Seven Times Over: Benevolence (5/7), Tony/Pepper, PG-13
Author's notes in Part 1.
5. Benevolence
A couple of months into the relationship, Pepper asks Tony what his intentions are. When he gets through deriding the quaintness of her wording, he tells her, honestly, that he doesn’t know. That he can’t predict the future. Defensively, he adds, “I never promised you anything long-term.”
Pepper walks out.
For the first couple of days, he’s confident that she’ll be back once she’s had some time to cool off. He pulls all-nighters, tinkering with the suit; without Pepper around to ensure he takes breaks to eat and sleep, he’s free to really lose himself in the work.
Late on the evening of the third day, after he’s had a few drinks, he calls her. A flatly emphatic voice informs him that the number he is trying to reach has been disconnected. It’s then that Tony realizes the magnitude of his error.
Considering the resources at his disposal, it takes him a surprisingly long time to find her-almost a year, in fact. It seems Pepper has developed a few strategies for staying off the grid: she’s changed her last name, and returned to her first.
But find her he does, and when he does, he’s far too proud to contact her directly; she so obviously wants nothing more to do with him.
Over the next dozen or so years, in between joining the Avengers and a brief stint as Secretary of Defense and a longer stint as director of SHIELD and everything else he gets up to, Tony occasionally has JARVIS ping Pepper. The details of her new life are sparse, and unsatisfying: inoculation records, a Connecticut driver’s license, a grainy satellite photo of the roof of a duplex in New Haven. So he knows that Virginia Patterson is a responsible motorist with a well-kept yard, and that her shots are up-to-date. But that’s all.
He spots her completely by chance, one cloudy afternoon in New York City-which is where he spends most of his time of late, the sun-drenched California coast having lost its charm. She is-naturally-emerging from an upscale shoe store with a shopping bag tucked protectively under one arm.
He isn’t sure at first; there have been many false sightings over the years. Women of a certain height with reddish hair and willowy limbs, all of whom turned out to be phantoms. But then she turns to hail a cab, and it’s definitely Pepper-a little older, a little blonder, but undoubtedly the same smattering of freckles, the same sharp little shoulders and classically graceful en pointe stance.
He doesn’t mean to call out to her; he’s just so surprised by the fact that it’s actually, unmistakably her that the name is jolted from his lips against his own volition. “Pepper!” he exclaims, loudly enough that she jumps-actually hops right off the curb and into the street. She glances over her shoulder and their eyes meet; her smile is both familiar and entirely strange.
“No one calls me that anymore,” she calls back. A taxi pulls in to the curb, but she waves it away apologetically.
As she walks towards him, Tony is suddenly conscious of the grey in his hair, the laxity in his carriage. He feels battle-scarred and weary, but he’s a practiced hand at projecting a confidence he doesn’t own. He used to be in politics, after all.
“Hello, Pepper,” he says warmly. He’s glad he’s wearing a suit; it’s a form of armour, albeit not the one he’s known for.
“No one but you ever called me that,” she adds, and he doesn’t argue. Her assertion is patently false, but her voice is exactly the same and so he instinctively trusts it to tell the truth.
“How are you?” he asks, marveling at the way her small hand still fits so perfectly into his.
“I’m well, Tony. Thank you.” She doesn’t ask what he’s been up to, presumably because she’s watched the news once or twice in the past decade.
“Listen, I’ve got some time to kill…” Which is an outright lie; in fact, at this precise moment, he’s late for two different meetings. “Can I buy you a coffee? We can get caught up.”
“Sorry,” she says, and it sounds genuine. “I’m on kind of a tight schedule.”
An ungainly teenage boy charges out of the boutique and spills into the street. Tony has never seen him before, but instantly recognizes the slope of his nose, that particular shade of red hair. Even though his clothes look relatively new, he seems to be on the verge of outgrowing them. He’s lean and rawboned; Tony can tell by his long wrists and the pale, speckled column of his neck that the kid’s going to be tall. Just like his mother.
“Basketball shoes,” explains Pepper, patting the bag under her arm with an indulgent smile. “Apparently these ones give you the perfect jump shot, or make you six inches taller, or do your homework for you, or something. I don’t know.”
Tony nods slowly, eyes fixed on the boy. “What position does he play?”
“Point guard.”
“Varsity?”
“JV. He’ll be fifteen in March,” she adds evenly, in answer to the question he’s really asking.
Tony takes a step forward, stumbling slightly, as though the ground has shifted under his feet while he’s been standing there. “Potts.” His voice is low, and urgent. He has no idea why he’s using her last name-her old last name-but she doesn’t correct him.
Before he can complete the thought, the kid spots them and shuffles over, yanking the earbuds out of his ears. “Mom, I thought you were getting a cab.” He scowls suspiciously at Tony over Pepper’s shoulder. “Hi,” he says pointedly.
“Can I give you guys a ride somewhere?” Tony inquires, indicating the Rolls-Royce still idling curbside.
Pepper peers anxiously at the tinted glass. Tony beckons to the driver, who steps out of the car and holds the rear passenger door open. He can’t tell if Pepper is relieved or disappointed.
He wants to tell her about Happy’s promotion to head of security for SI, about Rhodey’s accident and the cybernetic implants that saved his life. Even though he recognizes the futility of it, he wants to transplant Virginia Patterson into that little corner of his existence that’s been lying fallow since Pepper Potts disappeared.
“We’re going to Madison Square Garden,” supplies the boy unexpectedly.
“Knicks game?” asks Tony.
He nods, grinning crookedly, and Tony is willing to bet the kid’s never been in a limo before.
“I’m going that way anyhow.” Tony knows he can arrange three courtside seats with a single phone call. “Hop in.”
Pepper frowns. “I don’t think that’s really…” She has a couple of new worry lines, he notes, but not many. Fifteen years isn’t such a long time.
“Mom.” The kid is rocking on the balls of his feet now, coiled to spring, his toes poking through the shredded canvas caps of his sneakers. “We’re gonna be late.” He pronounces the word as though it’s an obscenity, and Tony laughs. If there had been any doubt at all that this was Pepper’s progeny, that would have settled it.
“Jake,” cautions Pepper, in a low tone that Tony remembers all too well, and the teenager’s shoulders sag. With a wry twist to her lips, she adds, “Apparently we need to have a talk about getting in cars with strangers.”
Jake rolls his eyes elaborately.
With a politician’s practiced ease, Tony extends a hand to the boy, who reaches past his mother and palms it.
“Tony Stark.”
He watches the kid’s face for a spark of recognition, but none is evident. Clearly, Jake doesn’t follow current events.
“Jake Patterson.”
The boy’s hands are larger than Tony’s, but his eyes are the exact same shade of brown. It’s a dominant genetic trait.
================================================================
Honesty | Patience | Loyalty | Humility | Benevolence | Moderation | Persistence
5. Benevolence
A couple of months into the relationship, Pepper asks Tony what his intentions are. When he gets through deriding the quaintness of her wording, he tells her, honestly, that he doesn’t know. That he can’t predict the future. Defensively, he adds, “I never promised you anything long-term.”
Pepper walks out.
For the first couple of days, he’s confident that she’ll be back once she’s had some time to cool off. He pulls all-nighters, tinkering with the suit; without Pepper around to ensure he takes breaks to eat and sleep, he’s free to really lose himself in the work.
Late on the evening of the third day, after he’s had a few drinks, he calls her. A flatly emphatic voice informs him that the number he is trying to reach has been disconnected. It’s then that Tony realizes the magnitude of his error.
Considering the resources at his disposal, it takes him a surprisingly long time to find her-almost a year, in fact. It seems Pepper has developed a few strategies for staying off the grid: she’s changed her last name, and returned to her first.
But find her he does, and when he does, he’s far too proud to contact her directly; she so obviously wants nothing more to do with him.
Over the next dozen or so years, in between joining the Avengers and a brief stint as Secretary of Defense and a longer stint as director of SHIELD and everything else he gets up to, Tony occasionally has JARVIS ping Pepper. The details of her new life are sparse, and unsatisfying: inoculation records, a Connecticut driver’s license, a grainy satellite photo of the roof of a duplex in New Haven. So he knows that Virginia Patterson is a responsible motorist with a well-kept yard, and that her shots are up-to-date. But that’s all.
He spots her completely by chance, one cloudy afternoon in New York City-which is where he spends most of his time of late, the sun-drenched California coast having lost its charm. She is-naturally-emerging from an upscale shoe store with a shopping bag tucked protectively under one arm.
He isn’t sure at first; there have been many false sightings over the years. Women of a certain height with reddish hair and willowy limbs, all of whom turned out to be phantoms. But then she turns to hail a cab, and it’s definitely Pepper-a little older, a little blonder, but undoubtedly the same smattering of freckles, the same sharp little shoulders and classically graceful en pointe stance.
He doesn’t mean to call out to her; he’s just so surprised by the fact that it’s actually, unmistakably her that the name is jolted from his lips against his own volition. “Pepper!” he exclaims, loudly enough that she jumps-actually hops right off the curb and into the street. She glances over her shoulder and their eyes meet; her smile is both familiar and entirely strange.
“No one calls me that anymore,” she calls back. A taxi pulls in to the curb, but she waves it away apologetically.
As she walks towards him, Tony is suddenly conscious of the grey in his hair, the laxity in his carriage. He feels battle-scarred and weary, but he’s a practiced hand at projecting a confidence he doesn’t own. He used to be in politics, after all.
“Hello, Pepper,” he says warmly. He’s glad he’s wearing a suit; it’s a form of armour, albeit not the one he’s known for.
“No one but you ever called me that,” she adds, and he doesn’t argue. Her assertion is patently false, but her voice is exactly the same and so he instinctively trusts it to tell the truth.
“How are you?” he asks, marveling at the way her small hand still fits so perfectly into his.
“I’m well, Tony. Thank you.” She doesn’t ask what he’s been up to, presumably because she’s watched the news once or twice in the past decade.
“Listen, I’ve got some time to kill…” Which is an outright lie; in fact, at this precise moment, he’s late for two different meetings. “Can I buy you a coffee? We can get caught up.”
“Sorry,” she says, and it sounds genuine. “I’m on kind of a tight schedule.”
An ungainly teenage boy charges out of the boutique and spills into the street. Tony has never seen him before, but instantly recognizes the slope of his nose, that particular shade of red hair. Even though his clothes look relatively new, he seems to be on the verge of outgrowing them. He’s lean and rawboned; Tony can tell by his long wrists and the pale, speckled column of his neck that the kid’s going to be tall. Just like his mother.
“Basketball shoes,” explains Pepper, patting the bag under her arm with an indulgent smile. “Apparently these ones give you the perfect jump shot, or make you six inches taller, or do your homework for you, or something. I don’t know.”
Tony nods slowly, eyes fixed on the boy. “What position does he play?”
“Point guard.”
“Varsity?”
“JV. He’ll be fifteen in March,” she adds evenly, in answer to the question he’s really asking.
Tony takes a step forward, stumbling slightly, as though the ground has shifted under his feet while he’s been standing there. “Potts.” His voice is low, and urgent. He has no idea why he’s using her last name-her old last name-but she doesn’t correct him.
Before he can complete the thought, the kid spots them and shuffles over, yanking the earbuds out of his ears. “Mom, I thought you were getting a cab.” He scowls suspiciously at Tony over Pepper’s shoulder. “Hi,” he says pointedly.
“Can I give you guys a ride somewhere?” Tony inquires, indicating the Rolls-Royce still idling curbside.
Pepper peers anxiously at the tinted glass. Tony beckons to the driver, who steps out of the car and holds the rear passenger door open. He can’t tell if Pepper is relieved or disappointed.
He wants to tell her about Happy’s promotion to head of security for SI, about Rhodey’s accident and the cybernetic implants that saved his life. Even though he recognizes the futility of it, he wants to transplant Virginia Patterson into that little corner of his existence that’s been lying fallow since Pepper Potts disappeared.
“We’re going to Madison Square Garden,” supplies the boy unexpectedly.
“Knicks game?” asks Tony.
He nods, grinning crookedly, and Tony is willing to bet the kid’s never been in a limo before.
“I’m going that way anyhow.” Tony knows he can arrange three courtside seats with a single phone call. “Hop in.”
Pepper frowns. “I don’t think that’s really…” She has a couple of new worry lines, he notes, but not many. Fifteen years isn’t such a long time.
“Mom.” The kid is rocking on the balls of his feet now, coiled to spring, his toes poking through the shredded canvas caps of his sneakers. “We’re gonna be late.” He pronounces the word as though it’s an obscenity, and Tony laughs. If there had been any doubt at all that this was Pepper’s progeny, that would have settled it.
“Jake,” cautions Pepper, in a low tone that Tony remembers all too well, and the teenager’s shoulders sag. With a wry twist to her lips, she adds, “Apparently we need to have a talk about getting in cars with strangers.”
Jake rolls his eyes elaborately.
With a politician’s practiced ease, Tony extends a hand to the boy, who reaches past his mother and palms it.
“Tony Stark.”
He watches the kid’s face for a spark of recognition, but none is evident. Clearly, Jake doesn’t follow current events.
“Jake Patterson.”
The boy’s hands are larger than Tony’s, but his eyes are the exact same shade of brown. It’s a dominant genetic trait.
================================================================
Honesty | Patience | Loyalty | Humility | Benevolence | Moderation | Persistence