Flashback - Le Actual Shopping For Clothes
"Ooh, take this one. And this one. And I think this one would look good on you, don't you think?"
"Tony, really, I think-"
"Look at that color against your skin… yellow seems like it's your color, no? Do you think it'd go with any of the jeans you have? Do you have any of those new bellbottoms? I feel like they're going out of style soon… but if they're still selling them, we should get you some."
"I hate yellow."
"Fair enough, snappy. What about purple?"
"Tony, seriously…"
"Oh, right, the colorblind thing. How long are you supposed to have that for, anyway?"
"Life."
Silence.
And then, Tony's voice.
"Oh." A pause. "Does that mean you don't even know what color your own hair is?"
A shrug from Fella. "People tell me it's orange. All I see is yellow."
More silence.
"You don't know what orange hair even looks like, do you Fells?"
"No."
"Well take it from me." Another small pause. "It's beautiful, Fella."
"If you say so."
"Well, I do."
Present
"You must participate!" Tony had been… bouncing. While Fella stood her ground in the middle of the small, expensive clothing store (fearing that if she accidentally brushed her shoulder against something, soul-sucking cashiers would herd her out of the store), she tried to keep an eye on her kidnapper. Which was a difficult thing to do. Because he really was. He was bouncing.
His well-styled hair would disappear among the fabric, only for him to spring back up with some ridiculous expression plastered on his face. Whether he was sticking out his tongue, flaring his nostrils, puffing out his cheeks – his smile was getting brighter and Fella's sneer was getting darker. The second Tony started making sound effects with his faces, Fella realized the whole trip had just gone to the loony bin.
She also realized that instead of making spastic, uncoordinated leaps, Tony was bouncing in a beeline straight for her.
Her initial instinct was to run, but she was surrounded by clothing, and images of soul-sucking cashiers spilled back to mind.
Tony made one more ballerina-worthy leap and landed effortlessly inches away from Fella's face.
"Why aren't you participating?" He mumbled, narrowing his eyes.
"Because I was brought here involuntarily." Fella narrowed her eyes, too. Two could play at this game.
"You walked through the door by yourself."
"So?"
"I count that as voluntary."
There was a miniature stare down between them. Accented by Western music and dramatic camera angles, it would have been perfect for TV. And then, Fella could feel the walls she was building crumble as she muttered –
"Fine."
"Whoo!" Tony's hands rocketed into the air in a double-fistpump. "Tony wins over the snotty reporter again!"
Reporter? Fella thought. It was halfway through Tony's happy-dance that she realized. Oh, yes. I'm here for the story. The flame story. Her stomach, for some abstract reason, sunk a little when she remembered that was the whole reason she was there. She was standing feet away from the sunglassed figure of Anthony Stark. And up to that moment, no one had even realized it was he.
"Come on, then." Tony snapped her out of her pity-party by grabbing onto her wrist and pulling her through the store. She gave a cry of protest, but he didn't care. And then, when he finally let her go, he took the bouncing position and said, "Watch, young grasshopper. I will teach you."
Anthony Stark then proceeded to bounce again. He even made verbal notes. "Notice how I leap to each clothes rack-" demonstrated by him disappearing behind a line of silk. His brown eyes poked above the hangers in thin slits. "Now you examine the store for your prey."
Fella watched in silent horror as Tony paused for a long time, then leapt out screaming from behind the satin. His war cry disrupted the air, and Fella screamed too.
Tony had "pounced" on a graphic-print tee with some old rock band printed on the front. He yanked it off the hanger, flipped around dramatically to Fella, and said, "Now you try this on. I used my hunter technique to find it. You'll love it, I'm sure." Before he could repeat the stunt, Fella swiped the article of clothing from his hands and trundled toward the dressing rooms.
Tony was walking behind her.
Well.
Bouncing behind her.
"That's okay, Felicia." She mumbled to herself, slamming the dressing room door on Tony's grinning face. "The faster you get this over, the faster you can get back to the hotel. And then you can eat your ice cream and watch the Doctor Who re-runs." She flipped off her hoodie and wriggled into the shirt that had been handed to her.
"Oh, yeah, Doctor Who." Tony's muffled voice responded. Fella didn't know whether she wanted to yell at him for listening in on her rage-fest, or go fangirl-mode and ask him what he knew about Doctor Who. So she stayed quiet, brushing out the wrinkles in the shirt for Tony to make the next move. "I liked Tennant better, did you? But Smith has grown on me." He turned his voice into falsetto tones, smacked his face against the dressing room door, and said, "But Rory's my FAVORITE."
"Oh, shut up!" Fella laughed, throwing one hand on the door to shake him off.
"Oh, Miss Fella? Was that a laugh I heard from you? You mustn't laugh around the evil Tony Stark, remember? I brought you here against your will, you aren't allowed to have fun."
The muffled voice of Stark had just turned into her conscience. And since he was the one saying it, and she automatically disagreed with everything he said, she decided she was going to have fun to spite him.
But wait, that wouldn't be spiting him, would it?
But it would be? So should she have fun or stay bitter?
She wasn't a bitter person, but Tony brought out the bitter in her. She hated him. She was supposed to hate him. She had reason to hate him. Legitimate reason. She was writing a flame article on him, and she was supposed to hate him. She wanted to. So why was it that whenever she was talking to him, all she saw was little Tones, and all she wanted to do was laugh with him?
He betrayed her. She had reason to be hateful.
She looked at her reflection. A mess of blonde hair covering her pale face, thrown back in a rush. And that expensive tee shirt hugging onto her body. It was only then she took notice of the band on the front.
"I loved Def Leppard!" She suddenly exclaimed to no one in particular. Tony caught her words and played on them.
"I used to listen to them all the time growing up." Tony's voice was a little more distant. He must have been looking for more clothes.
"I did, too." Fella smiled at the old memories of her and Tones rocking out to the band, taking turns pretending that they were the lead of the song, using couches as stages and the air as their guitars. She remembered spending hours on end arguing with Tony on what color their "guitars" used to be. They always both wanted to have a chrome one. And then, finally, when Tony would give in to having a black guitar to let Fella's be chrome, they would turn the music as loud as his father would let him. From that point on, Tony and Fella picked up their air guitars, took their places on the couch, and became the most famous rockers in the world.
Tony probably didn't remember it the way Fella did. He didn't seem to remember Fella at all.
"I always pretended I had a chrome guitar." Tony said. Instinctively, Fella corrected him.
"Yours was always black, Tony."
There was a long pause. And then Tony's deep chuckle. "You're right, I guess it was."
Fella let herself laugh. An actual laugh. The second it slipped from her lungs, she wanted to take it back. She wanted to reach out in the air to gather that laugh back up and swallow it. She didn't want to let herself be happy. She covered her mouth with her hands and took a shaky breath.
"So do you like that one?" Tony's voice was back to being right by the door. "I have some more for you to try. Seriously. You need a better wardrobe. And the shoes go next. I mean, I've never considered myself very stylish." A pause. "Actually, I have. But that's not the point. I suppose it is the point, actually."
And then he threw the other articles of clothing over the door. Fella didn't like how expensive they felt. So she threw them back.
"I don't want them." She said.
"Wha?! Why not?! These are perfectly fine!"
"They're too expensive."
"So?!"
"The worth of things can get lost in the price tag." Fella said, sitting down on the bench in the dressing room (which, by the way, also seemed expensive)(there was a chandelier)(a freaking chandelier). "My mother says that all the… well… she used to say that all the time."
Fella didn't know, but Tony was listening intently outside the dressing room. He was decoding her voice. So many layers. Covering up… what? He leaned in ever so slightly toward the door separating him and a whole different person with a whole different set of ideas.
Just before his ear rested against the door, it flew open. Tony tumbled back in surprise and screamed.
"Very manly scream you have there." Fella sneered down at him, sprawled on the floor. "Seems as if the bouncing wonder just got crippled."
"Hey, now."
"Come on." Fella was still wearing the Def Leppard tee. She yanked Tony to his feet, grabbed the keys that had fallen out of his pocket, and pulled him for the door. She put a 20 on the counter to pay for the shirt.
"Where are we going?!" Tony exclaimed as Fella slipped into the driver's seat. "Get out of my car! Stop it! I didn't say you could drive!"
"Get in, Stark!"
"NO!"
"Fine." Fella shrugged and revved up the engine. Expensive cars felt nice. "I'll go without you." And it was only when she started down the street that Tony realized she was serious. She watched him – Tony Stark, billionaire – sprinting after her and the car for a few moments before deciding she would be a good person.
She pulled over and let him in. He slammed down into the passenger seat with such hostility that Fella was surprised nothing died. "I can't believe you're doing this. I could have you sued."
"You kidnapped me." Fella justified as she checked for oncoming traffic.
"I hate you, stranger Fella."
"I know you do, Tones."
"Where are we going?"
"I'm going to show you how to spend a day without spending money."
xXxXx
Tony could feel it. The one bead of sweat forming at his temple under his mask. He could hear every one of his tired breaths from running. This would decide everything. He pressed himself up against the barrier, too fearful to turn and check his surroundings. She was probably there, hiding behind the ball cage and waiting for him. Her gun aimed through the toys, waiting. Waiting.
Tony swallowed. The steady hum in the surroundings would cause enough cover for him to run. Perhaps to the men's clothing section. Would he be able to make it? How stupid he had been to get trapped in this corner. But there was no time to mourn over lost chances. If he timed things right, and if he was sneaky enough, he might be able to make it to the fabrics. The fleece would be enough to keep his cover. Then, perhaps, he could steal the advantage again.
No time to waste. He thought. She's waiting for me to make my move.
He backed up a little more to hide and calculate. But what was this?! Dora the Explorer's electronic voice serenaded him in deathly tones from right behind his head.
"Are you ready to count to ten?" She sang. Tony's heart lurched into his throat. Passerby looked at him oddly as he scrambled to turn off the doll silently.
But it was too late.
The laser-sensitive panel on his wrist screamed up at him and Fella waltzed down the isle, laughing behind her child's laser tag mask.
"That so wasn't fair!" Tony exclaimed, taking the mask off his face and reaching down to turn off the toy on his wrist.
"You could have ran for the fabric section and I wouldn't have been able to get you." Fella motioned toward the general direction that Tony should have ran and then hoisted her tiny laser gun on her shoulder.
"I know!" Tony stamped one foot impatiently. "I thought you were hiding behind the ball bin!"
"I was for a while, but then you didn't do anything."
"I was plotting."
Fella snorted. "You were delaying your slaughter."
The banter could have gone on all day, but a Wal-Mart employee (all dressed in the classic Wal-Mart blue) walked up to the pair. Tony flipped the mask back down on his face to conceal his identity.
"You two know that you can't play with those unless you buy them?" He was a pathetic excuse for a manager, with a thick belly and tiny wisps of what should have been brown hair. He waited for a response that Fella obviously wasn't going to give.
There was an awkward silence, and the people who passed the toy isles couldn't help but look at the two adults dressed in laser gear that was far too small for them. One mother, upon seeing the pair, quickly rushed her children to her other side and took an abrupt turn to get away.
Another person was using their phone to take a picture.
Tony suddenly reached for his pocket, pulled out a sum of money that Fella couldn't see, and handed it to the manager. He counted it for a moment, his eyes went wide, and then he stuttered in saying:
"Carry on, then…" as he walked away.
Fella raised an eyebrow.
"Best four out of seven?" Tony said, clicking the 'on' button on his gun.
"You're on, punk."
xXxXx
The art isle had been turned into a station of creation. Cardstock papers were littered everywhere on the tiles, and markers had been pulled down from their shelves to be sprinkled across the floor. Tony was focusing intently on his letter stickers, making sure to peel each one off with care and stick it to the yellow paper he had selected. It was only when he took a red marker and started drawing in flames that Fella took note of what he was doing.
"You couldn't think of a better team name than JARVIS?" She asked as Tony finished his first fireball. When he realized she was paying attention to him, he turned away so she couldn't see his artwork.
"Yes." He mumbled. "Why? What's YOUR team name?" It must have looked ridiculous: two fully-grown adults sitting on the floor with art crafts and supplies all around them. And they were taking their art so seriously, too.
"Team Stephano."
Tony turned back around to give Fella and her piece of paper a raised eyebrow.
She covered her art with her hand. "Don't judge me."
Moments Later
"On your marks." Tony started. Fella reached down to the side of her shopping cart and made sure the paper that displayed her team name was in place with the clear tape. Tony's own "TEAM JARVIS" glared at her from the side of HIS empty shopping cart.
"Get set." Fella continued. A man with a basket tried to enter the other end of the isle, then saw what was about to take place, turned around, and waddled away as quickly as he could.
"GO!"
And they were off, each one running neck-and-neck down the isle, pushing their empty baskets ahead of them.
"COME ON, STEPHANO, YOU'VE GOT THIS!" Fella encouraged her shopping cart.
"DON'T LISTEN TO HER, JARVIS, SHE HAS ORANGE HAIR."
"WHAT?!"
They crossed the finish line at the same time (as far as they could see) and spent the next ten minutes arguing on who won. Then they bought some of the cheapest ice cream, ate it in Tony's car (feeling particularly rebellious), and went home exhausted, laughing, and with all judgment between them (if only for that moment) completely lost in the sound of their happiness.
xXxXx
"Really, sir." JARVIS' voice was always what greeted Tony when he got home. And nowadays, it seemed like JARVIS was getting more judgmental. Tony grumbled something dark to himself, thunked his head on the wall, and waited for JARVIS to continue. "I must ask why you've been coming home so late now."
"Well, dear, if you must know…" Tony crossed the massive floor and headed straight for the couch, "I was racing you down an isle at Wal-Mart."
"What, sir?"
"Nothing." Tony tipped his shades down on his face and closed his eyes. "Inside joke."
A/N: I must thank you all. ^_^ I never would have guessed to have such a wonderful following on this story. I apologize for the long wait for the update. I really do. Hopefully you can find it in your wonderful hearts to forgive me. I really loved this chapter, and I hoped you liked it too. Thank you so much, every one of you. Every review and follow and favorite makes my heart just a little happier, and I get all excited when I see someone's read it.
Cyber cookies for reviews! And lots of love!
-Phan