Pepper Potts (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spicyworkaholic) wrote2013-10-01 07:28 pm
spicyworkaholic) wrote2013-10-01 07:28 pm
Entry tags:
Unexpected Friends
It was one thing to tell me I was his new PA, it was quite another to go through with the paperwork and get the stipulations and requirements written up. I still remember the look the woman in HR gave me when I came by to sign the documents: it was a look of pure pity, mixed with curiosity, mixed with utter bafflement. Her eyes told me plenty of stories, plenty of intrigue, and the obvious confusion that I was willingly getting tied up into it. "It pays better than my last four jobs combined." I told - Veronica, that was her name - as I finished signing the last waver and picked up my purse. Veronica just shook her head and filed my papers away like someone receiving orders assigning a death sentence.
I didn't find out why until my first day.
It was cool out, January, and as I pulled up in front of the Stark Mansion I was glad for the light suit-coat that covered my arms. I rang the doorbell and waited. Then, ten minutes later, I rang it again. By the third time I was shivering, and I was only too relieved when the door swung open and a pleasant British voice said: "Welcome, Miss Potts." I was of course surprised to find no one behind the door as it closed behind me. I must have looked understandably out of my league because a moment later the voice said politely, "I am Jarvis, Miss Potts; Mr. Stark's personal AI. Just A Really Very Intelligent System, as it were. Our mutual 'employer' is currently in the basement workshop, attending to some mechanical irregularities..."
That dry and sarcastic tone, I didn't know it at the time, but it's the expression Jarvis uses every time Tony is doing something impractical that doesn't particularly need to be done. It's the sort of voice Jarvis uses when he thinks his creator should really be doing something else, but his circuits are too loyal to object.
At the time all I knew was that a obviously human-level intelligence ingrained in my employer's house was continuing to spout techno-babble at me while I looked at my Blackberry in chagrin. I noted that the time was 10:45am and my phone was blinking its warning for Tony's meeting at 11. I cut off Jarvis' British tones with a polite clearing of my throat and smoothly asked him to direct me to the stairs that would take me to the basement. He obliged with a hint of something in his too-human voice that reminded me of warning, then left me in silence to find the way.
My first impression of the workshop visible through the glass was no different than what comes to my mind every time I'm forced to extract Tony from his self-made sanctuary. The workshop is, to all ways of thinking - except maybe Tony's - a horrible mess. There are projects strewn on top of parts on top of plans and sketches and day old coffee. It's a muddle of half-formed thoughts, full-formed machinations, and unformed dreams. It's my boss's mind given physical, tangible form, his adult playpen, toybox, and nursery. I'm fairly certain that even when he's not there, he's thinking of it longingly, his one-time, full-time love.
When he's in there, his music is almost always turned up loud, whether its the half-yelling of Suicidal Tendencies or the strains of Beethoven's Ninth, it's always up much too loud to hear anyone banging on the Plexiglas fish-bowling him off from the rest of the world. Even when the person uses her fists or her $200 heels to do so. At the time, I was flabbergasted and frustrated. I felt a bit like a child offered a piece of chocolate cake that was then placed out of reach on the top of the kitchen fridge. My goal wasn't completely out of my league, but I did need to get a chair...
...when the chair didn't even make a scratch on the clear surface, and there was yet no signs that my employer had heard even the slightest thump of the wood on the Plexiglas - he hadn't looked up from the counter he was at since I had appeared on the stairs - I turned from a literal chair to a metaphorical one, glancing up at the ceiling as if praying.
"Jarvis?"
"Yes, Miss Potts?" I jumped as the voice came from in front of me rather than above. I stared angrily at the keypad before me, then turned the glare to the screen of my Blackberry which now read 10:59.
"Can you open the door for me please?"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Potts. Mr. Stark entrusts his workshop to only a select few."
I bit down on my frustration. My poor lip...I'm surprised its not constantly swollen these days with Tony Stark to encourage me to bite it. "Can you at least call Mr. Stark to tell him to let me in?" I asked, trying not to get mad at the dry voice that sounded nearly as peeved about the situation as I was. I don't know if I managed it, I've never been particularly good at sheltering my feelings.
I must not have succeeded because Jarvis' voice sounded regretful after I asked. "I'm afraid not, Miss Potts, Mr. Stark is very adamant about not being disturbed while he is working."
I pursed my lips, thinking. It was so damned annoying. The man was sitting right there, approximately 100 feet away from where I stood, and he was about as unreachable as a starlet on the arm of her rich admirer.
It was the first time I would compare my employer to a female actor...but hardly the last. Finally I spoke.
"Jarvis...I'll make you a deal." I was looking at the numbers on my Blackberry, noting that the time had now flipped its way to 11:02. There was silence, and I had the eerie feeling that the AI was listening intently. I continued, trying not to sound unnerved. "If you open the door for me right now, I'll consider it a high-level favor to me, and I'll owe you one sometime in the future." I couldn't help but tap my foot, staring at the hunched over form that still hadn't moved except to quickly pick up some tool or part and use it on whatever he was working on. The continued silence was foreboding, and I suddenly wondered if Jarvis had some sort of defensive protocol against attempted bribery.
"It's a very important meeting, Jarvis." I said, a little desperately, I admit. I was beginning to wonder if I should expect lasers to spring from the door and fry me into a literal crisp for attempting to divest a computer program's loyalty from his creator.
Instead... a few seconds later, the door popped open, and a few dark British tones uttered somewhere where only my own ears could hear. "You have a deal, Miss Potts." Before the AI turned down the volume on Tony's music and I stepped into the workshop, trying to coach my surprise into something that looked like a professional greeting.
"Hello, Mr. Stark? I'm-"
"'Pepper' Potts." His smile came up, and I swear that I was momentarily blinded, stunned by the Handsome that is Tony Stark. It was my first real encounter besides those few moments in the office, and I guess I had forgotten he had been on Maxim more times than some of their female representatives. I know that I blushed because his smile grew...and it was in that moment that I decided I would never let my playboy boss get the better of me.
With that new purpose in mind, I had to wait a few seconds for my breath to stop catching in my throat. Just because I was serious about my need for control in this strictly professional relationship, didn't mean I was immune to those sparkling brown eyes. I'm still not, to be honest, but I've learned ways to deal with it. No, I'm not going to write it down, even in so personal a place as a journal.
"I thought I told you not to call me that, Mr. Stark."
"I thought I told you you'd get used to it."
Sometimes I wish my frustration was easier to hide. Sometimes I wish all of my emotions were easier to hide. But, of course, that's not why my employer hired me. It was precisely because I am horrible at hiding anything that I'm where I'm at right now. In this case, Tony's smile grew again because I was doing a very poor job at hiding my annoyance with his apparent dedication to my 'nickname.'
"Mr. Stark-"
He interrupted me...he likes to do that whenever he can.
"Miss Potts. I believe we have...had...an appointment at 11:00? What in the world took you so long?" His smile would drive me insane, the tone of his voice - always somewhere between flirtatious smooth and gruff sarcasm - would either woo me or run me out of the job. I knew it to my core. I ignored it. I've always like a challenge. I dusted off my mental armor...but he wasn't done yet...
"You weren't standing at the door this whole time, were you, Miss Potts?" He was grabbing a plain leather jacket, donning it over his dirty t-shirt. I protested his choice of attire with a step forward and a noise of disapproval. The look in his eyes stopped me, the gleam of amusement. "It's not my fault you don't know how to knock, Miss Potts."
He left me speechless for the rest of the day. He turned my world on its head and made me no longer wonder about the strange look Veronica the HR woman gave me when I signed up for the job. But, in the end, Tony Stark is only a man - albeit a very handsome man - but still a man.
I am Pepper Potts. I have gotten used to the first nickname I have ever had, 9-5 being only a suggestion of work hours, and trips to the local CVS for ice-packs, ibuprofen, and rocky-road ice cream. I've become an expert at convincing a man sure of his own priorities to take showers, drink seaweed smoothies, and cut down to four cups of coffee a day instead of six. I talk to an AI like an old colleague, and worry with the same too-human computer program over the man we see tearing himself apart with duty as much as the bullets that make it through his invincible armor. I got used to taking out the trash, and I'm liking better getting used to not having trash to take out.
I've come a long way since my first day working for Tony Stark. But some things will always remain the same. Some things are changing in ways I'm not sure of, and some things I know too well. I know that there's a certain way my employer can still look at me and I feel as if meeting him again for the first time, and other looks that make me feel we've known each other forever.
In some ways, I guess we have.
-Pepper Potts
P.S. A little over four months ago, Jarvis asked for a return on his favor. I told him there was no need for him to call it in, but he insisted.
I still think keeping a friend company when another friend is missing shouldn't count as a favor. Even when he's an AI.
I didn't find out why until my first day.
It was cool out, January, and as I pulled up in front of the Stark Mansion I was glad for the light suit-coat that covered my arms. I rang the doorbell and waited. Then, ten minutes later, I rang it again. By the third time I was shivering, and I was only too relieved when the door swung open and a pleasant British voice said: "Welcome, Miss Potts." I was of course surprised to find no one behind the door as it closed behind me. I must have looked understandably out of my league because a moment later the voice said politely, "I am Jarvis, Miss Potts; Mr. Stark's personal AI. Just A Really Very Intelligent System, as it were. Our mutual 'employer' is currently in the basement workshop, attending to some mechanical irregularities..."
That dry and sarcastic tone, I didn't know it at the time, but it's the expression Jarvis uses every time Tony is doing something impractical that doesn't particularly need to be done. It's the sort of voice Jarvis uses when he thinks his creator should really be doing something else, but his circuits are too loyal to object.
At the time all I knew was that a obviously human-level intelligence ingrained in my employer's house was continuing to spout techno-babble at me while I looked at my Blackberry in chagrin. I noted that the time was 10:45am and my phone was blinking its warning for Tony's meeting at 11. I cut off Jarvis' British tones with a polite clearing of my throat and smoothly asked him to direct me to the stairs that would take me to the basement. He obliged with a hint of something in his too-human voice that reminded me of warning, then left me in silence to find the way.
My first impression of the workshop visible through the glass was no different than what comes to my mind every time I'm forced to extract Tony from his self-made sanctuary. The workshop is, to all ways of thinking - except maybe Tony's - a horrible mess. There are projects strewn on top of parts on top of plans and sketches and day old coffee. It's a muddle of half-formed thoughts, full-formed machinations, and unformed dreams. It's my boss's mind given physical, tangible form, his adult playpen, toybox, and nursery. I'm fairly certain that even when he's not there, he's thinking of it longingly, his one-time, full-time love.
When he's in there, his music is almost always turned up loud, whether its the half-yelling of Suicidal Tendencies or the strains of Beethoven's Ninth, it's always up much too loud to hear anyone banging on the Plexiglas fish-bowling him off from the rest of the world. Even when the person uses her fists or her $200 heels to do so. At the time, I was flabbergasted and frustrated. I felt a bit like a child offered a piece of chocolate cake that was then placed out of reach on the top of the kitchen fridge. My goal wasn't completely out of my league, but I did need to get a chair...
...when the chair didn't even make a scratch on the clear surface, and there was yet no signs that my employer had heard even the slightest thump of the wood on the Plexiglas - he hadn't looked up from the counter he was at since I had appeared on the stairs - I turned from a literal chair to a metaphorical one, glancing up at the ceiling as if praying.
"Jarvis?"
"Yes, Miss Potts?" I jumped as the voice came from in front of me rather than above. I stared angrily at the keypad before me, then turned the glare to the screen of my Blackberry which now read 10:59.
"Can you open the door for me please?"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Miss Potts. Mr. Stark entrusts his workshop to only a select few."
I bit down on my frustration. My poor lip...I'm surprised its not constantly swollen these days with Tony Stark to encourage me to bite it. "Can you at least call Mr. Stark to tell him to let me in?" I asked, trying not to get mad at the dry voice that sounded nearly as peeved about the situation as I was. I don't know if I managed it, I've never been particularly good at sheltering my feelings.
I must not have succeeded because Jarvis' voice sounded regretful after I asked. "I'm afraid not, Miss Potts, Mr. Stark is very adamant about not being disturbed while he is working."
I pursed my lips, thinking. It was so damned annoying. The man was sitting right there, approximately 100 feet away from where I stood, and he was about as unreachable as a starlet on the arm of her rich admirer.
It was the first time I would compare my employer to a female actor...but hardly the last. Finally I spoke.
"Jarvis...I'll make you a deal." I was looking at the numbers on my Blackberry, noting that the time had now flipped its way to 11:02. There was silence, and I had the eerie feeling that the AI was listening intently. I continued, trying not to sound unnerved. "If you open the door for me right now, I'll consider it a high-level favor to me, and I'll owe you one sometime in the future." I couldn't help but tap my foot, staring at the hunched over form that still hadn't moved except to quickly pick up some tool or part and use it on whatever he was working on. The continued silence was foreboding, and I suddenly wondered if Jarvis had some sort of defensive protocol against attempted bribery.
"It's a very important meeting, Jarvis." I said, a little desperately, I admit. I was beginning to wonder if I should expect lasers to spring from the door and fry me into a literal crisp for attempting to divest a computer program's loyalty from his creator.
Instead... a few seconds later, the door popped open, and a few dark British tones uttered somewhere where only my own ears could hear. "You have a deal, Miss Potts." Before the AI turned down the volume on Tony's music and I stepped into the workshop, trying to coach my surprise into something that looked like a professional greeting.
"Hello, Mr. Stark? I'm-"
"'Pepper' Potts." His smile came up, and I swear that I was momentarily blinded, stunned by the Handsome that is Tony Stark. It was my first real encounter besides those few moments in the office, and I guess I had forgotten he had been on Maxim more times than some of their female representatives. I know that I blushed because his smile grew...and it was in that moment that I decided I would never let my playboy boss get the better of me.
With that new purpose in mind, I had to wait a few seconds for my breath to stop catching in my throat. Just because I was serious about my need for control in this strictly professional relationship, didn't mean I was immune to those sparkling brown eyes. I'm still not, to be honest, but I've learned ways to deal with it. No, I'm not going to write it down, even in so personal a place as a journal.
"I thought I told you not to call me that, Mr. Stark."
"I thought I told you you'd get used to it."
Sometimes I wish my frustration was easier to hide. Sometimes I wish all of my emotions were easier to hide. But, of course, that's not why my employer hired me. It was precisely because I am horrible at hiding anything that I'm where I'm at right now. In this case, Tony's smile grew again because I was doing a very poor job at hiding my annoyance with his apparent dedication to my 'nickname.'
"Mr. Stark-"
He interrupted me...he likes to do that whenever he can.
"Miss Potts. I believe we have...had...an appointment at 11:00? What in the world took you so long?" His smile would drive me insane, the tone of his voice - always somewhere between flirtatious smooth and gruff sarcasm - would either woo me or run me out of the job. I knew it to my core. I ignored it. I've always like a challenge. I dusted off my mental armor...but he wasn't done yet...
"You weren't standing at the door this whole time, were you, Miss Potts?" He was grabbing a plain leather jacket, donning it over his dirty t-shirt. I protested his choice of attire with a step forward and a noise of disapproval. The look in his eyes stopped me, the gleam of amusement. "It's not my fault you don't know how to knock, Miss Potts."
He left me speechless for the rest of the day. He turned my world on its head and made me no longer wonder about the strange look Veronica the HR woman gave me when I signed up for the job. But, in the end, Tony Stark is only a man - albeit a very handsome man - but still a man.
I am Pepper Potts. I have gotten used to the first nickname I have ever had, 9-5 being only a suggestion of work hours, and trips to the local CVS for ice-packs, ibuprofen, and rocky-road ice cream. I've become an expert at convincing a man sure of his own priorities to take showers, drink seaweed smoothies, and cut down to four cups of coffee a day instead of six. I talk to an AI like an old colleague, and worry with the same too-human computer program over the man we see tearing himself apart with duty as much as the bullets that make it through his invincible armor. I got used to taking out the trash, and I'm liking better getting used to not having trash to take out.
I've come a long way since my first day working for Tony Stark. But some things will always remain the same. Some things are changing in ways I'm not sure of, and some things I know too well. I know that there's a certain way my employer can still look at me and I feel as if meeting him again for the first time, and other looks that make me feel we've known each other forever.
In some ways, I guess we have.
-Pepper Potts
P.S. A little over four months ago, Jarvis asked for a return on his favor. I told him there was no need for him to call it in, but he insisted.
I still think keeping a friend company when another friend is missing shouldn't count as a favor. Even when he's an AI.