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NPC Ross run by Pepper!
Twenty four hours after Pepper had ended up Betty's roommate, Betty made a visit rather than a call to a formal New York office. It'd taken some work to get entrance without an appointment, but Doctor Ross had been patient enough. She'd waited hours outside the office to get a glimpse of the General.
She had, however, mentally prepped for the occasion for months. While Pepper presents an easy excuse for the present meeting, this has been a long time coming. The peace offering in a tin on her lap had been a last-minute decision when she'd chosen to show up in person. Her mother's chocolate chip cookies were something of legend in the Ross household; a tradition Betty had upheld long after her passing. The deep blue dress she wears is a colour her father had once told her suited her well, and she made sure it was of respectable length and form. Her hair had been flipped outwards to match Jackie O's. All in all, she looks the part of the dutiful daughter.
Forget that she hasn't called for years.
Her hands fold overtop the tin, and she manages a vague curl of her lips. Bring on the awkward.
*
Had someone actually told Thaddeus Ross that his rather long estranged *daughter* was here, he probably would have stopped or shifted a few things around. But no one said her name because she didn't actually *give* her name. However, he did have a photo on his desk of her. Even after all these years. And it's a particularly enterprising petty officer who has an eye for details who mentioned in the hallway that the woman who has been waiting looks an awful lot like the woman on his desk. That was enough to stop the general in his tracks.
Well, mostly. He still had to finish the meeting. And get the one report filed to Washington. But it means she's only waiting five more minutes and not two more hours. Then the man, in his crisp suit, hair and mustache far more gray than the last time they saw each other, tells his secretary to let Betty through. He's not doing this in a public hallway.
His office is spartan. Large, comfortable leather chairs, a big leather couch, but not many decorations. Photos of her mother. A few photos of her as a child. And the last photo he could get of her on his desk. He does still care. There are metals in a box on the wall — her great grandfather's, grandfather's and his, as well as several other bits of military memorabilia. He watches her quietly as she comes in the room, not letting an inch of emotion betray his face. Not quite yet.
*
The secretary had ushered her into the office, but hadn't exactly announced her. Instead, she's left to wander into the room on her own to see her father. Her breath catches in her throat. She's an army brat; too disciplined to let her nerves overtake her. Instead, with a kind of discipline, she treads to his desk and sets the tin upon its surface. She lips quirk upwards slightly in a practiced not-quite-confident smile. The last time she felt this way in front of her father, she was returning from boarding school after being sent away after her mother died. She hadn't forgiven him for that.
"General," her voice is almost detached. She swallows hard. "I made cookies," as if that's what brought her here today. Cookies. Because she had extra, clearly. She doesn't dare sit down until (or unless) invited.
*
The older man looks her up and down for several moments, the expression on his face emotionless, military cool and observational. He looks to her hips and frame, seeing how much weight she's put on or lost over the years, then back to her eyes and hair. How much had she aged? Changed? His own shoulders remain stiff and straight, standing, as if he half expected her to salute. But it's not the proper time or place. "Betty." He finally states flatly in acknowledgment. "You've finally come to apologize." It's not really a question, more a slightly stern expectation. He doesn't reach for the cookies.
Yet.
*
The comment has Betty's lips parting, and that polite smile faltering. She inhales a deep breath and then shakes her head. "No," she says. Unlike her father, her tone has no flatness, not detached emotion like him. "I'm not sorry. Not for what I think… not for what I believe." She pauses. "Not for who I love." She manages another flicker of a smile — this one awkward and forced; the uncomfortable machinations of an independent woman asserting herself. "I came to talk. To see if we could find some way to move on. We're not going to agree. I think we both know that." Her eyes lid lightly and she inhales a long breath. "But if you're too busy or don't want the conversation, I can see myself out."
*
The man stares her down a few moments, examining several things, and probably a few parts of his heart, as he watches the shadow of his wife, his beautiful daughter, across his desk. Finally, silently, he folds down into his chair. Even sitting he looks stiff, all lines and straight spine. He says nothing but reaches over for the tin and opens it. The scent of his wife's cookies hits him a moment later. For a heartbeat, he softens. Yes, he knows that recipe. He picks one out before silently offering the tin back in her direction, so they might both share having a cookie together. He takes a bite in silence, still watching her face. "…You have always known where to find me, Betty. If you had any want to have a relationship with your father, I have always been here."
*
Betty tugs the bottom of her dress and she can feel her body further stiffening. "The same goes for you, General," she manages a strained smile. Carefully, she plucks one of the cookies from the tin and issues him a small nod thanks for sharing. She straightens further. "I'm still at SHIELD. Still a resident at Astoria Hospital. Still in the same apartment." Her lips press together into a thin line. "Little change, General." When she steps closer to him, under his studying gaze, he can see the change in her eyes; the tired reflection behind them, and the circles she's aimed to cover specifically for this meeting. But even with the dark circles, the healthy glow in her cheeks, and the fine laugh lines that have started to form around her mouth seem to tell a different story. Not everything is sleepless nights and worry. "You look well," she observes.
*
As the woman comes closer, he does study her deeper. Thaddeus takes another bite of his cookie, munching almost thoughtfully. While he's enjoying the taste, something he has not had in a very long time, he doesn't really let it show through. The fact that he's still *eating* the cookie is enough to prove that he must be pleased. He does very little he doesn't believe in. He exhales quietly, not looking all that happy at her commentary about being in the same place, but he finally gives her a small nod. "You are looking well yourself. Mostly. You aren't sleeping. Bags under your eyes. SHIELD isn't working you too hard, are they? I heard they had that monster under wraps, finally."
*
The fact he's eating the cookie is enough to reassure Betty, even a bit. She takes a bite of her cookie and issues him a vague shrug. "No, I'm not sleeping." Her eyes turn downwards. "Not well, anyways." A glimmer of mischief enters her eyes, "They don't work me any harder than I choose. But I spend a lot of my off-time at SHIELD." The last about the monster, however causes that glimmer to drain from her gaze. "Bruce isn't and has never been a monster." Her chin lifts higher. "He's figuring out how to live with his condition." she swallows hard. "He's in the facility by choice." Her tongue rolls over her lips, "And, when he feels like he can, I've asked him into my apartment. He's agreed." Pause. "When he thinks he can get the Hulk under control." While Bruce and Thaddeus have always been very different, they always seemed to agree on one thing: Betty, in particular, had to be protected from the Hulk.
*
The comment about him comimg to her apartment darkens something behind the older man's eyes. Protective, disapproving, some tension runs through his shoulders almost immediately. But the follow up statement about getting the Hulk under control makes him ease. Just a bit. "…Yes, well, I cannot say that I'd approve of you living in sin, but he… at least, would not put your life at risk. Since I doubt it would ever truly be possible to control that thing, I suppose I don't have to worry about it." Then something in him actually seems to realize just how careless and cold his words sounded. Betty made some effort. She even made cookies. Finally, something in his face slightly eases. "…Betty… my little girl. I… I'm just worried for your safety, you know. I always have been. I… just want you safe. I love you." It's not an apology, he specifically never apologized, but there is a softness behind those words. He clearly does care.
*
"I didn't tell you for your approval," Betty defends. "I told you because I wanted you to know. Because mom would've wanted to know. We haven't exactly fostered a relationship by not talking." Her shoulders stiffen at the tidal wave of judgment that seems to crash over her. And she feels it. Each bit of it. All things considered, she manages to maintain some semblance of stoicism, but hers isn't as practiced as the General's, and so small chinks present in her expression. The softer words, with their near-warmth has her shoulders buckling a little, but she dare not lower her defences. "General, I…" her cheeks hue a brighter pink, "I love you too." Her nostrils flare slightly. "But this is my life."
*
It's silence again, for quite some time. The man just studies her, trying to piece some things together, to rearrange things in his head to not totally destroy what bits of progress they've made here. Finally, he stands from his chair and actually comes around to the front of his desk. Unless she fights him, he pulls her into a hug. A crushing, protective, tight hug. The sort she got as a little girl, all muscle and control, but it was done out of pure love. "Betty… Everything I've done. Everything I will do… it's just to protect you. To make sure you can continue having that life."
*
Betty easily falls into the hug. She returns it fiercely. Uncontrolled. Unbridled. "General, I just… I have to more than just… live. I need joy. Hope. Love." She inhales a deep breath. "I know you don't approve. I know you don't like him, that you're afraid for me. I know that even without the accident he's not who you would've chose for me." There's some semblance of concession there. "But I love him. And this is my choice. Living in sin or otherwise."
*
The hug doesn't release, not for the moment. He keeps tight there, his big hand reaching up to stroke over her hair for a heartbeat or two. The big breath that comes from him shakes only once, but then all those emotions are put neatly into place. He gives a single nod and finally lets go, looking Betty over without walking away. He still looms over her, standing several inches taller, but his big hand on her shoulder now is a gentle touch. "I know you do, and I know I cannot take this choice from you. But I will always do everything I can to protect you, you know that."
*
"I do," Betty agrees without stepping out of her father's space. Her smile grows and she allows her hands to drop to her sides. Things are strained, but they aren't impossible. And history is still what it is. Her tongue wets her lips and she emits a small sigh. "Dad," it's the first time she's called him that in an age, "I love you. I missed you." She swallows hard. That was her ace. "I… think we should have dinner. Every other week. A family dinner. Just for… Catching up." She swallows around the growing lump in her throat. "If you want. I can still cook." As evidence, her gaze trails towards the cookie tin.
And as an afterthought she adds, "I also have a roommate who could use a favour. Pepper Potts worked as Tony Stark's assistant for a long time and is in need of employment. I said I would talk to you while I was here…"
*
The man finally, fully lets go as the offer of dinner comes. THe more being worked up she gets, the more under control he gets his emotions. He stalks around the back of the desk and sits back down, stiff and straight. He does, however, take another cookie as he studies her. "I don't know if I can do every other week. At least once a month. You can set up the appointments with my secretary. She knows my schedule." Then that after thought comes and his head tilts, eyes narrowing just a bit. "…And why is she in need of employment now? A good assistant isn't an asset worth losing…"
*
"That's the thing. She was let go from Stark Industries. Through an accident she received a treatment of Vigor. You've probably heard of it — " Betty's eyes tick back towards her father. "Gives people powers. Boosts those that already have them." Her skin pales some. "I'm helping her deal with the problem. Well," her eyes tick upwards, "SHIELD is helping her. But she has the dosage she needs to maintain herself and stave off the withdrawal until our scientists can find a cure."
*
It's like Betty knows her father, putting the temptation of an empowered individual, being given those powers by *drugs* right in front of him. The General's head tilts slightly, interest clearly sparked in his eyes, but he doesn't comment on that. He keeps his voice carefully neutral as he states, "Well, that is a shame. If you are willing to vouch for her, I am certain we could find a place for a young woman in a rough situation. Tell her to report in MOnday morning, 0900 hours, and I'll introduce her to a few people." And probably put her through an entire battery of blood tests, but Betty didn't need to know that.
*
The sparkle in her father's eyes isn't missed, but it's also not remarked on. "I'll let her know. And I can vouch for her. She's brilliant. Too qualified to run around a secretary pool. And far too talented to disappear into anonymity." Her lips quirk into an appreciative smile. "Thank you, General," she nods curtly. "I know you're very busy and I don't want to keep you from the craziness that is your day — " her lips twist to the side " — so I'll leave you to it. But, I will speak to your secretary on my way out and arrange for a dinner in a few weeks if your schedule will allow."
*
"Understood, Betty. I'll get her in a good place." Oh yes, the General wasn't going to let such an asset get away. But he doesn't push it more either. He simply stands up, as is proper when a woman is exiting the room. He doesn't move for another hug. "Thank you for coming, Betty. It has been very good seeing you. I will make certain to get to that dinner, within the month. We… we will talk more. I promise." He returns that curt nod. "…Be safe, Betty. I… love you." It's a bit odd, that being the last thing to say, but he's trying to make an effort. ANd he does mean it. With that, he watches her go, not sitting until she's out the door.
*