Hell
let me at it
The fusty, lino-floored interior of IKEA is all I can see. Row upon row of shelving units and plastic boxes and beds and drawers and tables and chairs and fluffy cushions. If I squint, I can see the horizon. And what’s beyond that? More Swedish flatpack furniture.
Pepper has stopped by a particularly interesting set of plastic cups and plates. Interesting to her. All I see is a waste of money. I own plates; she owns plates. Ergo neither of us needs to buy more plates. If we pool our resources, we could own infinitely more plates than we’ll ever need. Who cares if they won’t match the tablecloth? Who cares if they won’t match each other?
While Pepper peers intently at the plates, I turn around in a slow circle and stare at the multitudes of crap that this shop has thrown upon me. Agreeing to come shopping for “interior design purposes” was probably the worst thing I’ve ever agreed to.
The Ektorp armchair in blue. We need two of those.
Three Expedit bookshelves in light pine. Oh yes.
The Allamåla newspaper rack. Let me at it.
The Aina cushion cover set. Design by Tomas Harila and available in the following:
Orchid.
Fuschia.
Cobalt.
Ebony.
Jet.
Eggshell.
Lavender.
Spending a whole day trawling around this godforsaken excuse for a shop is ridiculous. God forbid anyone see Tony Stark in a place like this, where they don’t have windows because then you can’t look outside and realise you’ve been in this hellhole for three goddamn hours. Three goddamn hours I could have otherwise spent doing something worthwhile, something for the good of humanity – literally.
I’ve been through hell. Literally. Well, okay, not literally, but metaphorically. Kidnapped by terrorists and held to ransom, stranded in the desert, betrayed by my own best-friend-slash-father-figure. Locked in a flight of vengeance against a jealous, mourning Russian guy; almost bested by Justin freaking Hammer. Fought with a god, defeated another, antagonised the Hulk for shits and giggles, fell through a portal into space. Oh, and let’s not forget the shrapnel with a one-way ticket towards my heart.
But this? This is worse.
I swallow my anger and jog to catch up with her.
“Pepper.”
“Yes, Tony.” She knows exactly what I’m going to say, but I say it anyway, for continuity’s sake.
“Can we just go home? We don’t need this stuff.”
Pepper sighs, rolls her eyes, presses her lips to a flat line. “Tony, you promised.”
“Sure I did. I also promised the good citizens of the United States that—”
“Don’t pull that one on me!” she’s laughing, but her face is stern. “Stop being Iron Man for one day, please, Tony, and tell me which set of shelves you prefer for my study.”
And she grabs my hand and drags me across the lino. If there is a God, he wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.
She stops by a bookcase, scanning over it with one hand on her hip. “What do you think of that one? It’s nicer than the other one back there, with the back wall in it, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I say distantly. I’m a little mad at her, and I’m upset that she’s ignored my pleas to just go home so I can take my shoes off and relax and we can maybe have sex.
“But don’t you think that the other one will be stronger?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, if you’re putting this up, it’ll take longer to put up the other one, but it’ll be better if it’s going to be sturdier, you know?”
“Mmhm.”
She runs a hand over the wood. It makes a swoosh kind of noise.
“Wait, back up. Who said anything about me assembling anything?”
“But then again, this one has a better pattern of wood, doesn’t it? It’s cleaner, I guess is what I mean. What do you think?”
Fuck it.
“Let’s get this one. Now can we please, please get the hell out of here?”
Pepper leaves me for half an hour to get some work done downstairs while I sit on the floor of her study with half of the world’s supply of wood and a pack of screws that I know will be one too few, and when she gets back I’m sitting on the floor of her study with half of the world’s supply of wood and a pack of screws that I know will be one too few.
She gives me this disparaging look, like she’s cottoned onto something. “You can build your way out of a terrorist cell but you can’t assemble an IKEA bookshelf?”
“Nobody can assemble an IKEA bookshelf. Not even the Swedish.”
She kneels behind me, threading her fingers through my hair, and her saccharine-sweet perfume overwhelms me. “If you didn’t want to put it together, all you had to do was ask.”
There’s a moment where I want to take a running jump at the window and launch myself clear out of the place, but I take a few breaths and grin up at her, and she’s laughing at me.
“I’ll get Happy to do it,” she says, squeezing my shoulder once. “He loves interior design.”
“Yeah, I bet he does.”
She kisses the corner of my mouth, and I lean into her a little. “So,” she says slowly, carefully, “fancy clothes shopping tomorrow?”
Pepper has stopped by a particularly interesting set of plastic cups and plates. Interesting to her. All I see is a waste of money. I own plates; she owns plates. Ergo neither of us needs to buy more plates. If we pool our resources, we could own infinitely more plates than we’ll ever need. Who cares if they won’t match the tablecloth? Who cares if they won’t match each other?
While Pepper peers intently at the plates, I turn around in a slow circle and stare at the multitudes of crap that this shop has thrown upon me. Agreeing to come shopping for “interior design purposes” was probably the worst thing I’ve ever agreed to.
The Ektorp armchair in blue. We need two of those.
Three Expedit bookshelves in light pine. Oh yes.
The Allamåla newspaper rack. Let me at it.
The Aina cushion cover set. Design by Tomas Harila and available in the following:
Orchid.
Fuschia.
Cobalt.
Ebony.
Jet.
Eggshell.
Lavender.
Spending a whole day trawling around this godforsaken excuse for a shop is ridiculous. God forbid anyone see Tony Stark in a place like this, where they don’t have windows because then you can’t look outside and realise you’ve been in this hellhole for three goddamn hours. Three goddamn hours I could have otherwise spent doing something worthwhile, something for the good of humanity – literally.
I’ve been through hell. Literally. Well, okay, not literally, but metaphorically. Kidnapped by terrorists and held to ransom, stranded in the desert, betrayed by my own best-friend-slash-father-figure. Locked in a flight of vengeance against a jealous, mourning Russian guy; almost bested by Justin freaking Hammer. Fought with a god, defeated another, antagonised the Hulk for shits and giggles, fell through a portal into space. Oh, and let’s not forget the shrapnel with a one-way ticket towards my heart.
But this? This is worse.
I swallow my anger and jog to catch up with her.
“Pepper.”
“Yes, Tony.” She knows exactly what I’m going to say, but I say it anyway, for continuity’s sake.
“Can we just go home? We don’t need this stuff.”
Pepper sighs, rolls her eyes, presses her lips to a flat line. “Tony, you promised.”
“Sure I did. I also promised the good citizens of the United States that—”
“Don’t pull that one on me!” she’s laughing, but her face is stern. “Stop being Iron Man for one day, please, Tony, and tell me which set of shelves you prefer for my study.”
And she grabs my hand and drags me across the lino. If there is a God, he wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.
She stops by a bookcase, scanning over it with one hand on her hip. “What do you think of that one? It’s nicer than the other one back there, with the back wall in it, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I say distantly. I’m a little mad at her, and I’m upset that she’s ignored my pleas to just go home so I can take my shoes off and relax and we can maybe have sex.
“But don’t you think that the other one will be stronger?”
“Sure.”
“I mean, if you’re putting this up, it’ll take longer to put up the other one, but it’ll be better if it’s going to be sturdier, you know?”
“Mmhm.”
She runs a hand over the wood. It makes a swoosh kind of noise.
“Wait, back up. Who said anything about me assembling anything?”
“But then again, this one has a better pattern of wood, doesn’t it? It’s cleaner, I guess is what I mean. What do you think?”
Fuck it.
“Let’s get this one. Now can we please, please get the hell out of here?”
————————————————————
Pepper leaves me for half an hour to get some work done downstairs while I sit on the floor of her study with half of the world’s supply of wood and a pack of screws that I know will be one too few, and when she gets back I’m sitting on the floor of her study with half of the world’s supply of wood and a pack of screws that I know will be one too few.
She gives me this disparaging look, like she’s cottoned onto something. “You can build your way out of a terrorist cell but you can’t assemble an IKEA bookshelf?”
“Nobody can assemble an IKEA bookshelf. Not even the Swedish.”
She kneels behind me, threading her fingers through my hair, and her saccharine-sweet perfume overwhelms me. “If you didn’t want to put it together, all you had to do was ask.”
There’s a moment where I want to take a running jump at the window and launch myself clear out of the place, but I take a few breaths and grin up at her, and she’s laughing at me.
“I’ll get Happy to do it,” she says, squeezing my shoulder once. “He loves interior design.”
“Yeah, I bet he does.”
She kisses the corner of my mouth, and I lean into her a little. “So,” she says slowly, carefully, “fancy clothes shopping tomorrow?”