She arrived at eleven. He'd just risen out of bed and didn't feel up to dressing further than pulling a sweater over his head and tugging on some trousers.
Jarvis had prepared a light lunch, and Tony only took half of a sandwich with his tea as they ate, across from each other at the long dining room table. He would've suggested they sit in the sunroom where his mother used to host tea parties, but the glass ceilings and walls were frosted over with icicles and New York snow. It was warmer here where Jarvis had built a fire in the marble-framed fire place.
Neither of them spoke much over the food. He piped up first.
"You can talk, you know. I'm not gonna explode." It had sounded harsher than he intended, but he didn't bother to apologize. His moods were unpredictable recently, and he didn't feel the need to warn her or make excuses for himself.
She sipped quietly at her tea, placing the cup soundlessly on the saucer. "Have you built anything recently?"
He knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to find him an outlet. Suggest that he work in his usual element. But he'd been avoiding the workshop at all costs. It felt like disturbing a sacred place.
"No," he bit out. "I don't want to."
"I think it would be good for you."
"I don't."
She pursed her lips, her eyes flickering to the tea cup in hand. Lunch continued in silence. Jarvis popped in briefly to announce he was leaving to run an errand, leaving the house empty and silent. Silence was so heavy nowadays. He usually liked his privacy and enjoyed his time alone in the big house, free to do whatever he wanted. But it was almost another weight now, heavy in the air around him.
Pepper's tea cup clanked against her saucer, muffling the whimpering noise he made across the table.
He watched as a tear bounced onto the rim of his plate. What the hell was wrong with him? He whimpered again, this time covering his face, hiding like a hurt child.
He was sobbing and tears were sliding against his palms before he knew it.
Then she was there, kneeling next to him on her knees, her hands grasping for his. She pulled them into hers, bringing him down into her arms. The chair scraped along the wood floor when he dropped out of it, landing in a heap next to her. He bent over into her lap, not really caring how polite or appropriate this was. He cried into her tweed skirt, tears absorbing into the rough wool. Her fringers combed at his hair and her mouth whispered soothing words into his ear, anything she could say to keep him grounded.
He grasped at her, squeezing her hand like it was a tether.
He had had no one. Hadn't wanted anyone to comfort him, hadn't wanted anyone to see him until this moment. With Pepper, he didn't care.
When his breath calmed and his tears had run out, her peered up to face her.
Such a sadness in her blue eyes made him hiccup all over again, and when he kissed her it was wet, sloppy, and sideways. But she didn't pull away. She let him. Right there on the dining room floor. It was scandalous, if anyone would've seen.
He grabbed her cheeks, shifting to his knees, mirroring her, and held on for dear life.
She kissed back. Reciprocating until at last he needed air and his breathing had evened.
Her flushed face buried in the crook of his neck, and he held her now, knees pressed against his, hands gripping his elbows.
He just stayed that way until the shiver in his spine subsided and he could finally speak. "So what does that mean?"
She smiled against his skin and lifted her head.
"What do you want it to mean?"
His eyes fell to the strand of pearls resting on her freckled collar bones. "I want it to mean what you want it to mean."
He knew about Aldrich and all that had transpired. He knew she wasn't ready. He would risk it, even now when his own world was a wreck beyond his control.
"I want it to mean what you think I want it to mean," she said with a smile.
He grinned tiredly, more tears tripping along his cheeks and she reached up to wipe them away.
-O-O-O-
She offered to drive out for dessert, but he insisted he was full. So the drive became a peaceful adventure around the neighborhood and down into the city. Traffic didn't matter. Both were content to sit and chat, or sit in comfortable silence. He noticed an envelope tucked into the crack between the glove box and the dash. Nosily, he plucked it from its spot.
"That's…" she began, watching the traffic ahead. "That's from Aldrich. He wrote me."
He unfolded the delicate sheet of water-splotched and ink-smeared paper, eyes scanning the several paragraphs written there.
"I feel bad for what happened," she admitted. "We really…we were in love. At some point. Or maybe we were mistaken about what love is. But then again, who really knows what it means, you know?" She was silent for several moments before continuing. "He was nice and always a gentleman. And he was rich and smart. You know, perfect for a pretty lady from an equally entitled family." She rolled her eyes. "But I guess I always knew it wasn't him. I just didn't realize until after…"
He listened to her, watching the thought ghost over her face as she spoke. He refolded the paper and replaced the envelope, careful not to wrinkle the paper and leave it exactly as he'd found it.
She pointed out the window at a tall building among the others, grey with great glass windows. "I took ballet there when I was a child," she said, slipping back into the casual conversation.
He listened to her talk about her dance teacher, settled into the slow movement of the traffic. Once again, they were out so late it was after dark before they arrive back at the mansion on Long Island. He had fallen asleep in the car, and she leaned over to rouse him with a kiss on the cheek.
He jolted awake, grunting.
"Sorry," she whispered cautiously, backing away. "You're home. I've got to get home. My parents will be wondering what I've done with their car."
He smiled, turning sleepily toward her. "Ok. Can I see you again?"
She blushed. Even in the moonlight he could see it. "I'll need a ride back to Cambridge."
"Perfect. I'll be driving back Friday. I'll swing by your place."
She chewed at her lip. "Alright. Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, bending towards him and unlatching the glove box. She pulled a thin, rectangular box from within, wrapped in red and green plaid wrappings. "I forgot your Christmas present."
He took the box, gazing at her suspiciously. She laughed and motioned for him to open it.
"I didn't get you anything," he said, tearing into the paper.
She shrugged. "That's ok. I saw this and thought of you. Its simple but..."
He lifted the lid, revealing a handkerchief stitched in light blue with a gold embroidered hem. His initials were stitched in the corner in the same gold.
"This is nice, Pepper. Thank you."
She smiled. "I know its probably silly. But you can never have too many. And I stitched the initials, by the way. I read that blue was a calming color. It helps people sleep."
His eyes flashed up to hers. He could've kissed her.
Wonderful, because he was allowed to now.
He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers gently and tenderly. He pulled away, running his fingers along her jaw. "Thank you so much Pepper."
She pursed her lips, smiling, obviously flustered as his actions. It was adorable, and he felt alive, at least a little. "You're welcome. Get some sleep."
He nodded, backing out of the car, waving over his shoulder once he reached his front porch.
In his bedroom, he folded the handerchief into a square, laying it on the nightstand. He practically fell into bed, exhausted. Any activity seemed to wear him out recently. His fingers reached over, running over the carefully stitched letters in the corner of the little blue square.
She was perfect, he thought, closing his eyes and letting sleep finally claim him.