1964-01-13 - Post Dance Blues
Summary: After their semi-weekly dance class together, Strange invites Pepper to tea. She eventually fesses up to why she is not herself and chooses vigor over his company.
Related: All the Vigor logs.
Theme Song: None
strange pepper 


*

It seems they survived the dance class after all! One last spin and a polite dip, more lean than dramatic drop, as Madame LeFevrier lifts the needle from the phonograph (how classy and appropriate to have one there) leaves the Doctor and the red-head to consider one another. Nodding his head, he gives her a kind smile.

"And that is that. You did well." He'll keep her hand simply to lead her from the dance floor and deposit her by the chairs and coat hooks. Everyone else slowly makes their way to collect their various jackets and purses, hats and scarves, and Strange slows in wrapping his own crimson garment about his neck as he observes how Madame LeFevrier explains the payment options in a voice not much louder than the general buzz of conversation. "If you'll excuse me," he murmurs to Pepper as he strides over to the matronly dance teacher.

His reasoning is handing off a check, pre-written with the confidence that he'd chosen well in attending this first session, and they seem to exchange a pleasant little conversation of sorts. Madame LeFevrier even gives him a knowing little smile in response to something he said and he laughs in reply, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black Belstaff.

*

The last few weeks, Pepper has been not exactly reliable at class. Here and there, but more often missing than not. Still, she forced herself to come tonight. Pepper needed normal things back in her life. She had to get things back under control. Still, her mind wasn't there. She went through the motions, followed the steps, made small talk, but she wasn't her normal self. And, in truth, it's hard to miss the signs for someone who even vaguely knows her. She's lost weight, her cheeks and throat hollow. Her clothing has been taken in with pins to not look loose on her. Blue eyes? Bloodshot, perhaps slightly sleepless, but she had enough energy to get through the class. She's just some weird shell of herself.

So, the end of the class has been a touch of a relief. She'll collect her coat and go home. Take another dose before bed to push the headache away and sleep it off so no one would be hit by her voice, even accidentally. As he murmurs his excuse, Pepper blinks, "Yes, yes…of course. It… it was good seeing you, Stephen… I… I'm going to go." She absently murmurs to him, mind still half scattered, before she turns to step back to her things and quickly pull off her dance shoes. Just slightly shaking hands replace her winter booties onto her feet and she shrugs into her jacket. She can't really make it for the door fast enough, but that is where she's headed now.

*

Glancing over his shoulder, he notes the rather hasty retreat on the part of the red-head and narrows his eyes. Excusing himself in turn from the dance teacher's presence — after all, she has other questions to answer — the good Doctor makes his way over in time to open the door for her.

"Allow me to walk you to the curb, at least." He gestures for her to exit into the hallway of the third floor. Don't think he missed her rather listless mien this evening and especially the broken blood vessels in her eyes. It's near-impossible to avoid eye contact while dancing. No reason to bring it up during class, seeing as it's a rather personal and nosey line of questioning, but now that they can walk and talk, Strange would like at least a simple answer to assuage his curiosity. Said interest is tinged with worry; she's a sweet thing, clearly a perfectionist like himself and always pushing her own boundaries. He can relate on more than one friendly level and not only that, she's a fantastic dancer. To see her looking rather gray is enough to take his debonair charm down a notch and make his brows begin to knit in a frown.

Once out in the hallway, he's certain to shut the door and walk ahead of her a few steps before slowing and eyeing her with a concerned manner. "Miss Pepper, this might be impolite, but what's wrong?"

*

"Oh, that… That's not… necessary…" Pepper almost stammers. If her hands were more steady, though she'd been fine through most of the dance, she could have gotten her boots on fast enough to escape him. As is, however, she didn't. And there he is, being all dashing and gentlemanly. The redhead gives him a half smile, trying not to be rude, "But… if… well… I guess it's that time of the night. If you insist." She resets her expression, giving him that forcefully bright, energetic smile that she saves for morning meetings and when the people from the department of defense come in the offices. It's not a natural smile.

A smooth shrug into her long coat, and they jointly make their way down the hall, towards the stairs which would easily take them out to the street. She almost runs into him as he slows and turns to eye her — clearly, her mind is a hundred miles away. She blinks and half stumbles back, head jerking up for those pale eyes to face him. "…Wrong? Nothing, nothing… just… going through some changes with work. It's fine. I got another job. Everything's fine now." Lies. Such lies. SHe's not a great liar, especially to someone such as him, but she is doing her best.

*

A single — nay, both — eyebrows slowly rise in an expression of pure disbelief. Illyana, his erstwhile not-quite-Apprentice-anymore, could at least gain herself a few minutes of contentment from her inquisitive mentor before he returned with a loophole found in her explanation. Suspicious Sorcerer is suspicious.

He sighs slowly and then continues walking along. "You don't seem fine, but it's not my place to judge." It isn't; they are naught more than friends over dancing and vampires. He clumps down the stairs, thumpity-thud, leading the way down the flights to the foyer of the building. At the front doors, Strange pauses again, a gloved hand resting on the latch. "If you drink tea, I know of a place in Greenwich Village. It's not too late to stop by. I'll spot the taxi fare," he adds, giving her a small cajoling grin.

*

Pepper has partially disconnected.

*

Silence comes for a long moment, Pepper walking along side of him, struggling between pride and the fact that, maybe, he had an answer. Previously, he had answers when no one else did. Maybe he did here also. But that would involve confessing the most shameful sort of secret. Her throat tightens a bit as she walks with him, wincing just slightly against the sudden winter wind as the front doors open. She managed to bite her tongue the whole way, but now he's turning those gentle eyes on her again and the offer of tea.

"…Tea…tea would be lovely but… I really… I need to get home. I can't…" Pepper confesses, not quite meeting his eyes. And there, he might see it. The shaking of fingertips, the shiftiness of her gaze. That sallow look. Even in upper classes who generally escape such sullied, street level habits, an addict is an addict. He'd probably seen more than a few coming and going during his time at the hospital and she has every mark. And she needs to get home. Where the fix is. Pepper Potts is jonesing and she's awful at hiding it.

*

Silence comes for a long moment, Pepper walking along side of him, struggling between pride and the fact that, maybe, he had an answer. Previously, he had answers when no one else did. Maybe he did here also. But that would involve confessing the most shameful sort of secret. Her throat tightens a bit as she walks with him, wincing just slightly against the sudden winter wind as the front doors open. She managed to bite her tongue the whole way, but now he's turning those gentle eyes on her again and the offer of tea.

"…Tea…tea would be lovely but… I really… I need to get home. I can't…" Pepper confesses, not quite meeting his eyes. And there, he might see it. The shaking of fingertips, the shiftiness of her gaze. That sallow look. Even in upper classes who generally escape such sullied, street level habits, an addict is an addict. He'd probably seen more than a few coming and going during his time at the hospital and she has every mark. And she needs to get home. Where the fix is. Pepper Potts is jonesing and she's awful at hiding it.

*

ROLL: Strange +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 67

*

Amanda arrives from RP Nexus.

*

Amanda has arrived.

*

Amanda leaves, heading towards RP Nexus [O].

*

Amanda has left.

*

Pepper has partially disconnected.

*

"Miss Pepper."

It's the same calmly-perceptive tone Strange would use with a student or a friend alike, the one he'll get to use in the future on either if not both of a dynamic duo who enter his life. The front door is shut once again and he eyes her with tempered concern now.

"I won't ask what you need to go home for, but I will ask you again: if you drink tea, I know of a place. If you'd rather go home, then I'll hail you a taxi. Either way, the decision is yours."

And it is — it always is and always will be, in the sense of an addiction. He knows, though his personal obsession leans towards assuaging pride at the expense of relationships around him rather than any powder or liquid. There he stands, quietly, awaiting her move. Either way, he'll be the gentleman and not push — not right now. One catches more flies with honey than vinegar.

*

The redhead can almost feel that weight behind his gaze. Knowledge, a touch of pressure, the gentle offer from that older soul that she'd come to trust for miracles performed alone — including his ability to keep up on the dance floor. Pepper breathes out quietly, dragging one hand across her face in some attempt to put herself back together. Whether he knew or not, he accused her of nothing. And she did have more than one hit hidden around her purse and shoes (just in case). She could manage through a tea.

"…W-well…alright… One cup. I can't stay late… nothing.. Nothing much at home, really…" That is also a lie, but she's trying to make it sound casual as she offers him a slightly paper thin smile.

*

That ghost of a smile is returned by one a tad stronger that curves the lines of his goatee.

"I won't keep you out past your bedtime, Miss Pepper, not to worry. Besides, a cup of tea might do you some good." There's a knowing twinkle in those steel-blue eyes even as he leads the way to the street to hail said taxi. They don't wait long, what with how he seems to have such luck in waving down the second one to pass. A good thing too; the lovely red-head doesn't seem to be dressed much for the cold of standing outside in the night.

Directions are given. However, not to the resting place of the redhead who sits beside him in the back seat. No, to the little tea shop owned by old Mrs. O'Riley not two blocks down from the Sanctum proper.

On the way, he glances over at her and frowns. Whether she catches it or not is no matter; it's a keen searching for information he can gather right off the bat with visual clues. Too many bones showing, nervy…all the tell-tale signs of an addict of some sort. A shame. Maybe…just maybe he can talk some sense into her over a cuppa.

Paying the fare is as easy as handing off the cash and coin, "Keep the change," is added with a congenial grin, and the good Doctor leads the way into the tea shop. It's a sweet little place, not much bigger than a standard caf, with a little counter that's home to a cash register and a small glass display of a handful of baked goods. The tables are few, only two chairs per table, and old Mrs. O'Riley looks up from kneading dough at the surface behind the counter.

"Doctor, you're out late! And with company!"

"I can't resist your tea, even this late at night," Strange replies, flashing the most winning smile he can manage. He moves to stand before the register and eyes the handwritten chalkboard listing all of the various types of tea. "We need a tea that will…warm our bones. Help us sleep tonight." Glancing over at Pepper, he tilts his head in a come-hither gesture.

Dusting the flour from her hands, old Mrs. O'Riley squints at her own board before sniffing sharply. "The Tired Tincture should do. No valerian though, I don't want either of you falling asleep before you get home. Too cold outside to be sleeping in an alley."

The good Doctor laughs. "I trust you, Miss O'Riley."

"Eh, get, you cad," she replies sharply though with good humor. "Go sit your rumps and I'll fetch you the tea — scones too." Not a few minutes later, the pair sit at a small table against the wall. Strange sits oddly sideways in his chair, resting his back against the surface, and sips at his tea. "Very good, don't you think?" His gaze slides to Pepper once more.

*

ROLL: Pepper +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 72

*

ROLL: Strange +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 61

*

It's really all Pepper can do to keep her head on straight during the taxi ride. She kept telling herself she could really quit, or wait if she had to. So, all Pepper needs to do is focus on her breath, clear her head, and get through the ride through the city. Fortunately, Strange isn't all that chatty, so she doesn't need to focus on actually making conversation as she sways in the back of the taxi cab. This had been a poor idea, but there was no going back now. She simply needed to get through one cup of tea, then there would be home.

The little shop is beyond welcoming. Despite exhaustion and the slight shakes, one cannot help but feel a bit more at ease here. She actually even chuckles a bit as the owner flirts with Strange like that, "…Lucky she's a married woman, or you might have someone following you home, Stephen…" Pepper teases him quietly, trying at another smile, but the headache is worse. Everything is worse. Even the pleasant, cozy lighting of the shop seemed harsh against her eyes.

She was not going to make it through tea. Not without downgrading, fast and obviously. If she could sneak just one of the pills… No one would be the wiser. So, Pepper does her best as they move towards the table, trying to hide her motions in setting her jacket down and then futzing with her purse. She's not a magician. Not all that good at palming things. But she slides the little blue pill out of the little interior pocket of her purse and into her fingertips as she puts it down on the floor. Now it hovers in her hand, palmed, trying to find a quick excuse to slip it past her lips. "This place is… it almost feels like someone's home. It's lovely."

*

At Pepper's murmured ribbing, before they get to their table, Strange offers back a wink and a soft reply of,

"I think she humors me because she finds me charming and knows that I'm taken."

Once they are settled, he does eye her fiddling with her purse, but at first, he writes it off as the simple search for some product or comb or various feminine doodad of sorts. But wait…remember earlier, Stephen, take a guess… Sipping at the tea, he savors the chamomile blending with bright lemongrass and earthy kava-kava; there might be hops in there as well, beneath the strongest flavors. The good Doctor nods and glances around the little place.

"I think Mrs. O'Riley spends enough time here that she may as well call it home. It's a home-away-from-home for me…neutral ground, in a sense. No one seems to want to start a fist-fight in a shop run by a harmless little old woman." A sly smile curls his lips as he eyes the old woman in question, kneading dough again behind the counter. "Though don't discount her. I'm pretty sure she keeps a sawed-off shotgun beneath the register."

He sets down his cup of tea abruptly and holds out his palm. "Humor me, Miss Pepper. What's in your hand? You didn't put anything away in your purse and I didn't see what you pulled from it. Not lipstick, clearly, or a comb, and you seem to be waiting for something that isn't a scone. Medicine then…?" His gaze narrows.

*

Another slight chuckle escapes Pepper's lips as he mentions no fights, and the shot gun. But the redhead looks a touch wary, pale eyes flickering around the place once more, "Well…I hope you are right about the shot gun, because considering the state of New York these days… I suspect you just jinxed her about the fist fights. I wouldn't be surprised if people would start a fight in a day care right now." Pepper mutters, a touch more bitter than she had been before the holidays. She has changed, clearly. Even if it's just been subtle nudges in a more hardened, slightly more bitter direction.

But the bitter teasing dies away the moment he asks to be humored. Pepper's eyes drop to her hands. Guilt. Shame. She looks like a shamed, sick child for a moment, a few locks of red tumbling in front of her face as she stares at the little pill in her hands. "…yes. Of a sorts." Pepper whispers, still not quite able to meet his eyes. Girls like her didn't get INTO problems like this. They were good. Innocent. Not dirty addicts like people on the street. But his gaze still weighs on her, heavily… and if anyone would know a magic cure, it might be him.

Too quiet, after another heartbeat or two, Pepper carefully picks up her hand to open it and reveal a single, unmarked blue pill. If he's heard anything about the super power drug going around, Vigor… this is exactly it. It almost looks innoculous, except for having no numbers or marking of a legitmately prescribed drug. Pepper still doesn't dare meet his eyes as she murmurs softly. "…I was volunteering with the National Guard during the evacuations. A… a lot of us got dosed. Someone spiked the guard's water…"

*

Carefully, without ever dropping his gaze on her face, he reaches out a bit further. The unspoken message is for her to drop the unmarked pill into his palm of her own accord.

The good Doctor doesn't recognize the unknown medication, but he sure as hell can assume this is the drug that she's currently hooked on. Her story rings a faint bell in his memory, but doesn't bring forth a name for the likely-illegal drug.

His tone begins in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Miss Pepper, that you were subjected to such an indignity. Whatever this is, you can decide here and now to begin weaning yourself off of it. Or you can keep it for yourself. Whatever you choose to do, do not take it in my presence." By the end of his thoughts, his voice is low and calm and utterly assured as to what his reaction will be.

*

ROLL: Pepper +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 64

*

While he reaches out farther, towards the nasty, little blue thing, Pepper's hand withdraws closer to herself. She is fiercely protective of it, even if she has other doses. This, she is not handing over, no matter HOW much he gives her that look. Her fingertips shake, desperate to do something else with the pill, the whole reason she took it out, but she doesn't push it that far. Not yet.

Bloodshot, shame filled eyes flicker up to him, her throat tighter at his words. She shakes her head almost too insistently, "… there… there is no… weaning from it. I tried… we've… tried. I thought I'd… die. I might have. We… I… couldn't continue. There are people doing research for a… a cure, or replacement, but there's nothing yet. So… so I carry on. It's just been a few hours. It… it gets hard." Hours? She's down to hours between doses. The redhead is down the rabbit hole and deep.

Then he's giving her that ultimatium and Pepper's pale eyes darken a bit. She stiffens, shoulders and spine, her fingertips white knuckle clutching around the precious pill again. Defensiveness strikes hard, even if he could have maybe helped her. She won't ask it now. "…F-fine, then. I… I am sorry, Dr. Strange. I should be going. I am not very pleasant company right now. Sorry… for the tea." Pepper stands stiffly, not even bothering to shoulder into the jacket. She needs the pill and she needs it now. SHe clutches her jacket across one arm and turns on the ball of her foot, double timing for the door.

She does, at least, make it outside before pressing the precious dose past her lips. She leans against the outside of the shop, in the freezing winter weather, catching her breath as the slow steadiness of indulgence will finally start to come over her again.

*

Well…it was worth a shot. Old Mrs. O'Riley was fortunately out of the room when his fellow dancer abruptly bolted from his presence in order to take the pill. His eyes lighten a touch with the Sight and the air redolent with steamed herbs cyclones up around him in a brief outwards manifestation of a flash of temper. It settles, as does he, and he sips again at his tea as he considers options.

A letter. Something innocuous, polite, a reminder that she knows where he lives. A reminder that there is a bottom to this rabbit hole and it's not a kind impact. Yes, he'll pen it on the morrow and place it in the mail. She can choose whether or not to contact him again.

For now, the Sorcerer sits and broods over his cuppa, something he tends to do quite well.

*

The next day, a short letter goes into the mail and makes its way from the Sanctum onwards to the living quarters of a certain Ms. Pepper Potts. It reads:

"Miss Pepper,

It’s difficult to watch you struggle and I wish that I could do more. Know that I’m here for you should you wish to talk. Come to the mansion on Bleecker St. A cup of tea is but a knock away.

Doctor Strange"

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