[for Pepper] carry that weight

[daretodo]

"Forty-eight... Forty-nine... Fifty... Fifty-one," I count steadily under my breath, a push-up accompanying each number. This isn't something I'd have to do at home, my patrols of the city enough to keep me in shape without even trying, but I can't say the same for here. My sessions with Cap are ramping up -- not to mention a heckuva lot more challenging than I'd ever let on -- but he told me on the very first day that I can do the sit-ups and push-ups on my own time. If improving my balance is his initial focus, then strengthening my core seems like one of the brighter ideas I've had lately.

"Fifty-two... Fifty-three... Fifty-four... Fifty-five..."

I'm out on the terrace, wanting the fresh air from having been cooped in the workshop for the better part of the morning, and not having gotten very far in much of anything. It's easier to think when I'm not trying, sometimes, when I can get lost in something physical. I'm not a computer. I can't work in a vacuum, and hope to pull an answer to an impossible question out of nowhere. So I take my distractions where I can get them, push myself in a more productive way than enforced insomnia, and hope to draw my attention away from the constant gnawing pain that Mary Jane's left in her absence, at least for a little while.

"Fifty-six... Fifty-seven... Fifty-eight... Fifty-nine... Sixty..."

Comments

[wildlyconflicted]

"Not much. I wasn't kidding when I said it's a bad idea for me to cook," she replies and then affords a brief nod to the eccentric-looking refrigerator. "I think there's some leftover shrimp and pasta, some fruit and things for salad."

She steps to one of the cabinets and begins rifling through the modest contents. "We don't keep much in the way of spices. Salt and pepper, and I may have some garlic… ah." Half a bulb in hand, she turns and offers an apologetic smile. "Honestly, even if you just heated some of the leftovers up, it would be fine."

[daretodo]

"...I can reheat leftovers," I say, blinking at the bulb of garlic, and letting out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. Even having stayed here for weeks, I never paid much attention to the kitchen, usually finding my meals elsewhere, but now I'm not sure if it's something I can ignore. I've lived in bachelor pads better stocked than this, and that is saying something.

"And it won't even take me three hours."

[wildlyconflicted]

"You're doing better than Tony, then," Pepper replies with a soft chuckle, and replaces the garlic in the cupboard, where it will likely stay until it sprouts and she has to throw it out. She isn't entirely sure why she brought it up to the house in the first place.

"Did I tell you about the birthday cake?" she asks as she moves to pull down some plates instead. "He's never allowed in the kitchen again."

[daretodo]

"At least he remembered your birthday?" I offer, grabbing the leftovers out of the fridge. "I mean, I had to tell him, but I'm pretty sure he only hears half of what I say, anyway, so it's still pretty impressive, you have to admit."

[wildlyconflicted]

"I seem to recall you chastising me for holding Tony to a different standard than everyone else," Pepper replies, her attention still fixed on collecting place settings but a small smile curving her lips. "It had strawberries on it. I'm allergic to strawberries. Not sure impressive is the world I would use, there."

[daretodo]

"Touché, Ms. Potts," I say, filing away that bit of information for later. Ex-nay on the strawberries, then. "I'm hardly about to argue with such impeccable logic as that."