In the week following her Friday visit, Pepper gets a lot more done than she gives herself credit for. She frets, of course—that's par for the course, but above everything else, Pepper is pragmatically efficient. She goes to work and manages to get through her caseload without a hitch, then spends her lunch hours doing research.
Tony has given her a name, and a link to Jarvis, who has access to hidden archives; between those two pieces she's managed to uncover most of the story about the mysterious implant in her patient's chest. As stories go, it's nothing short of amazing, and Pepper is glad that nobody at the West Street branch of the library looks at her while she makes notes and little sounds of surprise.
His heart is full of metal. Not ordinary metal, either; these are tiny shards ranging from nearly invisible to half millimeter darts that had been starting to circulate through young Tony Stark's system before Doctor Yinsen dropped a magnet into his chest.
The shards are from the accident, and the accident was because of a bomb. That part wasn't shared with the press, although there were speculations at the time and ever since. The death of the Starks was now among the established urban legends along with those of Marilyn Monroe and Judge Crater; fodder for tabloids throughout the world, but in this case, fact trumps fiction.
Howard Stark and his wife were murdered by a car bomb modified from an experimental fragmentation grenade manufactured by Stark Industries. The internal investigation files make for fascinating reading, and Pepper is impressed with Stane's ruthlessness in apprehending the suspects—or rather, aiding in apprehending the suspects. Apparently an unnamed government agency was involved, and even Jarvis does not have enough security clearance to provide her with that information.
Still, Pepper muses, the work that Doctor Yinsen did in saving Tony is nothing short of amazing, and the notes about the original surgery and the electromagnet make her wince. By the time she reads about seventeen year old Tony creating the arc-his arc, nothing surprises her anymore.
It's a battery, Pepper muses, aware that Tony would call it much more than that, and rightly so. Still—it boils down to being a battery amplifying the magnet in his chest, and she's impressed that Tony knows enough about biology, anatomy, physics and rehabilitation to have designed the thing.
According to the information Jarvis has, Yinsen is with him for nearly half a year and then . . . vanishes. This is where Pepper has to work to get any information, and she shares it with Rhodey over lunch at Waffle World.
"The trail ends on a Friday nearly six months after the accident," Pepper tells him glumly. "Yinsen didn't show up at the mansion after that, and Stane told Tony that they'd found Yinsen's car and a lot of blood in a ditch in one of the canyons off the PCH. Tony was pretty devastated, but the arc was working perfectly aside from some adjustments he could do himself, so he didn't need any more monitoring or help."
Rhodey gives a gusty sigh. "Is he a total nerd? I mean, I get this mental picture of Stark in some ThinkGeek shirt with Trek posters on the walls and Weird Al playing in the background, you know?"
This makes Pepper snort a little, and the passing waitress shoots her an amused look before refilling their sodas. Pepper waits until the woman moves off to shake her head. "He's a little geeky, but it's because of his isolation, Jim. Right now he's socially awkward, but with some time and acclimation, he'd do fine with other people. People aren't the problem—the agoraphobia's the problem. But Yinsen just vanishing—that's incredibly suspicious."
"Agreed," Rhodey nods. "But the question is—did Stane do it, or did Yinsen do it himself?"
Pepper blinks; this is a new idea, and she mulls it over for a second. "You think he may have chosen to vanish?"
"Yes," Rhodey looks grim. "It's possible. I mean, think about it, Pepper—Yinsen is taking care of the heir of Stark Industries. He's getting close to Tony, and I'd bet Stane wouldn't like that too damned much. And once Tony was able to handle day to day life without medical supervision—this man Yinsen would have been . . . expendable."
"A loose end," Pepper sighs, the picture all too clear now. "But that's a hell of a risk. If Tony needed a doctor—"
"Then Stane would be smart," Rhodey says slowly. "He'd get the newest hire; the person nobody will miss too much, and have her do the job, then make her disappear when she wasn't needed. Shit. This is bad, Pepper. Really *bad.*" He looks more than grave now; Rhodey looks scared, and Pepper feels her mouth go dry.
"But . . . I'm not expendable," she insists. "Tony is still malnourished and—"
"—Pepper, don't be stubborn," Rhodey argues. "Stane isn't an idiot, but he's not exactly lacking in the ruthless department. You need to be careful, girl. Very, very careful. And you need to tell Phil, because—"
"Phil's gone," Pepper blurts, and to her horror she begins to tear up. Embarrassed, she grabs a napkin, and Rhodey leans over, taking one of her hands, his expression contrite.
"Shit. I'm sorry," he mutters uncomfortably. "You should have said something!"
"It's okay," Pepper sniffs, dabbing at her face. "It's been a long time coming, Jim. Just having it happen now when everything else is going on . . ."
"Things do pile up," Rhodey agrees ruefully. "Seriously—you okay?"
Pepper nods, and gently, Rhodey goes on, explaining about the structure of the Stark will, and how Tony owns the majority stock, and how thanks to some of the legal wording Stane is in charge of Tony until age twenty-five, or in the event of any life-long accident or disability.
"It's pretty standard as wills go," Rhodey finishes. "And I think old man Stark bumped up the legal age as protection against Tony running the company into the ground. Stane's the executor, and because the accident was pretty well covered in the media, he's stuck. The will's on file, and there are still three or four lawyers at SI who worked on it. Maybe Stane's biding his time."
"Then why not let Tony die through neglect?" Pepper wonders with a shudder. "Unless . . . he's valuable."
Rhodey gives a slow nod. "Pepper—if he could design an electromagnet to fit into his chest at seventeen . . ."
The thought is unfinished between them, but obvious.
They finish lunch on a somber note, and when they say goodbye in the parking lot, Jim hugs Pepper tightly for a moment. "Take care and stay in touch, Pepper. Day or night, okay? This is some deep shit we're in now."
"I know," she whispers back, "I know."
It's a quiet night in the house with no-one but Lou. Phil is with a friend, and most of his things have already been packed and Uhauled away—if there's one thing Coulson is, Pepper acknowledges with a pang, it's efficient. She settles in on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and fires up a movie—some silly noir film with Val Kilmer as a gay detective—and tries to follow the plot, but every creak outside the house makes her jumpy.
Her phone rings. "Tony?"
"HiPeppersaydoyouhaveaminute," he machineguns into her ear. "HearsthethingIneedtoknow—doyouhavestylistskills?"
She's alarmed; the popcorn nearly spills as Pepper unfolds herself and rises, feeling a hard lurch in the pit of her stomach.
Tony's manic.
"?"
Cheerfully, cheerfully manic.
"Tony, Tony, slow DOWN," Pepper orders, her own adrenaline rising. She strides towards the front door, scooping up her purse before she even realizes what she's doing. Lou has trotted with her, doing his best to set himself as a furry blockade at the door. "When did you last sleep?"
"NotimportantheydidyouknowI'vegotspiders?"
This is bad, and Pepper slips into the shoes by the front door. Lou is giving her a dirty look, and she scoops him up too; he can wait in the car.
"I'm coming out there now, Mr. Stark," Pepper announces, hoping Tony hears her. Hopefully Jarvis does, over the loud sounds of what seems to be polka music.
"Cooldon'tforget."
"Forget what?"
", ?"
Pepper climbs into her car, cursing under her breath as she notes the nearly empty tank. Trips out to Malibu aren't short, and she hopes there's something open on the way back.
Whenever that might be.
She drives. Lou is experienced enough to stay out from under the pedals; he opts to settle on the seat in the back, curling up on her good sweater. Pepper talks to him the whole trip, which takes nearly forty minutes.
". . . Have to see if I have any sedatives if needed, God, I should have checked on him earlier today . . ." She rattles on, reaching the brick column outside the compound gates. The road is empty, so Pepper pulls in and unrolls the window, shouting at the screen. "Jarvis, it's me, please let me in! I know it's not Wednesday, but I'm concerned about Mr. Stark."
"Welcome Doctor Potts," Jarvis replies, and she swears she hears a hint of relief in his tone. "I have been expecting you."
That's not good, so Pepper guns the car through the gates, earning an annoyed yowl from her passenger in the back seat.
She scoops up her bag and Lou, then trots up the steps to the front door. It swings open before she hits the porch, and Pepper hurries in. Lou is NOT thrilled to be cat-handled, but he doesn't sink any claws in just yet.
Pepper cuts to the right, goes down the steps to the workshop and the glare of light makes her blink stupidly. The glass walls are muffling the music, and it's no longer Polka now, oh no.
It's—
She lays a hand on the handle, yanking it open and the throb of the Village People makes her wince, in more ways than one. Over across the main room, her patient is singing along in a raggedy off-key voice while working on what looks like a metal bowling ball.
Lou has officially Had Enough. He squirms out of Pepper's grasp and drops to the floor, bolting back up the concrete steps and out of sight. Pepper shoots one worried look before remembering the house is sealed, and looks back at Tony Stark.
"Macho, Macho Mannnnnn," he warbles, "I wanna be, a Macho ma—hey Pepper! Check out my head!"
That's precisely what she intends to do.
Striding over, Pepper reaches him, and takes in Tony's appearance, which is just slightly better than Godawful, but not by much.
He's sweaty and greasy, with huge dark circles under his eyes, and most shockingly of all, his long dark hair is now chopped up, with huge hunks of it lying on the concrete floor. The hack job is uneven and makes him look as if Tony has been in a losing fight with a weed whacker. Pepper notes that his pupils are small, and his lips dry.
"Tony," she begins soothingly, "what are you doing?"
He flashes her a slightly crazed smile. "Stuff I should have been doing YEARS ago, mein fraulein Pfeffer! I have the power, you know I have the technology. I have ** of technology, but not actually in my butt because let's face it, that's just sorta gross, hey did you bring dip?"
"Jarvis, please turn off the music. I need water immediately for Mr. Stark—how long has it been since he's eaten or slept?" Pepper asks, her hands gently catching Tony's face as she forces him to make eye contact. The touch seems to ground him for a bit and he settles, his own fingers still holding the odd object.
The Village People cut off mid-chorus.
"Mr. Stark has been awake for the last twenty-two hours, and last took solid sustenance about sixteen hours ago," Jarvis reports. "Since then he has been ingesting caffeine-laced energy drinks."
"You need sleep, Tony," Pepper tells him. He blinks hard, and tries to shake his head, but can't, because she's still holding it.
"Later. I need to get . . . hey, are those pajamas? Are we having a sleepover?" Tony asks, looking down at her clothes. Pepper rolls her eyes; in her haste, she's forgotten she is in plaid cotton drawstring pants and a Pepe Le Pew sweatshirt.
"Water," Pepper insists, and takes the bottle nervously handed over by Dummy. Tony grudgingly drinks it, letting it dribble down his shirtfront. When done, he belches hugely, and Pepper shoots him an irritated glance.
"Sorry, so, like my helmet? That's why I cut my hair; because it was hanging out and made me look like some refugee from a World of Warcraft campaign—" Tony rambles cheerfully. He picks up the metal sphere again and slips it over his head.
Pepper pulls back, startled; the helmet covers his features and gives him an alien look akin to Gort . . . or maybe Bender, from Futurama.
"What do you need a helmet for?" she asks, fearfully. Pepper suspects he's about ten minutes from a serious crash, and if she can get him in a quiet dark place before then, so much the better.
"Well to go with the armor of course," comes his 'duh!' reply. "Armor without a helmet is pretty stupid, Doctor Pepper. Completely pointless in the scheme of things. Hell, I need the helmet even MORE than the armor."
"Right," Pepper agrees quickly. "And it's a great helmet, but you know what would be even greater? If you came upstairs with me and took a little lie-down. You've done . . ." she looks around the disaster area that was neat and tidy three days ago and winces, "a *lot* Tony, and it's time to take a little break, all right? Just a chance to stretch out."
Tony pulls off the helmet and drops it heavily on the worktable surface. "What about the spiders? I'm not scared of them, but if they get into the helmet, I *miiiiight* freak out a little. You understand that, right? I mean spiders right in my face . . ." he shudders. "Spiders sort of suck."
"I . . . I brought a spider deterrent with me," Pepper assures him, thinking of the fat, furry hunter hiding somewhere up in the living room. "And trust me, he eats spiders for breakfast. And any other meal."