Chapter Text
Mr. Miles had grown to love his profession more than he had ever thought possible. He sometimes wished tailoring itself were a person, so that he might throw his arms around it and pull it in closely, thanking it for all it had given him over the years.
Tailoring was his last remaining connection with Papa, God rest his soul. No, he corrected himself, Papa would not have wanted that thought to come out in such a way. Mr. Miles smiled briefly. His Papa would have forgiven him the slip, his Father would have approved.
For fifteen years of Mr. Miles’ life, there had been Mother and Father, of 210 Kingsbry Lane in the small but tidy end of London that survived the bombings with a stiff upper lip and the now-ubiquitous “Keep Calm” attitude. Truth be told, he had a “Keep Calm and Carry On” T-shirt in the drawer where he kept things he didn’t wear. It was a gift from his assistant, Eduardo. That young man was very perceptive and also given to gifts that were not wearable but treasured nonetheless.
Then came the adventures to America, the days of working in larger shops, then smaller shops, and finally his own shop. The years he needed glasses, the years he needed bifocals and then, when it could no longer be avoided, an assistant. Out of all the applicants Eduardo was the only one that passed all three of his tests. The first was to properly assess the cut of cloth (proper answer: one does not cut cloth “16 long.” If working with a European in America one always, always asks in inches or centimeters). The second was to wash his hands before touching any of the material. The final, the one most failed, was to measure Mr. Miles himself. Eduardo was the only applicant that properly explained the process as he was doing it, and then made no sound at all when he lifted Mr. Miles’ pant leg and discovered a robotic foot. He merely asked if he needed to account for the prosthetic being removed, raised or lowered, then made the notes and moved on. He refrained from asking how Mr. Miles obtained a foot clearly worth several hundred thousand dollars of Stark Industries’ finest innovation. He loved that young man like a son. As he was certain Father had loved him.
And so it was that one day the door chimes tinkled (a word Mr. Miles knew sometimes drew snickers from his assistant) and a very tall, famous young woman walked in. He gathered himself to his full 5’9, plus invisible ¾ inch lift in his left shoe, and said
“Ms. Potts. What an unexpected pleasure. May I offer you some refreshment?”
“No, Mr. Miles, thank you. To be honest, this is Tony’s personal request and he should be here making it. But that would have meant stepping foot in Brooklyn. I’m not a fan of delegating personal matters, and so here we are.”
She smiled, and it was like opening the blinds at the front of the shop. Mr. Miles wondered if anybody ever said no to that smile.
“Tony has rebuilt the tower, as you know, and he made it clear, in a way that I’m framing as an offer, that he would very much like it if you would come to work for him. You would be working with everybody in the building, not just Tony himself, no matter how much he wants to believe otherwise.”
Mr. Miles blinked. He blinked again. To be the tailor for Mr. Stark himself? It was…
“A most generous offer, and I am humbled by it. But I have here my shop, and the materials, and of course Eduardo…”
Eddie sprang out from the back room like he had been launched from a trampoline. He shook Ms. Potts’ hand in a very indelicate manner (were all Americans so jocular? He never exhausted himself wondering) and blurted
“Ms.Pottsholycow-ImeanI’mreallyhonored-tomeetyou-mygirlfriendisreallygoingtoloseit-shethinksyourethebestbusinesswoman-intheworldand-shehasallyourprofiles-shestudiesatNYUand-shekeepstheminafolder-it’smarkedaspirations-“
Ms. Potts did an extraordinary thing with her hand in which she managed to disengage it, place it on Eduardo’s shoulder, and in doing so both pull him in and stop his feverish hand pumping. The deft maneuver both calmed Eduardo and the tone of the conversation without showing any lessening of enthusiasm. It was, in short, a most remarkable gesture.
“Well, Eduardo, may I call you Eddie? I’m Pepper.”
As usual, she took a gawp and squeal as a yes and then continued:
“As I’m sure you and Mr. Miles can imagine, we wouldn’t have extended this offer of employment without doing a background check on you. If I’m not mistaken, you live with your girlfriend Magdalena, she’s 26 and studying on scholarship, is that right?” She continued, knowing that her information was flawless and also relevant to the task at hand. “If you and Mr. Miles were to join us at the Tower, you’d have a choice in your living arrangements. We’d be pleased to move you into an apartment on the second floor near the tailoring shop. Or, if you can’t leave Brooklyn, we’d arrange for a driver to pick you up for work every morning and return you every evening. There are some long days and occasional overnights, but naturally your pay would reflect that.”
Pepper eyed the young man, knowing the answer for him was already a “HELL YES.” Now she needed Mr. Miles.
“Part of the compensation package would be for Ms. Ortiz to intern at SI if she wants to. She won’t start at the top, but she’ll have a good view, I can promise that.” The smile again, then the coup de grace. “If you were to get married, our stylists would work with Magdalena to create the ceremony of your dreams, with paid honeymoon.”
Mr. Miles adjusted his collar, the only visible sign of surprise. He was certain he was the only one who knew about the delicate silver ring with the small princess-cut diamond Eduardo had placed among the winter woolen fabrics. It was March. Nobody would be near that drawer for another five months.
He felt it was time to intervene. “Ms. Potts, perhaps we might have a moment to discuss all of this privately.” He waited for her to come behind the small hardwood counter. Everything in his shop was discreetly good quality. Nothing was too flashy or ornate. Solid, bespoke work for the understated gentleman had been his life. He asked Eduardo to stay in front to watch for customers, even though that was a small chance indeed.
He and Ms. Potts sat in the room he used for fittings and after she had refused tea he said “I hate to be forward, but after Mr. Stark kindly replaced the foot that was, ahem, smashed, I truly cannot say I expected to hear from him again. He has been most generous, but this shop has been my entire life. Tailoring is my passion. I’m not certain I could see myself removed from this setting, or, this life.”
Pepper’s posture had changed in the four seconds it had taken to move into the fitting room. Now she was more formal, upright, sitting on the edge of her chair with her legs crossed to one side and her hands clasped in front of her. She had aged ten years through body language.
“Mr. Miles, please hear me out. I’m sure you can imagine what I meant when I said I came prepared with this as an offer. If Tony had his way, your entire shop would have been lifted from its foundations and placed into Stark Tower with you and Eddie still in it, strapped into these chairs. But when I said offer, I meant offer. I believe we have two things to offer you that may sway you into our arms. Let’s dance, shall we?”
“I’m listening with an open but sharp mind, Ms. Potts.”
“I expected as much. First of all, I want you to see the opportunities you’d have on the second floor. Of course Tony wants you to be his personal tailor, mostly because you’ve done that thing with the collar that disguises his little roll of neck fat. He looks 42 again and with constant harping he’s sure you can get him down to 38. But you wouldn’t tailor only Mr. Stark. We have several people living in the building that you might truly enjoy meeting. We have bodies with extremely specific tailoring requirements and only the most innovative tailors can make what we need. I know you’d regret leaving behind your private list of clients, but you would gain many exceptional new clients. We need somebody who can deliver, every time. It’s obvious we see that in you, but I’m sure you must have noticed it in Eddie, as well.”
Dammit all, that was true. There was young Eduardo to think of, and he would be ruined to spend his days hemming pants for a bridal store or, worse, cutting patterns for Men’s Wearhouse. He’d sell this shop and everything in it before that happened. Then his brain rewound itself to a minute earlier.
“You said there are two things to sway me.”
“I did. The second is far more private. I was thinking I could show you the facility, perhaps answer more of your tailoring questions, then when the time is appropriate we could discuss the second.”
“Please give me a day to set orders straight. Can we call on you tomorrow evening at 6:00?”
“We’ll send a car for both of you, Mr. Miles. Thank you.”
That night Mr. Miles walked upstairs to the flat (apartment! he still corrected himself after all these years) and heated up dinner. He watched television. He didn’t care what anybody said about a ‘boob tube,’ television was one of the greatest inventions on the planet. You could go anywhere, see anybody, tell any story, watch any history of any time. Tonight he chose an hour-long comedy about doctors who were all very attractive and had too much time to make love in supply closets. Who made sure those supplies were sterile? He laughed, thinking of the cleaning person tasked with making sure no lovemaking doctors had sweated onto gauze, or sheets, or whatever they kept in the very large closet with good lighting for the cameras. Mr. Miles, or George, as he was at home, thought the fact that this was called TV’s most absorbing drama was the funniest part of all. At times like this, he did wonder if it would’ve been nice to share this idea with someone his own age. Not that he hadn’t courted in his life. He had; quite enjoyably at times. Where the road forked from courting to working, George had always chosen working.
He looked around. The tea, the TV, his bedroom. The door leading downstairs. That was the door that mattered. If he had the chance to take that idea with him, then, was this so much to give up? Plus there was young Eduardo to think of. He had so many small tricks to teach him. The collar trick was too advanced for him, but perhaps he was ready to learn the halfpenny trick. An oldie, but a goodie.
Yes. George was satisfied this would work. With the right offer, it would work. But the second half of the offer had to be the only thing he had ever wanted more than tailoring. He suspected Ms. Potts knew that already.
The next day at 6:00 Eduardo and Mr. Miles were suited and booted (a phrased Eduardo loved and Mr. Miles tolerated) to meet the Stark driver. Mr. Miles was wearing a medium-weight suit with a classic white French-cuffed shirt because he adored cuff links. Today they were Jan Leslie sterling silver, in the shape of a bird. It was Mr. Miles’ private joke; links to see if he could be persuaded to fly the coop, as it were. Eduardo was wearing his latest project, a suit jacket he had specifically cut to look fashionable and elegant when the hem hit denim jeans. Mr. Miles secretly approved. He had seen this look on a model, but the designer had gotten the hemline wrong. It needed to work with the informal waistline of the denim, not against it. Eduardo has corrected the designer’s errors and also chosen a better pattern.
As they drove through the city Mr. Miles looked at the people, the lights, the soaring buildings and endless sidewalks. In his time he had fled monsters, sailed the world, escaped death by the width of just a foot. Now aliens had come to the city and it was protected by the man who was about to hire him to tailor a group of friends including the young American that had been frozen since World War II. In a very un-Mr. Miles-like moment he giggled. Imagine shaking the hand of the man who fought to destroy your childhood monsters, yet was still so young. Within a fraction of a second he found himself imagining a single-breasted suit, in a subtle blue weave to evoke Captain America’s customary costume, in one of the newest textiles that allowed stretch over his muscles while maintaining proper heft and drape over his arms when the man stood still. If the buttons were properly placed they could even—
The door had opened and Ms. Potts was looking down at him. The driver helped him out and suddenly, he was in the middle of the 21st century. Eduardo had taken out his cell phone and was taking a video that seemed to include the car, the building, Ms. Potts, and the angle known as the selfie. It was odd; people know what they look like, that’s why they own a mirror.
Ms. Potts escorted them through security into the building and onto the second floor. She walked through sets of confusing, anonymous hallways until the door opened into…
“Good Lord.”
Mr. Miles stopped, staring at the suite before him. It was as if his own shop had grown, matured, found a better use of space. And money. He didn’t need to touch a thing to know this was all the very best. It was his hardwood counter, but better. His tape measures, but newer yet somehow still softer. Eduardo kept leaping around saying “Can you even? CAN YOU EVEN?”
For once in his life, Mr. Miles didn’t ask him to put a proper ending on that question. Mr. Miles couldn’t even.
Ms. Potts moved through the center of the room and said “If you gentlemen will allow me, I’d like to show you the real fun.”
Through the area where he would have led her for tea and a sitdown just yesterday, there was an enormous room. It was brightly lit, color and season coordinated. It was walls, and walls, and walls of fabrics. It was more material than he had ever seen in his life. There were lightweights, medium weights, things that fell in between the two in degrees Mr. Miles hadn’t thought possible. Some were tagged Property of SI, some were wrapped in yellow tape, a few had wrappers with skulls on them. Eduardo gingerly walked up to one with skulls when Ms. Potts chirped
“Tony is so dramatic. That material won’t explode. It’s just an ultra-stretch flame resistant hybrid we stole from the Russians when we downloaded information from Mr. Barnes’ arm. That said, we may want to test it a bit more before we make company T-shirts out of it.”
Mr. Miles suddenly felt faint. He needed to sit. Last year he had briefly enjoyed the company of a delightful woman named Esther. He was sorry to let her go, but he did so out of self-preservation when she started insisting that the young man from the comics, Bucky Barnes, had come back to Brooklyn. Moreover, the poor dear insisted she had dinner with him but he liked to be called Jimmy. It was too sad to watch her decline. He politely made his excuses and no longer stepped out with her to the movies. If there was even a cha—
“BUCKY FUCKING BARNES WAS HERE?”
“Ms. Potts, I am so very sorry for Eduardo’s language—“
“No need, Mr. Miles. I tell you what, Eddie. There are some business arrangements that we should get sorted out. If everything is arranged, then we could talk to you about how you’d like to proceed with living quarters…
“LIVING QUART–”
“Yes! How about for now, we go upstairs and see if Cap is up for a chat. Mr. Barnes may not be available but…
“CAPTAIN FUC–”
“I take that as a yes. Mr. Miles, there’s someone who really would like to speak with you. If you’ll sit for a second while I get Eddie squared away…”
Her voice trailed down the hall as Eduardo continued to bounce words off of every available surface and generally act like he had never been anywhere. There was no time to be embarrassed because suddenly the room was talking to him.
“Mr. Miles, I am JARVIS. I am the computing system that runs everything Mr. Stark needs for his personal, public, social and business ventures. I am currently speaking to you through the building. I wanted you to be aware of my presence so as not to further violate your privacy. I would hate to think you were under the impression that you are, at this moment, alone. You are not. Also, I am here to speak to you on a somewhat delicate matter that I believe Ms. Potts referred to yesterday. You are aware that under the terms of an employment agreement we would be remunerating you in money, housing, vacation days and part-time use of a villa in the South of France, are you not?”
Mr. Miles had no idea how to talk to a building.
“Sir, may I say that judging from your elevated pulse this information, as well as my existence, may be something of a surprise to you. If I am correct, please just say so out loud.”
“Ahem. Yes, you are correct, Mr. Jarvis.”
“I see. For your perusal, I will ask the printer in your computing room to print a copy of the contract. Your computing room is to the right of the entry to the materials room. Now, onto a more personal matter, sir. It is my programming to make every resident here in the Tower feel that they have a personalized and comforting experience when they interact with me. Therefore, I wanted to enquire as to what I should call you. I can call you Mr. Miles if that is your preference. I could also call you George.”
Mr. Miles barely dared to breathe. He sensed this was the second part of the offer. In one second they could tell him if they knew or didn’t know.
“Or, if you would find it comforting, I might also call you Jerzy. I realize you would not have been addressed as a grown man in Polish, but Mr. Szymański is an option as well.”
There it was. The offer. If they knew his name, surely they would have found more. He wiped his eyes – which had suddenly become wet – and felt foolish telling a room where nobody was there that Mr. Miles would be just fine for now, thank you, and perhaps Ms. Potts would like to show him the rest of the contract.