Disclaimer: I own no rights to Iron Man, nor any of the characters therein. I make no profit from this work of fiction. I own no rights to Sleater-Kinney's recordings/lyrics.

"Don't say another word

About the other girl"

One More Hour – Sleater-Kinney

Chapter 1

Duh-duh dun-dun dah.

Virginia "Pepper" Potts cracked one bleary eye open and stared at her phone as the opening notes of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" rang through her darkened bedroom. Never again was she leaving her BlackBerry anywhere near Tony's questing fingers.

Ever.

She fully opened her eyes, both of them this time, and looked over at her clock. Five a.m. Tony was never up this early, unless he hadn't gone to sleep. Groaning at the loss of a particularly nice dream, she flopped her hand on her bedside table and pressed the button that would display his message.

Dry cleaning.

Two simple words which, separately analyzed, would mean nothing. Together, for most people, they still meant very little. Unfortunately for Pepper, the reading of them brought her world crashing down.

It had been two months since the fated Press Conference. Pepper thought of it in exactly those terms, capitalization included. Tony telling the world he was Iron Man may have sounded like a great idea to his erratic genius brain at the time, but the second the words had come out of his mouth, Pepper had been taken by the desire to run for the proverbial hills.

Pepper had not missed these messages. She hadn't received a single one since his return from captivity, and she had begun to allow a small kernel of hope to grow in her chest that maybe, just maybe, Tony Stark had really changed. Now that kernel had exploded, and she could practically feel it burning down to embers. Of course he hadn't changed. Why would he wait for her, anyway? It wasn't exactly like she had made her burgeoning feelings known to him, and she had shot down every single innuendo of his with her typical, professional aplomb.

Pepper groaned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. A quick shower, a cup of coffee, and one protein shake later, Pepper Potts was heading out her door, gym bag in hand. She hoped that she might find someone to spar with her; she had the feeling she would need it tonight. This was, of course, if Tony actually allowed her to leave on time.

In the car, she scolded herself for being unfair. Tony very rarely forced her to stay later than her requisite hours. She mainly stayed because she knew she would only have that much more to catch up on the next day if she didn't. Perhaps tonight she would clock out at exactly five. The gym she went to was open late, and by the time she got there, there should be plenty of people on the mats.

Pepper's musings on possible partners and the release of a good match had brought her all the way to Tony's home. As she gave her voice authorization at the front gate, Pepper steeled her nerves. She hated this part of working for Tony Stark, more than any other aspect.

The clean up.

She frowned, barely responding to JARVIS' polite greeting. She hoped that this one, at least, would simply take her forced exodus quietly. While it had been a long time since Pepper had had to escort one of Tony's female companions out the door, she had not forgotten some of the more spectacular ones. Point in fact, she had picked up kickboxing in her first six months working for him as a direct result of one of his more…irate… one night stands. She rubbed her fingers along her scalp gently at the memory, as if she could still feel the small patch of missing hair there.

She sighed quietly, popping delicate black ear buds into her ears as she went in search of the inevitable cocktail dress, or more formal evening gown. She was surprised to find it waiting on the couch in the living room, as opposed to being sought out in the bedroom. Well, at least he had saved her that indignity. She draped it over her arm, replaced the ear buds with her BlueTooth earpiece, and headed back out to her car. She tossed the dress in her back seat. It shimmered at her, winking merrily in the quiet pre-dawn light. She called up her music, selecting one of the louder bands that she kept on her playlist, almost in defiance of the dress' soft glow.

As she drove to the 24 hour dry cleaner, she sang along loudly, content for the moment to ignore the soft, familiar ring of her phone. Stupid Tony. Stupid dress…

Stupid Pepper.

Pepper wagged a mental finger at herself for her angst-laden thoughts. This was her boss, not her friend, certainly not her lover. She had no right to be making comments on his personal life, and she most assuredly had no right to be making comments on his choice of bedmates…or their clothing.

She heaved another heavy sigh as she entered the dry cleaner's. Olga, a friendly Russian matron, sat behind the counter reading what looked to be a mystery novel, horn-rimmed glasses propped on the end of her nose. She looked up with a smile of recognition.

"Miss Pepper! It has been long time, since that I have seen you." Pepper smiled at the woman's thick accent, and mildly improper grammar.

"Good Morning, Olga," she murmured quietly. "I'll be needing this on a rush," she continued as she handed the dress over. Olga clucked, turned the dress over in her hands, and nodded.

"You give me one hour, yes? I fix for you in one hour."

At the word 'fix' Pepper's eyes roved one more time over the dress, noted the slight tear near the zipper. She tried to feel nothing, really, but she felt the blood simmer in her veins regardless of her logical thoughts. She nodded firmly at Olga, scraped together a smile for her, and headed across the street to the small coffee shop she hadn't needed to frequent in so long.

As she sipped her caramel-mocha latte, a rare indulgence, she began mentally composing her letter of resignation. This wasn't the first time she had done it, not by a long shot, but this was the first time that she had allowed not only profanity, but personal feeling, to be present.

To Whom It May Concern:

I am sick to death of the every day bullshit that is my job. Tony Stark is a boorish, pig-headed, self-absorbed brute of a man. Due to his firm belief that he is, in fact, God's gift to women, I find myself incapable of continuing in my position without choking back bile at the mere mention of his name.

I spent my morning, the one where I should have been sleeping, cleaning the dress of his most recent conquest. This activity will be followed up by escorting the latest harlot out the door, and pretending that this is entirely all right with me.

I have an MBA. I have a brain. I have the nerve to have refused Tony Stark the feel of my legs around his hips, and for this he torments me on a regular basis.

In short, Tony Stark is an inconsiderate asshole, and I am Fed Up.

Sincerely,

Pepper Potts.

Pepper grinned into her mug as she checked her watch. The dress should be done. She felt better for her little mental snubbing, which she knew for a fact that she would never commit to paper. For one thing, it would be ludicrous to curse in one's resignation letter. For another, while she could happily acknowledge the fact that she was less than thrilled with him at the moment, Pepper could also admit she liked Tony. She liked her job, and she liked the challenge of it, and in all the years that she had worked with him, she had yet to become bored. Angry? Yes. Annoyed? On a nearly hourly basis. But never bored; it simply wasn't possible in Tony's presence. He seemed hell-bent on making the world fit to his standards, and anyone who disagreed could either get out of the way, or get rolled over.

Pepper finished her drink and crossed back to the dry cleaner's, collecting the dress from Olga, along with advice to "quit working for that nasty man". Pepper smiled warmly at her, and shook her head as she got back into her car, hanging the dress in the back seat. She checked her clock: 7:15. Hopefully by the time she arrived, Tony's…lady friend…would be getting out of bed. It was always worse when she had to wake them.

She sang along softly to a song that she had forgotten she even had on her playlist, but seemed ridiculously appropriate.

"Didn't we almost have it, almost have it, almost. Didn't you want it?" She repeated the words along with the singer, pretending they didn't bring a pang to her heart. But here, in her car, in her own little world, it was okay to feel that pang. Once she got to those gates, walked through that door into that windowed, echoing house, she had to have her game face on.

She would be Ms. Potts, he would be Mr. Stark, and she would let herself forget the awful feelings of the morning in the everyday hustle that was the staple of being Tony Stark's PA. As she rolled back down the drive, she felt her mask falling into place, pleasant, proper, and cheerfully aloof. She buried everything else, promising herself that she would sweat it out tonight with music pouring into her ears.

She breathed in deep through her nose as she entered the living room. Distantly, she heard a voice calling her employer's name, and she envisioned a band of steel twisting itself around her spine.

"Tony?" The confused call was coming closer. The woman walked into the living room, one of Tony's many dress shirts tucked around her, hastily buttoned. Pepper allowed a pleasant but detached smile to grow on her face, but inside she was furious.

She was barely anything more than a girl; 23, perhaps 24 at the oldest. Fake-red hair, make-up smeared around bright blue eyes. She was petite and curvaceous, and right now her face seemed torn between hurt, and confusion. Her eyes locked on Pepper, where she stood holding the girl's dress.

"Who the fuck are you? Where's Tony?" her blue eyes flashed angrily.

Pepper refused to let herself react to the venom in the girl's voice. Hell, she would be furious too, in her position.

"My name is Virginia Potts. I'm Mr. Stark's personal assistant. Tony got called away on business, but your dress has been dry-cleaned, and there is a car waiting in the drive to take you anywhere you wish to go." The words felt dry and traitorous in her mouth, as if she had just bitten down on a piece of insulation and was tasting fiber-glass.

Quickly, the girl's face went from angry to hurt, and fat crocodile tears welled up in her eyes.

"He's gone?" she whispered. Pepper nodded, in what she hoped was a sympathetic manner.

"Oh." The anger was completely gone now, and in its place was something like desolation. The girl took her dress from Pepper's extended arm, shucking Tony's shirt and pulling it on with a complete lack of self-consciousness. Pepper coughed and turned away, wanting to allow the girl a semblance of privacy.

She was gone within minutes, and Pepper was left shaking in her wake, caught between anger at herself, and anger at Tony.

"This is the last time," she muttered to herself as she stormed to her office. As her desktop started up, she fumed silently, staring at the intercom, daring Tony to buzz her now. Thankfully, for everyone involved, it remained silent for most of the morning, and she devoted herself to emails, press releases, requests for appearances, donations, interviews, and a whole host of pleasantly mind-numbing tasks.

Finally, the lunch hour rolled around, and she slumped back from her desk, stretching her arms up and over her head, groaning quietly at the tug of her muscles. It would serve Tony right, truly, if she simply left without saying anything to him, or offering to order in. She frowned at the petty thought, and waved it off within an instant of having it form.

She headed down to his workshop, heels clacking jauntily on the stairs. She could hear his music blaring out at her from behind the newly installed glass walls, and she punched her code into the door with practiced ease, turning the music off simultaneously.

"Potts, you know I hate it when you turn my music off," came Tony's disembodied voice. She ignored him, and walked to stand by the car that he was currently rolled under.

"Mr. Stark, it's one o'clock. I have a few documents for you to sign. I'll leave them on your desk. What would you like for lunch?" Pepper allowed herself to be impressed with the calm, detached voice that left her mouth. In reality, she wanted to kick him, maybe grind one of her perfect stiletto heels into the one place she knew would get his attention. She savored the image, just for a moment, before discarding it entirely.

"Umm…What's that new Italian place? The one with the calamari?"

"Donatello's, sir."

"Yeah. Order from there. They deliver, right?"

Pepper rolled her eyes at the hood of his hot rod, since he had yet to actually emerge from beneath it.

"No, sir. They didn't deliver last week, and I doubt their policy has changed."

"No matter. Send Happy out. Get something for him too, 'k?"

Pepper snorted, knowing he'd be too absorbed in his work to hear her.

"Of course, sir."

She turned to walk out of the workshop, glad the encounter was over. She was still hurt, still angry, and she wanted to limit her contact with him as much as possible.

"Potts, one of these days you're going to remember: it's Tony."

Pepper shook her head, glad to escape before he added anything lewd to the statement.

She placed their orders, and sent Happy out as she attended to her growing inbox.

As she ate her salad, later, she stared at the clock on her computer screen, willing the minutes to move faster.

When the clock finally displayed 4:59, her hands were already in motion, unplugging her laptop, dropping her BlackBerry into her purse, collecting up the numerous folders containing yet more documents for Tony to read (not that he would) and sign (maybe…). She barely fought down the nervous energy in her step as she took the stairs quickly down to the workshop once more. She entered her code and looked around, noting a distinct lack of Tony. Sighing with relief, she dropped the folders onto his desk where they joined the pile from earlier in the day.

As she whirled around, grinning at the prospect that this day, which had begun so hellishly, was over, she froze. Tony stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam, looking her over in the same assessing manner that he usually applied to his circuit boards and blueprints. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad.

Pepper took a deep breath, told herself that those molten brown eyes didn't effect her in the slightest. Hell, she had just ushered a woman out of this man's home today. Nothing about him should effect anything about her person except for her gag reflex.

Stupid, Pepper. Very Stupid. You should have just left the forms for tomorrow.

She firmed her chin, lifting it slightly, and returned his gaze.

"More documents to sign, Mr. Stark. Please do read these, this time."

He cocked his head at her, eyes sweeping from her hair to her feet, before settling back on her face.

"Something bothering you, Potts?"

"No, sir. Should there be?"

Ooh. Go ahead, Tony. Bring it up. I dare you.

She watched his mouth work, could practically hear him digging for a way to retort with a witty quip. Thankfully, he came up short and shrugged.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" she asked, with just a hint of stress on the title.

"That'll be all, Ms. Potts."

She nodded, brushed past him, and fled the mansion like it was on fire.

Still, she knew she would be back in the morning, like always. Perhaps a good night's sleep was all she needed. After her much needed trip to the gym, of course.

As she drove away, she told herself that, if her foot was a bit heavy on the accelerator, and her voice was just a bit choked on the lyrics she sang, it was only due to her excitement over a new kick combination she was learning.

She almost believed herself.

A/N: My first foray into the Iron Man fanfic arena. Anyone reading this who is possibly reading my other works will probably be shaking their fist at me. I'm doing that to myself, anyhow. But, when the plot bunny bites…

If you read, please review. Reviews make my day, and they help me develop my writing. Enjoy, and I'll see you next chapter.

~~Nifty~~