Disclaimer: Have a happy new year! I have no Marvel rights!
.25.
As his P.A., Pepper Potts had gotten used to making Tony's excuses for him.
As his CEO, she'd learned how to handle his random absences.
As his significant other, she wanted a damn explanation.
A romantic dinner for two at one of the classiest restaurants in New York had turned into an awkward drink for one. She knew Tony, and she accepted his manic tendencies, not necessarily as part of his charm, but part of the man she loved. But this date was the make-up date for the last two he'd missed. And after Malibu, and Tony's surgery, and whatever he was cooking up in the soon-to-be Avenger's Tower – well, Pepper felt an aching need for some one-on-one time. She lived with the man. She shouldn't miss him so much.
And so it was she found herself in a cocktail gown, heels in hand, listening to canned elevator music she was 99% sure Tony chose to annoy her. The remaining 1% insisted the music was for Steve, to help him find some familiarity in the high tech skyscraper, but Steve didn't live there. Not yet. In fact, Tony had yet to offer an official invitation. So the 1% went quiet and retreated behind the martini Pepper had ingested on a (still) empty stomach while waiting for Tony.
Pepper Potts would wait no more.
She marched into his lab with more avenging fury than Tony's team of superheroes could ever hope to muster. Overhead, Jarvis gave "Sir" a polite – and faintly amused – warning of impending doom, and Tony fished himself out of the computer just as Pepper closed the final yard. She came to a stop close enough for him to smell her rage, punctuating her halt with a fist on either hip.
Tony looked, for his part, contrite. Puppy dog eyes laced with the faux-naiveté he'd used to land bedmates for his first several decades of life.
And she hadn't even started yet.
"No projects, Tony."
His jaw twitched to the side as his shoulders rose the barest fraction in a self-defensive hunch.
"No favors."
He tilted his face away from her, though he maintained eye contact, aiming to impress her with his profile – or make a more perfect picture of contrition.
"No emergencies."
Groaning, he let the façade drop. He scrubbed his short beard with his hands, peering at the most important person in his life through his fingers. "I know. I'm sorry. But there was…"
"You promised."
He nodded. Fully resigned to his fate. "I did."
Baffled, frustrated, and a little hurt, Pepper spread her hands so he could take a clear shot. "I don't get it, Tony. You've been – We've been doing so much better. The surgery. The suits. I thought you wanted to move forward."
"I do."
"Then why the hell did I have to drink an overpriced cocktail by myself at the most expensive table in the most expensive restaurant in the city? Even the paparazzi felt sorry for me, Tony. The paparazzi. When I was going out to the car, one of them came up and said so. Seriously, Tony."
Letting the silence hang. It sat there for a while, and only once it had grown good and moldy did Pepper ask what she'd been wondering since – an hour after their reservation – she realized Tony had stood her up. Again.
"What are you working on?" Of course, what they both heard was really, "What's coming between us this time."
Tony raised his hands, flapping one at his computer screen. "Nothing. I mean, not right now. Not tonight. I've been looking all day, but there are so many people in New York, and no one knows how to install good street-view security cameras anymore, and…"
Pepper shook her head, dropping her shoes on an empty work bench as she circled around to see what Tony was talking about. "What?"
"This." Tony pointed. "Her."
Onscreen, Pepper found the simplest SHIELD dossier she'd ever seen. A corporate mug shot of a girl somewhere in her twenties and a lackluster resume. When she read the girl's job description, she thought she needed new contact lenses.
"A janitor?"
Tony launched into an explanation. "I know, but that's not what…"
"SHIELD's janitor? That's why you missed our date?" Her voice got pitchier with every word.
"No! Well, yes, but – god, Pepper, she isn't a janitor." He stopped, blinked. "Wasn't. Isn't. Hasn't ever been. I mean, she was, but – she was Fury's backup."
Enough was enough. Pepper crossed the room, grabbed another rolling chair, and dragged it back to Tony's desk. As she made her return trip, she heard nothing but the breathy rattle of well-oiled wheels across carefully polished floor. Having arrived, she arranged the chair facing Tony and the innocuous face onscreen before dropping into the seat. It wasn't very soft. Pepper held that against the chair.
"Just start from the beginning."
.O.O.O.
Hal liked the library. It understood her, and it felt like memory. Paper, ink, and polite whispers. Even thoughts felt more controlled. Unlike the cacophony outside, information imparted itself primarily in silence, taken from page to brain with only the lightest internal banter. Hal's voiceless examination seemed less out of place. And, best of all, answers surrounded her.
Buried deep in a newspaper from the previous year, she blocked out the other patrons' thoughts. So many facts. So much data. A history grew before her eyes – context in which she might find herself. A mirror made of words.
She'd noticed she wasn't dressed like many people she passed on the street. Most dressed like her – in clothes old, worn, and several sizes too big – hung back in alleys and side streets. But she saw several others dressed with layers of mismatched hoodies and t-shirts in the library, all of whom seemed more disheveled than she. No one gave her a second glance.
Even as she scanned through the paper, her mind turned over the idea of books. The library had so many, and the Soldier had mentioned them casually once or twice, linking them vaguely to her past. Since several shelves of them had already appeared in her bunker, she was certain he was right.
She wondered if the library had a copy of The Wind in the Willows.
Thoughts reached out and fixed on her, snapping with cautious excitement. The focus felt like a shout in Hal's mind, and she winced away from her newspaper, fighting the instinct to look around. Surprise, James had said, would be her best weapon in a fight. Rather than questing after her stalker with her gaze, she crept back along the questing thoughts to find their source.
Right here in the open. My god. Should I call Tony? Is she dangerous? Steve wouldn't put him in harm's way, would he? But the Winter Soldier…
The name shocked away Hal's discretion, and she whipped around in her seat. Whoever had found her was well informed, and from what Hal knew about the world, people well informed about James, about her, rarely had good intentions. She met the gaze of a smartly-dressed red head across the lobby. The woman's mind froze, fear creeping like ice to stop her train of thought.
A fistful of newspaper crinkled in Hal's grip. She released it, slapped it flat, and ducked back around. Someone was speaking to the red head, and Hal listened distractedly as she refolded her reading material.
"…for the donation. We couldn't have rebuilt, certainly not as quickly, without it."
"Oh," the woman waved off the thanks, just as distracted as Hal. "Stark Industries is happy to help. It was the least we could do. I wish we could do more."
Hal returned the paper to its proper shelf. She judged the conversation would keep the woman off her tail long enough to disappear on the streets.
The woman, of course, had eyes on her, and as Hal slipped through the desks and shelves toward the door, the redhead rushed to finish up her business. Hal picked up the pace, pushing through the door just as she felt a rush of relief from the stranger as she turned to give chase.
Hal knew she could outrun her pursuer. But she wasn't sure she wanted to. Lose her, certainly, but Hal wanted to know why the redhead was after her. Who she was. How she knew that name.
Once she had a wall to between them, she yanked up her hood fell into step with a group of young people toting skateboards, headed across the street. They were sharing a rapid-fire discussion of things Hal – for all her efforts – couldn't put into context. If she paid attention, followed deeper into their thoughts… but all her focus was on the woman bursting through the library doors.
Hal dropped back against a wall, keeping the woman in her peripheral vision as the stranger whipped her head back and forth, looking for someone running, someone obviously apart from the crowd. As the woman searched, Hal reached out to her mind.
Tony, you asshole. How could…? Signed that. Coffee. Stark Industries and that tower, and why did Loki choose our home, and why did Tony get our first home blown up, and where is the janitor girl?
People, places, and regulations came streaming along in the most well-orchestrated chaos Hal had ever seen. She felt how comfortable Ms. Pepper Potts found her suits. The lingering grudge over Tony and those damned strawberries. Her limited knowledge of SHIELD. Tony's explanation of Captain America's request.
Captain America. Steve and Sam. Naturally.
Hal found a place with her answers, and their back-up man's girlfriend just had to be in the wrong place at the right time. Potts had forgotten to sign a paper releasing the donated funds Stark Industry had gifted the New York Public Library. Decided to attend to the details in person after Tony hung up on a committee member… Apparently, Tony felt guilty over the space worm – let through the sky via the top of his tower – crashing through the front windows. Even though it was Thor's fault. He couldn't blame Banner. Or the Big Guy. No. He'd never blame the Big Guy. Wouldn't risk it.
Hal's eyes sprang open just a little wider, and the back of her head met the brick wall with an uncomfortably firm tap. It jolted her thoughts straight.
Pepper Potts had a very, very busy mind.
Hal felt like she'd run a mile, but she'd only crossed the street.
She didn't realize Potts had spotted her until she glanced up and locked eyes with the woman. Potts stepped forward, and Hal cracked under a spike of panic. Her mind flew out in every direction, looking for refuge or escape. A clear path. A new piece of information. The reason for brussel sprouts. Anything. And so her mind brushed a cabbie's, passing through his vision as he looked down at the radio, away from the redhead he thought was about to hail him, and what station played that classical shit again?
Breath brought Hal back to herself. She pulled in consciousness with air, coming to focus on Pepper Potts as she took a step into the street, unaware of the cabbie with the radio who hadn't seen the light turn red.
She'd always been fast.
Without thought, she fell into action, springing across the street. Her hand caught Potts' arm, turning her away from the cab and propelling her back a step and a half to the safety of the sidewalk. She froze, just for an instant, as the cab blew past, triggering a storm of honks and shouts, but no crunch of metal on metal. Or metal on bone. She sensed rather than saw Potts gaping at her, putting the pieces together, reconciling herself with yet another near death experience. Hal dropped her arm and hurried down the sidewalk.
What had she done. What had she done. What had she done?
She should've just yelled or… or something. She could've done something else. She should've. Hands in her pockets, head ducked low, she tried to put some distance between herself and Steve's blood hound (twice removed). But now Potts had her scent, and Hal could smell her perfume as she marched along behind her.
"Wait!"
Nope.
"Please!"
Hell no.
"Can we talk? Please? Or slow down? These heels are killing me."
Good. Maybe that would discourage her from further pursuit.
"It's not safe out here."
Hal didn't want to admit it, but she slowed – just a pinch – at that. It wasn't like it was surprise, but hearing the Soldier's constant warnings about the outside world repeated by this well-groomed stranger made the threat real.
Potts pressed her advantage. "I'm sorry if I startled you. You kind of startled me, too. We have some friends in common. Ca…"
"Steve. Sam." Hal stopped. But she didn't turn around. "You can tell them I'm not ready to go back."
"I'll pass it along the pipeline." Dry sarcasm stained Pott's tone.
So much moved behind Pott's words. History. Personality. A lifetime of experience and lessons learned. Identity. Hal, fearfully jealous, barely knew what to say. "…Good."
Hal took two steps, but her delay had allowed Potts to catch up, and the older woman dodged around to block Hal's way, hands half-raised in appeal.
"You saved my life. Let me get you some coffee. There's a nice coffee place around the corner," Potts said, her hands drifting near Hal's back and shoulder – an intimation of connection without actually touching uninvited. "You look like you could use a pick-me-up. I know I could."
Choking on absence, gutted by absence, Hal pinned her would-be dog catcher with a level stare. "You don't have to pretend. I know what you want."
Hal observed the fear well up, noted as Potts crushed it down again, and waited patiently until the CEO could piece together a response. Hal knew what she would say before she even said it. But to say so would be rude.
"Telepathic, of course." Pepper smiled and waved off the word, like it was nothing. But Hal knew that wasn't true. "Would you be more comfortable if we went somewhere you know?"
She was ignoring the point of this discussion, but her disarming question shattered Hal's last measure of resolve. Her attention splintered as her eyes warmed, and she glanced around (strangers, sky, cement), like the outside world had any power to restore her bearings.
"Um." She folded her lower lip between her teeth, blinking helplessly at this woman who just wanted to be with the man she loved, who knew her world and her place in it. The woman who genuinely did want coffee. Slaps and kicks and harsh words Hal could take. Cold, quiet, and silent consideration. But she had no idea what to do with this… wordiness. Words that summoned gentle, blooming heat. A growing thing Hal couldn't bear to recognize.
"I – I don't… know."
Potts stepped in closer, a concerned frown arcing over her face. "Sorry? What don't you know? Would you prefer tea?"
The heat slid out of Hal's eyes and traveled down her face, leaving her jaw in cool drops. Pepper's hands stopped fluttering and came to rest on Hal's shoulders with a quiet, "Oh."
Ashamed, Hal kept her eyes on the pavement. The Soldier never told her not to cry. But he never did, and Hal learned to stop. To be like him. Strong. To impress him.
So he wouldn't leave.
Potts was very nearly hugging her. "You haven't recovered as much as they think you have, have you?"
Hal didn't ask who 'they' were. She felt the names impressed on the back of the word as it grew in Potts' consciousness. Steve. Sam. Tony. The Winter Soldier.
"You don't have to come with me," Pepper said. "And you don't have to stay. But it really isn't safe, and I won't leave you out here by yourself." With one arm about Hal's shoulders, Potts slipped a hand through the crook of Hal's elbow and steered her toward a car parked across from the library. "Let's have that coffee. My place. We can figure things out from there."
A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! Yes, I'm ficcing instead of partying. Don't be sad. I'll get my kicks Saturday night. This chapter is longer than the last one, right? Baby steps. I plan on going back to regular updates (every other week min., hopefully EVERY week - if I get enough inspiration *coughreviewscough*).
I don't care what people say, I love Pepper. She has a bad rep as a "bitchy" character, but I feel like any frustration/mother hen instincts are validated considering the fact that she works for/is in love with TONY FRIGGIN' STARK. King of Poor Life Choices. And she loves him enough to call him on his shit while simultaneously respecting herself enough to make perfectly reasonable demands. Does that make conflict? Well, yeah. Relationships have that. In life AND fiction.
So there's my defense of Pepper Potts. And she's such a nurturing soul. A very pragmatic sort, but still. I thought she'd be a very different kind of challenge for Hal, and I couldn't resist dragging her in.
In other news, Shrubby has me crushing on characters I don't want to be crushing on. Bad, Shrubby. Bad, bad Shrubby.
I will NOT get distracted. I won't. I won't. I won't. I - Oh, well, isn't this shiny?
Replies to Anons:
Guest: Thanks so very, very much for your review! That's a huge bucket of praise! I'm all a-flutter. I fluttered so much I nearly went airborne. The fact that you forgot, for even an instant, that she wasn't canon is the headiest compliment you could give me. Thank you, as well, for your sympathy. I have high hopes for the new year and some grand plans. Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the review!
Margo: THANK YOU! I like your caps. I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter! Thanks again!