Published on April 9th, Peggy Carter's birthday

Sleeping next to Tony Stark was always a little bit of a roll of the dice; more often than not, it was uneventful, and you slept curled up against him, his arm lazily around you as you rested your head on the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He liked the closeness, being something that he didn't admit readily to anyone, his persona as both Stark and Iron Man being built on the façade of strength, genius, and independence. The strength and genius were in fact true, and not a façade at all, but the independence certainly lacked when his confidence was challenged. At night, lying next to you in his slumber, he was at his most vulnerable and the façade fell; he was simply Tony, a man who was more broken than he allowed anyone but you to see, and a man who trusted you to save him from himself in moments like what was about to happen.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I couldn't..." he mumbled in his sleep, his body beginning to tremble under your touch. "He didn't tell me...I'm sorry..."

"Tony?" you whispered, softly at first, but building your urgency with each attempt to wake him. When he was lost in his nightmares, he was reluctant to leave them despite the terror they brought, and even if his eyes opened to see you, it took a moment for the reality to come with it. "Tony, honey, wake up. You're okay. I'm right here."

"I'm sorry," he cried now, and you saw the glimmer of tears beginning to light his cheeks under the moonlight that crept in through the curtains. It gave them a glistening lie of beauty under the truth of his terror. "I didn't know..."

When he recoiled away from you and curled up into himself, you stood and hurried to his side of the bed, kneeling next to him so that you could hold his face in your hands, trying to will him to wake up with your touch when your voice was doing nothing. "Sweetheart, please, wake up for me, okay? Open your eyes, Tony."

"No."

"Tony, it's me. You're safe. I need you to open your eyes, please." But still, he didn't follow your command, and you began to feel frustrated and desperate. "FRIDAY, what do I do?"

"Allow me," she answered, and the room around you flooded in red lights and a quieter alarm than what she would use in a true emergency echoed from every direction. "Boss, (Y/N) requires your immediate assistance."

"What?!" he gasped, his eyes open in an instant and his body jolting up to sit straight and filled with adrenaline. "FRIDAY, tell me. Where is she? Is she okay?"

"She is right next to you, Boss. She's been trying to wake you and asked me to help."

Tony's breaths were ragged and uneven, his blood coursing through his veins so quickly and so desperate to act that you could see the pulsing in his neck and feel it in his arm when you took hold of it to try to calm him down. He turned his head to look at you, his pupils darkening his eyes to a near black in his panic, the tears that had been streaming from them beginning to dry as quickly as they had flowed. He swallowed hard, the scratch of his dry throat turning into a whimpering cough when words wouldn't come.

"Sweetheart, it's okay," you whispered, "I'm okay. You were having a nightmare and I couldn't wake you up."

"Oh my god," he panted in relief, his open hand coming up to his chest, "holy shit, that's one way to wake me up. With a massive coronary."

"I'm sorry."

"No...no, it's okay...I'm sure this chest pain will stop eventually," he almost dared with a chuckle.

"Stop it."

"Hey, you started it."

"No," you argued coyly, "you started it when you wouldn't wake up." Finding a lull for a few seconds, you pushed yourself up to stand and made your way back to your side of the bed, crawling in next to him as he rested back on the pillow. His arm came up for you to move in closer, which you did readily. Pulling the blankets up to cover you both, he simply waited until you were ready to ask the question he knew was coming. "What was it this time?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. Just old demons, don't worry."

"No, this was different, Tony, don't lie to me. After all this time, you should know better than to try that with me."

"Hmm," he sighed, almost sounding as if the air needed to carry the sound hurt him. "You sound like her."

"Who?"

"Aunt Peggy."

"Wait," you said, pushing up on an elbow to face him, "are we talking about the same Peg-"

"Yes, (Y/N), we certainly are." He stopped and took a long breath in, the shaking of his nerves leaving his chest trembling and a small whine escaping his throat as he considered just how much of this he wanted to share. You had been together for two years now, so it was a miracle that he hadn't yet, and he quickly came to the decision that it would wait no longer. He trusted you like no one else, and to keep a secret felt like a lie that he found untenable. "Howard and Peggy were friends, long before he married Mom," he began softly, but stopped, his voice cracking with the memory of the nightmare he had just escaped.

"Tony, you don't have to-"

"No, I want to...I do," he insisted, holding his arm for you to shift into again. He waited until you found your comfort before resting it around you to begin again. "I'm sure you can imagine that the old man didn't have many friends. At least not real ones who didn't crowd around him for his money, anyway. But she was always there, from what I had heard, so when it came time to find godparents for yours truly, she was number one."

"Wow," you mumbled under your breath. "Okay, you know I have to ask...does Steve know?"

"No. It's none of his damn business."

He could feel the gentle nod of your head in agreement as it rested against him, but he could also feel your apprehension as your muscles tensed. Tony was ready for the questions, for the judgement in his silence, so he waited; a few full minutes passed in heavy restraint until he heard the shift in your breath and knew it was about to begin, but the response he received from you wasn't what he was expecting.

"Oh, honey," you exhaled in realization and sorrow for him, "he didn't tell you when Peggy passed away, did he? You didn't know."

"I never got to say goodbye. Not the way I would have wanted to. But, in his defense, he had no idea that I would want to know. That's the only rationalization I have to not shove this down his throat every time I see his face. I loved her too."

The pain in his eyes, even in the moonlit darkness of your room was stabbing at your heart to see, and when his hand came up to absentmindedly wipe away the few remaining tears on his cheeks, it was enough, and you had resolved that sleep would have to wait for another night. "Okay, so say goodbye now. Say goodbye how you would have wanted to."

"What?"

"Tell me about her. Tell me about your time with her. Tell me everything."

~~~

"Anthony Edward Stark, stop running this instant!"

"Sorry, Auntie Peg!" the boy of barely five years laughed in reply, but against his nature, he did as he was told and came to a sharp halt. It didn't take much time for the young boy to learn to not cross the redhead, and to do whatever she said just to avoid her wrath. He had hoped that she would at least appeal to his real intentions. "I need to find Dad!"

"And running through SHIELD Headquarters at break-neck speed is the way to do that? Young man, you know that we have a firm rule on running in the halls here. This is an old building and there are far too many opportunities for you to get hurt. You've been reminded of that at least three times already just this morning, have you not?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And yet you still run."

"But I need to find him," young Tony whined petulantly, with so much bravery as to give a small stomp of his foot, "I have an idea and if I don't tell him, I'll forget!" Tempting fate, as he would do for so many years to come, he hopped for just a step, leaning forward and into another sprint, but Auntie Peg anticipated this, grabbing the boy's shirt to hold him in place, his feet still trying to run despite his immobility. "Awwwww, come on!"

"Anthony, stop this immediately!"

"You're not my mom! Let me go!" If he had been looking back to face her, he would have seen the subtle rise of her eyebrow as she considered his reply, and maybe even the gentle curl of her lips as she entertained her next move. He probably would have anticipated the moment that she released her grip on the cloth, sending his still-moving feet forward with a lurch to send him toppling to the floor with a grunt.

"You are correct, young man, I am not your mother," she agreed, "so please behave yourself so that I don't have to act as such again. When you are in this building, I am in charge, are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Tony groaned, standing to wipe the dust from his jeans.

"If your father insists on bringing you here while he works, you will listen to me, just as he is expected to. I have no quarrel with putting a Stark in their place."

~~~

"She put me in my place for years," Tony laughed. "She took the godmother role very, very seriously, just like any other job she was given. She was smart about it, at least, making Dad and I think that we had some autonomy and that we could be trusted to make our own decisions. As I got older, I realized that the only reason we survived as long as we did was because of her."

"I have a feeling that Steve feels the same."

"Hey, tread carefully there, sweetheart."

"Sorry, sorry," you coughed nervously, "to hell with Steve."

"Thanks for placating me," he sighed, "but it's fine. That's my issue, not yours."

"I'm still sorry."

"Don't worry about it, nothing to forgive." Tony paused again, the room taking the weight of introspection around you. Perhaps he was simply remembering a moment in time, or maybe he was carefully composing the words he would use to share the memory, but either way, the gravity pulling at his heart began to take yours down with it. "Peg taught me a lot about forgiveness. I did some really rotten things, said things...to her..." he paused with a quiet sniffle, "she had no reason to ever care about me again after some of it, but she did. After Mom and Dad..."

"Hey, I'm right here. But you don't have to tell me if it's too much."

"No, I'm going to. This is a funeral, right? Remembering is remembering it all, good and bad."

~~~

Peggy stood outside of the home that was Howard and Maria Stark's only a mere few weeks before, her hands shaking as she held a basket packed with various baked goods and prepared meals, all of which she had made for her godson when she realized that he was likely to starve himself in his grief. Tony had grown into a young adult with many similarities to his father, but many differences as well, and one thing was constant; they were terrible at seeing their own shortcomings. He would likely be immersed in work to avoid his feelings, and her being here might not be welcomed, so the peace offering of food was her only method to get close to him.

She knocked on the massive door, her knock barely making a sound to be heard. She looked to the door frame for a bell to ring, but she couldn't seem to find one. "How does one announce themselves?"

"Perhaps I might be of assistance?"

"Bloody hell," Peggy gasped, jumping back at the voice that came from nowhere but everywhere just the same. The familiar tone to it gave her more pause than the shock itself, however. "Um...well, I was hoping to find a way to ring a doorbell. I'm sorry, but where...who are you, exactly?"

"I am JARVIS. I was created to assist Mr. Stark."

"Dear lord, you sound just like him."

"Yes, Mr. Stark did endeavor to replicate the intricacies of vocal patterns and tone-" he stopped abruptly, as he was quickly interrupted by someone that Peggy couldn't see, but she knew who it was nonetheless. "Ma'am, I regret to inform you that Mr. Stark is refusing visitors at this time."

"Perhaps if you were to tell him that it's Peg-"

"He is aware of who you are," JARVIS answered, his best attempt at sympathy in the sound of his voice, "but Mr. Stark has not been himself, given recent events. I offer my apologies on his behalf."

Peggy looked down at her hands and the basket within them, the sense of disappointment and pain washing over her with an unexpected force. Her eyes welled with tears, but she wouldn't allow them to spill; she knew that Tony was watching, though she didn't know from exactly where. He was immersed in his own suffering, and she would respect that, just as his father had done for her years before during her loss of love. With her hands shaking even more than when she had first stepped foot on his property, she set the basket at the door and took a step back with a pause before turning to leave. "Very well," she smiled weakly, "please convey my sincerest condolences, and tell Anthony that I am always here for him, should he need me. Always."

~~~

"I didn't talk to her for another twenty years after that day. I was such a little son of a bitch for turning her away like that, and I've regretted it every day since. I just couldn't bring myself to reach out, you know? I spent a lot of years doing some not so great things, which you can read about in any tabloid or police record," he chuckled dryly, "but then when I got my act together, things just got so muddled, and being kidnapped and tortured really put a damper on making amends. Not to mention the shit that hit the fan when I decided to build that first suit."

"You've never really said much to me about that time in Afghanistan," you added softly.

"Not on purpose, promise. It's just not something I like to go back to."

"I know, I'm sorry. Back to Peg," you apologized with a small yawn, leaving him genuinely smiling down at you for the first time since he had woken up. "Sorry about that, too."

"We can do this in the morning, (Y/N). I think I'm okay to go back to sleep."

"No, you're going to lay here and wait until I'm asleep, then sneak down to your lab for the rest of the night. Don't lie to me, boy, we've already gone over this."

Tony sat up with an offended catch in his breath, turning to you wide-eyed and a smile that lit up the dark room. "(Y/N)! I would never!"

"Never what?" you laughed. "Lie to me or sneak down to the lab all night?"

"The second one," he smirked, dropping back down onto the pillow to continue his story. It was a welcome break to smile even for a few seconds, pulling the two of you out from under the weight of the nightmare he was willingly sharing with you for the first time. As you watched him start again, you didn't hear the words he was saying; you were lost in the movement of his lips, and how the subtle shift in mood with any given word would bring a hint of a smile or a frown, each twitch of emotion as fleeting as the one before. But then the smiles became fewer and farther between, and the tone shifted once again.

"After Obediah, I really had a hard time trusting people again, and believe me, I was already struggling as it was. But then that damn one-eyed pirate Fury showed up and dragged me into the superhero life kicking and screaming."

"You and I remember the kicking and screaming very differently."

"Hmm, yeah, I suppose...I am Iron Man," he pondered for a moment. "But anyway, trust. So, after Fury, and the Expo, and that whole catastrophe, I couldn't avoid talking to Peggy any longer. There was this little thing...you may have heard of it, and stop me if you have...the uh, the Battle of New York?"

"And the return of Steve Rogers."

"Exactly. I'd like to say that I was the one who got to bring her the news that she had been wanting her whole life, and maybe I was...but anyone could tell her, and it would be new news every time."

~~~

Tony never felt comfortable in environments like this, the stench of medicine, bleach, and mass-produced meals filling the hallways of Peggy's nursing home more and more with each step deeper in. He was barely comfortable around people he knew, much less the random wandering elderly person asking him for the millionth time over and over if he knew one of their random family members. One particular sad woman had asked several times over if he was her sweet little nephew, who was apparently being a dick who never visited his Auntie. His heart took a sharp hit with the thought, and his steps became less determined. "Hmm, maybe I'm that little dick nephew who never visits," he whispered to himself.

He considered turning tail and running, his body just about to take the initiative to do it, when a nurse saw the confusion in his expression and approached him. The hold on his arm as she spoke was suddenly feeling like a vice grip that wouldn't release him.

"Mr. Stark, can I help you?"

"Y-you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are," she smiled.

"Right," he finally smiled back, albeit hesitantly, "um, sure...yeah, I'm looking for Margaret Carter's room."

"Of course, follow me."

Tony did as instructed, keeping a cautious step or two behind her as they made their way down the long, dreary hallway. "Do you think she'll recognize me as easily as you did?"

"It's a good day, so far," she nodded, "I think your chances are better than most."

"Hope I'm not the one to ruin it," he muttered under his breath. As he passed by each room, he could feel his heart race a few extra beats, glancing inside to see other patients either in their beds or in chairs, some staring out the window with vacant looks in their eyes. Some seemed to be longing for a visit as they watched vehicles pull into the parking lot, and it made Tony only that much sadder and his guilt heavier for all of the opportunities he had missed to do this for Peggy. She tried to be there for him at his worst, and he never had the courtesy to return the favor.

"Right here, Mr. Stark," the nurse stopped, her hand directing him into the room he had been searching for. "Peggy? You have a visitor."

She looked as if she had been sleeping, her eyes closed and her frail hands folded gently in her lap. Tony almost considered turning around and making a run for it, telling himself it would be for her benefit and not his own, but he was quickly halted in his thinking when her eyes opened and a twinkle of recognition brought them to life. "Anthony," she exhaled shakily, "please, my darling, come in."

"Hey, Peg," he smiled back, and his anxiety began to build in his veins against his will, worsening as he came closer to her. He grabbed a chair from the far side of the room and brought it up to her bed, with each step tearing away the years until he felt like that little boy again. He sat down at a distance, but found that it was a futile idea when she reached out and took his hand in hers.

"It's been so long."

"Yeah, and that's my fault," he began. With her memory scarcely intact, the words spilled out in case he lost her at any moment. "I'm really sorry. I've had a lot happen since...well, since the last time I saw you. It's not an excuse...or not a valid one-"

"Anthony, stop. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"Still. I need to apologize to you for turning you away, after Mom and Dad died. I know you were only trying to help, and I was a drunk little shit who couldn't see that. I was angry for a long time, and I'm sorry that I dragged you into that. You were always good to me, and I could always count on you, Peg."

Peggy pushed herself up more against the headboard, her pillows shifting beneath her as she moved. Tony stood and helped her with a gentle hand on her back, adjusting the support around her until she raised a hand for him to return to his seat and continue. "Thank you, that's better. Now, as I was saying Anthony, you were given a life beyond your control, and I've watched it control you over the years. Howard was never one to be open with his struggles, and I know that he wasn't open with you in many ways. You've become a man in your own right, and despite it all, I'm still very, very proud of you."

Tony lowered his head, feeling the anxiety melt away under the touch of her hand, but he also felt a rush of pain in his chest at the loss he had created for himself in staying away. He detested crying in front of anyone, but with her, that hesitance was gone. The lump in his throat became suffocating as he tried to hold back, not for himself, but to not ruin this time with her; when he couldn't breathe under the pressure, he finally let go. "I don't deserve that," he choked out.

"Of course, you do. You're a good man, Anthony. I've read the news about you. You're saving the world."

"Okay, um...so I came to see you so I could tell you something," he deflected uncomfortably, "and maybe you already know, but...S-steve's alive, Aunt Peg."

She took in a long, pained breath, and closed her eyes. Tony sat and waited, which he would do for hours if she needed him to, holding her hand and letting her process what she had just heard. He could see moisture building on her lashes and he could hear the catch in her breath, but he said nothing. Tony had spent so many years hearing about Rogers and how he was the ultimate human being that he would never live up to, but he wouldn't let his own attitudes dull this moment for her.

"Have you told him where I am?" she finally whispered.

"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first, to be sure it was okay."

"Yes, I think...I think I would appreciate that, thank you, love. I only hope that he remembers me after all this time."

Tony couldn't help it; he laughed aloud at her words, leaving him to quickly wipe away the smile when her sad but shocked eyes again met his. "I'm sorry...I'm really sorry," he chuckled still, "but Peg, I can guarantee you on my life that Steve Rogers hasn't forgotten you for one blink since the second he opened his eyes again."

~~~

"I went to visit her a few more times after that," Tony continued, "but each time I could tell that her memory was slipping a little bit more. I started to visit less, knowing that Steve was visiting more often and that he was handling it better than me. He had a way of interacting with her...more understanding, I suppose. Hell, every time I saw her I couldn't stop thinking about ways to fix her, like I should have been able to do something more."

"You always do that to yourself, Tony. You don't have to."

"I owed it to her. After all she did for me."

"There are some things that you can't fix, honey," you continued, pushing up to sit next to him. He shook his head with your words, dropping his gaze away from yours until you reached up and took his chin in hand and turned him towards you again. "Tony, just visiting her again was fixing her, okay? You gave her time with you that brightened her day. Just being you was enough."

"Yeah...okay."

Sometimes it was useless to try to get through to the man when he had convinced himself of something, especially if he wasn't in the mood to accept it; this was clearly one of those times. You released him and sat back against the headboard, looking around the room as if there would be some magical way of fixing this, though you knew that the only way for Tony to fix how he felt was to fix it himself.

"Alright, up," you instructed with a gentle push against his arm, "we're leaving."

Tony looked to you with his mouth agape and confused, unmoving despite your order. "Leaving? Sweetheart, the sun is just barely up and we've been awake talking almost all night."

"I've seen you run on less sleep, Stark, that's no excuse. Now do as I say, young man. Up."

"Young man?" he laughed, finally pushing his legs off the bed in defeat. "Wow, now I'm gonna have to see what you've got up your sleeve for that comment alone."

~~~

It would be several hours before he knew for sure what you had meant, once you had convinced him that you really did know what you were doing by packing him into a quinjet in the early hours of the morning, no suitcase and no information from FRIDAY after you had ordered her silence.

He sat in the co-pilot seat just slightly behind you, watching over your shoulder for any signs of where you were headed, occasionally leaning up to catch a peek out the window for familiar settings and landmarks below. It wasn't until he caught on that you heard his voice for the first time in the entire flight, and it barely even sounded like Tony Stark; at least not the one that you had come to know.

"(Y/N), I can't."

"Yes, you can. I'll be there with you."

"Oh, god, what do I say..." he panted now, the sting of adrenaline burning in his chest through his lungs, "honey...I can't breathe..."

"FRIDAY, take the wheel," you ordered, spinning your chair around to lower yourself to the floor of the jet, where Tony had slid down and curled up with his knees to his chest. "Tony, look at me, okay? We can go home, sweetie, alright? I need you to take a breath in and hold it, remember? In and hold it, count to five, and exhale nice and slow...there you go. One more time. Eyes right here," you guided him gently, feeling like you had made the worst mistake ever. "I'll turn us around, I'm so sorry."

"You meant...well," he tried to smile, but failed. Tony knew what you were trying to do, bringing him to see her again, one last time; one last chance to see her when he had been robbed of his goodbye by a man he had called a friend, adding to the list of insults felt in recent days. He would never have thought to bring himself here, rather choosing to avoid the pain as he usually did, which always had the same outcome that you had watched first-hand the night before. Maybe you were right, he considered, that the pain wouldn't be so bad. After all, he had felt so much worse in his life. "No, don't turn around," he decided once his breaths were again under control, "you're right. I need to do this."

"Not if it's doing this to you, Tony, no. I was wrong."

With a gentle hold of your hand and a small squeeze, he released you and stood, moving past you and into the pilot seat to take control. "FRIDAY, take us in. You won't get any arguments from me."

"Yes, boss."

Taking the co-pilot seat that he had just vacated, you held your silence and waited for the familiar sound of the jet coming in to land, standing only when he did, and following him out without a word. The ground beneath your feet was wet from rain, leaving your footprints pushed into it as you passed names you had never heard, and people you had never known, until you came to the one that risked leaving Tony mute for the first time since you had met.

"You okay?" you finally asked softly, touching his arm to remind him that you were there.

His eyes were focused on the letters carved into the stone before him, reading them, but not fully comprehending. It was a moment that he needed, and he hadn't fully realized it until it was upon him, with no more looking back. No more running, no more excuses, and no one but the little boy of maybe five years crying behind dry eyes that had no more tears to give. She always did catch him when he tried to run, and this felt no different.

"Happy birthday, Auntie Peg."