Chapter 21: Pepper's Discompliance

AN: EDITED AND UPDATED BY PPMB FOR OCTOBER, 12, 2015.

I do apologize if this chapter is a bit…suggestive? I actually wanted to totally write a sex scene for this! But then I remembered that I'm terrible at that, and that'd be far too embarrassing. For now. Enjoy! :D Thank you SO much for continuing to enjoy! Favourites and the like! Maybe let me know in a lil' review what ya'all think? Any of the new folks that have joined on? Seriously! Means the world *raises her eyebrow suggestively.*

I'm a loose bolt of a complete machine.

What a match:

I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet.

There's a black and gold alarm clock sitting at the edge of the quartz crystal cut nightstand that reads out to Pepper that it's 7:22 in the morning. At first, she's annoyed that she's up 30 minutes earlier than she has to be, but then she notices that she's entirely alone in the bedroom. It's usually Tony's shoulder that blocks out the eyes of the clock from Pepper, usually Tony that awakens just barely enough to tell Jarvis to snooze it for ten more minutes, knowing full well that Pepper can't spare a second, but he pins her anyway and demands to be kissed.

But things haven't been usual in a very long time.

She pulls her hand slowly along the empty space beside her, the silk sheets rippling through her fingers like water. They are untouched and crisp on Tony's side, just as they were yesterday and the day before that, and two weeks ago as well. She frowns into the downy pillow, a wide ache opening inside of her chest. For a moment, she reaches out; grasping the pillow he usually sleeps on, and holds it to her chest, pressing her face into the soft fabric. It's so clean, so completely dismissed that it doesn't smell like him anymore. There's no 1872 or Serge Lutens' Mortel that's hidden carefully along the silver sheets tinged with auburn and gold. Pepper glances at the mahogany minimalist dresser, littered halfway with used bottles sporting missing caps of cologne—hundreds, maybe thousands of dollars of designer scents to hide the mist of alcohol that covered his mouth, his neck, and his clothes, completely untouched.

Pepper never cared about any of the show that Tony puts on. It used to be that being wealthy meant you had to have the latest and greatest, even if it smelled terrible. And, label or not, it often smelled just that. She preferred when he'd forget to hide—when he'd step out of the shower, stare at her with his dark eyes and cleverly make a comment about her nightgown before slipping under the sheets, his fingers already working the straps to her bra—even with his teeth, if he felt really witty. His scent was always rich—slightly tangy with a kind of unnatural chemical or motor oil. A kind of layer that seemed to be built into him, and never truly went away. Pepper always knew that no one would ever be able manufacture anything remotely close to Tony Stark ever again.

She used to hate it when he would reek of Goldschläger or vodka—but a part of her finds herself wondering if she'd get him back at all. She'd take all of his flaws—Hell, she took his flaws years ago when she was just his secretary and she saw him for the arrogant, cunning womanizing genius that he was—and the unstable, slightly controlling side of him that he'd mask. When it came to Tony, Pepper had seen it all, and then some. But she loves him anyways. She only hopes that she's not somehow pushing him away. Or that maybe he's pushing her away—and they'll keep shoving each other stubbornly until they both take the plunge into whatever dark dreams keep him away from her at night.

She tightens her grip on his pillow, taking gentle notice of the tiny splashes of dark stains that break up the solid pattern between her fingertips. Honestly, she doesn't know who cries more at night over this agonizing pain that Tony refuses to knowledge and Pepper can't forever battle to articulate. He isn't the only one with nightmares. She still is completely paranoid of being on-call for Tony, after missing his calls from his…departure from Earth.

She breathes in the scentless air around her, devoid of warmth but completely soaked in the depression of their love life.

All she can do for this morning is understand that he's not beside her again, and, as always, she has to go find him.

He has to have Natasha repeat twice, slowly and clearly, what exactly she's done.

"You left him there?" The billionaire repeated slowly. "Are you insane?"

"He walked painfully, through snow, bleeding out, to get to her. I highly doubt taking him away from what he wanted in the first place would be any better of a solution."

"Uh-yeah, that's just peachy. Because if that had happened maybe he'd realise what a lunatic he was, leave that woman alone, and not do it again."

In the kitchen, Thor sits between the pair, shoulders barred, as if waiting for the exact moment where he'd have to separate the spy and billionaire when it comes to blows. Bruce fixates on cleaning his glasses over and over, the pads of his forefinger and thumb working the cloth harder as the loudness in everyones' voice starts to rise—while Barton takes a seat next to Natasha, an arm set on the table as if he's bracing the whole conversation together.

"Again?" Natasha shakes her head, and the speed of her fine red hair seemed to thread together like a disagreement of fire. "Stark, this would have never happened if we all just paid more attention in the first place."

"'Paid more attention'?" Tony emphasizes, his ears ringing with contempt. "To what? His depression? Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about? World War 3 over Aliens? The return of the Chitauri—fucking Asgardians ripping the fabric of time apart?"

Thor's stormy eyes crash against Tony's, and his voice rumbles deeply: "There is no such occurrence happening at this time, Man of Iron. Your precautions are meaningful, but meet bitter ends for a foe that may never come again."

Bruce watches Tony pale discreetly, the worry lines along his face more visible than ever before.

Natasha bites in once more. "And you think that just focusing on the main problem will make everything else turn out okay?"

Tony avoids the scorn in her question. "Steve was never a problem until now. Sure, he has obvious issues, but he functioned for months, hasn't he? He was fine enough. He'd do his job, do it well to the ninth degree, and then quietly go back to doing whatever boring as hell hobby he likes. It was perfect."

There is a dark, aggressive light behind Natasha's emerald eyes. "You don't understand how people work, emotionally, do you Tony? You just think it's so simple as to add or subject or divide and an answer is there. But this problem is an emotional one. That is my specialty. I work people by their emotional spectrum. And I can tell you that it is a very fragile situation."

"You?" Tony barks a laugh. "Yeah, because you're the Miss Universe in Polite Conversing?"

"Better than you do. You can work emotions on a physical level. You can get sex. You can—what do you call it? 'Fuck with people'? I do that as well. I fuck with people to get what needs to occur."

Doctor Banner clears his throat, bringing the noise to a halt. "The problem here, I do believe, is within the questionable safety, be it information, physical, or otherwise, of a civilian into the danger of our lives." He pauses, and the obsession of cleansing his glasses ceases. "And S.H.I.E.L.D. We can't forget how badly S.H.I.E.L.D. takes to situations like this."

Tony's pointer finger flippantly points to Banner, as if the physicist is holding up a sign that says: YOU'VE JUST GOT SERVED.

"Yes, some reason! Thank you, Bruce! Seriously." Tony pats a hand against his chest with every word. "That's what I meant."

Natasha's lips firm up in consideration, but her eyes continue to drill into Tony.

Clint's hands spread themselves firmly over the fibers on the smooth counter. "Look, let's just make this simple." Clint's blue eyes collect his entire team's in one go. "Who thinks that Steve should dump the chick, come back to the Tower, and pretend like this never happened?"

Tony's entire arm lunges upwards, trying to gain pervious account over his roommates. It takes a moment, but beside him, Bruce's arm slowly raises, his eyes focused in an intense accordance with the counter top. When Natasha feels the hairs on her arms stand up, she's shocked to see Thor debating the motion of agreeing as well—when his wrist begins to move up, Natasha has the nerve to pull it down.

The contact of their skin sends a jolt down her spine like touching an electric socket.

"Thor," Natasha's voice is cutting against his nerves. "You really think that this is what Steve deserves?"

The God of Thunder looks hopeless, caught in between his friends. "It is not a matter of what Captain Rogers deserves. It is a matter of what makes the rest of the warriors feel most comfortable."

Natasha's glare is relentless. "Do you realize that you're taking part in a vote that would've taken Jane away from you, correct?"

This stops Thor and his eyes suddenly narrow. From across the table, Bruce can feel the pull of static across the back of his neck, like the skin of a balloon rubbed and then ripped away for the direct purpose of stinging down his back.

Thor's eyes are cautious. His words ring back with a slight chill, as if he is preparing make sure Natasha's words are wrong by all costs. "To what do you imply? Jane Foster is of no concern here."

"I think we're forgetting that Jane—and Pepper, for that matter, are civilians that have come into extreme contact and are now critical part of our daily lives. What if suddenly some strangers—or worse, a group of people that you know very well, told you that being with them, hearing their voice, was completely unhallowed?"

"Pepper doesn't count. She was with me long before A—" Inwardly he grimaces but his voice remains flippant as he trades for a new word. "—llocations between my father and the fate of his—now my—company." Tony rubs at his jaw, dirty nails scratching the buzzing inside of his skin. He's sweating just talking about Pepper like this, and he suddenly finds himself getting antsy over where she is right now. He breathes in—asleep. You checked on her 480 seconds ago. She's fine. You're fine.

"Why are you so hell-bent on this sick, twisted love affair, Romanoff? Rogers get under your skin that easily?"

"Of course not," Natasha snaps, offended. "I think in regards to what I've seen, you are blowing a positive effect on Rogers life that will do more good than it ever will bad. Imagine yourself without Jane."

Natasha's bold green eyes charge into the blackness inside of Tony's eyes. "Without Pepper."

Tony's mouth sets itself almost into a sharp, grim smirk—fearless in the gaping hole that he knows Natasha is seeing in him that is not just on the outside of his chest. Look, Tony wants to scream at her, fingers locked into the back of her hair, bringing her down closer to the level of insanity that he can't bring himself to go to yet—that's exactly what I'm picturing 24/7. I'm projecting her at all costs, and I don't give a single fuck if it's selfish. I'm a selfish man. I've done terrible, selfish things—and if I'm digging this hole I'm burying myself and Pepper with it.

"Do any of us really have any idea what keeps Steve from just walking away? Even from killing himself?" Natasha continues.

Suddenly a shattering sound echoes from under the table—Bruce's hands have stopped. There's a crack in the left eye piece of his glasses from where he's rubbed too hard.

Tony scoffs at such a ridiculous idea. "Please. You're full of it. Rogers wouldn't dare. If not for the cause of the good ol' American people, I'm pretty sure it's a sin to kill yourself to that God he happens to believe in."

"Do you listen to yourself when you talk, Stark? You're just going to use Rogers like that?"

Tony sets his teeth directly on edge, gritting out his words slowly. "I'm not using anyone. I'm not asking for help from anyone. There isn't a problem. You're making it a problem."

"Help?" Clint picks at the word—and Tony's eyes rapidly flash to him, confused.

"Help—I didn't say help." Tony tries to backtrack, but it's out and heavy in the silence between his teammates, who are staring at him, and he's just raving like an idiot. "I meant—Hell. Rogers. I meant help for Rogers."

"So you're willing to give this a chance?"

"We didn't finish voting. So far, it's Banner, myself, possibly Thor—Clint. What about you?"

All eyes jump to Hawkeye, and he tries to not shrug it off. He can particularly feel Tony digging into him over their early morning conversation before. "I understand both sides. I'm waiting until Rogers gets back. He has to come back eventually."

Tony heaves an exaggerated sigh just before he mutters: "You had to be a pussy about it."

Bruce's voice overtakes Tony's insult. "I don't want to make things any more difficult for Steve than it has to be. I talked to him the night before over this, and even I'll admit that he seemed happy. And we haven't seen Steve make much of any emotion in a long time." He face darkens, as if talking about happiness was a foreign idea, a mythical story that was told him to as a child but never came true. "But I don't support this. It's too complicated already." His eyes flash. "Besides. Steve was bleeding out—I checked him. Many times. That shouldn't have happened. I just want him back as soon as possible so I can understand what I missed."

"I'm waiting for a call from him." Natasha deadpans to answer Banner's question. Tony seems to bristle at the sudden news.

"A call? Seriously?" His black eyes narrow furiously. "What else do we not know, Agent?"

Natasha licks her lips, bracing herself, her face calm. "I told Rogers that it is only Thor and I that know about Beth."

Tony's eyes seem more bloodshot for moment until he remembers that that is the woman's name in this whole stupid fiasco. "You told Rogers that we don't know about his lil' moonlit rendezvous? What am I supposed to do? Act like I don't care?"

"You never did before," Natasha says snappily. "And you didn't see him, Tony. It's bad."

"Spare me," Tony utters, completely repugnant of how much 'worse' Rogers could possibly be. He was fine because there were much larger problems to deal with. He had to be fine. It was fine.

"Captain Rogers performed an act that Natasha refused to enlighten me of." Thor's considerate rumble treads through Natasha's warning glare. "Perhaps now is the time I can request it to be clarified."

Bruce's sigh is auditory through his nose, rubbing at a temple for patience. "Go for it, Thor."

Thor swallows, his face surprisingly mute, as if a universal instinct was informing him that whatever he is about to ask is disturbing in nature. "Upon battered awakening, semi-conscious, Captain Rogers used his tongue to…prod along his teeth. It was most unnerving, although I do not understand what it means. Tell me; is it a human custom upon all awakening? Such as brushing with the white paste on the tiny brush?"

Thor's usual mixed-turn-of-phrase doesn't yield a smirk out of anyone. They're all dead quiet, just staring at him. Bruce is the one that has the nerve to continue.

"Thor. Er. In our world's war time, there were missions where it was questionable if a soldier would come back alive, and so they'd give you a way out, so to speak."

Thor's golden brows furrows, dismayed. "One goes into battle knowing that death is a glorious honour."

Bruce's jaw flexed, failing to remain gentle about the subject. "Well, here Thor, not everyone is so…honourable. Sometimes if you fall in combat, they don't kill you. They capture you. They torture you, and sometimes your being alive compromises the lives of thousands of others. And it's better if you were to die, instead. So they give you this kind of…poison. A kind of pill and they place it along your teeth, so that, if you ever need to, you could swallow it and commit suicide."

Thor's face is stunned for moment. "It is not unheard of, this capturing and this torture, to Asgard. But…to think that one such as Captain Rogers would resort to that manner of death. It is most unnerving."

Clint drums his fingers quietly over his kneecap. "So you guys watched him try to find a pill?"

Natasha nods one single time.

Clint whistles, unable to imagine such a sight.

"It's better if we just try to keep things as under wraps as possible. For Steve's sake." Natasha's eyes flash to Tony's. "For now."

Tony's silence is welcomed, but his eyes remained tight in concentration. "So, what, we just wait for a call? Who knows what'll happen by then? Are we going to talk to him still? Who's going to make sure he gets here okay?"

Natasha's smirk perks up, sharp on her lips. "Interested, Tony?"

"Don't get your Victoria's Secret Agent undies in bunch. For Steve's sake, he needs to come back soon—for Bruce to look him over. Deal?"

"Close enough. I'll let you know what he says."

"Whatever," Tony closes, standing up from his seat. He's gone down the hallway in moments, leaving the rest of the Avengers to eye Natasha wearily.

"I'm sorry about your glasses, Doctor." Clint adds regretfully, as he watches Bruce fidget with the pieces of glass. "Things get a little intense in the ol' noggin'?"

Bruce manages a short, mild smile. "It happens. I need new ones anyhow. Which reminds me." His dark brown eyes turn towards Natasha. "When you have a moment, could I request something of you?"

Pepper stands at the edge of the stairs to Tony's lab, already able to hear that he's listening to some discourse, volubly bubbling across the wireless lines that make the speakers in his lab ring out. Her steps are practically whispers that he'll never hear, he's so enthralled. He has his back turned to face one monitor, and over his shoulder Pepper carefully spies that he's somehow tracking a call from the Tower. There is a part of a round thick headphone over Tony's own black hair, but Pepper can't help but feel a flurry of surprise when she sees what it is he's listening to.

"Steve's phone?" Pepper tries to make a sound bite into his closed off world. "Natasha's—You're hacking into their phone conversation?"

Tony continues to listen, completely unaware. She reaches out, barely using her nails to tap at his shoulder.

He jumps—pushing backwards and, surprised herself, Pepper backs up a few feet from him to give Tony space.

Tony barely catches the ending of what a voice behind him is saying.

"—listening in to their conversation?" Tony's heart nearly impales itself on his teeth it hits the roof of his mouth so hard.

He swivels in his chair, toes digging into the cold tiled floor beneath him in a weak attempt to stop from leaping up. He's staring at her staring at him, and he can see the tiny humbled reflection of himself in the green of her eyes, like the shadow of himself is burning in the acid of their angry colour. "Pep—"

The freckles on her face seem sharper as her glare increases, but she continues to say nothing, her mouth only slightly agape.

He swallows, digs the earpiece from out of his left ear, but it's caught in the coils that the grease has caused in his hair, and he lets it hang there, undeniable evidence to what he's done. He thinks of a hundred different ways to come off against the problem—it's my tower, and I need to know what goes on—I'm just really worried about Rogers' condition—Natasha hacks into my companies back account to the damn dime, and I can't sneak in on a conversation?—but his tongue continues to scrape at the back of his gums self-consciously. He almost thinks he can taste congealed blood, and he wonders when that happened.

Suddenly, her arms, once tight over her chest, are open and she's walking towards him, reaching out her hands—but they stop just before they make contact. Tony's slightly off-put to what she was planning to do—he almost expected a slap, but her eyes are too careful and sad-looking for that.

"Did you think Natasha was going to lie to you?" Pepper asks him in frustration.

"Pepper, she let Steve stay with that girl. Stay with her. Do you know what that can do? It could have been a thousand times better if she'd just listened to me and brought him home. I had to make sure there wasn't unconsidered damage that Natasha would let slip because she's convinced that this is a good idea."

Pepper's neutral expression of shock widens into genuine anger. "What isn't a good idea, Tony? Sure, it didn't go exactly to plan, but it seems like it's harmless."

The words are caught like fish hooks in the back of his throat, desperate to explain. Finally he settles for the best explanation he can manage.

"It's just…it's complicated."

"Is it?" Pepper's voice softens.

Tony sighs, a palm pressed to his eye to stop the pounding in the base of his skull. "Come here."

Pepper stands, still indignant. "No."

A hand pats his lap, jeans slightly starched from being worn for days straight. "Come on, Pep."

"No," She sounds firm, but Tony keeps trying.

He puts on his best you-know-you-wanna grin, and opens his arms to the tall walls of his basement lab. He's grateful that most of the lights are off. Shadows press in on where the light from his chest can't reach. He only hopes that Pepper doesn't look up, as over thirty finished suits are lined across the walls on thin, cube shelves that spiral into the darkness, staring down at them from above, like steampunk angels. He swallows, unable to look at them now. His precious work that can take away his demons. He blinks, and it's almost like they're moving, skittering above him, judging him. Like she's judging him. Like he's judging himself. Maybe they are demons as well.

"Come to bed," Pepper retorts into the silence, and that very phrase spins Tony's head right 'round to reality. "I woke up early. There's still time."

He blinks, presses a finger into one ear, tries to fix his hair, and then remembers that she's waiting for him to answer. The way she says 'there's still time' feels strangely perplexing. Like she means anything but the fact that there's still time. Maybe there's not. Maybe he's using it all up.

"You…you wanna—"

"Yes," her green eyes glitter temptingly and Tony feels his heart rate pick up. Inside, she's trying not to sound so desperate to make him leave this underground place. "We haven't in a while. I'm getting worried that there are other parts of you that I'm not aware are turning robotic."

Tony laughs, and the sound echoes around them—brass and somehow forlorn. "It hasn't been that long—come on!"

She sighs, and the light goes out of her eyes. Tony shuts his mouth, wondering what he's done now to kill the moment. She's quiet, just waiting for him, but he doesn't know what to say.

"Tony…do you know how long it's been since we've had sex?"

He's digging deep into the catalog of his brain—meetings, appointments, aliens, danger, numbers, drinking, paranoia, nightmares, bio-chips. Nope. There's a data error for sex. A missing file. He wishes he could blue screen.

"Ah," He's sweating—him, Tony fuckin' Stark, is sweating over the idea of sex. He's confused at himself. "I—" His eyes dart around for some type of help, but inanimate men stare down at him, cold and cruel. He tries to mutter some kind of number—4 days. 18 days. 24 days. None of them are correct.

"Three months." Pepper says, her voice brittle. "In years of knowing you, and since our relationship, Anthony, you never go three days without making love to me."

Tony swallows, hard. "Pep…I…I don't…I don't know what to say."

She throws back her head, her voice shaking out a peal of emotionless laughter. "And that! That's new! You don't know what to say. Well I do." She stares at him, and Tony feels his knuckles tightening over his jeans.

A pause. Tony feels his heart drumming. She hasn't finished. He doesn't understand.

"Yes?" He breaks the silence like a tap of a hammer that's shattering the glass between them. And Jesus, does it break.

"God damn it, Tony!" Pepper screams. Her fingers ball into fists that she's risen above her head, only to slam them down uselessly at her sides. "Why can't you just say it?"

"Say what?!" Tony tries not to meet her level of sudden hysterics, but even his own voice feels very loud.

She sucks in a deep breath—her expression broken into a sob, halfway out of her mouth. She covers her lips.

Tears. Instantly, he's up, nearly sprinting to her—his arms wrap around her, trying to steer her into his chest, but she's resisting. "Pep—I—Don't cry, please, please don't cry." He smooths through the soft curls of her red hair. "You know how I can't function when you cry." He places a finger under her chin to force her to look up at him.

Her waterproof eyeliner is barely doing its job, as her tears run down her cheeks with the faintest outline of grey. Her freckles sprinkle themselves over her cheek and the bridge of her nose, and her bright green eyes stare out from their watery world like a tiny, shimmery, wonderful bubble of intelligent, domineering, heartbreaking and sexy.

God, even when she's so angry at me she's crying she's still freaking gorgeous. Tony thinks to himself, trying to edge away from the waterworks.

"I jus'—I just want 'ou to be 'kay." She mutters against his shirt, although Tony can barely make out anything she's saying. At least it sounds cute.

"Don't cry, okay, Pep? Please?" He tries to give her the puppy eyes, but those are little rusty for some reason.

She sniffles, and she seems to brighten being close to him again. He has to admit that he misses being close to her too.

"I don't even know what we're arguing about," He tries to give a smile to get a smile, but like wildfire, everything he's saying is burning repulsion out of her. Her face suddenly turns passive and distant.

This hurts, She thinks.

You don't understand, he sighs inwardly. I don't know how to stop.

She leans against the warmth of his neck, and pretends like they're in bed. They're on a beach. They're anywhere else than his fucking lab surrounded by his fucking suits while he fucking picks himself apart and there's nothing she can do because he wouldn't listen to it even if she screamed it during an orgasm.

She can feel herself being lead backwards—towards his leather computer chair where there are six different huge HD monitors reading off New York news, traffic, world events, S.H.I.E.L.D. files, IMs from Happy. He sits down, and pulls her into his lap. They're a tangle of limbs, as she still tries to remain apart—but leaning against the warm wool of his shirt, feeling the bump of his Arc Reactor against the small of her back, makes her feel normal again.

"I love you," Tony says quietly into the back of her neck. He presses a kiss into her skin after the word, wondering if that'll mean anything when he can't kiss her goodnight tonight. Again.

"I love you too," Pepper replies, defeated.

He holds her to him, surrounded in the still, cold darkness of his lab and pretends that there isn't 60 other pairs of metal eyes guarding them from anything that could possibly hurt them. She's safe like this. Right here. They're safe. Why can't she see that?

They stay like that for a long time. Pepper carefully holds his hand in hers, and tries not to gasp when she turns his wrist over and sees something green, dark, and slightly oozing appearing from a thick tight mess of bandages around his forearm.

The eyes of the monitors tell Tony that she has to leave soon. He tries to widen his shoulders to block it out, just like before, but she's already preparing to move away.

"I have to go," Pepper says softly. Her hand slips from his. She turns and kisses him softly on the lips—lingering the kiss there until she's nothing but a fury of hips that swing through the shadows, up the stairs, and out of his vision.

"Fuck," Tony curses, bringing a hand down to smash it into some bolts and piece along the desk. He deliberately wants the shards to stab into his bio-chip wound until he's good and bleeding. He pretends that it's the raw pain that brings tears to the corner of his eyes and he leans back in his chair.

"I'm sorry," he whispers no one but the empty eyes of his Iron Man suits. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Sir, I'd like to make an observation that you have not eaten in 27 hours."

"Tell me something I don't know, Jarvis." Tony snaps irritability.

"Sir, every pulled source that you have required me to locate concludes that Miss Ore is not a dangerous person of interest."

"There's something I don't like about this. Maybe it's her. Maybe it's not. But something is not right. I'm missing something—but what?" Tony claws at the knots in his hair, nails tearing at his scalp. He rubs at his jaw, pulling at the skin and creating a red finger marks over his short, finely trimmed facial hair. "Jarvis, re-scan all cellular devices associated with my tower. All incoming, outgoing, and missed calls. Check for patterns, bugs, sketchy time charts, I don't care."

There is a brief silence in which Tony doesn't expect much to happen. But then Jarvis's proper voice is there from the ceiling.

"There is a persistently missed call that Captain Rogers has not answered for the past week. It's a numerical code is not associated with any known listed within the group requested."

Tony pauses, his dark eyes locked to the screen before him, allowing him to stare out the installed cameras on the windows into the overly bright New York skyline. The sky is a deep blue. There aren't any clouds. He still feels very disturbed.

"Show it to me."

AN: Alright! Expect a Steve chapter up next! Did I surprise ya'll with Pepper? Well, I surprised myself with Pepper. Thank you SO very much again! c: You guys make my life freakin' awesome. I SHALL SEND OUT ALL THE THANK YOU NOTES, GOD, I PROMISE, I SWEAR, DON'T HIT ME-Please leave a review and let me know what you think? Suggestions? Comments? Questions? :D