Authors note: This literally started because I wanted to write about Pepper Potts as the Queen of the Underworld wearing a crown of rotting flowers and terrifying the living daylights out of everyone. It rapidly spun out of my control after that. I have taken some liberties with Hel's characterization and abilities, as well as the way she was 'trapped' in Helheim, so please just roll with that.

Warnings in the end notes. Crossposted onto A03 under the pen-name Ayinahs.

It wasn't hard to change. Change had never been something that was difficult for her. That particular gift she had inherited from her father. She had learned long ago, been taught, to shift forms. To slip from one skin to another, blending in seamlessly amongst the crowd in order to hide, to fit in, to belong. She knew how to do that like she knew how to breathe. Instinctual, natural. It was easy for her.

(She never belonged anywhere)

Still, it had been so long, so achingly long, since the last time she changed, since the last time she let her form shift and a new one take its place. She could never bring herself to do it now, for so long now, stuck in her bubble of grief and self loathing. Her magic crawled along under the surface of her skin like beetles trying to get out, to be used, to be free to change into whatever form she desired, whatever form was hers to be. It had once been a second nature to her, but now she couldn't bring herself to do it. She deserved to be like this. Even now the memories of the hate, the screams, the fear- oh the fear- that had permeated the air when people had seen her true form still lingered in her mind, clung to her like oil on water. She had slipped up, let her form break and now she could never forget it, could never be allowed to forget it, never squashing down the voices completely.

(Repent, they gleefully sang, malicious and spiteful, reverberating and echoing in her skull, repent, for you deserve this suffering)

And maybe she did deserve this. Deserve being trapped here, in a place that she had always been too scared to leave.

But not anymore.

No, she vowed, eyes fierce and determined. Not any more.

She was done being trapped.

Afterall, who would want this? Who would want to be willingly separated from all being but for those who lurked in the shadows of Helheim?

(Her shadows, now. They belonged to her)

Who would want to be kept away from the sun and the warmth and the light? From love? The memory plucked at her heartstrings, an ache that sunk into her bones like familiar poison and glazed her eyes over.

Father.

No, she thought, visibly shaking it off, there was no love in this place. No feelings but for those of the dead and even they grew dulled and diluted, emotion fading away. Any spark of life left within them, those of the dishonored, of the jaded, treacherous mongrels who occupied her lands, was immediately trampled down, replaced by the same bleakness that spread across her realm.

No longer.

She would not be trapped here anymore, not by her own hand, not willingly.

She would change, and this time she'd make it better, make it real.

She wouldn't be hated anymore.

(She'd belong somewhere. She'd be loved.)

Midgard she chose for a reason. She knew the planets, felt its inhabitants die and be reborn and this planet was young, its people soft and defenseless like hapless fledglings barely leaving the nest.

Asgard would leave it alone.

They wouldn't search for her there-if they ever realized she was gone to begin with- and would not bother attempting contact with a planet this young, this devoid of magic and technology. They had nothing to gain from it.

That suited her just fine, she snorted bitterly. Asgard would never get off its high horse long enough to notice what was going on beneath it and that utter disdain and callous disregard of what they called 'sub-species' would serve her well.

(They had called her a sub-species too)

If there was any resentment in her, she squashed in down in favor of the excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She had toiled over for days hunting down the ingredients she would need to escape without being noticed, scavenging for herbs and root-pieces that bled drops of power onto her hand and filled her with old magic, strengthening her connection to the ley lines in the core of her lands that whispered of secret portals and transdimensional travels. She knew how to listen when many did not even know of their existence. Her father had taught her too, laughed mocking at the Asgardians pitiful gateways and rainbow bridge, his eyes bright and mouth curved into a grin as he showed her how to listen to the world around her, how to unlock the secrets it jealously kept in plain sight. She absorbed everything he said like a sponge, a little girl fixated on the tellings of her father and it would serve her well now. (It always did)

Letting out a heavy breath, she gathered her power around her, allowing it to build up gently and follow the ley lines directions until it converged around where the magic would be the strongest, a weak link in the fabric of her dimension, shaping a luminescent portal before her. It was grueling and taxing and when she finally pulled herself through to the other planet a breathless laugh escaped her throat and tears prickled in her eyes as she sunk to her knees in what looked like a field of sorts, her fingers fisting in the dirt as if trying to anchor herself. The sun was blinding, the heat more intense than in Helhiem and her body was completely spent, aching with the effort and strain from creating the portal but she didn't sky was clear and a vivid blue, the air crisp and fresh and it was bright and alive and she could hear life all around her, little hearts beating and the wind in her hair and she was free.

She was free.

Eventually she picked herself up from where she had been resting, face turned upwards towards the sky in the middle of the field as she inhaled huge lungfuls of the clean air, her fingers digging into the soil at her sides and clutching fistfuls of of it in her palm. There was dirt matted into her hair and streaked all over her and she stank of sweat and the ever present scent of death and decay. The cloyingly sweet scent make her wrinkle her nose in distaste, brushing dirt off her tattered, stained white garments. That scent did not fit here, not in this place of life and sun and warmth, she thought, eyes flashing, and now was a good time as any to put it firmly behind her.

She had almost fully recovered afterall, having lain there on her back for one day and one night until once more the sun rose in the sky at it's peak, eyes impossibly wide as she hungrily took in everything she could about this place. Even at night there was light, she mused, the twinkling brightness from stars shining sweetly in the velvety dark sky.

It was remarkable here, and now she would become a part of it.

(She would become remarkable too)

So she took the sunlight and wove it around her, twisted light and warmth and braided it into her hair, her eyes, her smile. The things she loved most about this place would become a part of her, written into her body and carved onto her soul. Her laughter rang like bells and gold tinged her skin, sunkissed and flushed with blood and life and vibrance. She captured the sun in her tresses and quivered as it sank into her skin, it's radiance making her burn inside out. She was beautiful, lit up like a golden candle, her glamour rippling around her before sinking into her form, her body refashioning itself. The heat took her breath away, drew tears from the corners of her eyes as her once-diamond armor turned into fragile skin and inhuman strength leeched out of her, leaving her as weak as a newborn babe. With the first breath sucked in with new lungs, her eyes snapped open and they were like shards of chipped ice, glacier-like in their intensity and as beautiful as winters light.

(She had bound the sun into her form, and she burned with every breath she took and it was glorious, a blaze which blackened and singed her and rendered her into ash from which she was born anew like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. She reveled in it.)

When she raised her hands to her face they were soft, skin unprotected like the belly of a wolf pup, muscles and tendons rippling under her skin with each movement, delicate blue veins tracing a path down the length of her arms like a spiderweb and slender, dexterous fingers curling daintily into her palm. She marveled at the change, eyes wide and curious, strawberry blond lashes brushing against her cheeks with each blink and soft red mouth parted in awe.

She had never worked at this scale before, never let the change get quite so complete, so absolute. She could feel the life thrumming through her body, the blood pumping through her heart.

(Monsters don't have hearts, the voices spat spitefully)

This form was defenseless, soft curves where bones once jutted and warm flesh where ice once burned. It wasn't anything like her, the sun in the face of the moon, and it was perfect.

She was human now.

She was human now, and she may be beautiful and powerful still, but her magic had sunk so deep into her she could barely feel it. It was just a faint hum around the very center of her core, buried so deep by her own glamour that it took effort just to feel the familiar power that once leaked from her very pores, surrounded the air around her. Barely any of her gift remained and even then they were the ones that were written into her very soul, ones that were so far ingrained into her she would die without them.

But still, she would not be the person she was before. She wouldn't go back to being that creature, would not let herself be drawn back into that life that was really not a life at all.

Even if some of her powers remained, so what?

For all intents and purposes, Hela Lokisdottir was no more.

(The monster is dead now, she promised, eyes fierce, I'll be Hela no more)

For a while, she wandered. She picked a direction and walked. This new, fragile form was more prone to the elements that Hela's true body was and she was grew surprisingly weary easily, exhaustion settling in like hooks and her throat becoming bone dry as hunger gnawed at her stomach. Eventually, she stumbled across an old farm with an even older couple residing within. They sat side by side in rickety rocking chairs on the porch and when they saw her approach they startled, calling out to her and inviting her into their home.

They radiated goodwill and concern like a cloud around them, eyes warm and touches soft as they pushed her down into a floral printed sofa in the living room, shoving a cup of warm, fragrant liquid and a small plate piled with various kinds of crumbling biscuits into her hands.

"Poor child, you must be tired," the old woman muttered kindly, resting one wrinkled, warm hand on Hela's shoulder and Hela tried, she tried not to arch into the touch but she hadn't been touched in so long, so achingly long and Odin, she missed it. Judging by the small, secretive smile on the woman's face she had noticed Hela pushing into her hand and Hela began to squirm, mouth open so apologies could spill out like bitter poisons, but the woman didn't remove her hand. Instead she rubbed soothing circles on Hela's shoulder with her thumb, her gaze steady and wise, eyes filled with gentle understanding. There was no hostility here, Hela realized, no hands raised to strike or mouths open to cut into her flesh, to burrow into her and hold on tight, refusing to let go.

She was safe here, Hela realized and she relaxed all at once, tension bleeding out of her as her posture became less defensive.

She was alright. She was safe, Asgard and Helheim behind her. She was free from them now.

If her eyes became suspiciously damp, no one said anything as she blinked back her tears. (Not tears of sorrow, not this time. No more tears would be shed in the name of misery.)

"What's your name, dearie?" The old man's voice interrupted and Hela started, mind blank. Name? Her name was H-

That's right. She wasn't Hela anymore. She would never be Hela again.

So who was she?

What was her name?

The old man stared back at her, curious and patient.

She licked her lips.

"Pepper." The name sounded odd, unfamiliar in her mouth and rolled off her tongue like pebbles. "Pepper," she repeated, tasting it, brow furrowed in concentration before smoothening out as she beamed at the elderly man, "My name is Pepper."

The old man beamed back, so utterly delighted that his smile encompassed his whole face and left crinkles by his eyes. "Well then Pepper, my name is Jeffery. Jeffery Potts. That's my wife, Marianne. Would you like some more tea?"

"Yes, please," Pepper replied gratefully, carefully handing her teacup over.

Smiles blossomed on the old couples faces and as Hela watched the goodnatured teasing and bickering between the two of them as they rummaged through cupboards and drawers, Pepper (she was Pepper now, Hela was dead and gone) felt something unclench within her chest like a knot loosening after years of being bound tight.

It was going to be okay now. Everything was going to be alright.

In the end, she only spent a year with them.

Their bodies were frail and the three of them took care of each other during the time. Pepper learnt, drinking in the knowledge and customs of this world and she fell in love with it. She fell in love with everything around her, with the two people who were more family than she had had in centuries.

But she knew they had to leave her.

When Pepper finally knew that their time was up, she closed her eyes and gripped their hands as she kneeled beside the bed they would die in, burying into the deepest recesses of herself and finding that throbbing, swirling glow of what was left of her magic. She pulled at it, drawing a single glittering strand away and let the faint trickle of her power spread out through her fingertips and into them. The weak strand of power was soothing, smoothing over the aches and relaxing the bodies of her aged mortals. Pepper would not let them suffer. When she felt the last of their pain ebb away and heard their sighs of relief, Hela opened her eyes and rose, smiling tenderly at them. They smiled back at her, contentment written on their faces and bodies already being lulled gently towards sleep where she knew they would pass on peacefully. "I love you, Grandmama," she whispered, voice a little unsteady as she kissed the old woman's forehead and then repeated the steps to the man. "I love you Granddaddy."

"I love you both so much," she murmured, pulling away and watching them curl up to each other as she drew their blanket over their figures. They vaguely hummed the same back at her, eyes already closing as they drifted into dreamland with their arms wrapped around each other and soft smiles gracing their faces.

And Hela did. She did love them. She loved them the way she loved the wind in her hair and the ground beneath her feet. She loved them the way she might have loved Frigga and Odin had they given her a chance. She loved them the way she had loved Loki, once upon a time a long long time ago. She loved them the way she loved her family for they were family to her in a way she had not had in centuries.

She felt her lip quiver, and she shut her eyes as tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks as she felt the presence of death steal over the room and the last breaths escape their mouths. She let out an anguished wail as she felt them slip away and for a moment, just a moment, she was Hela again, just a little girl who was ripped away from her father and banished to isolation and shadows.

She buried them in the garden beside each other the way they had asked for, thoughtfully sighed as they watched the sun sink beyond view in the horizon. The tombstone she carved herself, using her hands to chisel the stone and shape it when it could have so easily been done with a coil of magic. Pepper didn't mind it though. She wanted to do it this way, she owed them that much. It was a reminder, blisters and cuts and shallow scrapes decorating her skin and she let them heal the way a human's would; slowly, carefully, leaving white scars on her skin like carvings.

When that was done she kissed each headstone, sinking each hand into the soft, fresh dirt atop their graves and borrowed the Earth's power. She manipulated it, drawing upon it to weave a network on the graves where flowers sprung up and decorated it. She stepped back, and it was beautiful. Beautiful, but painful also, a place of death where life grew and thrived and blossomed in homage to the life her two people had lived; expressive, beautiful lives filled with love and wonder, leaving an impact and brightness in all who they touched.

Hela smiled.

She packed her things. She couldn't stay there anymore, not when she could only see the empty space where her little family should have filled. No, Pepper packed her things and said one last farewell before taking a bus to New York.

(She did not look back)

When Pepper first met Tony Stark she never expected the turn her life would take. Maybe if she had known to begin with she would have smiled at him, batted her form's pretty lashes and turned and sashayed away, never let herself be pulled into his world. But her eyes were drawn to the shadows of death that clung to him like a lover and she was intrigued. Hela could feel the poison that would soon sing through his veins, the shards that would soon trap his heart in a steel cage like a little bird in a snare. She could tell how his soul was already bound to Death anyway- bound to her domain -and she should just walk away, away from his man who so carelessly courted her.

But she could also feel the warmth that surrounded him. The fire that blazed within him and she was drawn to it like a moth to the flame. He would be hers, she thought, awed. This man was hers, with his flaming soul and brilliant mind, all covered in scars and bruises of old, demons he faced each day. This man was hers, and she accepted him wholeheartedly, arms spread wide to welcome him in.

As it turns out, Hela wasn't wrong to compare him to a bird. He was a bird indeed, but that bird was a phoenix in guise of a peacock, and like the phoenix he would rise from the ash and flames and be born anew, burning even brighter than before. He wasn't bound for her domain anymore. The realm of the dishonorably dead would not be his to rest in. Something had changed and Hela could feel it in her bones. The knowledge made her bite her tongue in fury because he was hers, she claimed him, and he would spend eternity with her. She'd shield him from the dark of her land, he'd burn brightly by her side for all eternity and he would stay with her. He had to.

(She couldn't lose him too)

In the end it was her father that took it all away from her. Took Tony away from her, took her happiness and life away. Loki, and Uncle Thor too. It always came down to those two. To Odin.

She had stayed away from the light for so long, had lingered only in the fringes half cloaked in shadows and illusions of sunlight and now she was bared for the world to see. The spell Odin had crafted for Thor ripped through her father and she heard him scream, wail in agony as his Asgardian visage, the same visage Odin had gifted him, was stripped from him and blue bled onto his skin like ink. Hela saw, and her breath caught in her throat as fear gripped her heart and rendered her unable to breathe, to move, for the spell's radius was bigger than she could ever have imagined, more powerful than Loki had imagined and now she was in range, she could not escape now and, please, Odin, please not now, not now! She turned, still trying to run when she had no hope of escaping, her mouth opening in a guttural scream, and then the spell cut through her too.

It tore through her, agonizingly prying each drop of her glamour away from her with brutal efficiency, wrenching at the sunlight, the humanity, leaving her open and aching and bare. She screamed. She screamed and screamed, howling for her father, for Tony, for her beautiful, brave, phoenix Tony, collapsing to her knees as the sun left her and her life was snatched from her grasp. Her magic spilled out of her in golden tides like ichor that left her hollow. Everything hurt, her body on fire, burning from the inside out as the cold -such a familiar cold- swept into her bones and left her form twisted and distorted. Frost flowers bloomed around her, and sharp, jagged shards of ice erupted out of the ground, forming a cage around her like a protective barrier, a shield between her and the world.

Distantly, she could hear voices shout her name, hear her father scream for his daughter, hear Tony's frantic cry for Pepper but Pepper was gone. There was only a monster in Peppers place, a monster that wore the tattered remains of her clothes and its grotesque form a mockery of what once was beautiful.

Hela was all that left of Pepper Potts.

And Hela was nothing if not a monster.

Had she always been such a coward? Once upon a time, was there ever a time when she used to stand up, brave and bold in the face of whatever enemy she faced instead of running away with her tail between her legs? Had she ever had the courage to face Tony, to look him in the eye without her glamour and face him on her own as herself, as Hela, and allow him to reject or accept her as he may? Could she ever had had the strength to bring herself to do that?

Her glamour stripped from her, she ran. Ran away from them all, from her father, from Earth, from Tony. She left everything behind and fled to her realm, the same realm she had been banished to, the same place she had finally escaped from, and barred the doors behind her.

It was almost funny how she now so desperately sought comfort and solace from the one place that she had run away from. Now she just ran towards it, sealing every open gateway and secret passage she could find, cutting off any chance of anyone ever entering her realm. Only Odin could get in, for she did not have the power to keep him out, but she knew she would not be bothered to deal with her, not when she went crawling right back into her den like a good little pup, all meek and frightened and weak.

It seemed she always lost everything she loved. Each and every time, it seemed like something came about and stole them from her and she was helpless to watch, unable to do anything to stop it.

She didn't think she could take it anymore.

Settling back into her old life wasn't hard. The same pattern, same routine. She had lived this life for centuries, ruling over a kingdom which light couldn't touch. (Which hope couldn't touch) It was not difficult to submerge herself back into a routine that her body had never really forgotten anyway.

Hela did what she had always done.

She swathed herself in shadows, wove a shawl of sorrow around her macilent figure. She sat atop her throne of polished bone, dressed in sweeping robes she hadn't touched in a decade with the dead clawing at her feet around her. A wreath made up of dead flowers and rotting leaves rested atop her head, black thorns snaking through her misshapen crown and drawing pin pricks of bright blood from where they dug into her skin, dripping down her face and leaving tear tracks of red.

She looked every inch the ruler of Helheim she had been condemned to be.

Maybe it was fitting after all, Hela thought wearily, eyes closing briefly and head falling backwards to rest against the back of her throne. A kingdom of death and ghosts and monsters ruled by it's monstrous, ghostly Queen. Both were equally as repulsive as the other.

The thought made her mouth curl up in disgust, baring white teeth like a wolf with his hackles raised.

Fine, she thought venomously, eyes flashing with unbridled spite, resentment colouring her tone. If that was the role she was doomed to play then she would damn well play it right. They wanted a Queen who was a monster? She would give them just that.

(A kingdom where she's Queen, the voices bayed, a dishonored, damned Queen to rule the dishonored, damned souls in that accursed realm!)

Of course, Hela never counted on the lengths Tony Stark would go through to find her.

She had lost count of the days that had passed since she came back when she finally felt a presence on her land. Hela sprang from her slumped position on her throne, mouth open in a snarl, teeth bared and magic swirling around her figure. There was one not of the dead in her realm, one of the living who dared venture into her territory. She gnashed her teeth in fury at the imprudence, sending out snakes of shadowy magic that sought out the blaze of life that burned in the dark, a male whose life-fire cast brilliant flames all around him and lit up the world with his radiance and Hela-

Hela's knees buckled. She fell backwards onto her throne, eyes blank and unseeing as shock coursed through her system.

She knew that fire.

She had felt it, every day for years, the presence a comforting burn both familiar and reassuring beside her. It had been promised to her once long ago, had been welcomed freely by Hela's own hand. She had fallen in love with that bird, her beautiful fire-bird, was still in love with him and his remarkable mind and compassionate heart that he hid like a wolf guarding his den under quick witted barbs that sprung on his tongue like silver knives.

It was her Tony.

Her Tony had come back to her.

Odin, help her now.

She was waiting for him when he finally arrived. Hela sat, sprawled on her throne in a cast glamour of Pepper's skin painted atop her own, the mirage a mockery of her previous one. Her black thorn wreath was decorated in fresh blooms, bright against her sunkissed hair. (A lie, a lie, the voices sang like a drum)

Tony paused, shutting the heavily wrought door onehandedly behind him and drinking in the sight of her.

Her heart began to stutter, butterflies beating their wings in the pit of her stomach. She was stretched taught, a spring coiled, ready to burst any second.

"You know, I always knew you had a flair for the dramatic."

Hela snapped.

"Me?" she thundered, "Me? You were the one who launched yourself and a rocket through a blackhole with no backup plan!" Anger burned in her eyes like wildfire as she leapt to her feet, stalking down the bone steps towards her infuriating, beautiful Tony. "You did all that, you stupid, reckless man and you say that I am the one who's dramatic?" She stopped but two inches away from him, standing so close she could smell the cologne he wore, eyes boring into his and breath mingling. Looking at him, seeing him before her, the fight drained out of her. He looked exactly the same, as beautiful and burning as brightly as the day she last saw him, perfectly poised in his steel-grey suit, familiar blue glow from the arc reactor hidden from her. Something flickered in his eyes as he watched her measuredly.

"Don't you say that I'm the one who is dramatic," Hela whispered, pulling away and turning back to face her throne, climbing up the stairs in steady, measured steps.

Control. She was in control.

"Cut the crap, Pep. I already know that's not how you really look."

His sharp voice cut through her and she suppressed a flinch. "Oh?" she queried softly, voice sending warning sparks off in Tony's head, ones he had heard so many times before, "And I suppose you'd like to see how a really look, then?"

She turned, mouth curling into a nearly-feral grin. "Well then," Hela snarled, throwing her arms open wide and pulling visciously at her glamour to drop, "See how I really look!"

She tipped her head back, eyes closed as she felt the magic slide off her skin, flesh colored glamour dripping down her body and giving way to blue patterns spiraling rapidly across the bared skin like ferns, before it left her entirely, sinking to the ground and melting into the shadows like mist.

"What do you think? Of your beloved Pepper. Does she disgust you now?" she hissed vindictively, glaring at him through slitted eyes, arms still spread wide open.

Tony took a step forward then stopped, looking thoughtful.

"Huh," he said contemplatively, fingers thoughtfully thumbing at his beard, "You know, the way they were all going on you'd think you were a rotting corpse or something. You're definitely not a rotting corpse." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, something which she studiously ignored in favor of narrowing her eyes, dropping her arms to her side and tipping her head back to normal. "They?"

Tony hesitated."Daddy-o spilled the beans," Tony admitted, "Which by the way what. Loki is your dad? Loki? Jesus." He huffed, shaking his head.

"He is my father," Hela replied stiffly, voice frosty. (The daughter's a monster too- a monster just her her father! The voices shrieked, frenzied. Lock her up! They screamed feverishly)

Tony cursed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Shit, Pepper, I- Fuck. I didn't mean it like that. I was just. God. This is coming out all wrong, fuck." He cast a pleading glance up at her and she felt some of the tension bleed out of her. Exhaustion settled in like hooks, leaving her drained. "Why did you come here, Tony?" she asked quietly.

He straightened up, expression solemn and fingers twitching anxiously by his sides. "I wanted to see you, Pep," Tony started, determined, "I want you to come home with me-"

Hela laughed.

She laughed and laughed and her laughter was like broken glass, sharp, fragmented shards cutting into her as well as Tony with each echo that reverberated off the walls of her throneroom. Tony flinched as if he had been slapped, hands curling briefly into fists.

When her laughter died down, she sat back at her throne, wiping at her eyes before she schooled her face into a mask of impassiveness.

"I'm a monster, Tony," she said, voice exceedingly gentle and patient like she was explaining it to a small child, her expression twisting into something that almost resembled tenderness. (Demon! they snarled, Monsters don't deserve to live! Not here, not here! Send her away, send her away! They cried)

"No, you're not," Tony bit back fiercely, voice cutting through the haze and Hela almost recoiled at the heat and sheer conviction in his voice. He took a step forward, and then another, pace quickening as he ascended up the stairs until he stood less than a foot away from her. With every step he took in her direction, Hela's fingers clenched at the armrest of her throne until her fingernails dug painfully into it, spiderweb cracks appearing in the ivory. Her heart hammered in her chest like a bird beating against the cage of her ribs, trying to break free. Tony.

"No, you're not," Tony repeated quietly, eyes dark and intense. He reached out with one hand towards her slowly, stupid, shiny watch clasped on his wrist and movements telegraphed even as his eyes (warm, brown, endless lovedevotioncarenonono it can't be real, he can't feel that way, not to her not to her not to her) remained fixed on Hela. She almost jerked away, exhaling a deep, ragged breath instead. At the first touch of Tony's hand on her wrist, her eyes fluttered shut and she relaxed unconsciously. His fingers were warm against the frigid temperature of her skin, rough and calloused after countless hours spent tinkering with his machines and so, so familiar it sent twinges of pain through her heart as he delicately traced the upraised bumps of veins like scar tissue on her skin.

Her lips parted, mouth open and slack and he traced that too, leaving burning trails of heat in his wake. Warm breath gusted across the shell of her ears and Hela shuddered. "Whichever form you're in. Be it Pepper Potts, or the one you're in now," he whispered into her ear, "I'll love you." Hela's breath hitched, eyes opening wide and stunned as Tony pulled away. He smiled, soft, tender. "I'll love you regardless of anything," he murmured and Hela made a noise like she was being strangled before lunging forwards, throwing herself the insane, incredible man in front of her. Her weight threw them to the floor, her arms winding around him and his arms encircling her waist as he laughed against her ear, holding her as she sobbed against his neck.

"Stupid, stupid, irrational, idiotic fool," Pepper cried, nuzzling into him with wet cheeks, not even caring about the roughness of his facial hair.

"Yup, that's me," Tony replied, carefully pulling her away from him. Pepper let herself be maneuvered, blinking wet eyes at him. Tony pressed a chaste kiss against her forehead, and a startled noise escaped her. He smiled, continuing to pepper butterfly kisses along her cheeks, jaw, nose until she was giggling breathlessly, pushing him away and resting their foreheads together instead.

"I love you too, you know," she murmured eventually, both of them idly swaying together. "I know," Tony grinned back, cheekily until she swatted at him. "Ow, Pep!" "Behave," Pepper warned. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." She smirked, kissing him softly on his mouth.

"Come home," he whispered later on, breath mingling between the two of them, "Come home to me."

"Yes," she smiled, radiating contentment and ease, "I'm coming home, Tony."

Tony laughed breathlessly, "Good." Pepper couldn't help but laugh with him, both chuckling against each others mouths, hands still clasped tightly together.

Yes, she was home now.

End.

Authors Note: Come play with me on tumblr where I cry and reblog fandom stuff and make Fic Rec Starter Kits. My url is reallyjustanotherslashfanatic

Warnings:

1. There is scene that describes the non-violent, completely natural and painless passing away of an elderly couple. It is not explicit at all.

2. It is unclear if Hela hears voices in her head, or if it is the echos and memories of her past that she remembers and can be thought of as a mental disorder.