[unedited]

Tony had never felt a pain so deep– so consuming, like his whole existence was dissolving into nothing.

It wasn't just anger coursing through his veins, though there was plenty of that. It was the grief, the pain, the betrayal...the heartbreak. It was the feeling of helplessness, when everything you ever had was snatched away. It was the pain, when everything you ever loved was burned in front of you.

And yet, even after all the grief that tore him apart he couldn't bring himself to hurt her, to yank his hand away from her injured one.

He felt another wave of nausea washing over him, as he slammed the door close of his room–their room, the room where the sheets were still crumpled, and the faint scent of her perfume linger in the air, the scent that once make him dizzy with desire, and now, with pain- it was too much, all of that. He had thought that he knew loss, how it feels to lose himself in an abyss– he thought that he knew all that, after that cold december night–he thought that he had faced the worst.

He was wrong.

Because what he felt now was– above anything he had ever felt. His chest felt hollow, as if something vital had been carved out and replaced with a gnawing emptiness.

It was like losing everything once again, losing the walls he had built over those memories, losing the sanity that once kept them out...losing the person who was the only one who could hold him and bring him out of the emptiness that had been craved open in his chest.

He placed a hand on his chest, and was surprised to see no blood. How can something feel this painful with no physical wound, how can an injury feel so consuming like it is picking pieces from his life force while he is alive?

How was he supposed to ever heal when he can't even see the hole that had been carved?

He slid down against the door, pressing a fist to his mouth.

And in a long time, Tony Stark cried. Sobs shook his frame, and the hot tears spilled down his eyes without any bound. He mourned his parents–whose loss now felt new, he cried over her–the woman who had become his life but more than anything he cried for himself.

Why does the universe snatch anyone he had ever loved away from him in such a brutal way?

***

The next day was no better, if anything the wounds seemed to be raw, and his voice too hoarse for speaking after the hours he had spent crying.

His hand trembled when he wiped his face with a towel, removing any remnant of tears that might linger. He wasn't sure if that was even a good idea–his eyes were bloodshot, lips marred into a frown–and he was sure he would not be able to fake his smirk or even his smile, not today, if ever– and his clothes were a rumpled mess.

He needed a coffee.

And a distraction.

That would do.

The kitchen was empty, of course, he didn't expect anyone to be there. It was just five in the morning... but he can't help but remember how she used to be there. Making coffee, breakfast for the team–or just humming while she cut fruits. Tony forced the thought out of his brain, shaking his head, feeling the cutting edges of the emptiness in his chest aching.

The ache in his chest deepened as he moved to the coffee machine, his movements mechanical, robotic. He made a cup for himself, the motions so familiar that he barely had to think. But when the cup was ready, he just stared at it, the steam rising in soft tendrils, filling the air with the bitter scent that now seemed to mock him.

He couldn't drink it.

It was his habit now to not drink coffee unless she is with him.

Because he didn't want it unless she was there to share it with him.

Dammit.

Tony slammed the cup down on the counter, the liquid splashing over the rim. His routine, coffee, all of it was supposed to distract him, but the more he tried to focus, the more his thoughts drifted back to her.

And to his parents.

The weight of it all hit him like a sledgehammer—his mother, his father, Nora. He could still hear his mother's voice in the back of his mind, soft and soothing, always knowing how to calm him down when he was worked up. He could picture her smile, the way she'd smooth down his hair when he came home from school with a new scrape or bruise. The way she would laugh, telling him not to grow up too fast, to enjoy being a kid.

God, Mom...

He hadn't let himself think about her like this in so long. It hurt too much. But now, with Nora's betrayal looming over him, it was all he could think about. He missed her. He missed her so much it felt like his heart was being crushed in a vice.

And then there was his father—always distant, always more focused on work than family. He'd never gotten the chance to make peace with him. And now, because of HYDRA, because of what they had done to Nora, he never would.

***

One week passed.

He sat in his lab, staring at the holographic interface floating before him, but the numbers, designs, and formulas blurred together. His mind was elsewhere—trapped in the wreckage of what he and Nora had shared.

He could still feel her hand in his, the desperate way she clung to him that night, her broken sobs echoing in his head. The memory of her face—tear-streaked, pleading—played on a loop, like a film reel stuck on the most painful scene.

His chest felt hollow, he had lost people before—too many, if he was being honest—but losing Nora felt different. It wasn't the kind of grief that came from death or separation; it was the gut-wrenching grief that came from betrayal, from having everything you thought you knew about someone you loved violently ripped away.

Why did it have to be her?

That question burned in his mind, over and over. Why did the universe, in all its twisted cruelty, make the one person who gave him solace, who made him feel like he could be more than his past, be the same person who had taken his parents from him? He could still see the images, pulled from the files Damir had mentioned. Nora, young, her eyes empty and yet still filled with tears, as she carried out the mission HYDRA had assigned her.

She wasn't that person anymore. He knew that. He knew it. But the knowledge didn't ease the pain. It didn't erase the fact that her hands, the same hands that had comforted him, held his, touched him with love, were the same ones that had stained themselves with his mother's blood.

He loved her before he knew what she did. He can't stop loving her now, but God, it feels like betrayal to his family... and to him.

A raw breath escaped him, shaky and unsteady as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His lab had always been his sanctuary—his escape from the world, the place where his mind could focus on something other than his emotional chaos. But today, the tools, the machines, the AI—all of it felt useless.

Empty.

Like him.

He couldn't escape her, no matter where he turned. He saw Nora in everything. The faint scent of her perfume still lingered on his clothes, a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost. He looked at his workbench, seeing a coffee mug she had once used, still sitting there as if she might return to pick it up. The chair on which she would normally sit was in the same place like she was just gone for a few seconds and would come back and talk with him. Even the silence around him felt like her absence, a void that nothing could fill.

Tony slammed his hand against the table, the clatter of tools scattering across the surface filling the lab with harsh noise. It wasn't enough. It didn't drown out the thoughts, the memories, the loss that gripped him like a vice.

He didn't know if he could ever look at her the same way again. He didn't know if the sight of her wouldn't tear him apart every time, reminding him of everything he had lost—his parents, his innocence, and now, the one person who had made him feel like he wasn't so alone in the world.

His fists clenched, and his heart ached with a pain so deep it felt like it might consume him. He missed her. God, he missed her, even though she had broken him in ways he couldn't put into words. He missed the way she laughed, the way her eyes lit up when she was excited, the quiet moments they shared when everything else in the world faded away and it was just the two of them.

He hadn't even realized how much he had relied on her presence, how much she had woven herself into his life, into his heart. Now that she was gone, everything felt off-balance, like the world itself had shifted on its axis.

He didn't want to feel this way. He didn't want to be angry with her. He didn't want to see her as an enemy. She wasn't—wasn't—that person anymore. She was Nora, his Nora, the woman who had shared his bed, his life, his dreams. The woman who had seen him at his worst and stayed anyway.

And yet... her hands had spilled his mother's blood.

And the worst part? He still loved her. Desperately.

That truth twisted inside of him like a dagger, sharp and cold. How could he reconcile that love with the betrayal? His mind screamed at him to let go, to shut off the pain and hatred boiling in his chest. But his heart? It was a broken, confused mess.

He'd wanted to see her. Wanted to run after her the second he walked away last night. The image of her collapsing, sobbing against the wall, haunted him. But Tony knew he couldn't go back. Not until he was sure—sure he wouldn't say something even crueler. He didn't trust himself around her now. His anger was too raw, and he was terrified that if he saw her again, he would hurt her with his words. He'd shatter her even more, and in turn, break himself.

But what if he could never forgive her?

That question haunted him the most. It clawed at him every waking moment, like a specter of his own indecision. Could he ever move past this? Could he ever look at her without seeing his mother's face, the woman who had loved him, nurtured him—and whose life was stolen too soon?

She used to be my home. Now it feels like she's the storm that destroyed it, and I'm standing in the wreckage, trying to find something worth saving.

The irony? The storm was the only thing I ever felt was worth saving.