The Crash Effect - for capcicle
Tony Stark does not do moderation. Oh, he tries, he flirts with it, takes it out for a nice dinner and promises not to be a one night stand but inevitably, he leaves it for a walk of shame in the morning, condom wrapper stuck to it's left heel.
Sometimes it's the mania of genius that gets him, enveloping him in a cloud that lasts for days but feels like hours and he snaps out of it to realize that he's probably just created the most important piece of technology of his generation -- for now at least -- and that the only thing in his stomach is the green sludge he tells himself is healthy and full of minerals but instead is just a base for alcohol.
Sometimes it's a spiral of depression where he's sure that he's finished, that the voices in his head shoving already formed schematics and wire frame models into his brain to be deciphered and recorded by fallible human hands that shake too much when he's on a binge leave him listless. He and humanity have lost many a great invention due to those roller coaster moods.
Sometimes neither of those is applicable and Tony isn't in some odd fugue state, isn't trying to pull out ideas with bloody fingers, isn't happily singing to a Metallica song as he welds something and really is just working through a problem that's got him burning midnight oil and forgetting to call Pepper and let her know he's still alive. And yes, to just go ahead and forge his signature again, he doesn't care.
Today is a Bad Day. A frenzy day. The highs and lows are bookending each other and the alcohol isn't working to dull the pain of genius or of disaster. It's a day that's spanned a total of five days running. He's hardly stopped for water. The scotch has just left him even more dehydrated than he ought to be. And food? What's food? He's ignored phone calls. He's ignored house calls. He's ignored Jarvis. And that's when the AI has decided to put a stop to this madness. His duty is to Tony and if Tony dies, so does he, essentially. Self preservation is not a strictly human thing.
When Jarvis puts the call in to SHIELD, Tony's been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness for half an hour, nearly catatonic save for a strange autistic rocking he use to do as a child when ideas turned into attackers.
Sometimes it's the mania of genius that gets him, enveloping him in a cloud that lasts for days but feels like hours and he snaps out of it to realize that he's probably just created the most important piece of technology of his generation -- for now at least -- and that the only thing in his stomach is the green sludge he tells himself is healthy and full of minerals but instead is just a base for alcohol.
Sometimes it's a spiral of depression where he's sure that he's finished, that the voices in his head shoving already formed schematics and wire frame models into his brain to be deciphered and recorded by fallible human hands that shake too much when he's on a binge leave him listless. He and humanity have lost many a great invention due to those roller coaster moods.
Sometimes neither of those is applicable and Tony isn't in some odd fugue state, isn't trying to pull out ideas with bloody fingers, isn't happily singing to a Metallica song as he welds something and really is just working through a problem that's got him burning midnight oil and forgetting to call Pepper and let her know he's still alive. And yes, to just go ahead and forge his signature again, he doesn't care.
Today is a Bad Day. A frenzy day. The highs and lows are bookending each other and the alcohol isn't working to dull the pain of genius or of disaster. It's a day that's spanned a total of five days running. He's hardly stopped for water. The scotch has just left him even more dehydrated than he ought to be. And food? What's food? He's ignored phone calls. He's ignored house calls. He's ignored Jarvis. And that's when the AI has decided to put a stop to this madness. His duty is to Tony and if Tony dies, so does he, essentially. Self preservation is not a strictly human thing.
When Jarvis puts the call in to SHIELD, Tony's been teetering on the edge of unconsciousness for half an hour, nearly catatonic save for a strange autistic rocking he use to do as a child when ideas turned into attackers.