Air I Breathe

Chapter 12

Chapter 11

Tuesday, December 31, New Years

Tony's cancelled his infamous New Year's party in exchange for a few last hours of work and a quiet, family affair at home.

The quiet family affair at home being Pepper's insistence, of course.

But Tony's not complaining. Not about that, at least.

Bruce has had him back on amiodarone to stop his heart from going into abnormal rhythms for exactly one day and the effects have been less than desirable. He's spent much of the early morning nursing the garbage can in his lab, hiding away from Pepper. He's barely slept as it is, can't keep much beyond bland bologna sandwiches and coffee down. The headache that's been pounding since he took those first few pills has been holding him back from making nearly any progress on any of his projects and he knows the tremor will return once the dosing has settled in his system.

"Neurotoxicity or a heart attack, Tony? Those are your choices if you don't let me yank that reactor," Bruce had explained late last night, glasses off, after FRIDAY had called him down to the lab for palpitations beyond normal parameters. Bruce had called it a cardiac event, but to Tony, it had felt like he was being stabbed in the chest, felt his breath coming in short spurts from the sheer pain. "You need to cut back on the coffee. And the stress."

Tony had huffed.

Coffee. His lifeline. The thing getting him through all of this. No coffee equals...sleep. Or rather, it should. In a normal person, Tony thinks, less coffee means quality sleep, if one's at that perfect place between exhausted and relaxed and not ten steps beyond a potential collapse and functionally manic like he is.

And stress? With Peter fighting a serious case of pneumonia and severe asthma to boot? And his company running full speed ahead with him hanging on for dear life? And Pepper on him about balancing work and home?

"Amiodarone makes me puke. Profusely."

"It keeps your heart beating at a normal rhythm. It's only temporary, Tony."

He'd shaken his head. "You're not taking my reactor."

"Stubborn, as always. Not like I expected anything less. Let me do a full work-up."

"Over my dead body."

"Not funny. And the tremors will go away once we stop the oral meds."

Tony knows that was code for reactor removal.

He doesn't want to admit it, but having his feet up on the couch feels right. Times Square is live on TV, the volume low because there's still three hours until the ball drops. Pepper and May are drinking wine across the room while Peter and MJ play some kind of card game on the floor. He closes his eyes despite the noise, is woken by Pepper sometime later.

"Did I nod off?" he asks, inhaling quickly and stretching to wake himself up.

"Yup. Got about a half hour until the ball drops," she whispers sweetly.

"Why'd you let me sleep for so long?" he asks, voice rough.

"Because you needed it, honey," she says, fixing his hair. "You sure you're okay? Your coloring is off."

He hasn't told Pepper about the amiodarone yet, doesn't want her worrying about him and Peter.

"Don't tell me you're getting sick, too." She sighs.

"Just needed a break."

"Finally listening to me?" she jokes, but Tony can see the concern behind her eyes, can sense the way she's studying his face for any signs of illness.