AN: Thought process for this chapter: "I'll go to bed early tonight. Oh look, is that the sun?" My brain and I have a love-hate relationship. Enjoy.
-O-O-O-
He felt dead. No. He wouldn't even joke that way. He felt like a zombie. He felt like the man in the Twilight Zone with the stopwatch that froze everyone and everything around him. He felt ill, and the hard wood of the pew wasn't exactly the most comfortable spot.
Obadiah sat next to him, arm around the back of the pew, handkerchief to his nose. Tony had yet to see tears.
Before them, two twin coffins were closed and topped with sprays of flowers of all different colors and shapes. The front of the church looked like a greenhouse, from the hundreds of bouquets and wreaths that had been delivered in homage of his parents. Breifly, he thought Maya would've liked to dissect the flowers and pictured her hunched over in the lab, peering through a microscope at each stem and petal.
But in actuality, he just wanted to rip every bough and leaf to shreds, watch it all flutter to the floor in a shower of green and pink and yellow. He wanted to storm up to the alter, snatch up the picture frames that showed the three of them together, happy and smiling. He wanted to grab the cameras of the reporters in the next pew and slam them into the ground until the glass shattered, the metal dented, and the rolls of film sprang from their scrolls.
He hated this.
He hated everything.
He hated everyone.
He hated them and their carelessness.
He hated his father for never telling him goodbye, for never saying 'I love you,' for having that last smoke outside before they left for the banquet, making themselves late. He hated his mother for leaving him here like this, hopeless with no one to talk to and no one tell him it would be ok. No one to tie his tie for him or kiss his forehead.
He heard a painful sob echo against the stained glass windows of the church, and only realized it had been him when the sound died away. He gasped in a breath, leaning over his knees, head in his hands.
He gasped again, another sob shaking his chest, dry and cracking. He felt Obie's cold but strong fingers pat against his back, and squeeze comfortingly at the tendons in his neck.
He couldn't get a breath, couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.
They were never coming back.
They wouldn't ever argue again. Wouldn't smile again. Wouldn't show up at his graduation that May, wouldn't pat him on the back and congratulate him.
He decided that not feeling anything was best. It was easiest. So he locked it away, stored it inside where no one could see. No one would know, and no one would ask.
-O-O-O-
Jarvis tried to wake him several times, but he ignored his knocking on the door of his bedroom, feigning sleep until one o'clock the following afternoon. Finally, the desperate growl in his stomach roused him. Instinctively, he moved to the kitchen, prepping a sandwich and grabbing a bottle of Coke.
Jarvis had left a note on the pantry door that he'd left for the grocery store and to dispose of the flowers that had already died after the funeral. He left a post-script that a package had arrived for him on the door step that morning, and that he had left it on the kitchen counter.
Turning, halfway through a bite of his turkey sandwich, he noticed a small wooden crate, filled with brown shredded paper and small, round, orange fruit.
Clementines.
There was an envelope nestled between two of the orange bulbs, with his name printed neatly on the front.
He could almost hear her voice speaking his name when he read the word.
He hesitated several moments, his stomach churning with new emotion that he just couldn't process. Didn't want to process. He leaned forward, grasping the small rectangle, plucking it from the box. He thought about shredding it. Tossing it into the waste basket.
But instead he turned for his plate, sandwich and Coke bottle and hurried back to his cocoon upstairs, letter in hand.
She hadn't written anything but her phone number, and he laid there for hours contemplating dialing it. It was nearly dinner time by the time he'd convinced himself. He heard Jarvis rummaging around in the kitchen, and hoped he wasn't preparing any meal that Tony wasn't feeling up to eating.
At half-past six, he finally lifted the receiver and spun the dial.
He was thankful she answered, and not someone else. "Hello?" she said. Her voice was cheerier and brighter over the phone.
"Hi Pepper." He heard himself sigh heavily, his breath crackling in the phone.
"Hi Tony," she answered, voice warm and welcoming.
The line went quiet for several moments and he spoke again. "Still there?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered. He knew she didn't know where to start, what to say without being awkward or intrusive. So she was silent. That was good enough for him.
He watched the alarm clock nearby tick one full minute of silence.
"Pepper…" he whispered, unsure if she could even hear. "I don't know what to do…" he admitted.
"That's ok," she assured after a moment.
"Have you…" he began, hesitating. "Have you ever lost anyone?"
She was quiet awhile. "No, Tony. I haven't. But sometimes I don't think people need to have the same experiences in order to be there for one another."
He smiled, though briefly, hoping she felt it through the line.
"You're a great friend, Pepper."
He practically heard her smile.
"Are you eating?" she asked. "Are you sleeping ok?"
"Sleeping a lot," he told her. "Eating a little. Jarvis is great at making huge meals that I can't ever finish."
"Good."
She talked and recounted her activities during the holiday break while he listened intently, leaning against the downy pillows. They tied up the line for hours, and it must've been longer than he realized. He'd nearly dozed off, when she said his name softly in the receiver.
He stirred, clinging to the phone. "Hmm?" he mumbled.
"Happy New Year," she whispered.
He glanced at the clock. Midnight.
Outside, fireworks cracked and popped in the distance.
"Happy New Year, Pepper," he said sleepily. He smiled dazedly, hugging a pillow close to him.
She laughed softly. "I'm going to hang up. You should get some sleep."
"OK…"
"Can I visit you?"
"Tomorrow?" he asked, anticipation in his voice.
"Sure. I'll be there for lunch. Goodnight Tony."
"G'Night, Pepper. Sweet dreams." He let go of the receiver, dropping it on the mattress near the pillows. Maybe then he could keep her nearby.