Iron Man persona aside, Tony Stark never really fancied himself a hero. He did what he had to do. Did what he needed to do. Maybe it was narcissism. Better yet maybe it was atonement. How much destruction had been created in his name? How many lives had been ruined by Stark technology? He couldn't amend his past mistakes, but he could work towards preventing new ones.

Therapy wasn't his idea. He preferred the well-tested regime of alcohol and an all-nighter in his workroom, but Pepper and Rhodey had staged an intervention. Concession was easier than fighting their logic. So a few weeks after the ordeal with the Mandarin, Tony found himself in Hell's Kitchen, at a church of all places, and surrounded by a group of people spilling about their own experiences with trauma.

Most of the people must have been around for a while because they appeared to be a close knit group. They were all on a first name basis and seemed to be familiar with each others' stories. They were the type of people one might expect to find at that sort of support group. Survivors of abuse. Soldiers. First responders. The woman running the group had been working at the World Trade Center on September 11th.

Tony felt intrusive like he had happened upon a secret place he shouldn't have been. He was seriously considering vacating the premises when he was approached by a member of the group near the coffee urn.

"You're him, aren't you?" the woman asked with hesitation. "You're Tony Stark."

Tony had done his best to be incognito. He dressed as casually as he could manage while still maintaining his usual style standards. He even went as far as to take one of the less conspicuous cars to the meeting, but he supposed that when you were a flamboyant billionaire with a penchant for making headlines and flying around in a metal suit, there was only so much that could be done to keep you under the radar.

Tony looked her over. She was cute. Warm smile. Well dressed. British from the sound of it. She didn't immediately reek of reporter, but one could never be too sure. "Who's asking?"

"Oh sorry," she said flashing a disarmingly apologetic smile. "I'm Martha." She offered him her hand. "Dr. Martha Jones."

"Doctor?" Tony questioned, giving her hand a firm shake. "Beauty and brains then, huh? Deadly combo."

Martha tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she pulled her hand back. "As it were, I'm usually in the habit of trying to save lives as opposed to ending them."

Tony looked her over once more. "Yea, but what a way to go."

"I haven't seen you around here before," Martha commented as she helped herself to a cup of stale coffee. Tony made a mental note to donate a machine to the cause. If he was going to continue this façade, he at least needed a decent cup of coffee to get him through the process. "Is this your first meeting?" she asked.

"That obvious?"

"Not necessarily." Martha reached for the sugar and dumped two packets into her cup before taking an experimental taste. After a slight grimace, she reached for two more. "I've only just started myself."

"Two newbies."

Martha nodded while gulping down another mouthful of her coffee. If the frown was any indication, the sugar didn't seem to be helping elevate the lukewarm cup of swill masquerading as coffee. "It's nice to be around other people dealing with the same issues," she said as she fiddled idly with her cup, not bothering to attempt any more sips. "Although…" She scanned the room before setting her eyes on him. "I'm not sure if this is the help I need."

Tony quirked a brow. "Were you ambushed too?"

"No. I came voluntarily," she informed him. "I thought talking would help with my nightmares, but I'm not quite sure if this particular group would understand my experiences."

"Tell me about it," Tony said with a quiet huff. Something had changed when Tony went through the wormhole. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what he was feeling, but he knew that things were different. The world was different. Or maybe the world was the same as it had always been. Perhaps it was him that had changed. Either way, things were clearer. He could see now what he couldn't before and what he saw wasn't pretty.

"Do you want to go and get some real coffee?" Martha asked as she set her cup aside.

Tony met her eyes. "What I want is a drink. A real one."

"We can do that," Martha replied. "I could use two or three myself."

"Two or three?" Tony glanced at his watch. It was barely noon. "Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for a day drinker," he teased.

"I'm English. My internal clock is five hours ahead."

"Alright, English," Tony retorted with a smirk. "What are we drinking to? The beginning of a beautiful friendship?"

"Maybe," Martha answered, leading the way towards the exit. "At any rate, I have a proposition for you."

Tony wasn't sure if that was code or not, but she had certainly piqued his interest. "I'm listening."

"Drinks first," she insisted.

"Drinks first," Tony repeated. "I know a place nearby." He pulled his keys from his pocket. "I'm driving."

After a short drive, the two of them sat at the bar in a place not too far from the Tower. The bartender knew Tony's usual and placed two glasses of whiskey in front of them. Tony took a sip from his as he regarded Martha with interest. "So what is this proposition of yours?"

Martha downed her drink in one go without the slightest wince then signaled for two more. Tony had to admit he loved a woman that could shoot whiskey. When the second glass arrived, she took a decent mouthful before deciding she'd had enough liquid courage to press on. "I want you to sleep with me," she announced unceremoniously.

Tony lowered his glass. "Come again?"

Martha finished off her drink and set her glass aside. "I know it must sound…"

"Like a honey trap?" Tony finished for her. "Billionaire. Hot chick offering sex. It's like a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"Well we could draw up a contract if it'd make you feel more secure, but just to clarify, I'm not offering you sex," Martha retorted with a frown. "I meant I want to literally sleep together."

Tony looked at her suspiciously. "Let me get this straight. You want to sleep with me without…sleeping with me?"

"Essentially," Martha confirmed with a nod. "It's called touch therapy," she explained. "When we touch each other," she began, placing her hand on top of his as a demonstration. "Our bodies release oxytocin, which plays a major role in lowering blood pressure and stress levels, reducing social anxiety and helping to relieve pain. I've been doing research and I think it could be helpful in combating my nightmares."

Tony glanced down at her hand on top of his and ruminated on the information for a minute before responding. "Why me?"

"I figured we had a lot in common," Martha reasoned.

Tony made a big show of looking her over. "You're gonna have to help me out here, sweetheart, because I'm not seeing it."

"The Battle of New York," Martha began, causing him to bristle at her words. "You saved us all."

Tony took a quick gulp of his drink. "I did what I could."

Martha studied him for a moment before continuing. "You saw something up there, didn't you?"

Tony met her eyes over the top of his glass. "What?"

"When the wormhole opened," Martha pressed. "I think you saw what was out there. What's really out there."

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. "And what would you know about that?"

"More than you might think."

"That's your angle? 'I understand you. Let's cuddle?'" Tony mocked with a scoff. "You can do better than that."

Martha glanced away. "I doubt you'd believe me."

Tony set his glass aside and crossed his arms. "I fought off an alien army in the middle of Manhattan," he reminded her. "Try me."

Martha took a calming breath. "Does the name Harold Saxon ring a bell?"

"Former British Prime Minister, right? Went crazy aboard the Valiant and disappeared?"

Martha nodded slowly. "That's the story that everyone remembers, but it's not how it really happened."

Tony quirked a brow. "Oh?"

Martha shifted uncomfortably in her seat and clutched her hands into tight fists. "No. The truth is far worse," she answered evasively while taking another deep breath.

Tony wasn't sure what her version of events was, but they must have been pretty bad judging by her reaction. "So sharing a bed is supposed to magically fix us?"

"Of course not," Martha said, looking him in the eyes again. "What we have isn't a disease. We can't be cured. Our whole worldviews have changed and they'll never be the same again. But…there is a chance that this might help us sleep a bit easier."

"I'll think about it," Tony said evenly.

"That's all I ask," Martha retorted. She stood up and pulled a business card from her pocket, sliding it across the bar to him. "Ring me if you make a decision. And thanks for the drink." She flashed him one last smile then headed for the door.

Tony waited for her to leave before he picked up the card and scanned the print quickly. 'Dr. Martha Jones, Chief Medical Officer for the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.' As he rose from his stool, Tony pulled his phone from his pocket. "J.A.R.V.I.S., I want you to dig up everything you can find out about Dr. Martha Jones and the Unified Intelligence Taskforce."