If They Knew All About You

Resilience and Comfort

The wind was lashing against the giant windows behind him. It howled like it was trying to tear the house apart brick by brick. It was pitch black around him. The darkness of the room should have been soothing, but there was a distinct throbbing just underneath the surface of his skull that didn't allow for any kind of relaxation. A throbbing that underlined that he shouldn't be lying there. He should be up and about. He should be doing shit. All these idiots were completely incompetent. He was the only one that could get shit done. And that's what he should go and do right that instance.

He tried to wrangle himself out of the couch cushions but was trapped by the fluffy surface like a turtle that had fallen onto its back. He trashed about, tried to wiggle back and forth spilling whiskey all over himself.

Right. He was still holding the glass. Fucking glass.

He tossed it across the room and as it hit the tiled floor of his living room it shattered into a million pieces. Urgh, fuck's sake! The crash made his head explode.

Maybe it wasn't his inner voice that had his brain throbbing like that. Maybe it was the booze. Well, only one remedy for that: more booze.

The table next to him was easier to get to and he blindly patted for the familiar feel of the bottle but got his hands on a glass instead. Of course, there was a second glass sitting right there on the table. Tony Stark always had a contingency plan for a drink. He fumbled around the table some more till he almost knocked over the whiskey bottle.

He poured the liquid into the glass. For the most part. Fuck the darkness. He could pour a dink in his sleep, plus only an imbecile would drink whiskey straight from the bottle. Let alone 4000 Dollar plus Whiskey. And if he took a sip right from it before he one-handedly tried to push the cork back onto the neck of the bottle, then nobody had to know. Just as he had dumped the bottle somewhere between the cushions the overhead lights lit up like the sun.

"Fuck, JARV'S, turn 'ff the fuckin' lights. Fuck's sake."

"Yes, Sir."

Darkness enclosed him once more. He closed his eyes for a moment, then brought his lips to the glass and took a deep gulp. Just that second the lights came back on again. Tony tried to swallow quickly but some of the liquor found its way into his windpipe by mistake. He doubled over coughing, his vocal cords burning, spilling whiskey all over himself as he shook from the coughs.

"Tony, what in the world..."

He couldn't stop coughing. His hand clawed at his throat, tears stung in his eyes. Then a series of forceful blows hit his back.

"Stop—" He coughed some more. "Pepper, stop—"

She stopped her assault on his back, one hand still held onto his arm.

"Oh my god, Tony. Are you alright? What is—"

"I..." he forced out another series of coughs, eyes slowly adjusting to the light in the room. "Fine. I... 'm fine."

Her hand let go of him. "Jeez, you reek."

"So?" He made an effort to suppress the burn of his lungs and glanced over to the glass in his hand instead. At least he hadn't spilled all of it, so he took another gulp.

"Tony, stop."

She reached for the glass but he was not that out of it yet. He held it as far away from her as he could manage, just like the responsible grown-up that he was.

"Tony, give it to me. This... You can't be serious with this. Come one now."

He shrugged. "What? No' like anyone's 'ere 'ho's gonna care."