#goodbye you scratchy motherfucker you will not be missed

[esoomris]

just realized that that stupid ribbed collar they put on t-shirts is a separate piece of fabric and can be removed with a seam ripper. my quality of life is about to improve immeasurably

[sinceileftyoublog]

30 (Technically 34) Albums We Loved That Happened To Come Out in 2020

So much has already been said and written about this cursed past year, but a few good things came out of it, including the music. Album-wise, like many before it and many to come, it was an embarrassment of riches. But even with so much time on our hands to devour new tunes, it was often old favorites, songs of comfort or familiarity that garnered the heaviest rotation. For many artists, too, it was a year ripe for revisiting or reissues of old material, looking at existing songs with fresh and new perspectives. Simply put, with so much to listen to, new and old, the prospect of ranking a finite number of albums felt not only daunting, but frankly a bit stupid. Maybe we were late to the game, but 2020 taught us that music should and can be appreciated in multiple contexts, not limited to but including when it first came out and when it was heard again and again, even if years later. The records below--listed in alphabetical order--happened to be released in some form in 2020, whether never-before-heard or heard before but in a different format. And the only thing I know is that we’ll be listening to them in 2021 and beyond.

Autechre - SIGN & PLUS (Warp)

The legendary British electronic music duo surprise released SIGN a mere month and a half after its announcement and then PLUS 12 days later. The former was a beatific collection of soundscapes that belied the band’s usual harsh noise, while PLUS embraced that noise right back, drawing you in with the clattering chaotic burbles of opener “DekDre Scap B” and lurching forward. -Jordan Mainzer

Against All Logic - 2017-2019 (Other People)

The perennially chill ambient house artist Nicolas Jaar had a busy 2020, as usual, releasing two albums under his name, Cenizas and Telas. But it was 2017-2019, the follow-up to the debut album from his Against All Logic moniker, that came first and throughout the year helped to illustrate Jaar’s penchant for combining inspired samples with club beats and tape hiss. Take the way the lovelorn vocals of “Fantasy” or soulful coos of “If Loving You Is Wrong” war skittering, scratchy percussion and cool arpeggios, respectively: Jaar is coming into his own as a masterful producer almost a decade after he released his first full-length. Oh, and bonus points for including none other than Lydia Lunch on a banger so blunt it would make Death Grips blush. - JM

Bartees Strange - Live Forever (Memory Music)

Like many, my introduction to Bartees Strange was through Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy, his EP of The National covers. Creativity and shifting perspectives shine through each song’s reimaging, like flipping the coarse, almost manic “Mr. November” into something softer, more meditative. It felt like a mere peek into what was to come on Live Forever. Bartees Strange is a world-builder. Each track on his debut unfolds and welcomes you to a wildly engaging tableau, a fully constructed vision. “Jealousy” opens with soft vocals and birdsong. “In a Cab” is the slick soundtrack to racing through a cityscape in the rain, seeing the blurred lights of the high-rises above as you pass by. “Kelly Rowland” warps wistful pop song feelings. “Flagey God” takes you into a dark, pulsing club while only a few songs later, “Fallen For You” wraps you in echoed vocals and romantic, raw acoustic guitar.

It’s an accomplishment to craft an album of individual songs that stand strongly on their own but still feel cohesive. 2020 wasn’t all bad. It gave us Live Forever, a declaration of an artist’s arrival. - Lauren Lederman

Charli XCX - how i’m feeling now (Atlantic)

Back in the spring, many of us wondered who would put out something great in 2020’s quarantine. It was hard to imagine that the intensity of a global pandemic would really allow for artists to embrace creativity. That thought carries the same eye-roll inducing feeling of “We’ll get some great punk music out of a Trump presidency,” but of course, Charli XCX delivered. Through live workshops with fans and longstanding collaborators, she delivered songs to dance alone to in your bubble. Charli embraces the unknown of the moment but clutches onto what’s familiar. Under the glitch-pop veneer of the album, she digs into the anxieties of not just this moment of time but of the bigger questions we all confront: trajectories of relationships with friends, romantic partners, ourselves. Album standouts “forever” and “i finally understand” embrace that feeling of both looking for control and accepting the lack of it. Charli is a master at balancing this. - LL

Christine and the Queens - La Vita Nuova (Because Music)

Named after a Latin text by Dante Alighieri about missing a woman who has died, Chris’ La Vita Nuova is not about mourning a death but instead about loneliness and isolation, post-relationship or otherwise. It doesn’t bang quite like her previous two albums, but it hits harder than ever.

Read our full review here.

Dogleg - Melee (Triple Crown)

Released on March 13th, right as the COVID-19 pandemic hit, Melee was supposed to be supported by three cancelled tours–SXSW, an opening slot for Microwave, and an opening slot for Joyce Manor–and an appearance at this year’s cancelled Pitchfork Music Festival. Listening to the songs on the record, you can only imagine how they translate: the jerky momentum of “Bueno”, build-up of “Prom Hell”, gang vocals of “Fox”, clear-vocal anthem of “Wrist”, and odd groove of “Ender”.

Read “Buckle Up, Motherfucker”, our interview with Dogleg.

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia & Dua Lipa/The Blessed Madonna: Club Future Nostalgia (Warner)

Where Dua Lipa’s much-anticipated second album Future Nostalgia succeeded was in its disco anthems and retro, club-ready beats, so who better to bring out the best of the record than The Blessed Madonna? The turntablist masterfully curates a mix of heavy hitters of the charts and the underground that not only offers an essential complement to Future Nostalgia but transcends it. Sending the tracks out to various producers and singers for features and then adding her own samples on top, she invites you to peel back the layers, enter a YouTube rabbit hole of sample searching as much as bopping along.

Read our full review here.

Emma Ruth Rundle & Thou - May Our Chambers Be Full (Sacred Bones)

Roadburn Festival has long been on my bucket list, and since the pandemic showed me how much live music can be taken away in a flash, when it’s safe again to travel and go to a festival, I may just pull the trigger and go--especially considering it’s the springboard for such fruitful and inspired collaborations as the one between Louisville singer-songwriter Emma Ruth Rundle and Baton Rouge sludge dwellers Thou. Rundle embraces the heavier opportunities on the follow-up to her incredible 2018 record On Dark Horses with the ever-flexible Thou backing her up vocally and instrumentally. Slow-burning opener “Killing Floor” offers a familiar introduction to fans of both--sort of what a Rundle/Thou song would sound like--before grunge chugger “Monolith” introduces huge, catchy riffs and “Out of Existence” a True Widow-esque dirge, newfound inspirations for both artists bringing the best out of each other. - JM

Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters (Epic)

What makes Fetch the Bolt Cutters stand out among Apple’s catalog and music in general is the clarity with which Apple seethes at those who have wronged her, whether ex-boyfriends or patriarchal oppressors, and looks to her relationships with other women for peace of mind.

Read our full review here.

HAIM - Women in Music Pt. III (Columbia)

For HAIM, the title Women in Music Pt. III is suggestive that, more than their previous two records, their third centers around the experiences of being an all-female band in a historically white cis male-dominated scene, at least one that wouldn’t call catchy riffs written by a man “simple” or call attention to the faces a man makes while playing. What it doesn’t let on to is how deeply personal the record is, how, by unabashedly embracing genres and styles of music that they love, HAIM have made far and away their best album. Co-produced by the usual suspects, Danielle Haim, Ariel Rechtshaid, and ex-Vampire Weekender Rostam Batmanglij, it’s instrumentally and aesthetically dynamic and diverse, consistently earnest without devolving into cheese.

Read our full review here.

Irreversible Entanglements - Who Sent You? (International Anthem)

I’ve been captivated by Irreversible Entanglements ever since I first saw them at Pitchfork Music Festival 2018. The radical poetry of Camae Ayewa (aka Moor Mother) is the perfect front for a ramshackle mix of Luke Stewart’s spidery bass, Tcheser Holmes’ weighty drums, and a horn section that concocts tones that range from hopeful to desperate. At their best, Who Sent You? is a shining example of celebratory Afrofuturism and metaphysics that makes the urgency of Ayewa’s more concrete and political words all the more necessary. “No Más”, composed by Panamanian-born trumpeter Aquiles Navarro, is a declaration against imperialist oppression, while the stunning title track flips the switch like a Kara Walker painting, as Ayewa’s the one interrogating the police officer terrorizing her community. “Who sent you?” she repeats, never spiraling, grabbing a hold of the power and never letting go. - JM

Jeff Parker - Suite for Max Brown (International Anthem/Nonesuch)

It’s Jeff Parker’s mom’s turn. After 2016′s The New Breed ended up being a tribute to the guitarist’s father, who passed away during the making of it, Parker decided to pay tribute to Maxine while she was still alive. Suite for Max Brown (Brown is his mother’s maiden name; Max is what people call her) is a genre-bending collection of tracks inspired by Parker’s DJing, juxtapositions of sequenced beats with improvisation that certainly sound like the brainchild of one individual. Indeed, Parker plays the majority of the instruments on it and engineered most of it at home or during his 2018 Headlands Center residency in Sausalito, CA; though all of the players and the vocalist (Jeff’s daughter Ruby Parker) on The New Breed show up, plus a couple trumpeters (piccolo player Rob Mazurek and Nate Walcott of Bright Eyes) and cellist Katinka Kleijn, Suite for Max Brown is a distinctly Jeff Parker record.

Read our preview of Jeff Parker & The New Breed’s set at Dorian’s last year.

Jeff Rosenstock - NO DREAM (Polyvinyl)

Jeff Rosenstock throws us right into the spinning, manic energy of NO DREAM, his latest release from a seemingly endless well of music that never lacks urgency. It’s a reminder that though it’s been a strange year, the issues Rosenstock tackles here aren’t new. There’s no interest in making you feel comfortable here. On the album’s title track, Rosenstock sings, lulling you into a false sense of security, “They were separating families carelessly / Under the guise of protecting you and me.” But reality sets in, and the hazy guitars spin out as he spits, “It’s not a dream!” and, “Fuck violence!”

My image of Jeff Rosenstock in the year 2020 is masked up with “Black Lives Matter” scrawled across the fabric of his mask in Sharpie, performing album highlight “Scram!” on Late Night with Seth Meyers as high energy as ever. It felt like watching someone send out a beacon, both a distress signal and a call to arms. - LL

Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure? (PMR/Friends Keep Secrets/Interscope)

I am not someone who goes to clubs. I don’t “go out dancing,” preferring to let loose in the privacy of my own home or a trusted friend’s house party. But Jessie Ware’s What’s Your Pleasure? makes me think I could embrace a night out like that, once the world opens up again, of course. The album is filled with syncopated disco beats that feel fresh and classic all at once. The abundant horns and strings on “Step Into My Life” are decadent, like light bouncing off sequins in a dark room. Ware’s voice is slinky and velvety one moment, windswept like her album cover the next. It’s songs like “Save a Kiss” that embrace both, allowing her to show off her range. - LL

Laura Marling - Song for Our Daughter (Partisan)

With sparse production, mostly from her but with additions from Ethan Johns and Dom Monks, Marling foregoes the comparative maximalism of the Blake Mills-produced Semper Femina, her last proper full-length, and 2018′s LUMP collaboration. The songs aren’t simple, but they’re succinct, and every element, from Marling’s finger-picked guitars, the occasional slide guitar, and that unmistakably calm voice, sometimes alone and sometimes layered, fits. It’s her most universal set of songs yet, centering around the times when we’re apart from one another but reflecting on when we were together and when we might be together again, with no guarantees.

Read the rest of our review here.

Les Amazones d’Afrique - Amazones Power (Real World Records)

The groovy pan-African collective expands upon their debut Republique Amazone and then some with Amazones Power, a tour-de-force statement of female empowerment in the face of oppression against women throughout the African diaspora. Indeed, the album is more than just songs boldly decrying FGM, though those demands ring heavily. Instead, the group goes further, delving into gender power structures in marriage on “Queens” and selectively finding strength in tradition on “Dreams”. And this time, they include men to stand alongside with them. “Together we must stand / Together we must end this,” sings Guinean musician/dancer/artist Niariu on opener “Heavy” in solidarity with features Douranne (Boy) Fall and Magueye Diouk (Jon Grace) of Paris band Nyoko Bokbae. But perhaps it’s her kiss-off on “Smile” that hits hardest: “I shut up for no one.” - JM

Lianne La Havas - Lianne La Havas (Nonesuch)

The British singer-songwriter’s much anticipated follow-up to 2015′s Blood was better than I could have ever imagined. A song cycle about life cycles--of nature, of lives, of a relationship--inspired by an actual breakup, Lianne La Havas is a contemporary neo soul masterpiece. Overview opener “Bittersweet” is an instant earworm, La Havas’ coo-turned-belt filling the space between classic and increasingly emotive slabs of piano and guitar. Funky, lovestruck strut “Read My Mind” is the soundtrack for the unbridled confidence of finding new love. Yes, the doubts begin to sow on the fingerpicked melancholy of “Green Papaya” and “Can’t Fight”, and where the album goes from a simple narrative perspective may be predictable: They break up, they don’t get back together, La Havas enjoys her independence. But the depth of the arrangements and assuredness of La Havas’ singing is a product of an artist starting to really show us what she can do. And how many people can pull off a Radiohead cover like that? - JM

Lomelda - Hannah (Double Double Whammy)

What does it mean to title an album after yourself? Lomelda’s latest album is centered around discovering more about yourself while not always having the answers. Despite the lyrical content, the album is self-assured. Hannah Read’s voice feels as steady as ever as it navigates these twisting questions, like the way the world can shift after a kiss. She finds power in softness and reflection throughout the album, like when she explores the mantra-like words of “Wonder” or through a reminder to do no harm in “Hannah Sun”. In a year that allowed for perhaps more reflection than usual, Hannah makes space for the questions that arise out of figuring yourself out, of making sense of the messiness of it all, wrapped in warm guitar, balanced vocals, and steady drums. - LL

Moses Sumney - Grae (Jagjaguwar)

“Am I vital / If my heart is idle? / Am I doomed?” Moses Sumney famously sang on his stunning 2017 debut Aromanticism, an album that saw him developing his acceptance of being alone. grae, his two-part 2nd full-length, and his first since officially moving from L.A. to the Appalachian Mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, doubles down on themes of heartbreak, but instead of being sure in his seclusion, he embraces the unknown. The album teeters between interludes of platitudes about isolation and ruminations on failed human connection, and maximally arranged clutches of uncertainty. “When my mind’s clouded and filled with doubt / That’s when I feel the most alive,” Sumney coos over horns and piano on slinky soul song “Cut Me”; it’s an effective mantra for the album.

Read the rest of our review here.

Norah Jones - Pick Me Up Off The Floor (Blue Note)

At the time we previewed Norah Jones’ 7th studio album, she had only released a few tracks from it. Turns out the rest was just as powerful. From the blues stomp of “Flame Twin” to the rolling piano stylings of “Hurts to Be Alone”, Pick Me Up Off The Floor is an album full of jazzy orchestrations and soul and gospel-indebted arrangements, Jones’ silky, yearning voice tying together the simple, yet lush and deep instrumentation. And that other Tweedy feature, that closes the album? It’s a heartbreaking portrait of loneliness, one of many on a record that still manages to celebrate being alive all the while. - JM

Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher (Dead Oceans)

Phoebe Bridgers is a master of details. Her lyrics shine when they get specific. They range from the mundane to morbid: A superfan’s ghost-like wandering under a drugstore’s fluorescent lights, a skinhead likely buried under a blooming garden, reckoning with the you in “Moon Song”’s lines, “You are sick, and you’re married / And you might be dying.” Bridgers has always been able to set a scene meticulously, and Punisher arrived with 11 songs that expanded that skill, both lyrically and musically, with her dark humor intact and a fuller sound that includes her boygenuis collaborators’ harmonies. - LL

PJ Harvey - To Bring You My Love: The Demos & Dry - The Demos (Island)

Yes, revisiting Dry’s demos as a separate entity is still worthwhile. Harvey’s powerhouse vocal performance carries the acoustic strummed “Oh My Lover”, while the comparatively minimal arrangement of “Victory” highlights bluesy riffing, call-and-response harmonies, and layered guitar and vocals. The singles, the slinky and sharp “Dress” and propulsive anthem “Sheela-Na-Gig”, hold up to their ultimate studio versions, too. But it’s the To Bring You My Love material that provides novelty because it’s never been released and more so because it encompasses the greatest aesthetic contrast from the album. From the warbling hues and guitar lines of the title track to the tremolo haze of “Teclo” to the crisp snares of “Working With The Man”, the demos show a continuity and level of cohesiveness with the diversity of Dry and Rid of Me not shown on the studio version of Harvey’s more accessible commercial breakout. (Predictably, the album’s most well-known song, “Down by the Water”, is the closest to its eventual version.) “Long Snake Moan” is simultaneously more spacious and more noisy, its garage blues a total contrast to the lurking “I Think I’m A Mother” and swaying shanty “Send His Love To Me”. And “The Dancer” fully embraces its flamenco influences, hand claps and all.

Porridge Radio - Every Bad (Secretly Canadian)

Is there a better opening line than “I’m bored to death, let’s argue”? That kind of duality is found across all of Every Bad as it grapples with the frustrations and anxiety of trying to figure it all out, whatever that might mean for you. “Maybe I was born confused, but I’m not,” vocalist Dana Margolin repeats throughout the opening track, roping in listeners with the dizzying feeling of trying to make sense of yourself. The band’s guitar and synth sound coupled with Margolin’s howl makes for a dance party filled with dread, rendering Margolin’s already strong, repetitive lyrics even more spiraling. And yet, by the time we get to “Lilacs”, a glimmer of something else shines through as the music gets more manic and Margolin’s voice begins to soar: “I don’t want to get bitter / I want us to get better / I want us to be kinder / To ourselves and to each other.” - LL

Sault - Untitled (Rise) & Untitled (Black Is) (Forever Living Originals)

Yes, Black Is still pulls plenty of devastating punches. “Eternal Life”, a segue from the gospel boost of “US”, juxtaposes a deliberate drum beat with zooming synths, both ascending like a chorus of angels, as they sing, “I see sadness in your eye / ‘Cause I know you don’t wanna die,” presenting the oppression of Black life at the hands of white supremacy in inarguable terms. Ultimately, though, it’s the anthemic nature of the songs, resistant of platitudes, that shines through. “Nobody cared / This generation cares,” says Laurette Josiah on “This Generation”. Whether she’s talking about young people in general or the latest generation of young Black leaders, the sentiment is reflected on songs like “Black”, wherein over dynamic, sinewy instrumentation, the singers alternate between encouragement, support, and love of the self and others.

Read our full review here.

Shamir - Shamir (self-released)

Shamir’s voice is a bright beacon in a sea of conventional singers. Shamir captures the effervescence of pop music and weaves it together with elements of country, alt rock, and diary confessional lyrics all supported by the emotion and range of his vocals. There’s something for everyone across the album’s 11 shimmering tracks. Lead single and opener “On My Own” feels like a declaration of self and self-sufficiency, an anthem of a breakup song. The almost pop-punk bounce of “Pretty When I’m Sad”, paired perfectly with lines like the angst-ridden, “Let’s fuck around inside each other’s heads,” feels impossible to not bop along to. The twang of “Other Side” would put a country crooner to shame. That’s the power of Shamir. His voice has the ability to smoothly convey joy, resilience, and humor. He uses elements of several genres, not just the dance-pop of his debut, to build a unique album that gives listeners so much to sift through and, of course, dance to. - LL

Songhoy Blues - Optimisme (Fat Possum)

If Songhoy Blues’ second album Resistance lacked “the grit of its predecessor,” it’s clear from the hard rock stomp of the opening track of Malian band’s third album Optimisme that they rediscovered their mojo. More importantly, they couple this maximal brashness with tributes to those who make their world a better place: fighters for freedom, women, the young. It’s perhaps the first Songhoy Blues record to truly combine the celebratory nature of their desert blues with a balanced mixture of idealism and vigor. - JM

Spanish Love Songs - Brave Faces Everyone (Pure Noise)  

How can you find hope in hopelessness, or optimism when every news story points to cruelty? Is it naïve to keep searching for light in the dark? I don’t think so, and I don’t think Spanish Love Songs does, either. I’d like to think we both believe that’s not naivety, but power. It’s the embers you need to really ignite a flame. After all, this is the band with a song titled “Optimism (As a Radical Life Choice)”. It’s a band whose crunching guitars and earnestness insist that despite death and depression and addiction, the instinct to survive shines brightly above all. That relentless hope resurfaces across Brave Faces Everyone’s 10 tracks even as it works through the bleakness of everyday life. - LL

Tashi Dorji - Stateless (Drag City)

The magnum opus from the Asheville-based picker is a group of evocatively titled, disorderly songs about the desolate hellscape of America for outsiders and immigrants. Enigmatic in its nature, not exactly narrative, Stateless combines Dorji’s urgent strumming with moody motifs, captured beautifully in a studio setting for maximum emotional wallop. - JM

Touche Amore - Lament (Epitaph)

Is this what an almost uplifting Touche Amore album sounds like? It’s cathartic in a newer way for the band, especially after the beautifully rendered grief of Stage Four. Lament loses none of the band’s aggression or urgency. “Come Heroine” thrusts listeners into that urgency and introduces a moment of warmth, Jeremy Bolm’s vocals still rasping and insistent: “You brought me in / You took to me / And reversed the atrophy.” The bounciness of “Reminders” may seem close to optimism, but a sharper look at the lyrics uncovers more than blindly looking to the things that bring joy. “I’ll Be Your Host” is reflective, a few years removed from Touche Amore’s previous album and the immediacy of loss, self-aware and growing, but still raw. The album closer, “A Forecast”, takes a turn, a lone voice and piano acting as a confessional before giving way to thrashing guitars and the realization that growth and reckoning with trauma doesn’t mean minimizing it. It means learning to keep moving forward and to stop for help when you may need it. - LL

Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud (Merge)

The best album yet from Katie Crutchfield is inspired by positive personal change (getting sober, dealing with codependency issues, her blossoming love with singer-songwriter Kevin Morby) and reflections on family and friends. Named after the suburb of Orlando where her father’s from, Saint Cloud is a genre-hopping collection of stories and feelings that doesn’t necessarily follow any semblance of narrative. On opener “Oxbow” and country-tinged ditty “Can’t Do Much”, Crutchfield’s increasingly aware of the need to pick your side and your battles, whether in the relationship between two people or between the allure of the bottle and the next-day hangover. Some of the best songs on the album see her finding commonalities with others as a means towards self-love. Gentle strummer “The Eye” refers to her natural creative relationships with Morby and her sister Allison. “War” she wrote for herself and best friend, who is also sober, the title a metaphor for one’s fight to remain substance-free. “Witches” is an ode to her best friends, including Allison and Snail Mail’s Lindsey Jordan, all equally frustrated by the toxic nature of the music industry and the world at large, ultimately lifting each other up because they simply have each other.

Read our full review here.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Cover You In Oil, Part 1

WordCount: 8496 (I promise this is the only chapter that insanely long. I swear. The other ones average around 3500 words) Tags: @outside-the-government, @yourtropegirl @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 (please let me know if you want to be tagged) Author’s Note: I started writing this fic in July of 2015, shortly after my Mum was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. The idea came to me one day as I was driving to work, so clearly... I knew I had to write it. I love the soulmate trope. As usual - since this isn’t a Star Trek fic and this is a Star Trek blog, let me know if you want to continue to see it or not. Description: Sally Manners has spent her life avoiding the man whose name is etched on the inside of her thigh. Until suddenly she can't. Tony Stark x OFC, Soulmate AU.

Her mother’s soulmark was a beautiful scratchy line of her dad’s script along the side of her foot. It said “You look lost”. A beautiful opening line. Sally’s dad’s soulmark was slightly less romantic, “Not hard to be, in ButtFuck Nowhere”, etched in the large loopy letters of her mom’s hand, just above his collarbone. The romantic notion of the soulmark was not quite so romantic in its gritty reality. This became all the more evident when Sally’s soulmark rose on her skin. It had always been there, a dark, snake-like smudge starting on the outside of her thigh and twisting around her leg before ending just above the inside of her knee. As she got older, and the words finally became visible, Sally realized she would be better hiding out in ‘ButtFuck Nowhere’ with her grandparents, working at the Piggly-Wiggly than ever trying to pursue her passion for anything that might bring her in contact with him. The problem was, her summers spent with Nan and Pops sparked a passion for classic car restoration. And she was damn good at it. It was like it was written in the stars that she was going to eventually meet the man whose actual name was seared on her skin.

Sally had never heard or met anyone whose soulmark actually identified their soulmate. It reeked of arrogance and conceit. It would have been one thing if the damn name had been something common, like John Smith. But even in the days before Wikipedia and Google, Sally had heard of him.

“I’m Iron Man, but I don’t mind if you scream Tony motherfucking Stark when my face is buried between your thighs.” The letters were precise, perfect block letters that almost looked unreal. The first time she’d managed to read all the words, she couldn’t figure out what it meant, but after her first clumsy foray into sexual experimentation, she knew exactly what it meant. And every time she saw it, her cheeks flushed. She never wanted to meet him. She never wanted to hear those words. She never wanted to know what horrified response she would give.

Pops bought the Mustang when she was sixteen, and taught her how to do a complete teardown on it. She rebuilt it from the ground up. The ’65 Shelby Mustang had been rust, congealed oil and regret when Pops towed it into the backyard. Sally had thrown herself into it wholeheartedly, saving up every penny from every summer job she could manage to buy original parts to help restore the car.

“What colour will you paint it, Sal?” Pops asked as her nodded in approval.

“The only colour you can paint it, Pops. Red.” Sally could already see it in her mind’s eye. It took her a whole summer to save for the paint job. On her 18th birthday, Pops handed the pink slip to her, and a photo album documenting the entire job.

“Consider it your resume. You’ll never have a problem getting a job if you drive this car and show off that photo album,” Pops promised.

That was nearly twenty years ago, and the Shelby looked just as good now as it did the day it came back from the paint shop. And Pops had been right. She’d never wanted for work. At her first job, the owner had been a pig. He was more interested in upselling oil changes by trying to convince her to bend over the hoods of cars in shorts than actually seeing what she was capable of. But that job had led to another, with the kind of boss who didn’t care that she was female. Which led to more work. And more work. And eventually an independent contract with one of the best restoration shops in the country, based out of California. Goodbye ButtFuck Nowhere, hello big leagues. Seventeen long, labour intensive years, but she was pulling in six figures, owned a great bungalow with a huge garage and shop, and could pick and choose jobs from a waitlist over three years long.

And if every so often, Sally felt like she was missing out on something because she still hadn’t met her soulmate, she just reminded herself of exactly what kind of man he was by reading a gossip magazine, and the feeling left her. And if every so often, she had an itch she really needed to scratch, well, she lived near Hollywood now, and there was plenty of make-up available to mask that soulmark so whatever erstwhile lover she took wouldn’t spill her secrets. And Tony Stark didn’t seem to be hurting for not having met her, from the looks of things. He was successful, there was the whole superhero thing, and he and that Virginia Potts woman looked awfully close. She must be a saint, Sally thought.

It was a blazing hot Sunday afternoon, and the stereo was cranked as Sally was finishing up on a gorgeous 1970 Dodge Challenger. It was the kind of car that screamed for an appropriate playlist, and Lynyrd Skynyrd was blasting on the stereo. During a break between songs, the unfamiliar staccato of high heels filled the silence in the shop.

“Be right out!” Sally called from under the hood of the car. She twisted the wrench and tightened the bolt on the oil pan. She dropped the tool on the ground with a clang, and pushed herself out from under the car on the dolly.

The woman was tall, and what her mother would have called ‘well put together’, in a tailored cream linen business suit, and nude heels. The look set off the strawberry blonde of her hair and her perfect cheekbones. She looked familiar, but Sally couldn’t place her. She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed a rag to wipe her hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her ragged work coveralls, stained with grease and oil. She was sure she was an absolute sight. She’d been so set on finishing the car to send it for paint that she’d rolled out of bed at six am, pulled her sandy blonde hair into a messy knot on the top of her head, and thrown on whatever clothes were on the floor under her coveralls. The look was disheveled in the extreme, but she had only been expecting the tow company later in the afternoon.

Sally made to extend her hand in greeting and then noticed exactly how filthy she was. The Challenger had been a labour of love similar to her Mustang and she’d been consumed with the need to make it perfect. It was being donated by the owner to a charity fundraising for pancreatic cancer research. The disease had stolen her father from her a few years earlier, and so she was donating her time restoring the car to its former glory in the hopes to bring loads of cash in for the research foundation. She withdrew her hand self-consciously.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting clients today,” Sally apologized. “I’m Sally Manners.”

“Virginia Potts, from –“

“Stark Industries. I’ve read about you,” Sally interrupted. “Way to smash the glass ceiling, Ms. Potts.”

“Please, call me Pepper,” she smiled. “This car is stunning. And proves you are exactly the person I am looking for. I have a friend who has the same car. It’s running rough, and needs some body work.”

“Yeah? What colour is his? I’m thinking about purple for this one, just because of the charity,” Sally offered.

“His is red,” Pepper seemed just a little unnerved, and then recovered by gesturing to her cheek. “You have some grease,” she trailed off.

Sally rubbed the rag on her cheek, but suspected she had probably just made the smear worse. “Perks of the job.”

“Anyhow, I understand you have a substantial waitlist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up soon. I’m prepared to make it very worthwhile,” Pepper offered. Sally quirked an eyebrow, wondering if this friend was the man whose name was coiled around her thigh.

“Anyone I’ve heard of?” Sally asked. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. If it was for Stark, she could graciously explain her waitlist was just too pressing.

“The archer,” Pepper replied, and pulled a folder out from under her arm. “These are photos of his Challenger. It’s in pretty rough shape, but he loves it. I would be prepared to fly you out to New York all expenses paid to restore the car. I probably could funnel some other work your way. Steve’s just picked up a 1943 Harley that needs some work, and –“

“Can I see the pictures?” Sally waited for Pepper to offer the folder, and then flipped through the file. The Challenger was in rough shape, but it was definitely not a big job. She could probably be in and out in two weeks tops. It wouldn’t be too hard to avoid Tony Stark for two weeks. Would it?

“We have a top of the line garage that you would have access to, and can fully accommodate you in the tower. Meals catered too,” Pepper began.

“Gym? Pool?” Sally was almost teasing, but was curious exactly how much Pepper was willing to offer.

“Of course,” she nodded. “You’ll find our offer for remuneration on the last page.”

Sally flipped past the various photos of the car, and the car’s excessively hot owner and glanced at the last page. Her breath nearly caught. It was half what she made in a year. And she was being offered it for a two-week job. She would be out of her mind to say no, regardless of the potential of encountering Stark.

“This car is going to paint this afternoon. I can be in New York by Thursday,” Sally offered.

“If you can make it Tuesday, I can fly you out on the Stark Industries plane, and save you a commercial flight,” Pepper offered.

“I don’t want to rush this job. I’ll arrange my flight for Thursday.” Sally was not going to risk walking on a plane with Pepper Potts and Tony Stark.

“Nonsense. I’ll arrange your flight. I’ll email you the details tonight. I’m looking forward to working with you, Sally.” To Sally’s complete surprise, Pepper reached out and shook her hand.

Sally woke with a start early Thursday morning. Her nerves had been a little on edge since agreeing to head to New York. She knew she was being paranoid, but she felt like the skin of her soulmark was itchy, almost burning. And she kept imagining scenario after scenario where she encountered Tony Stark and blurted out some weird and obscure comment that could clue him in to her significance. She’d agonized over packing. Was that outfit too revealing? Would this one catch his eye? The more insignificant she appeared, the better the two weeks would run. She’d even packed her coverage cream just in case, so that her soulmark would be covered at all times, away from prying eyes.

She rolled over and checked her phone. It was only four a.m., but she got up. The sun was rising and the morning was already warm. She pulled on her gear to head out on a run. The run was invigorating and the exact stress release she needed. The nervousness dissipated and by the time she was in the shower, she was eagerly anticipating working on the Dodge.

She settled into her seat on the plane and flipped open the folder of photos that Pepper had given her, to really look into the lines of the car. She’d contacted a shop early in the week and had ordered some parts to be fabricated and sent to Stark Tower to Pepper’s attention. Again, she thanked whatever cosmic intervention had allowed her to be completing the charity Challenger when Pepper contacted her, as it was a small matter to have the same pieces fabricated again, and an order for any others on standby in case the car was in worse shape than she could tell from the photos. Pepper had texted her as she was boarding the plane that they’d been dropped off.

“I’ll have them delivered to the garage for you. Is there anything else you need before you turn your phone off?”

“I’m keen to get started this afternoon. Maybe a pizza? Six-pack of beer?” The last time Sally had been in New York, she’d learned a whole new appreciation for pizza.

“Preferences?”

“Surprise me.” Sally figured Pepper knew beers and pizza. Tony Stark had a well-documented propensity for spending days on end in his lab. Pepper probably knew the best place for every type of take out available.

Flying first class was nothing new to Sally, but she appreciated that Pepper had upgraded the hell out of her when the flight attendance brought her a drink menu. The nerves had been slowly returning since she’d boarded the plane. One drink would relax her just enough that she’d probably nap for the rest of the flight and make it to New York feeling ready to tear down Hawkeye’s Challenger.

“Vodka, please,” Sally requested, handing back the list.

“Ice?” He asked.

“Please.” Sally preferred her vodka neat, but when traveling took ice just for the sake of hydration. She settled back into her seat and put on her headphones. The plane was Wi-Fi enabled, so as she sipped her drink, she worked on the schematic for the car. Eventually, the early morning and vodka combined to make her eyes heavy and she drifted off to sleep, iPad still in her lap. The chime of the overhead system to warn passengers it was time to fasten seatbelts for landing wakened her with a start, and she started momentarily when her iPad was no longer on her lap. The flight attendant walked by and handed to her before she could actually panic.

“You dropped it when you fell asleep,” he explained as he passed it to her.

“Thanks.” She pulled her shoulder bag from the storage compartment by her knees and slipped the iPad and headphones away.

Pepper said there would be a driver waiting for her, and she had to smile when she saw the tablet with her name on it being held up. Of course a Stark Industries employee would use a tablet. The paper sign was apparently out of fashion. She smiled wider when she realized who was picking her up.

“Sally Manners?” He asked. Sally nodded.

“You’re Clint, aren’t you? It’s your car I’m here for?” Sally asked. Clint nodded.

“Yeah, I thought I could get a feel for you on the drive. See what you think and find out what you want to do to her,” he admitted.

“Sure. I have a full set of schematics on my iPad,” Sally offered.

“And iPad? Tony’ll be pissed,” Clint laughed. “Stark Tablets are standard at SI.”

“I’m on contract,” Sally shrugged. “What Stark doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Sure,” Clint laughed and led her out into the warm afternoon. Sally was half expecting him to usher her to the Challenger, which was a little concerning as the photos Pepper had provided made her think it was of questionable road-worthiness. It was with some relief that she found herself climbing into a Jeep Cherokee.

“So tell me about the car, Clint,” Sally asked once they were in traffic.

“Cherry’s great. Except when she isn’t. She needs a big chunk of work,” he began. “In my line of work, she gets beat up a lot.”

“Well, I can’t work miracles. Once I restore the car, you need to care for the car, or we’ll be back at square one again,” Sally explained.

“Yeah, I know. I’m hoping that once she’s looking good, I won’t be so tempted to take her out on jobs,” Clint shrugged.

“You want to stay with the red? I just did purple, it suits the car,” Sally offered. Clint’s face crunched up in thought. He was quiet for a few minutes, looking very thoughtful.

“I like purple a lot. But her name is Cherry.” He was thinking out loud.

“No hurry. Let me know before I send her for paint, and we’ll call it fair.” Sally made a few notes on the iPad and fell silent, waiting for more of Clint’s questions. None came. They pulled into the underground parking at Stark Tower and Clint parked in the company car corral. He grabbed her bags and led her toward the elevator.

“Do you want to see the car first, or your room?” Clint asked as the elevator doors closed.

“If you know where my room is, let’s drop my bags and then head to the garage. I want to get started on the teardown on your car today,” Sally decided. Clint smiled broadly and clapped her on the back.

“Pepper said you’re the best.” Clint punched the button and then turned to look at her, settling against the elevator wall and slouching a little. She’d read he was a master marksman, and she could see it in the way he looked at her. A thousand-yard stare that took in everything. He could probably tell her how many grey hairs were hidden in the sun-bleached streaks in her hair. She hoped he’d be discrete enough not to mention the crow’s feet. “You’re older than you look.” Or maybe he wouldn’t be.

“Uh, thanks?” Sally wasn’t sure if she should laugh or be affronted.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I meant that you look good for a woman your –“ He stumbled over his words.

“That’s probably worse, Clint,” Sally cut him off. Clint shook his hand and looked at his feet. His hand reached up and rubbed the back of his neck and he sighed.

“This would be the part where I tell you that I’m usually charming enough that women don’t notice these things,” Clint chuckled. Sally couldn’t help herself. She laughed. He was looking up at her through his eyelashes, like a poor wounded puppy dog. It was adorable. And kind of sexy.

“Oh my god, are you flirting with me?” Sally started laughing in earnest. Clint had the decency to blush a little.

“Maybe?” He shrugged. “I mean, I feel as though I owe you. Coming to fix my car and all. And then you get off the plane with that long-legged surfer girl look. But you know cars. Can you blame me for thinking these thoughts?” He pushed up from the elevator wall and stepped toward her. Sally held her ground, both amused and mortified. Any other guy, and she would be all over him. He was hot. His arms alone should require a permit, but then he was hot too. He had that beat-up tough guy look that she’d always been drawn to, and a look like he just didn’t really care. He was wearing a threadbare white t-shirt and faded jeans that were snug to his thighs. The tousled blond hair was what really sealed it for her. She would be all over him. If he were any other guy. But not when he was colleagues with Tony Stark. She put her hand up to stop him.

“Whoa, Tiger. I’m flattered, but –“

“Shit. Did I read you wrong? I got the impression you were single.” He didn’t quite apologize. Sally wouldn’t have respected him if he had.

“I am,” she nodded. He took a step back.

“I don’t usually get this wrong,” he mumbled.

“You aren’t wrong,” Sally admitted.

“Wrong timing then?” He asked, standing up straight again.

“Something like that?” Sally wasn’t about to whip down her jeans and show him why she was hesitant. “It’s just, I’m fixing your car, Clint. I don’t want to feel like I’m being paid in ass. Even a nice little handful like yours.”

“Maybe next time I wreck it then. I’ll seduce you so you won’t kill me when you find out I need to hire you again,” he laughed. Sally joined him. As the elevator opened, Clint suddenly stopped laughing. “Wait, you think my ass is nice?”

“Ah, Clint. I see you managed to pick up Sally,” Pepper was struggling to keep a giggle contained. Sally burst out laughing again and stepped off the elevator.

“Not quite. She shot me down,” Clint grumbled as he followed Sally, carrying her bag. Sally could hear the peals of laughter escaping Pepper as the elevator door closed.

“The garage is huge, Sally. You’ll love it. At least, I think you will. Tony has all the toys. And by toys I mean cars and the tools to work on them. And wait till you get eyes on Steve’s new Harley. It’s a fuckin’ beaut.” Clint had taken the rejection well, rolling right back into buddy mode with Sally on the elevator ride down to the garage. Sally found herself relaxing against the elevator wall with him and enjoying the chatter.

“Pepper mentioned it. She said it needs work too,” she nodded.

“Oh hell, Steve says he can manage the restoration himself, but I bet he’d secretly be relieved to have the help. You should take a peek at it. Maybe your fancy schematics app would change his mind about the solo job.” Clint had loved the app she’d used to do all the rendering on the car restoration. He kept swiping through the images and making happy noises.

“Let me get your car finished first. I have a big waitlist at home right now,” Sally laughed. Clint let them into the garage, past what appeared to be several million dollars worth of classic vehicles. Sally stopped in her tracks in front of a 1932 Ford Flathead Roadster. “Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “That’s fucking unreal.”

“Tony restored that himself,” Clint offered.

“Then why the fuck did Pepper hire me?” Sally wondered out loud.

“Tony takes forever,” Clint replied. “There’s my Cherry.” He pointed a few cars down to the beat up Challenger. It was in sad shape, and Sally almost felt it didn’t deserve to share space with the Roadster. Yet, anyhow, she thought. In two weeks time though, Tony Stark would probably be begging Clint to buy it. She walked around the Dodge, tracing her hand along the contours of the hood. She peered inside and nodded to herself, making a mental checklist of parts and supplies.

“I had some stuff delivered. Any idea where it’s at?” Sally asked. Clint nodded his head toward a backlit shelving unit behind the car. There was a pile of boxes on it. Sally dug through the box, unwrapping various parts as Clint looked on. She reconciled the pick slip against the parts and let out a low curse.

“What’s wrong?” Clint was immediately beside her.

“There’s no coveralls in this box,” Sally complained. “I wasn’t about to pack the greasy coveralls from my shop, so I ordered a new pair. They aren’t here. I’ll have to call. It’s not a big deal, but it slows me down.”

“Lemme grab a pair of Tony’s for you until your arrive,” Clint headed to the lockers at the far end of the garage. Sally followed.

“Just guessing, but is this your best birthday present ever, Clint?” Sally teased. Clint stopped, his hand on a pair of grey coveralls. He turned slowly with a slight smile on his face.

“Kinda, yeah,” he admitted. “So you’ll excuse that I insist that you start working right away.” He slapped the coveralls against her chest and nodded behind him. “There’s a can around the corner where you can change.”

Sally laughed. “Get out. Just make sure I get my pizza and beer in the next couple hours.”

It stood to reason that Stark was built like a man. Sally was built like a woman. It took a bit of wriggling and jumping up and down and cursing to shimmy his coveralls over her curvy ass. She finally got them hitched up to her waist, and tried pulling the sleeves up, to discover that while the shoulders were broad, she was never going to be able to close the suit over her bust. She huffed out a sigh of disgust and dropped the top back down to her waist and tied the sleeves around her. She pulled her shirt off and tossed it beside her pants, grateful that she’d worn the ribbed white tank under her blouse.

Sally pulled her hair back into a sloppy braid and went rummaging through the wall of tools, pulling what she knew she would need to tear down the Challenger to the frame. She pulled a white paint marker out of her box of supplies and set everything down on the bench nearest the Challenger. She dropped her iPod on the bench, put her wireless headphones on and started taking the car apart labeling each part by what it was, and whether it needed replacing, repair, cleaning, machining, remachining. The music was loud and she was lost in her work, and didn’t notice time passing in the windowless, brightly lit garage. Her head bopped along to the beat of the song in her headphones. She’d decided to just recycle the same playlist as she’d used for the charity Challenger, and an AC/DC song started as she rolled herself under the car to drain the oil from the engine. She felt the vibration of someone banging on the frame of the car, but the music was so loud that she didn’t hear if anything had been said. Once she had the oil draining into a bucket, she rolled herself out from under the car. Clint pointed at the box of pizza he’d left on her bench and handed her a beer. Sally pulled off her headphones and smiled.

“Is it food time already? Thanks,” she offered, taking the bottle and clinking it against his.

“You’ve been down here for about four hours,” Clint laughed. He quirked an eyebrow at her get up. “That’s, uh, quite the look. I know we’ve settled that we’re not happening, but that’s a, well. Damn. You look hot.”

“I look like I belong in a spank bank calendar,” Sally snarked. Clint laughed even harder.

“Well, when you put it that way –“

“We only met today. There is no need for you to overshare,” Sally interrupted, joining in Clint’s laughter.

“No, I’m just saying, I never thought chick-in-too-small-coveralls would be a kink of mine, but if you change your mind, you can get JARVIS to let me know. I can be down here in a heartbeat,” Clint winked. He finished his beer and dropped the empty in the recycling. “I’ll let you have a break in peace. Tony gets pissy when people are constantly in his space. From what I’ve seen you’re a genius too.”

“What’s that mean? That I’m pissy?” Sally laughed. She liked Clint. He was easy to like. He laughed again and winked.

“Nah, more that I’ve seen your portfolio and what you can do with a car is every bit as impressive as what he does with robotics. So maybe you need privacy to work too,” Clint explained.

“Not gonna lie, I do work better alone,” Sally agreed. “But I appreciate the food, and the company on my break.”

“I’ll try not to bug you too much,” Clint promised as he headed back toward the elevator. Sally finished up her pizza and washed her hands before getting back to work. She wanted to lift the engine before she went to bed, which meant releasing all the bolts holding it. Which was how she found herself bent halfway into the engine, one foot on the bumper, oblivious to everything around her. When the playlist had ended, she knew she’d been working for a solid six hours, and it was time to break. She just needed to remove the one last bolt and she could lift the engine before making her way back to her room and taking a long hot shower.

“JARVIS, I’m pretty sure I didn’t sign a release for a music video to be shot in here, did I?” Sally overheard the words and cringed. The coveralls were backordered, but by the time the shop had finally texted her about it, it was too late to get a pair from somewhere else before closing. She would have them by morning, they’d assured her. She finally broke the bolt loose from the engine and stepped down off the car, not even acknowledging the man walking across the garage toward her.

“I’m afraid I have no record of that either, sir,” A crisp British accent came over some sort of overhead speaker. Sally sucked in her breath, determined to ignore everything she possibly could until it would be rude to not respond. She was hooking up the engine crane when she heard him.

“And yet, there is a woman in a wife beater and a pair of my,” his voice rose in question, “coveralls, taking apart Barton’s car. It can’t be real.”

“I assure you, Sir, the biometrics on the woman in question are very real,” the voice in ceiling responded. Sally glared at the speaker and began hoisting the engine out of the car. They were talking like she wasn’t even there. “I believe this is the mechanic Ms. Potts hired.”

“Of course. Thanks JARVIS,” he replied. He cleared his throat and stepped between Sally and the engine crane and the dolly she was trying to put it on.

“I’m IronMan, but I don’t mind if you scream Tony motherfucking Stark when my face is buried between your thighs.” His smirk was enough that Sally had to resist screaming and trying to drop the engine on him. She almost laughed at the thought of what that would show up as in a soulmark - “arrrrgh *splat*”? Then she realized he was staring at her, as though waiting for a response. She turned away and sighed, and in that split second decided not to say anything. He would never know she was his soulmate if she never spoke to him. Because soulmarks didn’t say things like “she’s not going to say a word, but instead will sigh and roll her eyes at you”, they say actual words.

Sally turned back and found that he’d already stepped away from the engine dolly, and was leaning against the Challenger, staring at her. For one brief, fleeting moment, she thought maybe she’d stunned him into silence, and started lowering the engine onto the dolly. And then he started talking again.

“I get it. You’re overwhelmed because you didn’t think you were actually going to meet me, and are unsure what to say. And maybe my opening line was too much? I get it; Pepper is always at me about not sexually harassing the staff. I should apologize, but honestly, this is just too perfect, and it’s like Christmas and my birthday and Clint’s special car mechanic rolled into one magic little bundle.” He spoke with his hands a little, Sally noticed. “Pep didn’t mention you were a woman. JARVIS, why didn’t Pepper say the mechanic was a girl?”

“Ms. Potts felt you would be too easily distracted, and that would prove to be an irritant for Ms. Manners,” The voice that kept coming from the ceiling responded. Clint had mentioned this JARVIS guy too, Sally realized. She was going to have to ask him or Pepper who he was. She finished securing the engine to the dolly, and tidied up her workspace, before grabbing her iPod, the remains of the pizza, and a couple more bottles of beer, and heading to the elevator.

“Pepper was not wrong,” Stark admitted, watching as Sally disappeared behind the elevator doors.

Sally didn’t realize she’d be very nearly holding her breath until the air rushed out of her lungs after the elevator doors shut.

Sally was checking email when a text notification popped up on her iPad.

“Settling in okay? Tony mentioned he met you. I feel as though I need to apologize, despite not knowing why.” Pepper was checking in.

“The car is amazing. It’s in much worse shape than I thought it was in, but I love a challenge.” Sally typed back.

“Do you need me to get anything?”

“I had to borrow coveralls today because mine are on backorder. If they don’t arrive tomorrow, I may need you to contact your supplier for me because the ones I had on today did not fit.” Sally admitted.

“Yes. JARVIS told me that Tony had been inappropriate with you. I’ve given up apologizing for his behaviour. He’s gotten reckless in the last few years. More reckless, anyhow. But JARVIS said he was a little more colourful than usual.” It was probably the longest text Pepper had sent her, and Sally almost wanted to ask her what the reason was behind the behaviour. But then she realized Pepper had mentioned that JARVIS guy twice.

“Yeah, who is JARVIS, by the way?”

“JARVIS is an artificial intelligence developed by Tony. He monitors security, takes care of Tony, passively monitors general biometric information, amongst other things. Like a super computer but with a personality.” Pepper tried to explain. Sally gave her iPad a disbelieving look and glanced up at the ceiling.

“Okay.” She couldn’t really think of what else to say.

“Ms. Manners, Ms. Potts feels you may be uncomfortable with my presence. I would like to assure you that in any private spaces in the tower, my default is set to private. I will not record or monitor anything in your personal space while you are here. There is voice activation of my protocol if you call for me only. If you have any questions, please just say my name, and my monitoring and interactive protocol will be enabled.” JARVIS’s voice came out of the ceiling.

“I have some questions. You were monitoring me today in the garage,” Sally started.

“Yes, Ms. Manners. Mr. Stark has the only privacy override for the garage, as the value of the vehicles stored in the garage demands it,” he explained.

“Fair enough,” Sally replied. “Is it rude for me to ask about you?”

“I have no qualms about your curiosity, Ms. Manners,” JARVIS sounded indifferent.

“Could you call me Sally? I would prefer Sally,” she began. “Do you have emotions?”

“I am not comfortable with the informality of using first names, as I have no first name to offer in return, Ms. Manners. As for your other question, I am not sure how emotions feel to humans, but on referring to the dictionary definition of those things, I would say that I feel some sort of echo of emotion about a number of things.” At the very least, JARVIS was thoughtful, Sally reflected.

“So do you worry? I mean, when Mr. Stark is out being IronMan?” Sally asked.

“I accompany Mr. Stark every time he is in the IronMan suit, so I don’t have the worry that is born from not knowing. I do worry about him a great deal. I worry that he is unhappy. I worry that he is lonely. But I rarely am fussed by his work as IronMan,” JARVIS admitted.

“You worry about him being lonely?” Sally was surprised. Tony Stark didn’t seem like the kind of man who got lonely.

“Men of his age, when they are still awaiting their soulmates, tend to get rather reckless. It’s not part of the natural order for someone with a soulmark to wait so long, I don’t think,” JARVIS offered. Sally almost felt guilty. And yet, it was the first time she’d ever met Tony Stark. So it’s not as though she was deliberately thwarting him for years. Just for a few hours.

Soulmates did get reckless the longer they waited. There was millions of dollars in research dedicated to understanding the impact of soulmarks on their bearers, and all of it pointed to how difficult life became the longer a person waited for their soulmate. Sally knew all about it, it was one of her pet interests. She read every new research paper as soon as they were released. Mostly because she was so determined to never be involved with someone like Tony Stark. The first time she’d had the ability to put his name into a search engine, years before Google existed, the man she saw horrified her. Reckless, arrogant, rich boy with a drinking problem. Too smart for his own good and not doing anything good with his smarts. She followed him carefully as the internet made access to information lightning fast, and by the time Google was a thing, Sally had seen some definite changes in Stark’s behaviour, but her opinion had been formed and solidified over years of net browsing. And there were still plenty of indicators that he was a hot mess.

“I feel like I’m being nosy by asking, but he does have a soulmark?” Sally had heard of people who didn’t have soulmarks. She had never met one, but she’d read about them.

“Perhaps it is too invasive a question, Ms. Manners,” JARVIS acknowledged. Sally pursed her lips, wondering what it was that she would eventually say to him. It was probably rude. She’d spent time around mechanics for over twenty years. Some things just wore off on you after a while. Her language was just as foul as anyone she’d ever worked with.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s quite alright, Ms. Manners.” JARVIS fell silent, and Sally assumed their conversation was over.

Sally was down in the garage by six am, finishing the teardown on the car. She’d unpacked her Bluetooth speaker and had it perched on the chassis while she pulled the rest of the engine components out. Once again, she didn’t hear anyone come in, but Clint managed to stealth up behind her and scare the crap out of her around nine am. He placed a Starbucks on the bench and dropped a package beside it before handing her a bagel

“Master marksman and courier? How do you keep the ladies away?” Sally teased. Clint rolled his eyes.

“Pepper said you needed these coveralls right away.” He looked her over and smirked. “I don’t know, I really like the pin-up look.”

“Fuck off,” Sally laughed and threw her wadded up napkin at him. “She speaks!” Stark had apparently also stealthed into the garage at some point. Sally pursed her lips and darted past Clint to the bag on the bench before Stark could get to the car.

“I’m gonna go get changed, Clint. See you later?” She didn’t even wait for a response, but briskly moved toward the bathroom in the back of the garage without even acknowledging Stark’s presence.

“What’s with her?” She overhead Stark asking Clint. “Yesterday she gave me a dirty look and walked away, and now she’s not even willing to give me a dirty look?”

“Should you remember her, maybe?” Clint drawled. Sally could imagine there was a dirty gesture that accompanied the question.

“Oh shit. Maybe. JARVIS, have I banged the mechanic?” Stark’s voice echoed through the garage, and Sally had to bite back a shout of protest.

“From what I can see of her history, Ms. Manners has never been in the same vicinity as you until yesterday, sir.” JARVIS’s voice replied.

“Are you kidding me? The snotty mechanic who won’t say a word to me is literally named Miss Manners? That’s got to be a fucking joke,” Stark exclaimed.

“Maybe she’s just not into you. She turned me down. Maybe she likes privacy. Neither of us could give that to her. Maybe she likes women.” Clint had clearly not been offended by her rejection, and sounded serene.

“Barton, women are always turning you down. It’s the bow. This just doesn’t happen to me. Maybe she is into women. One way to find out,” Stark commented.

“Nat’s gonna kill you, Tony,” Clint laughed. Sally peered around the corner to see if they were leaving her work area, and sure enough, Clint was steering Tony back to the front of the garage, chatting about something she couldn’t quite hear. She would have to thank Clint next time he popped in to check on his car. She rolled her eyes and walked back to the car, taking a pull from her coffee. The distraction of Stark and her new coveralls had allowed it to cool to a temperature she was easily able to drink. One more thing to thank Clint for. It didn’t take long for her to get lost in the music as she got back to work.

“Bacon, chicken, feta and peppers? That’s quite a pizza.” A female voice interrupted her work. Sally smirked and looked up. Sure enough, it was the stunning redhead that had testified before Congress.

“How much to you want to fuck with Tony Stark’s head?” Sally asked as she accepted the pizza box.

“I love messing with Tony,” the redhead answered.

“He thinks I turned down Clint and won’t speak to him because I am into women,” Sally began.

“Say no more. I’ll tell him you were magnificent,” she laughed. “I’m Natasha, by the way.”

“Sally. Nice to meet you,” she offered her hand and returned Natasha’s warm smile. “Your testimony after the whole SHIELD thing was compelling. It must be hard, keeping all those secrets. I only have one, and I don’t know how I’ve kept it quiet for as long as I have.”

“Part of the training, I guess. I can keep a secret. But I can’t change the oil on my car,” Natasha winked. “Must be one helluva secret.”

“I know who my soulmate is.” Sally heard herself blurt it out. “His name is in my soulmark.”

Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise. “That is a big one. I bet you’ve googled that a few times.”

“Once a week since search engines were invented,” Sally admitted.

“Is he anyone of note?” Natasha pressed. Sally nodded as she bit into a slice of pizza. “I won’t press then. If you ever need me to grab him and bring him to you just to get things over with, let me know.” Sally just laughed in response. She leaned against the car and allowed the conversation to flow as she ate. Natasha finally succumbed to curiosity and tried a slice of pizza.

“This almost qualifies as healthy, Sally,” she commented through a mouthful.

“That’s why I like it. I need quick and easy when I’m in a teardown because I like to go until I’m done. But I don’t want to sacrifice my health too much. I can convince myself this is healthy because there’s real meat on it, not just tube meat, and some veg,” Sally laughed. “I usually tack an extra mile on my run during teardowns as well. Just to cover my pizza habit.”

Natasha’s phone buzzed and she rolled her eyes. “I should probably go report on your incredible romantic prowess before he comes down here and finds up eating pizza.”

“He’ll check the footage as soon as you say it anyhow. But try to get a picture of the look on his face,” Sally smirked. Natasha nodded and headed down the garage. She stopped by the Roadster and called back.

“Is he the one?”

“Do you really think I’d tell you if he was?” Sally called back. She probably should be more surprised that Natasha had figured it out, but she wasn’t. She cleared away her lunch mess and pulled out a basin. There were a pile of parts that were in questionable shape, and Sally needed them clean before she could figure out if they were going to need to be ordered or machined, so she slopped some cleaner in the basin and dropped the parts to soak while she cleaned the engine. She was covered in grime in minutes, and grateful for the amazing bounty of the tool selection in the garage as she made a bigger and bigger mess. Her speaker cut out midway through a Journey song, so she pushed herself up from the floor to check the battery.

Stark was holding the speaker in her hand.

“This isn’t StarkTech. Neither is the iPod. All SI employees are to be provided with StarkTech,” he leveled an annoyed look at her. Sally rolled her eyes, and snatched the speaker away from him. It was going to be hard not saying anything to him, if he was going to be that annoying. She walked over to the soak basin and put the speaker down near it before getting a bottlebrush to ream out one of the parts. “After Natasha came back from lunch, I knew something was up. So I had Jarvis pull your file. You aren’t gay. You could be bi, I suppose, but there’s no record of you ever having a female lover, so I doubt it. And you have a plentiful dating history. No serious romances. I thought maybe it’s just me. Maybe you just don’t like me.”

Sally smirked and met his gaze. She had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from speaking.

“And see, that’s where this gets weird. I thought maybe you’re like me, getting reckless because you haven’t found your mate yet. But you’ve kind of always been devil may care. So then I thought that maybe you don’t have a soulmark. But JARVIS kindly pointed out this photo,” he held a picture up that showed just the last word below the hem of a skirt, and thankfully no more. “That is definitely a soulmark. So you’re kind of an enigma. Why won’t you talk to me? How can you already hate me if you don’t even know me? Don’t answer that, I blame Google entirely. I should buy Google and force it to black out any unflattering media about me. Shit. There might not be much media about me at all then. Anyhow. You’ve been here less than 24 hours and you’ve driven me to searching out your personal information, having JARVIS scan the internet for photos of you, pulling your IRS file and other degrading acts. You’re making me crazy. You won’t speak to me, and you will speak to Clint, and you will speak to Nat. I could parade every person on the team down here just to justify my paranoia, but amazingly, I really do think this is actually all about me. Which makes me think maybe you’re biting your tongue because you want me and you don’t want me to think you’re an easy mark.”

Sally was getting dizzy trying to follow him. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her water bottle, drinking deeply from it.

“If that’s what’s stopping you, sunshine, let me assure you. I won’t think any less of you for coming back to my bed with me. Or just throwing down right here. I can have JARVIS give us privacy. Or not. I’m equal opportunity. Embrace your sexuality. Enjoy your inner freak. I won’t judge. We’ve all been there. Hell, if you want a threesome, I’m down. But for god’s sake woman, just say something to me,” he blurted. Sally choked on her water, hacking and coughing and hoping it wouldn’t come out her nose.

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” she coughed. Stark’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“Did Pepper pay you to say that?” He breathed. Sally realized she’d spoken and dropped the water bottle.

“Oh shit,” she breathed.

“Are you fucking with me?” Stark demanded. Sally stared at him blankly, lost in the horror of what she’d done. She supposed it was stupid to assume she would be able to keep her mouth shut for two weeks, but she’d expected she would have more than twenty-four hours to get used to the idea of Tony Stark. Before she knew what was happening, Stark was pulling up his shirtsleeve. Wrapped around his bicep, in a trailing twist around his arm that was similar to the path of the words on her leg, were the words she’d just coughed, in her familiar, cramped scrawl. “Is this your writing?”

Sally couldn’t respond. She back up to the wall and slid down it to the floor, dropping her head between her knees and breathing deeply. “Oh god, oh shit.”

Tony’s arm was suddenly right in her face. “Is this your writing?” Each word was punctuated with a stop, to make him very clear. Sally closed her eyes and sighed.

“Yes.”

“The fuck? Do you know what a pain in the ass this mark has been? I was convinced that there was something deeply wrong with me that my soulmate would be a guy but I was mostly attracted to women. Why would you say something like that?” He exclaimed. Sally raised her eyebrows and made a disgusted noise.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your mark is bad? Do you recall what your first words to me were, you twat?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just pulled her coveralls off. She was wearing a comfy pair of men’s boxer briefs under the coveralls, and she pulled the leg up to reveal her soulmark. “How do you think I’ve liked having that fucking thing on my leg since I was twelve?”

Stark knelt down in front of her, looking at the mark. He slid his hand up her thigh and followed the words around with his fingers. “It’s definitely my writing. And unquestioningly something I would say. But how did you go so long without anyone ever blabbing about what was there?”

“Do you honestly think I let anyone see that? With your name branded into my skin like I’m your fucking property? I covered that shit up. I tried to have it covered with a tattoo, but I woke up the next morning and $1000 of beautiful work had fucking vanished,” Sally blurted. She was breathing heavily and Stark was still running his fingers along the words on her leg. She pulled free of his grip and adjusted her briefs before stepping back into the coveralls.

“Sir, your heart rate is dangerously elevated,” JARVIS spoke from the ceiling.

“Do you think?” Stark snapped. He rolled back on his heels and dropped to his ass, head in his hands. Sally could hear him slowly inhaling and then after a moment, forcing the air back out his lips. He flexed his fingers in his hair. Sally slid back down the wall, facing him, knees up at her chest.

“Are you okay, Stark?” He’d been doing the breathing thing for a while, and the rhythmic nature of the act was settling her own nerves. He looked up at her, his dark brown eyes meeting her blue ones and locking.

“We have a lot to talk about. But the first thing I think I’d like for you to do is start calling me Tony,” he said.

“Now why couldn’t you have said it that way in the first place?” Sally laughed despite herself.