Theme 41 - Fire
Title: Fireworks
Author: ZionAngel
Theme: 41- Fire
Length: 1672 words
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She always finds him.
AN: Yes, it’s an update! I promise I’m not lying in a ditch rotting somewhere - I just started sophomore year of college. Here’s hoping it turns out a lot better than last year, and that it doesn’t keep me from writing on a regular basis. Also, this ficlet is inspired in part by this picture.
He’s not really sure whose party this is - he’d gotten so many different invitations when people found out he was going to be in New York for the Fourth of July, and he’d just told Pepper to pick the one that would have the best views of the fireworks. He thinks the host, the owner of the penthouse he’s now wandering through, might be an old friend of his father’s. But he can’t say for certain.
But he really doesn’t care right now. His damn tux is too hot, half the people at this party are older and they’re all boring as hell. Normally at a party like this (if it even deserves to be called a party), he’d be dancing and flirting and picking out the woman he wants to take home. Now, though, the woman he wants is the same one he’s been struggling to keep his distance from, the one who has been making him extremely nervous since she sat down beside him in the limo. She was smiling brightly, wearing her new necklace and a brand new white gossamer ball gown. She’s stood by him for most of the evening, saving him from awkward small-talk and saying nothing but good things about the company when the topic came up. And that entire time, he’s been fighting one urge after another, to kiss her, touch her, stand and stare as she speaks and laughs, to tell her exactly how beautiful she is and what she does to him. He’s willing to call it torture, even though he’s been through the real thing.
Now, an hour or two into the party, he just feels emotionally tired, like everything is starting to weigh down on him and he doesn’t have the strength to keep going. He’s sick of plastering on a smile and giving the same fake laugh over and over. So he slips away when no one is watching, and goes in search of some sanctuary where he can be completely alone, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Finally, he finds an empty room at the far end of the penthouse, and slips inside. Normally, he’d be annoyed by the fact that almost every piece of furniture in the room is an antique, but honestly, he won’t find a room decorated any differently, there’s a liquor set in the corner, it’s quiet, and he’s alone. So he shuts the door, leaves the light off, and heads straight for the liquor.
He fills a glass with scotch - not the quality kind he would have expected, but he’s not picky at this point - and drinks about a third of it where he stands. He refills it, opens one of the balcony doors because it’s even hotter in that room, and sinks down onto the couch.
He’s not supposed to feel this way, nervous and helpless after last night’s failure. He’s never felt this way around any other woman, and it’s completely unfair that it would start now, with the one woman who actually matters. It’s strange to feel this way, and he hates it - he hates the feeling of helplessness and the nagging fear that he’ll never find the right time or the right way to say it, or the courage to tell her if the moment is ever perfect. So he sits alone in the empty room, grateful for the solitude. When the fireworks start, he barely notices the loud booms from outside or the faintly colored light that spills into the room. He finishes his drink, and stands to get another one, barely glancing out the open balcony doors to the fireworks.
He hears the slow, muffled click of heels as he’s refilling the glass, and the quiet sound fills his head until it’s all he can hear.
She always finds him.
He turns slowly, still holding the drink, and hopes that the darkness of the room will hide the look on his face. He imagines it reflects what he’s feeling, some mix of misery and gratitude - and he’s not sure he wants her to see either one. She’s smiling, and the way the light of the fireworks plays across her skin and hair and dress just make her look even more beautiful than before. He’s staring, less because he wants to than because he can’t stop, because the way that looking at her makes his chest tighten and his breath catch in his throat is intoxicating.
“That bored, huh?”
Her hair is pulled up, showing off her bare neck and shoulders, and - crap, did she just say something? He quickly looks up to her face, and she’s watching him expectantly. “What are you doing in here?” he asks quickly. Not that he wants her gone - he’s glad she’s here, because all of a sudden, seeing her, hearing her voice has made him feel better. Not perfect, maybe, but something close enough to happy to make him smile a little. And yes, he’s well aware of the fact that they’re both very much alone in this room, and that there’s a couch not three feet away. Although that knowledge doesn’t exactly make things easier.
She grins, and her hand moves unconsciously to her necklace as she looks out over the balcony. “Didn’t want you to miss the fireworks.”
“Necklace looks good,” he murmurs, never taking his eyes off her.
She meets his eyes, her smile widening. “Well, you have very good taste.” She drops her hand. “You should be out at the party.”
“Party’s boring,” he mumbles, taking a sip of his drink. There’s a familiarity in this, just the two of them, alone and away from prying eyes. It’s relaxing, comforting. “We can see the fireworks just fine from here. Want a drink?”
“No, thanks.” She gives him that same patient smile he sees every time he tries to talk her into cancelling one of his appointments. “Some of those people are SI investors, and they all have connections. You should be out there making a good impression.”
He sighs, and heads out to the balcony. “Everybody’s watching the fireworks anyway. They won’t miss us.” He turns back to her as he sets his glass on the ledge. “Come join me, Pepper.”
After a moment, she follows, propping an elbow up against the wall and resting her chin in her hand. He smiles, and moves just an inch or two closer to her.
The fireworks last a good while longer, and he manages to sneak several glances at her that he’s reasonably sure she doesn’t notice. When they finish and the sky turns dark again, he takes another long sip of his scotch and beats her to the inevitable punch, because he really doesn’t want to go back out to that party. “Okay, tell you what,” he begins. “I’ll go back out, keep making stupid small talk with all the boring old fogies, make this ‘good impression’ you’re so keen on… and you dance with me, without complaining or acting nervous, at least twice.” She’ll say no, he’ll work her a little more, break her down, and then they’ll both get the hell -
“All right.”
He’d just taken another sip when she spoke, and nearly chokes on it. “Excuse me?”
She smiles wistfully, looking out at the city around them. “Word gets around, these people should see that you’re still the best man to be running the company. If that’s what it takes to get you to stick around…” She turns away as she trails off, and a hand returns to her throat to fidget with her necklace. “Behave yourself and play nice, stick around long enough, I might even make it three.” And then she’s turning around and going back inside before he can figure out how he suddenly wound up in the Twilight Zone.
It takes him a second to realize that he needs to go with her. As he follows, nearly running into two different pieces of furniture in the dark, he can’t help the depressing thought that maybe this is just a bribe, that she only agreed to it because she’s not surrounded by co-workers like at the benefit a few weeks ago. But nonetheless he follows, hoping for the best, and swearing that if it kills him, he’ll get that third dance.
It takes over two hours of mindless chitchat and answering too many questions about the suit and the company and how he’s adjusting so much better than the media had said after Afghanistan. But finally, forty-five minutes after he last pulled Pepper to the dance floor, he asks if he’s been a good enough boy for the evening, and a moment later, he’s pulling her close and cursing the crowd and too many layers of clothes a third time.
His hand returns to her lower back - it feels almost instinctual by now - wishing that she had picked another backless number, but willing to accept holding her closer and tighter as a trade-off. The first two dances she seemed nervous and still a little uncomfortable, but now she actually seems to be enjoying herself. He’s hesitant to give in to that thought, in case he’s wrong, but she really does seem to be relaxed now. She doesn’t fidget or glance nervously around to see who’s watching them, and it almost makes him feel like this dance is for real.
It’s comforting like this, he’ll admit - knowing that she does care about him and she’ll always be at his side. But then at the same time, he knows that it’s not enough, that he wants more, and he’s not sure if he can go the rest of his days having her as only his closest friend and confidant. What he truly, desperately wants is her heart, and he’d gladly give her all of his in exchange.
He pulls her just a little tighter against him, enjoying the moment and hoping that one day, he’ll be closer than this to receiving it.