Notes: This takes place immediately after Fractures but I'm hesitating about calling it a true sequel. Fractures is very much about exploring Natasha's inner life, and how that evolves over Iron Man 2 and The Avengers. I'm not going to say that said inner life is going to be absent from this story, but it's not the focus. For a start, both Pepper and Natasha are viewpoint characters here.

Anyone who hasn't read Fractures should probably read that first, though, since Breaking Points very much builds on that day dawns bright and far too early, bringing with it the numb apathy that follows a storm.

I wake and get to my feet anyway.

I have to report into SHIELD. It's what Natasha would do.

I look down at Pepper, still asleep on the bed.

She doesn't stir and I don't wake her.

She needs...

Well.

If I'd been thinking about her needs, we wouldn't be in this mess.

Still.

I can't help running my hand gently over her hair.

There's something invisible running between us, stronger than anything I've felt for...

Stronger than anything I can remember.

It may not be sexual, it may never become sexual, but is that the important thing?

It's still evolving, though, changing.

And as it does so, it leaves me feeling like I'm off balance, like the ground is shifting beneath my feet.

Vulnerable.

I need to...

I need to find my focus.

I need to find my new centre.

But, most of all, I need to contain the damage, minimise the amount of people who know anything.

And, right now, that means acting the way that Natasha would.

There's no paper in the room, nothing to leave a message on, so I message her phone instead.

I'll contact you later, when I can.

The longer I spend outside, the closer I get to the local SHIELD headquarters, the more I can feel Natasha try and reassert herself.

Neither of us like exposing anything we don't have to, and just walking through the still shattered streets as myself is far too much like sitting with our back to an open room for her.

So, slowly, I retreat back inside and become her once again.

The SHIELD headquarters in New York is a bustling kind of empty. There's enough to do in the mopup that almost no one is here, but the personnel that are present are being rushed off their feet coordinating everything.

(Barton is notable by his absence.)

(Both here and on comms.)

(Probably not a bad idea, for his sake, Natasha can't help thinking.)

(He's a loose end, at the moment.)

(And loose ends make Natasha itch.)

(She prefers to cut them off, whenever possible.)

"Do you have any orders for me?" she asks the head of station, a shortish woman by the name of Ferrara.

Ferrara considers her in between listening to the chatter audibly coming over the comm piece stuck in one ear.

"Fury hasn't given me any orders for you.

(This, Natasha surmised after having logged into her account and having checked her phone for messages.)

(Nothing from Fury, his underlings or her usual handlers.)

(Some kind of dust up in the upper echelons, she surmises.)

(It's not important to her.)

(Not now.)

(But that could change at any moment.)

Romanoff just raises an eyebrow minutely, but doesn't actually repeat her question out loud.

"How are you at search, rescue and recovery," Ferrera says.

It's not quite a question, but Romanoff answers anyway. "They're not exactly my strengths."

(She could do them of course. But so can many other people just as competently, if not better.)

"I haven't got time to look over your shoulder," Ferrara says bluntly. "Find something useful to do."

It's more leeway than a lot of the US-side heads of station would allow her, so Romanoff simply nods and leaves.

(Natasha is a problem solver at heart.)

(And the most obvious problem at the moment is the New York station.)

(It's undermanned and being used as the central depot for a lot of dangerous alien equipment.)

(SHIELD has enemies, and if some were to attempt a break in, just at the moment...)

(Well, this wouldn't be the first security system she's checked over and patched.)

(So it's no surprise that she's the first to spot, well, not exactly the intruder.)

(But the newcomer. She's definitely that.)

(The last place she saw Hill was aboard the Helicarrier.)

(So the question is...)

(What is she doing here?)

(Ferrara is quite competent enough to handle the current situation.)

(So, either there's something new, or...)

(In any case, it's likely to be important. So she goes to meet Hill.)

As soon as Romanoff comes into view, Hill's gaze focusses on her.

(Ah. So.)

"Agent Romanoff?"

Romanoff looks politely inquiring.

"There's been a security breach in one of our facility near Mexico City. Data leak. It's your next assignment."

(Natasha thinks, analyses.)

(Mexico City is just a regional headquarters.)

(There's nothing actually important stored there.)

(Certainly not worth her talents, given her lack of experience with the area.)

(This, this is busy work by another name.)

(Someone thinks she needs time off.)

(Which means Barton has been talking.)

(Damn him.)

((And...))

((And...))

((I don't think I want to leave Pepper.))

((Not at the moment.))

(Natasha takes over, analyses, comes up with options.)

(Rationalisations that don't leave her feeling too exposed.)

"Isn't there a better use for me?"

Hill looks at her blandly. "Did you have another suggestion?" she asks.

(And this is why Natasha is almost willing to forgive Barton for talking.)

(Because if he had to, Hill is the least bad option.)

(She's command, true, but far closer to an agent than a handler.)

(She solves problems. She doesn't handle them.)

"I can think of a few closer to here." Romanoff shrugs. "For one, there's an awful lot of Chitauri tech on the streets of New York. Some is going to slip through the fingers of our retrieval teams. There need to be contingency plans."

Hill raises an eyebrow. "You have some?"

Romanoff almost smiles. "One or two."

I wake up slowly and lazily.

It's a luxury I don't often get to indulge, which is the only excuse I can muster as to why I don't realise the problem sooner.

Today isn't one of my (rare) days off.

Oh... poot.

As soon as that realisation hits me, I spring out of the bed.

I'm somewhere unfamiliar, but that doesn't strike me as a problem until my eyes fall upon signs that someone else was here.

And that's when it starts coming back to me.

Natasha. Tony. And the whole crazy search across the city.

Poot and, in fact, bullfiffle, to boot.

I check my phone, and wince at the number of messages awaiting me.

It's probably just as well I'm a past mistress of going through them and getting ready at the same time.

Really, when it comes down to it, there are three different types of message I receive. There's the kind I just have to read, and not reply to. There's the kind I can solve using an email or text. And there's the kind I or, worse, Tony needs to speak to someone, even over the phone or in person.

Naturally, there are far too few of the first type, and far too many people who think they should not only be in the third category, but that they need to speak directly to Tony himself.

It's a not inconsiderable part of my job to persuade them otherwise, of course. In general, the company runs more smoothly and the stock prices remain higher when Tony gets to talk to as few people as possible.

Luckily, as long as the supplicant isn't an attractive woman, Tony prefers it that way too.

Which leads me back towards thoughts of Tony-as-boyfriend.

And Natasha.

Oh god.

I'd be lying if I claimed that one of her more attractive qualities wasn't the fact that she was always so quietly supportive.

No drama, never needing anything, just there.

Well, that particular myth had been exploded last night.

But it isn't like I can just turn her away, not now. Like it or not, she's managed to work her way into my heart. And, really, what were the chances of refusing to help a friend in need, anyway?

Not to mention maybe, at some point, more?

How long had I stuck with Tony, after all, and he's never even been the supportive type?

He has his charms, he *definitely* has his charms, but focussing on my needs is not one of them.

And neither is sharing what he's doing, what's going wrong with his world. He always has to put on his facade, as flawless as Natasha's in its way, and he won't let anyone in.

Not even me.

I *know* that you should never go into a relationship wanting to change the other person, but... but apparently I'd been hoping that as we got closer he'd trust me more.

Apparently I'd had expectations.

Maybe even needs in that area.

Well, there's nothing to be done. No matter what else, no matter what happens with Natasha or anyone else, I'm going to have to break up with Tony.

Today.

Or, well, when we were in the same place at the same time, with a modicum of privacy.

Whenever that turns out to be.

First, though, I have a few hundred messages to respond to, a score of requests from Tony I'll automatically put on hold (because a rule of thumb with him is that if he doesn't follow up on it, he didn't really want it anyway) and probably a dozen or so fires to put out.

It's a measure of my life that I just hope those flames aren't literal.

Somewhat to my surprise, I manage to find a small break in my schedule that afternoon. Long enough to do a proper check in with Tony, rather than a few words exchanged by email, text or a phone call.

Maybe even long enough to have The Talk with him.

Last I heard, he was holing up in Stark Tower. Given how much trouble it'd taken me to arrange the assembly of a functional workshop there after the invasion, he'd certainly *better* be there.

I try and phone him, but the call goes through to JARVIS instead.

"Is everything okay with Tony?" is the first thing from my lips.

It's not that ignoring his phone isn't typical Tony, but after the last few days I still can't help panicking a little (under the surface, always under the surface) whenever something like this happens.

It's not that I think anything is wrong, but it's just the knowledge that he won't tell me if anything is that causes my heart rate to spike whenever I think about it.

I really can't go on like this.

I can't keep caring so much, not if he's going to keep throwing himself into danger like this, and not even allow me to do *anything,* not even know.

I just can't.

Luckily, "Mr Stark seems to be quite engaged with dismantling a Chitauri drive system," is what JARVIS has to report. "I'll leave to your judgement, ma'am, as to whether fiddling around with unknown alien technology counts as 'okay'."

"Fiddling?" I ask with a smile.

"I do believe that is the technical term," he says dryly. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Is he still in the workshop on the fourteenth floor of the Stark Tower?"

"Indeed. Would you like me to put you through to the speaker system? Mr Stark might find it a little harder to ignore you that way."

"Tempting, but let's save that for when I really need it. Can you alert me if he looks like he's leaving?"

"Unless Mr Stark asks me to do otherwise." There's a slight pause, and I'm about to hang up when he continues. "If you are heading there, could you possibly see your way to making sure that Mr Stark disposes of the collection of pizza boxes that he has already managed to acquire?"

"Aren't there far greater affronts to your sense of propriety currently?" I can't help asking. Like, for instance, rubble, broken windows and other signs of disarray.

"The rest of the tower is likely to be restored to its proper condition. in the not too distant future. Thanks mainly due to your efforts, Ms Potts. I fear that I can not be so certain about any space that Mr Stark inhabits for any length of time."

It's hard to tell, but this iteration of JARVIS already seems to be a little more prissy than the one in Malibu, though I've only really noticed it since the attack.

It's a little strange to think about, but apparently even basically identical AIs can develop quirks of their own.

Not that he's wrong, in any case. Areas frequented by Tony during his inspired periods tend to sprout takeout containers on any and all available surfaces given half a chance.

I dread to think what his room must have been like during his university days.

"I'll make sure that it gets handled," I tell JARVIS as soothingly as I can.

"Thank you, Ms Potts," he says.

"Well, if that's all then, I'll be seeing soon," I say, then hang up.

There are bullet holes still present in the walls of the building foyer, mute testament to what happened here a few days ago. It's pretty much the last sign still on the ground floor - I made replacing the windows and clearing rubble a priority here.

It isn't as though business has returned to anything like normal yet, but providing as much of the appearance of being normal as possible is still important.

I don't know the guard, but from the uniform he does appear to work for a Stark subsidary, so I make a point of checking his name badge.

Kevin Matthews.

It doesn't mean anything, not yet, but if this is a long term posting for him, that'll hopefully change.

I give him a smile as checks my ID.

He doesn't return it.

I can't help wondering if he knew any of the people on duty when it happened. Appearances aren't everything, but he looks like he might have gotten on with Olivia or Martin, two of the previous holders of his post.

(I wish there was more we could do for their families.)

(All of their families.)

I get in the only elevator that has been cleared for use and press the button for the fourteenth floor. It seems to take an interminable time, made all the worse by the fact that, almost unnaturally, no one gets in or out during the whole ride up.

(I know the reason *why*, of course, but thinking about that doesn't make anything any easier.)

And then, finally, I'm there.

Tony doesn't react to my entrance, bent over the dismantled remnants of what looks like a flyer, poking at its innards with a tool.

I don't disturb him, just move around so I can look at him from the front.

He's in full concentration, nothing-in-the-world-exists-except-me-and-my-project mode, and I can't help smiling a little at the sight. His brow is furrowed, and he's muttering to himself, but his eyes are so *alive*.

All in all, he looks like he's taking it as a personal affront that the flyer hasn't revealed all its secrets to him yet.

"Ahem?" someone clears their throat inquisitively from behind me, and I spin around with something of a yelp to see a mild looking brown haired man standing in one of the open doorways to the lab with his eyebrows raised.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," he continues. "I'm Dr Banner. Bruce, if you don't mind being informal."

I smile at him, trying to pretend that I hadn't just almost jumped out of my skin. "Oh, yes. Tony mentioned you. I'm Pepper, Tony's..." I pause, momentarily. Using the word 'girlfriend' seems a little wrong just at the moment, considering. "Assistant at large," I finish, using the title I used to use when being a little informal.

"Pleased to meet you," Bruce returns.

I can't help noticing that he doesn't say that Tony has mentioned me. Probably because he hasn't, I can't help thinking, with a certain amount of fond exasperation. There had obviously been science to do.

I turn back to look at Tony, who still hasn't reacted to any of this.

The science bug really has bitten him hard this time.

I make a mental note to make sure that he's eating and sleeping properly.

(And, no, endless pizza does *not* count.)

More accurately, I make a note to tell JARVIS to keep an eye on him, when Tony can't overhear.

He might be seemingly oblivious to me right now, but he has a bad habit of paying attention to the most inconvenient things. And I don't want him telling JARVIS to ignore my request.

"Tony," I say instead, then "Tony!" a little bit more firmly when he still doesn't look up.

"Just a minute," he says absently, then jabs a tool into a panel into the interior of the flyer. There's a pop and a crack, but then nothing happens and I find myself releasing a breath I hadn't known that I'd taken.

He finally looks up and sees me, grinning in a way that lights up his whole face. "Pepper! Pep! Glad to see you could make it over here." He glances over, sees Bruce. "This is Bruce, an expert in all kinds of useful matters involving radiation and other green things." Bruce winces a little, but gamely gives me a little wave anyway. "Bruce, this is Pepper. Girlfriend and all round star doer of things that need to be done."

Bruce raises his eyebrows just a little at the word 'girlfriend' but merely says, "We've been introduced."

Tony comes over, wiping his hands on a towel. It's already so dirty, though, that it's a little hard to tell whether it's having any effect, or just spreading the grime around a little more evenly.

"Uh uh," I say as he reaches for me. "I'm not letting you touch me with those hands until they've had a much better cleanse."

"How about a kiss?" he asks, negotiating. "Is my mouth too dirty for a kiss?"

I can't helping rolling my eyes a little. "Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"I think I'm going to have to insist," he says, almost laughing, as he lunges forward, claiming my mouth with his.

For a moment, it's so good, I just take pleasure in the sensation, the heat of it.

For a moment, it's so good, I forget everything.

For a moment, it's so good I forget why I'm here.

And then it all comes crashing back.

No matter how good this is, no matter how good he makes me feel, I can't do this any more.

I just can't.

And the thought, the determination to end this, tears me apart once again.

Not that I let this show.

Not that I can ever let this show.

I push him back, and he looks at me with a confused expression on his face. "Pep?" he asks.

I turn around so I can see Bruce. "Could you leave us alone for a while?"

Bruce glances between me and Tony, nods and says, "Sure."

When he's disappeared from view, I look back towards Tony, and take a breath. "Tony," I say. "I think we need to break up."

Notes: I'd appreciate feedback to see if anyone is interested in me continuing this story. Obviously, it's going to be a very different beast to Fractures, and not nearly so self contained, so I'd like to see if anyone thinks I should write more, or just let Fractures be its own tale.