Not what I need for me right now. [There you have it. Blunt and to the point. Pepper can taste the salt of unshed tears at the back of her throat, but at least her voice isn't thick with them.]
[It would be easier if Tony said something, if he launched into another one of his rants. Pepper's had some practice letting his words wash over her and waiting until he runs out of breath or steam or nouns, whichever comes first.
But the silence twists at her already aching heart, and a fine tremor runs through her fingers. Her throat feels like particularly fine sandpaper, each breath catching on the inhale as well as the exhale.]
[He pauses, biting back the harsh tirade he can feel, like something hot on his tongue but Pepper... Pepper was more important to him than that, and he knows it can't be easy for her to admit that maybe this wasn't right for them.
That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It hurts. More than he can properly process right now.]
[He doesn't want to have this discussion. Doesn't want to think about the reasons why he'd single-handedly managed to destroy the one good thing he had going for him. For them.
He's calm, really. Honest. He'll just go do a few laps of new york in that new suit. He can't even find it in him to say anything, so he simply cuts the call. ]
[The phone goes dead in Pepper's hand, all sound suddenly cutting out. Her breath escapes her, leaving a hollow beneath her breastbone behind. One that the next inhale can't seem to fill.
Pepper puts the phone face down on the table, each movement measured and precise. It clicks against the glass and her breathing goes ragged for a second. Tony asked for this call, and he couldn't even finish it.
The silence he's left behind is worse than anything she could have imagined. It's not indifference, she knows, but it feels far too much like it.
His inability to be there, even for what might be the end of them should make anger blossom red and hot, to fill that empty void in her chest. But all she does is ache. For what was; what could've been; and what might never be.
There might not be any more wine, but there's a mountain of paperwork for her to drown herself in. Thankfully, the vast machinery that is Stark Industries doesn't stop or slow.]
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Just not what, Pepper?
[It's all-consuming. Pepper is the most important thing in his life, and she's slipping away. Rapidly.]
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Not what I need for me right now. [There you have it. Blunt and to the point. Pepper can taste the salt of unshed tears at the back of her throat, but at least her voice isn't thick with them.]
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He's silent. He used to think it took a lot to render him speechless, but these days he's really not that sure.]
Right.
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But the silence twists at her already aching heart, and a fine tremor runs through her fingers. Her throat feels like particularly fine sandpaper, each breath catching on the inhale as well as the exhale.]
I'm sorry.
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[He pauses, biting back the harsh tirade he can feel, like something hot on his tongue but Pepper... Pepper was more important to him than that, and he knows it can't be easy for her to admit that maybe this wasn't right for them.
That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. It hurts. More than he can properly process right now.]
There's a thing-- I need to. Something.
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[His name is a soft complaint, a plea for something Pepper can't quite put into words. Maybe it's the being there thing that he never quite got down.
She wants to defend her position, wants to break it all down into little pieces for him, since he can't see the big picture.
But, why kill him with a thousand cuts when she's already slit his throat?]
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[He doesn't want to have this discussion. Doesn't want to think about the reasons why he'd single-handedly managed to destroy the one good thing he had going for him. For them.
He's calm, really. Honest. He'll just go do a few laps of new york in that new suit. He can't even find it in him to say anything, so he simply cuts the call. ]
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Pepper puts the phone face down on the table, each movement measured and precise. It clicks against the glass and her breathing goes ragged for a second. Tony asked for this call, and he couldn't even finish it.
The silence he's left behind is worse than anything she could have imagined. It's not indifference, she knows, but it feels far too much like it.
His inability to be there, even for what might be the end of them should make anger blossom red and hot, to fill that empty void in her chest. But all she does is ache. For what was; what could've been; and what might never be.
There might not be any more wine, but there's a mountain of paperwork for her to drown herself in. Thankfully, the vast machinery that is Stark Industries doesn't stop or slow.]