They never taught this in business school (for nottheworsthing)

[ppotts]

When Tony disappears in the desert of Afghanistan, Pepper's world falls apart. For ten years her life has revolved around him and the sudden lack of him loaves a hole that can't be filled. (The fact that he isn't around to leer at those words and turn them into an innuendo almost hurts.The Malibu mansion has come to feel more like home to her than

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[nottheworsthing]

He doesn't spend much time on the main level of the Malibu house these days. When he first had the place designed, he'd appreciated the clean lines of it, the stark - no pun intended - simplicity. Now it just feels blank and sterile and empty; too clean and white, like a museum. Like a hospital. Like a morgue. The workshop is still all noise and clutter and oil and grime, just as it's always been, and somehow it feels far more like home than the house proper.

It's not so bad when Pepper's there though. When Pepper's around it's almost like nothing's changed. It's nothing tangible - she's quietly efficient and unobtrusive as ever - but her presence is inexplicably steadying. For some reason, he appreciates steady now in a way he never has before. Steady as in Pepper smiling calm and professional when he stepped off the plane, as though he couldn't see the wetness gleaming in her reddened eyes. Steady as in Rhodey's arms wrapping solid and real around his shoulders

[ppotts]

"You haven't eaten all day," Pepper points out, chiding him lightly, falling easily into the familiar pattern. But the normality is nothing but a brittle veneer. Any moment now it might crack and reveal how very lost she feels. Tony went through hell and she has no idea how to help him. There's no easy fix for this. Not like when he has a hangover and she can fetch him a wet washcloth, water and a painkiller before dryly remarking that he only has himself to blame.

Her tablet sinks to rest against her thighs and she looks up at him. There are dark circles around his eyes and the drawn, weary lines of his face look deeper somehow. Even in one of his worst nearly-manic periods of creativity, when he barely comes up from the workshop to sleep, he never looks this exhausted. It looks like no amount of sleep in the world can chase the tiredness from where it has settled deep in his bones

[nottheworsthing]

Tony makes a face, nose wrinkling like a disgruntled cat, but he doesn't voice any protest. Bickering over meals and Pepper's tendency to mother him when provoked is just one more thing that seems petty and pointless now. He glances down at the schematics on his screen, and all of a sudden they're tarred with the same apathetic brush. Discarding the laptop on the sofa without a second thought, he rises to his feet and begins to drift aimlessly around the room, restless and uncomfortable in his own skin.

He hates how directionless he feels. He hates that he has no idea how to fix it. He's never exactly been well adjusted, but the inside of his head is a mess right now, a minefield he hasn't the faintest idea of how to navigate. For all the pain and fear and desperation, life in the timeless, lightless months in that cave in Afghanistan had at least been simple. He'd had a clear purpose, one overriding goal: survive. Give him direction. Give him activity, even frantic under threat of death. Better that than a problem he doesn't have

[ppotts]

Though Pepper has little hope that Tony will actually eat anything she puts in front of him right now that doesn't mean that she won't try. There's fresh, wholegrain bread in the pantry -- mostly for her own benefit, Tony has a tendency not to notice what he's eating -- and some nice bacon in the fridge. It's settling almost, going through the familiar motions; cutting the bread; spreading mayo across it; putting on lettuce and bacon; slicing the tomato and adding it on top of the bacon; adding the second slice of bread and cutting the sandwich into triangles. It's so mundane, that for a moment it's easy to pretend