AN: Whoops. I don't know what happened. I just meant to write a portion of this chapter, then it all kind of…just…spilled out. Well here ya go. Enjoy.
-O-O-O-
He twisted harder, finally loosening the bolt enough that he could slip it free. He tossed it away, and it tinged against the concrete floor.
"Gonna get you all fixed up, huh Rosy?" he patted the underbelly of the hot rod tenderly. "Dad's got a new engine on the way. Gonna get you all shined up like new."
Briefly, he realized that he was indeed, talking to an automobile, but dismissed the thought. He and his father had been working at the 1932 Roadster for the past three years. Attention to the project had ebbed recently with Howard's focus on the company, and Tony's absence. Not to mention the car had been all but forgotten when Tony, selfish and insolent as he was, had started a yearlong feud before he left for MIT.
But his father had just ordered a new engine, and then they'd have to adjust that, tweak it to their liking before installing it. It would fill his spare time during Christmas break quite nicely.
This evening however, his parents were out attending a company gala that he'd managed to weasel his way out of. They'd be gone all night, leaving him free to dabble with the car by himself.
He vaguely heard the door to the workshop open, tugging at a rusty part of the car.
"Sir?" Jarvis spoke. "A Miss Virginia Potts is here to see you."
"Who?" he asked distractedly.
"Virginia Potts, sir."
"Potts…? Potts?!" He jumped forward, slamming his forehead against the fender. "Shit! Aw…" He rolled away, holding his forehead. Finally, when he could see straight, he shoved himself from the beneath the car and stood. He rubbed at his injured face with one hand, waving to Jarvis with the other.
He panicked, grabbing a cloth to scrub at his hands, tripping among the parts scattered on the floor. "Tell her…Tell her I'll be there soon. Bring her to the parlor, would you? And bring her a cup of tea. Make sure she's comfortable."
"Certainly, sir," Jarvis responded with a wink, and ascended the stairs again.
He shoved away the tools and gave a fleeting shrug to the oil mess on the floor before jogging up the stairs to his bedroom.
He scrubbed at his grease-smeared hands in the bathroom, washed his face and combed through his hair. He hadn't exactly forgotten that they agreed to go dancing tonight, but he had indeed lost track of time. Easy enough when he was in the workshop.
He tugged on a clean suit, eyeing himself in the mirror until he was certain he looked presentable enough. As an afterthought, he slapped on a layer of aftershave.
Coolly, as if he hadn't just rushed to get ready and primped himself in the mirror like a prima donna, he slid into the parlor. She was there, in a polka dotted dress, hair curled neatly and clipped back with a jeweled pin, looking just as beautiful as always. She sipped her tea daintily before taking notice of him.
"Oh!" she exclaimed mid sip. She set the cup on her saucer and smiled up at him. "Hi there."
"Hi," he said, stepping fully into the room.
"You forgot," she accused teasingly. She stood and he noticed her red, patent leather pumps. He couldn't help but grin in satisfaction.
"Did not," he said, poking her in the shoulder when she passed him to exit the room.
They both gathered their coats from Jarvis at the door. She must've gotten a new mink stole for Christmas. It was black and matched the dots on her dress. He wondered if the shoes were a gift too; he couldn't take his eyes off of them as she strolled out the door to his car in the driveway.
He shook the thought from his head and sank into the driver's seat, revving the engine.
-O-O-O-
She was a phenomenal dancer. And not the formal, fancy-pants dancing they did at debutant balls and sorority formals, though he was sure she was good at that too. She did the Twist like he'd never seen, shimmying down just slightly and back up, picking up one foot and twisting that direction. He followed along, keeping up with her just fine.
"I'm supposed to be leading," he said breathlessly over the din of the band.
She laughed, moving just that much closer to him on the dance floor.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I hurting your ego?" she teased.
"Not at all, Potts." He bumped her hip with his own, just to make her laugh again.
"So I have a question," he said, shimmying up to her. She followed his motion, shaking her shoulders towards him and back again. "Is there anything you aren't good at? You're obviously smart, or you wouldn't be at MIT. You like horror films, you're a good dancer, you dress and act like a princess. So where's your flaw?"
She chuckled. "Oh there are plenty."
"Really? You seem perfect to me."
He'd only been teasing, but suddenly, she stopped. Her arms fell to her sides and her hips ceased their motion.
He laughed. "What is it? Did I hurt your ego?" he mimicked, trying to get her to smile.
She looked suddenly fearful and uncomfortable. She glanced back up at him, eyes wide and anxious, filled with things she would've said if she could've said them. But her will was impenetrable.
The band slowed the tempo, falling into a jazzy waltz.
At the edge of the floor where they were, she could've easily gotten away, but he grabbed her elbow before she managed to. He watched her crystal blue orbs glint, tugging her closer and deeper into the crowd. No. She wasn't getting away if he had any say in it.
He was a brat, and he knew it. And he always got what he wanted. Right now, it was her. In any form she would give him. The costs seemed too high, but then again, neither of them could afford to be alone.
He shifted his hand around her waist and tugged her closer against him. She let out a breath, warm against his chin.
Her small hand was warm in his own, and he gazed down at her. He nudged his nose against her temple, making her look up at him, silently asking her why she'd grown so shy.
He swayed, urging her to follow.
"What…" she began, and licked her red-painted lips. She needed to continue a casual conversation, or she'd just stare foolishly into his eyes. "What did you get for Christmas?"
"Tools," he answered. "And socks."
She smiled briefly before it disappeared.
"What about you?" His fingers pressed deeper into her back.
"These shoes," she breathed, eyes fluttering a moment.
He grinned wide, picking up a smooth rhythm as they swayed deeper into the crowd.
She gave up on conversation, all subjects they could've discussed lost on her tongue. When he spoke, her eyes were still closed.
"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
Her eyes opened, flooding his world again with that brilliant blue. "What? Oh…no…no…" She shook her head, curls bouncing against her cheeks. She glanced down again, not meeting his eyes.
They grew silent again. He tapped his fingers against her spine, glancing fleetingly around the room. She'd gotten uncharacteristically quiet and anxious. He second guessed his decision to pull her in for a slow dance, but only briefly.
He'd go ahead and admit it to himself.
He wasn't sure at what point he'd decided to fall in love with her. But he had.
It could've been that night at the movies, the ice cream sundae, or the clementines that drew him in. The kiss on the cheek perhaps? Or maybe it was this exact moment. He'd always thrived on instant gratification after all. Whatever the case was, he had to have her. She was graceful, sweet, and cute. And smart, strong-willed, and determined. What a rare woman he'd found, and he couldn't lose her. Not now.
He was addicted.
"How about some air?" he asked.
She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Air. I would like some air," she answered as if she had forgotten what air even was.
His hand clasped around hers, threading his fingers with hers, leading her from the floor. He helped her with her stole before grabbing his coat and opening the door for her. The hair was bitter cold and strung his burning skin. In the street, she sagged against the building, watching the cars weave and pass along the busy Manhattan street.
"That was harmless," he said, defending his actions before she could speak.
"No it was…not harmless!" she said, taking a breath of the cool night air.
"I just think you're overstating it. We just danced." He shrugged.
"No, I'm not overstating. It was…it was…" She glanced over to him and he read it in her eyes.
Wonderful.
Amazing.
"Aldrich," she said, finalizing the issue with the name of the man he'd nearly forgotten about. "He's only just left…And that whole ordeal was just…hard. And I just don't think we should…because…its not appropriate for us to…"
"To what?" he whispered, stepping closer.
"To…" she tried, her eyes following the visible puff of air that had left his lips.
His hand tugged her closer by the waist, and he watched in delight as her eyelids fluttered shut.
At the last minute, she managed it. Just before he closed the gap, her breath came hot against his lips. "I'm sorry, Tony. But we can't do this."
She'd managed to find that unbendable will of hers, letting it bubble back up to the surface.
And he hated to admit that she was right.
"Right," he narrated. He had to fix this, had to break the tension. "Um…" His hand skated through his hair, peeking at her helplessly.
He was at a loss.
"Its ok," she insisted, smiling. "Its fine." Her hand squeezed his arm assuredly, but he didn't miss the look in her eyes. The flicker of desire, identical to his own, hinted with regret.
"No harm done. It was a slip up. Um…" She toyed with one of her dangly, glittery earrings. "Let's go get a milkshake."
She turned and nodded for him to follow her down to the corner diner.
And like the snow, the tenderness in the air melted away, draining down into the dirty Manhattan sewers.
-O-O-O-
As he rounded onto the private road, the glow of red and blue lights caught his attention. In the trees, the lights looked like the Christmas lights his mother had pressed Jarvis into stringing around the house. But these were brighter, and he was certain there had been no colored ones.
When he pulled into the driveway, the gravel crunching beneath his tires before he reached the smooth pavement was the only familiar occurrence. Everything else was foreign. Three police cars were parked along the drive. His father's blue coupe was absent, and immediately Tony felt an uncomfortable stir in his chest.
Three times as many policemen seemed to be milling around outside of the house, filling the driveway and front steps.
He pulled further in, and several moved from his path, allowing his access. He killed the engine and stood from the car.
He heard someone nearby whisper, "The son is home," and he glared in the direction of a reporter fumbling with his heavy camera, just daring him to take a shot.
"What's all this?" he asked the nearest cop, who just stared regretfully in his direction before turning back to his partner.
The chatter of radios, the glare of the lights; all of it became a blur. He found Jarvis at the door, standing at the eye of the chaos.
"Jarvis. Jarvis! What's going on?" he asked the butler, shaking him at the shoulders.
Jarvis looked bewildered, shocked, and struggled a moment for his words. Tony had never seen him this way; it took a lot to get any stir from the staunch Englishman.
"Sir…There's been an accident," he said finally.
For the second time that night, Tony felt sick.