lucetilogs | Post-Event Blues

Entry tags:

Post-Event Blues

Who: Everybody, everybody!
What: The battle is won. Now what?
When: The eleventh, twelfth, and onward
Where: Luceti
Summary: With Zompano dead and the cultists routed, Luceti is restored. Kind of.
Rating: F for Feels

On the eleventh, things were slowly breaking down. Memories of their true lives were breaking through. The village, scarred by the battle with the cultists, began to rebuild itself. Community buildings that had vanished were returned to their rightful places. The battle dome was uncovered from the earth that had covered it. Hundreds and hundreds of fake homes slowly faded away. Paved roads gave way to trees and grass. It was an incredible sight for anyone who was willing to sit aroun and watch it happen.

Things wouldn't be easy for the villagers, though. The memories perpetuated by the last ten days would not be easily removed. The feelings and hatreds it had created would take time to conquer and remove. Perhaps, in a way, that was Zompano's nastiest trick of all. The village itself may heal from his invasion, but it would take far more than a few Shifts to fix the people left behind.

Towards the end of the day, their wings returned. Much like some of the buildings, they seemed to just reappear, as if they had never been gone. Their barcodes became visible again as a singular reminder that they were, ultimately, just the property of another entity who as a whole were not much better than Count Zompano.

By the twelfth, the village looked as though nothing had ever happened. Sure, the contents of buildings might have been messed up or destroyed during the battles, but things were otherwise as they were supposed to be. The night before, people would have had to find their old beds to go sleep in, as they no longer possessed the old ones granted to them in another life.

The village was peaceful.

Modly Note: That wraps up the event. As noted in the prose above, you have the option to play up the after effects of the event more than in other ones. While it won't have the same impact universally, the Shift was constructed in such a way that people may have difficulty shaking off the emotions they developed during the event. In effect, it was a cruel send off to Luceti so they would have to deal with the loathing and hatred that came with the less desirable parts of it. Of course, that means the feelings of familial bonds will also persist for awhile as well. It's up to you, as players, to decide how much or little to play with it!

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She didn't feel very strong then. She honestly felt like she was barely hanging on, trying to push through because that was what Tony needed her to do, and what she had to do for herself. Maybe it was only because she feared what came after, if she broke into so many pieces. Life went on, their lives, and even in her worst moments Pepper had forced herself to go through the motions to avoid the alternative.

Now, she at least wasn't alone with it. That was one improvement.

"Me too." Not out of guilt, but regret. She understood everything he apologized for, and if she deserved to hear those words then so did he. But they had each other now, and Pepper stayed closed to him, took in his warmth and his scent. Even if she'd already started taking those steps on her own, she wasn't done yet. She hadn't put herself completely back together, and now she wouldn't have to completely on her own.

His hold lingered, fingers gathering in her clothing as he realized just how much he needed this. The reassurance of having her there, in his arms, of being able to touch her and see her and hear her - he needed those tangible things. That was what he knew. It felt like all he knew with certainty.

"I love you," he murmured quieter still, but he said it with great importance. It felt like it had been ages since we was able to say it of his own volition, and maybe it had been.

"I love you too." His fingers tightened in her shirt, and maybe that was a good thing. Tony had two modes when it came to things: hands off or hands on. Hands off came when he either held no interest in something, or it hurt so close to his heart he'd rather avoid it completely. Hands on--well.

It was better, and she'd definitely take it.

Of course they couldn't stay this way forever. Hospital beds weren't designed for cuddling, and more important, Tony still had to put his mind in order. There had been enough worried people over the days gone by that she knew very soon, they'd be stopping in to talk. Some would be concerned, and others would be looking for answers of their own. Either way, Tony had to be ready to face them.

"You loved them, too." Their children. All of his children, and Pepper spoke softly, hoping to offer him something good out of the fiction that had made him fear. "And you did try to do what was best for all of them; even if it wasn't perfect, you tried."

Had he tried? The question made his pulse thrum desperately. The topic had always made Tony feel vulnerable and woefully inadequate, and even with his halfway-processed memories, he had the sinking sensation that he hadn't been a good parent to his children at all. Maybe not bad, but not great - wasn't that what William said?

Billy, not William. Not his son. His therapist, his friend. But not his son. And that made him remember the cold, bitter fact that it didn't matter, in the long run, anyway - starting a real family would never be an option for them. They both knew that. So the question posed was low on his list of priorities, really.

Even if it didn't feel that way.

Slowly his grip on her loosened, pulling back until he could meet her eyes again. Maybe it was cowardly, but he didn't outright debunk what she had said. Couldn't, really. He didn't want to touch that topic, not when he could still feel it like an open wound.

Did he love them? Yes. And he still screwed up, didn't he?

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say after all; certainly doubt gripped her when she felt his arms loosen. And when Tony pulled away in silence, even if it was only to meet her eyes her heart ached for what she saw in them. She couldn't know what inspired such sadness, be it doubt in what she had offered or the return of another memory, when he made it so clear that he couldn't have children not because he didn't want them, but because he dreaded the lives they might lead. But all she wanted to do was banish it from him, to take away the agony she could see so clearly written in his features.

And she was utterly powerless to do so.

"Oh, Tony." She bit her lower lip, eyes burning as she felt sorrow for him in return. She swallowed back the emotions that were thick in her throat, however, quickly blinked away her tears. There was far too much he still had to sort through to let this overwhelm them. They had already been through too much.

"What else do you remember?" Spoken softly, with a tremble to her voice Pepper couldn't contain though she tried for his sake.

His features tightened at the sound of emotion in her voice. Oh, god, please don't cry. He remembered the last time she had around him, and how he had been incapable of doing anything to make things better. He pushed that memory away, seeking another instead.

He remembered the night after Kari joined their household, and too many family members had shown up unannounced for dinner. He'd been nervous that she would be upset with him, and she was, but she tempered it. She was patient and asked the right questions, and he had tried to say the right thing.

Tried to. God, after not even telling her he had a daughter until the morning of the day she was coming to meet him. Maybe he wasn't great husband material, either.

And the god who tried to kill him and take over their planet called him his brother, even still after the fact. So, so screwed up.

"I remember carrying you upstairs, because you were exhausted." He had said something important, hadn't he? He couldn't pick out what it was yet.

She did her best not to, but it was a very near thing. She forced herself to breathe, in and out, to will away the dampness in her eyes. A very near thing, but Pepper was used to putting on a professional face--or in this case, a calm one.

"You did. It was very sweet of you." And more than that, because Tony had meant to take care of her as an apology for all that had happened that day. Pepper's fatigue had come through the trial of dealing with those who bore the Stark name during their illusions, because of a consequence of Tony's irresponsible past.

The ones who created their fictional lives really had been cruel in their design, hadn't they?

"But I wouldn't let you bring me a toothbrush."

He couldn't quite smile at that, but at least the ghost of that memory wasn't a haunting one.

It had been a quiet, peaceful end to an otherwise hectic and distressing day. They still had things to work out, but on the whole, he had been content. Because as long as they were together, he remained positive that they could figure it out.

"I told you we would make it work." Promised it, even. Even if that was in another life, he didn't feel the same guilt and distrust lurking around the thought. It was true of them even now - it had to be.

"Yeah. I remember." Pepper idly brushed her fingers along his shoulder. It wasn't the first time they'd made promises like that. Some they'd kept, and others had broken when her hand couldn't quite reach his. And the rest were, as so many things, a work in progress.

Now her touch had a purpose, fingertips trailing down Tony's arm until she could gently guide his hand from around her. She drew it up, just as she had that night, only this time she held his gaze as she gave him her silent acceptance. Warm lips pressed against his knuckles, curved in the faintest shape of a smile. She remembered his promise, and it wasn't finished yet.

Her lips against his fingers was another memory of that night, and while he had appreciated the gesture then, he did even more so now. For as much as a mess the situation with Kari had been, his real life managed to be infinitely more complex, and the steady reminder of Pepper's patience meant so much to him.

They really could make it work. They still had a ways to go, but they could make it.

"It could have been worse. I mean - you could have been married to Bucky." He offered a weak smile.

She laughed, a momentary note as he brought up that name. "It's probably better for all of us that I wasn't. Being married to my future maid-of-honor's boyfriend might make wedding planning a bit awkward."

And so many things would be different, if it hadn't been Tony. She wouldn't have been Pepper Stark, but Virginia Barnes. He was the one who gave her that name, so many years ago. And he was the one who stubbornly refused on using it with everyone she met, until it simply because easier to go along with it.

"I was married to the right person. The one I'm going to marry because I choose to." They would make it work; Pepper didn't doubt it, and didn't fear for all the ways Tony was flawed. She didn't want perfect. She wanted him, even if it was crazy.

That was just how love worked.

"Maybe," and he relished the sound of her laugh, however short-lived it was. It made such impossibly bleak things just a bit brighter. Thinking about their future together - theirs, not those alternate versions of themselves, but their own - was easier to stomach, because they were already on their way there.

If nothing else, at least this experiment - or whatever the hell it was - got that right. They were married to the right people.

"No takebacks?"

"No takebacks." It was easy to agree to it; Pepper wasn't giving up what she'd found with him. Not after they'd worked so hard to get there, gone through misfires and mayhem, nearly fallen apart in a dozen ways. One invasion wasn't going to ruin that. She refused to let it.

But more than that, it seemed to be an easier train of thought for him to follow. So Pepper altered her approach a bit. "Have you decided who you want to be your best man?"

Which was something of a trick question, as his best man was a woman. But it was the sort of thing he'd have to muddle through, and perhaps that was good.

His mind tried to locate who had been the best man at their wedding eighteen years ago, but no that wasn't right, their wedding hadn't happened yet. They were still engaged. But he had picked a best man - sort of.

There was something ironic about it, because he was far from conventional and just picked whoever the hell he wanted.

There it is.

"Buffy Summers." The bartender - his bartender, his best friend. One who was distant in his memories, like he hadn't seen her for awhile, and maybe he hadn't.

Pepper grinned; that was very much like him, and not too surprising. She knew the people he was closest to, and Buffy had become a dear friend even before Pepper herself arrived in Luceti.

"She's a good choice." Pepper curled her fingers lightly where her hand rested, idly tracing shapeless lines on the back of his neck. "Although it will make things interesting if she's escorting my maid-of-honor."

She paused, looking at Tony expectantly; she hadn't said Natasha's name on purpose, leaving him to fill in that blank if he hadn't already done so from her earlier mention.

His brow knitted again at the mention of her maid-of-honor, like she was someone he hadn't thought about for awhile. In truth, he hadn't, because he had never met Natasha in that other life. But he was aware of her, an old friend, even if they hadn't been friends for that long and neither of them would use the word to describe the other.

He took her free hand in both of his in his lap, winding their fingers together and clasping tightly.

"Nat -" He almost said Natalie, but he knew that wasn't quite right. "Natasha, right?"

"Yeah." He caught himself, but it was such an easy mistake to make. They'd first met Natasha while she used a false name to infiltrate the company. Back home Pepper had eventually found a harmony with the woman, but she didn't know her well at all; simply professionally.

How things had changed.

"What else do you remember about Natasha?" It was dangerous ground, but necessary. Tony took her hand back in his, and she held tightly, expecting the memories that came next to be unpleasant ones. They were the ones he dreaded, but maybe it would be better to trigger them now, on purpose, so he wouldn't relive them when neither of them was prepared, or worse, when Pepper was away for some reason.

He remembered plenty, bright flashes of frantic memory sweeping across his mind. There were aliens. There was New York. There was Loki and Captain America and the Hulk and Thor and Hawkeye and Black Widow.

And Iron Man.

Falling through a hole in the sky that never should have existed - at least, in the way he understood the universe.

He jolted as if shocked, fingers reflexing tightly around Pepper's. God, how did he forget that? How did he forget any of it? That somehow forgotten beast that plagued him. That falling sensation. That feeling he got when he knew he was about to die, except he didn't.

He didn't, he didn't and he kept not dying.

He would have laughed if he wasn't paralyzed.

He remembered. His body jerked as if he’d been struck, and Pepper knew the memories flashing through his mind. She’d been told about them while they held each other in the dark, after a night plagued not by sleeplessness but nightmares, his and hers, where they both dreamed of falling.

She’d gotten sick when she remembered why she hated falling so much.

“Tony. Tony!” Now her concern was entirely for him, and dread swept over her as Pepper realized how stiff and still Tony had gotten. She’d never seen Tony’s panic attacks, only read about what might occur, preparation that she couldn’t grasp now when she needed it. She moved her free hand to his shoulder, tried to shake him, to do anything to keep him from falling back into the same catatonia of the past few days.

His eyes were wide, unblinking, staring off at an undefined point in the distance as fear gripped him. Not fear of something he remembered, but something he could barely comprehend. Something he knew he had never fully comprehended.

He gripped Pepper's hand with white knuckles, heart jumping into his throat as he distantly felt the cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Ha. How could he forget something like that? Something that was wound so deeply into his soul that it barbed even the most mundane of his thoughts.

He had done this before. He reached back for that experience, finding a jumble of numbers, a balm for his escalating pulse and crawling skin. One, two - three - one -

He couldn't focus, because all he could see were flashes of impossible memories. His eyes dart to Pepper, breath caught and gathering in his lungs.

He looked at her or maybe through her; Pepper couldn't tell what he was seeing. Her or the wormhole, the darkness of space far beyond human understanding. But his fear had choked him, and she realized with horror that he wasn't breathing. She had to snap him out of it. Had to stop this before he passed out or his grip tightened any more, before the pain she felt from how he held her hand turned into injury, him to her and her to him.

"Tony, look at me." Pepper tried so desperately to keep her own panic out of her voice. That was important, wasn't it? Staying calm, making him feel safe. It felt like the right thing to do, so she put her hand on his cheek, leaned close to stare into his eyes.

"Honey, breathe. I need you to breathe." Please breathe, and Pepper swallowed, still trying to force herself to show a steadiness she didn't at all feel. "You're safe. You're not there. You're in a bed, in the clinic in Luceti. You're safe, I promise. So just breathe, okay?"

He was safe? How could he be safe? It wasn't true, couldn't be true, laughable to think was true. How many times had this place nearly killed them? And each situation just as impossible as the last. Maybe wormholes were the least of his worries, with cultists and Shifts and Malnosso and families that weren't his -

What a joke, what a joke whatajoke -

But something within him stubbornly refused to lose this one. His body had fought so hard to live, to wake up, and recover so he could be again. He was getting there. And this truth was part of it. These fears were part of it.

He wants to run, what can't he run, this room is too small -

He willed himself to breathe. Or maybe Pepper did, beyond the scope of himself. Either way, he breathed, sucking in shallow breaths that gradually grew deeper, steadier. His fevered grip gave way to a quiet tremble, and he swayed, lightheaded.

He was safe within this moment. They both were, and Pepper clung to that with the same desperation that had Tony's fingers clutching so tightly at her hand. If she didn't believe it, then she wouldn't be able to coax him on, to utter those same reassurances until finally, finally he drew in one breath, then another.

"That's good. Keep going. Breathe." In and out, and she matched his breathing to his, purposely tried to slow hers down in the hope that he would copy her, whether he realized it or not. Whether it worked as she intended or Tony did it on his own, Pepper didn't know. But what mattered was that his breathing did slow, and his fingers loosened, until the panic gave way and left him dizzy. Pepper was quick to react when Tony started to sway, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him to her so she could be his support.

"I've got you." She moved a hand over his back, the motion meant to be soothing. It couldn't be easy for him to come back from that ledge, and she wasn't going to let him fall back over by letting go of him too soon.

He leaned against her easily, his strength to do much else exhausted. God. God. That felt awful. Absolutely, terribly awful. He clung to her weakly, ashamed at just how vulnerable and cracked he was but fully aware of it all the same.

He was such a mess. Such a goddamn mess.

"Sorry," he murmured after regaining his breath.

"No. Don't be." She knew why he was; he'd apologized to her so many times since that day in Malibu when he finally let her in on just how frightened he'd become. But although it had terrified her to see him gripped like that, Pepper knew it wasn't Tony's fault. None of this was, and he already had far too much to bear without taking that on as well. She didn't want him to be sorry or guilty over this. Just for him to get through it.

Her hand still moved on his back, and her eyes closed as she held him still. She'd stay that way for as long as he needed her to, or so long as he wanted it. She wasn't ashamed of him, and she wasn't letting go.

Post-Event Blues

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