Chapter Three

The young woman found herself, not for the first time, cursing Tony Stark.

Hobbling towards her office, she glared at anyone who dared look her in the eye and attempted to walk with us much dignity as she could muster… which wasn't much, considering that she was walking through her workplace barefoot and possibly taking on the persona of Blackbeard.

When she arrived at her small office space she hastily gathered up her things and trudged back down the corridor, the ridiculously high stilettos that had caused all of this in the first place dangling in her grasp.

It wasn't bad enough that she'd had to endure a torturously awkward car drive from the Bronx to Manhattan with Tony Stark the previous night, but now she was also living on his premises, pining for the breakfast she'd had to forgo this morning and was walking around like a horse who had gone lame. Her life had been perfectly boring before what she now deemed to be the "Christmas Eve Incident", and she was still completely at odds and totally confused as to what Tony Stark's intentions truly were. If she has learned anything so far in her experiences of life, it's that it's rarely ever fair and nothing ever comes for free.

She limped toward the private elevator that would take her to the living area further above in the tower and typed in the access code which had been relayed to her last night. Honestly, she was surprised that it actually worked; she was still struggling to believe that this was her reality.

Closing her eyes, she counted the seconds that passed and attempted to regulate her breathing, willing the pain in her foot to cease. She was tired and sore and hungry. It was past lunchtime and she hadn't eaten anything since the previous evening. Some ice on her foot and some food in her stomach would be akin to nirvana for her and she could have cried with joy when the elevator dinged its rival. However, her relief was short-lived when the doors opened to reveal the man that she had been thinking about only moments earlier.

Both her temper and her restraint were in short fall and she sighed dejectedly when she saw him and moved to get inside the elevator.

"Rude," Tony said. "I'm not used to that kind of reaction, people love me."

She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"What's eating you up? Who do I have to fire for ruining your day?"

"You," she hissed.

"Me?!" He asked, totally affronted. "What did I do to induce your wrath?"

"This!" She yelled, waving the ridiculously high heels in his face.

"I… what? How are heinously designed black patented stilettoes my fault?"

The young woman gaped at him incredulously. "Your company's dress-code!"

Tony Stark furrowed his eyebrows in confusion but, wisely, said nothing. He had no idea what was going on but he knew enough about women to know not to poke them with a stick when they were really angry…

"I got called into a meeting with one of your hot-shot clients and my superior refused to let me go until I "adhered to the dress code" and wore heels, which is apparently what all your female employees are supposed to wear. You chauvinist! There's a reason why I don't wear this… this… this shit! It's impractical, it's painful and it's dangerous! I'm hobbling around here like Quasimodo and you… you're smiling. So I suppose you think you're hilarious? Spraining my ankle at work and looking like a total moron in front of my colleagues is funny, right?"

"Is this a trick question? I'm pretty sure this is a trick question."

She sighed audibly and lent back against the elevator wall. The pain from her foot had somehow managed to migrate to her head in the last few moments and she closed her eyes from the harsh light of the elevator in a feeble attempt at staving off her impending migraine.

Vaguely, she was aware of Tony Stark's chatter in the background, nervous attempts at humour and banter. She furrowed her brows and acknowledged the ringing in her ears that kept growing louder. She tried to breathe in as deeply as she could but it was no use, the heat flared through her body and she realised she was about to faint right before it happened.

"I –'' she tried to warn him, but the heels dropped from her hands and her knees buckled beneath her, resulting in a particularly nasty bump to her head when she hit the elevator wall on the way down. Thankfully, the floor was unable to inflict any further pain upon her as she was grabbed at the last minute by a very shocked and a very anxious billionaire.

"JARVIS!" She heard him yell, but the conversation that followed was white noise in her delirium. Tony hoisted her up into his arms as he exited the elevator.

"You do know you're supposed to let the person lie down when they faint," she groused, squeezing her eyes shut as she attempted to stave off the inevitable nausea.

"And leave you curled up on the elevator floor? Despite what the tabloids like to say, I do actually know how to treat women."

She snorted humorously and attempted a weak smile. Encouraged by her response he continued.

"However, it probably would have been worth my while to have left you there if I could have guaranteed seeing someone's face when they found you."

"You're all heart, Mr Stark."

"Tony."

"Hmmm."

JARVIS's voice reigned above her, talking about blood pressure being 85/60 or something like that. She wasn't really concentrating but sighed with relief when she was gently deposited on a couch – surprisingly in her own living space in the tower.

Tony could be heard opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen area in a very loud and irritable manner, muttering under his breath agitatedly before giving up and looking in her direction incredulously. "You do realise that human beings need food to survive, right?"

"You do realise that I only arrived here last night, right?"

"Fair point." And he suddenly felt overwhelmingly stupid. How could he have forgotten to have something as crucial as food delivered and stocked into her living area? He would have to rectify that immediately.

"What are you doing?" He snapped, marching over to her when he noticed that she was attempting to sit up from the couch.

"Water," she mumbled.

He pushed her back down into a supine position and went to the kitchen to fill a glass of water from the sink. When he turned around she was trying to sit up again.

"Will you stop?" He hissed and clamped a hand down on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!"

Tony recoiled and then raised his hands to his chest in both a placating and somewhat defensive stance. She put her head in her hands and sighed tiredly.

"Sorry," she mumbled and took the glass when it was offered to her.

Tony seated himself on the couch opposite and they sat in silence while she drank the glass finished. She looked to be contemplating something while she stared through the rim of her glass and his eyes narrowed when he saw her reach a decision.

Before he knew what was happening she had gotten up and was making her way back towards the elevator.

"Where are you going?"

She looked over her shoulder and answered in a way that suggested that it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Back to work."

"That's out of the question."

"Can't be."

"What?"

"It can't be out of the question when there isn't one to begin with. Besides, there is far too much that still needs to get done."

By this point she had reached the elevator and he all but stormed in after her to keep the doors from closing.

"Take the day off," he snapped.

"I can't! I –"

"I'm the boss and I say you can so you can."

She ground her teeth together and attempted to pry his hand from the door.

"Let go!"

"You can't go back to work today. You look terrible."

She gaped at him ferociously. "Wow, way to get to a girl's heart Mr Stark."

"For the love of Christ stop calling me Mr Stark and stop being so irrational about this! You're sick. Take sick leave, eat something, sleep it off and start again tomorrow."

"The deal needs to be closed by twelve tonight so that's not actually an option."

He sighed in exasperation and got in the elevator, letting the doors close and pushing the button that would take them to her work floor.

She looked down at her bare feet self-consciously and remembered that her flats were in her office. Thankfully that was exactly where she was headed and decided to leave the stupid heels on the floor of the elevator where they belonged. Someone else could deal with it at a later stage because frankly just the sight of them disgusted her.

When they reached her floor she murmured a hasty goodbye to Tony by way of parting and jumped out. She hobbled in the direction of her office, trying her best to ignore the judgemental glances of her colleagues – which was made sorely impossible thanks to what she now recognised as Tony Stark's footsteps behind her.

"What are you doing?" She hissed.

He simply smiled mischievously at her and continued on to her office. She trailed behind him and tried to make sense of the situation, deciding that she actually didn't care when her foot began to throb more intensely. She rounded the corner into her office and began gathering up her shoes and placing them on her feet. She sighed heavily and prepared to address the situation of Tony Stark hanging about her office before her supervisor stormed in.

"Where have you been?" The woman boomed, red-faced and only noticing Tony Stark after her outburst. "Mr Stark," she stammered, eyes wide, "I –"

"Nice shoes," Tony interrupted, he glared at her when he noticed her decidedly informal and flat choice of footwear; there is nothing Tony Stark hates more than people in positions of power who abuse their status.

"I –"

"Your colleague is taking the rest of the day off," he snapped. "Your little power trip resulted in a sprained ankle."

She gaped at him and then nodded dumbly.

"Glad it's settled," he replied haughtily and gave her a look of barely veiled disgust.

The room became decidedly tense and the young woman swallowed thickly. Her supervisor was looking between her and Tony Stark as if she were watching a tennis match; suspicion flaring in her narrowed eyes.

"Mr Stark –'' came a weak protest from the corner of the room.

"No," he growled. His irritation was palpable and her protest died on her lips when he raised his hand in a gesture that broached no argument. "Get your things and then get out of here; I'm sure your supervisor is more than capable of closing the deal by herself," he turned and glared at her. "Am I right?"

"Y-yes, Sir."

"Good." And just like that, his entire demeanour changed and he was back to his quirky and snarky self.

The young woman grabbed her bag hurriedly and raced past both Tony and her supervisor. The tension was far too palpable and she hated conflict. She tried her best to race back to the elevator to escape the situation in its entirety, but the stares she was receiving yet again told her that Tony Stark was right behind. Before she could think about the action, she whirled around and got right in his face.

"I already have a shadow," she hissed.

He jumped back in surprise but quickly smiled once he had recovered; he loved riling her up and he had absolutely no idea why.

"I'm aware," he drawled.

She huffed and stormed to the elevator. He appraised the room around him and noticed the stares that their little drama had induced. Naturally, he flashed the cockiest grin that he could manage and strode to the elevator after her. He had no doubt that he had just instigated possibly the juiciest gossip that his company had ever seen.

He anticipated a boiling silence when the elevator doors closed behind him but his younger counterpart surprised him yet again and turned to face him.

"You can't do this," she said simply.

"Do what?"

"Give me preferential treatment."

His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. He was about to argue with her, deny her statement to be true, perhaps even laugh it off; but then he considered her assertion and found it to be veritable. He was giving her preferential treatment, but he just couldn't help himself.

The young woman sighed and looked away; at least he appeared to be considering what she had said.

The ding of the elevator brought them out of their individual reveries and she was completely unsurprised that he exited the elevator with her and walked into her apartment. Clearly, Tony Stark had time to burn; why he would want to spend it with her was another matter entirely.

"Please," she intoned, "make yourself at home."

She disappeared into her room and didn't see the amusement glittering in his eyes.

Well, he thought, since I have permission…

He fell back onto her couch, well, his couch, like a surly teenager and decided to wait for her. As he had discovered earlier, there was no food in her apartment and she needed to eat. Tony decided that he would ask her what she wanted to eat and then make sure that she got it – no matter what it was.

The minutes ticked past, however, and he found himself growing impatient and then concerned.

"You know," he called, "it's rude to keep your guests waiting."

His anxiety piqued when there was no response and he decided to go check her room; to hell with manners, most people reckoned that he didn't have them anyway.

Expecting the worst, he stuttered to a halt when he rounded the corner and found her sitting calmly on her bed. His relief was palpable, but his worry returned when he noticed that she was crying and clutching a book desperately to her chest. This prompted him to apprise the rest of the room and he observed that his people had brought all of her belongings from her apartment like he had asked them to. Every book she owned was cluttered against the far wall; hardly neat but certainly in the order that she had had them in.

Tony looked back at her in confusion. He was about to ask her what could possibly be wrong when she spoke.

"I don't know what to do with this."

"With what?"

She looked at him quickly and then at the books lining the wall. Her face was damp and she clutched the book to her chest even tighter. "This," she said and nodded at the wall.

Tony scratched the back of his neck in discomfort and tried to figure out what was going on; he was very clearly missing the point…

"Um," he mumbled, "I don't think it takes a genius to know that you read them."

His younger counterpart narrowed her eyes in a vicious glare and he knew he had said the wrong thing. Tony scrambled to remedy his stupidity, but he was at a total loss and felt completely out of his depth with the situation – mainly because he had no idea what was going on. He noticed that the book she was holding was his copy, or his father's copy, of Le Petit Prince. He had instructed one of his men to place it with her other books once they had been moved to her room – there was something special for her about that particular tale and anyone with eyes could have seen the desire in hers when she had held it on Christmas Eve. She had worried about its sentimental value; that it was personalised for Tony's father; but he was glad to be rid of yet another reminder of his tarnished paternal heritage. If he could make someone happy in the disposal of this reminder, then all the better for him.

"I'm glad you like it," he said finally and gestured to the book tightly clasped in her arms.

She looked at him and all he saw was desperation; a confusion and a loss that spoke volumes. "I don't know what to do with this," her voice cracked.

And suddenly, he knew what this was all about. Tony didn't have even one iota of an idea what her story was, what her past held, but it was obvious enough from careful observation that it hadn't been good and it hadn't been easy. The simple fact of the matter was that she wasn't used to being given things; she wasn't used to kindness. The thought saddened him more than he contemplated a thought ever could.

"You don't have to do anything," came his reply, confident and resolute. "You accept it for the gift that it is and you carry on. Sometimes, people do nice things just because they want to do nice things."

"Not in my world," she whispered sadly.

"Well, your world's changing."

The young woman looked him desperately and he cut her off before her rebuttal could even leave her lips.

"You know, despite the fact that I talk enough for a small army, I'm actually not that good with words. This is how I show my affection – flamboyancy and grand gesture is the pinnacle of the Stark identity after all.

He was surprised when she smiled at him and didn't rebuke his words; he suspected that it had more to do with her being tired than actually accepting the veracity of what he had just said.

"What do you want to eat?" He asked suddenly.

"Mr Stark –'' she began.

He glared at her.

"Tony," she amended. "I don't need you to wait on me; truly. You're a busy person and no one would think any less of you if you left the injured plebeian to look after herself," she laughed good-naturedly but his face contorted into disgust.

"Do you even realise how many people would consider themselves lucky to be waited on by someone as charming as me?"

"You're impossible…"

"And you're one of the lucky ones!" He squealed in barley contained glee. He brought his hands together, excitedly, causing a loud clap and then looked at her seriously."

"You have a very important decision to make," he informed her morosely.

"What?" she asked quickly, worry and anxiety bubbling to the surface.

"You have to make a life or death decision… a life-changing decision."

Her eyes widened and she waited on bated breath for him to continue.

"You have to decide, and it's not a decision to be taken lightly, what it is that we are going to… eat!"

A beat of silence followed his proclamation.

"Are you serious?!" She bellowed indignantly. She would have punched him square in the chest if she had been able.

"As serious as a heart-attack," he said gravely, clutching the arc reactor where it lay in his chest beneath his shirt.

Her eyes narrowed. "You're hilarious," she deadpanned; and he could tell that she was not impressed.

He smiled mischievously. "Your compliments never cease, but back to what's more pressing, what will it be? I'm starving."

"You don't have to –''

"Okay, I'm going to make this easy for you," he pulled his phone out and sat down next to her, she flinched when he pressed his side against hers but he acted like he hadn't even noticed; though he supposed he was sitting closer than was strictly necessary…

"The world is at our fingertips and it is officially your oyster. What capillary-clotting, calorie-crunching goodness shall we order? Pizza is a classic, though I am a sucker for shawarma…"

"And how is the poor delivery person supposed to circumnavigate a tower with the security of Fort Knox and the impregnability of Alcatraz?"

"When you say such flattering things as that, one can only assume that you're very clearly trying to seduce me."

She scoffed and looked away. Tony smiled earnestly and continued tapping away on his phone.

"So what will it be?"

"I don't mind," she replied tiredly. Tony was about to start arguing with her again when he noticed that she wasn't, in fact, simply being difficult. She looked tired to her bones and it became very obvious that she needed to eat and she needed to sleep – not necessarily even in that order.

"Okay," said Tony. "Just relax here and I'll sort something out."

He got up and walked to the door, tapping furiously on his phone. "Make sure you wrap and elevate that," he said, without looking up from his phone and sounding almost bored. The genius didn't want to encroach on her space more than he already had, especially when she was feeling so unwell – mothering was one thing, but mother hen-ing was a whole other matter entirely.

His plan wasn't much of a plan yet; but the crux of it included him conjuring food from somewhere whilst his younger counterpart slept. He'd then wake her up, make sure she ate, check her ankle and then leave her to sleep again. Simple as that.

Most people would have scorned at the notion, scoffed at the idea and ridiculed the very suggestion of Tony Stark taking care of someone other than himself.

But most people, however, did not know of one of the most crucial components of Tony Stark's character: Tony Stark, for all his exhibitionism and grandeur, was totally incapable of taking care of himself, but more than able to look after those he cared about and wished to protect. He would fight for them fiercely.

Perhaps even to a fault.