The Girl in Purple (Pietro Maximoff) #Wattys2015

The Boy Who Drank

A/N: Question of the Day is at the bottom of the chapter!

One Year Later.

JARVIS knew that it was a bad day. One of the days where he stumbled in drunk at 4 in the morning, reeking of alcohol but womanless. When he was womanless, it was a bad day. Woman lifted his mood, provided him with something he would otherwise have to pay for.

But it was not one of those good nights, it was a bad one. JARVIS watched as the young master returned to his empty penthouse suite, green beer bottle in hand and clothing rumpled. He noticed the lipstick marks on his collar but where was the girl? He assumed that she had had her fun but did not care about his needs.

The AI was desperate to ask the young master if he was okay but he knew that with this particular situation, it was always better to remain silent and allow the episode to pass, rather than interfere with matters that 'did not concern him'. They did concern JARVIS though, he cared deeply about all of his masters' and mistresses' wellbeings and it distressed the "butler" seeing him in this state of mind.

He stumbled into the living room, taking care not to trip over the intricate, persian rug Tony had purchased at an auction for some charity that dealt with some place with poverty. He hated the rug but Pepper had insisted that it would look good for Tony's image, if he was seen to be contributing to charity.

If Arrabella had been alive, Pietro and her would have surely laughed (her silently) about the monstrosity. Except Arrabella was gone now, so it didn't matter what she would have done.

Only, it mattered to him. When she had died and left him, he had tried so much to not let her absence affect him emotionally. Unfortunately, some plans are easier in theory than in practice. From the moment he had received the news, Pietro was distraught, inconsolable. There was no fixing the broken male.

That was when the drinking and the women had become a regular pastime in his life. Initially, it had just been the drinking but soon the women had been added into the equation. Women made things all the more enjoyable when drunk but all the more painful when he woke up the in morning next to a stranger, whose name he couldn't even remember.

He walked over to the large window that overlooked the magnificent city, NYC. In the early morning light, the skyscrapers and apartment buildings were bathed in a soft, violet hue. Everything looked powdery soft, unlike at night when the neon lights are blaring and the city was a blur with noise and life. No, at this time everything was much calmer and pleasant.

He felt dead inside. He saw no beauty in the landscape before him. The rising sun only ever reminded him now that it was going to be another day he had to face without her.

Leaning his head on the glass, his vision was blurred by the involuntary tears that now escaped his red, sore eyes. The salt stung as it made trails down his cheeks. He embraced the pain, it reminded him that he was still alive. It cut through the alcohol's anesthetic affect. His agony was no longer numbed by the toxic substances he had consumed but were now brought to the surface.

He sunk to the floor, reduced to a quivering mess. The cool glass burnt his cheek as he leant against it. This was how he spent most of his free time, crying over his loss.

JARVIS could no longer watch Pietro suffer in such a way. To verbally question his actions was a waste of time and electrical energy, instead JARVIS had another method that he had found occasionally helpful and would sometimes provided him with a respite from the pain.

Searching through his archives, JARVIS came across just what he was looking for. In a matter of moments, the soft voice of a 1950's singer gently spread through the apartment, filling every dark corner with it's light and breathy voice. This song was one of his favourites.

He instantly recognised it and for a minute, forgot about his sorrow. He listened silently, memorising each lyric carefully.

As he sat there against the window, his eyelids began to feel heavy. He wasn't sure if the tiredness was from the alcohol or the song. Whatever was causing it, he was grateful for the oncoming blissful unaware. He welcomed anything that may ease him of the grey clouds that plagued his mind.

Just as he was about to slip away, he knew that he had someone to thank. Booze and women were not enough to fill the void she had left in his heart. Thankfully, he had someone watching out for him. "G'night, JARVIS." he slurred.

"Goodnight, Mr Maximoff." JARVIS replied, allowing the tracks soothing melody to carry is friend into a hopefully, peaceful sleep...