14.

From Two Different Worlds

"I'm fine," said Tony, trying to sit up. The S.H.I.E.L.D. physician pushed him relentlessly back down.

"No sir, Mr. Stark. You're under 24-hour watch. You're lucky you don't have any internal bleeding, but borderline shock is nothing to sneeze at. You will remain in this bed of your own accord or I'll give you a tranquilizer whether you want it or not."

"Don't worry about a tranquilizer," said Pepper, eyes dry but red. "I'll knock him unconscious myself." She shot an accusing look at Bruce.

The three of them stood over Tony, who was in one of his own guest bedrooms. The S.H.I.E.L.D. team had converted it into an impromptu intensive care/trauma unit. A lot of the equipment looked unfamiliar and Bruce was willing to bet over half of it couldn't be found in the most cutting-edge medical facilities in North America. Just as well Tony wasn't in a hospital.

Tony had the temerity to grin at her. "OK. I'll stay put. You totally wear the pants in this relationship and you like that, don't you?"

She colored, glared at him as if about to slap him, and then spun on her heel to leave. The click of her Italian leather pumps was the aural equivalent of a finger wagged in his face.

Bruce looked uneasily around. "If you, ah, don't need me..."

Tony put on an expression of theatrical woundedness. "Oh, c'mon, sugar pants! Don't leave me in bed all by myself." He batted his lashes just a degree shy of camp. The agency doc looked back and forth between Tony and a rapidly blushing Bruce with surprise and disapproval. When he turned his back to consult a monitor, Tony grinned again and stuck out his tongue.

"Yeah," said Bruce heavily. "See you." He trudged out of the room and down to his own to shower and change clothes. All the way back from Dhamiq, he'd felt responsible for getting Tony home in one piece much the same as he would've for anyone. With the memory of Pepper's anger burning through him, he felt actual guilt. Less for Tony than for her, afraid and helpless in the face of her boss's chosen path.

It must be what Alfred felt like, actually. New understanding washed through him, coupled with dread and a stab of homesickness that almost brought tears. Right now in Wayne Manor's kitchen, Alfred would have just finished a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive biscuit, imported from England, his one indulgence. Such modest pleasures, such an easily fortified spirit. He gave so much and asked so little and worried himself sick over his charge and somehow never lost his good cheer.

Perhaps in yet another world Pepper and Alfred knew each other. Perhaps they were both heroes, as a sober Tony and an unassuming Bruce served them quietly in the background, bent double with the burden of caring.

He slammed the water off and stepped out of the shower. He wanted to spit at his reflection in the mirror. Scrubbing himself dry with sharp, rough motions, he yanked on a clean outfit and went downstairs.

She was in the kitchen, drinking a diet soda in front of the sink, tipping it back like a lifesaving elixir, eyes closed. Her skin, porcelain, translucent, glowed even in her exhaustion. Her lashes curled elegantly against her cheek. The motion of her throat as she swallowed was so unconsciously animal next to her usual poised grace that he stopped breathing for a second. A lock of hair slipped out of place and brushed against her jaw. He felt a giant's hand squeeze his midsection.

She put the can halfway down and caught sight of him from the corner of her eye. Dropping it, she yelped and whirled around, leaping back and crashing against the counter.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding out an apologetic hand. "I came to find you. I thought you heard me." Except of course he always moved in unconscious silence as he'd been trained. Yes. Big scary hero too focused on his mission to worry about upsetting a few of the little people. He went from feeling awkward to outright hating himself.

Her eyes, even wider than they'd been yesterday when she broke up the standoff, changed from startled to furious. Sky-blue to laser-blue. He wanted to cheer her on in her anger. He deserved wrath.

"Mr. Wayne," she said, controlling her voice with great effort, "I still have almost no idea why you're here. Or what kind of influence you have that lets you waltz into a stranger's home and make yourself welcome. Mr. Stark likes you and finds you trustworthy, and S.H.I.E.L.D. says you're safe. But I don't believe any of it yet." She took a step forward and pointed up and past Bruce. "That man is my boss and it's my job to keep him on safe ground. Or as safe as I can given the lunatic stunts he's taken to pulling. You are inot/i helping. You're encouraging this. Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't go against everyone's wishes and call the cops this minute. They might not get very far with S.H.I.E.L.D. around but the press would have a field day and you'd definitely be out of my hair."

She was bluffing; she'd never make her boss look bad. But she was tired and frayed and at the end of her rope. Bruce nodded. "I understand, Miss Potts. I'm sorry. What do you know about me so far?" He made the question as cordial as he could.

"I know you're not the person we were supposed to get from the airport. I know a top-secret government agency has an interest in you. I know you've hacked Jarvis. I know you and Tony both left this morning in good condition and you came back OK while he could've died. I know your full description and I could link up to an FBI database if I wanted to and cross-reference you with all known criminals until I turned something up. I know Mr. Fury probably already did that. And I know the government can still make mistakes. They don't look after Tony like-" she stopped, clamping her jaw. Like I do, she was going to say.

Bruce nodded, pulled himself into the center of his body a little, abashed. "I know it looks suspicious. I'd feel the same way. Would you like me to answer your questions? Will you trust me to tell you more?" Something in his hesitant manner thawed Pepper just a little. She unconsciously turned her head slightly to one side, narrowed her eyes speculatively.

"Tell me, then," she finally said.

He stood there, hands crossed in front of him penitently, and told her what had happened to him. Apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't briefed her as much as he'd thought. She listened to the more fantastic elements of his story with opaque neutrality. At first he tried to elaborate on his own disbelief in the whole thing but then simply told it without editorial comment.

At the end, she stared straight at him, not replying. Finally, after a full minute's worth of silence, she said, "Well", and then stopped speaking again.

"I know," he answered. "I don't believe it either."

"I don't know if I believe it or not," she said, "but you certainly do, anyway." The tense set of her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Now-" she took another step forward and something clattered tinnily by her foot. She immediately looked down. The toe of her pump rested in a sticky brown puddle of cola. "Oh, for God's sake-" She looked around for the paper towel dispenser.

Bruce sprang into action. "Please, let me." He snatched a roll off the counter and mopped at the liquid. Down on one knee, he picked up the can and handed it to her. Another lock of her hair escaped its place as she looked down at him. Bruce had a sudden absurd vision of her as a virtuous schoolmarm and himself as a gunslinger, offering her a handpicked bunch of bluebells. It was silly and childish and he wanted very much at that moment for it to be true. To give her something beautiful and valuable. To show her he knew what a valiant, amazing woman she was.

Something in his expression altered slightly and Pepper saw it, taking the can slowly from him. Then she looked back down at her foot, lifting it gingerly.

"Here," he said, and grasped her ankle gently. The calluses on his fingers rasped slightly against the body-warmed weave of her stockings. A tiny shock ran through her under his hand, a minute relay from her limbic system. She leaned very carefully back to brace herself on the counter with one hand as Bruce dabbed her shoe clean. Their eyes never left each other. Her mouth parted slightly as he adjusted his grasp and he nearly lifted her foot, shoe and all, to his lips.

Tony Stark's heart got a lot of play around this place. He wondered how much Pepper's did. He wondered how much more she'd like.

Finally, deliberately, she said "Thank you." Her shoe was clean and most of the puddle was gone. She took the soggy bundle from him and threw it away as he finished. Brisker now, she added, "I'dve gotten that. Would you like some coffee?"

"I'd love some." He didn't need caffeine, really, with his own heart going like a hammer, but he'd take a cup of arsenic if she was offering.

"Just sit there at the table," she directed. "Do you take cream?"

"No, but I'd love some sugar." The minute he said it he realized how it sounded, but she compressed a smile and flicked her eyes once at him as if he'd said something terribly improper. He smiled stupidly back. He felt very lost in her competence and for once didn't mind not having the upper hand. Perhaps there would be coffee spilled, too, and he could show off his fabulous cleaning skills again. He was aware of making a fool of himself and couldn't be bothered to care. She set a mug down in front of him.

After getting a cup of herbal tea for herself, sweetened with honey-he looked at her squeezing it from a narrow plastic bottle and actually blushed, at which she laughed out loud, girlishly-she sat at the table with him and talked, the physical tension between them dormant but still there.

She chatted about this and that and he summoned his charm, skillfully drawing her out. She was from an East Coast family, nominally Southern, that dated far enough back to claim a royal land grant. A long string of military officers among the men and society matrons among the women. An idyllic childhood, adolescent cotillions, her debut, her entrance with honors into one of the Seven Sisters. Her father, dying suddenly of a stroke while she was away, an older man but still too young to go. Her mother, unable to cope, degenerating mentally until she had to be put into a home. The chance meeting that led to employment with Tony, where she'd been ever since, degree unfinished.

Pepper didn't mention any man, and gave no hint of one in her omissions, either. He knew her story very well, though, just the same. Her family had more good name than money and a determination to do things right, a lesser branch on the dying tree of American aristocracy. In a world before her father's death, she'd had plenty of time to blossom, luxuriate in possible futures, prepare herself for what she wanted. In the aftermath, her true mettle came out, the blood of soldiers steeling her for the choices, hard and few, left to her.

He wondered if, alone in the small hours, she wept for lost possibilities. But it was maudlin of him to think about it and none of his business besides. In the daylight hours at least she was reconciled and clear-eyed and ready for anything.

"So I never went back," she said. "I never really knew what I was going to do. But I keep Mom's bills paid and I'm going to save up to finish my studies." Her gaze fluttered and dipped. He knew, too what she meant. She'd start saving for school after her mother died and there were no more expenses. She couldn't spare anything now, because of course she'd have put her mother in the best nursing home money could buy. She was that sort of daughter.

He looked at her as she studied the tabletop. "Miss Potts," he said, "you are a very remarkable woman."

After another long moment she looked up at him. She was clearly tasting the compliment, seeing if it made sense. In most people's eyes she'd been a cool icon of efficiency for so long she barely remembered the self she'd had to shed.

Then she smiled, tucking her head down for just a second. Diffusing his words, making them safe. "Well, thank you, Mr. Wayne," she said.

"I mean it, Miss Potts." Of course she wouldn't drop her defenses that easily, not for anyone. The armor of her circumstances prevented it. He placed his hand halfway across the table. "The most remarkable women I've ever met."

She didn't hesitate more than a second this time, nor did she smile dismissively. She slid her hand, cautiously and deliberately, towards his. He felt sparks of energy the closer she got, six inches away. Five. Four inches. Three, two.

An inch away he felt its warmth, could anticipate the thrillingly sharp edge of her shell-pink manicured nails. A faint smell of lotion reached him, something floral and old-fashioned. Her wrist was narrow, fragile, lightly traced with blue veins.

The round silver thing at his elbow that he'd mistaken for an avant-garde sugar dish squawked once; then Tony's voice came through, crystal clear. "Potts? You in the kitchen?"

She froze, then retracted her hand. She looked like a woman who'd received an insult from an oblivious drunk at a dull party but was too game to show her irritation. "Yes, Tony, I'm here." The sigh in her voice pierced Bruce's heart. That and her use of his host's first name, formalities dropped in her sudden weariness.

"Where's Bruce?" He sounded hedgingly suspicious.

"Right here," said Bruce, sipping his coffee again.

"You two makin' time down there?" asked Tony with false brightness. They locked eyes once more, now in mute disgust.

"What do you need?" asked Pepper. "We're having coffee."

"Well, bring me some," he said petulantly. "They said I could have a little. I'm thirsty."

Bruce nodded at her. "I'll take it up." He had another brief, satisfying vision of standing over the bed with a steaming mug and smashing it into Tony's face, over and over again. Not that he'd really follow through. Of course he wouldn't.

Pepper got up and fixed Tony's coffee expertly, the way he liked it. Tony got any number of things the way he liked them. Just like Bruce, come to think of it. His anger mounted.

When he took the mug from Pepper, their fingers brushed. He tried to move away, but she laid a hand on his arm.

"You're really from someplace called Gotham? In another world?"

He nodded. "I am."

She repeated the nod. "Then I wish you a safe journey back when your work here is done." Something in her gaze faded and then she let him go with a friendly and wholly platonic smile. He looked after her for a minute longingly, then left the kitchen.

Upstairs in Tony's room, he did indeed lean over the bed. His body language left no room for misinterpretation. "What?" asked Tony.

Bruce came closer, dug his fingers into Tony's arm, hissed in his face. "Let me tell you something," he said. "You're going to give that woman a raise. A very large one."

"I don't have a problem with that," said Tony, "but she's not your assistant and I already pay her-" he inhaled sharply as Bruce's grip tightened. A monitor beeped in the corner. The S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor tried to move Bruce and got shoved backwards for his trouble.

"Listen to me," he said. "You are going to give that woman a very large raise. You are also going to assume full responsibility for her mother's healthcare bills. Do you know what I'm talking about? No? Well now you do. I know she never told you. She wouldn't have. And you're going to make this effective immediately. Do we understand each other?"

"Christ!" Tony freed his arm as Bruce relaxed his hand. "For God's sake, what the hell are you doing? You think I can't take care of my own assistant?" He rubbed his arm and looked more closely at Bruce. "What did you do down there?"

"Nothing," said Bruce, and it was true, and that hurt the worst. "Drink your coffee." He left and went back into his room, then climbed out onto the roof outside the sliding glass doors near his bed, a different section than the one they'd gotten drunk together on.

He spent a long time with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the Pacific, thinking of Alfred and home and all the many regrets a person could accrue without even trying. Then he went back inside and apologized to Tony, who was on the phone, making arrangements as dictated for Pepper's mother.

"If I ask you to get me a sandwich this time, do you tear my arm off all the way when you bring it back?" he asked.

"Nah," said Bruce. "I just break it. Roast beef OK?"