p • r • e • s • s • u • r • e

pansies

It was Thursday.

This was irrelevant to Tony, who was holed away finishing the last of Natasha's throwing knives.

He was under the impression it was still somewhere around Sunday.

Nimble hands wrapped the hilt of a blade in a tailored 3D printed grip. It fit perfectly, and it was beautiful. 

Tony leaned back in his new chair (not a stool) and sipped his second mug of now tepid Irish coffee. He was breaking in some new boots for the suit, and they sounded heavy and metallic against the floor. 

It had been a long day. There was a glistening shard of glass by the leg of the table that Bruce had missed. He swore it was watching him, along with one of Nat's widow bites that lay discarded on the table. 

Pepper had left for California to visit her sister. Tony knew it was because of him. They'd had a scuffle beforehand, and she had said some things she didn't mean.

Tony knew she didn't mean them.

He knew she was right, in so many ways. 

That he was too much for her to handle, that she was tired of him breaking himself and having to put him back together again.

He knew she'd come back and apologise, say that it was the heat of the moment and she had thrown the nastiest thing she could think of at him, whether it was true or not.

He knew.

But Tony agreed with her. That was his problem-he'd believe anything anyone said about him, because he just assumed their judgement was better than his own.

After all, there was some truth to it.

What if...

I'm just gonna keep breaking

It won't ever end

That's not fair to her

His mind swimming, Tony threw a knife at the TV screen, which promptly shut up. He wasn't sure what it had been saying; he wasn't listening. But a woman with thin hair in a bright pink dress and a resin necklace and big fake teeth flickered and disappeared behind bars of black and white static.He liked to imagine she'd been imprisoned.

"Sir, that's the fourth television you've broken."

"Order another one."

Tony put on the pseudo-magnetic glove he'd made for Nat and held it out. The fingers were too small and the seams at the side hadn't been closed yet to accommodate his big hairy man hands. He made a 'come hither' motion and the knife wiggled, dislodged itself from the TV screen and nearly severed his hand when it came flying back.

"Shit..."

He chuckled at the close call and continued tinkering.

His brain did a cannon ball and swam between his ears, because it was almost lunch time, and he'd have to go upstairs and eat with the team, and after lunch he'd leave to pick Morgan up from school-no, Pepper took her with.

Pepper left.

Because of him.

What have I done?

She'd be back. He knew she'd be back. But what if she wouldn't? What if she hated him too much. What if her plane would go down on the way back. What if someone sabotaged it to get at him? He wouldn't know they were gone until it was on the news. Just like the rest of the goddamn world. Because that's exactly what he was to her-just another person to take care of. It was illogical, he knew that, too. He had to know that.