Chapter 5: Coffee

Tony Stark was in a bourbon mood. Sitting alone in his cold, silent house, he decided that the drink's smoky warmth would make an adequate substitute for the companionship he secretly longed for. He generally enjoyed this time in his workshop, where he could implement the schemes that flashed through his active mind as naturally as breathing. But today, he had never felt so completely desolate. Nightmares had tortured him and kept him from sleep several times this week, and his body felt abused and unnaturally exhausted.

Initially, after he had escaped from the Ten Rings, he had been a driven man, filled with purpose. He had resolved to make a better, deadlier Iron Man suit. He had planned to mitigate the harm he had caused by producing weapons, and to get out of that market once and for all.

With no explanation, he had veered to the opposite extreme after the revelation of Obadiah's betrayal. Now, whenever he wasn't working, an echoing emptiness pervaded every corner of his life. There had been so few people that he could trust already...

When he had first unveiled the Iron Man suit, he had been universally adored, but public opinion was notoriously fickle, and it was no simple matter to escape the stigma of 'Merchant of Death'. His board of directors, the very same board that had gone along with Obie's attempt to freeze him out of his own company, saw him as an embarrassment, a liability, but a necessary evil. They were a constant headache, issuing ultimatums. They wanted him to choose between being the CEO they wanted, which meant attending incessant meetings in order to dance attendance on them and soothe their unscientific, ruffled feathers, or giving up any clout he had in the company and dedicating himself to inventing cutting-edge technology. They felt he couldn't be a good leader if he wasn't one of them—in other words, a meeting-minded bureaucrat. They demanded that he make frequent public appearances. He resisted, because it was his company, but Pepper seemed to have taken up the board's agenda as her own, and he found it exhausting to refuse her continuous pleas and maneuvering.

But his problems hardly ended there. Reporters, legislators, the military and legions of bureaucrats were swarming in to claim their 'fair share' of his brilliantly successful creation. The newsreels buzzed with slander. Some days he was a threat; other days, incompetent. He faced lawsuits, mockery and disbelief from the press, and attempted seizures of his technology for 'the good of the many'. "So much for free enterprise," he snorted bitterly, swallowing the last of his drink in a messy gulp and exchanging his empty tumbler for a wrench.

He was still appallingly sober, but though he gazed longingly at the thick glass bottle, he dared not have more. It would only facilitate the poison.

Because those were only his public troubles. His private life was even more disastrous. Although damaged and shaken by Afghanistan, he had been relieved to be back among the people that cared about him. And then he had discovered that Obadiah, the only living person he considered family, more a father to him than Howard Stark had ever thought about being, had betrayed him, had wanted him dead…persistently enough to try multiple times and a variety of gruesome ways. Tony was still reeling from that knowledge, and it had irrevocably altered his perceptions of other people and himself. He was hurt, and his soul struggled to understand. Because if Obadiah had thought he was expendable…well, no one had seemed to love him more than Obadiah. And so he was a little more jaded now, and a lot more suspicious.

Tony would never describe his state of mind since those events as 'emotionally vulnerable', but then he had never felt particularly comfortable with emotions…or vulnerability. His attitude had always been he could handle it. If he had learned one thing from his father, the legendary Howard Stark, it was that his own feelings were irrelevant at best and, at worst, an annoyance to those around him. The people wanted Tony Stark the entertainer, the vivacious life of the party. No one wanted Tony Stark, the shattered, traumatized, melancholy victim.

His horror had mounted when he had realized that the palladium from his arc reactor had been slowly poisoning him, even as the reactor kept him alive. He had lived the past few months with the shadow of death hanging over his head, knowing that the terrorists had killed him in that cave, but that he was to have a lingering death, rather than the relatively swift one they had promised. Soon he would have to make arrangements. His blood toxicity rose every day, and his cores burned out with alarming frequency. Perhaps he could persuade Pepper to take one last vacation with him in the coming weeks. Maybe he could face his situation, if he could just have one long weekend where he felt that he mattered. Then he could leave the country and stage an 'accident'. It would certainly be preferable to Pepper finding his body…potentially several days after he had died. Tony shuddered.

He hadn't been able to face the prospect of meaningless sex after Afghanistan, and that was even truer now that he knew he was dying. He needed something real, some comfort and warmth to get him through this dark period. Tony had clung to Pepper, sure, but he felt pretty certain that he loved her. He definitely felt affection for her. She was loyal, and loyalty was hard to come by these days. But things hadn't been easy between them…and still weren't. If he admitted it to himself, and he never quite did, he felt…disappointed with his foray into romance.

The engineer experienced more loneliness than ever. He and Pepper talked at cross-purposes. He knew that she was better, more virtuous than him, but he always felt wrong-footed with her, like he was the child and she his disapproving, but indulgent mother. He could predict her behavior more consistently than one of his robot's. She had saved him before, but was always his reluctant heroine. Pepper didn't get him at the deepest level, but he understood her only too well. She didn't like when he delved deeper, was put off by his intensity. He could never let her see his demons. It wouldn't be fair to her. She felt comfortable with shallow, funny Tony. She wanted him to take her out on dates and for them to have a pleasant time. She didn't want to worry.

Pepper was simple—maybe cleanly and elegantly so, but still eminently predictable. And whatever love she felt for him simmered only a few degrees above room temperature. He kept his doubts buried, because she was a lovely woman and he depended on her. Besides, what other woman would see Tony when she looked at him, and not his money or Iron Man? Only she didn't quite see Tony, and that was the problem.

If he hadn't have felt so completely alienated, perhaps he would have told someone when the strange things started happening. Instead, he kept it a secret and it became a sort of game. Since Pepper was basically running the company, no one had been around to serve as his personal assistant. He had become accustomed to drinking the sludge that he brewed in his lab, without any creamer or sugar, because he consistently forgot to stock the condiments. And so when Pepper had shown up one morning with papers for him to sign and had brought along a cup of his favorite coffee, made from medium roasted Colombian grounds, complete with a triple shot of espresso, and loaded with sugar, he had been almost pathetically grateful.

When he woke up the next day and found an identical cup waiting for him on the counter, still piping hot, he had drunk it appreciatively and called to thank her, only for her to deny responsibility for this latest gesture. After Happy also refuted his involvement, Tony had Jarvis pull up the security tapes, because there was nothing he liked better than a mystery.

The reality proved far more bizarre than any possibility he had envisioned, because the cup of coffee had materialized out of thin air onto his counter. He blinked. And then he blinked again, checking the time-stamp of the recording. It had appeared about two minutes before he had entered the kitchen, and had still been hot when he had…drunk it. Tony swore colorfully.

"Jarvis, do a security sweep. Find out how someone got into my kitchen without you noticing…or appearing on the video feed. Check your files. Maybe you've been compromised. While you're at it, lock down the lab," he bit out, as he pulled out his palladium meter and pricked his finger to analyze his blood. As long as whatever toxin he might have drunk was currently known to science, it would show up here.

"Sir, do you fear you have been poisoned?" inquired Jarvis.

"It's possible. No one I consider a friend would hack your system," he replied distractedly.

"Sir, I have the results you requested. None of my files or cameras has been tampered with," the disembodied voice stolidly relayed.

"Then who could have done this?" he murmured to himself. "And how?"

"I do not know whom it could be, sir, but I have calculated the methods of entry in ascending order of probability. The odds that my systems have been compromised are .03%. The odds that you sent yourself your favorite cup of coffee by time travel are .49%. The odds of an invisible gift-bearer are approximately 99.48%," his AI replied.

His dark eyebrows rose in bemusement. "99.48%, huh? But good job including the time travel theory. I like that you considered it an option," he smirked.

"With you, one never knows, sir," Jarvis answered in wry amusement.

The rest of the day, Tony remained guarded, carefully looking around him and installing pressure-sensitive perimeter alarms to augment his security system around the house. When Laurel arrived that afternoon, she watched his plotting with fond exasperation. She didn't know what she had been thinking, getting him that coffee. She fully recognized the foolishness of her actions. If she wanted to live a quiet, private life, then exposing her magic to a genius ex-arms dealer was hardly the way to go about it. But part of her had known for a while that contact was inevitable. She was just too curious not to interact with him.

Laurel had never met a man as verbal as Stark. He babbled eloquently to his robot minions, giving them commands interspersed with humorous remarks and pop culture references. She always listened carefully when he spoke. His words made her very aware of their different backgrounds and experiences. She had no idea what he was talking about most of the time when it came to art, music, movies, and literature—never mind science. And so she had begun, haltingly, to educate herself in these areas. In her previous life, knowledge of magic had always been enough—really, it had been the only value. No one had expected anything else from her (besides selfless courage, apparently).

But sorcery was the one thing she couldn't talk about in this world, and she feared that without her breadth of experience in magic to fall back on, she would make for an incredibly dull conversationalist…and she didn't want Stark to find her dull. Whether she admitted it or not, that was her prime motivator. She often speculated on what would happen if she eventually lost her mind and decided to expose wizardry to Stark. She knew that he would find magic fascinating, but she didn't just want to be a vehicle for magic, a perpetual means to an end. The young witch had never longed someone's understanding and camaraderie so desperately. She liked him, and had determined that they were kindred spirits, but had deduced weeks ago that if all of his jokes earned a blank stare from her, he would probably not feel much of a connection to her. Stark was a genius, and would probably be bored with her no matter what, but she had resolved not to make it easy for him.

The catalyst had occurred the morning before. Laurel had finished the potion she had been working on, and decided to take her book over to his lab. She figured that she could read Dickens just as easily there as anywhere else. Somewhere along the way, Stark's lab had begun to feel like home. She had popped into the workshop, but he wasn't there yet, and so she followed the sound of voices to the kitchen.

Pepper had brought him a coffee from Starbucks, and his happiness was obvious and pleasing to witness. But Laurel could see his features tightening when he realized that she hadn't come over just to see him and bring a gift. Pepper had all business in mind. "I just think that we need to add a few more progressive charities to our list this year. I've brought several of the applications with me. People need to know that this is what Stark Industries is about. All this focus on the Expo sends the wrong message," she was saying.

"Pepper," he began patiently. "The company already has an entire division dedicated to giving money to nearly a hundred charities. My politics aren't what they were a few years ago. I don't care about these things." He leafed through a few of the applications, a look of mild disgust on his face. "Really, Pepper? 'Protecting Sea Creatures from Corporate Tyranny'? You thought I would go for this, why?"

Her back had gone ramrod straight and she retorted, "The PSCCT is very fashionable right now, Tony. Wouldn't you like to get a little good publicity for a change? We could send out a press release, get people's focus on something positive-something besides the Expo, which is great, but only appeals to a certain demographic."

Under his breath, he murmured, "Handing out money is always fashionable."

She glared, and he looked a little guilty. "Pep, look. The Stark Expo is and will always be the most important public event in our business. It reminds people what we're all about-innovation, imagination—not saving sea cucumbers, however admirable I'm sure that is….The Expo is my legacy," he answered decisively.

Pepper said nothing, but regarded him with a look of mild disdain that screamed, "Selfish."

Laurel's jaw tightened in anger, because she knew Tony had seen the look too, although he seemed too exhausted to argue about it. That was often his way, she had noticed. He was misjudged so frequently and he never protested. Instead, he seemed to take pains to make others feel justified in their assessments, playing up his selfishness and irresponsibility. Laurel occasionally followed him to a board meeting or power lunch, and she had seen this side of him many times. She would have been fooled too, if she hadn't seen how his mask immediately slipped whenever he thought he was alone. Now she had learned to spot the brittleness in his eyes that his sharp grin was never quite able to suppress. Why couldn't Pepper understand the sort of man he was, the sort of things he cared about? He glorified ingenuity and brilliant discoveries.

"So, will you sign them?" she asked briskly.

He didn't reply for a moment, staring down at his coffee with both hands wrapped around it protectively, like it was the last one he would ever get. Finally, he murmured, "Sorry, Pepper. Anything extra goes towards the Expo. If you want to take some of the budget directed to other organizations and apply it to these, be my guest."

Her grim expression made it clear that this answer wasn't good enough. It was obvious that she had expected to come by, get his signature, and be on her way. She hadn't expected him to ask questions, and was annoyed that her explanations hadn't been enough to sway him. He walked her to the door and broke the silence by asking, "Would you be up for dinner tonight, Pep?" in a hopeful voice, waggling his eyebrows roguishly.

She swept her eyes over his t-shirt and sweatpant-clad body and her voice had an edge to it when she replied, "I can't, Tony. Some of us have actual work to do."

Pepper, in her perfectly pressed, gray business ensemble exited the front door with alacrity, her elegant heels clicking lightly on the tile floor. Stark stared after her for a moment, an unfathomable look in his dark eyes. He had dropped his charming grin, and looked very somber, and a little lost. Laurel knew that there would be no coffee coming for him tomorrow.

That thought made her unreasonably angry, and before she had fully realized what she was doing, had nonverbally summoned his drink receipt from Pepper's purse. It had his order itemized, just as she had hoped. She couldn't forget the look on his face when he had received the beverage. For a moment, he had lit up with childlike happiness. The tension had left his face and he had looked…like a man who felt appreciated. Laurel wanted that for him every day. She knew it wouldn't be the same since the drinks wouldn't be coming from Pepper, but she hoped he took some pleasure from the gesture anyway.

The next afternoon, as she watched him busily 'shoring up his perimeter', it occurred to her that she should have expected this reaction. A scientist like Stark didn't tolerate loose ends. He would want to know where the drink had come from and why. Laurel flashed a shark-like grin in anticipation. She would lead him a merry chase.