut in. “Your presence appears to be having a detrimental effect, rather than the beneficial one I’d hoped. I am going to have to ask you to leave.”
And so Pepper had backed toward the door, part of her screaming to go and get as far away as she could, and part of her wanting to refuse, to stand her ground and stay. She had been at Tony’s side all this time, why should this be any different?
“Please, Miss Potts,” JARVIS had said, far too much sympathy in his modulated voice. “Perhaps you will be able to help another day.”
Pepper had retreated past DUM-E, the little robot carrying a cup of ice in its claw, whirring in concerned notes. She hadn’t gone far, heading straight for Tony’s liquor cabinet to take a shot from whichever bottle her fingers touched first. It burned all the way down. Then she had collected her Stark Tablet, set aside her shoes, and started researching.
She’d still been there, curled up on the couch, reading intently when Tony had finally emerged long after she should have been gone. Pepper had nearly jumped out of her skin when he’d broken the silence with, “I know you’re the hardest working administrative assistant in the world, but don’t you think this is overdoing it a little?”
“Tony!” she’d exclaimed, hand over her heart. “Oh my god.” Then she’d seen the time on the clock and her eyes had gone round. “Oh my god, Tony, I’m so sorry.”
He’d grinned at her, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever and his cheeks thick with scruff—he hadn’t bothered shaving since he’d been back. He’d waved his glass at her, sloshing a little of the liquid inside over the rim. “Nah, ’s fine. Place is too big anyway. Too empty.”
Over the years, Tony had said a lot of things to her under varying degrees of inebriation, and she still wasn’t sure what exactly had stopped her this time; perhaps the relief and the uncertainty of having him back, the same and somehow fundamentally changed all at once. Everything familiar new again. Whatever the reason, she had paused, stopped gathering her things and turned to look at him.
He’d swallowed, immediately put the glass to his lips again and tossed back the rest of the drink. “What for, Pep?” he’d said and she’d seen right through his attempt at levity.
“That I wasn’t there for you.”
“No,” Tony had shot back, suddenly fierce and astoundingly, alarmingly sober. “Don’t you dare. I wouldn’t wish that on my—on my worst fucking enemy. Don’t say that again. Ever. Got it?” The intensity in his eyes, nearly black in the low light, had frightened Pepper a little and she’d nodded, mute.
Tony seemed to realize then the ferocity of his response and he’d pulled back, dropped his hand, his eyes. He’d put the tumbler down on the counter with a soft clink and pinched his eyes closed, pressed his fingers into the corners. “Sorry. You didn’t. I’m just— Fuck.” Then he had sighed and looked up at her, weariness written in every line of his face. “Look, Pepper, I'm—Afghanistan kind of—it fucked me up, okay.” He waved his uninjured arm. “More than before. Like, epic amounts of fucked-up. And things are going to be…well, I don’t know how they’re going to be, but a lot of it is probably going to be ugly and a lot like what happened earlier this afternoon, which I’m sorry about, by the way, I should have maybe warned you or something. There was just never really a good time to be like, ‘Hey, so I have some wicked PTSD now and you know how I was paranoid before, well it’s, incredibly, worse, not to mention the fact that I’m having full-blown audio-visual hallucinations of being back in that hellhole! By the way, you might actually be one of my triggers, go figure, you weren’t even there.'” He’d drawn a breath, ready to go on for hours if Pepper had let him, but she’d cut him off.
“What do you mean I might be one of your triggers?”
Tony had frozen then and she could see him replaying what he’d said in his mind, saw the exact moment when he replayed those words and he winced. “Jesus, I’m bad at this. I could really use another drink, do you want—”
“Tony, what do you mean, I might be one of your triggers?”
He’d been silent for several long moments and Pepper had finally given up on getting an answer when he finally said, so quiet she almost didn’t hear, “While I was—I heard…I heard your voice. Calling me. I got these, uh, flashes. Of you, looking at me. Sometimes—sometimes I could smell your shampoo.”
Pepper had blinked at him, stunned. “My shampoo?”
Tony had shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what the hell it is, I just know you walk past me or just get close to me and your hair moves and it smells like—” Then Tony had cut himself off, his expression going very carefully nonchalant. “Scents are powerful.”
Pepper had nodded, her throat too tight to speak because she understood what it was he wasn’t saying. She’d gone out the next day and bought new shampoo and conditioner—new bodywash to be absolutely certain and then had washed her hair three times before daring to go to work. When Tony had joined her in the car, where she was forming her still slightly damp hair into a ponytail, his eyes had widened in surprise. “Is that—you smell different,” he’d said suspiciously.
Pepper had rolled her eyes, kept them focused on the pile of papers in her lap, her hands finishing the ponytail and smoothing over her scalp to check for evenness. “I ran out of bath products.”
Tony’s eyebrows had crawled up his forehead. “All of them?”
“That’s really none of your business, is it?”
And then Tony had sat for a second, staring at her and Pepper had wondered if maybe she’d gone overboard, if it hadn’t been the right thing to do. She had glanced at him, suddenly nervous, and mumbled, “Tony…”
But before she could think of anything to say, Tony had leaned into her personal space, tilted his head and breathed in, closing his eyes. She remembered the way his eyelashes, dark and long, looked against the finely wrinkled skin under his eyes. “I liked the old products,” he’d said, quiet. “But I can see certain appeal here.”
“I’m so glad you approve,” Pepper had replied, voice thick with sarcasm and her heart fluttering against her chest with relief and something else she hadn’t been ready for.
Since then, Pepper has been able to see Tony out of the flashbacks because even if he can’t be sure of her voice, he knows the new smell of her means he can’t be in Afghanistan. Sometimes when nothing else can pull him back, just getting close and letting her hair down can be the tipping point.
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