ABOARD THE MARAUDER — CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS
The bathroom of the *Marauder* had been transformed through what Fleur diplomatically called "architectural improvement" and what everyone else recognized as flagrant abuse of spatial expansion charms into something that would make Roman emperors weep with inadequacy. Marble surfaces gleamed with an inner luminescence that suggested they'd been quarried from planets where geology was considered high art, while the hot tub could have comfortably hosted peace negotiations between moderately sized star systems.
Steam rose from the heated water in lazy spirals that seemed to dance to music only they could hear, carrying the intoxicating scent of oils that Fleur had acquired from a Twi'lek merchant who'd sworn they were distilled from flowers that bloomed only when binary stars achieved perfect alignment. The fragrance was floral with dangerous undertones—much like the women who'd selected it with the kind of careful consideration usually reserved for choosing orbital bombardment coordinates.
Harry Potter settled back against the smooth marble edge with the satisfied air of a man who'd finally remembered what it felt like to exist without calculating threat probabilities every thirty seconds. Six months of cosmic diplomacy had carved lean muscle onto his already impressive frame, and his emerald eyes held that particular spark of intelligence and barely contained mischief that had apparently survived intact despite extended exposure to beings whose idea of small talk involved discussing the philosophical implications of entropy.
His dark hair was damp from the steam, falling across his forehead in a way that suggested he'd never quite mastered the art of looking deliberately styled—though the effect was considerably more devastating than any amount of professional grooming could have achieved. The water lapped around broad shoulders that had learned to carry the weight of impossible decisions with the kind of casual authority that made cosmic entities reconsider their life choices.
"Right," he said, his crisp British accent carrying that distinctly aristocratic blend of understatement and absolute confidence that had made him legendary across three sectors, "I have to say this beats that diplomatic reception on Kepler-438b where we spent six hours discussing proper etiquette for addressing sentient gas clouds while they debated whether our molecular structure was sufficiently refined for civilized conversation."
His smile was pure satisfaction mixed with that particular brand of British smugness that came from successfully navigating impossible situations through creative applications of complete nonsense. "Though I did enjoy the moment when they realized I'd convinced them that our ship's exhaust patterns were actually interpretive poetry celebrating the sublime beauty of their gaseous magnificence."
Fleur Delacour moved through the water with the fluid grace of a woman who'd mastered the art of being devastatingly beautiful while simultaneously capable of reducing enemies to their component atoms through creative applications of advanced hexwork. Her blonde hair caught the ambient lighting like spun platinum, and her blue eyes held that particular satisfaction that came from successfully cornering her favorite prey in appropriately luxurious surroundings.
The water seemed to caress her curves as she moved, and her smile held promises that had absolutely nothing to do with diplomatic immunity and everything to do with more interesting applications of international relations.
"*Mon dieu*, but zat was tedious," she agreed, her French accent lending elegance to what was essentially a complaint about cosmic small talk while she settled beside him with deliberate casualness that somehow managed to be more seductive than any amount of obvious positioning. "Six 'ours of listening to gaseous beings pontificate about ze philosophical superiority of non-corporeal existence while you stood zere looking like you were genuinely fascinated by zeir theories about molecular inadequacy."
Her laugh was musical and rich with appreciation as she allowed her fingers to trail along his shoulder, tracing patterns that had nothing to do with therapeutic massage and everything to do with reestablishing more intimate forms of territorial claims.
"Ze way you convinced zem zat our thruster configurations were actually performance art designed to 'onor zeir ethereal magnificence... *exquis*. I nearly choked trying not to laugh when zey started analyzing ze artistic merit of our exhaust fumes and requesting encore presentations."
Harry's grin was pure predatory satisfaction, his emerald eyes taking on that intensity that meant he was remembering exactly why he'd built his reputation on being impossible to intimidate and remarkably difficult to impress. "Years of practice with Death Eaters and Ministry bureaucrats, love. Turns out the skills transfer beautifully to intergalactic politics and cosmic entity management."
His voice carried that casual authority that made even relaxation seem like a form of controlled dominance. "The secret is maintaining absolute sincerity while explaining why their current approach to universal annihilation lacks proper artistic vision. Most beings who've achieved cosmic consciousness are desperately lonely and just want someone to take their existential angst seriously."
He shifted slightly, his movement sending ripples through the water that somehow managed to draw attention to the lean muscle of his torso while he fixed Fleur with a look that made her breath catch. "Give them an audience for their theories about reality and they'll agree to practically anything. It's remarkably similar to handling beautiful French witches who think they can distract me with strategic positioning and that particular smile."
"Ah, but zis beautiful French witch 'as already distracted you," Fleur replied with obvious satisfaction, her fingers finding the tension knots at the base of his neck with unerring precision. "Ze way you are looking at me right now—zat is not ze look of someone thinking about gaseous beings and zeir philosophical inadequacies."
Her touch was firm and knowing, each movement designed to remind him that she'd made it her personal project to catalog every single thing that made him melt, made him growl with appreciation, and made his considerable self-control waver in ways that had nothing to do with cosmic threats.
Shaak Ti moved with the predatory elegance that came from decades of Jedi training combined with an appreciation for finer things that her former Order would have found spiritually concerning. Her lekku framed features that belonged in Renaissance paintings depicting warrior goddesses who'd decided that serenity was overrated compared to more interesting applications of Force sensitivity.
The water seemed to part around her as she approached, and her presence carried that centered calm that somehow made everyone around her feel simultaneously protected and overwhelmed by possibilities that had nothing to do with meditation and everything to do with more earthly forms of transcendence.
"The Force suggests," she observed in that musical voice that managed to be both serene and deliberately enticing, "that your diplomatic success stems less from formal training and more from your remarkable ability to make beings believe that reasonable behavior is obviously in their own best interests."
Her hands found his shoulders with movements that were part therapeutic and part territorial claim, her touch carrying subtle influences that made his muscles surrender with embarrassing efficiency. "Also your tendency to approach impossible situations with the kind of casual confidence that makes other beings assume you must possess classified information about how the universe actually works."
Her dark eyes held that particular intensity that made even her Jedi training seem like preparation for more interesting applications. "Which, considering your track record with impossible situations, might actually be accurate."
"Don't forget the eyebrow," Val pointed out from her position across from him, where she'd been watching the interplay with the kind of predatory appreciation that made even relaxation look like a tactical assessment. She moved through the water with movements that made it clear that lounging was just another form of claiming territory, and her smile when it came transformed her from barely contained violence into something that made Harry's pulse accelerate in ways that had nothing to do with combat stress.
Her blonde hair was darker from the water, and the way it framed her face emphasized the sharp intelligence in her blue eyes—the kind of analytical focus that had made her reputation on being the last thing hostile forces saw before their strategic planning became significantly less relevant to their continued existence.
"That particular eyebrow raise you do when cosmic entities start making threats," she continued, her voice carrying that note of appreciation that came from watching someone she cared about demonstrate exactly why he was worth following into impossible situations. "It's like watching someone's entire worldview collapse in real time while you stand there looking mildly disappointed by their lack of imagination."
Harry's laugh was rich and genuinely amused, his emerald eyes tracking the way the light played across all three women with the kind of focused attention that made it clear his diplomatic obligations were officially suspended for the evening. "The eyebrow is a carefully cultivated tactical advantage, I'll have you know. Took years to perfect the exact angle that suggests mild disappointment combined with complete indifference to threats of universal annihilation."
His voice took on that particular tone that meant he was prepared to be thoroughly entertained by their attention while also making it clear that he was perfectly capable of returning the favor. "Though I have to admit, most beings who threaten to destroy star systems are really just having a bad day and need someone to explain why that's not actually solving their underlying problems."
He fixed Val with a look that made her feel like prey in the most delightful way possible. "Much like beautiful warrior women who think they can distract me by analyzing my facial expressions while positioning themselves to show off the fact that this water does absolutely magnificent things for their already impressive figures."
Val's smile turned razor-sharp with obvious satisfaction. "Is it working?"
"Devastatingly," Harry replied without hesitation, his voice carrying that rough edge that meant his attention was becoming very specifically focused. "Though I should point out that all three of you seem to be operating under the assumption that I'm not perfectly aware of exactly what you're doing."
"Zen zere was ze incident with ze Crystalline Hegemony," Fleur said, deliberately ignoring his observation while her hands continued their increasingly intimate exploration of his shoulders and neck. "Where you convinced zem zat zeir thousand-year war was actually an elaborate courtship ritual zat 'ad gotten slightly out of 'and."
Her touch had transitioned from therapeutic to something considerably more possessive, her fingers tracing patterns that made it clear she was reestablishing territorial claims that had nothing to do with diplomatic protocol. "Ze look on zeir faces when zey realized you were right... *magnifique*. Zey went from 'we will reduce your pathetic species to cosmic dust' to 'perhaps we should reconsider our approach to interspecies relations' in ze span of about thirty seconds."
"The best part," Harry said, his voice taking on that particular tone that came with genuine relaxation combined with the growing awareness that he was surrounded by extraordinarily beautiful women who'd made it their personal mission to ensure his complete appreciation, "was watching them try to figure out how to transition from 'mutual annihilation' to 'aggressive courtship' without losing face in front of their respective populations."
His emerald eyes held that satisfaction that came from problems solved through creative applications of superior reasoning. "Apparently there's a very fine line between declaring eternal war and declaring eternal devotion when your species' emotional expressions involve antimatter weapons and reality-warping technology."
He shifted in the water, his movement somehow managing to bring him closer to all three women while making it clear that his attention was becoming less diplomatic and more... appreciative. "Though I have to say, watching cosmic entities realize they've been fundamentally misunderstanding their own motivations is considerably less entertaining than watching three gorgeous women try to seduce me while pretending to discuss my professional accomplishments."
"We are not pretending anything," Shaak Ti observed with that tone that managed to sound both perfectly innocent and thoroughly dangerous. "We are genuinely impressed by your professional accomplishments. The fact that discussing them while touching you in increasingly intimate ways serves our own purposes is merely... efficient planning."
Her hands had continued their careful exploration, finding places where tension lived and addressing them with attention that was part healing, part massage, and part deliberate seduction. "Though I should mention that the Force suggests you're enjoying this considerably more than your British reserve is allowing you to admit."
Her dark eyes held promises that had nothing to do with Jedi serenity and everything to do with more interesting applications of Force sensitivity. "Also, your attempt to maintain conversational control while three women who know exactly how to make you forget your own name focus their complete attention on your physical and emotional well-being is... admirably stubborn, but ultimately futile."
"Futile, is it?" Harry asked, his voice taking on that edge that meant he was prepared to demonstrate exactly why underestimating him was generally considered a career-limiting decision. "That sounds remarkably like a challenge."
His emerald eyes took on that intensity that had made cosmic entities reconsider their life choices, though now it was focused on considerably more pleasant objectives. "And here I thought you three were trying to help me relax, not engage in strategic combat over conversational dominance."
"*Pourquoi pas les deux?*" Fleur asked with obvious amusement, her French accent making even tactical discussions sound like seduction. "You are most attractive when you are being impossible, and we are most effective when we are working together to ensure your complete... cooperation."
Her hands framed his face with gentle precision that spoke to years of intimate knowledge while her blue eyes held that particular warmth that came from having his complete attention. "Besides, you are not nearly as controlled as you pretend to be. Ze way you are looking at us right now—zat is not diplomatic interest."
"No," Harry agreed, his voice dropping to something that made all three women feel like they'd successfully awakened something considerably more interesting than cosmic diplomat, "it's not."
The kiss he gave her was nothing like diplomatic courtesy—it was claiming, possessive, focused entirely on reminding her exactly who she belonged to and why she'd made that choice in the first place. When he finally pulled back, her blue eyes were slightly glazed and her breathing had become considerably more interesting.
"Much better," he said with obvious satisfaction, his British accent making even territorial behavior sound elegant. "Now you look like someone who remembers exactly why following me into impossible situations seemed like such an excellent life choice."
Val's laugh was rich with appreciation and anticipation. "There's the Harry we followed across three sectors. The one who handles impossible situations by making them considerably less impossible and significantly more entertaining."
She moved closer, completing their intimate circle with movements that were all predatory grace and focused intent. "Though I have to say, watching you shift from cosmic diplomat to thoroughly possessive wizard is remarkably attractive. The way your entire demeanor changes when you stop being British and polite and start being... territorial."
"I'm always territorial about what belongs to me," Harry replied, his emerald eyes tracking each of them with the kind of focused attention that made it clear they had his complete and undivided interest. "I just don't always advertise the fact when there are cosmic entities watching who might mistake possessiveness for weakness."
His hands found Fleur's waist beneath the water, his touch casual and claiming simultaneously. "But we're not dealing with cosmic entities anymore, are we? We're home, we're safe, and I'm surrounded by three extraordinary women who've apparently decided that ensuring my complete relaxation requires hands-on therapeutic intervention."
"Ze most effective kind," Fleur agreed with obvious satisfaction, her body responding to his touch with the kind of immediate warmth that spoke to years of intimate partnership and mutual appreciation. "Ze kind zat reminds you exactly what you 'ave been missing while dealing with beings whose idea of seduction involves discussing ze 'eat death of ze universe."
"Speaking of missing things," Shaak Ti observed, her Force sensitivity allowing her to feel the emotional resonance building between them like harmonic frequencies designed to make reality itself pay attention, "I believe we've spent quite enough time discussing your professional accomplishments, impressive though they may be."
Her hands had moved to more intimate territory, her touch carrying subtle Force influences that made his considerable self-control waver in ways that had nothing to do with diplomatic immunity. "Tonight is about reminding you that some forms of appreciation don't require threat assessment or cosmic-level negotiations."
Her dark eyes held that intensity that made her simultaneously serene and dangerous in the most appealing ways. "Though I should mention that watching you handle impossible situations with that casual British competence while maintaining the kind of physical presence that makes cosmic entities nervous... it's remarkably effective inspiration for more earthly forms of appreciation."
"Right then," Harry said, his voice taking on that particular tone that meant he was prepared to give them his complete and undivided attention while also making it clear that he intended to thoroughly reciprocate their interest. "I suppose I should surrender to superior numbers and allow myself to be properly... therapeutically managed."
His emerald eyes held that intensity that came when he allowed his carefully maintained diplomatic composure to give way to something considerably more interesting. "Though I should warn you—I've been told that when I actually relax, I tend to become remarkably... assertive about ensuring everyone involved understands exactly how much I appreciate their attention."
"Ah, but zat is exactly what we are 'oping for," Fleur replied with delight, her French accent making anticipation sound like poetry. "Ze version of you zat forgets to be diplomatic and remembers to be wonderfully possessive and thoroughly... appreciative."
"The version that claims what belongs to him," Val added with obvious satisfaction, her warrior's instincts recognizing and approving of the shift in his demeanor from controlled politeness to something considerably more predatory.
"The version that remembers he has every right to be thoroughly worshipped by the women who chose him," Shaak Ti concluded, her Force sensitivity allowing her to feel the emotional and physical resonance building between them like a harmonic frequency designed to make the universe itself pause and appreciate the show.
The evening stretched ahead of them, full of promise and possibility—time to reconnect, time to remember exactly why they'd chosen this particular configuration of love and loyalty, and time to ensure Harry understood just how deeply appreciated he was by the women who'd made his happiness their most important mission.
Outside the bathroom's magical boundaries, the *Marauder* maintained her vigilant watch, her enhanced systems monitoring for any potential threats while her crew focused on the infinitely more important business of intimate restoration and emotional renewal.
After all, saving the universe was exhausting work.
But being thoroughly loved by exactly the right people—that made everything else not just possible, but absolutely worthwhile.
—
The car door slammed shut as Pepper Potts stepped onto the familiar driveway, her heels clicking against the concrete. She paused mid-stride, her eyes widening at the sight before her—a massive stuffed rabbit, easily six feet tall, sitting proudly on the front lawn like some sort of oversized Easter decoration gone rogue.
"I'm sorry I'm late. I was..." she began, pushing through the front door, but her words died in her throat. "What the...? What is that?!"
There, lounging on the living room couch as casually as if he were wearing pajamas, sat Tony Stark in his full Iron Man suit. The red and gold armor gleamed under the soft lighting, completely at odds with the domestic setting of throw pillows and coffee table magazines.
"You're wearing this in the house now?" Pepper's voice carried that particular tone—the one that suggested Tony had crossed yet another line in his ongoing campaign to blur the boundaries between genius and insanity. Her eyes found the small number etched into the suit's chest plate. "What is that, like Mark 15?"
Tony's helmet turned slightly, the mechanical whir barely audible as he glanced down at the clearly visible "42" emblazoned on his armor. "Uh... yeah. Something like that. You know everybody needs a hobby."
"Oh, and you have to wear your hobby in the living room?"
The suit rose with fluid mechanical precision, servos humming softly as Tony walked toward her with that particular swagger that somehow translated even through several layers of advanced armor plating. "Just breakin' it in. You know, it's always a little pinchy in the gooey bag at first, so."
He punctuated this explanation with an exaggerated shimmy of his armored posterior, the gesture so absurdly Tony Stark that Pepper couldn't help but laugh despite herself.
"Oh hey, did you see your Christmas present?"
Pepper glanced back toward the front lawn where the enormous rabbit continued its silent vigil. "Yes, I did. I... I don't know how I could have missed that Christmas present. Is it gonna fit through the door?"
"Well actually, uh... it's a good question. I got a team of guys comin' tomorrow, they're gonna blow out that wall."
The casual way he mentioned structural demolition, as if discussing weekend gardening plans, was so quintessentially Tony that Pepper simply nodded. "Okay."
"So, uh... tense? Good day?" Tony moved behind her, his gauntleted hands settling on her shoulders with surprising gentleness. The armor's servos adjusted automatically to provide just the right amount of pressure as he began massaging her shoulders. "Ooh shoulders, a little knotty. Naughty girl. I don't wanna harp on this, but did you like the custom rabbit?"
"Did I like it?"
"Nailed it, right?"
Pepper turned to face him, rising from her seat to stand close enough that she could see her reflection in his faceplate. "Wow. I appreciate the thought very much. So why don't you lift up that face mask and give me a kiss?"
Tony's armored hand knocked against his helmet with a metallic *clang*. "Huh. Yup, dammit. No can do. You wanna just kiss it on the... the facial slit?"
The suggestion hung in the air, somehow managing to be both ridiculous and oddly endearing. Pepper's eyes narrowed with that particular look that meant trouble for Tony Stark. "Well, why don't I run down to the garage and see if I can't find a crowbar to shimmy that thing open?"
"Crowbar. Yeah." Tony's voice carried just a hint of panic as Pepper began walking toward his workshop with determined strides.
"Oh, except there's been a... uh... a radiation leak."
"I'll take my chances."
"That's risky." But Pepper was already heading down the stairs to his lab, her footsteps echoing with purpose. "At least let me get you like a Hazmat suit or a Geiger counter or something like that."
The workshop doors slid open, revealing a scene that made Pepper stop in her tracks. There was Tony—the real, flesh-and-blood Tony—exercising on a piece of equipment, sweat beading on his forehead, wearing nothing more threatening than a workout shirt and shorts. The Iron Man suit that had been following her down the stairs suddenly seemed less impressive and more... empty.
"Busted."
"This is a new level of lame." But there was affection in her voice, the kind that suggested this wasn't even close to the strangest thing she'd discovered in Tony Stark's workshop.
"Sorry."
Pepper's attention shifted to a food tray sitting abandoned in the corner, the remnants of what looked like a solo dinner. "You ate without me, already? On date night?"
"He was just..." Tony gestured vaguely toward the Mark 42 suit, which stood motionless now, a very expensive puppet without its puppeteer.
"You mean you?"
"Well, yeah. I just mean we were just... just hosting you while I finished up a little work. And yes, I had a quick bite. I didn't know if you were comin' home or if you were having drinks with Aldrich Killian."
The suit's head turned toward Pepper with mechanical precision, somehow managing to look accusatory despite being an inanimate collection of metal and circuitry.
"What?"
"What?"
"Aldrich Killian? What are you checking up on me?"
"Happy was concerned."
"No, you're spying on me." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, and somehow more damning than if she had shouted them.
"I wasn't..."
"I'm going to bed." Pepper turned and began walking toward the stairs with quick, determined steps.
"Hold on. Come on. Pep." Tony's voice carried a note of desperation as she climbed the stairs. "Hey, I admit it! My fault. Sorry."
Pepper stopped, her hand on the railing, and looked back at him. There was something in Tony's posture—a kind of exhausted vulnerability that the Iron Man suits couldn't mask or protect against.
"I'm a piping hot mess. It's been going on for a while, I haven't said anything." Tony ran a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. "Nothing's been the same since New York."
Pepper descended slowly, her anger softening into something that looked like concern. "Oh really? Well, I didn't notice that, at all."
"You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain 'em. Gods, aliens, other dimensions. I... I'm just a man in a can." He gestured toward the suit, which suddenly looked less like armor and more like a very elaborate security blanket. "The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because you moved in. Which is great. I love you, I'm lucky. But, honey, I can't sleep. You go to bed, I come down here. I do what I know, I tinker."
Tony sat down heavily on a nearby stool, the weight of exhaustion evident in every line of his body. "But threat is imminent, and I have to protect the one thing that I can't live without. That's you. My suits, they're uh..."
"Machines."
"They're part of me."
"A distraction."
Tony considered this, his eyes moving between Pepper and the silent suit that towered over them both. "Maybe."
Pepper closed the distance between them, her arms encircling him as he leaned into her, his head resting against her chest. Her fingers found the neural interface headband that controlled the suits and gently removed it, the simple gesture somehow more intimate than any kiss.
"I'm gonna take a shower."
"Okay."
Pepper started to walk away, then paused and looked back at him over her shoulder, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And you're gonna join me."
Tony's answering grin was the first genuinely relaxed expression he'd worn all evening. "Better."
—
Hours later, the bedroom lay bathed in the pale silver light of the moon filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The ocean beyond was calm, its gentle rhythm usually a source of comfort, but tonight even the Pacific's steady heartbeat couldn't chase away the demons that haunted Tony Stark's sleep.
In the darkness, Tony's body was rigid with tension, his breathing rapid and shallow. Behind his closed eyelids, his mind replayed the same nightmare that had plagued him for months—the yawning portal above Manhattan, the nuclear missile in his grasp, the certainty of death as he carried it into the void of space. The alien mothership exploding in brilliant white light. The sensation of falling, falling, falling...
"No," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and terror. "No, no, no..."
Pepper stirred beside him, her consciousness gradually surfacing from the depths of sleep as Tony's distressed murmurs penetrated her dreams. She blinked in the darkness, disoriented for a moment before the familiar sound of Tony's nightmares brought everything into sharp focus.
"Tony," she whispered, her voice gentle but urgent. She reached for him, her hand finding his shoulder. His skin was damp with perspiration, his muscles coiled tight as steel cable. "Tony!"
But Tony was still trapped in his nightmare, reliving those final moments above New York City when he'd made peace with death, only to survive against all odds. The portal, the missile, the endless fall through space—it played on repeat in his mind like some cosmic horror film he couldn't turn off.
"Tony! Tony! Tony!" Pepper's voice grew more insistent as she shook him, trying to pull him back from whatever hell his subconscious had dragged him into.
Suddenly, the bedroom filled with the mechanical whir of servos and the unmistakable sound of repulsors charging. Before Pepper could even process what was happening, metal fingers closed around her arms with inhuman strength, yanking her away from Tony and shoving her backward off the bed.
She hit the floor hard, her shoulder striking the nightstand with enough force to send a lamp crashing to the ground. The Mark 42 suit stood over her, its empty eye slits glowing with that familiar blue-white light, its arm still extended from where it had grabbed her.
The sound of the crash finally penetrated Tony's nightmare, his eyes snapping open to find his bedroom in chaos and Pepper sprawled on the floor, staring up at his suit with a mixture of shock and fear.
"Power down!" Tony's voice cracked like a whip through the darkness.
The suit's glow immediately faded, its systems shutting down with a series of mechanical clicks and whirs. But the damage was done. Tony scrambled out of bed and struck the suit with his fist, the impact causing several armor pieces to detach and clatter to the floor like metallic rain.
"I must have called it in my sleep." Tony's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He stared at the deactivated suit as if it were a wild animal that might spring to life again at any moment. "That's not supposed to happen. I'll recalibrate the sensors. Can we just... just let me... just let me catch my breath, okay?"
Pepper slowly pulled herself to her feet, her movements careful and deliberate. In the moonlight, Tony could see the way she held herself—the protective posture of someone who had just been reminded that the man she loved was surrounded by weapons that could kill her without him even knowing it.
"Don't go, alright?" The words tumbled out of Tony's mouth as he watched her move toward the door, desperation creeping into his voice. "Pepper?"
She paused at the threshold, her silhouette framed by the soft light from the hallway. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but firm, carrying a weight that made Tony's chest tighten with something that felt remarkably like panic.
"I'm going to sleep downstairs." She looked back at him one last time, her eyes taking in the scattered armor pieces, the overturned lamp, and Tony standing there in his rumpled sleep clothes looking lost and broken. "Tinker with that."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than any argument they'd ever had. Tony was left alone with his nightmares and the silent testimony of armor pieces scattered across the bedroom floor—metallic reminders of how the very thing meant to protect those he loved might end up destroying them instead.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!