ANNA WRINGS HER HANDS in her lap, nervously twisting and untwisting her fingers as the plane begins its descent into New York's John F. Kennedy International Airport. She'd spent a large majority of her eleven hour flight in a state of mild panic, despite her general love of flying. The Airbus A330 was quiet and comfortable - most of the seats were full - and the fact that they were flying overnight meant that a majority of the passengers were attempting to catch some sleep.
Wedged into a window seat near the back of the plane, Anna watched the solid black expanse of the Atlantic Ocean for a bulk of the flight. There isn't much to see when you're flying over the ocean, at night, from a cruising altitude of 37,000 feet, but she kept her eyes directed out the window nonetheless. There was no point in trying to sleep either. She was completely aware of the fact that if her nerves didn't keep her up, her nightmares would. Instead, she tried to keep her mind blank, and - considering the state of her nerves - she definitely didn't succeed at doing so.
Once the plane was on the ground and at the gate, she could feel bile rising in her throat. The captain would turn off the seatbelt sign any moment, but every fiber in Anna's being told her it would be much better if she were to stay strapped into her seat until she could depart with the plane whenever and wherever it went next.
She inhales deeply, and at the tell-tale ding of the seatbelt sign, she unbuckles the strap around her waist and waits for the plane to begin deboarding. She's traveling light, still wearing her white button down shirt and green khaki skinny pants, as Magnus refused to let her return to her hotel room for her belongings. Eren promised to retrieve them for her, and she was sent to the airport with nothing but the sweat and dirt-covered clothes on her back, a few lira, and her passport. Magnus had arranged for her ticket to New York, as well as a driver to pick her up on arrival, but everything else is on her.
It's all on me, she realizes.
Eren gave her the photos of Iron Man's collected victims, including a police photograph of Rifat's body on the street outside the Magnaura Cafe and one of his murdered family, but she'd refused to look at them. Right now, it was enough to have them tucked inside an envelope in her pants' pocket, fueling her rage toward the billionaire named Tony Stark.
She clenches her fists tightly, then releases them as she stands from her seat and walks down the lit aisle to exit the aircraft. Nodding at the attendants and the captain as she departs, a look of indifference paints her features. It's the only expression she can muster to mask the hatred and pain growing inside of her, as her only alternative to sheer rage is to feel nothing at all.
*****
Tony
"I'm fine, Pepper, I swe--," Tony insists, gripping his forehead as he talks to Pepper Potts in his office in Stark Tower.
"Really?" Pepper interrupts, "I don't see how you could be fine about this, Tony. It's madness. Not only is it all over the news, Stark Industries stock has plummeted. People are calling for your arrest."
She'd been in New York for a few days overseeing the reconstruction on the tower, which he was now leaning toward renaming Avengers Tower seeing as only the 'A' remained on the outside of the building. After news had broken about the innocent man's death in Istanbul, Tony had flown immediately to New York for answers. He had not, however, flown to New York to be chewed out by his girlfriend.
"Pepper, I get it, trust me," he snaps at her, slamming the glass of scotch he'd just poured down on the counter. "I screwed up. Moving on, we need to figure out how and why this is happening."
She crosses her arms in front of her chest, glaring at him as he tosses back a drink of the scotch. He savours the sharp burn of liquor hitting his throat, grimacing as the fire travels down his chest and spreads outward.
"God, that's not a shooting drink," Tony says to himself, smacking his lips before pouring the rest of the glass down his throat.
"Tony," Pepper sighs impatiently.
She looks beautiful in her blue silk dress, her arms bare and her feet in a less-than-sensible pair of nude stilettos. Even with frustration, worry, and - let's face it - a little bit of anger etched across her face, he still thought she was the most beautiful creature on the planet. Why she stayed with a wreck like him, he'll never understand.
"You're right, I'm sorry," Tony replies, refilling his glass and pouring another for Pepper.
He carries them over to her, coaxing her arms to uncross by handing her a drink, then pulls at her elbow so she'll sit on the sofa with him.
"I don't want a drink, Tony," she tells him softly, her eyes glued on his face.
He grins, the smile ending well before his eyes, "We all need one. Some more than others."
Still, he places his drink on the coffee table in front of him, then Pepper's, before placing his forehead in his hands. She watches him carefully, and the anger dissipates as he groans in agony. Lifting a hand, she massages his shoulder gently.
"We'll figure it out," she reassures him. "I promise."
Tony doesn't move, choosing to keep his face buried in his hands. If she didn't know him better, she would've thought him asleep as she watches the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath.
"I killed a man, Pepper," Tony whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. "An innocent man."
A voice from across the room speaks up, making her presence known to the couple sitting on the couch.
"Yes, you did," Anna says firmly.
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