Her knock is timid but the look in her eyes is not. In fact, if being wholly unimpressed was an art, Virginia Potts would be famous. It's quite remarkable. Her brows are raised, eyes judging, and he had seen her lips thin when he threw the door open, gold and red metal preceding the ear shattering blare of Back in Black by AC/DC.

It isn't great, as first impressions go, but it's exactly the kind that Tony tends to fall into naturally and constantly. He honestly expects the next thing he sees to be her back, followed by her parting words of resignation. She looks to be the no nonsense type typically driven to consternation just by the mere hint of his presence, and he knows this isn't even close to what was in her job description when she signed on.

But none of that happens. She does not leave. She does not resign. She does not look contemptuous or disgusted or accusatory.

Instead. Instead , she stays. (Instead, the world shifts). Instead, her brows drop. Her gaze softens, her lips quirk. She looks at him expectantly, then says in a tone both sharp and gentle, "Mr. Stark, I presume". It is not a question.

A beat passes. Then a second, and a third. He clears his throat loudly, pitches forward on unsteady legs (he looks drunk, he knows he does-he feels it. And god, Tony hasn't felt this out of his depth since he was a skinny fourteen year old at MIT, much too small and much too smart and much too young), and yells above the music.

"The one and only!" He spreads his arms as wide as they'll go, to encompass all of everything, and wishes for a moment, so achingly fierce, that he was able to smile (to let her see his smile). A hated, sour feeling curdles in his gut like spoiled milk. He swallows imitates swallowing. Knows she can't see it. Knows he isn't doing it. (The feeling grows).

She nods shortly in acknowledgement and brushes a strand of brilliant orange hair away from her eyes. The pattern of sunlight that had splayed artfully across the span of her shoulders and pale neck shifts and morphs as the trees rustle behind her. She shivers, and for the first time since opening the door he notices the light breeze and half risen sun.

It's dawn. Huh.

"I'm your new personal assistant," she says slowly, with the air of someone trying to regain the attention of a particularly unfocused child, "I was told to meet you here. At your home."

"Right right, Ms. Virginia Potts! I thought you were supposed to be here on Wednesday!" He's bad at tracking time, but he's not that bad.

"It...it is Wednesday." Oh. Whoops. "I'm-I'm sorry, could you lower the music, please?"

He frowns at that. "What? Why, why do you want me to lower my music? You got something against-"

" No , I'm just trying to have a conversation, here, with you, and you're-"

"Well I don't want to lower my music, so..."

"- blaring rock music like it isn't-"

"Is this going to be a thing? Because if it is, then maybe-"

"-six in the morning on a weekday-"

"We should take a step back. We should-I'm sorry, what was your name again? It's-"

"-and you aren't conducting an official meeting with an employee."

"-very hard to concentrate, with you yelling at me. The-the music isn't an issue if you don't make it one."

"That is-Okay, enough ." The words die in his throat so abruptly that he's half convinced, if he had teeth right now, they'd be loudly clicking shut. "Mr. Stark," she's using the same polite, allowing tone she has been, but the unimpressed glare is back in full force, "I'm trying to talk to you, but I can't. The music is too loud. It needs to be turned down, or we're going to get nowhere."

Tony opens his mouth to tell her just how much he doesn't care, but is stalled again .

"Done, Ms. Potts," a voice says instead. A voice that is decidedly not Tony's. JARVIS, the traitor, immediately lowers the music.

"Wha-unbelievable. It's my music. You can't just turn down my music!"

"Mr. Stark," she begins, unfazed, and wow if he doesn't already hate those words on her lips, "Ms. Horowitz reviewed the job requirements with me when I was hired, but I'm getting the impression I haven't been fully debriefed on the situation. If we could take this inside, we might be able to smooth a few things over before I get started."

Her command of authority would make even the most experienced of politicians weep. It certainly makes Tony want to listen, which puts her more than a peg above most of his esteemed board members.

Confidence isn't the only thing Tony is beginning to notice about her, however. She holds herself well, a mixture of professionalism and poise worn with considerable ease; seemingly unafraid and unflappable in the face of what should be an intimidating situation. Paired with her sharp, clean cut suit and four inch heels, she looks more inclined to dominate a business meeting than step into the role of personal assistant. Granted, she would be personal assistant to the CEO of a multi billion dollar international corporation. But the point still stands.

He knows Ms. Potts worked as a Manager in Accounting. He's had his eye on her for quite some time. Long before the message came through from HR that hey, you'll need a PA again if you want to keep up with the company right now, here's one we thought would fit the bill (please don't scare this one off), she's been on his radar. But he's never met her before. Barely kept up with her beyond tagging her as a potential candidate for a better position. Now here she is, standing in front of him like a sleek, well dressed pillar of unshakable competence, and he still can't quite figure out if this is a promotion or a demotion for her.

On one hand, Ms. Potts deserves the jump in salary and recognition. Nothing will do that quite like being seen at his side. On the other , nobody has survived this job for longer than their first paycheck, and sending anybody into the crossfire is equivalent to an assured resignation.

Perhaps they think she's capable enough to wrangle him. Perhaps they need her out of the way.

He will undoubtedly need to look into her reasons for being here, but right now he's content to let things play out uninterrupted. He knows all he needs to know. She's smart, good at her job, and apparently incapable of taking his shit.

He hasn't decided if he likes that last one just yet.

"You've got quite the bite on you, Ms. Potts." He moves over to make space in the doorway, but she gives him The Look again. "What?! What now?"

"I have pepper spray in my purse with your name on it if you touch me right now. Sir."

"Wh-Why are you telling me that? Have I threatened you in some way?!" He feels like he's just been put through the shredder. This woman takes no prisoners. He would be impressed if he wasn't absolutely terrified right now.

She crosses her arms, but it doesn't look defensive. If anything, she looks five seconds away from stabbing him with her heels. "Mr. Stark," He really wishes she would stop calling him that. "you opened the door in a mechanized-possibly weaponized-suit, proceeded to argue with me while in it, and blocked half of the doorway with it as you invited me in. Adding that to your reputation, I wouldn't exactly call this interaction peaceful."

And. Okay. He had completely forgotten about the suit. Forgotten about everything, in fact. And with the sudden return of reality comes the realization that he had felt human, for just one moment. He had stood here and talked-let the silence be filled by something other than music-and all of his worries had faded away.

"Okay," he says, momentarily thrown and desperately trying not to think too hard about it (about this, her, everything, about-) , "that's reasonable. That's-we can work with that. I'm-I should say sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to threaten you I just...need this-uh, suit. For purposes...of the-medical variety. Health reasons, you know. It's-come in. Come-" He takes a few steps back into the building and clears the doorway, eyes catching for a second on the expanse of sunlight that follows him across the sleek metal floor.

When he glances back up at her she looks unconvinced, a critical brow raised and that purse to her lips again. But she steps forward as if she always meant to, and enters the building without further preamble.

And he will admit, quietly and only to himself (only ever to himself), that the relief he feels at seeing her lack of fear is enough to take his breath away.

"Ms. Potts!" he exclaims, "Pepper. Pep! Ms. Pepper Potts. Welcome to my humble abode."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark-"

"Tony."

"I'm sorry?" They're both standing a few feet apart now. She's closer to the entrance, looking up at the high ceilings and spiraling staircase with an expression he can't quite name. He's further in, near the couch and the piano (mom's piano), the armor standing unnaturally stiff in the middle of the room. She turns to look at him when he speaks, and he has to fight against the pull of kindness in her eyes.

"It's Tony. Call me Tony. Mr. Stark was my old man. And I'm not exactly getting on in years, you know. Do I look like a Mr. Stark? No, of course not. I look like a Tony. Genius, billionaire, playboy-" he twirls his hands dramatically and gives her a mocking half bow "-philanthropist."

"Well, Mr. Stark-Tony," she corrects at his offended tilt of the head, "I wouldn't know much about how you look right now, would I. Considering your...health issue."

He waves a forgiving hand at her, inciting another small, ghost of a smile. "That's alright, Ms. Potts. I'm sure the internet has a few photos we can scrounge up. We'll put it into an introductory slideshow and everything. Give you the whole shebang. Purely for official debriefing purposes, of course."

"Of course."

"We've got to keep you in the loop. Can't have you thinking I'm not the stunning genius you expected."

"Those aren't the exact words I'd use."

"Of course not. Handsome fits the bill much better. Young, even. Virulent. Charming. Brilliant. A veritable mastermind."

Her face twists into something skeptical, but her eyes crinkle around the edges with amusement. He feels something in him warm. For a moment, it feels like his heart is beating. Like his skin is on fire. Her lip pulls up enough to show a sliver of teeth, and she says, "for an alleged genius, you are very far off the mark. In fact, I'd say you might actually be getting colder."

The indignant squawk he makes at that is more than a bit embarrassing, and he's painfully relieved when JARVIS interjects himself into the conversation before Tony can make a further fool of himself.

"While we may not have photographic slideshows, Ms. Potts, I am more than capable of bringing you up to speed," JARVIS says, voice calm and smooth, almost soothing. The tension bleeds from the room, and Pepper turns away from Tony to look up at the ceiling again, perplexed.

"That's JARVIS," Tony tells her. He tries to keep the pride out of his voice, but it's difficult when he thinks about how far JARVIS has come; how JARVIS interacts with others so easily now-makes his own decisions. "It stands for Just A Rather Very Intelligent System. He's an AI-a robot butler of sorts. Completely harmless. He just monitors the building and keeps track of my work." He wants to say that JARVIS practically runs the place. That he's more than just a glorified filing and security system. But even when Obadiah had been there, trusted and caring and a steady presence at his side (and god, what did it say about him, that Obadiah had done what he'd done? Thought what he'd thought? What did it say about Tony?), he had never told the man about JARVIS's true sentience. It's a risk he just can't take, not with himself and especially not with his son, child, creation, tech.

Even so, she looks wary. "So it can see us? Everywhere in the building?"

"Yes, but not in the bedrooms. Not fully." As soon as the words leave his mouth he wants to bite his damn tongue. It doesn't sound nearly as comforting as it had in his head.

"Passive monitoring, Ms. Potts," JARVIS interferes, before the look on her face can move from wary to horrified, "I will be able to read your vitals and monitor security points, but I will not have access to any other information inside your room or any private spaces. In the case of an emergency, the proper protocols will be activated. That is all."

"Like I said, he's harmless." There's an emphasis on the pronoun that he tries not to make. He doesn't want to draw attention. But it's hard when he hears the casual dehumanization. She doesn't seem to notice, but when she speaks again it's different - respectful.

"I'd be happy to take you up on your offer, then, JARVIS," she tells the ceiling. It's more than a little amusing, and Tony finds himself smiling before he can stop himself.

He moves to close the door. Now that everything is settled he doubts she'll be leaving out of it anytime soon (he hopes she won't. And he doesn't like her. He doesn't. But it's been...silent lately. Lonely ). "JARVIS will go over all of the paperwork with you. Get you situated. Feel free to order anything you need or want or..whatever. And I suppose you'll need help with your bags. I'll have someone bring them in for you. Oh! And don't forget to notify HR about your arrival. I'm sure they're all worried about your status as an employee right now. Choose whatever room you want, I don't mind, but whatever you choose, just know that the lab is off limits."

"The lab?" She sounds intrigued more than anything, but it still sets him on edge.

"Yeah, the lab. My lab. Where the genius happens. Don't go in it. Don't go near it. I don't like visitors, and neither does JARVIS." That's not true, JARVIS loves visitors. It means he can force Tony to take care of himself. The joke's on JARVIS, though, Tony doesn't need food now. Or sleep. But Pepper doesn't have to know that.

"Where is this lab?" she asks. Which is-reasonable. She has to know where it is to avoid it, he supposes, but for some reason the words won't come out. It feels like a weakness, suddenly. Like he's being asked to expose some vulnerable part of him to this woman he's never met before (and he can't believe he forgot, even for a moment, that she's a stranger, that she's a threat -).

The question comes back, unprompted. Why was she sent here? What could have happened? It's a fine line between trust and disapproval, sending her to be his PA. He wonders what she did, if she did anything, and makes a note to look into it sooner than he had planned (this isn't paranoia. He's not paranoid. He's not. He's just...he's cautious. He's-he remembers Obadiah. How could he not? And he can't stop thinking about it now because somebody is in his space, they're-no. No. Not now).

"The lab is down the stairs to your left, Ms. Potts," JARVIS tells her, a comforting presence in the wake of Tony's quiet breakdown, seamlessly covering for his sudden silence, "The rooms are up the stairs to your right, if you are ready to move forward."

"Oh, um, alright." She takes a step toward the stairs, then hesitates, looking back at Tony. Checking on something, although he isn't sure what.

He waves a dismissive gauntlet to rid her of whatever worries, then clears his throat loudly and does a quick recap: "so, free reign except for the lab. Work starts at 8am tomorrow and JARVIS will tell you the rest. Don't worry about your luggage, I'll have it brought to whatever room you choose." The words sound airy, and he tries to make it the light, easy going kind of airy instead of the 'I'm out of breath, three seconds away from and just coming off of a panic attack' kind.

He's not so sure it works.

But she doesn't ask. Something must put her off. Instead, she nods sharply. Turns her back. Instead, she leaves.

And Tony flees.

(A bot brings in her bags. Tony doesn't come upstairs for the rest of the day. She never comes down)