They never taught this in business school (for nottheworsthing)
When Tony disappears in the desert of Afghanistan, Pepper's world falls apart. For ten years her life has revolved around him and the sudden lack of him loaves a hole that can't be filled. (The fact that he isn't around to leer at those words and turn them into an innuendo almost hurts.)
The Malibu mansion has come to feel more like home to her than the cozy little apartment she pays far too much rent for how little time she spends in it. So, she keeps turning up for work in the morning and Stark Industries keep paying her. Even if Tony isn't around, there is still plenty for her to do. Granted, much of it is trying to keep abreast of the mostly futile rescue efforts and handling the press.
The mansion feels empty without him. Like, even when he spent weeks down in the workshop, barely coming up for air, there was a certain sense of him permeating the building. A forgotten coffee mug here, a slice of pizza abandoned mid-bite there, a bra slung over the back of the sofa… But as the days pass, the mansion just feels emptier and Pepper begins dreading coming into work. About as much as she dreads going home.
The call comes in the middle of the night. Pepper's heart lodges in her throat. This must be it. The day she's been subconsciously waiting for ever since she learned that his convoy was attacked; they've found his body. Before she's even aware of what she's doing her phone is pressed against her ear and she's holding her breath. Rhodey's voice sounds tinny and distant, but crystal clear. "We found him, Pep. He's alive."
The words are so different from what she expected to hear, that for a moment Pepper doesn't understand. Then she does and her heart just about stops in her chest.
"The military will brief you in the morning. But, I thought you wanted to know," Rhodey says, voice soft and patient.
Pepper's throat constricts and she can't manage much more than a strangled noise. He talks at her for a little while longer, but she can't remember a word he says; her mind just keeps repeating the astounding fact that Tony is alive.
The relief when she hangs up is so profound she finds herself unable to stop trembling. Now everything can go back to normal. Instead of badgering military personnel on the phone -- and, in a rare few instances, crying to get her way -- she can go back to fielding calls from reporters and insistent one nightstands. Oh, and managing Tony's schedule. Which is about as easy as herding cats, but to be preferred over the hell on Earth that his absence has been.
But when he comes back, he comes back wrong. It's to be expected, of course. Months in captivity would change anyone and Pepper has read the literature kindly provided by the military counsellor Tony doesn't want to see. But it's startling all the same. After a decade of dealing with the man who all previous assistants dubbed a "nightmare" and "impossible" (and a couple of far less flattering things), for the first time Pepper finds herself at a loss for how to handle him. There's no course in business school titled "how to take care of your previously oversocial boss when he shuts down the most lucrative branch of his company, begins displaying signs of PTSD, and stops going outside." And that's not even touching on the shrapnel in his heart or the faint blue glow that she can sometimes see through the fabric of his shirts.
It's not that it's obvious. Tony exudes this air of being unbreakable, like nothing ever gets to him. But there are moments when the mask slips. When she catches a glimpse of something dark in his eyes. No matter how much they both try to pretend that everything is fine, it's becoming increasingly clear that it isn't.
Outside the vast panorama windows, the sky has gone dark and Malibu is a collection of glittering dots in the distance. Pepper ought to have gone home hours ago, but somehow she hasn't. (Like she doesn't know exactly why she's still there. Like it's got nothing do at all with how lost Tony looked -- just for a moment -- when she turned to go home.) She's curled up on the sofa, heels kicked off on the soft carpet and legs tucked up under her body. She ran out of actual work to do two hours ago and now she's just idly surfing the media pages on her tablet, her stomach twisted up in a million knots. "I could get you pizza," she suggest without lifting her gaze from the tablet, though she doesn't even see the words scrolling past on the screen anymore. "Or Chinese. There's a couple of places that will still deliver this late."
The Malibu mansion has come to feel more like home to her than the cozy little apartment she pays far too much rent for how little time she spends in it. So, she keeps turning up for work in the morning and Stark Industries keep paying her. Even if Tony isn't around, there is still plenty for her to do. Granted, much of it is trying to keep abreast of the mostly futile rescue efforts and handling the press.
The mansion feels empty without him. Like, even when he spent weeks down in the workshop, barely coming up for air, there was a certain sense of him permeating the building. A forgotten coffee mug here, a slice of pizza abandoned mid-bite there, a bra slung over the back of the sofa… But as the days pass, the mansion just feels emptier and Pepper begins dreading coming into work. About as much as she dreads going home.
The call comes in the middle of the night. Pepper's heart lodges in her throat. This must be it. The day she's been subconsciously waiting for ever since she learned that his convoy was attacked; they've found his body. Before she's even aware of what she's doing her phone is pressed against her ear and she's holding her breath. Rhodey's voice sounds tinny and distant, but crystal clear. "We found him, Pep. He's alive."
The words are so different from what she expected to hear, that for a moment Pepper doesn't understand. Then she does and her heart just about stops in her chest.
"The military will brief you in the morning. But, I thought you wanted to know," Rhodey says, voice soft and patient.
Pepper's throat constricts and she can't manage much more than a strangled noise. He talks at her for a little while longer, but she can't remember a word he says; her mind just keeps repeating the astounding fact that Tony is alive.
The relief when she hangs up is so profound she finds herself unable to stop trembling. Now everything can go back to normal. Instead of badgering military personnel on the phone -- and, in a rare few instances, crying to get her way -- she can go back to fielding calls from reporters and insistent one nightstands. Oh, and managing Tony's schedule. Which is about as easy as herding cats, but to be preferred over the hell on Earth that his absence has been.
But when he comes back, he comes back wrong. It's to be expected, of course. Months in captivity would change anyone and Pepper has read the literature kindly provided by the military counsellor Tony doesn't want to see. But it's startling all the same. After a decade of dealing with the man who all previous assistants dubbed a "nightmare" and "impossible" (and a couple of far less flattering things), for the first time Pepper finds herself at a loss for how to handle him. There's no course in business school titled "how to take care of your previously oversocial boss when he shuts down the most lucrative branch of his company, begins displaying signs of PTSD, and stops going outside." And that's not even touching on the shrapnel in his heart or the faint blue glow that she can sometimes see through the fabric of his shirts.
It's not that it's obvious. Tony exudes this air of being unbreakable, like nothing ever gets to him. But there are moments when the mask slips. When she catches a glimpse of something dark in his eyes. No matter how much they both try to pretend that everything is fine, it's becoming increasingly clear that it isn't.
Outside the vast panorama windows, the sky has gone dark and Malibu is a collection of glittering dots in the distance. Pepper ought to have gone home hours ago, but somehow she hasn't. (Like she doesn't know exactly why she's still there. Like it's got nothing do at all with how lost Tony looked -- just for a moment -- when she turned to go home.) She's curled up on the sofa, heels kicked off on the soft carpet and legs tucked up under her body. She ran out of actual work to do two hours ago and now she's just idly surfing the media pages on her tablet, her stomach twisted up in a million knots. "I could get you pizza," she suggest without lifting her gaze from the tablet, though she doesn't even see the words scrolling past on the screen anymore. "Or Chinese. There's a couple of places that will still deliver this late."