𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. When it came to dealing with corporal propositions that required stern conversations, she always made sure her hands were steady and her breathing even, schooling her features to indicate that, not only did she mean business, she was the party in power.

Even after motioning the intern to leave-obviously, she would be more than alright on her own, she was used to taut business meetings-she almost wished she had allowed the staff to stay, despite there only being three other employees, it would have been nice to know there were others in the building, especially since she had absolutely no idea what she was getting herself into.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Moore," the woman said, smoothing her skirt before sitting down across from her, "My name is-"

"Pepper Potts," she interjected with a small smile, "You're the CEO of Tony Stark's company, I've been following your work for quite some time."

Pepper raised her eyebrows, giving a small nod, "I appreciate it, I'm sure you have an idea of how difficult things can be for us. It's nice to see another successful woman, especially in the artistic field."

Whether her statement was meant to see if she would rise and take the bait, or was simply the compliment she hoped it was, Mercy found herself chuckling softly, shaking her head slightly before making eye contact with the redhead, running through a series of conversation scenarios through her mind; depending on who she was speaking with, it was imperative she approach the discussion with the right words, the right tone, the right facial expressions, because if even a touch seemed off, it signaled weakness.

Mercy had no intention of seeming weak in front of Pepper Potts.

"I'd like to get straight to the point, if you don't mind," Pepper said, folding her hands atop her crossed legs, "When was the last time you spoke to David Lermive?"

It was a good thing she was sitting down. A deep breathe could hardly suffice; the words she had just heard hit her like a train at full speed, momentarily forgetting to school her features, simply too surprised to even formulate an answer right away, hoping deep down that her shock wasn't as obvious as it felt.

"Why?" Mercy found herself asking, momentarily forgetting her manners in an attempt to fully understand the situation as quickly as possible, "As much as I want to help with whatever you're looking for, Ms. Potts, I'm afraid I'm useless when it comes to David."

The woman raised her eyebrows, and it was hard to gauge what she was thinking; not only was difficult enough starting over without the man's influence, she couldn't help but notice the sinking feeling in her stomach-a feeling she was all too accustomed with-that gave a eerily familiar premonition of deja vu.

"Why don't we take a walk," Pepper suggested, rising to her feet, evidently choosing her words carefully so as not to disturb her further, and although she appreciated it at the moment, Mercy knew she would regret it as soon as the meeting was over.

It spoke volumes for the art on the walls of Mercy's gallery that Pepper Potts could become distracted by a background painting, while both walked slowly in painful silence; inexorably, it seemed, Pepper was drawn to the looming presence of an oil on canvas painting, depicting an actor dressed to perform 'Coriolanus' by William Shakespeare.

Grateful for the lapse in conversation, Mercy took the opportunity to describe the painting, looking quietly pleased. "It's a painting designed to be hung very high up, at an angle," she explained, instinctively drifting to one side to avoid spoiling appreciation of the large canvas, "It would have been hung the same height again, then tilted downwards."

Then, for good measure, she began to recount a brief overview of the Royal Academy's influence over 19th century art, explaining how, to impress the panels that decided what hung where, artists would paint according to the perspective of the viewer below. Pepper listened thoughtfully throughout her transient speech, nodding at the right intervals, occasionally glancing upwards to reiterate her view of the artwork; if she didn't know better, Mercy would have thought this was a glorified tour for a prominent councilmember rather than a polite interrogation by the CEO of Stark Industries.

"I'm interested in the business of your work," Pepper finally commented, motioning toward the walls of the gallery, "How do you know what to display, or what people will like?"

"I'm glad you asked," Mercy answered, unsure of what the woman's tactic was, seeing as how they had diverted from her initial discussion.

"The City wants to show off more of its culture and heritage, so a large part of the challenge is bringing my knowledge of contemporary exhibition into planning how things in the gallery will be displayed, in order to appear most appealing to my viewers," Mercy explained, taking a sharp breath, stomach shifting as she waited for the woman to realize the tangent she had allowed her to go on.

Pepper nodded, pausing at the end of the hall, not making a move to climb the stairs to the upper level, or re-enter her office, instead turning on her heel and facing Mercy, her head tiled slightly downwards, a sympathetic smile on her face-in short, never a good sign.

"I understand why you might be hesitant to speak about David," Pepper began, evidently choosing her words carefully, her eye contact unwavering, "But I want you to know I'm not simply asking you for publicity, or what have you. I promise, once I get the information I need, I'll be out of your hair."

"What's he done this time?" Mercy found herself asking, mentally preparing herself for whatever response she would be given, "I assume he hasn't grown out of the reckless behavior he's always flaunted, being a good kid was never his thing."

"He was involved in a series of thefts at Stark Industries," she explained, pulling out her phone to show a surveillance video of several hooded men stealing a large crate, loading it into a truck before driving away, "Have you been in contact with lately, talked with him at all?"

Mercy blinked, trying to process whether or not she heard her correctly, but from the way Pepper was looking at her, it seemed she was being serious, which filled her with a suspicious feeling that raised more questions than might have been necessary-despite her gut telling her to simply answer the questions, to do so as quickly as possible so as to escape the subject, Mercy couldn't help but narrow her eyes, unsure of where this was going.

"If you don't mind my asking," she began, taking a deep breath, falling back into her usual persona, "But why am I hearing about David from you, the CEO herself? Shouldn't a police officer be showing me the surveillance video, asking the last I spoke to him?"

"Under normal circumstances," Pepper agreed, pocketing her phone and crossing her arms, "But Mr. Stark is highly invested in the items your brother stole, and I'd like to know if he spoke to you about any of this. As I said before, anything helps, but if you're unable to indulge me, I'll be on my way."

"Half-brother," she corrected, her tone stern and final, crossing her arms as well, "And the answer to your question is no. I haven't talked to David in years."

Pepper caught the look easily, unable to help herself as she sighed. "Alright. Thank you for your time, Ms. Moore. I'll keep in touch."

With a terse nod, the woman escorted her back to her office, the CEO picking up her purse and making her way out, before pausing and walking back to where Mercy was standing.

Pepper handed her a business card. "In case you want to contact me."

Mercy pursed her lips, giving a terse smile, holding her breath until the woman was well outside, waving her hand politely as she drove away before plopping down on the couch in front of the front desk.

To think, she had expected anything else when David was involved; it had, indeed, been years since she had last spoke to him, but it was wishful thinking to believe they had left things on good terms.

Work was never supposed to be easy, but this was a different matter entirely.

○ ○ ○

Stopping at the fourth floor of her apartment building, she made her way down the hall, politely smiling at those who passed, sighing after each brief encounter, fishing her keys out of her purse, glad for the busyness of the city and the people too invested and worried about their own lives to notice or care about hers.

"Mercy! I haven't seen you in awhile, how've you been?"

Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been happy to turn around and have a talk with her neighbor, but she knew herself well enough to recognize when she was already teetering the edge, about to collapse; instead, she just settled for another polite smile.

"I'm good," she answered lightly, looking towards the man, who was fingering the handlebar of his bicycle, "How are you?"

"Good, good," Thomas said, waving off her question almost inattentively, shouldering his bag, nodding absentmindedly, "But really, Mercy, how are you? It's nearly midnight, and you're dead on your feet."

Mercy breathed a laugh, shaking her head slightly; it was a nice gesture, it really was, but she would be lying if she said she didn't mind sticking around for a few more minutes, because it was evident Thomas was genuinely curious, but the only thing she wanted to do was sleep.

But it would have been rude to dismiss him, and, after all, he had always been courteous to her, occasionally inviting her over for tea when matters in her field became busy, once even going so far as to kindly demand she take a day off after a long night of stressing over a meeting with a gallery artists, bringing her tea and calming her down.

"I could say the same about you," she playfully countered, motioning at his presence, the man laughing in response, "I didn't know social workers worked so late."

Thomas caught her gaze and hummed. "You know how it is, something always comes up."

With that, he offered her one last knowing smile, unlocking his door and maneuvering his bicycle inside, shutting the door softly, leaving Mercy alone in the hallway.

She opened her own door and carefully stepped inside, toeing her heels off with a relieved sigh as she stepped on the brown carpet, walking towards the kitchen counter and setting her purse on top.

Wishing she had picked up something to eat on the way home, Mercy simply opted for a tall glass of water, telling herself that it was healthy she wasn't eating so late, draining the glass before sitting down, refilling it as she made her way to the couch.

Turning on the television, she began flicking through the news stations, hoping to find something on the thefts at Stark Industries, instead coming across cooking shows and crime shows and weather channels, sighing deeply as she muted the sound, throwing the remote on the seat next to her, staring out the large window outside.

Living in the city, by definition, meant more noise-people still out and about, cars driving around with the headlights and brights on, business and billboards with their fluorescent signs. Through the beauty of the night sky masked by artificial lights and soaring planes, Mercy couldn't help but think of the man out there who thought it was a good idea to resurface after all these years.

Before she could drift off, a memory rose to the surface, inserting itself into the dreamless sleep she so wished she could have, just this once. Because she was trying to make a change, a change that wouldn't have happened had it not been for the circumstances, but she was going to make things right. Whether she wanted to or not.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

I was gonna have this chapter extend to the next one, but I figured with what happens it should be its own, because I'm honestly not happy with this chapter. Like writing Pepper was so weird and the last interaction was so forced even though I love Thomas and might include him in other fics now? I hope it'll get better as I go along, cause damn guys, I feel so bad.

Thanks for reading!