It was difficult, very bad to her nails, somewhat embarrassing, and, she had to admit to herself, also quite hot.

Hot? Goodness, where did that come from? She shook her head and returned her attention to the armored shoulder she was working on.

There was so little space that her face almost touched the armor, and her knees rested against his thigh. He was drenched in sweat, the armor dented and cracked, there was blood on him... She must be out of her mind to think there was anything "hot" in working on getting him out of the suit. Then again, he was doing his best to keep her distracted.

"That's it, Pepper, yeah, just like that, a little more, come on... Yes!" he muttered, his lips so close to her ear that she could feel his breath.

He started prying the right sleeve off. "Okay, that leaves just the torso, the clips on the right side are just like the ones on the left."

"I'm already on it," she knelt lower, glad to get some distance between her ear and his mouth. The mechanism was tiny and tight enough that she couldn't imagine how he could ever have imagined that he could open it himself. Of course, he probably hadn't thought about it at all. He'd never been any good with the practical details. It was always all about the cool appearance and the fancy gadgets that you didn't even really need. Boys and their toys...

"That's it," she declared victoriously, and lifted the chest plate off him.

"Ouch," he grunted, his hand flying to his ribs.

"What's wrong with your side? Nothing broken, I hope, because if there is, then we're so going to go to the hospital anyway... Let me see," she'd already grabbed hold of his shoulder, not really thinking what she was doing.

"Ah-ah, don't touch," Tony pushed her away. "Nothing broken, I promise. I'm pretty sure."

She backed away quickly. Whew. There was something profoundly wrong about this scenario: she, Pepper Potts, trying to touch Tony Stark, and he pushing her away.

Having Pepper undress his armor was way more fun than having a bunch of no-good robots do it. It would've been even more fun in some other situation, but he tried to make the best of it as it was. He'd definitely want to do this again later. There would be a "later" when they could do it. There'd have to be.

He'd figured that getting the armor off would make him feel better, that getting the weight off his injuries would help some, but it hardly did. It just changed the way they felt, and he was stiff all over, his back and neck and joints aching like never before. Note to self, he needed better cushioning on the suit. This felt like he'd just aged several decades.

Tony grabbed the Mark II chestpiece from the floor. It was completely dead, but it didn't seem that badly damaged. Some components had fused, he'd be able to replace those and fix the thing, and it wouldn't even take all that long. The problem was, he had no idea how long he had. He was working on a deadline without knowing what it was.

"Brace yourselves, I'm taking her down," Rhodey announced.

Finally there, and not a minute too soon, Tony thought. He was still on the floor, not wearing a seat belt, but he didn't care, he was sure the landing would be as soft as ever. Rhodey knew his stuff.

Tony was up and about as soon as the chopper had touched down. Luckily, he had no injuries that'd limit his mobility. He left Rhodey to pick up the pieces of his armor and headed to his workshop, Pepper trotting anxiously in his wake.

He didn't stop once he'd reached the shop, but kept going, gathering the tools and spare parts he'd need, placing them on a table.

"Jarvis? Any educated guesses on how long I've got?"

"Sir, with the data I currently have, or the lack thereof, I could not say. Without you wearing the suit, I have no readings from the chestpiece, and as to the extent of your injuries, assessing them would require medical scanners which I also do not have."

"Yeah. I knew that. Never mind. Music, please."

He had the feeling that if he'd stop, he might actually start feeling as bad as he should've felt, so he didn't. Finally, he had everything he needed for mending the Mark II. It wouldn't be optimal, but it'd work. He'd build a new and improved one when he had more time.

He hadn't noticed Pepper leaving the room, so he was surprised when she re-entered it, silenced the music, walked to his side with determined steps and set a tray on the table. A cup of coffee, a glass of water and two Tylenol.

"It's the extra strength stuff," she told her.

He smirked at her. "Cool. Now I'm going to be more than fine."

"Anything else I can do for you, Mr. Stark?"

"I'd ask for a shot of brandy, but that'd probably... Miss Potts?"

The mildly amused look on her face had suddenly changed to utter horror. Why was she that upset? She pointed a shaky finger at him... Something was wrong, he could feel it now. He looked down.

The arc reactor had gone dead on him. Dead? Damn, he was so not going to die now. No way. He only needed a couple of hours more.

He struck it with his fist, nearly knocking the wind out of himself and sending a flare of pain lancing through his bruised ribs.

With a fizzle, the reactor started glowing again.

"Basic trick. Never fails," he told her, slightly out of breath, and put on his best reassuring smile – an extremely convincing and handsome one, and that was not bragging, it was a fact.

She didn't look very reassured, though, and he couldn't blame her. He was pretty damn scared too. So much for that deadline. He had already missed it.