Reader's Room

You let out a nervous laugh. It was the first time the three of you had been together since the wedding, and while your father hadn't openly objected, his weighted silence said enough.

—But we're not in the camp anymore —you replied.

You closed your eyes and pressed your cheek into his palm, seeking that warmth. Then you felt the back of his fingers graze your other cheek, trailing down your neck with a deliberate slowness that made every inch of bare skin beneath the water grow more aware of itself. The sensitivity multiplied like that, with nothing to muffle it.

—You are my greatest temptation, my dragon —he said quietly—. You're going to be the end of me.

You opened your eyes and gave him a shameless smile, just before his hand descended to your chest and took hold of you firmly, with that particular blend of strength and possessiveness that belonged only to him. A moan escaped your throat, muffled and urgent, the product of days of contained need. Your back arched on its own; you had to grab his arm to keep yourself from sinking into the water.

Baelor's face showed satisfaction and something close to reverence — lips parted, breathing heavier, letting small curses fall quietly between them. You wanted desperately to kiss him, but instead you turned your face toward the hand cradling your head and pressed a slow kiss to his palm, while his fingers continued their work beneath the water, gently teasing your nipple.

Then he slipped his thumb between your lips. You took it without hesitation, closing your mouth around it, pressing your tongue against it as he pushed deeper. At the same time, his other hand began to descend along your stomach, sliding beneath the warm, clouded water until his fingers found the center of you. He worked you with the precision of someone who knows you by heart, and a tremor moved through your entire body.

—Baelor, please —you let out, your voice breaking into a whimper—. Please.

He answered by bringing his mouth to yours in an urgent, unsteady kiss. You used his closeness to wind both hands around his neck and pull him closer still, while your fingers searched blindly for the buttons of his shirt. Baelor pulled his hand from the water and stood, and you protested with a moan that filled the room.

He removed his outer shirt and you stretched from the tub to pull his trousers down, finding him already halfway there. Completely bare, he lifted one leg into the tub and then the other, settling between your legs with care, bracing himself against the edge to bring his face closer to yours. The kiss he gave you then was the opposite of the last one: tender, slow, as if he had all the time in the world. Kneeling between your legs in the warm water, he held you by the waist.

You pulled back just slightly from the kiss, your lips still grazing his.

—I need you so much —you whispered.

—I need you too —he answered, with the same urgency and the same softness.

Baelor turned you gently until he was the one lying back in the tub and you were draped over his chest, his body warm and solid beneath yours. You pushed yourself upright, braced your hands on his chest, and shifted your legs until you were seated over him, looking down at him.

—That's it, sweetheart —he murmured, his hands steadying you at the hips, guiding you as his body met yours.

You lowered yourself slowly, letting him open you little by little, and pressed your forehead to his shoulder to focus on breathing and keep yourself from losing control entirely. His hands moved along your back unhurriedly, giving you time, giving you something to hold onto.

When you reached the limit, you lifted your head to look him in the eyes.

—Baelor… I love you.

His hands went still on your back. His face softened in a way you rarely saw: the purple eye brighter than ever, the pupil wide and dark, a small and genuine smile that had nothing to do with politics or court. Only with you. He drew you to him and kissed you slowly.

—I love you too —he said when you parted, his voice lower and gentler at once—. You are the light of my life.

They held each other's gaze for a moment, complete in that silence full of heat and water and candlelight.

Then you began to move.

Baelor guided you with his hands at your hips, giving force to each movement, and the two of you lost yourselves in the rhythm you built together, between moans and broken breaths, the water splashing and spilling over the edges of the tub onto the stone floor. The world of the court, of your father, of your vanished siblings, of the whispers, remained entirely outside that dark, candlelit room.

You reached your peak first, with a sigh that was almost his name. Baelor followed shortly after, pulling you against his chest.

The dining hall was full of laughter that bounced off the stone walls and rose up to the hanging tapestries. The entire royal family had gathered that night, his four sons, their wives and grandchildren, a congregation that occurred so rarely that the servants did not quite know where to look. The long table gleamed with golden wax candelabras, overflowing plates and cups that emptied at an alarming rate. But the loudest, without any doubt, were the sons of your youngest uncle. Daeron could no longer hold his head steady, it fell to one side and then corrected itself clumsily, his cheeks red as ripe plum. Aerion delivered comments with that slow, satisfied cadence of someone who enjoys the damage they cause, words designed to burn, especially cruel toward his younger brother Aegon, who received them with a clenched jaw. The two younger girls did not stay quiet but responded to Aerion's comments with a ferocity disproportionate to their size, defending Aegon with the absolute loyalty of those who are not yet afraid of anything, though the youngest simply opted to throw food at him, a piece of bread that landed on Aerion's shoulder with notable precision.

Fortunately the adults on the other side of the hall ate in relative peace, conversing in low voices, trying to ignore as much as they could the chaos at the childish end of the table. And you were exactly in the middle, between the adults and the children, just after Maekar, at that uncomfortable point where noise arrived from both sides.

Today, after a full day of straightening your back, raising your chin, walking slowly and gracefully, endless protocols to receive the royal family, your responsibility and your duties as princess were beginning to falter like a flame in the wind. You only wanted some fun, something genuinely entertaining that would give you real satisfaction, not the polished pleasure of fulfilling what was expected. And watching your cousins so rowdy, some of that energy clung to you like gold dust, something that hummed in your fingers and made the corner of your lips threaten to lift.

That night Maekar was seated beside you. Forty years he had carried that presence that occupied space without asking for it, his perfectly shaved beard that did not quite manage to fully cover the marks that chickenpox had left on him as a child, small imperfections in his skin that somehow made him seem more real than the rest of the perfectly polished men at court. His size was so immense that you barely reached the top of his shoulders when standing, and sitting the difference was still evident, those broad shoulders that seemed made of rock. All of that plus his furrowed brow, the deep lines between his eyebrows, and his obvious displeasure at having to be there, at the gathering, at the noise, at the world in general that night.

Your grandmother brought you back to the hall with her warm and proud voice:

—Daena has begun practicing advanced equitation, her grandfather brought two Dornish coursers, how have you been getting on, dear?

The pride in your grandmother's voice was tangible as the heat of the fire, and her dazzling smile showed how happy it made her that her granddaughter was following Dornish traditions, that thread connecting to something ancient and hers.

You set your wine cup on the table with a slow and elegant gesture, and your hand rested on the tablecloth a moment before sliding, without hurry, without abruptness, a little further to the right. All the eyes at that end of the table were fixed on you, waiting for your answer.

—It is a beautiful horse —you said, with that voice of yours that always sounded as if you carried all the time in the world—, swift and with a very delicate temperament. But that makes riding it more challenging.

And just as your grandfather burst out in a proud laugh at his brave granddaughter, you let your hand fall with all the calm in the world onto Maekar's groin, squeezing.

—Shit!

Maekar's curse exploded in the hall like a stone in a still lake. He stood up abruptly, the weight of his body pushing the table forward with a screech of wood, his chair falling backward with a dry thud against the stone floor.

—Bloody hell!

The silence that followed was absolute. Every conversation cut short, every cup paused midway, every head turned toward him. The children, who never quieted for anything, stood open-mouthed. The servants approached cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal, trying to gather what had spilled and straighten what had fallen.

—Maekar! Do not say those words in front of your niece! —Your grandfather's voice thundered with that authority that needed no shouting to fill the hall.

—Are you all right, uncle?

You looked at him with the clearest and most detached eyes in your arsenal, and you had them well trained. Your voice emanated nothing but purity and genuine concern, the voice of someone who has done nothing in their life but embroider and pray.

Maekar returned a look that began as pure confusion, eyebrows drawn together, eyes searching for something in your face that would explain the inexplicable, and then that confusion mixed with a hot and controlled anger. But the anger lasted barely a second before the awareness of all the gazes upon him crushed it and transformed it into something that struggled to resemble composure.

—Yes… yes, I just need rest. The journey has brought me a great deal of stress.

He made a short bow toward the king, rigid and too quick to be entirely elegant. And as he walked toward the exit, he glanced at you sideways, with that careful distance someone adopts when they have just understood that something in their world has changed and are not sure whether to run or stay completely still.

At the corner of your lips a small smile formed, barely perceptible, that did not escape Maekar.

The dinner of the previous night, despite the scandal Maekar had caused in the hall, ended in calm. Time did its work, the wine helped, and toward the end of the evening everyone had returned to laughter and family stories, that particular warmth that exists only when people who have known each other all their lives reunite after a long time apart. A sweet and slightly melancholy satisfaction remained in everyone, of catching up, of remembering who they were to one another.

It was early in the small hours, that strange time when night has not quite finished leaving but the day already announces itself in the movements of servants, in the sound of water buckets and brooms dragging across stone corridors. The air was damp and cold, that cold that creeps up sleeves and climbs the neck, and the sky remained completely dark, barely crossed by the grey promise of dawn on the horizon.

You were already completely ready.

The dress was a pale rose that in the torchlight appeared almost white, almost nacre, with that delicate tone only achieved with fabric dyed twice in rose water. The outer silk fell in perfect folds from a fitted bodice that shaped the torso with precision, embroidered in golden thread with small intertwined dragons so fine they resembled lace from a distance. The sleeves were long and flared, falling from the elbow in a more vaporous fabric, almost transparent, that brushed the floor when you walked and made it whisper.

Your hair, platinum white with those copper highlights, was gathered in an elaborate braid interwoven with pink silk ribbons falling loosely between the strands. The diadem resting on your forehead was of fine gold. Your violet eyes, framed by nearly white lashes, held that quiet gleam of someone who knows exactly the effect they produce. Cheeks faintly rosy from the early morning cold, lips a shade darker than the dress.

A too-spoiled girl who had become something difficult to name. Too young to be ignored. Too cherished to be underestimated.

As you advanced down the corridor toward where your grandmother awaited, Sanda walked half a step behind you, her presence as habitual as your own shadow, and the soft sound of your steps on the stone was the loudest thing in that empty hallway.

It was then that you noticed.

Ahead, past the arch that led to the armory, a tall and robust man, almost hunched from the effort, practiced alone against a wooden dummy. His sword fell on the figure with a force that shook the support from its base, again and again, as if the dummy had done something unforgivable. The sound arrived rhythmic and heavy, wood against wood, the weight of an enormous body behind every blow.

Something new was born in you, something that started as mischief but had another component mixed in, a warm excitement without a clear name that you recognized all the same. The display of strength from that man made you imagine many things. The large hands gripping that hilt. The shoulders moving beneath the fabric of his shirt. You stood completely still watching him for a moment, and only then decided.

—Sanda —you called to your handmaid in a low voice, without taking your eyes off the man in the armory—. I am going to greet my uncle. Go ahead and let my grandmother know I will arrive a little late.

Sanda curtsied without asking questions, accustomed as she was to obeying your every whim and your every whisper with the same impeccable dedication. Her steps faded down the corridor and left you alone.

You approached slowly, with that deliberate calm you used when you wanted something to appear accidental. Your feet on the stone made almost no sound in your soft leather boots. You entered the armory, that place you rarely frequented and that smelled of cold metal and sword oil, and advanced without saying anything, studying his back.

But he noticed. He noticed before you understood he had noticed, because in a movement that left no time for anything he spun and leveled the sword at you, the point a few centimeters from your face, eyes narrowed and body taut as a bow.

When he recognized you, his face made the full journey. Confusion. Recognition. And then the memory of the previous night falling over him like cold water.

—You!

He looked at you as if you were a monster or his worst nightmare materialized in the small hours. It was the first time anyone had looked at you like that, with that genuine horror mixed with something resembling panic, and you discovered with some surprise that you liked it. You liked having a man like your grumpiest uncle, the most serious one, the one who never smiled in portraits, like this. You gave him a slow and playful smile, and brought a finger to your lips.

—You should not shout like that —you said softly, with that sweetness of yours that never promised anything good—. You will wake everyone.

Your finger moved from your lips to the blade of his sword, which he had not yet fully lowered. You rested it with studied delicacy on the cold spine of the steel and slid it slowly along the length of the blade, without taking your eyes off his, walking toward him centimeter by centimeter as you did.

—Why are you afraid of me, uncle? It seems something disturbed you last night.

Maekar lowered the sword and set it aside with a dry blow, and the sound of metal on stone echoed through the small space. He turned toward you with that extended finger and pressed lip, overflowing with a rage he had been cooking all morning.

—Your father will hear of this —he said in a low and dangerous voice, which was worse than shouting—. And he will know what kind of woman his daughter is. They have spoiled you far too much and you are shameless.

He advanced as he made his threats, finger pointing at your face, his immense body closing the distance with that storm energy that would have made anyone step back.

You took advantage of exactly that.

You closed the remaining distance at once, rose on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips so quickly and so chastely that perhaps it did not happen, so brief it was perhaps only the brush of air between two mouths that were too close. And before he finished processing what had occurred, you were already running. Running as you could not remember ever having run, not even as a girl escaping the septas, the soles of your leather boots striking the stone floor, the silk ribbons of your hair flying back, the laughter smothered in your throat because you could not let it out without betraying yourself.

—Good luck getting anyone to believe you, uncle! —you shouted without looking back.

And you left him there, turned to a statue in the middle of the armory, the sword forgotten on the floor, not yet finished reacting. It took a long moment. Several moments. And when his body belonged to him again, he slowly raised his hand to his lips, with an expression that did not know whether it was fury or stupefaction, and felt how a strange and not entirely unwelcome heat grew between his legs as he watched you disappear through the stone arch as if you had never been there at all.

When you reached your grandmother, still breathless, the smile on your face was so wide there was no human way to hide it. Your cheeks gleamed. Your eyes gleamed. You were, in that moment, the exact image of someone who has just done precisely what they wanted and does not regret it at all.

Your grandmother looked up at you with that expression of hers for reading people, the same one that had intimidated kings and lords for decades.

—You are glowing today, my love —she said with a tenderness that held, nonetheless, a note of curiosity—. Did something special happen?

You took your seat beside her with all the grace you had been taught, straightened your back, crossed your hands on your lap, and smiled with that still-water smile of yours.

—Nothing special. I just spoke a little with my uncle Maekar. He is very funny.

Your grandmother frowned for a second, the phrase too strange to ignore, the smile on your face too specific to be innocent. But you were her favorite granddaughter, and there were things a grandmother preferred not to finish understanding.

Maekar had spent two days turning it over.

The image returned on its own, uninvited: her fingers sliding along the blade of his sword with that deliberate calm, her violet eyes holding his gaze without blinking, and then that very brief instant, that brush that perhaps was nothing and yet remained there, pressed to his lips like an ember. He had repeated it to himself enough times to convince himself: he had to speak with Baelor. It was the right thing. It was necessary.

He knocked on the study door with his knuckles, entered without waiting too long, and stopped dead.

She was there.

Standing by the window, in that dark blue silk dress that made her white hair appear made of light, hands crossed with perfect composure, chin at the exact angle. As if she had been waiting for him. As if she had always been there.

Baelor looked up from his desk with a genuine and open smile, the smile he reserved only for his daughter.

—Maekar, what good timing. We were just wanting to speak with you.

We. Maekar noted the plural. He also noted his niece's smile, small and perfectly controlled, with that corner raised barely a millimeter that he had already learned to read.

—Daena has made a request of me this morning —Baelor continued, leaning back in his chair with the satisfaction of a man about to deliver good news—. She wants to learn advanced equitation. The horses that arrived from Dorne have a temperament that requires an expert hand, and she wants to rise to the occasion. —He paused, looking at his daughter with that pride he made no attempt to conceal—. And she has specifically asked that you be the one to teach her.

The silence lasted exactly as long as it took Maekar to find words.

—I…

—You are the finest rider in the family —said Baelor with an absolute naturalness, as if commenting on the weather—. No one better than you. —He rose and came around the desk, placing a hand on his shoulder with genuine affection—. This girl has fulfilled everything asked of her without ever complaining. Her duties, her commitments, the court. She has never asked for anything for herself. —Baelor's voice softened with a tenderness that had no defense against it—. She deserves whatever she asks for, Maekar. She has earned it.

Maekar looked at her.

She returned his gaze with an expression of innocence so complete, so absolutely impenetrable, that in that moment he understood with a painful and almost comical clarity that there was nothing he could say to his brother. No words. No accusation. Baelor would not believe him. Not because he was a naive man, but because his daughter was perfect and he knew it and she knew it and now Maekar knew it too.

At the corner of her lips that smile appeared. Only a second. Only for him.

Maekar clenched his jaw.

—Of course —he said in a voice that revealed absolutely nothing.

The morning stables had that particular smell of damp hay and clean leather, and the light came through the high windows drawing golden stripes across the packed-earth floor. The stable hands had discreetly withdrawn as soon as Maekar arrived, as they always did when the prince wanted to work in peace.

They had not counted on the company.

She arrived punctual, which was already in itself a declaration of intent. She dressed for riding, a divided skirt of soft tawny leather over dark hose, a fitted cream wool tunic with her hair gathered in a low and firm bun at the nape, secured with two silver pins. No diadem. No layers of silk. Reduced to the essential, and even so entirely herself.

—Good morning, uncle —she said in a voice of still water.

Maekar did not answer. He pointed to the courser with a dry gesture and began.

The lesson was, on its surface, perfectly normal. He explained the posture, the communication with the animal through legs and reins, the difference between guiding and controlling. She listened with genuine attention, asked the right questions, executed corrections with a swiftness that would have been satisfying in any other context.

The problem was everything else.

When he approached for the first time to correct the position of her elbows, his fingers wrapped around her forearm with the practical intention of repositioning it, and she did not move exactly as she should have but just a centimeter less, so that her shoulder ended up grazing his chest for a second longer than necessary. Maekar withdrew his hands.

When he showed her how to tighten the reins, she turned her head to look at him from atop the horse, and they were too close, her violet eyes directly over his, with that expression that promised nothing good and that was nevertheless difficult to stop looking at.

When she dismounted and he extended his arm to help her down, she took it without taking her eyes off him throughout the entire descent, and when her feet touched the ground she remained there, at a distance that was not that of a niece with her uncle.

Maekar said nothing. He did not step back either.

That was his mistake.

Because she noticed. She noticed with that precision of hers for reading what others tried not to show, and something in her expression changed, became quieter and more certain at the same time, like someone who has just confirmed something they suspected.

The lesson ended. The stable hands were still outside. The light had shifted angle and the stable was quieter than before.

Maekar gathered the courser's reins to lead him back to his place and she walked beside him, and when he stopped in front of the animal's box and turned to say something about the next lesson, she was too close again, and this time there was no sliding of fingers along swords nor excuse of correcting posture.

She rose on tiptoe and kissed him.

Not like the first time.

This time it was a kiss with weight, with intention, with her hands rising to his chest and her mouth claiming his with a determination that had nothing accidental about it. Maekar felt the impact as something physical, a second of absolute paralysis before his body reacted.

She tried to pull away. She tried to turn and run as the time before.

His hand found the bun at her nape before she managed a single step, fingers closing around the silver pins and the secured hair, stopping her with a firmness that did not hurt her but admitted no argument. He pulled her back and brought her close to his face, and when he spoke he did so with his teeth barely parted, his voice low and taut as a string about to snap.

—If you are not capable of behaving yourself —he said—, I will have to teach you how.

There was a silence.

She looked at him from that minimal distance, with flushed cheeks and altered breathing, and in her eyes there was something Maekar had not seen before, something that was not mischief but something deeper and more honest than that. She looked at him directly, without averting her eyes, and said in a voice that was softer than usual:

—Then teach me.

Without letting go of her hair bun, he led her to the back room, pulled her inside, and then followed her. She stood before him, in that riding dress, her hair bun undone by his hand. Without letting go of her hair bun, he led her to the back room, pulled her inside, and then followed her. She stood before him, in that riding dress, her hair bun undone by his hand, and for the first time

He sat down on a bench and held out his hand, pulling her onto his lap with his back straight. Maekar's hand first explored her buttocks with his fingers, then moved down to her groin, making her shudder and let out a moan at the firm pressure.

"Now do you understand how it feels? I'm going to teach you to respect your uncle." With that, his palm moved up and down her buttocks, repeating the motion three more times. His hand was heavy and large; her buttocks were still sensitive, but what truly ached was her throbbing center, and she felt herself becoming wet.

You let out a nervous laugh. It was the first time the three of you had been together since the wedding, and while your father hadn't openly objected, his weighted silence said enough.

—But we're not in the camp anymore —you replied.

You closed your eyes and pressed your cheek into his palm, seeking that warmth. Then you felt the back of his fingers graze your other cheek, trailing down your neck with a deliberate slowness that made every inch of bare skin beneath the water grow more aware of itself. The sensitivity multiplied like that, with nothing to muffle it.

—You are my greatest temptation, my dragon —he said quietly—. You're going to be the end of me.

You opened your eyes and gave him a shameless smile, just before his hand descended to your chest and took hold of you firmly, with that particular blend of strength and possessiveness that belonged only to him. A moan escaped your throat, muffled and urgent, the product of days of contained need. Your back arched on its own; you had to grab his arm to keep yourself from sinking into the water.

Baelor's face showed satisfaction and something close to reverence — lips parted, breathing heavier, letting small curses fall quietly between them. You wanted desperately to kiss him, but instead you turned your face toward the hand cradling your head and pressed a slow kiss to his palm, while his fingers continued their work beneath the water, gently teasing your nipple.

Then he slipped his thumb between your lips. You took it without hesitation, closing your mouth around it, pressing your tongue against it as he pushed deeper. At the same time, his other hand began to descend along your stomach, sliding beneath the warm, clouded water until his fingers found the center of you. He worked you with the precision of someone who knows you by heart, and a tremor moved through your entire body.

—Baelor, please —you let out, your voice breaking into a whimper—. Please.

He answered by bringing his mouth to yours in an urgent, unsteady kiss. You used his closeness to wind both hands around his neck and pull him closer still, while your fingers searched blindly for the buttons of his shirt. Baelor pulled his hand from the water and stood, and you protested with a moan that filled the room.

He removed his outer shirt and you stretched from the tub to pull his trousers down, finding him already halfway there. Completely bare, he lifted one leg into the tub and then the other, settling between your legs with care, bracing himself against the edge to bring his face closer to yours. The kiss he gave you then was the opposite of the last one: tender, slow, as if he had all the time in the world. Kneeling between your legs in the warm water, he held you by the waist.

You pulled back just slightly from the kiss, your lips still grazing his.

—I need you so much —you whispered.

—I need you too —he answered, with the same urgency and the same softness.

Baelor turned you gently until he was the one lying back in the tub and you were draped over his chest, his body warm and solid beneath yours. You pushed yourself upright, braced your hands on his chest, and shifted your legs until you were seated over him, looking down at him.

—That's it, sweetheart —he murmured, his hands steadying you at the hips, guiding you as his body met yours.

You lowered yourself slowly, letting him open you little by little, and pressed your forehead to his shoulder to focus on breathing and keep yourself from losing control entirely. His hands moved along your back unhurriedly, giving you time, giving you something to hold onto.

When you reached the limit, you lifted your head to look him in the eyes.

—Baelor… I love you.

His hands went still on your back. His face softened in a way you rarely saw: the purple eye brighter than ever, the pupil wide and dark, a small and genuine smile that had nothing to do with politics or court. Only with you. He drew you to him and kissed you slowly.

—I love you too —he said when you parted, his voice lower and gentler at once—. You are the light of my life.

They held each other's gaze for a moment, complete in that silence full of heat and water and candlelight.

Then you began to move.

Baelor guided you with his hands at your hips, giving force to each movement, and the two of you lost yourselves in the rhythm you built together, between moans and broken breaths, the water splashing and spilling over the edges of the tub onto the stone floor. The world of the court, of your father, of your vanished siblings, of the whispers, remained entirely outside that dark, candlelit room.

You reached your peak first, with a sigh that was almost his name. Baelor followed shortly after, pulling you against his chest.

She lets out a gasp, her heart jumping in her chest and whips her head around to find you standing there, half awake and still in your PJ’s. “Oh, my god! You scared me.” 

You leaned over the back of the couch, as if you hadn't just scared the bejesus out of the poor overworked woman. You purse your lips together into a small pout, something you’ve been doing since you were a kid, eyes skimming the catalog on screen. It was some posh high designer brand, one that you didn’t even know existed. The price tag on the dress was enough to make your head spin. 

Jeez, high tax-braked shopping happening over here. 

“Which one are you getting?” You asked.

Pepper blinks, her heart finally settled and moves the cursor towards a purple backless dress. “I’m thinking about this one, or this one,” she moves the cursor onto a green dress. 

“No.” You made a face in disagreement, nose scrunched and a light scowl on your face at the color and design of the dresses. You leaned over, arm reaching over her shoulder and started scrolling through the catalog yourself. “What’s the occasion?” 

“My birthday.” 

You stopped, surprised “today?” 

“No,” she smiled, “it’s in two days.” 

You stared at her for a moment, cataloging the information, before turning your back to the laptop. You’d have to take Happy and one of Tony’s cards to go find her something. You silently scrolled for a few seconds before coming across a navy blue backless dress. 

“This one.” 

Pepper took over, scrolling through the photos for her own inspection. Her green eyes take in every detail of the dress. You watched as her eyes lit up, as if this was the one. “It’s perfect.”

You smiled back, “good.” 

You stood up straight, yawning aloud. Your eyes pricked with tears and you glanced back at the empty living room, “where’s the ogre?" 

She tries to hold in a laugh, ducking her head to hide her smile. She clears her throat as she watches you walk around and face plant into the absurdly high priced couch. “Ahem, Tony’s out with Happy. They’re out getting him some new suits for his trip tomorrow.” 

“Hm.” You nod, face still pressed into the cushions. “He’s going to the award thing, right?” 

Pepper nods, not that you would see that. She clicks off of the website, having placed the order for the dress, and onto Tony’s schedule where everything was meticulously planned for him to follow– if he felt like it. “He leaves for Las Vegas tonight with Happy, Rhode, and Obi.” 

“Ah,” you hummed, lifting your head up at the mean girl's name. “May the force be with you.” 

Pepper softly smiled, “and then he has a flight to Bagram Air Base at six in the morning.” 

“He’s not making it at six.” You point out. The concept of Tony Stark being on time. 

“No he won’t,” Pepper agreed, well aware of her bosses tendencies with ‘being on time’.

As if on que, the front doors swing open and Tony waltzes in with Happy in toe with his brand new designer suits. He makes a B-line towards you and Pepper, taking off his dark sunglasses with a flare of sass. He makes an array of hand gestures at you, “what is this? It’s midday and you’re still in your My Little Pony pajamas.” 

All you could do was gawk at him, mildly annoyed that he had to speak to you so early in the morning and for him to just lie out of his ass. “They’re pink pajamas,” you narrowed your eyes at him, enunciating every word at him, “and it’s 8 in the morning.” 

He makes a face, hands coming up in defeat. He goes to say something– a joke about how it’s probably that time of the month for you– but stops remembering that the last time he’d made that joke he had to dodge an array of projectiles aimed at his head from you. 

“Again,” you sat up, “go to work. Be a productive member of society.”

“Hmm,” Tony puts a finger on his chin as he puts on a performance, as if he was actually considering your words. “No.”

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at his theatrics. Surprisingly after Tony’s night out with Obadiah he was back to normal (or whatever is considered normal for him). You’d thought with the reaction he had he’d be a lot more standoff-ish with you, not that you cared if he was or wasn’t upset with you. You watched as he came around and sat next to Pepper. 

“Did you talk to them?” You asked, hopeful. 

Tony glanced at Pepper's laptop and then you. “It’s a no-go.” He shrugged, “something about hospital policy.” 

“Oh no,” Pepper frowned, empathetic. “I really thought they’d let you stay for a day or two.” 

You frowned, deflated. Great, now I’ll need to have a babysitter. 

“But, hey, no big deal.” Tony said, pulling out his phone. “You’re grown enough to be by yourself.” 

“Tony,” Pepper starts. 

“What? You know what I was doing at her age?” 

“Please, don’t,” you cringed. If he was this promiscuous now at his grown age, imagine what he was like as a teen. 

“Look, you’ll be fine.” He turned towards Pepper, “she’ll be fine.” 

“I know she’ll be fine, it’s just-”

“You know why she’ll be fine? Because you’re gonna be here.” 

The two go off into one of their tangents, bouncing off one another like an old married couple. You watched, entertained and thought to yourself that maybe they wouldn’t be that bad of a pair. 

Tony claps his hand together, “it’s settled. Pepper’s gonna come and check in.” 

Satisfied you get up to go change out of your PJ’s and into a ruffled dress, denim vest, and slouched boots. Before you can go back downstairs, you’re overwhelmed with a need to call your mom. 

The phone rings once, twice, three times before it’s picked up on the fourth. 

“Hello?”

You softly smiled at the sound of her voice. “Hi, mom. I didn’t wake you up did I?” 

“No, honey, you’re fine. I was already awake.” 

You fall into easy conversation, asking each other what you ate for breakfast, what your plans were, but despite that there’s still this uneasiness that you feel. 

Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten yet, you try to rationalize. 

“Hey, mom,” you suddenly grow hesitant, “I was wondering what time I should come over.” 

There’s silence on the other side for a moment and you hold your breath. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m not feeling well.” 

You quickly replied, dejected. “Oh, no, it’s fine– I get it. Maybe tomorrow?” 

There’s shuffling on the other end, “I’ll let you know, sweetie.” 

You smile, “okay, mom, uh, I’m gonna let you go. I’ll call you later– oh, make sure you eat and take all your medicine, and make sure you drink lots of water..” 

“Okay honey,” She softly chuckled. “I’ll do just that. You take care of yourself too. Bye.” 

The phone goes silent and you just stand there in your room. She sounds okay, a little tired but that can just be chalked up to the medication she and the time of day. But, the way she took too long to answer made something in you jolt. With a sigh, you walk back down to the living room. 

Pepper’s the first to notice your subtle change and asks, “are you okay.” 

“Yeah,” you brushed off. “I’m fine. Just a little hungry.” 

Thankfully, she doesn’t push any further and you’re able to head to the kitchen without any more questioning. You make your breakfast– something simple and light, otherwise it’d make you nauseous, and sit down at the table. 

No visitation today, no big deal. That just means I have time to look for the right present for Pepper. 

–

You couldn't help but gawk at all the people who were eagerly shopping away at 8 in the morning. But then again, this is Rodeo Drive, one of the most lavish and prestigious shopping areas that spanned three blocks. It was a magnet for those who shop luxury and for tourists. But still, shopping at 8 in the morning? Absolutely not, I’d rather be in bed. 

But you’re not. Instead, you’re just like everyone else, shopping at 8 in the morning. You’ve just spent a good hour at the Louis Vuitton store finding the right pair of heels for Pepper, wondering if it was good enough for the women whose shoe collection you would die for. Feeling a bit doubtful you decide to duck into a Cartier store and buy her a sleek watch and hope that she didn’t have the same kind at home. 

The drive back was quiet. Happy would occasionally glance back to you in the back passenger seats, staring off, in the rearview mirror. Surprisingly, Happy himself had been quiet, seemingly aware of the gloomy aura you’ve had around you since yesterday morning. Your phone clenched in your hand and Happy takes it as a sign that once again, you were denied visitation. 

He takes a gamble, “you okay?” Your eyes flicker from out the window to his in the mirror. Happy almost cringes when you don’t respond right away, is she okay? No she’s not okay– she looks like she’s about to scream.

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“You sure, cause you’re doing this thing with your face and–” I really need to shut up. 

“It’s just,” you sigh, slumping into the backseat, “I think something is up with my mom. She keeps saying that I can't visit which means something is wrong, but she’s not telling me and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Have you tried to talk to Tony?" 

You frowned. “No, why would I? It’s not like he can do anything.” 

“Who knows,” he shrugs. “Maybe you should.” 

The two of you settle into silence for the rest of the ride back to Malibu. Talk to Tony? Mr. Emotionally Constipated? No way. What can he say anyway? “Wow that sucks, anyways I’m gonna party,” Yeah, no. I’d rather take my chances with a Magic Eight Ball.

The car comes to a stop and you do your best to sneak the presents up stairs without Pepper noticing. Thankfully, she was preoccupied down in the workshop, no doubt talking Tony’s ear off and reminding him the importance of being on time for the awards. You hide them in your closet next to the tape and red gift bag that you’d already stashed. 

Not bad for some last-minute birthday shopping. 

You’re interrupted by a commotion downstairs, peeling you out of your room and perched by the railing of the upstairs balcony that overlooked the bottom floor. You could hear Tony (shocker) yapping away with two other people. You step down the stairs to get a better view and find Obadiah and Rhode. 

Obadiah sits sprawled out across the couch like he owned the place and Rhode stood by the mini cart-bar, pouring themselves a drink. He turns and catches a glimpse of you coming down the stairs, calling out your name, catching the attention of Obadiah. 

“Hey,” you replied, giving him a small smile. 

You had met Rhode before and had immediately deemed him as the other sane person in this mess. The first meeting was actually the day you’d moved into Tony’s place. The Colonel had come storming in, ready to rip Tony a new one for ditching a high-stakes meeting with representatives of the military, but stopped in his tracks the minute he saw you. 

It looked like he had short circuited when he was told that you were his daughter and that you would be staying with Tony for some time. He’d fallen into a sputtering mess, confused as to how it was possible (not him having a kid, that was obvious, but how Tony was able to have custody of you). To be honest, he was ready to file for emergency custody, well aware that his best friend wasn’t the fittest of dads (no offense to Tony). 

Ultimately, he’d decided to keep an eye on the situation rather than taking any action prematurely. Instead, he’d swing by every couple of days to check in on you and make sure everything was running smoothly. 

“Young Stark!” Obadiah cheers from his place on the couch. You cringed at the nickname, ignoring him as you crossed the threshold. 

You eye the glasses in Rhode’s hands and then at the clock 10:53 a.m. “Isn’t it a bit early for you to be drinking?” 

Rhode walks over, giving you half a chuckle, and hands Obadiah his glass. “You try being on a flight with Tony.” 

You grimace, “yeah, nevermind.” 

The two men laugh at your ‘joke’ and you deliberately take a seat away from Obadiah. You could feel his eyes on you, as if he was assessing your every move like he was trying to do before at the company. It sends a shiver down your spine, his gaze reminding you of an apex predator hunting his prey. Thankfully, it’s short lived as Tony’s voice could be heard coming down the stairs while giving Pepper orders. 

“Great the gangs here,” he snaps his fingers in some rhythm, pointing his direction to the two other men. He’s wearing a jet black suit with a maroon button up and red tinted aviator glasses. His hair’s slicked back and there’s an expensive designer watch on his wrists. 

“Right, let's get this show on the road.” Obadiah says, throwing the rest of his drink back and standing up, and you swore you could hear his knees pop a little. 

“Happy’s loading the car and the jet is ready for take off.” Pepper says, dutiful as ever, hoping that Tony would leave on time for once. 

Rhode and Obadiah start making their way to the front door and Tony goes to follow, but stops and pivots back to you, “hold on,” he reached into his pockets pulling out his wallet, reaching in and pulling out a couple of bills for you, “here, get yourself some pizza.” 

Rhode gawks from the side, “Tony that’s five hundred dollars.” But Tony just shrugs. 

His eyes linger on you for a second before he turns away, “if you’re gonna throw any parties make sure you take lots of good photos.” 

You watch him, Rhode, Obadiah, and Pepper walk out and to the car where Happy waited for them. Once the three were situated into the Rolls Royce Phantom, Happy takes his place behind the wheel and drives off leaving you and Pepper. 

Thankfully, the rest of the day is uneventful. Pepper stayed for a couple of hours to make sure you were fine, while you were upstairs wrapping her gifts, before she went back to the office and then her place, promising to come back so that you two would have dinner together. 

The moment she was gone you reached for your phone and dialed the number for your moms hospital. Okay, if you couldn’t visit her then at least you could talk to her, but the phone kept going to voicemail, over and over again. You called her phone number, the clinic number, her doctor's number, but came up with nothing which in turn grew the pit in your stomach where anxiety happily settled into. 

“Maybe they’re just busy,” Pepper had said that night after she’d gotten the information out of you. “She’ll call you when she can, now eat.” She nudged a slice of pizza your way. 

Eventually, she had to leave (though she did try to stay, but you couldn’t have her around while your brain spiraled), leaving you alone. You tried to go to bed, but the anxiety wouldn’t let you. Maybe you just needed a change of scenery, which is what led you to the kitchen with a midnight snack. You sat at the table, slumped over a plate of an eaten grilled cheese sandwich, leaving the crust untouched. 

Maybe Pepper should have stayed the night. You sighed, trying to shoo away the negative thoughts that had clouded you for most of the day. You should have known better. Being left alone with your never-ending thoughts never went well for you especially when you were pledged with anxiety. Somehow, the pit in your stomach had grown, making it harder to breathe. 

She’ll be fine, she’ll be fine. 

You’re so deep in your thoughts that you don’t hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, or the laughter and flirtatious giggling that traveled up to the second floor, or the footsteps that grow closer to the kitchen. 

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” 

Tony watched as your body flinched that the sound of his voice, as if it cut deep into you. Slowly, you turn to face him and Tony pauses at your watery eyes and frowns. 

“What the…” he muttered under his breath, shit, he wasn’t ready for this. “Um, what’s with the long face?”

You shake your head, wiping your eyes and standing up with your plate in one hand. “It’s, uh, it’s nothing.” 

Tony wordlessly watched as you threw away the crust and set the plate down in the sink. What the hell was he supposed to do? Hug you? Sing you a lullaby? Console you? Fuck. This was not Tony’s forte. He’d be the first to admit it, but him and emotions never go well together. He couldn’t even deal with his, how the hell was he supposed to deal with a fourteen year old’s emotion? 

Okay, think. She’s sad. What do you do when someone’s sad? Console. Got it. 

He opens his mouth and hesitates before letting the first time that comes to his mind out. “You sure it’s nothing, because your face looks like a mess.” 

God-fucking-damnit. Great going.

Your mouth goes agape and tears start to well in your eyes, “what?” 

Tony groaned, I need a drink. He walked over, poured a drink, and gulped it one go. “Look,” he starts firm, setting the glass down in front of him, “I know I’m not qualified for this conversation,” or any “but, what’s up?” 

He peeks over his left shoulder and finds you staring back at him. Surprisingly, you take his words into consideration. “It’s,” you sharply exhale, “it’s my mom. I’ve been, uh, trying to see her past few days, but she’s not feeling well and they’re not telling me anything they just keep saying that I can’t see her, but I don’t know why and I don’t know what to do.” 

You had started to ramble mid-way through, and you would have gone further if Tony hadn’t stopped you. 

“I know.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

He just leaned back against the counter, “yeah, I’ve known.” 

“You knew?” 

“They give me reports almost everyday.” He said, practically nonchalant as if he couldn’t understand what he was saying. 

“You knew and you told me nothing?” The disbelief in your voice was clear as well as the simmering anger. “You knew something was wrong and you didn’t tell me?” 

“Tust me, you didn’t need to know.” 

You nearly scoffed, “I didn’t need to know? I have every right to know. That’s my mother.” 

“Look, you’re a kid–” 

“No, you look. This wasn’t part of our deal, remember? You’re supposed to tell me these things, it’s my right to know them.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” he tried to back track, well aware of how angry you were growing, “she’s a little sick right now, but she’ll get better in a few days and then you can go see her.” 

You scoffed, “right because I should listen to you– someone who has no medical knowledge." 

Tony clenched his jaw, growing annoyed by the constant back-talk, “I’m your father, which means I know what I’m doing.” 

“What you are is a sperm-donor. You had fourteen years to step up, but you didn’t so don’t act like you’re my dad now.” You didn’t have it in you to be in the same room as his let alone look at his stupid face, so you stormed out of the kitchen with tears burning in your eyes. 

You practically ran up the stairs and into your room, face planting right into your pillows and breaking into a sob. 

God, you hated this place, and hated him the most. 

–

You couldn’t sleep the entire night. 

You tossed and turned, took another warm shower, and even had some melatonin gimmies, but you just couldn’t fall asleep.  You laid there, waiting for JARVIS to give his typical morning rundown. 

“Good Morning Miss. It’s 7 a.m. The weather is 48 degrees Fahrenheit with scattered clouds. The surf conditions are fair with waist-to-shoulder high lines. High tide will be at 10:52 a.m.” 

“Has he left?” Your voice came out rough and heavy. 

“No, Mr. Stark has not left.” 

You let out something that’s in between a groan and a sigh. If you went downstairs now then there’s a chance you’d run into him, but if you didn’t that’d mean you’d have to stay upstairs until he left (which could be hours). You mentally weigh your options, creating a pros and cons list, but it all goes out the window when your stomach decides to make itself (and its hunger) known. 

“Fine,” you muttered to yourself, crawling out of bed. You walk over to the bathroom sink and nearly flinch at your own reflection. Guess a night of no rest and the occasional crying session really did a number on you. 

You sighed, nothing a little concealer couldn’t fix. 

Thankfully, it did help mask the bags under your eyes, but they did nothing for the redness around your iris. You stared at yourself in the mirror, face almost pressed up against the reflective material, while deciding how you wanted to deal with the redness. Eyedrops, maybe? Or Sunglasses, like the oversized ones that Paris Hilton wore.

You decided to stick with the eyedrops for now, deciding that sunglasses indoors were just a little bit too much for you. You could hear shuffling and someone talking downstairs, assuming that it was either Pepper or Tony (or both), and reached for your gifts for the strawberry blonde. 

Gift bag in hand you walked down the steps expecting to find Pepper, not an unknown blonde woman wearing a white dress shirt and her underwear. 

What the fuck?

Pepper stood facing your way whilst the unknown woman had her back towards you. “That's JARVIS. He runs the house. I've got your clothes here. They've been dry-cleaned and pressed, and there's a car waiting for you outside that will take you anywhere you'd like to go.”

“You must be the famous Pepper Potts,” the woman says, as if she was trying to size up against Pepper. You stood back, watching it all unfold, who is this chick?

“Indeed I am.” Pepper replied with a nicely masked passive aggressive smile and a hand off of the woman's clothes. 

She eyes her dry-cleaned and pressed clothes that had been pushed her way and decides to dig her grave, “after all these years, Tony still has you picking up his dry-cleaning.” 

Your jaw nearly falls open at the woman's audacious comment. 

Pepper, however, handles the comment with more grace and elegance than you admittedly could. “I do anything and everything that Mr. Stark requires, including, occasionally, taking out the trash. Will that be all?” 

The woman's haughty attitude quickly simmers down as the result of Peppers comment, but you however, don’t think it’s enough. Just who does she think she is talking to Pepper like that?

You decide to do what your father does best and put on a little act. “Um, hello?” Your voice comes out small, hesitant even, catching the attention of both of the women. Pepper looks surprised to see you up and the blonde woman looks like a mix of shock and mortification. Suddenly, she becomes aware of the fact that she’d been exploring her one-night stands home in nothing but a shirt and panties. One hand comes to her front, pulling the shirt down as if it could magically grow longer and reach floor length. 

Sorry lady, I’m a girl’s girl, but you decided to go after Pepper for literally no reason. 

Pepper says your name and steps forwards as if she were subconsciously trying to block the other women from your view. Too late, Pep. I’ve already seen all of it. 

You walk down the rest of the steps, hiding the bag behind you the best that you could, and barely glanced at the blonde. You gave Pepper a nice smile and brought forward the bag, surprising her. “Happy Birthday, Pep.” 

Her eyes flickered from you to the bag, not expecting the sudden gift, and smiled. “Thank you, oh, when did you have the time to get this?” She takes the bag and you give her a hug, which she gladly accepts. 

The women watched stunned, watching the affectionate exchange between me and Tony Stark's 'Assistant’. “I’m sorry, but– are you– are you Tony’s kid?” 

You let the words linger for a moment while you honed your best Kardashianesque cattyness. You slowly glanced over to her, almost startling her, and responded. “Are you still standing in my living room barely dressed?” 

Her face flushes and she gives off a quick apology and makes a run for it for Tony’s room to get changed and out of the house. You watched her go and Pepper said your name in a chastising way, “you didn’t have to do that.” 

You shrugged, “she started it by being rude to you.” You hooked your arm around hers, pulling her to the couch, “is this why you try to hide Tony’s late night flings from me? So I don’t get to see how weird they are?” 

“Partially.” she replied. 

You sit side-by-side and eagerly encourage her to open the gifts. She pulled out the shoe box first and opened it to reveal a pair of Louis Vuitton Red Bottoms. She lets out a gasp, maneuvering the shoe around in her hand to get a full view of the highly coveted shoes. 

“Try them.” 

She sets the right shoe down, takes off her heel, and slips her foot into the new one. Her head snaps towards you, “how did you know my exact size?” 

You shrugged, “magic.” It wasn’t. You had tried to sneak a glance at the size of shoe she was wearing the day you saw her looking for a dress, but that failed so instead, you turned towards JARVIS. “Okay, next ones.” 

She reached for the Cartier box, opening it to reveal a watch made of stainless steel. The face of the watch was a rectangle while a clock facing was squared; there was a row of diamonds coming down vertically on both sides (eleven from what you’d been told), with a blue stoned dial.

“Oh, my god,” her jaw fell open as she took in the watch. Her fingers lightly trailed the face of the watch while it was still in the box. She glanced towards you, “you didn’t have to–’” 

“Yes I did,” you replied. “You didn’t sign up for whatever bullshit Tony and I have going on so, let me at least repay you like this.” 

She gave you a soft smile, thankful for the gifts. She starts to put back the gifts into their boxes when her eyes flicker towards the watch again and then back at you, “did you?..”

“Take Tony’s card? Yup. How else do you think I could afford all that?” 

Her phone starts to ring, Rhode’s name appearing on the screen, and she sighs, picking it up. She gets up, giving you one last glance and walks over to the stairs to the workshop. “No, James, I totally understand… I told him last night that he couldn’t be late… yes, I know… I’m gonna try again, right now.” 

She disappeared under the stairs and you decided to make yourself breakfast. Last night's grill cheese, and conversation, sat uncomfortably in your gut so you opted for something more light; a piece of toast with strawberry jam. You take note, right as you close the fridge door, of the bottles of organic apple juice. By the time you’ve eaten and washed the few dishes you used, the blonde woman was gone and Tony was dressed in jeans, black shirt, and black leather jacket and a pair of red tinted sunglasses. 

He glanced at you, but didn't say anything, which you were glad for. Happy was already waiting for Tony at the airstrip, packed and ready, while Pepper gentle-parented him. “You can’t delay this anymore, Tony, this was your idea.” 

Tony puts on one of his watches while either pretended to listen to Pepper or just zoned her out. They make their way towards the front door and you decide to follow after without much thought. Happy stands outside, waiting for Tony with the car packed and ready, but Tony decides to take the Audi, wanting to race Happy all the way to the airstrip. 

Pepper glanced at you and tried to nudge you to say bye to Tony, no doubt feeling the tension, as if a ‘bye’ would fix everything. He walks towards his Audi R8, pauses, and turns back around. Pepper nearly has a conniption, almost stepping forwards and probably willing to drive Tony to the airstrip herself, but stops when she sees him make a B-line to you. 

You stood leaned against the door frame with your arms crossed, tensing as he approached you. He stands around an armlength away and says nothing (and neither do you). You debate walking back inside considering the yap-aholic had suddenly gone mute when he finally speaks, albeit hesitantly. 

“I should have told you, I get it. And when I come back we’ll talk about all of it, okay?” His tones surprisingly somber, as if it had taken a lot for him to swallow his pride and admit he was wrong (which it did). 

You chew at the inside of your cheek, wanting to throw another quip at him, but the sudden humbleness (sort of) catches you off guard. 

“Okay.” 

And as if a light had switched, he goes back to his perky self and walks over to the car. You watched as he opened the door and sent a smug smile your way, “don’t miss me too much.” 

The Audi comes alive and Tony swiftly pulls out of the driveway, leaving you and Pepper. With a light groan you head back inside with Pepper right behind you and collapse onto the couch. 

Maybe I should have thrown my shoe at him. 

–

You’re startled awake by the sound of your phone ringing right next to you. Half-asleep, you answer it and bring it to your ear. 

“Yeah?” you murmured, voice heavy with sleep. 

“This is Dr. Williams from the Hope Cancer Center,” the somberness in the person’s voice is enough to pull you out of sleep. You sit up in bed as the doctor explains what's happened in the past few days. “Your mothers been quiet sick for some days and last night she caught an infections, and unfortunately she’s just slipped into a coma–” 

The doctor goes on, but you can’t hear him anymore even if you tried. Only four words echo in your ears, sending a wave of nausea over you. 

“Slipped into a coma”

How does that happen? How do you go from having a cold to being in a coma? 

“Hello? Hello?” 

Your throat tightened and closed, the words dying before they could even be spoken. You felt as if your entire world had just stopped, because quite frankly it had. 

“I understand that this is quite hard and difficult to understand, but if you could be here that would really help.” 

“‘M– ’m coming.” You choke out the words and eventually the phone calls ends, leaving you in your dark room surrounded by silence. Your entire body shakes with shivers and your face is wet with tears you didn’t even know you had shed. 

The next few hours were a blur for you. Somehow you’d managed to call Pepper (you didn’t, you were so out of it that JARVIS had to call her) who’d rushed over to pick you up and drive to the clinic. She’d barely had enough time to put the car in park when you’d rushed out of the car and into the clinic. The attendants were able to usher you into the ICU where Dr. Williams was already waiting for you. He started to explain things further, but your attention was on your mother who laid on the hospital bed hooked up to machines and monitors. She looked so weak and lifeless, nothing like the women you know who single handedly raised you with such grace and vibrancy. 

Your fingers tightly wrapped around her frail hand, bringing it up so you could press it against your cheek. Tears fell down your face as your eyes stayed on her and the state that she was in. You’d only been away a few days. She was fine then, smiling and laughing at your antics, so how could it all go south so quickly? It was a few days, not weeks, or months, but a few days. 

You sat there, holding her hand, for hours. Pepper spoke with the doctors for you, planning for the next steps; observation, diagnosis, treatment. She spent nearly an hour calling other doctors and hospitals that your mother could be transferred to all over California, and then she left Tony a message explaining the severity of the situation before coming to sit with you. She sat near the back of the room, keeping her distant while also giving her support. 

You both sat in silence, the only sound in the room coming from the monitor that tracked her heart rate and the light sound of her breathing through the oxygen mask. Your eyes would flicker between her and the monitor, suddenly hyperaware of everything– every breath she’d take, every upward and downward spike on her heart monitor. 

It wasn’t until 8 in the morning when that painful silence was broken. Pepper’s phone rang with a call. Quietly, she answered and stepped out of the room, “Rhode?” 

His voice comes out ragged and panic-filled. “Tony’s been kidnapped.”

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