Pepper X Tony - Tumblr Posts

aaaa Tony was having flashbacks of the Battle of New York at that moment, you can't tell me otherwise!

Not to complain..... BUT WHY ARE ALL MY FAVOURITE THINGS TRENNDING!?!?!!!!!!!???????

Nick Makes a speech

Y/m/n = you middle name

The next day was better . . . and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and black. It was easier because I knew better what to expect of the day. Carol came to sit by me inEnglish, and walked me with me to my next class, with Chess Club Sharon glaring at her all the way there; that was kind of flattering. People didn't stare at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included Carol, Sharon, Maria, Clint, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I might be treading on water, instead of growing in it.

It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn't sleep with the rain beating the house. It was worse because Ms. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't dodge out of the way of the ball, I hit two of my teammates in the head with one bad volley. And it was worse because Natasha Romanoff wasn't in school at all.

All morning I was trying not to think about lunch, not wanting to remember those hate-filled stares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying awake in bed, I even imagined out what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. Maybe if she hadn't been so abnormally beautiful.

But when I walked into the cafeteria with Maria—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her and totally failing—I saw that her the rest of her adoptive siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and she was not with them.

Carol intercepted us and steered us to her table. Maria seemed thrilled at the attention, and her friends quickly joined us. I tried to tune into the conversations around me, but I was still uncomfortable, waiting for Natasha's arrival. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove that I was making a big deal out of nothing.

She didn't come, and I got more and more tense.

I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn't showed. Carol, who was starting to seem weirdly, I don't know, territorial about me, walked by my side to class. I hesitated for a second at the door, but Natasha Romanoff wasn't here, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. Carol followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang, then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by boy with braces and something close to a bowl cut.

I didn't want to be arrogant, but I was pretty sure she was into me, which was a strange feeling. Back at home, nobody noticed me. I wondered if I wanted her to like me. She was sort of pretty and everything, but her attention made me feel a little uncomfortable. Why was that? I really hoped it wasn't because of the time I'd spent staring at Natasha Romanoff yesterday, but I was kind of afraid that was it. Which was about the stupidest thing possible, really. If I based my reaction to someone's looks off a face like Natasha's, I was doomed. That was fantasy, not reality.

I was glad that I had the desk to myself, that Natasha wasn't here. I told myself that again and again. Still, I couldn't get rid of this annoying feeling that I was the reason she was gone. It was ridiculous, and egotistical again, to think that I could affect anyone that much. It was impossible. But I couldn't stop worrying about it.

When the school day was finally done, and the red in my face was fading away from the latest volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and heavy sweater. I rushed from the locker room, before Carol could follow me out. I hurried out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I still had what I needed.

It was no secret that Nick couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. Last night, I'd requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. A quick search revealed that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to the Thriftway.

I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, I saw the the rest of Natasha's siblings walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before—I'd been too mesmerised by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn garbage bags sacks and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look like it bought them any popularity here.

But I couldn't really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn't imagine any door their beauty wouldn't open for them.

They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren't anything like anyone else. I saw one of the guys—Tony it must be—had his hand casually on the hip off a blonde girl with a slight fringe framing her forehead. Though he seemed pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that that she wasn't hot—she was super, mega hot—but not . . . approachable. The blonde girl caught me looking, and the way her eyes narrowed made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn't go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.

The Thriftway was not far from school, a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did most of the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar job. The store was big enough inside that I couldn't hear the tapping of the rain on the rood to remind me where I was. When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, reorganising the cupboards till everything was in a place that made sense. Nick's system was kind of haphazard. I hoped nick wouldn't mind, that he wasn't OCD about his kitchen the way I was. Once I was satisfied with the organisation, I worked on the prep for dinner.

I kind of have a sixth sense about my mum. I realised, as I was sticking the marinade-covered steak into the fridge, that I hadn't let her know I'd made it yesterday. She was probably freaking out.

I ran upstairs two at a time and fired up the old computer in my room. It took a minute to wheeze to life and then I had to wait for a connection. Once I was online, three messages showed up in my in-box. The first was from yesterday, while I was still en route.

"Y/n," My mum wrote.

Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Bruce says hi. Mum.

I sighed, and went to the next. It was sent six hours after the first.

Y/n, Why haven't  you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mum.

The last was from this morning.

Y/n Y/M/N Fury, If I haven't heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Nick.

I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but mum was known for jumping the gun.

Mum, Calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything crazy. Y/n

I sent that, and then started the next, beginning with a lie.

Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some okay kids who sit by me at lunch.

your shirt is at the dry cleaners - you were supposed to pick it up Friday.

Nick bought me a truck, can you believe it? it's awesome. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good. You know, for me.

I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you. Y/n.

I heard the front door bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.

"Y/n?" my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.

Who else? I thought to myself.

"Hey, dad, welcome home."

"Thanks." He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he'd never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I'd come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" he asked warily. Mum was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren't always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," I answered. Nick looked relieved. He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.

I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffled appreciatively as he walked into the room.

"Smells good, Y/n."

"Thanks."

We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.

"So, how did you like school? Make any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.

"Well, I have a few classes with this girl named Maria. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there's this girl, Carol, who's friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.

"That must be Carol Danvers. Nice girl—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living odd all the backpackers who come through here."

We ate in silence for a minute.

"Do you know the Avengers?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

"Dr. Vostokoff's family? Sure. She's a great woman."

"They—the kids—are a little . . . different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

I was surprised to see Nick's facet red, the way it does when he's angry.

"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Vostokoff is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have her—lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature—I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend . . . just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

I was the longest speech I'd ever heard Nick make. He must fell strongly about whatever people were saying.

I backpedaled. "They seem nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Nick said, laughing. "It's a good thing she's happily married. A lot of the hospital staff have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around."

We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.

There are six on the table

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognise, if not name, almost all the kids in the school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball in my direction. I stayed out of their way.

Natasha Romanoff didn't come back to school.

Everyday, I watched, pretending I wasn't looking, until the rest of the Avengers entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it entered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that Carol was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.

By Friday I was totally comfortable entering by Biology class, no longer worried that Natasha would show. For all I knew, she'd dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally erase the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Nick worked most of the time. I wrote my mum more fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn't a problem for Nick. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn't even bother to get a card—there wasn't anything interesting I hadn't read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas milage the truck got . . .and winced at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.

People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn't raining. In English, Carol took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.

All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.

When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.

"Wow," Carol said. "It's snowing."

I looked at the cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.

"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.

She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.

"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."

Carol laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Sharon, who was walking away, her back towards us—in the wrong direction for her next class. Carol had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.

She just nodded, her eyes on Sharon's back.

I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Maria after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use as a shield. Maria thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me herself.

Carol caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. Her and Maria were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were six people at the table.

Maria pulled on my arm.

"Hey? Y/n? What do you want?"

I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Y/n?" Carol asked Maria.

"Nothing," I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Maria asked.

"Actually, I feel little sick," I said.

She shuffled a few steps away from me.

I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.

I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice Carol asked, with a concerned tone that seemed little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn't like she was actually going to stab a knife in me.

I decided to allow myself one glance at the Avenger's table. Just to read the mood.

I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.

They were laughing. Natasha, James, Yelena, and Tony all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Steve and Pepper were leaning away as Tony ruffled his dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.

But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Natasha, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down again't her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn't staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.

"What are you staring at, Y/n?" Maria asked.

At that precise moment, Natasha's eyes flashed over to meet mine.

I turned my head completely toward Maria, shifting my shoulders in his direction and making my hair cover my face. Maria leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of her personal space.

I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that she didn't look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I'd seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Natasha Romanoff is staring at you," Maria said, looking over my shoulder.

"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.

"No." Maria looked confused, then she suddenly smiled. "What did you do, ask her out?"

"No! I've never even talked to her. I just . . . don't think she likes me very much," I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Maria, but I could feel goose bumps on my neck, like I could feel her eyes on me.

"The Avengers don't like anybody . . . well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."

"Stop looking at her," I insisted.

She snickered, but finally looked away.

Carol interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Maria agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Carol left little doubt that she would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Natasha didn't look like she was planning yo murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to her again.

I didn't really want to walk to class with Carol as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.