Stony Oneshots (Requests open)

Not about Angels

Just this little sad idea that kept me up sobbing until I fully wrote it out. 

I apoligise ahead of time and just a little warning for the explicitness and perhaps slight gore? It will also make you cry.

VOTE COMMENT FOLLOW? 

Not about Angels

It's a cold blustery Wednesday afternoon when you get the call, and with a grumble you slip your hand in the back pocket of your suit pants, throw a sympathetic glance at the shareholders you're having lunch with and flip your personal cell up to your ear and answer it with an irritated "Stark," whilst striding out the room to your personal office.

What you suppose is a lady is snuffling on the end of the phone, her voice crackling and breaking as she tries to talk to you, she even blows her nose at one point and hiccups and you cant help but screw up your nose at her delicate ladylike attributes. Impatiently you huff on your end of the phone and are seconds away from hanging up on the lady that is yet to say anything but snuffle when there is movement on the ladies end of the phone, a faint scuffle and a deep voiced male is on the end of the land.

"Mr Stark,"

"Yes Mr Stark is speaking," you answer confused now, your voice trailing off into the silence of the phone.

"I'm part of the NYPD division and I'm afraid that you're needed at your…"

The rest of the conversation fades off into gray sounding static as you helplessly grip onto the phone tightly, your fingers mashing into the keys as your other hand claws desperately at your chest, your breathing laboured and tight as your mind screams at you. You've managed to undo the top few buttons of your pressed shirt, ripping a few open until you could see the pale blue of the arc reactor shining through your chest but unlike before the pale blue light doesn’t bring comfort, no instead it reminds you of what's happening, of what might be gone.

You realise now that the poor policeman is still talking on the end of the phone, his voice getting more and more worried but you cant help but think you don’t deserve his worry, the person that deserved his worry was gone. Pepper knocks on the glass partition between you and the meeting of shareholders who you suppose are starting to get antsy and disgruntled, and she taps her watch angrily but then properly looks at your face, stares at the glittering tears tracks that have marred your skin and dripped onto the collar of your shirt. She starts banging on the door know, flicking her pass up to the scanner and even before the door has finished opening she is barrelling into the room and falling into you, her arm going up to grab the phone that you still have glued to your ear.    

She pries the phone away from your fingers, loosening it enough so that she can press it to her and you fall, fall down to the floor like the cell was the only thing that was keeping you upright and you hit the floor with a bang against your knees, a dull pain reverberating throughout your body but nothing, nothing compares to the pain in your head.

A second later Pepper falls down to the floor next to you, her face a picture of agony, but nothing, nothing compared to the broken look that you know is on your face now and forever more in your eyes until you die. The phone clatters to the floor nest to you, breaking the silence, the policeman still squawking on the end of it but instead of picking it up against you bury your face into the crook of Peppers neck and stroke her hair as she strokes your thigh with a shaky hand her cold tears sliding of her nose and onto your neck just like yours. You sit their, crumpled on each other for a few moments letting her familiar smell ground you and waiting, just waiting to see if the tears run out. Of course they don’t so with a sniff you get to your feet, push back your hair into its slicked back hairstyle, help Pepper out her heels and then you're running, running out the office and past the indignant meeting of shareholders and down the garage where you scramble to get into the car, sharply accelerating into the New York rush hour and onto the road where the policeman told you to meet him.