"What Is Love?
I have met in the streets a very poor young man who was in love.
His hat was old, his coat worn, the water passed through his shoes and the stars through his soul"
-Victor Hugo
Chapter 3
He never did call.
Pepper rocked back into her chair twirling the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, rubbing her foot against the sharp bones of the opposite ankle.
She could have been kidnapped, dead in some ditch near the freeway, and it would have been entirely his fault. And he would end up feeling terribly guilty because he didn't call.
Granted she probably would have hung up in any case, but that was entirely beside the point.
She drew a guilty eye to the evening dress hanging over the armchair. The shimmery ripples seemed to taunt her in its seductive agony, folding sensuously to the curves of the chair. She weighed the pros and cons. The only reason she wanted to go to this fundraiser tonight was so she could wear the dress, it really wasn't worth the paparazzi or getting mobbed by Christine Everhart.
It was just as well; it was too damn hot to go out anyway.
So here she was, on a Friday night no less, stealing shamefaced glances to that silent phone, the very act of waiting forming a hot seed of fear in her chest. Waiting anxiously for the end, for her final, inevitable goodbye.
Nightfall had wrought an eerie quietness, and she leaned over to the record player that was teetering dangerously on a stack of old novels, gingerly placing the tone arm at its curved edge. The scratchy lyrics of the song wafted through her small apartment, hitching its way through some invisible dust.
In a way she was enjoying herself. This was quite possibly the last moment she had to herself as an employed woman. There was some solitude perfection in these rare moments of peace, and she soaked in the silence of her thoughts.
This was the type of evening where she's so goddamn sweaty and hot and her hair is plastered to her neck despite the fan raging in her face. In which the comfort of bed is as appealing as one being descended into lava, no matter how badly her eyes ache to lower their veils. Twilight softly gives her the long-awaited permission to shed her skin, to mentally tell Ms. Potts to screw off and letting her perfectly poised posture to give way to the inevitable exhaustive slouch, her hand rubbing the contours of her head as she lets herself breathe.
These were the long nights where the heat settles in a heavy stillness, where she finds herself sitting at her mother's typewriter, tapping the keys rhythmically and aimlessly, one foot propped on the chair and the other playing with the silken grooves of the oak table legs. A glass of cheap wine and a stale joint (that she would occasionally find in rarely-opened moving boxes of her youth) simmering in long, drawn out sighs of anticipation. Orange moons peeking in through the curtains. Evenings where if she had to be alone she would spend her lonesomeness touching the night with futile thoughts.
This morning, she reflected, was really the same as any other, the fight exempted of course. The Malibu mornings spent cursing herself for forgetting the Spf-15, mentally willing her complexion to remain the same shade. It was laughable to think that to him it looked like she was hanging on to his every word, ready to spring to his every order, when in reality her stare of intense concentration was more accurately wondering if it was time to clean behind the refrigerator, or reciting her grocery list as well as his, or devising clever ploys in avoiding the creepy man from room 408 when she did her laundry in her building.
Pepper ripped a page from the typewriter, crumpled it, and tossed it angrily at the wall as she thought about the earlier events.
It wasn't just about the apartment, no, admittedly she saw his logic. But she wasn't leaving. She couldn't abandon the one thing that held her to her past, before she succumbed entirely to the business card persona of Ms. Potts, Personal Assistant. Her explosion this morning was the final culmination of a rising crescendo of fear, the fear that reality was sinking in. The reality being that Tony Stark was in love with Virginia Potts.
She knew it was coming. Part of her had known all along, but when it finally happened she was caught entirely off guard. She cannot lose her last bit of control.
It was the intensity of his constant stare that finally unraveled her, shaking her from the ground and suddenly making everything too real.
And she knew perfectly well why she was afraid of him.
For Christ sakes, back then he wouldn't have even noticed the days where she had forgotten deodorant, which frankly provided some great measure of relief, and now all of a sudden he seems to make a game of identifying her daily choice of perfume. He would stumble upon the truth, oh yes, she knew it the moment he smoothed out a wrinkled crease on the sleeve of her jacket the week after he returned from Afghanistan, he would find sniff out the real Pepper Potts. Why, because all of a sudden he's a changed man and now he was interested? Goddamn it Tony. She spent the last 8 fucking years building this wall, this mask, a whole fucking fortification system entirely devoted to preventing him from screwing her and being escorted out by the next poor bastard of a PA. This is Tony, after all. He doesn't do (she surprises even herself with the adolescent snarkiness in her head) love. He once said it himself, as he saw past her impassive expression in a dark kitchen long ago after another faceless girl stumbled brokenhearted out of the door, 'a leopard cannot change its fucking spots.'
Now, now he cares?
Oh yea, he's Ironman to boot. That's exactly what she needs to be. Another comic book cliché. He may think it's romantic as all hell, but as far she was concerned that's exactly where he could go take himself if he expected some simpering wreck of a girlfriend waiting anxiously every time he flies off in that ridiculous, yes she said it, ridiculous suit. He was saving lives without any concern to his own, and she wasn't about to stick around for judgment day.
She rests her cheek on the sharp angle of her knee, swishing the wine around in the glass, gazing as the red liquid creates a vortex of a swirling amber hue, rising and falling against the concaves of its glass cage. The leaves outside rustle as the wind brushes by their green borders, the still softness of it all lulling her eyelids into submission.
A sharp knock at the door jolts her awake, making her jump in the air as the red wine spills in unrestrained freedom over her clothes. She mutters a curse as she looks around for a napkin, rising out of the chair and eventually working her way towards the door. She vows that if it's her creepy neighbor she will go postal.
She peers into the peephole, halfway working into a mother of a yawn, before clamping her jaw shut and subsequently biting her tongue. Shit. It's Tony.
Why does the world want to fuck with her?
She doesn't immediately tear her eye away from the peephole, mentally attempting to compose and prepare herself. His body narrowed into a sliver, his head bobbing in the concave image. He was stretching his neck away from the tight, messy tie, his hair uncombed as usual. She straightens her toes further, wondering why he was wearing sunglasses at midnight. Another sharp knock jerks her into reality, and she spins around looking for a bathrobe. Nothing. She heaves in a breath, faces stock-still towards the entrance, and swings open the door.
Tony Stark is decked out in the same Armani suit that took months for Pepper to schedule a fitting for. His hands were casually slung in its pockets, and he had quite possibly the cockiest grin she had ever witnessed on a man's face. He stood with feet apart, rolling back on his heels and clinking the change in the pockets. She could see her scowl reflected back to her in his black shades.
"Evening." His words spilled out in a slow, bemused drawl.
"Tony... what are you doing here? It's midnight for God's sakes."
"You never came back."
She instantly forgets what she was about to say. She swallows, unable to reply with a reasonable explanation. A strange awkwardness settles as she stares at him with a steely gaze, Tony glancing around her into her apartment.
"So, you gonna invite me in, or do I hang out here in the hall like a vagabond"
"You can hang out in the hall like a vagabond." She replies quickly, her words as sharp as her eyes.
He cocks his head, blowing a bubble with his gum, peach-flavored, she notices absently.
"C'mon Pep (at this her mouth drops in sardonic disbelief at the mockery of her already much-mocked nickname), we're friends aren't we?"
Her jaw still dropped, she begins to swing the door shut, fully prepared to lock him out. He swiftly side-steps through the closing door, his hands still casually embedded in the silk confines of his pockets as he barely slides past her, accentuating this smooth transition with a childish hop to face her again. He lifts his chin with a silly-toothed grin, the sunglasses sliding down his nose as he chews his gum in nonchalant victory.
She folds her arms and leans back against the door, letting it fall back and click into place, setting her foot against it as she raises an eyebrow at him, jaw clenched.
"Well that wasn't very nice of you", with this he tips his head down as to mockingly glare at her from over the glasses now fully perched at the rise of his nose. He scans the woman in front of him, and she could have sworn his gaze darkened for a millisecond before returning to its twinkling state.
"Well if it isn't Virginia Potts in her jammies, although I confess did fantasize about a particular numb"
"Enough, Tony." cutting him off.
With a cocky grin, his gaze sweeps across her small apartment with a carefully scrutinizing eye.
"I was wondering if this was the right shithole building of all the shithole buildings in this neighborhood, you do realize the huge security faults concerning the front door, right? I mean, I didn't even have to press the buzzer, and let me tell you Mr. Friendly from 408 that I ran into in the elevator looks a bit too friendly to be living so close to you."
Pepper glares at him, daring him to pursue the subject. She walks past him, her feet cold on the hardwood and aching for the warmth of the woven rug in the living room. Tony follows, tearing his eyes away from her retreating form as his curiosity overwhelms him.
She realizes, in an instinctively defensive manner, that her apartment looks ancient. The only things relatively new were her clothes. The room emanates a curious warmth, a lived in feel that was entirely devoid in his mansion. Her lace curtains swelled into the living room, pregnant with a long-awaited breeze, a Woody Guthrie song drifting from the record player. He speaks up slowly, his words reflecting his slow scrutinizing stare.
"So, this is the place you're willing to risk your job for. How...cozy."
His condescension drips heavily from his mouth. She could acutely feel the tendons of her jaw at breaking point for being held so tightly. He swivels his relaxed body as he spots the garbage can, spitting his gum out as he takes off his sunglasses, fully revealing the bruise encircling his eye. She grimaces at the horrid reminder of the afternoon's events, and shame-faced diverts her gaze to the ground. He tucks the glasses in his jacket pocket, his eyes quickly examining her again.
Pepper could feel his eyes drift up the long length of her legs. He doesn't smile that arrogant grin of his, just takes it in as though it's part of the overall scenery. She quickly speaks up to distract him from where his attention currently rests.
"What's with the suit? Why are you here?"
"Well, Jarvis was watching TMZ, and" She cuts him off, raising a dubious eyebrow.
"Jarvis was watching TMZ? Hmm, I'd have thought that to be highly classless for an AI. Care to explain Tony?"
"Hey, give a machine a break, it might of been E! God Pepper, don't be so presumptuous. Anyway, I find out there's yet another fundraiser that I'm apparently hosting, and yet again I wasn't given an invitation, so I get dressed in this thinking that my lovely assistant will have calmed down and be waiting to apologize to me. I drive half an hour only to be mobbed by paparazzi, get blinded by cameras, get patted on the ass by some very unfortunate looking cougars, and lo and behold, guess who's not there."
Pepper begins to stack up some of the magazines lying around, trying to maintain a cool face.
"I had no interest in going tonight."
He sucks in his cheeks, biting on the inside as he nods slowly, disinterested in her explanation.
"So, tell me Potts, you're my Personal Assistant, riddle me this. Why don't I ever go to these things? Why do you think I even went to that fundraiser? Believe me I could think of dozens of other things I'd rather be doing. You know, maybe I could answer that. I'm thinking I kinda went, because I kinda was hoping you'd be wearing that blue dress you wore the last time and maybe possibly smile that charming little smile you're so adept at, and you know, bada bing bada boom, maybe even some sparks. Stark Spark."
Pepper grimaces.
"Oh God Tony, Stark Spark? I haven't heard that expression since the 80's. What was that in, Teen Cosmo? Didn't you have a feathered hairstyle back then?"
"You're changing the subject." He states this impassively. She sighs impatiently, waving her hand aimlessly in the air.
"What do you want me to say? That I was avoiding you? Not everything's about you, Tony. Okay, I'm sorry about the bruise, it was an accident, but you can't spring something like that on me and expect me to act cool with it. I just wanted time to think, is all."
"What is there to think about? I'm offering you everything, and you continually try to make things harder for me. This, this, is just a place, Pep, it's tiny and cramped. How can you live like this? The condo I've bought would be considerably more suitable with someone in your position."
He's talking to her like she's a business prospect, she notices with disdain, wooing her with that corporate gleam glinting in his eye.
"First of all, don't call me Pep. And I am not changing my mind. I'm staying, and if you can't accept that then, well, maybe I should be looking els..." He abruptly cuts her off.
"So how about the grand tour? Hmm? Or should I just stand here while you point things out."
He's frustrated, she can tell, otherwise he wouldn't be such an outright jackass towards her. She continues to tidy up her apartment, ignoring him completely, worriedly glancing around for any tossed underwear.
She spins away from him and bends over to retrieve a fallen magazine, unaware of her folly.
"Jesus H Christ on a cross, who the hell is Frank?" His words are disbelieving and laughing and partly horrified as he bends to peer closer.
She feels her face enflame with some hardcore blushing, and she immediately yanks down her top to cover over her shorts, slapping away his prying fingers and swiftly pressing her back against the wall. She knows the blood is furiously spreading from her face to her neck as she instantly realizes what he's talking about. He laughs uproariously, hardly daring to believe it. He clutches a hand to his stomach as he bends over in hysterics. She rolls her eyes and waits for the moment to pass, willing the shade of her skin to return to normal. Peals of laughter echoes across her apartment. In short time he collects himself, unable to resist a momentary chuckle here and there.
"Man I'd love to hear the story behind that one." He rubs a tear away from his crinkled eye, "to think the impenetrable Ms. Potts is a rebel at heart." He places a drawling emphasis on impenetrable. Pepper shoots him a dirty look.
"Don't be gross Tony. It's none of your business. And don't think I'm ever going to tell you so you can quit asking. If you're going to stick around you can take off your shoes and stop muddying up my carpet."
His eyes twinkle at her attempt to change the topic at hand, leaving her fully aware that this incident would not be forgotten. Still chuckling, and ignoring her request completely, he reverts back to his inspection, slowly walking around the living room with his hands clasped behind his back. Tony stares briefly at an old photo-booth picture of her mother, propped haphazardly on the bookshelf, an autograph from Joe Strummer placed beside it, Disney VHS movies she keeps for the Ortiz' daughter collapsed on the shelf above it.
Pepper feels his eyes settle on the worn guitar beside her bedroom door, pausing as though he's trying to make some clever remark. She knows the sight of it disturbs him, he was not expecting this. She knew he was expecting a meticulous apartment consumed with stainless steel appliances, IKEA furniture and an overall impression of the woman he works with, no, he does not expect any of this. He is solemn. He moves on.
She doesn't know why she hasn't insisted on him leaving, why she hasn't thrown open the door and threaten to complain to HR. She hates how his roving eye methodically categorizes and lists all her possessions in that brilliant mind of his. Yet part of her wants him to see her life outside of his, to understand that she is not a slave to the Stark Industry Corporation. She wants him to understand her, to realize that their different backgrounds would make a romantic relationship together clearly incompatible. They could not possibly fit into each other's frameworks, and she has worked far too hard in her life to risk it all for a broken heart.
Tony briefly spares a moment to consider the soft dress draped over the armchair. He strokes the silk, running a calloused finger down where the shimmery fabric would have met her spine.
"Pity".
He shakes his head solemnly, reverently. She cannot shake the feeling that he has this idealized picture of her, the all-seeing and ever-perfect Pepper Potts.
If he looks in the drawer he'll find a stash of every nametag of each shitty minimum-wage job she has ever worked at. A shrine of her inner retail demon, and evidence of a life of being perpetually broke. If he looks in the cupboard above the sink he'll see a jar of homemade jam that she made all by herself one lovely day when she stumbled upon a small raspberry bush at the cities edge. If he glances at the wooden beam up above him, he'll see a romantic Yeats quote an old boyfriend carved into the oak. If he flicks through her record collection chances are he wouldn't recognize a single artist. If he thumbs through the cover of her yellowed copy of "Count of Monte Cristo" shoved into the inevitable miniscule space left in the bookshelf, he'll find the name of the only other man she has ever loved besides him.
She makes a grab for her wineglass, cocking it back and emptying it in one swig.
For years she contained the guilty seed of hope, that maybe one day he'd notice, that one day he'd care to find out. And now all she wants is for him to stick to his own backyard.
He pauses at he catches sight of the faded Polaroid picture neatly sticking out from the bordered mirror. She closes her eyes. He's so very still. She knows he's trying to decipher this woman, this man, this child she once was. She thinks of that day, that year, that silent tide of a period of her life spent staring out of passenger windows and a life born from the highways. Endless suns trailing in the distance, lonesome moons perpetually slung over her shoulder. Vulture shadows stalking in her wake. That was the year she and Peter left together, a pair of copper-headed escapees wandering nowhere in particular.
"I didn't know you had a brother", he says this quietly, cautious. It didn't take a genius to see the two figures were related.
"You didn't ask."
He switches his gaze from the photograph to her suddenly defensive form, arms crossed possessively, and he gives her a long stare.
She shrugs.
"It's all there in my employment file." Something flickers behind his eyes, and she wonders if he's actually stung.
"Is it?" he murmurs barely audibly, mostly to himself.
She scans him wearily, propping herself against the radiator as he returns his concentration back to his inspection. Her wineglass dangles upside down from her twirling fingers, the remaining droplets falling unnoticed in rhythmic rhymes against the wood. She wants to hurt him; she wants to drive him away. Before he does it to her. She continues.
"He's dead, though, for two years now."
This clearly gets his attention, and his head swivels back to her in shock.
"Goddamn", he breathes softly, "two years ago? You've been working for me for how long? Pepper... why didn't you tell me?"
She stares at him calculatingly, before sighing and heads to the kitchen with her empty glass, calling back to him from across the room.
"I did, you gave me a ticket to Bermuda and a week off. Although you could have told me the ticket was for you from Miss Universe, I mean, have you ever spent 3 hours sitting beside a pissed off beauty queen? In coach no less."
A bitter smile escaped her lips, of course he had, (well, minus the coach bit) he was Tony Stark. Is. He is Tony Stark. She had a difficult time believing everything about him had changed since Afghanistan. She turned her head as she rinsed the glass in the sink, and immediately regretted her words. This time he did look like he was slapped. A haggard look swept across his face as he recalled the insensitive man that he once was, and she felt that familiar sharp stab of guilt. He was trying, she knew how hard he was trying, to correct his misgivings from the past. She saw, and felt, his pain every day when there was something that he couldn't do. She stood by him, hour after hour, when he would pace restlessly, tugging his hair in that new anxious manner that he had developed after his return. Yea, so he could turn into Ironman on a whim and save the world from whatever impending disaster is apparently popular, but he needed to know that some things could not be fixed, some things should not be changed, or saved.
She turns off the tap, gathering her courage as she focuses on the dripping water. She swivels around, and Tony is already there, propped up against the kitchen counter as though he knew she wanted to say something. Her words catch, and she briefly glances at the flickering yellow light above her as she attempts to regain her voice. She crosses her arms as though to protect herself, and her foot rises to play with the bottom edge of the grainy lower cupboard. He stares at her as the dark yellow light plays on the red strands of hair, illuminating the amber into sliced remnants of luminescent honeyed flickers. He knows what she is going to say.
"Tony, in all seriousness, maybe it is time I hand in my resignation. I just… I don't see my life going anywhere in this company."
His face looks sallow in this light, the weariness of his age finally being played upon the contours of his countenance. He purses his lips, swallowing roughly.
"Well, if you think that's best."
She's struck, her heart piercing in surprise. Tony turns his body away from hers, absolutely still as though he would break, he continues.
"But answer me one question, I, I just need to know."
He clutches the edge of the counter, and for the first time she can see his knuckles are white. He's not complacent, he's furious. He is sad. He is desperate.
"Do you regret ever working for me? Ever even knowing me?"
Pepper rushes forward, placing a hand on his back as he faced away from her, hunched over the counter.
"No, Tony, no. The best years of my life was spent with Stark Industries. You know I care very much for you."
He swings around, furious.
"Then what was all that bullshit about us having only each other? Does that mean nothing to you?! "
She takes a step backwards, her hand still raised from it's perch on his back, her eyes widening in shock. He walks sharply towards her, before restraining himself and rubbing a nervous hand in his rumpled hair. He steps back and forward, unknowing what to do with his feet and hands.
"Do you know how I felt when I found out that Sophie never drove you back to the office? Jesus Pepper, I was scared shitless. I drove back to the hospital but you were already gone. I waited for half an hour outside your building just to make sure you arrived back safely. At least I thought it was your building, I cannot believe you would live in a place as unsecured as this."
"Tony, don't…" He cuts her off.
"Let me say this!" His voice rises angrily, and then drops wearily.
"Fuck Potts, I think about you more then a boss should. I meant what I said. You're all I have, you are everything to me, do you understand this? I can't… I cannot risk losing you. I need to know you're safe everywhere you go. If something happens to you… I, I couldn't…"
Tony slides a shaky hand across his face. She cautiously steps forward, resting a hand on his tense shoulder. She gazes up at him sympathetically, trying to convey that she understood.
"God Pepper, what is up with your attitude lately anyway? It's like you want to shut me out of your life or something. I thought we were getting closer, and now all of a sudden I'm public enemy number 1."
She sighs, trying to pull together disjointed words to express herself clearly.
"Tony, I need this place, the same way you need that suit. It's my home, and it represents so much of me. I need to feel normal, I need a place where I can stop pretending and not be perfect and just be myself. If that makes sense…"
He straightens, dark eyes directly boring into hers. She continues.
"Tony, I, you cannot possibly understand how hard I've worked in my life to reach this point. I can't risk losing what I've gained. Taking away my apartment, i-it's like you're taking away what last bit of control I have in my life. I'm afraid that I'm going to forget who I was, who I am, to conform to this persona you've created for me in Malibu."
He stares at her for a long moment, his face hardened into stoicism and his body standing stock-still.
"I've created for you? So it's my fault you're unhappy? Pepper, it's never been my intention to change you. Whatever it is that I'm doing I'll stop."
She shakes her head brusquely.
"No Tony, that's not what I'm saying at all! I just, I can't explain it to you. It's me, I think I just need time to, you know, reevaluate my life or something."
He's completely still for a long moment, stepping in closer before swiftly stepping back. He grins, suddenly, the tension of in his face disappearing completely. He grabs her by the shoulders, and fondly shakes her.
"Well, don't abandon me just tonight Potts, take a day or two to think about it. You just need to take tonight to calm down. Remember, Frankie says relax."
Tony winks at her, a broad smile smoothing away the weariness in his expression. She stares at him in a shocked reverie, surprised with this swift change of attitude. He cups a large hand briefly against the back of her head, his fingers grazing the strands, eyes twinkling flirtatiously, before quickly stuffing his hands into his pockets and swivels around.
"Night Potts." He calls offhandedly over his shoulder.
He reaches the door in three long strides, and lets himself out, casually offering a two-fingered salute before disappearing from her apartment entirely.
She hasn't stopped gaping.
She hears his cumbersome steps disappearing down the hall, heavy in cadence.
She doesn't want to be that girl, the woman staring out into the unthinkable vastness of the night, wondering where he was
The clock on the mantle is ticking, ticking, and still ticking; she can no longer hear his footsteps. A minute goes by, she props herself up until she's sitting on the counter and rests her chin on the sharp bone of her knees, never taking her gaze off the microwave clock.
Another minute goes by.
'The faucet needs to be tightened', she thinks absently, her ears straining to hear the roar of his Audi from the street below amidst the deafening ticking and the dripping and the overall thunderous quiet. Her toes play with the counters edge.
12:37.
"Goddamn it Virginia", she whispers to herself as another minute appears and she sighs, sliding off the counter and grabbing her keys. Maybe she could catch him in the parking lot. Without bothering to put on shoes, she twists the knob and opens the door.
"Tony?" She wearily calls out his name (though fully aware that he must be driving off at that moment) as she steps out the door and prepares to head for the elevator.
She never gets the chance.
She stops short. He's leaning against the wall, head slightly tilted upwards in agonizing restraint, jaw clenched and eyes shut. His chest is rising and falling in staccato rhythm, fists still gripped in his pockets. And he's shaking, oh God, he's trembling. She registers all of this in a mere millisecond before he springs from his restrained position and suddenly he's there, he's everywhere, a flash of Armani, a huge weight crushing against her, raw energy consuming her as the scent of engine grease and burnt hair (the price to pay with the suit, she later supposed) invades her senses. He abruptly grabs her head with two trembling hands that seemed to encompass her entire face and smashes his lips against hers, pulling her hot up against him, and immediately tears his lips from hers. He quickly bends down to kiss her again, but curbs himself at the last possible second, gasping raggedly as though it physically hurt him to restrain himself from her. Raw pain etched in every aged contour as his hands clench through her hair with impatience, his dark gaze furiously switching from her lips to her eyes and back again.
"Please, God, please Pepper", he whispers her name, and all she can see is the broken remnants of a defeated king, and all her walls come crumbling down.
Here they stand, on the precipice, the edge of the joker's trap. She places a hand at the back of his head, and pulls him into her. Time simmers in a heated sigh as they became lost in each other, falling further with each shaky gasp. He pushes her against the wall, closing every minute space in between them. Her hands clench against his shirt, the edge of his sunglasses jabbing at her until finally breaking with the combined forces. The rawness of his kisses softens into something inexplicably gentler, as she finally grasps his hand and leads him inside.
The elevator opens, empty, unnoticed.
TBC.
Ugh. Yea, I should definitely come back to this and get a beta one day. I'm so sick of writing this, lol, I want it off my computer. I just want to assure everyone that this wasn't me trying to be a Mary-Sue (whatever that means), it wasn't like I was staring around at my apartment and putting it into the story. I was genuinely interested in what Pepper might be like outside the office, and in her own home. Like, it really nagged at me, and different ideas came to mind. The reason I wrote so much about mundane things like the photograph and random objects in the apartment was just in case I ever decided to extend this oneshot into something more... rounder. Unlikely, but that's how it all began.
One more chapter left.