Chapter Text
Years ago, Tanya Montague saw Pepper on the news.
This isn’t extraordinary information, because everyone did. The woman was always in the spotlight, even when she didn’t want to be (being the CEO of Stark Industries and the surviving matriarch of the Stark family makes you a bit of a media hot spot) and in the wake of The Blip, Rescue got so much coverage, it’d be impossible to keep all the memories of frenzied footage from blurring together.
But Tanya remembers this segment. She remembers it clear as day.
A threat, only just subdued. Ash falling in a mimicry of snow, charred bits of gunmetal scrap, hunks of plaster and rock and rebar stretching back so far it creates a semi-skyline and there she is - the camera zooms in, shaky and blurred from dust and grime - a redhead in blue, staggering out from underneath a pile of rubble. She’s hurt, you can see that something important is broken in the tremble of her shoulders and the limp in her leg. The view from the camera stutters before it zooms further in - there’s a gash on her forehead that seems like it’s a mile long, and blood matts her fiery hair down into a coagulated crusty mess. There’s a few hushed whispers, the cameramen maybe - ‘Where did her helmet go?’ ‘Must’ve lost it in the fray.’ - and then a louder voice that obviously belongs with the array of half-turned police cars and the siren calls of incoming ambulances - ‘Can we get a medic? Medic, please, on-site now!’
Pepper has been resolutely approaching at her consistent stagger. She betrays no sign of acknowledging the cameramen, or the police, and when a couple of hands enter into frame with bandages and a plaintive jumble of words, she pushes them aside. Suddenly, there’s a rumble and the camera jerks -the cameramen have been pushed aside to make room for a forest of boom mics and their reporters and there’s a flicker of a snarl on Pepper’s face before she schools her expression back into careful neutrality.
‘Can you comment on the nature of this atta-‘
‘How many casualties do you think-‘
‘Personally, what do you think of SHIELD’s coddling of their civilian audience-‘
‘No comment,’ she mumbles and musters up a strained thin-lipped smile as she brushes past. ‘I’m afraid I’m tired and I’ll have to-‘
Pepper seems to freeze, her eyes latched onto a point outside the camera’s view, her expression laid painfully bare (shock, incredulity, relief) for a single second before she lurches forward and catches a red-purple blur that flies into her embrace.
There’s an immediate uproar from the mics and reporters; hands swarm as people restart their persistent questioning and the cameraman swears, swaying, but steady enough to catch the footage of Pepper Potts rising stiffly from a crouch, with her daughter held tight in her arms. Morgan has a teddy bear beanie stuffed over her ears and a fluffy parka zipped up to her throat and all of it is being stained with blood and grime and it doesn’t matter at all. The little girl still holds onto her mother like she’s a lifeboat in an ocean. Morgan’s expression is completely obscured - the child’s face is tucked into the side of her mother’s neck - but Pepper’s eyes peer out over her daughter’s nest of dark hair with a fire in them that wasn’t there before.
‘Excuse me,’ she says in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t care if they do. ‘I have to get home.’
When Pepper Potts leaves the frame, her back is straight as an arrow. Maybe she’s still limping, but now, it’s barely note-worthy.
Tanya thinks about that moment a lot. She thought about it during her final exams, she thought about it in her first job interview and now she’s thinking about it again, sitting stiffly on a pristine white couch as she waits outside the office of the CEO of Stark Enterprises. That is to say, the office of Virginia ‘Pepper’ Stark.
She had arrived to her appointment with Pepper with fifteen minutes to spare. It’s enough time to make her seem sensibly concerned about punctuality but definitely not enough to fix her ‘situation’. Tanya squints at the clock on the wall and tries to make the action emanate grace and confidence, if only for the sake of the sharp-eyed receptionist. Maybe Pepper is the type to make her visitors wait, a method to psyche them out. She hasn’t heard of it happening before but nobody enjoys admitting they’ve been successfully intimidated and her colleagues aren’t exactly the most forthcoming type. Tanya worries at her lip with her teeth before she remembers she’s wearing an incredibly expensive brand of lipstick and she refuses to smudge it. In an instant, she’s whipping out her makeup mirror from her bag and Tanya fixes her reflection in place with a glare.
Damn it.
She’s about to meet her idol with a broken nail and smudged lipstick. Might as well have shown up in a burlap sack.
She snaps her makeup mirror shut with an audible click, and stares at the clock in front of her. 3 minutes have passed.
This is a living nightmare.
How did she get here? Why did she think that Harley fucking Keener, of all people, would do right by her? It’s not as if their first meeting did anything but dash all her expectations of him.
God fucking damn it. This was going to be the end of her career.
—
Yesterday:
‘This is not going to be the end of my career.’ Tanya says as she steps out of the taxi and onto the pavement. She idles for a moment, watching as the car trundles away while she transfers her phone to the crook of her neck. ‘You’re overreacting.’
‘You are taking a really unnecessary risk here-‘
She cuts him off with a groan as she retrieves a handheld recorder and a writing pad from her handbag. ‘Benji, it’s called trying to get ahead.’
‘No, it’s called trying to get yourself fired.’ Benji makes a distressed sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a choked sob. ‘Oh god, if Meredith finds out I helped you, she’ll use my head as a smoke tray.’
Tanya squints at her surroundings for a moment before she makes her way down the footpath. ‘I doubt it. You’d disturb the feng shui of her office.’
‘You are not helping, Tanya.’
‘Neither are you.’ Almost subconsciously, as if it were a well practised gesture, Tanya smooths out her pencil skirt and adjusts her heels. ‘Listen, Benji. I know you wouldn’t have given me his address if you didn’t believe in me.’
‘I gave you his address because you scare the shit out of me.’
‘What’s the difference?’
She’s coming up to his workshop now. She can tell from the growing sounds of screeching metal. Her long strides slow to a halt as a boldly lettered sign creeps into view.
‘MACH II’, it reads.
‘I think I’m here.’
‘Don’t tell him I sent you.’ Benji heaves out a world weary sigh. ‘And please don’t get us fired.’
‘I won’t.’ With that, Tanya hangs up and primly slots the phone into her handbag. There’s a moment, where she smooths out her hair, fixes her bodice. Check in with yourself, her mother had always said. Put on your best face. Tanya breathes in deep, and when she exhales, she steps into view.
‘Mr Keener!’ she yells, straining to be heard above the whirr of a saw. ‘Excuse me!’
Situated just inside the corrugated walls of the shop, a figure sits hunched over a scrap of metal that’s spitting sparks in intermittent bursts. His back is towards her, and it’s only when she comes closer that she realises he’s wearing headphones over his welding mask.
‘Mr Keener!’ She tries again. No answer.
Tanya cautiously taps him on his shoulder. ‘Harley Keener?’
In a flash, he’s out of his seat, and Tanya’s quick reflexes make her step back instinctively as her eyes latch suspiciously on his blow torch. The affronting flame sputters out as the man finally, finally swivels around, and drags off his bulky mask to reveal a sweaty, tanned face.
It’s a good face, even if the grease and sweat are a bit of a turn off. High cheekbones, a beard that toes the line of teenage scruff and lumberjack - he’s obviously earned his heartthrob status.
Tanya sweeps back her hair with a flick of her head and fixes him with a dazzling smile.
‘Tanya Montague, journalist,’ she says as she extends her hand. He takes it with a nonplussed smile, and she tries not to cringe at the feeling of his sweaty palms.
‘Harley Keener,’ he returns. ‘Mechanic.’
'I've noticed.' She cocks her head, because it's a good angle for her. 'You have quite a public presence, Mr Keener, and my magazine and I think you're just the man to - ' Tanya jumps as a loud bang interrupts her pitch, her eyes darting to the shapeless pile of scrap that is now smoking, ever so slightly. Harley hasn't moved. In fact, his expression remains calmly placid. 'Do you…' she ventures awkwardly. 'Do you have to attend to that or…?'
'Nope!' He grins, then falters, turning slightly to regard his toxic scrap heap with a tilt of his head. 'Why? Does it bother you?'
Tanya blinks at him. Is this a test?
Her eyes pass between him, and the charred corpse of what could've once been an engine. It seems to be leaking a nameless liquid pointedly in her direction. When Tanya turns back to Harley, he holds her gaze, the very image of innocence.
Yep. Definitely a test.
Tanya beams. 'No, not at all! In fact, I'll have to get you to take me through it later!'
He quirks an eyebrow.
'Later.' It's both a statement and a question. Tanya brings her perfectly manicured hand to her face in a graceful imitation of embarrassment.
'Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself.' She produces a business card from her purse and hands it to him with a flick of her wrist. 'I represent Filigree magazine and, as I was saying, we believe you're in the perfect position to - '
'You want to interview Morgan.' The rest of Tanya's sentence dies in her throat. Harley's barely even glanced at the card - instead, he regards her in a way that makes her want to fidget.
'I - ' she begins and then stops. 'Yes, I do.'
Keener leans back on his heels and crosses his muscled arms. 'You're the eighth person to ask,' he says. 'Although, they reached out over the phone.'
'I'm assertive.'
'The answer's no.'
'W-what?' The abruptness of it makes her stutter, which is mortifying. 'You haven't even heard my pitch yet!'
He's already turning away, strolling back into the confines of his workshop with a casualness that makes irritation boil in Tanya's throat.
'I don’t have to,' he says. 'You came here in person, alone. I doubt your pitch is company-approved.'
On his way, he stomps extra firmly on the ground, and the smoking pile of scrap metal makes a sound like a computer being turned off. Tanya stares at it as she runs after him - the liquid's stopped spilling, and smoke no longer streams from its blackened form. Aside from a residual red glow around stray pipes, there's no sign of sparking either.
Fucking Starks.
'This is a special case,' she tries and he grunts, non-committal.
'Buttering me up to get to Pepper - yeah, it's a real high-class ploy.' He throws his tool belt onto a nearby table and it lands with a loud thunk. 'A phone-call was good enough for the others.'
'They didn't want it as much as I do.'
'Bold statement.'
'It's the truth.'
At that, he turns to her in disbelief. 'You tabloids will latch onto the newest piece of gossip and psycho-analyse it to hell.'
Against her better judgement, Tanya rolls her eyes, and his voice rises. 'She's thirteen, she's going through some stuff!'
'She broke her classmate's nose and dislocated his shoulder.'
'And we issued a public apology and we're paying his hospital bills.'
'So that makes it okay?'
He blinks at her, floundering, before he throws his hands up in exasperation. 'It's a family issue! So we're dealing with it. Like a family.'
'Be realistic!' she snaps, a bit too sharply and he draws back like he's been slapped. 'You're one of the Starks! Everything you do is on the world's stage!'
He purses his lips into a thin, angry line.
'So now I owe you that story?' He's daring her to take the bait and Tanya has to bite her lip to keep herself from saying something she'll regret. Anything about 'twisting words' could definitely be used against her.
'The longer you stay silent about it-' she mutters slowly, and he blows out air through his nose in an exasperated sigh. ‘-the more rumours are going to spread.'
Harley's mouth is set in a mirthless smirk as he reaches up for the garage door handle. 'Thanks for the advice,' he says flatly and Tanya knows her window of opportunity is closing fast.
'Last week, Skyline compared her to Obadiah Stane!' she blurts out and, in an instant, all trace of coy humour is stripped from his expression.
'They what?' he almost snarls but the look on her face makes him stop and stare.
A moment passes.
'You made that up.'
'But you believed it.' They both know she's onto something. Harley drags his hand down his face, thoughtful. 'All I need is ten minutes with Pepper Stark.' Tanya continues. 'We both know she gets final say on this.'
'You’re with Filigree,’ he says in a way that lets her know exactly what he thinks of that. ‘You ask questions about favourite types of caviar.’
‘We’re expanding.’
‘It’s Filigree,’ he repeats and god damn it, he makes a good point. His hand is back on the garage door handle and, inside Tanya’s mind, a spark spits into life.
‘Fine!’ she musters up and he’s already dragged the door halfway down - what the fuck kind of strength - ‘Okay, wait, wait wait-!’
In an instant, she’s seized the bottom ridge of the door and there’s this tangible snap that definitely means one of her acrylic nails has broken and she just. Isn’t going to think about that right now because at least the door isn’t falling anymore.
A pause. ‘Yes?’ Harley mutters.
‘Five years ago. Filigree’s People In The Present Department ran a story critiquing the shortened time slot allocated to the Stark Vigil that year,’ Tanya huffs out, straining. Jesus, this door is heavy.
‘Oh yeah.’ Harley’s voice, even muffled, holds obvious fondness. ‘It got a bunch of blowback, didn’t it?’
‘Yes and the article was deleted and nobody talked about it ever again,’ Tanya hisses. ‘Well, I was the one who wrote it.’
‘No you weren’t. Kia Lamar was credited -‘
‘Kia Lamar-‘ Tanya interrupts, ‘-is my real name. I changed it, when I -‘
‘When you sold out?’
Harley throws the garage door open with such force it makes her stumble back. He's wearing an unreadable expression, and it takes a second for her mind to catch up to what he just said.
‘Sold out?’
He gives her a look. ‘Am I wrong?’
She narrows her eyes at him. 'I made myself more marketable . If I hadn’t changed at that time then I’d have never gotten to this point.’
'You’re not helping your case here.'
'I’m the same person.' She grimaces internally as soon as the cliche leaves her mouth. 'I believe - I believe that Morgan wouldn’t have done what she did if she didn’t have a reason to.'
'You don’t even know her.'
'Nobody does. That's the point. Filigree is fluffy and stupid and harmless -' He makes a motion with his hand to hurry up and Tanya has to grit her teeth to keep her voice from rising. '- and humanising. Morgan is currently an untouchable child genius with apparent violent urges. She’s passionate and clearly very strong, and right now all the information we know about her could fit on a sticky note.’ She leans back to regard the man before him, an eyebrow cocked. ‘At some point, radio silence only feeds into speculation.’
Harley shoots her a look that screams ‘watch yourself’ and she snaps her jaw shut. He’s leaning on the frame of the garage door, his arms loosely crossed, and she flicks her gaze between his hands and the door handle nervously. This is precarious territory.
When it’s clear that Harley doesn’t intend to butt in any time soon, she takes a deep breath and blurts out what she hopes will be a closer.
'I’ll ask the filler questions.' Tanya says, not unkindly. 'I’ll dress her up. And, I’ll let her speak her mind.'
She hesitates for a second before she adds, 'I’m going to make it work.'
A moment passes where neither of them says a word. Tanya's heart is thumping hard in her chest as Harley finally sighs, and he draws himself up to full height.
'Don’t put so much pressure on yourself,' he says softly. 'You’ll stumble. And Pepper has no tolerance for incompetence.
Tanya stares after him. 'So you'll do it?'
He flips her a quick thumbs up as he turns away, his phone already out of his pocket.
‘Good luck,’ he says, and slams the door.
--
And now here she was.
Sitting outside the office of her idol with smudged lipstick, a broken nail, and a bag full of documents she nearly left behind in her apartment that morning because they gave her an hour . She had an hour to wake up, do her makeup, pick out a classic yet striking, confident but not overbearing combination of tops and bottoms, as well as the shoes -
-and the only reason she even had an hour was because of those last minute texts companies would always send out reminding everyone of their scheduled appointment time. Tanya had always taken satisfaction in never needing them - her meticulously highlighted itineraries were her pride and joy - and now, thanks to Harley Keener not getting her number before he slammed the door in her face, that was no longer a comfort.
An hour . Sixty minutes. And she'd gotten here early because of appearances so that meant forty-five minutes. Less than that if she included the time inside the cab.
God, no wonder the receptionist gave her that once-over when she walked in - she must look like a wreck. An outfit picked in fifteen minutes with white pumps (what was she thinking?), and a face of makeup done hastily in the rear-view mirror of a taxi. Even her hair is still shiny from the shower and if anyone today mistakes that sheen for grease, she'll cry herself to sleep.
It's Stark Industries - surely the calibre of their business would mean a buffer period of at least 2 hours between notification and appointment. Surely . Although, the 'calibre of their business' would also understandably create an expectation that anyone who made an appointment wouldn't even need the reminder. And she wouldn't, had she not gone through their CEO's adopted son to even have a chance of getting a timeslot.
Tanya can already hear Meredith squawking in her ear. 'A complete and utter rejection of professionalism!'
Meredith would be right of course, but it's not as if Tanya's the first one to try. Harley Keener is 27 years old, a worldwide heartthrob, and the perfect bridge between civilian life and the realm of heroes. He moves between them with an enviable ease - it means he's allowed the meagre privacy allocated to 'celebrities' as well as insight into the innerworkings of SHIELD and god, what Tanya wouldn't give to live his life for just one day. He is also (amongst other things) someone who has the ear of The Beartrap herself, and nowadays that might as well make him on par with a genie. Pepper Potts may have been known as Tony Stark's accommodating assistant once upon a time, but Pepper Stark is one brilliantly cunning bitch.
Tanya tentatively opens her purse to peer at her bundle of documents. Legalities and rough write ups on what to expect should the project go forward. It's all mortifyingly underwhelming, but she hadn't expected her appointment to literally be the next day. All she can do is thank god she didn't choose to celebrate her fighting chance at a bar last night - she can only imagine the hell that a hangover would've brought down on her.
God. The last time she felt anywhere near this unprepared was over a decade ago. A math test in eighth grade. She'd gotten a B+ and had to excuse herself to cry over her inevitable dead-end future in the bathrooms.
'Tanya Montague?' The receptionist is giving her That Look again and it is not helping her nerves whatsoever. 'Mrs Stark is ready for you.'
As she stands up, Tanya takes a moment to glance at her shoes one more time.
White pumps.
Sweet Jesus, she's going to be eaten alive.
--
Pepper Stark is dazzling.
She's standing at her desk when Tanya walks in and for a moment, Tanya's a teenager again, staring doe-eyed at the latest footage of Pepper Stark, standing up to the UN or holding up the last vestiges of a collapsing bridge or even just walking down the street with her daughter, steely-eyed as she shields the smaller child from the glare and flash of cameras.
Age hasn't made her any less breathtaking. She's wrapped in a sleek navy blue dress with a neckline that dips at her collarbone, all business in a set of sensible black heels. The few grey hairs that spring from her bun of red hair shine silver in the morning light cast through her office's windows - Pepper Stark would never deign to dye her hair. Why would she?
She looks up from a set of floating holograms at the sound of Tanya's heels clacking on the floor and erases them with a flick of her finger. Oh gosh. Tanya hugs her purse to her chest. This is going to be the best worst day of her life.
'Tanya Montague,' the receptionist calls out, as she primly holds open the office door. 'Here from Filigree Magazine.'
'Thank you, Irene,' Pepper says and Irene closes the door behind her without a word. Sheer professional instinct is the only thing that carries Tanya over the expanse of that office - her brain is currently still catching up with the fact that she is in the same room with Pepper fucking Stark. Unbidden, her hand extends in a greeting and a beaming, surprisingly genuine smile spreads over her features.
'Tanya Montague,' she says as Pepper takes her hand, and then immediately wants to kick herself because of course she knows that already. 'It's wonderful to finally meet you.'
Pepper cocks her head at Tanya, her eyes narrowing slightly, even as her smile remains calmly placating. 'Tanya Montague,' she says slowly. 'Now, that isn't your real name, is it?'
Oh god. What? What is happening? Why is - that rat , Harley Keener is a rodent of the lowest degree, she's going to kill him -
'No,' Tanya blurts out. 'It's Kia Lamar. Tanya Montague is a pen name'
'Would you feel uncomfortable if I used your real name today?'
Good lord. Pepper could probably ask her for the keys to her apartment and she'd hand them over.
'Go ahead.'
'Well then. Kia,' Pepper says as she rounds the side of her desk. 'It's come to my attention that you want to interview my daughter.' When the redheaded woman swivels round to face her again, her smile is thin. 'Specifically about her actions towards her classmate. Christian Hall.'
‘I-Yes.’ Tanya is strangely disappointed at the quick segue into business but at the same time, she’d practised this pitch a million times in the mirror. It’s familiar territory. ‘I believe it'd be best to release some sort of explanation of further context. If only to alleviate the suspicions of the general public,’ she adds at the sight of Pepper’s expression.
‘Suspicions?’ Pepper is still, inexplicably, smiling. ‘You mean the assumption that my daughter is a violent maniac in need for intensive therapy?’
Tanya has the sinking feeling that this is all a convoluted trap. What would be the socially acceptable way to even respond to that? Yes? No? Both would be bad. Both would be very very bad.
'I just think that with a fluff piece, we could surround that, um -‘
Pepper raises an eyebrow in silent judgement.
‘- controversy with more appeasing content. It could placate some of your more extremist critics.’
Pepper cocks her head in interest. ‘That's very altruistic of you, Kia,’ she says, then promptly drops the grin. ‘It's also unrealistic.’
‘There is a reason why I try to keep my daughter out of the public eye.’ Pepper sweeps her hand over her desk as she makes her way forward and suddenly, just like that, she seems taller. Sharper.
Tanya takes a step back instinctively. Meaner.
‘My husband was desensitised to an unhealthy extent. I have, over time, grown immune to it. But my daughter -‘ and here, Pepper’s voice hardens.’-my daughter is thirteen years old. She acted out. That's it. And I'm not going to put her dead center in a public forum for people to throw theories at.’
‘But-‘
‘Kia. This isn't my first rodeo.’ Pepper stops directly in front of her and she's never felt so small. ‘You're right in that we need to clear the air.’
The pit opening up in Tanya’s stomach seems to sour. ‘You just don't want Filigree to do it.’
‘Your magazine is a very necessary presence in the current societal climate,’ Pepper says and it’s so flimsy of a compliment that Tanya can’t even be frustrated at the attempt of cushioning a blow. ‘But your theming, and the type of interview you're proposing…we both know they won't mesh.’
Tanya’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. While Pepper has been speaking, her nails have been quietly yet surely pressing into her palm, and the pain is bracing. It keeps away the inevitable break in her voice as she clears her throat.
Pepper has begun to pace in the face of her silence. ‘I recognise initiative and I’d hate to punish that, so I’ll do you a favour and keep your superiors in the dark,’ she says offhandedly. ‘You shouldn’t make a habit of this, however-‘
'I disagree.'
The redhead stops, midstep. 'Excuse me?'
'I disagree that Filigree isn't an appropriate platform.' God, Meredith is going to kill her. 'We're one of the biggest magazines in the city right now, and the fact that we're known for fluff pieces is an advantage.’
Chopped and quartered. She'll probably put her head on a pike and stick it outside her office as a warning.
'It'll mean that people won't look too deeply at whatever we target. Even if it's you.'
There'll be a little sign underneath. 'Local Reporter Tries To Get Ahead, Loses One Instead.' Snappy and smart. Just like how Meredith likes it.
'We're the magazine equivalent of rose-tinted glasses. We'll humanise-'
'She's thirteen ,’ Pepper snaps and oh god, what is she doing, how is she still talking? Shut up, Tanya, for once your anxiety and your survival instinct are in the same boat and they are currently rowing away from the Bermuda Triangle that is Pepper Stark -
'She's thirteen! That's exactly the point!'
-she's taken down world-ending threats and you walked in here wearing white pumps -
'She's a child and I'll be able to spin up a fairy-floss article around what we're really addressing, which is the fact that she broke her classmate's nose and dislocated his shoulder -'
- you know the symposium definitely still has a working guillotine and the Starks absolutely have the clout to stage a reenactment of the French Revolution -
'-which I'm sure she wouldn't have done without a good reason, just considering the environment she’s grown up in. And I believe that if we hand the story to a magazine with a more serious 'theme' - ' and what the fuck , Tanya! Pepper definitely caught that and you are not clever for doing that. ' -it'll inevitably spiral into exactly what you don't want it to be, which is a bunch of strangers treating your daughter like-'
'A shiny new toy.'
It's the first time Pepper's said anything in at least two minutes and it takes Tanya a few seconds to respond.
'I - uh. Yes. Exactly.'
'Mm.'
Pepper has a look in her eyes that Tanya can't read. Fuck, it's difficult enough to hold her gaze after that outburst let alone understand what's going on behind those baby blues. Unbidden, the memory of Pepper, covered in ash and blood and grime, springs up in her mind.
You'd think it'd be difficult to reconcile those images in her head with the woman standing before her, but it isn't at all. They're puzzle pieces from different sets, and they fit together like they were always meant to.
'Why you?'
'Sorry?' Tanya's eyes catch on the way Pepper's fingers drum on the surface of her desk.
'I've gotten over thirty different offers for interviews with Morgan. This month alone.' Pepper says, as neutral as a spreadsheet. 'Convince me. Why should I give it to you?'
There's a rising tide at Tanya's throat. The image of Pepper in the snow that wasn't snow but debris from a destroyed alien ship never went away, and now it solidifies, it zooms back to find her, Kia Lamar, when she still wore glasses and hand-me-down converse shoes, wide eyed as she watched the video for the millionth time in all of its shitty glory on Youtube. And then even further out, of Lucas pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to her. Five years behind but still there. Still her brother. Still alive.
She'd pulled away from the video to kiss him on his temple at the time, and he let her.
'I-'
'Mom!' The doors to Pepper's office slam open with the force of a hurricane and in an instant, the tension of the room is gone. Pepper is surprised for perhaps a second (the tiniest of jolts and a hand whipping out to a panel on her desk) before she's putting her head in her hands and groaning. It's a long suffering sound.
Tanya takes comfort in it. For someone who was just about to bare her soul to her long time idol and was promptly interrupted by an incredibly well timed teenager, that sound is like a lifeboat in a stormy ocean.
'Morgan, oh my god. '
Irene pops up in the doorway, the very image of a guilty party, as Morgan freaking Stark strides purposefully into the office.
'Ma'am, I'm so sorry, I tried to stop her but -'
Pepper waves her away without looking up. 'It's fine, Irene. Morgan, we talked about this.'
Morgan Stark slows as she comes up on Tanya. 'We did!' she responds, then promptly sticks her hand out to the baffled journalist. 'Hi. I'm Morgan Stark.'
And yes, it is in fact Morgan Stark. She seems taller than she seems in photos, even if Tanya still towers over her and she's wearing gear that makes it seem like she's just come from the gym. She's also inexplicably holding onto a bike helmet, which is currently tucked under her arm. There's a beat where Tanya simply stares before she takes her hand.
'I - yes, I know who you are,' she says, the image of eloquence. 'I'm Tanya Montague. I represent Filigree Magazine.'
At that, Morgan claps her hands together in satisfied glee, approval coming off her in waves. 'Filigree!' she exclaims. 'That's perfect! I loved the segment you had on Trish Walker last month.’
'Morgan.' Pepper says flatly. 'What are you doing here?'
Morgan turns to her mother, her brow set in a hard line.
'I'm here to argue my case.'
'You're what?'
'To have an interview. I want to do the interview.'
Pepper stares at her blankly. 'Why? It's a bad idea!'
'Yeah, both you and Happy have told me that a million times. But I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines. I want to get my account out there.’
Her mother leans back and lets loose yet another despairing sigh.
'And you're always saying that we have to take charge of our own public appearances.' Morgan adds.
'And you're going to do that with Filigree?'
'Yes, Mom. With Filigree.' Morgan turns to flash a conspiring grin at Tanya. Congratulations, by the way! You're the first to get this far!'
Is that even a compliment? Judging by how Pepper's eyes narrow, it definitely isn't. As the woman gives her daughter a once over, her eyes turn to slits at the sight of her clothes.
'Morgan, I swear to god, if you're missing boxing practise to be here - '
'I'm not! I got an early release,’ she pauses for a moment, before she adds, ‘And even if I didn’t, I would’ve thought you’d be happy about me missing out on punching more people.’
And just like that, tension floods back into the room. A rising sense of panic begins to spread through Tanya even as she watches Pepper’s eyes narrow further into slits. This discussion is obviously way above her pay grade and Tanya finds herself subconsciously inching away from the silent argument presumably passing between the woman and her daughter.
The whole exchange couldn’t have lasted for more than a few seconds but when Morgan opens her mouth again to speak, Tanya is filled with equal amounts relief and dread.
‘Besides, Harley gave me a lift here, so you can’t be mad af just me.’
Even without seeing her expression, Tanya can hear the scowl in her voice. Pepper releases a deep suffering sigh and presses her fingers against the developing wrinkle between her eyes.
'You're right, he should know better.' Pepper says after a pause, and looks up from where she's massaging the bridge of her nose to give Tanya a pointed look. 'Tanya, if you could just give us a moment?'
God, yes. An escape. She's barely out the door before it’s closing again behind her and she finally, finally has a second to breathe.
What was that? Dissent within ranks? A tiny ugly part of her brain latches onto the thought like a goblin with a gold coin and floods her mind with distasteful headlines, snide whisperings with little claws that rip and tear and scream ‘promotion’ into her ears.
'Yo! Montague!'
Tanya’s eyes shoot open at the sound of a new voice, one that doesn’t make her shudder.
At least, not as much.
Harley Keener waves at her animatedly from where he's leaning on the front desk. Irene is being a good sport about the heavy bike helmet currently placed on top of it, although she occasionally looks up to glare at his dirty boots.
The bubbling pool of hope that burst into life at the prospect of a distraction prompt drains out of her. Fantastic.
'Yo,' Tanya returns politely, even if using the word makes a little bit of her soul scream out in pain. Harley rounds the corner of the desk and it really seems like he hasn't changed clothes since yesterday. Faded black tank top, torn jeans. The only addition seems to be the maroon jacket slung across his shoulders.
'How'd you find the scheduling?' He's awfully cordial for someone who slammed a door in her face not 24 hours ago.
She gives him a smile that's all teeth. 'It was perfect. I really can't thank you enough for -'
He cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
'C'mon, cut the bullshit. Tell me how it really went down.'
Fine. Tanya drops the smile. 'I had an hour to prepare for an appointment with Pepper Stark. How do you think it went down?'
He gives her a onceover. 'I think you look pretty amazing if you put this all together in an hour.'
'Really? Look at my shoes.'
A pause.
'They...look nice?’
'Of course you'd think so.'
As she takes a seat on one of the couches, Harley leans back against the adjacent wall, leaving a wide berth for the assuredly expensive vase on display.
'So?' he says as he nonchalantly shrugs off his jacket and ties it round his waist. 'How was it?'
'Spectacular.'
He laughs. 'Wow. That bad, huh?'
'I said spectacular. What part of that don't you understand?'
He throws his hands up in mock surrender. 'Sorry, my bad. Couldn't hear what you were saying over how bullshit that was.'
'What do you want me to say then?' she bites out, irritation getting the best of her. 'That I royally fucked up?'
He makes a face and shrugs, as if that was the obvious conclusion. 'If that's the truth, then yeah.'
She stares at him for a moment, in all of his simultaneously underwhelming yet quietly intimidating garb. His boots are old and worn, seem crusty with grime, but he hasn't seemed to leave dirty imprints anywhere on the floor. He has a permanent slouch that makes him seem shorter than he is, but if he straightened up he'd be taller than her in her highest pair of his heels. And his arms -
- well, there's a reason why he was on the front cover of Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Issue three years in a row.
'I shouldn't be talking to you like this. I'm a professional,' she says finally.
'A professional who stalked down a proxy because she was too scared to ask for an appointment outright.'
Jesus Christ. He's right of course.
'God,' she groans, running her hands through her hair. 'I am so fired.'
'Nah, Pepper's not like that. She won't rat you out.'
'You didn't hear what I was saying in there.'
'Anything short of personal attacks is fine. And you don't seem like the type.'
She grimaces at the memory of her outburst, and the tense stand-off that followed (completely at no fault of her own, a little voice reminds her.)
'I was tactless,' she mutters, thinking it best not to mention the family drama, and Harley chuckles.
'Don't worry. Pepper's used to it.’ He shifts in place as he rolls his shoulders, the very image of nonchalance. ‘You’d be surprised how many important people don’t actually know how to talk to a woman.’
Tanya stares at him, as she lets the irony of what he just said sink in.
‘Would I?’
He blinks at her, his shoulders stiffening in realisation. ‘Ah. Right. Reporter. Filigree.’ He gestures to her awkwardly as she stares back at him, impassive. ‘Right.’
‘Right.’ She can’t help it then, her lips curl up into a smirk and Harley visibly relaxes, slumping back against the wall of the waiting room.
‘I guess you would have experience with them.’ With care, he manages to school his expression back into something vaguely appeasing. ‘All the more reason you should feel better about yourself. I bet you’ve interviewed your fair share of bad apples.’
She lets loose an over dramatic sigh, all too happy to leave behind the memory of her most recent encounter in lieu of reminiscing about the past. ‘We do love to humanize.’
‘Do you?’
Harley Keener is looking at her again, with one of those expressions that inexplicably reminds her that he’s an asset of one of the most advanced security organisations in the world.
‘It what Filigree does.’ Is what she goes with after a weighted silence, simply because it’s true. ‘And we have the resources to do it well.’
He sighs, a soft little sound that would sound serene if not for that harsh edge, the rough stop that ridiculously makes her feel like she’s disappointed him. Why should she care about his opinion of her? Good lord, he’s barely two years older than her for Christ sakes.
As Tanya toils against her internal misgivings, the man in question slides down until his back is flush against the wall, his long legs folded out on the carpet with a casualness that makes her lips twitch. He’s awfully blithe, which is somehow irritating, as if he refuses to acknowledge the sheer base level anxiety she wallows in constantly, as if he doesn’t even understand that they’re in the foyer of her damn idol.
‘You know,’ he begins with a lazy drawl. ‘You don’t have to sell it to me, right? I’m already in your corner.’
Tanya cocks her head.
‘You are?’
‘Well I got you this interview didn’t I?’
‘You also broke one of my nails and slammed a door shut in my face.’
He winces, so visibly and genuinely that it draws a wry grin to her face. ‘Good point.’ He straightens up as he continues, and Tanya mirrors the action. ‘I’ll admit that I was a bit wary of Filigree. You guys did collaborate with Hendrickson from Skyline.’
Now it’s her turn to make a face. Ugh. Henrickson.
‘Once. Years ago.’
‘I have a good memory.’
‘So what changed your mind?’ She promptly rephrases, rolling her eyes at his puzzled expression. ‘What made you give me a chance?’
Harley regards her for a second, eyes narrowed, before his hands rise up, splayed as he flattens out an imaginary headline.
‘Stark vigil snubbed: the slow insubordination of the American Senate.’ He declares, a small smirk turning his lips up at the ends. ‘ I still remember the headline.’
Tanya shudders.
‘It was a god awful one.’
Harley half scoffs, half laughs, and it’s a cheery sound that doesn’t quite match the ones he voices in his interviews.
‘I think it’s catchy.’
She gives him a look that says ‘and that’s why you’re not a journalist’ and it only makes his smile widen.
‘‘See I knew you’d looked familiar,’ he says. ‘They’d posted an icon of Kia Lamar under the article. But..I guess a lot of things have changed for you since then, huh.’
His last addition surprisingly doesn’t make Tanya bristle. The implication is there, sure, but she had seen what a malicious Harley Keener looked like yesterday and this isn’t it. Instead, he seems genuinely curious, if a bit amused as well.
Tanya’s brain is still attempting to process that Harley Keener read her stupid article when she realises she’s been silent for a beat too long.
‘Good memory,’ she manages after a frantic second, and to her credit, the words come out wry and flat instead of a pathetic croak. Harley shrugs.
‘Photographic. I’m not a creep.’
‘Mm. That’s always comforting to hear.’ He laughs again, a small little sound, and the panicked rampage of her brain slows to a slightly suspicious jog. ‘So you read it?’
‘Yep. I liked the part where you specifically called out the council for allowing the change to even be considered.’ Another smile from him, this time with teeth, and his eyes glint with thinly veiled glee. Tanya groans as she buries her face in her hands.
‘Jesus. I’m just remembering why we took it down. ‘
‘You regret it?’
‘I could’ve phrased a few things better.’
‘You always could’ve. But it was still a good article.’ He states simply and they sit in the weight of those words for a minute. Platitudes don’t really work on Tanya. The hang-in-there cat poster that came with her first cubicle at Filigree was always the subject of her most spiteful glares, and the moment she was promoted, she’d torn it down and burned it in her fireplace with glee. But this wasn’t a platitude. Was it? To be honest, it almost seemed as if he’d been talking to himself, judging by the way his eyes listlessly seem to scan the room around him in a rare moment of awkwardness. And no, her brain responded, five seconds late as usual, it wasn’t a platitude. Because Harley keener was too definite for those. The certainty he carried in everything he did rendered half hearted comments into something reliable. Something solid. Unbidden, Tanya’s mind conjures up the laundry list of exes Harley Keener has under his belt and reminds her that almost all of them were left on positive grounds. Security , a voice whispers to her as his words seem to take root in her mind and solidify. It can be enchanting.
‘I’m sorry for not giving you more time for this.’ Harley begins abruptly, startling Tanya from her extremely inappropriate reverie. ‘I should’ve gotten your number at the workshop. Now I think I’ve tanked your chances. ‘
Although a small part of Tanya is screeching ‘vindication’, the wry smile that softens her features is genuine.
‘Don’t bother.’ She waves away any further comment he might have with a flick of her wrist. ‘My papers were all already in decent order. If I crash and burn, it’s all me.’
‘And the shoes, right?’
He grins at that and she gives him a look that tells him exactly how not clever that was.
‘God, do not start.’
She’s about to say something else when Harley says something that stops her cold.
‘I think Tony would’ve liked you.’
Tony-
Her mind can’t even finish the sentence, struck cold and fumbling at the notion of ‘Tony’, not ‘Tony Stark’, not ‘Mr Stark’, not ‘Anthony Edward Stark’ or even ‘Iron Man’ but ‘Tony’ and it’s a small mercy that the office doors slam open at that very moment.
Morgan comes barrelling out into the room like she's been shot from a cannon, her face flushed with exhilaration.
'It's happening!' she says gleefully to noone in particular, then turns to Tanya, her hands clasped tight at her chest. 'Thank you so much for this opportunity!'
'Ms Montague, it's your lucky day,' Pepper says much more serenely from where she stands straight as a pillar in the doorway. 'We've decided to partner with Filigree for this project. I'm sure your superiors will be ecstatic,' she adds dryly, and it does practically nothing to curb the bewildered haze Tanya's somehow found herself in.
Harley winces sympathetically at her, just out of Pepper's line of sight and she focuses on that, tries to zero in on the fact that a) she is definitely still in Pepper's bad books and b) -
-well. She might have just pulled it off.
This can't be real. Must be a fever dream, brought on by the sheer panic that comes whenever she's faced with sincerity. Fucking Keener, he's the bane of her existence.
In her state of delirium, she almost misses Harley's swift exit, with Morgan in tow (she vaguely hears Pepper mutter something to him as he passes - 'We'll talk later' - or something along those lines and then the grimace he makes, so comically relatable). It wouldn't be supremely noteworthy, except that it meant that she was now currently alone with Pepper Stark. Again. And lord knows how awfully their first encounter went.
Tanya is the first to break the silence, as she clears her throat. 'Thank you,' she says, as genuinely as she can, and Pepper smiles. It's incrementally warmer than the one she was given during her appointment, which she counts as a win.
'Morgan made a good case for you,' she replies, her eyes softening at the thought of her daughter before they sharpen back into ice-blue daggers. 'I assume you have my contact details but just in case, I'll have my people reach out to yours.'
It's a good idea, especially because Tanya would've definitely had a hard time convincing Meredith she wouldn't be setting herself up to fail by reaching out to Pepper Stark's 'people'. Which Pepper absolutely knew.
God, she was so out of her depth.
'I look forward to working with you,' Tanya says, if only due to ingrained professional practise, and Pepper nods. It's the best she can expect in her situation. She'll count it as a win.
As she turns to leave, however, with her handbag slung loosely over her shoulder, Pepper speaks.
'Oh, and Kia?'
Tanya whips around, the very image of the devoted servant. 'Yes, Mrs Stark?'
Pepper hasn't moved from her position at the door, but she still somehow seems to fill the room with her presence. Her smile is nowhere to be seen.
'If you know what's good for you, you won't ever use Harley Keener like that again.'
Tanya swallows, and holds her purse tighter to her chest.
'Yes, ma'am.'