Constructive
New York City, New York
2018
The city is loud with discontent and confusion, left fumbling for a grip on stability from the recent attack. Pavement in the streets is cracked and traffic lights, lamp poles, trees, and various other fixtures have been uprooted. All of it scattered for blocks in the wake of their resident heroes fighting off new adversaries. News stories of the alien craft that hovered over the skyline play on repeat, broken up only by images of the aliens themselves facing off against some of the Avengers. Featuring, of course, a couple magicians.
Those same images and clips of videos cycle endlessly on every news station in the country. Reminders that they aren't, never were, and never will be the only beings in this, or any other, universe. The first invasion in New York had confirmed it, beyond a doubt, but regular people had been able to go back to life as scheduled when it ended. There was a conflict, and a resolution. A solid ending to the event. They don't have that luxury, this time. The last images on the screens are always Spiderman, and Iron Man in tow, being hefted away from them. Everything is quiet, but unsure.
No one knows it yet, but those images will be the last anyone sees of Peter Parker, and Tony Stark, for years.
But that is a story for the future, for a few years from now. For when the world is trying to recapture some of what it used to have and governments are grasping at reform and repair. A story for when everyone is dealing with acceptance slipping through their fingers, and life blurring by them. One for when there is a sure ending to the story, and the fifty percent of them left have some sort of understanding of what's happened.
This part of the story takes place years before any of that, before anyone could have begun to fully understand what was happening around them.
Over the city, somewhere just past the former Avengers Tower undergoing renovations for the buyer, a case of light blue metal moves through the sky. It maneuvers around buildings and some number of feet above the cars and people wandering the streets, largely unnoticed. Everyone is too busy clambering for supplies and routes out of the city to properly account for it. All the hubbub makes for a clean and unproblematic path to its destination.
Less than a block away stands a building, and in front of that building stands a woman ready to knock on the door. The inhabitant - singular, in only an hour's time, when the Incident happens - of 177A Bleecker Street remains unaware of her presence, and both of them are unaware of the streak of blue hurtling through the air toward their location at approximately 85 miles per hour. Her knuckles graze the wood, a rasping sound of hesitation. The case of metal shifts as it nosedives, disconnecting into seven pieces that expand and click into place.
When Wong opens the door, there's no one there. A gust of wind makes his brown garb billow, bringing life to the light, woven fabric. He looks around, frowns, rubs at his temples, and shuts the door. There’s too much happening around them, and not, to dwell on a potentially imaginary knock on the door. Already six blocks away and counting, the case has wrapped itself around the woman and is molding to her form, sharp metallic snapping sounds ringing in her ears as it all settles into place.
Pepper Potts blinks once, twice, thrice to get her bearings and in front of her eyes a display comes to life. She can see the city passing around her, beneath her as she rises and soars through the air. It's not unfamiliar. She's had a pristinely manicured hand in the whole 'superhero adventure' story line throughout her years with Tony. But it's still disorienting, and she finds herself grappling for control over the suit. It doesn't give way to her movements, stiff metal alloy keeping her arms and legs locked into place and only allowing her to look around.
Is this Tony? Is something more happening, again?
"FRIDAY?" She questions the suit, looking over the vitals - her vitals, heart rate just above normal - and information cycling in the upper left of her sight.
"Rescue Protocol is engaged." That voice is not FRIDAY. It's too deep, the accent not lilted enough, the words without the joking edge that her familiar artificial intelligence carries. "You are being given an all-expense paid vacation getaway."
If nothing else, Pepper can be absolutely unquestionably sure that this is still somehow Tony's doing. No one else would put such a sense of humor into what should be an efficient helper. It’s... Reassuring. "And where is the destination of my imposed sabbatical?"
"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to divulge that information at this time, Ms. Potts."
Of course not. The suit obviously knows who she is, so giving her access code isn't going to help. She's along for the ride, whether she likes it or not. Fighting it isn't going to help. "Alright."
"You may call me JOCASTA."
"I didn't ask." Pepper says with a light, amused laugh.
"But you would have." She - JOCASTA - says with an air of certainty.
Pepper can't really refute that. So she looks around again, taking in the scenery as it goes. They're well past the city now, somewhere above a road that she doesn't recognize. The navigator indicates that they're going West. There's a number of places she could be getting carted off to, and their path right now is too vague to really make a decent go of guessing where exactly they're going.
Her mind wanders as her gaze falls to the road and the few cars on it. Rescue Protocol. It doesn't sound good, Pepper decides. It's pretty clear what it's all related to, at least. The aliens that fell into their laps and whatever is happening in Wakanda. Whatever the remaining Avengers and Co. left to face. She doesn't know much. Only what Rhodey relayed to her in the haste of his phone call, quick words smeared with urgency as he told her to get to Bleeker Street. Just in case, because she would be safe.
She wonders where Tony is taking her, what he's thinking, where he is.
"Would you like some tunes to occupy your ride?"
"Yes." Pepper replies automatically, though she knows it won't stop her thoughts from falling back to him.
Zeppelin comes through the speakers and winds through her ears and she laughs. She doesn't even really like Heartbreaker. Tony doesn’t even really like it. She almost tells JOCASTA to turn it off. But when she closes her eyes and tries to think, she can practically hear Tony singing along. Loud and off-key, running an electric drill to the beat of the song. Pepper lets it play, and finds herself humming along.
Rose Hill, Tennessee
2018
"How long has this been here?"
"I don't know." The boy with the fluffly mess of hair and defiant eyes shrugs, spinning his chair. "A couple years."
"A couple years."
Pepper leans back in her seat, looking around for the thousandth time. The tall walls and thin lights embedded in them stare back, unmoving. She can't believe this underground hideaway has been here for two years - give or take - without her knowledge. She isn't sure when Tony found the time to come down here, much less did all of this work without tipping her off. He's horrible with keeping secrets like this. He gives all of his gifts early, and forgets the days of holidays and sends presents a month in advance because he's too excited to just check. All of his projects are highlighted to her while they're curled under the sheets, or sharing a cup of coffee, or going over paperwork with their feet propped up on the table.
The sheer scale of this project gets to her. The remodel of the shed to outfit it with reinforced walls and thick one-way windows, cameras and defense systems. The actual part that is under the earth is only one level, but it's large. Four bedrooms with two beds in each, a living space and kitchen, two bathrooms, three labs each with observations areas, and one room with a table and wall that the Mark XLIX has taken a spot on.
Whatever this was in preparation for, it's clear Tony wasn't planning on coming here alone. There are enough food and water supplies here to last for... Well, okay, she isn't sure how long. It's probably dependent on how many people actually came to call this place home.
“Does anyone else know?” Pepper asks finally.
Harley scoffs as if the notion that he can’t keep a secret is offensive. “No.”
"You're sure?"
"Do I look unsure?" The young boy rolls his eyes, making it a full-body movement where his head tilts and his shoulders roll. "Just because I'm not as old as you are doesn't make me an idiot."
His obvious annoyance does nothing to quiet the questions rolling through her mind or displace any of her concerns. "You're right."
"I know I'm right." Harley sneers and turns away from her, sneakers squeaking on the tile.
Pepper hasn't even been here an hour, yet. In that time they've migrated from the entry room to the one containing the Rescue suit. On the table in front of her is a holographic display, a floor plan for the secure facility. It features two vaguely people-shaped entities highlighted in blue, one staying still and the other crossing the room. Harley finally comes to a stop, facing the aforementioned suit. Thankfully, this means the dreadful squeaking of rubber against the floor stops as well.
If she's being honest, totally and fully honest, Pepper isn't quite sure yet how to handle the boy in question. She's not bad with kids, quite the opposite when it comes to the younger ones, but her experience with pre-teens and above is limited.
A lot - most - of her time and life have been centered around work. Building herself and her career and, after meeting Tony, assisting with and running Stark Industries. Interactions with kids over the recent years have been limited to galas and various do-good projects and organizations. It's not that she's never wanted to, or thought about, having kids. In fact, years of meticulous planning and considerations have led her to decide she wants two. Recent years have raised many dreams and roads of imagination featuring kids with messy brunette hair. His chin and wide grin just underneath her eyes and nose.
"It's insulting." Harley mutters, annoyed.
Pepper isn't really listening, but she's fairly sure he's mostly talking to himself regardless. "Of course."
"Of course." He raises his voice to mock her, crossing his arms and glowering at the suit as if she's still in it. "Insinuating I can't keep a secret."
"Absolutely."
Harley cocks his head to eye her over his shoulder. She's still staring at the layout of the base, one hand resting on the table and the other rotating the display. "I mean Tony, sure, I get that."
"Yes, yes."
"He has a big mouth."
"Yes."
"And an even bigger head." There's a light hum of agreement. Harley mimics the noise of assent, obnoxiously high pitched. "You're not even listening."
Pepper finally looks up at him, slim brows rising on her head. "I can see why he likes you."
"Well I don't see why he likes you." Harley scowls at the amusement on her features, looking away again. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"I was hoping you could tell me." She admits.
"Well I can't." The boy snips defensively. "So you can, like, go now. See you never."
Shrugging, Pepper taps a nail on the tabletop. "You said this has been here two years?"
"Do you have comprehension problems?"
"This is a lot to do in two years." She continues, ignoring his outburst.
"We worked fast."
"Where did it all come from?"
Harley sighs long and hard, as if this is a stupid question to be asking. It isn't, though. Pepper runs Stark Industries. She knows where everything - money, supplies, resources in general - goes. Even Tony's personal finances and purchases are usually ran by her. Not because Tony doesn't have a good understanding of the proper usage of funds but he's always been fond of unnecessary purchases in the spur of the moment. Things like toasters he doesn't need and giant stuffed animals that no one could possibly have any use for in any realistic scenario.
And while she isn't capable of remembering everything, she's sure she would remember this amount of money and materials going through her fingers. She doesn't, but it's here anyway.
"Tony recycled what was left of that garish house he had on the cliff." Harley tells her when he seems to get over how much this question has, apparently, inconvenienced him. And then, as if she really needs him to specify: "The one that got totally fuckin' blown up on the news."
Pepper nods, and goes quiet again while she thinks. It makes sense, she decides. There was plenty that was salvageable in the lower levels, certainly enough materials to at least get them started here. Not enough to finish this whole place out, of course. She's sure Tony must have pulled this off somewhere between the additions made to the new Avenger's Facility and the Accords. There was so much going on, it wouldn't have taken much effort to move things around without someone noticing.
For a moment she wonders if Happy knows, but it doesn't seem likely. He's a good man. Loyal, reliable, caring, respectful. As much as Pepper loves him - and she does, like he's her own flesh and blood - she can admit he's not necessarily the sharpest tool in the shed. If this was something Tony wanted to keep a secret - and it is, clearly - then telling Happy probably wouldn't have been very helpful to the cause.
"JOCASTA." Harley gets fed up with the silence before she does, inclining his head to look at the ceiling. "Why is she here?"
If not for the situation at hand, Pepper might be just a little offended at his clear dislike - and, if she had to guess, distrust - of her. But this is, as she learned upon her arrival, his home and his rotting shed and his secret underground playground. So she lets it slide, for now.
"Ms. Potts has been transported here for her safety." The disembodied voice informs them lowly.
"Safety." He repeats, squinting.
"Yes, Harley. I believe this word is included in your vocabulary, but if necessary I can provide a textbook definition for your reference."
"You're too sassy." Harley states this as he looks down and back to the suit, frown still set on his lips.
Almost innocently, JOCASTA replies: "I'm only assisting you in furthering your learning."
"I don't need a tutor." The words come out in a whine.
"Seeing as I am not being compensated for my efforts, I do not believe I classify as a proper tutor."
"Your compensation is all of this quality time together." Pepper puts in dryly, and earns disgruntled look from her younger companion. He looks very much like she just stole his line. "I'd say it qualifies."
"Well you said it," Harley huffs.
It sounds just like something Tony would say, comes out with the same 'it's true but I know you're mocking me and I don't care because I know it's true' lilt. He even looks the part, turning to face her and placing his hands on his hips. So Pepper laughs, because of course she's caught in some revolving door of intelligent and sassy boys with personality issues. He doesn't think it's funny if the look on his face is any indication, and that's where the similarities end. Where Tony would chime in with sharp jokes and quick remarks, Harley resorts to childish indigence.
As funny as it all is, it reminds her that he's just that: a child. A boy. He's never seen what Tony has, has no idea what's lurking outside of these carefully polished walls.
Neither does Pepper, but she doesn't know that yet.
Rose Hill, Tennessee
2019
Harley knows, now, what awaits them outside of the facility. Death and devastation. Loss and mourning. Half of a world, half of a universe, an even slice down the middle of all life in and of itself. There's nothing for him above the ground anymore.
Even before the Incident, Harley had spent a lot of his time down here. His mother and his sister never knew what was going on, only that the Tony Stark was occasionally dropping by their town to fund local projects for the young adults in the area. Quietly sponsoring growth in their small community as a front for all of this. It had started with modified potato shooting guns and then turned into multiple questionably aware home appliances before it escalated to a full-blown renovation and hidden project.
In the two years they had spent building this place, Harley had never asked why Tony thought it was necessary. He always figured it had something to do with the way he double-checked around every corner and monitored everything personally. The root of it all embedded somewhere in the moments where his hands would shake and his shoulders would seize up and his eyes would go glassy.
But it had never felt right to ask, and the timing never worked. So he never did. And now, sitting here in the communal living area, he wonders if Tony always knew it would come to something like this.
None of it matters. Harley knows that. The knowledge wouldn't have stopped any of this, and it wouldn't justify what's happening around them. It wouldn't have influenced the universe, or fate, or what-the-fuck-ever to spare his mother or his sister. Harley is all that's left now, and he knows that's just something he has to accept. He's smart enough to know this is just what it is, whether he enjoys spending all of his time brooding underground with a woman he hardly knows or not.
He doesn't enjoy it, for the record.
It's nothing against Pepper personally. Not really. She's decent enough. She has a soft smile and kind eyes and she tries to spend their time together in healthier ways than he would on his own. But he doesn't know her. He knows who she is. Or was, he supposes, because none of them are really who they were last year. The Incident ensured that. She's the head of Stark Industries, and she's supposed to be the wife of Tony Stark someday. He knows she prefers dark chocolate to any other sweets, and that her hair color is natural, and that when she was a kid she fell off of her bike and she still has a scar on her knee from it, and that she once was exposed to a virus that turned out to be much more than just that.
What he hadn't read in the papers before Tony had told him. The man liked to talk, and she was a popular topic. Harley knows from the way he spoke of her, the tone in which he told her his name, that he loves her. Or maybe loved.
Pepper is holding onto hope that he's alive, but Harley doesn't really see that as practical. He had been entrenched in the conflict. Even if he hadn't, there's a good chance the Incident took him from the world too. It's not cynicism, it's being realistic. Unfortunate, but realistic.
"Do you want lunch?"
"No."
Harley doesn't want anything other than to be left alone. He doesn't want lunch or Pepper's kind words or the sad way she looks at him when she mistakenly thinks he isn't paying attention. He just wants her to go away.
"You skipped breakfast." Pepper chides lightly, from the kitchen. It's an open space connected to the living block, fully equipped for whatever they could want or need. "Not eating will make you sick."
"I said I'm not hungry."
"You said 'no' actually."
Harley whips his head to face her as he snaps his response. "And what about 'no' doesn't get through your thick skull?"
Before she can give him one of those quietly hurt looks his mother used to flash him, Harley looks back to the Gameboy in his hands and aggressively pushes his thumbs into the buttons. He knows she doesn't deserve his ire, but he finds himself angry with her nonetheless. Behind him he can hear the distinct 'click!' of the oven turning off and a plate being made. The sound that follows is softer, socks no the tiles as she pads her way to him. She's abandoned her heels in favor of comfort for lounging purposes.
Expecting to be reprimanded, the brunette boy hunches his shoulders and tries to sink into the couch. The sharp words never come, though. In their place is the 'clink' of a plate being sat on the table, and then Pepper settles herself into one of the seats to his side and pulls her feet up onto the edge. Harley glances up to see her picking at a grilled cheese. On the table is one for him, even though he refused it.
Harley can't help but notice that hers is a light golden brown and his is a little burnt and crispy. Exactly the way he likes it. A little bit of remorse seeps into his bones at the sight. In the months they've been together here, she's never once gotten short with him or treated him badly. Never let him catch her looking downtrodden or mused at him about their situation or what's happening outside.
From the table the grilled cheese taunts him. Practically mocks him for his unwarranted outbursts and harsh approaches toward Pepper.
Trying to look spiteful, Harley reaches and picks up the place to nibble at the darkened crust of his sandwich. It's cheesy perfection wrapped in still-warm bread that crunches pleasantly in his mouth. Truthfully, he hadn't realized how hungry he was until the cheese touched his tongue and his tastebuds squealed with delight. He practically inhales his lunch after that, leaving crumbs on his shirt that he tries to carefully pluck off and put on the plate. It's a failed mission, mostly, but at least he tries.
"Thanks." Harley mutters once he's done, carefully returning the plate to the table. Pepper only hums in response as she eats her own food, drawn into her own thoughts.
There's no telling what she's thinking about. She never shares her mental tangents with him or poses her existential questions aloud. To be fair, Harley doesn't either. Quite frankly, he tries to think of nothing at all outside of tinkering with the 'toys' Tony left for them and watching the cameras and radar systems put in place by JOCASTA. There's too much to process, and he isn't sure how to even start with it.
"How long are you staying down here?" Harley inquires tentatively as she's settling her plate on the table.
It catches her off guard and she pauses, pushing the few locks of hair that have escaped her low bun behind her ear. "What?"
"I mean," he starts and stops to collect his thoughts, tries not to fidget in his seat. "It's over, right? You could go home."
"I could." Pepper agrees, and that's all she offers.
"Why don't you?" Presses Harley, dropping his gaming device onto his knees.
After a long moment of consideration, green eyes meet brown. "Do you want me to?"
Harley isn't sure how to answer that. Does he want her to go?
Surely, she has things to get back to. At least some people left out there looking for her. They know from the news reports that some of the Avengers are still around. She probably has family somewhere, planning her funeral too soon. A job, a business, things she could do and people she could help with the resources she has. She could be - probably wants to be - using more advanced Stark technology to locate her missing-but-potentially-dead future husband.
There's plenty she has to go back for, plenty she has to do. Harley knows that, and he's sure she does too. He hates her a little for it, in the darkest parts of his thoughts. Hates that he has nothing and she still has something to go back to. She could leave, she has every right, every reason, to leave.
And Harley would be alone. It's not the same as being left alone, when they're in this space. Right now she's here, he knows she's here, even when they aren't physically in the same room or he's deemed her worthy of the silent treatment. As annoying as the constant monitoring and company can be, it's reassuring to know he has someone other than an artificial intelligence to be with. JOCASTA is great, she's fine company, but she's not real in the way Pepper is. She's not real in the way everything falling around the world is, and she can't see that or sympathize with it or grasp the impact of what's happened beyond the reasoning and numbers.
So she could go home, and it would just be Harley. Harley and JOCASTA and an empty facility full of advanced technology and shit he doesn't really know what to do with now that it's finished and he's on his own. Just Harley and his dingy shed and silent house and empty walls.
Harley doesn't say 'no' this time, but he doesn't have to.