Author's Note: So I had a fun week. Graduation, party at work – number of martinis I had would make Tony proud ^^;; – and relatives visited, so I had virtually no time to write. Should catch up this weekend though. Thanks for all the support again, and please enjoy and review!

The call came two days later while Pepper was vainly wrestling the stack of mail from Socrates. She knew he thought it was a game and just hoped there wasn't anything important in the bundle. Going through dog slobbered bills did not sound appealing at all. She resorted to lightly tapping him on the nose to get him to let go, and the puppy padded after her as she raced for the phone across the living room.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, this is Linda Jones at Stark Industries. May I please speak with Virginia Potts?"

"This is she," Pepper might have been expecting it, but her heart raced.

"Good afternoon, Miss Potts. I'm calling to let you know that that we were very impressed with your interview and are ready to make an offer. Would it be possible for you to come down to Stark Tower and speak in person?"

"Absolutely! When should I come in?"

"Is tomorrow morning alright? Around eight?"

"Perfect. Thank you so much."

"Thank you. See you tomorrow."

Pepper clicked off the phone and turned to Socrates who had cocked his head to the side, ears flopping slightly. He ran for cover when she practically squealed in giddiness.

Tony was awake and not yet drunk enough to pass out again, though he was seriously considering spending the last five bucks in his pocket to refill the flask in the immediate future. He wondered if he should stick to his usual liquor stores or head downtown and see if there was anything cheaper there, but the idea of getting closer to the water chilled him. It was always colder there, and winter would arrive too soon for his liking as it was.

At times like this he really missed Malibu.

Still there was a better chance of finding something cheap to drink deeper in the shadier parts of the city, so he went, walking for nearly an hour before something broke his focus on finding an open liquor store or bar. It was just a garage with several badly beat up cars parked out front. A very typical scene for those parts, their owners often bought broken down cars from the junkyard and restored them just enough to sell them off to any buyer who looked only at the price – rather than the millage, age, and history – of the vehicle. He watched as two young men in grease-stained pants walked out and began work on a silver Honda Civic that should have been retired years ago.

Unless it happened to fall into the hands of Tony Stark. He could bring anything mechanical back to life. He wished he could say the same thing about other matters.

With the soft breeze from the water, the docks did not feel as bad as he thought they might. It was early but the place was already teaming with life, everything from restaurant chefs picking up the freshest catch from the fishermen to workers unloading shipments from large crates. There was a massive ship docked in the harbor, its side proudly displaying the logo.

Stark Industries.

Several boxes were unloaded. Some looked innocuous enough to possibly be office supplies or other miscellaneous items, but others were so big they could only be one thing. Tony walked away, feeling both guilty and angry but mostly helpless.

The only thing he had going for the early morning was that he'd managed to pick up a bottle of scotch. It tasted as cheap as its fifteen dollar sales tag warned, but it was a twenty-five plus oz. so it would do. It had been a while since he had actually bothered to savor the taste, anyway. The burning sensation was enough. Maybe he could even make it last for the rest of the day. Maybe. Doubtful, but there was always that chance.

Without giving his direction much thought, Tony had somehow managed to end up on the same corner as a few days ago. The diner's neon sign, though not yet lit, looked vaguely familiar. He wondered if he was hungry. Probably, but considering his last few bucks went towards the scotch it did not really matter. He unscrewed the top and took a long satisfying gulp.

He sat on a small wooden crate one of the shops must have tossed aside for garbage pickup, hunched over and doing his best to think of nothing at all. The alcohol would see to it soon enough, but for now he had to make an effort. The thoughts of nothing were interrupted by a pair of elegant high heeled shoes that came directly into his view. He made a face and looked up.

"This is one of those 'no good deed goes unpunished' things, isn't it?" he grumbled. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"First day of work," the red-head smiled sweetly, ignoring the slight. "Sort of. And I couldn't sleep so I went out and got donuts and coffee, but overestimated my sugar intake capacity so I'm sharing."

She held the bag and drink carrier out to him, and Tony gave her a dubious look. "Did you also overestimate on the coffee or do you usually drink two twenty oz. cups in a row?"

"I think what you meant was, 'Thank you, Ms. Potts.'"

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," he mimicked but with only half-hearted sarcasm. "Have fun working for the evil empire."

She wrinkled her nose. It was cute, he noted unconsciously, making the sprinkling of freckles stand out for an instant before disappearing once again under the light sheen of powder.

"Were you a hippie in addition to being a mechanic in that past life?" the corner of her mouth quirked slightly with apparent displeasure at the shot at her new place of employment. "The 'make love, not war' kind?"

It was the most absurd thing he had ever heard. Him? A hippie? A humanitarian? Tony could not help but laugh, and it must have come out bitter. The woman looked like she knew she had hit a sour topic and thrust out the bag at him again. Not wishing to make her feel even more uncomfortable, he took the extra cup from the holder and carefully pulled out the first pastry his fingers touched. It turned out to be a Boston cream. Holding it between his teeth for a lack of clean surface, Tony popped the lid of the coffee cup, poured in a generous amount of scotch, then replaced the bottle, and took a cautious sip.

He could not say the coffee tasted any better, but the alcohol definitely helped. It always helped. Tony glanced up casually, expecting disapproval and ready to tell her where she could stick that sentiment, but the woman kept her face almost professionally neutral. If he were still the head of the enormous international company she was about to work for, he might have been impressed. As it was, Tony was simply annoyed.

"I don't need your food or your pity," he hissed. "I told you I get by just fine."

To his further frustration, instead of getting angry and leaving him alone, she simply rolled her eyes. "It's doughnuts and coffee. Your entire breakfast probably has the same nutritional value as what you're sitting on, though that might have some more fiber. Pity food would be chicken noodle soup and some kind of sandwich loaded with greens your mother always told you to eat but you never did. I can bring that after work, if you like."

"Well, if you really got nothing better to do…"

Both were meant as a joke, but it occurred to Tony as he watched her drive away, that he would not have minded the pity food if it meant talking to another human being again. Especially someone who smelled so clean and fresh, nothing like the streets and everything like…

…like his old life.

Tony reached for the bottle again.