Her desk is set into an alcove in a wide carpeted hallway, right outside the door to her employers more expansive office on the seventh floor. She likes her work area; she has a classically fashioned oak desk in the mission style, cabinets, shelves and her own little espresso maker tucked into cabinet with antique brass fittings. Mr. Brennan has approved of her addition of a single silver picture frame with a black and white portrait of her mother, an umbrella plant in a little pot, though she hides her coin jar partially behind the corner of the flat screen monitor of her computer, he seems to like this addition the best and takes an awkward moment one slow Thursday afternoon to congratulate her on her frugality and reflect on the importance of constant economic vigilance.
The only other assistant whose desk resides in the hallway is a woman by the name of Yvonne McIntyre. Her desk is directly across from hers in a similar alcove. She is fifteen years older than Pepper, but well kept, impeccably groomed and provocatively dressed.
Pepper doesn't like her. It isn't so much that there is anything she really dislikes about her, it's just that there really isn't anything she can find to like about the infamous Yvonne McIntyre.
The skin on her face is a little too tight, her eyes a little too shrewd, and her sweaters a little too taut against her chest, which in and of itself seems to operate entirely independent from the rules of gravity. She assists Mr. Brennan's partner, Mr. Dobrovsky, and despite the fact that Pepper doesn't really care for her, Yvonne has decided that she likes Pepper and spends most of her idle time instructing her in the subtleties of inter-office gossip without the inconvenience of stopping to draw breath. They take their breaks in alternation, lest a phone of either of these important men go unanswered. Heaven forbid, Pepper thinks blithely.
Lately, Yvonne has been seeing a much younger man from marketing on the sly so she is blissfully absent during her lunch break. She usually perches like a bird on the corner of Pepper's desk and chatters as well as any mocking bird throughout her breaks. The last three days of Yvonne's conquest have been peaceful, though they do not spare her the details, lobbed across the hallway in a stage whisper in all their shocking vulgarity. She'd thought working for Tony so long there wouldn't be anything that could shock her. Clearly, she was mistaken.
As she flicks deftly through a filing cabinet, she reflects that everything isn't exactly as she wants it. She's a glorified answering machine and a dictaphone at best. As quickly as the thought runs through her tired mind, she forcefully replaces it with something more optimistic. It isn't perfect, but it's forward momentum. It's a foot in the door, she insists to herself. However, the more she works for Mr. Brennan, the less she finds to like about him. Though she has always prided herself on her professionalism, there was a sense of easy camaraderie between her and Tony Stark. She tries to tell herself that the only reason that she and Tony got along so well on a personal level was only that they'd known each other for such a long time. So she tries to be patient, but with the exception of the care he shows for his wife, Mr. Brennan is an exacting man, whose intense and unwavering dedication to perfection in all things borders on cruelty to those unfortunate enough to be given the task of implementing his standards in every aspect.
No, she knows that there was more to her and Tony than the comfort that time can lend. She'd been hiding grins at his particular brand of deeply inappropriate humor in the first week and teasing him playfully by the third.
"Virginia." She starts at the noise behind her. Though Mr. Brennan has allowed her the concession of occasionally referring to her on a first name basis (she doesn't dare assume the same familiarity) he utterly refuses to call her Pepper. She lets the file she was about to remove slide through her fingers and turns to face her boss.
Though no one has ever struck her, she can image the dazed and stunned sensation she is now experiencing must be similar. The file folders still in her hand slip from her slackened fingers and tumble to the floor in a soft rustling explosion of white paper. Though she is not looking at him and therefore cannot see it, she feels Mr. Brennan's stern brow draw tight and his thin lips almost disappearing in his disapproval at this embarrassment in front of a colleague.
The man standing next to Mr. Brennan is none other than Tony Stark, who isn't looking at either of them, but rather the piece of paper that has fallen in such a way as to almost cover his left shoe.
Oh God.
She crouches down instantly. It's an awkward motion and the only thought she manages to run through her brain is how much she regrets putting on a skirt this morning. It does however; allow her the sanctuary of casting her face downwards, effectively giving her the luxury of a moment to collect herself as well as the papers. Her hindsight helpfully informs her that in addition to not wearing a skirt, wearing her hair down might have also provided an excellent curtain so that employers both past and present will have a harder time detecting the shame of the moment that is written colorfully across her fine boned face.
Her hand stills and gives the barest tremble as she reaches for the final piece of paper, if only for a second, before she neatly plucks it off Tony's shoe.
She wasn't sure what she pictured of their eventual meeting, but she was pretty sure that even in the depths of her regret, she never pictured herself kneeling on the ground before the great Tony Stark and picking things off his shoes. She may as well be kissing his feet! The thought sends a sharp rush of shame through her and she feels her face flush anew.
Mr. Brennan's voice is thick with impatience, his gaze cool and neither of the men makes a move to help her gather the papers at her feet, though each for entirely different reasons.
"And this is one of my assistants, Virginia Potts. I believe she used to work for you, Stark. "
As she rises, papers messily clasped to her chest, she straightens her spine and squares her shoulders and looks ever inch like she's prepared for three things: a blindfold, a cigarette and the firing squad. Her eyes flicker at first at the sight of Mr. Brennan and his obvious displeasure at her agitated appearance, but lock on to Tony's and don't waver. She can make it through this. Sure, the one most important person in her life is suddenly in front of her after not speaking or seeing each for months. And sure the last time she saw him she yelled at him and threw something heavy at his head.
That was perfectly normal right?
His posture is relaxed, leaning against her desk and he has the audacity to even appear a little bored. She holds out one hand as though expecting to have it bitten off.
"Mr. Stark."
"Pepper," he drawls lazily, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, though it quickly slides away from her to follow the path of Yvonne McIntyre as she saunters down the hallway. Her hips normally roll provocatively when she walks, but the motion is a little more pronounced under the scrutiny of such a man. She graces him with an inviting look over one shoulder, and then is gone around the corner.
Pepper forces a smile.
"It's so nice to see you again, Sir." She punctuates the last syllable with unmistakable force and Mr. Brennan's eyes snap to her sharply.
"Likewise, Miss Potts."
It is at this point that he takes her outstretched hand to shake, and the shock of his bare hand against her, warm and slightly more calloused that she remembers, sends a quick jolt of adrenaline rushing through her. It is only then that Tony actually looks at her, though strangeness of the moment doesn't allow her to decipher the extraordinary expression on his face. They shake and separate and Pepper tries to wipe her hand against her skirt surreptitiously, to cease its distracting tingling. Try as she might she can't tear her eyes away from the sudden sight of him, her eyes long starved of his image and simply won't be denied this simple sustenance.
"I think you'll find yourself lucky to have her, Mr. Brennan. Miss Potts proved herself invaluable to Stark Industries on a number of occasions."
His tone becomes formal and he is standing straight now, his previously roving gaze now firmly locked on hers. She can barely comprehend the compliment (is it a compliment? Is he being sarcastic? She can't tell anymore), before Mr. Brennan has ushered Tony down the hallway and into his expansive office. She stares after them, a pale statue in his wake, but Tony Stark doesn't look back and the door shuts behind him with a soft click of the latch.
She rounds the corner of her desk and sits heavily in her standard issue office chair, papers and folders clutched still clasped tightly against her, her stiff fingers crumpling them irreparably. Her breath comes in audible rushes, her lungs pulling sharply and shallowly in quick succession.
What the hell was that?
It's been twenty minutes since Mr. Brennan last shut the door to his office and Pepper has been able to concentrate on little else but that door and its contents. He'd been none too pleased with her disheveled appearance in front of Tony and had briefly reappeared to let her know in no uncertain terms how he expected the utmost decorum and grace in all aspects of her position in the future. She starts at every noise that sounds like the creaking of a door knob or the rasp of the door jamb against the carpet. The wall between her workspace and the office seems paper thin suddenly. A thin drop of sweat trickles down her neck, despite the frigid blast of the air-conditioning vent almost directly above her.
She is still straightening out the papers as if by putting the papers in order it would put her thoughts in order too, when Yvonne pokes her head around the corner and makes a bee-line for Pepper's desk. She starts violently as Yvonne's hands slap loudly against the top of her desk. "Pepper, could you die? What did he say to you?"
For a moment, Pepper is puzzled.
"Who, Brennan? Oh, the same—"
"No!" Yvonne near screeches and leans farther over the desk. "Stark! Tony Stark!"
She rocks back on her heels, self satisfaction evident as if saying his name somehow conjured the same sensation she felt when she saw him. The question however becomes irreverent when she continues without pausing for Pepper to formulate a proper answer.
"To think, Tony Stark here!"
Pepper leans heavily on her desk, chin in one hand as she listens to Yvonne wax effulgent about the many charms of Mr. Stark. It looks like that poor young thing from marketing doesn't stand a chance. Her distracted mind allows a brief pang of sympathy. He seemed nice.
"Anyway, go ahead on your lunch. I want to be here when they come out. You've already had your turn; let me have a go at it."
Pepper would protest, but the older woman has already dug her bony fingers into Pepper's shoulders and is pushing her out of the chair and down the hallway. Pepper barely has time to snatch her purse off the table near the cabinet before Yvonne has her marching off down the hallway, making shooing gestures with her hands every time Pepper looks back. If she'd really felt strongly about it, Yvonne wouldn't have even budged her from the chair, but Pepper goes without protest. If she's honest with herself, she's more than a little grateful for the coward's way out.
She's been brave enough for one day.
Pepper spends the whole of her lunch break at the deli two blocks down mechanically forcing her sandwich (tuna, not enough mayo, white bread, crust on, pickles!), though it rasps drily down her throat and threatens to choke her at every swallow. She here eyes are unfocused and contemplative, staring into some unseen point beyond the horizon. The teenaged clerk with stiff, dry, died black hair and acne in careful clusters around her jaw line notices her lack of laptop, pile of files or at the very least novel with some Russian sounding title, and spends the whole forty-five minutes alternately staring at her or pretending like she hasn't been looking when she thinks Pepper is about to glance up. But Pepper barely moves, her normally stiff posture slumped slightly, elbows firmly rooted on the tabletop. She's too busy ruing her clumsiness (she might as well have just swooned at his feet!) to do anything much else but grind her teeth together force another dry swallow down.
Her lunch would be considered short by Yvonne McIntyre's extravagant standards, but it proves the welcome repute she needs for contemplation. She wouldn't say that she passed the test with flying colors, but she got through the experience as unscathed as she could ever hope to be. Another painful swallow brings the belated realization that they had to see each other sometime. Even if she picked up and moved across the country, with her luck he'd appear to torment her. She's good in this world, good at this kind of work. Where else could her anal retentive attention to detail and patience of a saint come in handy? And who said she had to move across the country anyhow? She'd done nothing so wrong as to flee the state. She's not so much of a coward that she'd cut and run like that. She rises from the table and throws away the remaining third of her sandwich.
She's all eyes when she walks back into the wing of the building that her offices reside. The girls at the front desk wave, and she manages a small, tight smile in response.
As she arrives at her desk, she sees Yvonne across the hall, though the woman seems to be pointedly avoiding her gaze. She'd be more alarmed by this strange shift in behavior any other day, but right now her mind is still running a mile a minute over different subjects and her pulse still feels a little thready. She can tell from the frosted glass window in the door of Mr. Brennan's office that the lights are turned off and no-one seems to be occupying the room any longer. She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding and berates herself for cowardice for the forty seventh time since Tony Stark had unknowingly stumbled back into her life.
When she goes belatedly to empty her pocket from the 23 cents accrued in change from her lunch out, she sees it. Folded over twice, there is a piece of white paper in her coin jar. She lets the change slide through her fingers and back into the pocket of her suit jacket, temporarily forgotten as she removes the note, feverishly unfolding it.
And there it was. It's unsigned but she'd recognize the handwriting anywhere. His handwriting is as exacting and precise as you would expect from a man with such a technical dedication to perfection. This particular example is a little loose, a little hurried, and a little sloppy, but she knows it. Lord how she knows it. She re-folds it careful and slips in into her pocket alongside her twenty three cents, her fingertips lingering a moment against the crisp paper. She sits back at her desk, posture straight and her fingers rest unmoving against the keyboard, seemingly poised for action, one little slip of paper burning a hole in the lining of her pocket.
Pepper -
We need to talk.
Her hand trembles slightly as she lays one moist palm over the cool molded plastic of the phone receiver. She lets it rest there a long moment snatching it up and shoving it against her ear. She dials the numbers rapidly, like many of the numerical sequences her boss couldn't be bothered to remember, it is tattooed on her brain. She's certain she could never dial it again and still recite it on her deathbed.
"Stark residence, Melanie speaking. How may I direct your call?"
"I'd like to leave a message for Mr. Stark. It's urgent."
"Your name, please?"
"Pepper Potts."
"Mr. Stark actually just stepped into the office and is expecting your call. Would you like me to patch you through?"
Pepper's left eye twitches imperceptibly.
"No—no, please just take a message for me."
"If it's urgent, it really isn't any trouble for me to patch—"
"No—no, please just take a message for me and see that he gets it as soon as possible."
"Of course." The sentence is accompanied by a nervous giggle.
"Just tell him 'where and when'. Just tell him Pepper wants to know 'where and when'. That's all. As soon as possible, please. Thank you."
Pepper hangs up the phone in the middle of Melanie's reply and stares at it, her brow drawn tight, and her lips pursed in puzzlement.
Tony, what are you up to?
I'll try not to complain, but this isn't one of my favorite chapters. I rewrote the entire thing at least once more than half at least thrice and this is the only satisfactory version. I had some plans for some more complicated pacing and the first versions of this chapter were almost half in Tony's perspective, but I ended up taking all his bits out. They just mucked everything up so I'm saving them for the next chapter. So I'm regretfully mysterious until next time. I should also note that I've barely glanced this over to check for mistakes and all around terrible sentences, but I just wanted to get it up so badly! Please forgive and inform me of the most egregious offenders.
On a lighter note, all the suggestions were fabulous! I really don't have any way to express how flattered and grateful I am for all your feedback! It really helps move things along and I find myself often referring back to things people have said for inspiration. Some of the things said were absolutely spot on and kept my spirits up enough to finish this frustrating chapter. I wish I could thank you all personally, but I'm saving that until the last chapter so I don't muck the rest of the story up with three page long author's notes. Please think of me in the future as a robot whose fuel is reviews. Seriously, I swear, I write a new paragraph ever time I get one. It's creepy. Maybe I am a robot? Things to consider.
Gratefully,
E.M. Stevens