Summary:
There were no classic warning signs. That's why Tony didn't recognize his developing heart attack for what it was.
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4
-At Home, Week 2-
In time, the pneumonia cleared. In time, the doctors declared Tony fit for discharge. But rather than lift his spirits, the transition back to the cabin only made things worse. It was maddening to be so close to what passed for his normalcy — while facing constant reminders that he was not, in fact, truly better.
As soon as he could possibly stand it, Tony dumped the rest of his pain meds. He derived some satisfaction from listening to those damnable pills plop into the toilet, but it was a grim satisfaction at best — and fleeting.
“Pep,” Tony asked his wife a few days after the aforementioned ceremony, “did you deliver the organic printer prototype to Alex?”
In the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of a knife clacking against a cutting board stopped. “Yes, Tony.” And then, with some hesitation: “You don’t remember Rhodey coming by yesterday to load it into my car?”
“No.”
Suddenly, it was a lot harder to breathe.
By the time Pepper walked into the living room with their salad, Tony was sitting up on the couch, rocking slightly and massaging the pressure point between his right thumb and forefinger. Setting the crystal bowl on the coffee table with a clink, Pepper immediately sat down beside him and wrapped one arm around his shoulders.
“Tony, it’s ok.”
“No, it isn’t.” Tony drew in one quaky breath, willing his wounded heart to settle down. “I thought dc-ing the narcotics would make the fog go away.”
“Remember what Dr. Craig said? Your body’s been through a major trauma.” Pepper started tracing figure eights on Tony’s back. “And the ‘pump head’ is usually temporary.”
“‘Usually.’” Tony spit the sour word from his mouth. “Pep, what am I without my brain? What if the short term memory never comes back? What if —?”
“Tony.” Pepper bracketed his face with her two hands and squeezed. “Stop. First of all, you’re catastrophizing. Secondly — let’s consider what you would actually do in the worst case scenario. Because somehow I doubt you wouldn’t find some way to adapt. You’ve got an entire garage out there full of bots and gadgets. And you have FRIDAY too. You’d be okay. We’d be okay.”
Tony closed his eyes and pitched forward into Pepper’s lap. “How can you be so sure, honey?” he mumbled, grinding his nose into her thigh.
Tony felt Pepper’s palm land on the back of his head — felt fingers start carding through his hair. “Because we’ve been through worse,” was the eventual simple reply.
-At Home, Week 4-
The memory lapses, the minor calculation errors, the fact that he could only concentrate for short spans at a time even when he was engaged in something he genuinely enjoyed — these were distressing enough. But the forced uselessness was making Tony antsy too. Forced uselessness always made him antsy no matter how many times he’d been a convalescent.
The grass was going to seed. Weeds were growing in the vegetable garden he’d so carefully cultivated the previous spring. And Gerald needed to be sheared — desperately. Yes: as Pepper pointed out, they had the means to hire a few teenaged neighbors to help. Indeed, they could even call their friends. But Tony was stubbornly resisting both moves. As he insisted each time the subject was broached, the farm was his pipe dream to begin with. He’d promised a far more skeptical Pepper that the responsibility would belong to him alone — and he was no longer a man who (consciously) broke his promises.
“I don’t get it,” Happy remarked during one visit as they sat outside surveying Tony’s increasingly feral lawn. “You used to have an entire staff on call to wipe your ass if you needed it. Why this sudden determination to do it yourself like the rest of us yahoos?”
“Because I like doing it myself. Beats dying of boredom.”
“If you ask me, it sounds like you suddenly don’t trust us.”
“Shit. This actually bothers you?”
“I wasn’t going to say so, but yeah, pal — it does. You’ve known Pep and me since the 90’s. And you’ve known Rhodey even longer than that. Think we wouldn’t understand what you want done?”
“No, Hap, that’s not it at all. Give me a break here, okay? You know I suck at communicating.” Tony sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Look, I get it. I’m being irrational. But maybe I just need some confirmation that I can do it myself. Maybe I just need to make sure it isn’t time to ship me to the glue factory with the other lame studs.”
“Nah. You’re gonna live forever.”
“I am, huh?” Tony pointedly rubbed his graying beard, then leaned back and shifted his gaze to the sunlight glittering off the surface of the lake. “See, I doubt it. I can’t tell you the reason, but since Christmas at least, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that my time is short. And I don’t want to die as the guy I once was. I hated that guy. Still do.”
“Aw, Tony —”
“No, it’s fine. I’m not fishing for compliments. I’m just telling you. And I don’t know exactly why the farm is mixed up with all of that, but it is. I just want to build a life with my own two hands and be something other than a spoiled rich asshole.” Tony started tapping the armrest of his chair, nervous energy buzzing like electricity through his skin. “Fuck, that probably doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Actually,” Happy mused, “I think you’re better at explaining yourself than you think.”
-At Home, Week 5-
When Pepper came back from the nursery, the last thing she expected to find was Tony sitting upright in the bed. Post-surgery exhaustion usually conked him out before the late show — and, as far as she knew, kept him down until sunrise at least.
“Tony? Everything okay?”
“I heard Morgan crying on the monitor.”
Pepper slid her legs under the sheet and pulled up the blanket. “She’s okay. She just needed a diaper change.” She turned off the bedside lamp and rolled over, ready to return to blissful unconsciousness —
— until a nagging feeling forced her eyes back open. “Tony?”
“I miss her.”
“You spend time with her every day.”
“No, I mean — I miss the nights. I miss picking her up from her crib and rocking her back to sleep.” A beat. “That was something I used to do.”
The desolation in those words made the muscles in Pepper’s stomach clench. “Oh, Tony.”
“I know it’s just temporary, but it’s still driving me crazy. She’s my kid, Pep. I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t —” Tony stopped short, sucking air in through his teeth.
“Okay. You know what? I think I know just what you need to do.”
“What?”
Jumping lithely to her feet, Pepper walked over to Tony’s side of the bed and beckoned him to follow. Tony stared at her for a moment, eyes shining in the moonlight, then did so.
“Sit in the rocking chair,” Pepper said once she’d led a nonplussed Tony into Morgan’s room. “I’ll bring her to you.”
Then Pepper watched Tony bury his face in Morgan’s dark hair — and smiled sadly. She knew Tony had been struggling. She knew it was taking longer than normal for him to heal. She only hoped the next follow-up appointment with the surgeon would bring nothing but good news.
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