[For Tony]

[wildlyconflicted]

The world filtered through to her in pieces. Flashes, distant and muddled, too real to be a dream but too obscure to be reality: Tony's voice, strangled with fear and impatience; lights first bright and then dim; the efficient brush of fingers across her skin. Instinctively, she felt she ought to be up, doing something, anything, but every part of her was inexplicably heavy, weighed down with the mantle of sleep. For a long time she gave into the perpetual downward tug into the murky, drifting depths and let herself float there in the dark.

Consciousness returned to Pepper with a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Eyes slit open, the colors of the room were muted, desaturated, as faded as she herself felt. Disoriented but too worn to care much, she stared blearily at the ceiling.

A bed. She was in a bed. And she hurt more than she could have imagined was possible.

Comments

[wildlyconflicted]

The shout intensified a headache already amplified by Pepper's earlier crying jag. Wincing, she held up a palm for Tony to cease despite that she very clearly did, in fact, need some more painkillers.

"Please stop shouting," she said, and laid her other hand across her forehead as she closed her eyes. "And stop beating yourself up. You saved the life of the woman you love. And she loves you. I love you. Painkillers would be good, though. Without shouting."

[notawastedlife]

"On it, ditto to the... love thing, I'll be right back," Tony said, jumping to his feet, mentally brushing the request to stop beating himself up aside. He felt it was still justified. Kept him honest. From slipping.

Now, though, he had a doctor to track down and browbeat into providing additional painkillers.