The truth is, she would fuck if she didn't think it would be slow.
She knows she would do something stupid like say, "I love you," instead of, "I love that." The inevitable awkwardness would make her realize that she was naked in front of Tony Stark and the letter of resignation would be on his desk the next morning.
Pepper's smart enough to play coy to everyone but she's beginning to feel doubt tapping at her shoulder. Somewhere down the line, she is going to slip and she can only guess at the repercussions. She knows she's standing on the sideline of his game; easily overlooked for the players on his field. It's enough to keep her feet securely on the ground.
There would never be a 'next date,' just the next morning. She wouldn't be able to pick up her dignity as easily as her discarded bra. There wouldn't be anyone to dry clean her clothes but she thinks there would be a car waiting to take her "anywhere she wants to go," even though her car was parked in the driveway.
The redeeming factor is that she actually gets to stay in the morning. That she doesn't have to ask Tony, "Do you remember me?" because she knows that she is his Pepper, even if she doesn't know what that means.
Pepper glances at her inbox. For a moment she wonders how far she'll get before Tony realizes she is gone. She doesn't know why she left or why she didn't bother telling Tony beforehand. There was only the feeling of suffocating between glass doors. Before she knew what she was doing, her keys were in her hand and she was telling Jarvis that Tony knew she was leaving.
She ignores her guilt as she blows on her coffee. Finishing her work in a cafe is as good as finishing it in the office. As long as the e-mails are answered, the schedule for tomorrow is set, and any invitations or offers are sorted through, she should be able to make it home on time. Only it never ended at that and it feels unnerving knowing she will be going home without saying goodnight to her boss.
She pinches the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are stinging but she doesn't think it's from the screen. Something is wrong today. Maybe she's over-caffeinated; or under-caffeinated, under-living, overcompensating, or maybe she is just exhausted. The word 'break' doesn't really fit into Pepper's itinerary. Weekends seemed to disappear after becoming Tony Stark's personal assistant and over-time was the only time she knew. The best Pepper gets is leaving unread e-mails for tomorrow.
Pepper closes her laptop. The soft click is almost as therapeutic as the steam hitting the bottom of her chin. Her shoulders drop as she stirs her Mocha. Extra whipped cream because today isn't a typical day. It's not a massage but being here, Blackberry tucked some in the depths of her purse, she feels at peace.
The hustle of the cafe is a smooth calm. Any calls coming from Stark Headquarters have been directed to the voice-mail in her office. The silence is welcome but unnerving. She watches the swirls left behind by her spoon. Her thoughts drift to the untouched crumpet at the edge of her table and inevitably, her boss.
Pepper wonders what it would be like to eat a real meal with Tony. The kind you have to heat up in the oven while listening to Jazz. None of that noodles in a plastic container or raw fish gently placed over rice with a bottle of fine wine. A meal she imagines a family eating. The problem is that Pepper can't really cook and Tony would wonder why he bothered paying for a chef if he was stuck making his own food.
When it comes down to it, Pepper is far from domestic. She can run Tony's life but can't find a spatula in her own apartment. She's been in her apartment long enough to wonder if this is the apartment she will decorate. She often debates if she should make the trip to IKEA but finds herself organizing her office in the mansion instead.
It makes sense. When it comes down to it, her office in the Stark Mansion doubles as her bedroom. She spends more hours there then she does in her actual bedroom. It makes her wonder why she bothered moving into the gated apartment complex in the first place. She figures the peace of mind when she walks from her car to her door is reason enough.
It's slowly coming together. She buys herself gifts with Tony's credit card because she puts in enough over-time to earn herself a matching tea set and rugs that compliment the curtains. She saves her birthdays for beautiful dresses and necklaces that detach her from the apartment complex she lives in.
Pepper never understood girls who dreamed of picket white fences. It's the cliché that leave people bitter when they reach fifty. It's times like these that she wishes her mother was around. A gentle chide that pushed aside her cynicism. She imagines them in a similar scenario, just swap the cafe for a kitchen, and the Mocha for two Earl Gray Teas. Her mother is not around, however, so she stays in the cafe, trying not to think of her boss.
She puts down the cup. There's a Hispanic couple outside fighting. They remind her that picket white fences don't exist. The woman's back is pressed against the glass of the window, so Pepper can't see her face. Pepper knows that the woman is angry. Her hands wave frantically in disagreement with what the man is saying. Pepper strains to hear their conversation. It's almost comforting knowing that even couples are not happy.
The man is yelling. Pepper can almost hear him. Something about goddamn TVs. Something about kids and slamming doors. He drops his arms and stops yelling. He shakes his head and walks away. The woman doesn't follow.
Pepper takes a sip of her coffee and is glad she is not part of a couple. Only, that's not entirely true and the truth is starting to annoy her.
She's interrupted by her cell phone. Tony Stark. She contemplates not picking it up but does anyway.
"Ms. Potts." He's more than two steps past confused.
"Yes, Mr. Stark."
"Is it four?"
"What? Yes. It's just after four."
"Funny."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand-"
"I could have sworn that working a nine to five means you actually work a nine to five." He's somewhere between angry and amused.
She keeps herself from sighing. "I decided to work outside of the office tonight." Her tone is a constructed casual.
There is a pause. "I don't like it when you're not here."
"-Change of scenery..."
"You know I can't take care of myself."
"Mr. Stark." A gentle warning.
"Are you getting bored with your duties? Because I can think a few more, interesting, ways for you to take care of my-"
"I'll see you in the morning, Mr. Stark." She hangs up with her skin tingling.
Pepper feels nothing when she returns to her own apartment. Her home has become a harsh reminder of the concrete barrier that stands between her and Tony. She sips on lukewarm tea and wonders whether Tony's catch tonight has red hair.
No, she's never been the girl to dream of picket white fences but she finds herself dreaming of Malibu balconies with oceanfront views.