Chapter 13
Chapter 12
“You should have seen him, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s eyes are dancing with merriment, voice hitching with the effort to hold back the laughter. “The way he was yanking at poor Mindy’s teats – I thought for sure he was gonna rip ‘em right off!”
Peter had all but rushed him the moment he and Pepper entered the kitchen, and it was only his Pepper’s hastily raised up palm and her quiet but stern admonishment of “Take it easy on him, kiddo,” that kept the boy from straight up bowling Tony over in greeting.
As it was, he settled for giving Tony a cautiously enthusiastic hug and now sits beside him at the kitchen table, all but glued to Tony’s side.
He’s not the only one, either. It seems as though the entire September Foundation collective has made it their goal to flock around Tony for the foreseeable future. Keeping close to him, watching him like so many worried hawks.
He can’t remember the last time he’d been hugged so much (or so often). He’s not used to this. It unsettles him. Irritates him like an itch underneath his skin, his entire being vibrating with the need to get away, bolt.
Pepper’s hand on his arm is holding him back. “Cut them some slack, Tony,” she whispers warningly in his ear. “You really scared them. They’re not used to seeing you… like this.”
Tony hums in mulish, reluctant assent. Smiles warmly at Peter as the boy prattles excitedly, recounting all the ignominious details of President Rhodes’ less than fortunate experience as a dairy farmer. His smile grows wider still when he notices Rhodes’ obvious growing discomfort at the teen’s words.
“Tell me you got a video of this,” he says mostly for Rhodes’ benefit, taking an inordinate amount of enjoyment in the way the taller man hunched in on himself, cringing with poorly hidden embarrassment.
And cackles with surprised delight when Peter answers in the affirmative.
“Of course, Mr. Stark. Recorded the whole thing.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you, kid!” Tony grabs the proffered cell phone, ignoring Rhodes’ small squeak of outrage. Waves distractedly at the other man even as he presses the “play” button. “Oh, come on, Platypus, don’t pout. It’s not every day us, regular folk, get to see the President of the United States on his ass in cow manure. I promise we’ll keep all the embarrassing bits just between us here. Right, guys?”
“So posting it on YouTube’s out?” Harley pipes up from across the table, and Tony gives him a sharp look as the boy grins back at him with an expression of pure mischief.
“For god’s sake, Keener,” he chides, trying to hide his amusement at the look of wide-eyed alarm that crosses Rhodes’ face. “He didn’t,” he assures Rhodes, throwing Harley another warning glare before turning his attention back to the President. “He wouldn’t.” And it’s true. Harley knows better. They all, every single one of the September Foundation residents, know the stakes, know how important it is for all of them to stay below the radar. Even little Nathaniel knows not to wander off the property and to stay out of sight if a stranger happens onto their land. So, no, Harley would never do something so stupid. “He’s just…”
“A little shit,” Rhodes concludes for him, mouth twisted into a disapproving frown.
“Yeah,” Tony agrees with a startled laugh.
Rhodes turns his glare onto Tony, rolls his eyes. “I know where he gets it from.”
Tony’s indignant “Hey!” is drowned out in general laughter.
He laughs, too. Can’t help it, really. Because it feels so wonderful: that carefree laughter, Pepper’s familiar, comforting warmth at his side, all those dear faces he doesn’t see nearly often enough…. It feels… inordinately perfect. Feels like family, like home.
If he closes his eyes and allows himself a moment’s indulgence, he can almost pretend that this could last. That he could stay here for as long as he wanted to, basking in the simple comfort of it, soaking in the genuine, unguarded affection and care this place bestows on all its rightful residents….
But he does not belong here. He is the caretaker, the guardian, the sentry at the gate whose job it is to ensure that everyone inside this farmhouse is safe. His place is ever on the outside, looking in. And moments like this? As much as he savors and cherishes them, they don’t last. They never last. They can’t.
A distant thwup-thwup-thwup of helicopter blades that cuts faintly into the lighthearted din of conversation is all the reminder he needs.
Shit.
Across the table he sees Rhodes’ posture tense as the man straightens, his gaze darting over to the window before seeking out Tony’s as if for confirmation. And all Tony can offer him is a grim, wordless nod.
Time’s up.
“Hey, Nathaniel,” he calls to the toddler, who’s currently busy smearing strawberry jam across the tablecloth with all the fervor of an abstractionist artist. Smiles encouragingly when the boy turns his wide-eyed jam-spattered face toward him. “Do you remember how to get to the Special Room?”
The quietly spoken words have the effect of an exploded bombshell, the conversation and laughter stilling immediately. In the ensuing quiet the sound of the approaching helicopter becomes ever more apparent.
Tony ignores the alarmed stares, the nervous tightening of Pepper’s fingers where they clutch his arm. Urges gently, the smile never leaving his face, “Do you think you could show James here how to get there, too?”
Nathaniel nods eagerly, hopping off his chair to toddle over to Rhodes, his jam-sticky fingers already reaching for the man’s wrist.
“Thanks, buddy,” Tony murmurs and only then looks up to scan the worried faces around him. “If all the rest of you would be so kind as to follow them. Now.”
They don’t argue with him, nobody does. Not when the roar of the helicopter engine is nearly upon them, the wind from the approaching blades slamming against the window panes.
But he can see the fear in Laura’s eyes as she reaches swiftly for her kids’ hands, can see the worried tension in May’s movements as she ushers Peter and Harley out of the kitchen, both boys throwing questioning, unsure glances at Tony as they leave the room. And the sharp flare of guilt he feels is like a knife between his ribs.
He brought this on them, he thinks with a kind of vicious self-loathing vehemence. They are his responsibility, his charges to protect, and he went and brought danger straight to their doorstep. Because he screwed up. He should have paid closer attention. Should have caught the tracker sooner. Should have–
“Tony?” Pepper’s voice pulls him out of the endless void of self-blame, and he looks up to find her hovering anxiously in front of his chair. “Everyone’s already inside. Come on.”
She must read something of his thoughts on his face, because in the next instant her expression falls, her mouth tightening into a grim, resigned line. “You’re not coming, are you.”
It’s not a question, but he feels he owes her an explanation anyway. “These guys have been chasing us across the country. They won’t want to leave here empty-handed, and I’d rather not give them the opportunity to take someone they have no business taking.”
“And it’s okay for them to take you?”
He gives her a careful one-shouldered shrug. “S’what I signed up for.” He nods pointedly in the direction of the hallway. “But none of them did. And none of them can afford to be found.”
Pepper regards him silently for a beat longer, eyes dark and searching as if she’s trying to unearth an answer to a question that’s buried somewhere deep within him. He looks away from the intense scrutiny of it, feeling just a bit too weak, too vulnerable to be flayed open like that.
“You should go,” he mutters hoarsely, his good hand curling into a fist as he attempts to hide his discomfort. “Before it’s too late, Pep, please.”
“Right.” She nods to something in her own thoughts; straightens, pulling away. But Tony’s sigh of relief is premature as, instead of walking out of the kitchen like she was supposed to, she begins puttering around the kitchen, clearing plates from the table and stacking them into the dishwasher with swift and urgent efficiency.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, lurching to stand until his shoulder reminds him quite dramatically why making sudden moves is a bad idea and he sags back down with a barely concealed groan, eyes momentarily squeezing shut against a flare of pain. “Pep,” he tries again when she refuses to acknowledge his question, the aggressive clanking of dishware as she slams the dishwasher door shut – his only answer. “Pep!”
“It is as you said,” she spins around to face him, all sharp lines and determination, “none of them can afford to be found. Me? I got nothing to fear from them.”
“Pep, you’re–”
“Killian’s dead, Tony,” she cuts him off, chin raised in challenge as she tosses out the name of her personal monster into the tension-filled air between them. “He’s nothing but a pile of ashes, scattered in the wind. I didn’t come out here to hide, and you know it. I’m here to help you run the Foundation, and as such this house and these people are my responsibility, too. And I will be damned if I let some government thugs run roughshod over this place... or you.”
She turns away from him then, her shoulders tense as she starts wiping furiously at the spotless counters, and Tony sighs, closing his eyes in defeat. The roar outside the window is deafening now as the helicopter begins its descent, punctuating the urgency of their situation, but he knows Pepper, and he knows he won’t win this one. If he weren’t still dizzy, if he were back to his full capacity, he would have risked getting into her bad graces and would have carried her off into the panic room kicking and screaming. But now….
“Come sit with me then,” he tells her as shouts of commands and sounds of running feet are heard from the outside, heading in the direction of the door. “Let’s have tea.”