Disclaimer: I don't even have all my marbles, so the entire Marvel universe, just... no. No. I don't have that.

.26.

Potts' place, was, of course, Stark Tower.

Formerly Stark Tower.

Now – almost – Avengers Tower.

There were enough confusing files in Hal's bunker. The least these people could do was pick one name for the building. Just one. Not so complicated. Or it didn't need to be. But, based on what she'd seen in Potts' mind, her employer/lover wasn't one to simplify. He could (and would) make anything complicated.

Hal wasn't eager to meet him.

But Potts didn't seem eager to introduce her, leading her to a small living space meant for visiting business people (or aliens, or rocket scientists, or…) rather than the luxurious suites higher up. Not because Hal scared her, not anymore. She kept her in the 'business district' to keep her fragile guest away from the wrecking ball that was her soul mate. Hal considered these thoughts as they gathered and decided Potts knew what she was doing. She chose to trust the older woman's judgment.

Hal tugged on her hair, trying to magically straighten the tangles and knots. Beside Potts' crisp suit, Hal's bedraggled hoodie seemed all the more pitiable. The Soldier had provided her clothes. They were comfortable and very, very warm. She'd never considered them beyond those functions before. But the pristine room made Hal self-conscious. All this time, she'd been fighting for self awareness. Now, she wanted nothing more than to melt into the floor. To disappear.

"Jarvis," Potts said, "can you please start the coffee? And double my usual lunch order, please."

Hal wondered if Potts had misheard her name, and then…

"Of course, ma'am."

Hal flung herself toward the door, looking for the man speaking – the man she couldn't feel. She'd never encountered a mind she couldn't read, an individual she couldn't sense. Was this how other people felt? How could they stand it?

Anyone she couldn't read was a threat, and Hal had her hand on the door before Potts could flail through an apology.

"I'm sorry! I should've made introductions first. Haley Renold, that's Jarvis. Jarvis, that's Haley Renold."

Hal didn't forsake her grip on the door. Her question came clipped and chilled with her best impersonation of the Soldier's serous voice. "Where is he?"

"Jarvis?" Potts waved toward the veiling, reconsidered, and indicated the rest of the room with one grand sweep of her arm. "He's Tony's A.I. He's built into – well – just about everything. I guess you could say he runs the place."

"I do believe that is your job description, ma'am."

Potts smiled at the coffee machine as it burst to life. "You're too sweet, Jarvis."

Hal gingerly released the door, but she refused to move back toward Potts. "I'm not Haley Renold. I'm Hal."

"Alright. I'll call you Hal if you call me Pepper."

Hal nodded. Even if the woman didn't accept the truth of her developing identity, she was at least willing to address Hal by the only name she knew. The only one she'd answer to. She took a step forward, clasping her hands together to hide their adrenaline-fueled trembling.

Pepper gestured to the table, and Hal curled into a seat, her mind dancing through her host's thoughts. Jarvis had been a surprise. Hal didn't feel like waiting for a second. Bur Pepper was at ease, especially once her folded hands came to rest on the table. This was her safe place, where order, courtesy, and logic ruled supreme. Hal could appreciate that.

"Food will be here soon." Pepper didn't reach for the coffee, the desire shoved to the back of her mind by the puzzle that had dropped into her lap. At this point, the steaming cup was little more than a prop. "Where were you planning to spend the night?"

The careful words might have been more effective if Hal couldn't see the design behind them. Pepper spoke like she knew Hal had a plan, but they both knew better. Hal grabbed after Pepper's unspoken assumptions.

"I hear Central Park is nice this time of year." Unlike Pepper's forsaken mug, Hal's had no reason to doubt its place in the world; Hal drank in the heat through lips and palms, savoring the familiar, bitter taste of habits unremembered.

Pepper remembered – again – what she was dealing with, and Hal hid her smile behind her mug. Telepaths were a little more complicated than hostile corporations.

"Busy place," Pepper said, finally reaching for her coffee. She was going to need it. Hal considered it a small victory. "You seem less… confused now."

Hal nodded and glanced out the window. "Physical distance from crowds helps. I can still sense them all, and the people in the building, of course." She shrugged. Swallowed more coffee. "Sometimes there just isn't enough of me to go around, I guess."

Pepper smiled, politely acknowledging the weak joke for what it was, and mimed Hal's swig. When she lowered the cup, she tapped it against the table, catching herself midway through bouncing it again – as if she'd forgotten she was holding a mug rather than a sheaf of papers. The error threw her train of thought off track, but in another second, she'd resolved her focus. Of course, Hal knew what Potts was about to say, but it felt rude to interrupt.

"I would like you to stay."

Although Potts said it as a fact, it landed on Hal's ear as an irrevocable decision. A question crossed Potts' mind, even as she spoke, an indistinct worry about the effect of telepathy on machines. She wondered if Jarvis could hold someone like Hal. Hal wondered that, too. But she hadn't decided whether or not she wanted to test the A.I.'s immunity.

Hal bought time with a long sip from her mug. She held the bitter earthiness in her mouth as Potts stewed, seeking more information before coming to a decision.

While she envied the alacrity of Pott's ideas, Hal had a difficult time observing them as they tumbled around, over, and through each other, engaged in a phenomenally complicated dance Hal could only hope to understand with days of study.

Since she only had a few minutes, she closed her eyes, pretending to savor her drink (or gather her own thoughts) and watched the slideshow flutter past.

Tony might – he hasn't always – but not anymore- and how could – that doesn't even make sense…

And… there. Potts mind clung to a particular vision – fire and blood. An imagined future built with her memories of post-invasion New York. She imagined what people like Obadiah Stane, Killian, or Loki would do with a telepath. Because Hydra was made of such men – and worse. And, as many heads as Hydra claimed, she doubted they were the only villainous agency in play. Potts recognized the thought as less than selfless. But it was true, and just because she was afraid didn't mean she had the wrong idea. Hydra had made weapons of the unwilling before. They wouldn't hesitate to do it again.

That was Potts' angle, the ulterior motive she'd rather not think about. But Hal knew it now, and she accepted it.

Returning her mug to the table – the porcelain solemnizing the moment with a heavy clunk – Hal sat up in her chair. She didn't lean away from the conversation. She didn't lean. She simply held her place and offered Pepper the smallest of smiles.

"I believe you mean well, Ms. Potts," she said. "And I think you're right. Central Park is an awfully busy place."

.O.O.O.

Her first night under Pepper Potts' protection, Hal dreamed. She sank away from the tastefully modern guest room and left the realm where Jarvis the watchdog could keep her safe. A breath, a fall, and she found herself in a memory. Or an amalgamation of memories.

James's memories.

She watched through curling wreathes of smoke, aware only of the distance between them. He had created the gap, surrounding himself with his thoughts and concerns. Always before, he'd been the one to initiate contact. To reach for her.

He didn't reach now. He wouldn't even look at her.

The dream space was full of men and cigars, breaths twisting in the air like Chinese dragons. Hal sat in a dark corner booth. Alone. Painfully obvious in her canary-yellow dress. The dream-folk could see her, but chose to ignore her. That was how she knew she'd wandered into his head. Although she sometimes influenced the scenes of his sleeping mind – tangling details – the people were always his. Hal was alone in her dreams. Except for James. These men, determined to read their newspapers – with headlines about assassinations and murders – didn't want her. She was the intruder, and they would make her feel it.

She still tried to reach him. Her foot wouldn't leave the floor, so she called, all but choking on the smoke. "James?"

He began to turn, and instinctive twitch he quickly mastered. With no other acknowledgement, he lifted a glass of amber liquor and downed the shot. A man behind the bar refilled his glass. James seemed in no hurry to drink it.

They walked the same dream, but they did not share it.

James was trying to tell her something. And Hal thought she understood.

He was trying to forget her.

.O.O.O.

She woke in pain. It was all she could do to roll on her side and hold herself together. Arms wrapped so hands clutched shoulders. Knees to chest. Eyes burning.

Jarvis's voice came to her dimly, but without his intention seeping through her thoughts, without a mind to meet, the noise was only that. Hal was too deep inside herself to give a shit about disembodied voices.

Time passed.

A careful pressure on her shoulder Hal knew rather than felt to be a hand. Another voice. Another presence. Grounding. Certain. Worried.

Warm amber. Softly closing out the world, hiding the pain behind crystalline determination.

She went back to sleep. This time, she walked through the bunker. Alone. Protected by an amber sky.

A/N: It's short and it's late and I'm sorry! *Hides*

Here are my excuses: MY SHORT STORY GOT PUBLISHED! While one job gave me time off, the non-paying one decided to give me more work. Like, six interviews. Two of them with international bestsellers. So... And my other (non-fanfiction) projects, which are gaining shape and want me to pay attention to them. It's like having more than one dog. They all leave you alone until you pet ONE. Then they swarm you, because if he's getting some lovin', we want some, too, dammit.

And this is all very frustrating, because I've fallen in love with this story all over again, and whenever I write, my muse keeps writing things for future scenes. And THAT is due to the fact that I have the rest of the story planned, now. That's right.

I might be in shock.

And I have to mod a jack-in-the-box for my niece in the next two weeks because I promised and WHYYYYYY...

Next chapter: more Bucky, more Tony, more Jarvis, more chapter... please don't kill me before I finish it, even if I deserve it.

Replies to Anons:

Inkwriter: Thanks so much for the review! I had a lot of fun with their interaction, so I'm glad you enjoyed it. Thanks again, and I hope you liked this chapter!

Adriana: Why, thank you, thank you! I'm all a'flutter. And, yes, my dad jokes about 'male-pattern-blindness.' I think that fits this situation. On multiple levels. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!