Chapter Text
The SHIELD facility is a horror movie set waiting for its jump scare. Pepper hurries through the corridors, the scent of polished metal mingling with the crisp night air seeping in from the vents. The walls, adorned with SHIELD insignia and muted gray tones, seem to pulse with a quiet intensity. She glances at her watch, the silver band catching the occasional flicker of fluorescent light.
Her heart’s doing the cha-cha as she steps into the meeting room—a slick, high-tech setup with a big, oval table in the middle, surrounded by black leather chairs that look like they were designed for some ultra-exclusive poker game under this moody blue lighting. The room’s got this polished, sci-fi sheen, with screens seamlessly built into the walls. On one side, Cap is standing tall, his uniform looking sharp as ever, but there’s weight in those blue eyes—something’s eating at him. Natasha’s sitting with that perfect posture, her red hair striking against the black tactical suit. Fury’s leaning back like he’s calling the shots, his eye patch throwing a deep shadow across his face. And then there’s Bucky, his metal arm catching the low light as he fidgets, his eyes distant.
"Mrs. Stark," Fury starts, his voice gravelly, cutting through the silence. "Sorry for the middle-of-the-night summons. I promise this is important."
"What's going on?"
Steve steps forward, his gaze softening. "We've got a situation It's... unconventional."
Natasha taps on a tablet, and up pops a flickering image. It’s Tony’s face, no mistaking it, and it hits like a gut punch. His hair a bit tousled, maybe in his thirties, his expression exuding a careless charm. It’s got the vibe of a mug shot.
"Meet Anthony Stark," Natasha says, her tone serious. "He's not the Tony we knew.”
Pepper's heart skips a beat. "Oh.”
"Exactly," Steve confirms. "Anthony is from a different universe."
Fury steps forward, his voice gaining weight. “In Anthony’s universe, he made different calls. Not the same guy you knew.”
Pepper sits down heavily, her mind racing. The room seems to close in around her, the leather of the chairs and the scent of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby pot blending into a sensory overload. She looks at Anthony's image, a face both known and alien, and feels a pang of grief, and bewilderment. "How?"
"Because," Fury says, his tone unyielding, "Anthony has information about a threat that affects multiple dimensions, which is the device he used to get in here. His knowledge could be crucial. But we need to handle him carefully, and we need to get a handle on his deal—he won’t stop dropping your name.”
Bucky shifts in his seat, his voice low but clear. "You'll need to figure out how to deal with him."
"Pepper, we need you,” Natasha says.
Her face is steady despite her trembling hands. "How?”
As the meeting continues, the team delves into strategies and potential outcomes. Steve explains the nuances of Anthony's situation, Natasha outlines the potential risks with her typical precision, and Bucky offers insights with a surprising depth of empathy. For Pepper, the night stretches endlessly, marked by the ambient glow of the room's tech and the constant whirl of thoughts.
As the meeting wraps up, Pepper lingers by the door, right on the edge of something new—where the past and present start to blur in ways she’s only beginning to get a handle on. The conversation’s still echoing in her mind as she gears up to meet Tony—Anthony, knowing this is going to push her in ways she never really saw coming.
-
The room is a whole different thing—none of that SHIELD-approved chrome and tech. Instead, it’s got this cozy, out-of-place warmth to it. The table’s round, solid wood, like something you’d find in a small-town lawyer’s office, not a secret base. The walls are bare, save for a couple of boring landscapes that probably came with the place. It smells like calm, with a hint of something sweet, maybe vanilla, and the light’s soft, golden—almost like it’s trying too hard to make the place feel less intimidating.
Pepper steps inside, her heels tapping against the floor, and she freezes when she spots him. Anthony. He’s sitting there, slouched over slightly, messing with some little gadget that looks like it’s from last century. His hair’s longer than Tony’s ever was, a little messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all day. And the clothes—black T-shirt, jeans—casual, he’s trying not to stand out. But then there are his eyes—those same damn brown eyes that could broker world peace—or just as easily start a war.
“Pepper,” he says, and it’s not the confident, cocky tone she’s braced for. No, it’s softer, almost like he’s unsure of himself. Like he’s walking on eggshells. Tony doesn’t walk on eggshells around people. He’s the guy who makes everyone else walk on eggshells around him.
She doesn’t know how to respond. Her mind’s spinning, trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the memory of Tony, her Tony. She steps closer, her movements, catches the way he flinches just a little, like he’s not sure if he should stand up or stay put. It’s such a subtle thing, but it hits her hard—Tony never flinched, not ever.
“Anthony,” she says, finally finding her voice. “I—this is... different.”
He gives her a half-smile, and it’s all kinds of disarming. It’s like looking at Tony before everything went to hell, before Iron Man and the weight of the world settled on his shoulders. “Yeah, different’s one way to put it. I’m not exactly nailing the whole first impression thing, am I?” He chuckles, nervous, then glances down at the gadget in his hands, a fidget spinner made from spare parts. It’s funny, it’s sweet, but there’s something about it—like he’s clinging to the one thing he can control.
She moves closer, easing into the chair across from him. It’s strange, the way he tracks her every move, like he’s afraid she might bolt. There’s tension in his shoulders, but also this quiet kind of longing, like he’s been waiting for her his whole life.
“You look so much like my husband,” she starts, her voice tinged with something she can’t quite name.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he says, trying for a joke but not quite sticking the landing. “I mean, I am him. Sort of. Just... a different model. Maybe a bit of an upgrade. Less charming, though. I think they dialed that down in this universe.”
Pepper almost smiles, but there’s too much… too much between them, too much unsaid. She watches as he fidgets again, fingers tracing the edges of the makeshift spinner. There’s something almost innocent about it, but it pulls at her in a way she’s not exactly loving.
“They said you wanted to see me." she sighs, cutting through the tension.
Anthony looks up, completely open now, like a turtle flipped on its shell. “Because it’s you,” he says quietly. “And I... I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Not like this.”
Her heart skips a beat. Confusion pricks at her. There’s something raw in his voice, something that cuts through the layers of reality she’s tried to wrap around herself. It’s almost too much, so much like Tony, but not. “What do you mean?” Pepper asks. “Did—did something happen to your Pepper?”
Anthony’s eyes drop back down to the table, his fingers still fidgeting with the makeshift spinner. “She was the one who did it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pepper was the one who snapped.”
Pepper feels the blood drain from her face, her breath catching in her throat. It’s like the air’s been sucked out of the room, leaving her grasping for something solid. “What?” she frowns, her voice shaky. “She—your Pepper...?”
He nods, and it’s like watching Morgan trying to be brave after getting her ears pierced, even though she’s barely holding it together. “Yeah. It was supposed to be me, but... she wouldn’t let me. She took the gauntlet and just—she did it. Saved everyone.”
For a moment, Pepper can’t move, can’t think. Her mind reels, trying to process what he’s just said.
“I... I don’t know what to say,” she admits. “That’s... that’s unbelievable.”
Anthony nods again, a sad, almost wistful smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. That’s my Pepper for you.”
There’s a long, heavy silence between them. Finally, Pepper clears her throat, trying to keep the conversation moving, trying to keep him from slipping away into whatever memories are haunting him.
“So... you and Pepper,” she starts, her voice gentle. “Not married.”
Anthony looks up again, his expression shifting from sorrow to something more curious, almost hesitant. “Your Tony,” he begins slowly, like he’s feeling his way through the words. “He was really your husband?”
Pepper nods, still reeling from his earlier revelation. “Yes.”
Anthony’s brow furrows, and he looks down at his hands, twisting the spinner between his fingers. “It’s different in my universe,” he says quietly. “People aren’t... married the same way. Well, we weren’t. We’re classified, you know? It’s... complicated. But it’s not like what you had.”
Pepper blinks, trying to wrap her head around what he’s saying. “Classified?”
He nods, still avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, that’s just how it goes over there. People get sorted into categories based on who they are. You’re either a Dom, a Sub, a Switch, or a Caregiver, and in my case? I got tagged as a Little—basically means I need someone to babysit me and change my diapers. Yey.” He scoffs, finally looking up. “You ever come across anything like that?”
Kinda. Sort of. Not the type someone makes small talk about, though. Pepper shakes her head slowly. “No, I haven’t. That’s... that’s a lot to take in.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, his voice barely there. “It is.”
Pepper sits there, her mind swirling in a chaotic storm of emotions. Another Pepper, another Tony, living out their own tragic story in some parallel universe. But what’s worse is the thought of leaving him here, alone, in this strange world that isn’t his, where he’s just a ghost in the machine.
She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Anthony, I...” Her voice catches, and she has to pause, gathering her thoughts. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can bring you with me. I just—Morgan... she wouldn’t understand. She’s only nine, and she’s finally starting to feel okay again, you know? Seeing you, someone who looks and sounds just like her dad—it would just... it would confuse her. And I can’t do that to her.”
Anthony listens, his eyes softening as he nods. “I get it, Pep. I really do. You don’t have to explain.” He tries to give her a reassuring smile, but it comes out a little wobbly. “I don’t want to make things harder for you or for her. I’m not... I’m not trying to replace him.”
“I know,” Pepper whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “But still...”
She trails off, a pang of guilt that cuts deep. It’s not his fault he ended up here, not his fault he’s lost and alone in a world that’s not his own, not his fault that SHIELD is leveraging him for information in return for the resources he needs to engineer a return. And now she’s telling him she’s going to leave him behind, like he’s just some stray that wandered too close. It’s not fair, and it’s definitely not something Tony would do to her—any version of him.
Just as she’s about to say more, the door creaks open, and Fury steps in, his presence as imposing as ever. He glances between the two of them. “Everything alright in here?”
Pepper straightens up, her resolve hardening. She’s made her decision. “I’m taking him with me,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Fury’s good eye narrows slightly, clearly not thrilled with the idea. “Are you sure that’s the best move? This isn’t a simple situation, Mrs. Stark.”
Pepper stands up, squaring her shoulders. “He doesn’t belong here, not locked away in a SHIELD facility. If anyone’s going to figure out what to do with him, it should be me.”
Fury seems to mull it over for a moment, clearly weighing the risks. But he knows Pepper—knows she’s not someone who makes decisions lightly. Finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. “Alright. But be careful, Pepper. You’re taking on a lot here.”
With that, Fury steps back, allowing them to leave. Pepper turns to Anthony, offering him a small smile. “Let’s get out of here.”
The walk through the SHIELD facility is quiet, the usual buzz of activity feeling muted somehow. They reach the parking garage, and Pepper unlocks her car, motioning for Anthony to get in.
As she starts driving, the silence between them is heavy, but not uncomfortable. Pepper breaks it, her voice soft.
“Morgan is our daughter,” she says, her eyes focused on the road ahead. “She’s... she’s everything to me. After Tony... after he was gone, she’s the only reason I kept going. She’s so much like him—brilliant, stubborn. But she’s also her own person, you know? She’s got this heart that’s just... pure.”
Anthony listens, nodding slightly as he absorbs her words. “She sounds incredible.”
“The best girl,” Pepper smiles, a bit sadly. “I’m taking you to Happy’s place. It’s not far from here, and it’s a lot less... intimidating. He’s got a guest room that’s pretty comfortable, and he’s someone I trust.”
Anthony looks over, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Happy?”
Pepper keeps her eyes on the road, her tone both practical and warm. “By the way, Anthony, you should probably buckle up.”
Anthony gives her a nod, fumbling a bit with the seat belt before securing it with a scrunched nose. He then turns to watch the city lights slide by. Pepper observes him for a second, a smile on her lips. Her Tony had always been a control freak about driving—only Happy could coax him into the passenger seat. Anthony, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to let her do the job. She shakes her head, amused.
“There’s definitely a lot to get used to with you,” she murmurs, focusing back on the road. “Hey, just to clarify—when you said ‘little,’ does that mean Pepper was your caregiver?”
He hesitates for a moment, and Pepper starts to second-guess herself. “Yeah, but don’t sweat it, it’s really not your problem. It’s been three years. Trust me, I’ve got this whole ‘taking care of myself’ thing down. Got some help.”
It’s a bit of a head-scratcher, and she can’t shake the feeling that it’s rough Anthony’s been without his Pepper all this time. She’s curious if he managed to find someone else to fill that role. “Who’s been helping you then?” Tony remains unusually quiet, and Pepper senses this might be a sore subject for him. She chides herself internally, realizing she might have overstepped. “You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry if I’m being intrusive.”
Tony’s shrug is… subtle.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
Pepper nods. “Let’s stop somewhere—how about tacos?”