Half-Baked Equations: Part III
{the avengers}
He's always thought he was a function.
Functional?—Pepper hiccups, the relief and the red wine going to her head. She laughs, with her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. It's been a few glass too many but when Tony tries to stop her, he can't.
He's waiting for the laughter to turn into tears. It's not a heartbeat moment, not the electric shock of fingertips or the seconds in between oh and kay.
It's a backward slide, like the restless tide. He doesn't notice they're treading water until they're pulled under the surface.
Tony kneels in front of her, like he once imagined he would. His hand goes into his suit coat pocket to curl around the little black box. He wants to say her name, say something, so that she will look at him, but his throat closes up.
Pepper is crying now, eyelids swollen and red. Everything in her face puffs up when she cries, as if she was allergic to her own misery.
He might be. The sight of her makes his insides shrivel up.
I can't do this—Her bare shoulders tremble, her voice breaking. It's a confession, splintering and bitter, but instead it sounds like she's begging him.
Pepper—It aches somewhere deep inside of him, throbbing in his knees and his clenched hand around black velvet. Tony means to beg, because he's a function and he needs her, the x value to his y and who cares about m's and b's when she is leaving him. Instead, it just sounds like a confession.
She calls a taxi.
Tony doesn't slip the ring into her bag and it's the most selfless thing he's ever done.