Aftermath
An Iron Man Fanfic by
Wolfen Moondaughter
Rating: PG-13
Genres: Angst, Romance (Tony Stark/Pepper Potts -- yes, it's Pepperony!), Character Study (Tony and Pepper both) Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Friendship (Tony/Rhodey/Pepper, Tony/Happy/Pepper)
Summary: Picks up right where the main part of the film left off, but before the scene after the credits. Tony and Pepper explore their feelings in the aftermath of the press conference the day after the battle with the Iron Monger.
Spoilers: The Iron Man movie.
Length: 4 chapters, about 20,000 words — 39 pages
Notes: The scenes alternate — we see Tony's POV, then repeat the entire scene from Pepper's POV, except for the final scene. Don't want you guys to get confused. Also, it might interest you to know, as you read, that I used Robert Downey Jr's album, The Futurist, as a soundtrack of sorts while I wrote Tony's parts, and I used Madonna's Hard Candy for writing the Pepper bits (well, with a bit of crossover here and there). See the bottom of this page for more notes.
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DISCLAIMER: "Iron Man" lyrics © Black Sabbath.
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Jump to Chapter: Two / Three / Four
Chapter One
"I am Iron Man," Tony Stark revealed to the crowd.
And before he could recover from his own admission (which frankly had him reeling with equal parts relief at the confession and terror of what he was getting himself into), he was bombarded by a "Jericho" of questions by the press.
"Will you be mass-producing the suit?" "What will you do about the injunction against you at Stark Industries?" "Do you plan to play superhero from now on?" "What does the US Military have to say about your actions?" And tens, even hundreds of other questions — queries that, for the time being, Stark had no answers for.
Thank god no one asked him about Obadiah.
To be fair, though, the questions they did ask were only echoes of the very same ponderings that had been gnawing at him since the day he'd escaped from his captors — questions that had been vague at first, growing in clarity the more he worked on the suit, until the battle with Iron Monger had brushed the last of his doubts away. He was on the right path, one that would take him away from making weapons of mass destruction — it was just a question now of where that path would lead him, and how he would travel upon it.
"These are all very good questions," Stark told the throng before him, although he was really talking more to himself. He decided to continue with his policy of honesty. "I really wish I had answers for you — as soon as I know, you will too. But for now, the suit is still in the prototype stages, really. I won't consider any mass-production until I'm satisfied that the suit is safe. And, to be honest, the Iron Monger suit has proven that this technology could be just as deadly if it falls into the wrong hands as any missile Stark Industries has ever created. That's the last thing I want — I invented the suit to negate collateral damage. But it may very well be that I can't trust this technology to anyone, even our own government." He felt Rhodey stiffen beside him, and winced inwardly. "What I can say is that I consider myself accountable for anything done with a device I have created — which means that I will make absolutely certain that anyone who I do give this tech to will be someone I would trust with my life, because I'd be trusting it with everyone else's."
And his heart gave a twinge that he was sure had nothing to do with shrapnel; he had trusted Obadiah that way, after all, and look how that had turned out .... Well, I guess that means I definitely won't let anyone else use the suit, Tony told himself, but even as he thought it, he knew that there was one person he could trust — well, besides, Pepper. It was the man he had wanted to have him help test the suit in the first place: Rhodey.
Well, if Rhodey would ever forgive him for what he'd said about the military, that was ....
"As for the future of Stark Industries ... I'm afraid that's a little up in the air, still. You, ah, obviously heard about that little injunction against me ...." he said sheepishly, and a nervous titter flitted through the crowd. "So all I can do at the moment is repeat myself: I will no longer have any part in creating something that will kill innocents indiscriminately along with the people that threaten them. And if I can't sway Stark Industries to my way of thinking, well ... forgive me for sounding like a petulant child, but I'll just have to take my toys elsewhere."
The crowd gasped like a single, living organism. He couldn't blame them; the magnitude of what he'd just said threatened to bowl him over, the winds sands of Afghanistan already having worn through his bones and left him feeling brittle as glass. Brittle as a glass skylight over an Arc reactor trying to sustain the weight of two jerks in metal suits .... No, this isn't the time or place for that — give it a few minutes and you can wallow all you want, Tony. Right now, damage control .... The wind-blown granular silicon of a faraway land had eaten holes through his brain too, it seemed, as he hadn't exactly planned a single word that had just leaked out of his mouth!
Still, at least he hadn't just made promises that he couldn't keep: he would abandon his family's legacy, if need be. He still had money; he could do as his father had once done, and build a legacy of his own. He wouldn’t make his father's mistake, though: he would not build that legacy on a foundation of innocent blood, would not delude himself into believing that collateral damage was an acceptable evil. And he'd make up for the lives he'd already taken, however indirectly, even if he had to spend every waking moment for the rest of his life doing it. Even if he lived to be a hundred. In fact, he could probably invent something that would make sure he lived that long — or even longer — just so that he could serve mankind for as long as possible. And, well, find some way to keep his resolve from weakening in the interim.
But he'd have to do something about his weakening knees first, before he fell on his ass in front of these nice people.
Good old Rhodey knew him well enough to tell that something was wrong and, thankfully, took pity on him. The Air Force colonel grabbed hold of the mic, bending it his way, and announced that the press conference was over, as he and the US military had more things to discuss with Mr Stark. Tony could feel Rhodey's gentle-but-firm hand on his back, guiding him back to his office. A little dazed yet, Tony was grateful, walking on autopilot as his head swam still with the ramifications of his woefully unplanned little declaration. He was going to get an earful from Rhodey, at the very least. And Agent Coulson. And the President. And Stark Industries' Board of Directors. And their shareholders.
And, apparently, Pepper.
The strawberry-blonde gazed at him stonily as he walked towards her, a picture of calm perfection — perfectly angry, anyway. He remembered his jest to her from just before the conference, about how, if he were Iron Man, he'd have a girlfriend who would be torn between being worried sick about him and proud of him. It was just as well that she didn't seem to be over the whole being abandoned at the gala-thing, because she obviously wasn't worried or proud at the moment. In fact, she looked like she was ready to kill him herself. Well, no, not really — to the world at large she was the unflappable Pepper Potts. He just knew her better than that.
Do you, Tony? There's no doubt that she knows you, but you couldn't even remember her birthday — much less guess that she would look so fabulous in an evening gown ....
~ * . *. * ~
Pepper never used to be so nervous with press conferences — probably because she wasn't the one behind the podium. No, if anything, she was amused by Stark's boyish enthusiasm and immaturity at best, and bored silly by the talk of prototypes and business models at worst. The last time a press conference had made her heart race was, not-so-coincidentally, the last one Tony himself had attended; this one was almost as bad, and for the same reason. He was hurt, she knew he should be in bed, but here he was, addressing the masses while looking pale and shell-shocked. He needed a psychiatrist, not a press conference. At least this time he had note-cards to read from, so there would be no surprises, right? Pepper wasn't overly fond of surprises — they usually turned out badly. In fact, she could only think of one in the last six months that had been good — Tony's return from the dead.
She wished she'd thought to bring her clipboard to the conference, so she would have something to hold onto. Something to hide the trembling and fidgeting of her hands — although she supposed a white-knuckled grip wouldn’t exactly paint her as the picture of calm either. Well, it didn't much matter: all eyes were on Tony anyway.
Especially when Tony dropped his bombshell of the truth. Well, he was a weapons manufacturer; it was appropriate for the man to drop bombshells. Wait, no — he was quitting that line of work, right? So no, it wasn't, and no one would blame her if she gave him an earful for it later. She wanted to do it now, but even if reprimanding her boss in public wouldn’t get her fired, she'd already found, when she'd tried to cry out in shocked protest just now, that she was so angry she couldn't get more than a squeak from her throat anyway. And then she wondered why she was so angry. She wanted him to quit the munitions business, didn't she?
Except that it doesn't sound like he's getting out of the war business, she realised. He was just changing roles. He'd been a blacksmith, a maker of swords and trebuchets, cannons and cannonballs, who'd sat safe in the castle while the men using the things he'd made were dying. But now it seemed that he was determined to be a knight, even as the armour and weapons were of his own making. She thought back to his flippant words to her just ten minutes earlier, about how, if he had a girlfriend who knew his secret identity, she would be torn between being worried for and proud of him.
Did he think that telling the world that he was Iron Man, so that he had no secret identity, would take away the worry factor?
Or was it that, because she hadn't agreed to be his girlfriend, he figured he had nothing left to lose?
It wasn't that she'd even really wanted to say no, exactly, but she'd seen him with his endless stream of concubines, and she didn't want to be one of them, either. She'd rather work at his side every day than sleep with him once, only to be forgotten forever afterward. She also didn't think she could be with him once and then go back to working with him after. And she couldn't say goodbye — didn't want to, now that he was trying so hard to become a better man. How could she abandon him now, when he needed her most? She didn't need to sleep with him to care about what happened to him. She didn't need to be his girlfriend to worry. Or to be proud.
While his eyes were diverted to the other side of the room, she let a fond, exasperated smile slip free for a moment, before reminding herself of how mad she was that he was apparently planning to put himself at risk again. She didn't play the "true anger" card often, because it was the most effect weapon in her own arsenal — a blade was sharpest the less it was used. And it was true anger — she'd meant it when she'd said that she wasn't going to help him get himself killed. But then again, if she left him over this, over his decision to accept responsibility for his own creations, even if it put him at risk, she'd be doing just that, wouldn't she? She'd meant it when she'd said he wouldn’t last a day without her, too.
Somebody had to take care of the man, because he sure as hell wasn't going to do it himself.
~ * . *. * ~
Tony waited for Pepper's eruption, but she just fell into step beside him, silent. Rhodey continued to flank his other side, equally quiet. His silent wingmen. Wingman and wingwoman. Whatever. They reached the elevator and paused, Pepper pressing the "up" button. The pause seemed to be all Tony's wooziness needed in order to get a foothold, forward momentum no longer there to keep it at bay. He swayed. Fortunately, he had his wings to keep him up, Rhodey and Pepper each grabbing an arm.
"Tony?" Pepper asked. Okay, maybe she was worried after all.
"Whoa, easy, man. Let's sit you down, okay?" Rhodey suggested.
Tony nodded but abruptly aborted the motion, quickly realising that moving his head that way was a really bad idea. His stomach agreed.
"They said that he probably has a mild concussion," Pepper growled as they eased him onto a bench, her huff mussing his hair.
Tony smiled as he remembered her huffiness as they'd left the hospital that morning, released by a doctor on the government payroll. Damage-control waited for no man; they'd had to have the press conference ASAP. Of course, SHIELD was expecting that press conference to go down an entirely different way. Hell, so had Tony!
Tony felt Rhodey's scowl rather than saw it. "Look, man ... we're gonna have to have a talk, but ... well, I guess it can wait a day."
"Can it wait a week?" Tony asked, only half in jest.
Rhodey chuckled and slapped his back; Tony was comforted, even as he gasped in pain. He hurt like hell, and the sudden impact was no help at all, but Rhodey's companionable actions suggested that the man wasn't too upset about things Tony had said at press conference ....
"Oh! Sorry man, I forgot! You all right?"
"As all right as a man who was tossed around by an iron gorilla can be," Tony assured him. The fear that he'd estranged one of his only friends evaporated in giddy bubbles of laughter. Well, until his ribs protested — then laughter turned to an "Ow!"
"An Iron Man tossed by an Iron Monger," Rhodey corrected, grinning.
The grin quickly fell, though, and Tony guessed that Pepper was throwing Rhodey her patented Glare of Death. Well, if it could be patented, Tony would do it; it was a formidable weapon that fit well with his new philosophy ....
"Come on, let's get you home." Rhodey said.
Rhodey and Pepper both stood up and helped Tony to his feet, then flanked him just as they had before. This time, though, Pepper pressed the "down" button, then made a call on her cell. "Happy" Hogan had the car waiting for them in the back of the building. Rhodey went with them, but Tony wasn't much company, out like a light practically the moment he sat down. He didn't even remember fastening the seat belt, though he found it done when Pepper gently shook him awake, back at the house.
~ * . *. * ~
Holding on to the anger was both easier and harder for Pepper when Tony left the podium and approached her. Easier, because there wasn't a crowd of people separating her anymore from the source of her ire. Easier, because his blatant disregard for his health frustrated and infuriated her, and that disregard was all the more apparent for the closer view; he looked haggard under the make-up. Yet harder because she could see it better, the weariness and pain written there in a secret language across his face, one that she sometimes thought only she could read or understand; how could she not feel sorry for him, want to comfort and soothe him, when he looked like that? Wasn't the very essence of her job description to look after him? The urge to yell at him warred with the urge to comfort, leaving her stuck in a sort of middle ground where she found she couldn't react at all. Which was convenient, really: neither fawning over nor screaming at the boss were exactly appropriate behaviors at the office. (Well, she didn't think so, anyway. She wasn't so sure about Tony's opinion on the matter ....) She kept her mouth firmly shut, though, just in case the balance tipped and she gave in to temptation to be cruel or kind.
She could tell, out of the corner of her eye, that her lack of reaction was unsettling him, could feel him glancing furtivly her way. She almost took pity on him. Almost. Let him sweat she chastised herself. A little tough love might do him some good. It might even make him a bit more manageable, easier to protect from himself, if he started actively looking for her approval — it might make him actually listen to her, rather than being contrary just to be contrary. And if she was enjoying having such an effect on him, well ... it was good to love your job, wasn't it?
When they reached the elevator, she noticed Tony waver and quickly grabbed hold of his arm, all thoughts of punishing the man banished with the motion, his name dripping with worry as it slid from her lips.
Tony was in this state because he'd rushed out to save her from Obadiah last night. Granted, Tony was the one who'd sent her into the dragon's lair in the first place, but Tony had had faith in her competence, trusted her not to betray him, and she'd actually gotten out of the office — and her mission — unscathed. She'd placed herself in danger by insisting on going into the lab with Coulson to confront Obadiah later, acting on the information Tony had sent her to find. And really, neither of them, when Tony had asked her to indulge in corporate espionage, had exactly suspected that Stane was out to kill Tony, just take his company out from under him. But when they were in the ER last night, where doctors made sure Tony still had the life and limbs he'd risked to save her, Rhodey had met her there, keeping her company while she waited for the prognosis. Rhodey had imparted news of his own, telling her about how he'd found Tony at the house, on the floor, passed out, and how, upon being revived, Tony's first word was her name, his first thought for her well-being.
She'd already known that Tony was ... different, after his ordeal in Afghanistan. He'd always been friendly to her, but their relationship before then hadn't even really been platonic — they were boss and employee in those days. The dynamic had changed after — the gala was proof of that — but she hadn't really been sure how, and had been afraid to conjecture. He was different in all avenues of his life, after all, not just towards her. She wouldn’t have called her own feelings towards him at the time "love" — at least not that kind. She'd been surprised, though, by how upset she'd been when he'd been abducted, when she didn't even know if he were alive or dead. She'd been even more surprised at her sense of relief when he'd come back, when she'd seen him alive, with her own eyes, after over two months of limbo. And then there had been the butterflies she'd felt at the gala, when he'd danced with her — and the bitter disappointment that had soured the night when he'd left her standing there, waiting for him to come back. And then there had been the bone-deep fear and worry she'd felt for him when she'd learned about the suit, about the secret he'd been keeping, about how he'd risked his life .... She couldn't deny it anymore, at that point: she was half in love with him.
And then Rhodey had told her about Tony saying her name, and the rest of her had fallen in love with Tony too.
Truth be told, she was feeling a bit affectionate for Rhodey at the moment, as he helped her get Tony over to a bench. " They said that he probably has a mild concussion," she growled over Tony's head.
Her affection for Rhodey dimmed a bit when he told Tony that they needed to talk. Her protectiveness of her boss kicked into high gear then; she'd had about five years of practice, after all, and some habits were hard to break. She wanted to scream at the man that the government was going to have to make an appointment though her — and, as far as she was concerned, Tony's schedule was booked for the next year. Decade even. And when he'd slapped Tony on the back, eliciting an "ow" from her boss, if she hadn't already been holding Tony's arm, she would have smacked the colonel for being so thoughtless. But she held her tongue and stayed her hand, especially when Tony started laughing. Tony hadn't laughed much since his return, and she missed the sound, so she was willing to forgive a lot if it meant hearing it again.
Well, at least until Rhodey made the quip about Iron Man. She did not need the reminder of what Tony had done at the press conference, and neither did Tony. She glared at Rhodey, and the man quickly sobered.
They got Tony to the car, and he fell asleep almost immediately, not even pulling his seatbelt on. Pepper fastened it for him with exasperated affection, trying not to think about how it made her momentarily feel like a soccer mom; that was so not an image she wanted to apply to Tony, no matter how often he acted like a little boy sometimes.
"I can't believe he did that," Rhodey said quietly, sighing.
"Can't believe what? That he made a flying suit of armour and didn't even tell us, or that he's been using it to play superhero?" she retorted, equally quiet. If they were going to chat, She probably should have sat next to Rhodey, across the long interior of the limo, instead of next to Tony, but Tony had shifted to lean against her side, his head on her shoulder, and she didn't want to disturb him. She tried not to enjoy the weight of him against her, telling herself that she was only allowing this because he needed the rest. It took a Herculean effort on her part not to rest her cheek atop his head, though — and she had a sneaking suspicion that, if he were awake, he wouldn’t thank her for her restraint.
Rhodey chuckled soundlessly, and she hoped it was just in response to her words, that he wasn't amused by her current circumstance. "I can't believe either one of them, really, but I meant his confessing to the world just now something that he'd agreed to keep a secret. I'm surprised the brass hasn't called to scream at me already."
"Oh, you're just a little lower on the totem pole of blame is all," she mused. "I'm betting that Coulson's getting his ear chewed off right now — you'll get your turn soon enough."
Rhodey grinned. "Ah, so I have a temporary reprieve. I wonder if I could claim that Tony's house has no decent cell coverage," he pondered.
She gave him a level look.
"Yeah, okay, maybe they wouldn’t believe an eccentric billionaire scientist doesn't have cell coverage that could probably reach the moon."
She grinned. They travelled in companionable silence for a while. Then she noticed that he was staring at something, with a soft, knowing smile on his lips. She followed his gaze, and found that she had laid her hand on Tony's arm, her thumb stroking the fabric of his sportsjacket absently. She paused, a deer caught in headlights, debating whether she should draw away or try to pretending she hadn't noticed that Rhodey had noticed. When Tony began to moan and mutter unintelligibly in his sleep, she resumed the caress, figuring the damage was done anyway. He immediately quieted.
She found Rhodey looking at her with concern now. "How are you doing, Pepper? I mean ... after last night—"
"I'm fine," she assured him. "Thankfully the glass from the skylight shattered into small pieces, so I wasn't skewered by any big, sharp shards. Didn't hardly even get scratched. I think I'll be picking glass out of my hair for a month, though!" she laughed.
Judging by the look he was giving her now, he obviously wasn't convinced that she was all right.
"I, ah ... I'll probably be having nightmares for a month, too," she admitted. And not just of the Iron Monger and Obadiah's betrayal. No, if the one she'd had during the few scant hours of sleep she'd gotten this morning was any indication, they'd mostly feature Tony's battered body in his equally-battered armour, the glow of his heart's Arc reactor flickering until it stopped entirely.
Rhodey looked like he wasn't going to let it go, but the car slowed to a stop, Hogan announcing that they'd arrived, saving Pepper from further conversation — though, admittedly, she was reluctant to give up her job as Tony's pillow so soon.
~ * . *. * ~
The rest had done him good; Tony was able to get to his living room couch without the aid of his self-appointed human crutches. Rhodey seemed ready to stay and chat for a while too, but the colonel's cell phone rang, and Tony could hear the tinny yelling of an irate general from across the room. Tony winced in apology, to which Rhodey laughed.
"I may have to listen to the yelling, but I'm not actually the one in trouble, man," Rhodey pointed out with a sympathetic grin before slipping out the door.
In the long silence, Tony took a deep breath and held it, waiting for an explosion that he was sure would outdo any produced by one of his missiles. He had to take another breath, though, and still Pepper hadn't said anything. He didn't know why, but somehow the prospect of facing her was scarier than facing down the Iron Monger had been. Finally he worked up the nerve to look at her. Well, okay, it wasn't a matter of bravery — his curiosity had simply gotten the better of him.
Pepper's face was even harder to read at the moment than the faceplate of his Iron Man suit.
He tried to think of something to say to lighten the moment. He had a quip on his lips, but what tumbled out when he opened his mouth was, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Her voice was as unreadable as her eyes.
He swallowed hard. The space between them, all seven feet or so (and don't think he hadn't noticed that she had taken the seat farthest from his), might as well have been filled with land mines; he knew he was gong to have to tread very carefully with his next words. "For a lot of things," he began tentatively. "For abandoning you at the gala, for one." Had her eyes softened? Even a little? He told himself they had, and it stiffened his spine even better than his 50-year-old scotch could have. "I swear I hadn't meant to leave you; it's just that I—"
"That's becoming a habit with you, you know."
He blinked. He had the sense he was skirting the edge of disaster now, and he had no idea where firm ground was.
"Swearing?" he asked, his voice small and cracking, his spine gone liquid as he slumped in — yes, in, not on — his too-plushy-and-comfortable couch. God, he was thirsty. His eyes flicked to the wet bar, which might as well have been as far away as civilisation had been from the caves he'd spent months as a captive in.
"The leaving thing," she elaborated with false casualness, crossing her legs primly, her tasteful high-heels prolonging the elegant lines of her calves.
As her skirt hiked up slightly with the motion, Tony suddenly felt a different kind of thirst, far fiercer than the kind that was currently demanding a scotch on the rocks. Something more akin to the kind that had wanted a lake to slake it as he'd crossed the desert. He realised suddenly that it had been many months since he'd indulged in the waters of female company. He shoved both thirsts fiercely aside, disgusted with himself, and focused on her. His Pepper. Fiery and loyal — well, he hoped still loyal — and deserving of every ounce of respect and gentlemanliness and attentiveness that he could muster.
"That night at the gala, like you said," she clarified. "And before that, the Jericho demonstration." When he started to protest, she smiled, waving a hand. "Oh, I know, I know, neither of them was exactly your fault — I'm teasing you!" she informed him fondly, as if she hadn't been holding a grudge over it, hadn't reminded him of his faux pas when he'd hinted at the idea of her being his girlfriend just a little over an hour ago. And, to an outsider's eye, he supposed Pepper would seem to be just teasing him. But Tony could see the hairline fissures in her composure, the slight tremor in her grin. Remembering how her eyes had been red-rimmed when he'd come back home finally, or how, echoing his own words to her, she had told him that he was all she had, he realised that, in getting his literal heart broken, he'd broken her metaphorical one as well. Okay, so maybe she wasn't his girlfriend, but in many respects, at least from his point of view, she was far closer to him than any woman he had actually slept with. Whatever they had, his potential loss had obviously frightened her, maybe even as much as ... as much as almost losing her last night had scared him. Understanding sat like lead weight in his stomach.
No. An iron weight.
"In fact, I sent you there in the first place, right?" she continued, fissures appearing in her voice now too, albeit nearly imperceptibly. "Practically shoved you out the door, even." He remembered complaining to her, jokingly, that she was rushing him, accusing her of having plans. "And then you ..." Her face fell finally, and his stomach dropped with it.
"And then I disappeared. For months," Tony quietly finished for her. It hadn't even occurred to him until this moment that he'd gone missing on her birthday. Some present he'd given her. "Pepper, you weren't the one who insisted on me doing the demonstration out there!" He wondered if he's ever spoken to her this way before: earnestly. It felt as foreign on his tongue as Abu speaking Dari had been in his ears. "I pay you to make sure I meet my obligations — you were doing your job! Obie—"
He hadn't addressed what had happened out loud yet. Did he think that not talking about it somehow made what happened not real? That if he just ignored it, then the man who had been a second father to him hadn't really tried to kill him — twice — or nearly killed Pepper? That it would mean Obadiah hadn't nearly killed that family in the SUV last night as well, nor sold weapons behind his back and, consequently, killed Yinsen's family?
That it would mean Tony himself hadn't used Pepper's hand to flip the switches that killed Obadiah?
A hand on Tony's shoulder made him jump; Pepper had come to sit next to him. With a sharp intake of air, he discovered he'd been holding his breath, as if time has stopped when he'd stopped speaking. His breath shuddered as he let it out slowly now, hands trembling as he lowered his head into them, pressing his palms hard into his eyes as if they could stop the tears he felt stinging them now from forming in the first place.
"God, I killed him, Pepper," Tony croaked.
Her hand, which had been moving in soothing circles across his back, paused a moment, then pushed on the front of his shoulder, swiveling him. Her other hand grabbed his far shoulder, forcing his body to face her fully, even if his face refused.
"Don't say that!" she admonished, more fiercely than she'd ever chastised him before. "That bastard tried to kill you, Tony! I saw—" She stopped. It was her turn to look away, hands letting go of Tony as if she'd touched a live wire.
He supposed, tense as he was, crackling with electric anxiety, that that wasn't an unfair assessment.
"What did you see, Pepper?" he asked softly, brow furrowed. He searched her face even as her own eyes seemed to be searching the floor, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if she were struggling to keep a secret inside them. He lay his hand over both of hers, and they opened under his touch like a blossom, the fingers of her right hand intertwining with his own. He could swear he felt a jolt of current spark between them then, but he didn't — wouldn't — let go. She, in turn, held his hand tightly, as though he might disappear again if she didn't anchor him firmly. And maybe she was right.
"I-I saw a video of you being held hostage," she said in a whisper, the tears he'd held back falling freely from her own eyes. "I used the translator on it. Obie—Obadiah had you abducted — paid them to ..."
He nodded, numb; Obadiah had already told him as much. He wished now that he hadn't sent Pepper to get information; she would have been spared that much horror, at least.
As he reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek, he discovered that crying was like yawning: contagious. He could feel his own sadness making a warm, wet track down his skin. She offered him a sad smile and leaned forward, stealing the salt from his face with soft lips. The cold when she leaned back again made him shiver; when she then cupped his cheek with her hand, he leaned into her touch, like a flower to the sun. Her thumb brushed against his face; the gesture seemed to remove the more subtle armour he always wore; if there was anyone in the world he could feel safe letting his guard down, it was her. He crumpled then, like an aluminum can under a boot, doubling over under the weight of too much change dumped on him, by others and by himself, all at once. He was vaguely aware of her arms around him, rocking him gently, her small hands still stroking his back soothingly as a warm rain of her tears soaked into his hair. Was she crying for him? Or because of him? His own pain , physical and not, his fear and sadness and loneliness burst forth from him, in a flood from his eyes, in ragged breaths forced through a throat choked and knotted with the words he couldn't say — words he didn't even know — until he traded Pepper's embrace with that of the dark nothing he'd come to know all too well of late.
Chapter Two
Pepper was happy to note that Tony seemed much better when they got out of the car, no longer seeming so tired, so weak, so fragile. She thought maybe an evening of quiet with his friend Rhodey would do him good — she didn't think he should be alone right now. Unfortunately, the government wasn't so cooperative, calling Rhodey away. Pepper felt sorry for the man, but was relieved that they hadn't called Tony yet. Perhaps someone, somewhere, had the sense to realise it was bad form to yell at a man who'd gone into cardiac arrest the night before. Rhodey gave her an encouraging smile before he left.
And then she and Tony were alone.
He didn't seem quite so healthy as he'd been a moment ago, as if it had all been yet another suit that he'd discarded as soon as Rhodey had departed. Well, two could play at that game. In fact, she had too — how could she keep him together if she fell apart herself? And since she was a terrible prevaricator, the best way for her to maintain her own iron composure was to feed the anger she'd felt at the press conference, restoring the balance of it in relation to how much she cared for the maddeningly frustrating man in front of her. The stalemate between the two emotions produced something she was fairly sure mimicked cold indifference.
It took him a long time to meet her eyes.
That was fine with her; the less he looked her way, the less chance there was of her composure crumbling under scrutiny.
When he did finally face her, Tony had the grace to look sheepish, at least, but she just knew he was going to start making excuses.
"I'm sorry." That was it? No glib story blaming his lack of judgment that afternoon on low bloodsugar or ... well, or on nearly dying the night before?
"For what?" She asked, and it was something of a miracle that she sounded so calm; she felt like someone else was speaking through her. If she could channel whoever it was for the rest of the night, they might actually get through this ....
"For a lot of things," he began, seeming hesitant. "For abandoning you at the gala, for one." He sounded sincere, and she felt the icy veneer she was trying so hard to maintain melt a little. "I swear I hadn't meant to leave you; it's just that I—"
"That's becoming a habit with you, you know," she cut him off. If he wasn't going to be glib, then she would have to be, because that was how they did things, the two of them — they bantered and teased. She needed the familiarity, or she would go to pieces and then they'd both be in trouble.
"Swearing?" he asked, his voice small and cracking as he slumped back against the couch.
She ignored the stab of pity, resisted the urge to comfort him; babying him would only encourage him to fall apart — and take him with her. "The leaving thing," she elaborated with false casualness, crossing her legs and trying to get into Executive Assistant-mode.
He didn't make it any easier, looking at her the way he was now. He had looked at her like that when she was in her backless birthday present, and it had nearly undone her.
At the gala. Right. Stay on target, Virgina. "That night at the gala, like you said. And before that, the Jericho demonstration," she clarified, pouncing fiercely back onto her train of thought. When he started to protest, a smile broke through her own armour, to surface as she waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I know, I know, neither of them was exactly your fault — I'm teasing you!" she informed him fondly.
And she did know that he hadn't left her intentionally, even while she was still a bit hurt over having turned out to be so forgettable. But that bitch reporter had given Tony a very good reason to be distracted: lives in danger because of weapons he had made. And then Obadiah had dropped the bombshell that he was the one behind the injunction against Tony. No, she couldn't fault him for forgetting her when it seemed that the world was falling down around him.
Now, if he'd left that night to be with Everhart again, that would have been a very different story.
Instead, she knew all too well that Toney had gone home to get the damn suit on and play superhero — and then had nearly gotten himself shot out of the sky by his own countrymen! Even while part of her marveled at his bravery, pleased at his sense of responsibility, proud of the fact that he'd saved innocent lives that day, her stomach gave a sickly turn at the memory of finding him in the lab, robot arms trying to get him out of the battered suit like sardines out of a tin. Her stomach gave another little flip as she considered the fact that, had things turned out just a little differently, that night at the gala could have ended up the very last time she'd ever seen him.
Such thoughts were not helping her maintain her composure. Nor did her next realisation, about the day she'd badgered him to get on the plane to Afghanistan. "In fact, I sent you there in the first place, right? Practically shoved you out the door, even. And then you ..." She could feel her mask cracking. That day, her birthday could have been the last time she'd ever seen him too. For a few months, she'd thought for sure that it was.
"And then I disappeared. For months," Tony finished, his voice filled with understanding and apology. "Pepper, you weren't the one who insisted on doing the demonstration out there!" he told her earnestly, no trace of blame in his eyes. It didn't really alleviate her own guilt, although she noted that the earnestness suited him somehow. She never would have guessed that .... "I pay you to make sure I meet my obligations — you were doing your job! You couldn't have known what would happen! Obie—"
Seeing the sudden, stricken look in Tony's eyes, Pepper realised that the full scope of the past few months — the lies Obadiah had told, and what he had tried to do — hadn't really had time to sink in yet for him. Not for either of them, really — she was still in shock herself. She hadn't known the man nearly as long, but she'd been fond of Stane, who was like a second father to Tony; she could only imagine what it was like to be betrayed by a parent. Her heart broke for Tony, her anger draining away. She couldn't resist the urge to comfort him any more, couldn't watch him sit there alone, in pain. She came to sit beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his near-catatonic state.
She hadn't felt so ill-at-ease in handling him since he'd insisted she help him replace his Arc reactor, but she managed to keep her hand on him now, moving her fingers in soothing circles on his back. He lowered his face into his hands, pressing his palms to his eyes, and told her, brokenly, "God, I killed him, Pepper."
Anger flared in her again, and she wasn't really sure who she was more furious with, Obadiah or Tony. She pushed on the front of his shoulder, swiveling him. Her other hand grabbed his far shoulder, forcing his body to face her fully, even if his face refused.
"Don't say that!" she admonished, far more fiercely than she'd ever chastised him before. "That bastard tried to kill you, Tony! I saw—" She stopped, jerking her hands away, feeling much like she imagined Tony had felt just a moment ago; she hadn't had time to even think about the video. Come to think of it, did Tony even know about that? About how Obadiah had not only tried to Tony's company out from under him, and tried to kill him over the Arc reactor, but had actually paid to have him assassinated? That what happened to Tony in Afghanistan had happened because Obadiah had made it happen? She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, wanting to shield him from yet another awful truth if she could. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, holding on to the last thread of her composure.
"What did you see, Pepper?" he asked softly.
He lay his hand over both of hers, and she found herself relaxing under his touch, her fingers intertwining with his almost without thought, the most natural thing in the world. She gripped his hand tightly, not wanting to let go — maybe ever again. She wished he hadn't asked such a direct question, though. She'd never be able to lie to him — they both knew that fact was a big part of why he'd made her his personal assistant in the first place.
"I-I saw the video of you being held hostage," she confessed in a whisper, the dam finally breaking, tears flowing like Niagara. "I used the translator on it. Obie—Obadiah had you abducted — paid them to ..." She couldn't lie, but the words wouldn’t come now, either. How could she speak such a horrible truth?
He nodded; she could see the movement out of the corner of her eye, and it drew her attention back to his face. She was shocked by what she found there: she'd never seen Tony cry before. Even when she made the original mini-Arc reactor into that trophy, with the little plaque that declared it proof that he had a heart, she didn't think he'd had it in him to cry. What is it about a crying boy that always gets me? She offered him a sad smile and leaned forward, drawn to his tears as shrapnel was to an Arc reactor, her lips against his cheek, tasting the salt before she'd even had time to think about what she was doing.
When she pulled away, she found him looking at her the way she'd always wanted him to — even when she didn't know it. She was surprised, though to find that it was similar to the look her gave her every day, though she'd never noticed: with need. He needed her. Not in a lustful way, although that was one of the ways the look was a bit different now. No, the most important thing about the look was that it said he needed her help. That she was important — vital — to his existence. He'd told her as much, hadn't he? When she'd told him to get someone else to help him replace the Arc reactor, and he'd said there was no one else? Hell, she'd said it, when she'd pointed out he didn't even know his own social security number. And now she better understood why she'd laughed him off when he'd hinted at the notion of her becoming his girlfriend: she was afraid he'd make her trade it, trade being the one he needed for being the one he used. She'd rather get his coffee every day than be tangled in his sheets for a night or two. She already had what she wanted most from him. Looking in his eyes now, she saw she'd underestimated him; he was offering her more than what he had already.
But she had to offer something too. His heart was already so damaged, physically and metaphorically — could she share hers with him, so to speak? Would he even let her? She realised that, in order to find out, she would have to be the one who reached out — physically as much as metaphorically — past the armour. Not just his, but her own.
She cupped his face with her hand, discovering that she craved the contact as much as he seemed to, as he leaned into her hand. She brushed her thumb against his cheek — and he shattered under her touch, face screwed up with grief as he doubled over, sobbing. She gathered the pieces of him into her arms, even as she felt herself breaking. Maybe this was what he really needed anyway: not for someone to be strong for him, but rather to be with someone who was broken too, who could understand what he was feeling and help him understand it himself. A grief shared is a grief lessened — she supposed it was a cliché because it was true. Her hands trembled as she rubbed his back, her tears falling silently into his hair as she cradled him, rocking him gently. Each sob that tore through his throat tore through her heart too.
But even while she wished she could take away his pain, she enjoyed the feel of him, reveled in the prolonged and intimate contact — and felt all the worse for her pleasure. Now the anger was aimed at herself. And she couldn't let him go, couldn't punish herself without punishing him, too.
Before long, though, she realised that his breathing had changed, his soft sobs fading into nothing. She did let go then, leaning him gently against the couch, and found that he was sleeping. Grief had led him to rest — she refused to let herself think she might have had a hand in bringing him peace. Not because she didn't believe it, but because it sickened her to think of deriving satisfaction from his pain, like the profiteer that bitch Everhart had accused him of being. But she was also afraid of having him in her arms in happier times, thinking that he wouldn’t be there because he needed her so much as because he wanted her. She realised that she'd never wanted him to want her before. He was like a kid with a toy with the things he wanted — he stopped wanting things once he had them.
Well, he usually did. Watching him sleep, his brow marred by worries and pain that few in the world even knew he had, she reminded herself again that he'd changed. Before Afghanistan, a new woman could be found stumbling out of his room at least once a week; Pepper hadn't found a single new face at his abode since his return. Not even a familiar one, for that matter. It seemed warfare wasn't the only arena in his life which reflected his change of heart.
She smiled fondly as she settled him more comfortably on the couch, undoing his tie and taking off his shoes. It wasn't the first time she'd done this, not by a long-shot; she was always finding her boss sprawled unconscious on the couch in his lab as he waited for simulations to run, or here in the living room, surrounded by papers filled with designs and notations. She kept a blanket in the coat closet for just such an occasion; she got it now, laying it over him. She wiped damp hair from his brow and kissed his temple; he smiled softly in his sleep, for just a moment. As she left his side, a sense of warm affection wrapped around her, like a blanket of her own.
Pepper was in Tony's place so frequently, she considered the TV room her office-away-from-office. At the moment, it had the added benefit of allowing her to keep an ear on Tony while she caught up on things that she would have had done the day prior if ... well, sufficed to say, they needed to be done already. Tony's proclamation was likely to make her busier than ever as they dealt with the reaction from people within and outside of the company alike.
An hour later, she hadn't gotten much done, though. She felt awful — and not just because of the events of the evening prior. What was it about a "good cry" that made you feel like you'd been punched between the eyes? What was good about it? And now her stomach was rumbling. She wasn't sure if she should attribute her lightheadedness to the crying or her hunger.
Tossing her papers aside, she got up and ducked into the kitchen, figuring on fixing dinner. A quick search proved fruitless, though, save for some cheese and a few eggs in the fridge and basket of bell peppers on the counter. Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she picked a bell pepper up thoughtfully, supposing that she could make a couple of omelets.
"You hungry?"
Pepper let out an embarrassing little yelp as she jumped, dropping the fruit on the floor. It rolled over to Happy's feet.
"Oh, sorry!" Happy apologised, picking the pepper up and dusting it off on his chauffer's coat. Not that it could have gotten very dirty, considering that Pepper wasn't sure Tony even knew that he had a kitchen, much less set foot in it.
"It's fine," she told him ruefully, accepting the spicy fruit back and eyeing it thoughtfully. "You know, I've always wondered which pepper he was thinking of when the boss gave me my nickname."
Happy stared at her blankly.
"You do know that my name's actually Virginia, right?"
"As in the state?" Happy asked. "I have a cousin named Dakota."
Fanning? Pepper wanted to ask, but bit her tongue.
"Happy's not my name either," Happy informed her.
Since Hogan was a sweetheart, really, she managed to keep the snark out of her voice as she told him, "I know, Harry."
He gaped at her.
"I sign your paychecks," she told him with a wink.
"Oh! Right!" he said, laughing. "Hey! I'm Harry and you're Ginny!"
"Well, she's Ginevra," Pepper corrected automatically, then blinked in surprise. "You've read Harry Potter?"
"Hasn't everyone? Well, except maybe Tony ..."
She grinned, while inwardly wincing at herself for thinking so poorly of Hogan's intelligence. Truthfully, she didn't know him all that well, despite how often they saw each other. She reminded herself that, despite seeing her every day, Tony had been surprised at her appearance at the gala. It seemed you could see a person every day and still not know them, could still make assumptions ....
"Thought you and the boss might be hungry — I was gonna go get some dinner ...." Hogan informed her.
"Yes! Happy, you're a lifesaver ...."
Chapter Three
When Tony woke again, it wasn't from comfortingly empty ebony, but rather from a dream, a memory of working on that first suit, in the caves, the heat of the forge a sharp contrast to the deep, bone-chilling cold of the stone around him. It took him a long, disoriented moment to realise that the heat was really coming from his own body, trapped by the blanket laid over him, and that the seeming cold was really just his home's normal 72 degrees. He hurt all over — and not just his body. Did they make aspirin for the soul? Because he didn't think chicken soup was going to cut it.
His mouth felt like something had died in it, his lips dry and cracked, eyes burning, and his throat felt like he'd swallowed glass. He caught sight of the bar again, and this time he heeded its call; Pepper wasn't there to be disapproving, to spur or inspire him to be on his best behavior. (And just when had she gained that superpower anyway?)
His whole body protested the movement required to reach the bar (which was almost as hard as getting to the mini-Arc reactor had been the night before), but he'd never really listened to his body before and saw no reason to start now. Booze would shut it up — it always did. Maybe they didn't make aspirin for the soul, but scotch had always been a capable enough painkiller for the spirit.
"Dinner's ready," Pepper said from the doorway, causing his hand to jerk, spilling scotch over the lip of his glass. Switching hands, he licked the precious drops from his fingers as he turned to her. He stopped mid-lick when he saw her face; she was frowning at him slightly as she held up a bag of Burger King in one hand and a drink-holder in the other. "There wasn't much in the kitchen, so I had Happy get us something," she explained cooly, her face heated in contrast.
He hadn't thought he was hungry, but his stomach rumbled, insisting otherwise. He smiled, thanking her, puzzled as to what had her upset but deciding against asking; if she wasn't going to bring it up, he was probably safer leaving it unsaid. He reclaimed his space on the couch, setting the rock glass down on the coffee table.
"A Happy Meal?" he asked with a lopsided grin, and felt a flash of triumph as the corner of her lip curled into a smirk
"Wrong restaurant," she replied, and he knew that she knew he knew the difference, just as he knew it was the sworn duty of Miss Pepper Potts to correct her boss — hence her correcting him.
He wondered for a moment if he'd had too much to drink already and had just forgotten about it.
She took the glass away and replaced it with a coaster (he had coasters??), which she followed with a paper cup with a Burger King logo stamped on the side. Another coaster next to it, this time covered by a small bottle of water. She then pulled a pill bottle out of her pocket, uncapped it, took his hand, and poured a pill into his palm — a pain-reliever, he assumed. He dutifully popped the pill, washing it down with the water. Of course it would take a while to work. Eyeing the now-distant scotch mournfully, he picked the cup up and taking a hesitant sip from the extra-wide straw. Chocolate shake. How very Pepper, he thought to himself with a smile, deciding that he was more in the mood for it than the scotch anyway — the cold cream soothed his throat in a way that even the iciest scotch couldn't have. Pepper pulled a burger and fries out of the bag and handed them to him, then pulled out more of the same for herself. He stared at her food, his own burger as yet only half-unwrapped. He wondered if he'd ever seen Pepper eat anything before.
She took a bite of her own, then paused mid-chew when she took note of him staring. "What?" came her food-muffled question. Then understanding lit her eyes, and she rolled them skyward. Finishing her mouthful, she said, "Oh, right, I'm a fashion-conscious, jet-setting woman and I'm not supposed to eat more than one lettuce leaf at a time. Well, you know what? Sometimes a girl wants a freakin' cheeseburger and fries!" She grabbed her drink and waved it. "And a chocolate shake!" She took a swig for emphasis.
Tony found himself grinning so hard it hurt. Then he realised it hurt because he was holding back a laugh, so he just let it go — he missed laughing. Pepper frowned at him again — no, scowled — and he stopped abruptly, eyes wide. Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. But then Pepper started laughing, and he realised she was teasing him again. This was good. This was normal — he needed normal.
And Pepper was cute when she laughed.
He chuckled, shaking his head at her. "God, I love you, Pepper ...."
He realised what he'd said about the same time she apparently did, their laughter trailing off simultaneously as they met eyes and quickly looked away again.
"Uh, I-I just meant ..." he began, uncertain how to finish. What had he meant? He loved that she was funny, sure, and that she wasn't afraid to put him in his place — he needed that — but it went beyond that, didn't it? They got along really well, she always seemed to anticipate his needs — she understood him better than anyone. They had a good relationship — didn't it make sense to take it further? When he'd mentioned how a girlfriend would worry for him but be proud, he was definitely fishing the waters with her, seeing if she would nibble. But he hadn't really considered why he was doing that; he just knew that he'd never realised how attractive she was — and that, once he finally had, he'd wanted to do something about it. When she'd basically turned him down, though, he'd thought that was that — they cared for each other, but would just stay friends and coworkers. But now he'd just found a "fatal error" in his logic: it hadn't occurred to him that he might feel more for her than friendship whether she felt it too or not.
"Oh, I ... ah, I knew what you meant," she said, ending the awkward pause, her uncertain smile belying her words. "Don't worry about it." And she focused on her burger like she expected it to put up a fight.
He ate his own burger more slowly, unable to take his eyes off of her. Why had it taken him so long to notice how beautiful she was, anyway? Oh, maybe because you're a shallow jerk? It had taken a backless evening gown to draw his attention, but even now, when she was back in her work clothes, a little disheveled, stuffing her face like a normal person — he thought he must have been blind not to see her that way, ravishing, before. Still, that was physical attraction; sure, he cared for Pepper too, couldn't imagine life without her, but was that love? He wasn't sure that he really knew what love — that kind of love — felt like; he didn't think he'd ever been in love before. He was pretty sure it didn't involve sleeping with someone when you'd just met, only to leave before they woke up and never call them again, though. No wonder Pepper turned me down — I don't exactly have a stellar track record in the romance department, and she knows that better than anyone! He shoved some fries in his mouth in frustration, but the realisation soured his stomach, and he had to force himself to continue eating food that was now like ash in his mouth. Did this mean that he didn't have a chance at all with Pepper and should forget about the whole thing? Or might he convince her to give him a chance to prove himself worth taking a chance on?
Somehow the prospect seemed even more daunting than starting a new company from scratch with no idea of what he was going to do with it.
So how could he approach this? Just ask her on a date? He shuddered — he'd never really even gone on a date before, had he? After all, wasn't it about spending time getting to know each other? He was lucky if he remembered the names of half the women he'd slept with, much less anything else! For matter, would Pepper and I really even need to "date"? Don't we spend practically every waking minute together? My god ... it's like we're married without indulging in the best part! But was that the only thing that would change, if they got together? She already told him what to do, they already argued, they already cared about each other, she already looked after hi—
Oh.
She looked after him. So he'd need to start being considerate and attentive of her, now, right? Reciprocate?
The way he didn't take care of her at the gala?
Stark, you self-centered sonovabitch, you are so screwed.
Come to think of it, though ... he paid her to look after his interests — and there were all kinds of weird in the notion of getting intimate with her while paying her. Suddenly he understood why interoffice relations were frowned upon between boss and underling. But at the same time, it just struck him as wrong that, if they were married, and she were bringing him dinner, or coffee, she'd be doing it for free. He couldn't decide which thought made him more uncomfortable. Pepper was the epitome of a feminist vision — a strong woman, independent, smart, able to juggle life with effortless grace from a position of power. She worked for him, sure, but she pretty much ran the day-to-day aspects of the company while he played in his lab. She gave him orders as often he gave them to her. Well then, maybe if they got together, it would be more like ruling a kingdom — he'd be king, she'd be queen, they'd both have responsibilities, and they'd both get income from the company.
Okay, maybe the painkillers were to blame for this bizarre train of thought. And when exactly had the idea of settling down become appealing anyway?
When, after asking you if you had a family and you said no, Yinsen said that you're a man who has everything and nothing.
"You know, Tony," Pepper said, not looking up, "Maybe it's a good thing you're not really Superman — you'd burn a hole through my head, staring at me like that."
He quickly averted his eyes.
"And I can practically hear the gears turning in your head," she continued. "What are you over-thinking about?"
Asking you to marry me. "Nothing." Oh my god, I have lost my mind ...
She gave him an expectant look, clearly not believing him.
He shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich, eyes falling on the table and settling on a newspaper there.
REPORTER HELD HOSTAGE TO DRAW OUT MUTANT BOYFRIEND the headline read. Frowning, he scanned the article and learned that the mutant Magneto had kidnapped Trish Tilby in order to get to Dr Henry "Hank" McCoy. Tony knew — and liked — them both. Thankfully, the article said that Tilby had ultimately been rescued, that she and Hank were both fine.
Tony, on the other hand, wasn't doing so hot. If he himself could be kidnapped while in custody of the US military, what chance did Pepper stand if someone decided to use her to get to him?
"What?" Pepper asked, and he found her frowning in concern.
"Did you see this?" he asked, handing her the paper.
She scanned the article, letting out a gasp. "Oh my god, Trish!" She read further and relaxed. "Wow, talk about scary!"
"As scary as last night?" Tony asked her.
She gave him a blank look, blinking, then laughed. Giggled. He couldn't tell if it was hysterically or not. She rubbed her temple, still chuckling, shaking her head. "You know, for a minute there I actually forgot? Maybe I'm the one with the head injury ...."
She could have been, easily — or much, much worse.
He fell against the couch with a sigh, deflating. "I never think things through, do I?"
"What do you mean?"
"This afternoon — I told the whole world that I'm Iron Man, and made you a target in the process!"
She was quiet for a long moment; he wouldn’t look at her, much as he wanted to out of curiosity. No, it wasn't even that complicated: out of a simple desire to see her.
Instead, he waited for her to quit her job.
"And what makes you think I wasn't a target before?" she asked. "Personal Assistant to the CEO of the world's leading weapons manufacturer? The fact that you now use one of those weapons instead of just making them isn't really a factor in my own danger, Tony — I'm far more worried about you. In fact, if anything, I'd say any potential enemies you have are a lot less likely to bother me now, knowing how you might retaliate."
His eyes popped open, and he stared dumbly at her. She stared back with stubborn, glittering eyes, head held high in challenge. She was the first to avert her eyes, though, shoulder sagging as she added, "But I'd rather die than see you put that damn suit on again."
Tony was incredibly moved by the sentiment, even while it made him feel guilty as hell. "Yeah, well I'd rather put the suit back on than see you die, so I guess we're at a bit of an impasse," he said, attempting to diffuse the situation with a hollow chuckle.
She did not appear amused.
Crash and burn, Tony-boy. "Look. I'm as dedicated to the ideal of my not dying as you are; you can bet I'm going to do a hell of a lot more to the suit before I do anything with it. But I can't do nothing either, Pepper. I have to fix the mess I made. How can I live with myself, knowing other innocent people will die because of what I created? Hell, how could I just stand by and watch them die even if my creations had nothing to do with it, if it was still within my power to stop it? What kind of person would that make me?"
"A live one?" she retorted, features screwed tight with anger, which she immediately released. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't ..."
"Oh, you meant it, all right," he told her, grinning. "That's why I hired you, remember?" his grin softened to a fond smile. "You don't hold back. I might not always agree with you, but I can trust you to be truthful about what you believe. And you're usually right."
"Usually?" she asked, glancing at him sideways.
He laughed. "You're my conscience, Pepper Potts. Which is why I ... you know. Kinda thought you'd be proud of me?" he admitted ruefully.
She sighed heavily, frowning as she once again looked to the heavens. It was Pepper-speak for You have a point, but I'm not happy about it. Taking a deep breath, she eyed him squarely. "'Proud and worried?' I am proud of you, Tony. And I'm worried, too," she told him pointedly.
...
Did she just ...? Did she mean ...?
...
"I don't know how to cherish anything," he whispered finally, confessionally.
She cocked her head, frowning in puzzlement, his reply clearly not what she'd been expecting. Well, that was fair; it wasn't what he'd expected either. But honesty had always served them before; it seemed as good as any of a place to start.
"I don't know how to give — I-I've always just ... taken anything I wanted." It was stream-of-consciousness, unplanned, things that he hadn't even rally realised until they were coming out of his mouth, as if he were back at the press conference, baring his soul to the world. Well, no, it had been easier in front of the cameras and the mass of people. "I'm not used to putting other people's needs before mine, but ... I want to try. I just ... I have no idea what I'm doing. And I'm really, really scared of screwing up."
There. All his cards on the table. Funny, gambling was usually fun ....
She got a hopeful look on her face, which in turn made him hopeful. She started to say something —
Her phone rang.
My life needs one of those theatre ads asking people to turn their cells off and not disturb the movie, Toney thought wryly. Maybe he could programme JARVIS to announce that to anyone who came into the house ....
Pepper looked as annoyed as he felt. She stood up, fished her phone out of her pocket and, without looking at it, dropped it into his scotch. He could hear it still ringing in the liquid as she cleared off the space on the coffee table in front of him and sat down, leaning towards him. She closed her eyes. And just ... sat there. The phone still rang. He glanced back and forth between her and the demanding device, expecting her to crack and answer it. She stayed as she was; the phone gave up. She still sat there, and he realised that she hadn't been out-waiting the phone — she'd been out-waiting him.
He could feel his heart race under the Arc reactor, and marveled at the sensation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been nervous about a kiss. His mouth went dry, as if it had suddenly been confronted with the relentless Afghani sun. He licked his lips, uselessly, wishing he still had his scotch handy. Come on, you faced down Iron Monger last night. This is a cakewalk. This is just kissing a girl — you're something of an expert on the subject, right? ...
Except that it wasn't just kissing a girl, it was kissing Pepper. And he was somewhat surprised to realise he didn't know a damn thing.
As he leaned forward, eyes closing, he felt like he was in a freefall. Well, he knew something about freefalls. Like how bracing for impact was a bad idea.
His lips brushed tentatively against hers; a soft landing — yet flames engulfed him on impact. He wholeheartedly embraced the burn; the warmth that suffused him now was far better than his scotch. He barely touched her, but there was more heat in that sparse contact that any frantic dance between his Egyptian cotton sheets had ever generated. Her lips parted beneath his, but only just, the kiss remaining gentle, chaste, as he fought his natural inclinations, letting her set the pace. He began to raise his hands, instinctually wanting to take her in his arms. Take. He fought that urge as well, settling for cupping one hand softly against her cheek. He was astonished to find himself savouring these light touches, this slow, exquisite burn; she was spicy under his tongue, like her namesake.
Cherish. If he really hadn't known what the word meant before, he was learning now — and patience, too.
Then her hand came to rest on his chest, sliding against the Arc reactor, and everything fell apart, like a glass skylight under the weight of iron.
~ * . *. * ~
Pepper was pleased to see Tony up and about when she brought food to the living room, announcing that dinner was ready. And then she saw what he'd been doing, and was considerably less pleased.
In fact, she was downright angry: it seemed like he purposefully set out to make her job more difficult! It hadn't occurred to her before, but she wondered now if he had something of a drinking problem; now that she thought on it, she did have to replenish the wet bar fairly frequently She had always blamed it on his "guests" and Obadiah as much as Tony, but now she had to wonder.
Well, maybe he just wasn't thinking about how one shouldn't mix the painkillers that he was on with alcohol. It was her job to keep track of little details like that for him, after all.
He hadn't thought he was hungry, but his stomach rumbled, insisting otherwise. He smiled, thanking her, puzzled as to what had her upset but deciding against asking; if she wasn't going to bring it up, he was probably safer leaving it unsaid. He reclaimed his space on the couch, setting the rock glass down on the coffee table.
He settled himself on the couch, laying his drink on the table. "A Happy Meal?" he asked with a lopsided grin, and she felt her lip quirk in an unbidden smile.
"Wrong restaurant," she replied, knowing that he knew the difference — and that he knew she knew he knew. But it was their routine, and she needed it, cleaving to the normalcy.
She took the glass away, laying it on a coaster off to the side, and replaced it with a another coaster, which she followed with the shake she'd had happy get him — mixing the pain reliever with caffeine wouldn't have been good either. She lay another coaster next to it, this time covering it with a small bottle of water. She then pulled a pill bottle out of her pocket, uncapped it, took his hand, and poured a pill into it — the pain-reliever. She was relieved that he didn't fight her on it, dutifully popping the pill, washing it down with the water. She was also a little discouraged: he must really be hurting if he wouldn't fight her on it. She watched him like as hawk as he sipped the shake, looking for signs of discomfort. He smiled at the drink, and she relaxed a bit, emptying the contents of the fast-food bag onto the table.
She took a bite of her own, then paused mid-chew when she took note of him staring at her. She ignored the goosebumps that went up her arm. "What?" came her food-muffled question. And then she realised he wasn't staring at her so much as her food. She rolled her eyes and finished her mouthful. "Oh, right, I'm a fashion-conscious, jet-setting woman and I'm not supposed to eat more than one lettuce leaf at a time," she remarked dryly. "Well, you know what? Sometimes a girl wants a freakin' cheeseburger and fries! And a chocolate shake!" she added, waving the cup at him and taking a swig for emphasis. She almost wished he hadn't noticed her figure; she'd hated when her mother would make comments about what she ate, and did not want to equate Tony with her mother.
Tony grinned, and she felt more charitable — maybe he hadn't meant anything by his stare.
Then he started laughing at her, and she got playfully annoyed. It reminded her of her college days, joking around with her friends, though, so her annoyance quickly dissolved into just play. She glared at him, and took perverse pleasure in the decidedly wary look that crossed his features, abruptly cutting off his mirth. She couldn't keep a straight face anymore, her face crumpling under the strain, and she laughed the first real laugh since Tony disappeared.
"God, I love you, Pepper ...." he said, chuckling.
The words sank in through her mirth, her laughter trailing off as his did; apparently he realised how it sounded too. As she met his eyes, her heart was a drummer in love with the floor tom; she wondered idly if the heart under the Arc reactor was keeping the same time, if they were really as in-sync as they'd seemed.
She didn't have any illusions about what he'd meant, though.
She looked away quickly, sensing that he did the same.
"Uh, I-I just meant ...." He didn't finish, and she worried that her feelings had been written plainly on her face — that he had been unsettled by what he'd found there, that she had misread his interest or that he had changed his mind and wanted to spare her feelings.
"Oh, I ... ah, I knew what you meant," she assured him, ending the awkward pause before it grew unbearable, managing what she hoped — but doubted — was a confident smile. "Don't worry about it." And she focused on her burger, silently willing him to drop the subject.
He said nothing more, but she could feel his eyes on her for a long while; she felt even more self-conscious now than she had when he'd seen her at the gala. Once again, he was looking at her like he'd never seen her before — and she couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not.
Especially when he shoved a handful of fries in his mouth, seeming suddenly upset.
Still, he stayed silent, and part of her hoped that meant he really was interested, and was just trying to come to grips with the idea. The pessimist in her (the one who lamented that the scotch glass was full at all, rather than bone-dry and unused in the wet bar), however, screamed that they would be making a colossal mistake if he did. Either way, she was nearly done eating when she finally decided she couldn't take it anymore. "You know, Tony," she began off-handedly, not looking up, "Maybe it's a good thing you're not really Superman — you'd burn a hole through my head, staring at me like that."
In her peripheral, she could see him quickly look away, and she almost cracked a smile. "And I can practically hear the gears turning in your head," she continued. "What are you over-thinking about?" She was proud of how calm she was, considering she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know, and was half-wishing she hadn't asked.
"Nothing," he said, his voice pitched just a little too high for the truth.
Not buying it in the slightest, the curious part of her overpowering the wary, she gave him an expectant look.
He shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich, eyes falling on the table and settling on a newspaper there.
She bit back a growl of frustration, telling herself that it was probably for the best that he didn't respond anyway.
She saw his eyes widen in alarm, his brow creasing. Suddenly he looked pale, ill, and she worried he was having some sort of relapse.
"What?" she asked, her own brow furrowing in concern. He met her eyes, and her stomach sank with the fear she saw in his.
"Did you see this?" he asked, handing her the paper.
REPORTER HELD HOSTAGE TO DRAW OUT MUTANT BOYFRIEND the headline read. She scanned the article; "Oh my god, Trish!" she gasped when she learned what had happened. Pepper knew — and liked — them both, Trish being one of the more respectful reporters at press conferences; they'd had a number of pleasant conversations at various events. And Trish was one of the few females that had never slept with Tony, nor was ever likely to. Thankfully, the article said that Trish had ultimately been rescued, that she and McCoy were both fine, and Pepper relaxed. "Wow, talk about scary!" she breathed.
"As scary as last night?" Tony asked her.
She gave him a blank look, blinking, then laughed as she realised what he was talking about. She rubbed her temple, still chuckling, shaking her head. "You know, for a minute there I actually forgot? Maybe I'm the one with the head injury ...."
He fell against the couch with a sigh, deflating. "I never think things through, do I?"
She glanced at him warily, worried that he was blaming himself. For the hundredth time that day, she cursed the day she met Obadiah. "What do you mean?"
"This afternoon — I told the whole world that I'm Iron Man, and made you a target in the process!"
She blanched; she hadn't even considered that possibility. So she considered it now, asking herself if it mattered if she was in more danger; would she abandon Tony over it?
No. No, the only time she had been tempted to leave him before was when he wanted to use her to do something that would place him in danger. She would do anything to protect him — she always had.
Besides, there was a flaw in his logic.
"And what makes you think I wasn't a target before?" she asked finally. "Personal Assistant to the CEO of the world's leading weapons manufacturer? The fact that you now use one of those weapons instead of just making hem isn't really a factor in my own danger, Tony — I'm far more worried about you. In fact, if anything, I'd say any potential enemies you have are a lot less likely to bother me now, knowing how you might retaliate."
His eyes popped open, and he stared dumbly at her. She stared back with defiantly, glittering eyes, head held high in challenge. As she looked at him, though, she couldn't help but think of the first day she thought she'd lost him, of how empty her life had seemed, and it frightened her, to think of going through that again. Her bravery collapsed under the weight of her fear; she had to look away. "But I'd rather die than see you put that damn suit on again," she admitted.
"Yeah, well I'd rather put the suit back on than see you die, so I guess we're at a bit of an impasse," he retorted with a weak chuckle.
She was not amused; she was tempted to have JARVIS lock down the house and never let Tony out.
Tony seemed to sense her mood, growing contrite. "Look. I'm as dedicated to the ideal of my not dying as you are; you can bet I'm going to do a hell of a lot more to the suit before I do anything with it." That didn't mollify her much. "But I can't do nothing either, Pepper. I have to fix the mess I made. How can I live with myself, knowing other innocent people will die because of what I created? Hell, how could I just stand by and watch them die even if my creations had nothing to do with it, if it was still within my power to stop it? What kind of person would that make me?"
"A live one?" she retorted, immediately regretting it. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't ..." She was proud of him — she wasn't angry at him. He was just a convenient target for her frustration. She didn't want to have to face the possibility of him being killed so soon after the last time. She wanted him to be selfish and alive.
"Oh, you meant it, all right," he told her, grinning. "That's why I hired you, remember?" his grin softened to a fond smile. "You don't hold back. I might not always agree with you, but I can trust you to be truthful about what you believe. And you're usually right."
"Usually?" she asked, glancing at him sideways, trying, halfheartedly, to get back into their teasing banter.
He laughed. "You're my conscience, Pepper Potts."
Oh wonderful, she was freakin' Jiminy Cricket.
"Which is why I ... you know. Kinda thought you'd be proud of me?" he added, chagrined.
She sighed heavily, frowning as she once again looked to the heavens, not sure if she was looking for answers or to be abducted by aliens. Like it or not, though, he had a point; she didn't have to like it, but it wasn't fair to him to deny his desire to clean up after his mistakes. Nor was it fair to either of them to deny what they felt; whether she was his girlfriend or juts his PA< the worry was always going to be there. Taking a deep breath, she eyed him squarely. "'Proud and worried?' I am proud of you, Tony. And I'm worried, too," she told him pointedly.
She waited, patiently, anxiously, wondering if he would get the reference to their conversation before the press conference or if she would need to spell it out further. For such a genius, he could be a bit obtuse sometimes.
Of course, that was part of what she loved about him.
She could practically see the gears turning in his head. For a moment, she wished he were clockwork; then he's be harder to hurt — and easier to repair.
"I don't know how to cherish anything," he whispered finally.
She cocked her head with a baffled frown, heart sinking. Was this his way of telling her no?
"I don't know how to give — I-I've always just ... taken anything I wanted," he continued, babbling, and she still couldn't decide if he was trying to talk her out of it or warn her. "I'm not used to putting other people's needs before mine, but ... I want to try. I just ... I have no idea what I'm doing. And I'm really, really scared of screwing up."
She let out a slow, relieved breath; it had all been a warning, then — and a hesitant yes.
She was about to tell him that his revelations weren't exactly earth-shattering — or deal-breaking — when her phone rang.
She was sure it was Coulson. And she would give the man an earful, to be sure — later. She stood up, fished her phone out of her pocket and, without looking at it, dropped it into his scotch. It was still ringing, even in the liquid; she ignored it, clearing off the space on the coffee table in front of him, then sat down, leaning towards him. She closed her eyes and just ... sat there. The phone still rang. She waited, wondering if Tony would get this message too, or if she would have to be more direct. He heart still raced in anticipation, but she was oddly calm otherwise, now that she had committed herself to the idea of being with him.
But would Tony commit himself too?
He answered the silent question with a hesitant brush of his lips against hers; not reluctant, but rather asking permission. She parted her own lips, granting invitation.
She wondered if this was what it felt like for him, when he flew in the suit, all breathless and dizzy and terrifying with your stomach in your shoes and you don't want to stop — ever. She felt ready to walk on air without the suit. She felt like smiling till it hurt, except that her lips were already well-occupied. She felt his fingers slide against her cheek, and her skin tingled pleasantly under his touch. Without thought, she brought her hand up to rest on his chest, her fingers brushing against the jutting edge of the Arc reactor beneath his shirt.
He jumped back with a jolt, as if she'd stuck her hand into his chest socket and touched the sides with a copper wire again.
Chapter Four
"Tony? What's wrong? Are you all right?"
When Pepper reached for him again, Tony pulled even further away, hand over the arc reactor, his spine coming up against the soft back of the couch but feeling like it had hit a wall. Bruised muscles all around his torso spasmed; he arched his back in agony. A whimper slipped out before he insisted, "I-I'm fine," knowing full well that she wasn't going to buy it for a second. She was persistent that way — it was one of the things he loved about her, even if it was damn inconvenient sometimes.
"I-is it you're heart?" she asked, frantic, quickly shifting to the couch, getting closer, leaving him nowhere to get away. She reached for him, ripping his shirt open, buttons spraying like bullets.
"Pepper! Pepper, stop!" he pleaded through teeth clenched against the pain. He grabbed her wrists before she could touch the reactor again. "It's just a muscle spasm," he insisted, hoping she would let it be, because he was in no shape to argue at that moment. And to think just a few months ago, having her rip his shirt open like that would have been a fantasy come true. He supposed he deserved this.
It hadn't been any physical pain that had caused him to pull away from her — it was the act of pulling away that had triggered the spasm. No, it was mental anguish that had spurred him to pull away in the first place: the reminder, when her hands brushed his chest, of how he was damaged now. He'd never considered what being with someone now would be like, now that he was a freak. It was stupid vanity, but it still bruised his ego. He didn't want her to look at him and see the reactor instead, didn't want pity.
What if that was why she was willing to be with him now?
No. He had to give her more credit than that. It was more likely she didn't want to be with him before because he was a jackass, plain and simple. For that matter, how did he know she hadn't wanted to be with him before? It wasn't as if he had been paying attention.
The pain started to subside, allowing him to sink into the couch, and to breathe again. He could feel cool sweat drip down his face. He realised belatedly that he was still holding her wrists, and quickly released her, wincing as he noticed the white marks his fingers left on her skin. "S-sorry," he managed weakly, breathing laboured as his lungs made up for lost time. His eyes closed, he was slightly startled when he felt a cool, damp cloth against his brow.
"I'm the one who's sorry," Pepper told him. "It's too early yet for another pain pill. Stupid of me to encourage you to ... " She cleared her throat.
He opened his eyes to look at her, wondering just how far she had intended to take things, but deciding it was probably better for both of them not to dwell on it if he was in such lousy shape anyway. "Hey, now, I think I bear some of the responsibility here — I kissed you!" he pointed out with a grin.
She smiled, ducking her head and blushing. Her eyes fell on the Arc reactor and grew thoughtful. She reached out to touch it, and he held his breath, trying not to tense up again or pull away. She traced the curve of the device with her fingertips.
"It's so beautiful."
His fears melted away then, and his so-very-imperfect heart melted with them. If he'd needed any proof that she was the one he should be with, that was it. But he hadn't been ready before: he only prayed he was now.
"You're amazing, you know that?" she whispered. "That you could make something like this to keep yourself alive — and while you were so badly hurt! I can't imagine doing something like that."
"Yeah, well ... you never would have gotten yourself into that mess in the first place," he told her wryly, equally quiet. "You're the one who amazes me — I don't know how you put up with me."
She smirked. "Well, then — maybe I should get a raise?"
He laughed, but JARVIS broke in before he could reply.
"Pardon the interruption," came the computer's very British, very human tones — sounding far more subdued than usual. Tony got a sinking feeling in his gut, and forced himself to sit upright, ignoring the protest in his ribs and back, as the AI went on, "but there's a call on the land line — according to the number, it's from a hospital in Poughkeepsie."
Pepper grew white as a sheet. "I have to take that," she said, scrambling to the closest phone, on the end table. She almost dropped the handset, her hand shaking as she brought it to her ear. "Hello? ... Mom? Yeah, what's ..." There was a long moment of silence. She bit her lip, screwing her eyes shut. "Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can .... I love you too, Mom. Bye." She sighed, rubbing her temple. She stood, silent.
Tony had struggled to his feet while she spoke; now he shifted restlessly, wanting to go to her but unsure of his welcome. "Pepper?" he ventured forth with word alone, tentative.
She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke. "My grandfather is in the hospital — he's had a stroke. They don't think he's going to wake up." She sounded angry, irritated, not sad.
"Oh ..." It was all the brilliant scientist could think to say.
She sighed. "Does it make me an awful person that I don't care?"
"I suppose that would depend on what kind of a person he was — I'm guessing not a very nice one?"
She granted Tony a small smile. "No. Not at all. But Mom's pretty upset — I need to go offer moral support."
"We can take the jet," Tony suggested.
She blinked. "We?"
"Well, yeah, I'll be your moral support!"
She gave him a small, amused smiled. "Sorry, Tony, but I don't think a death in my family will excuse you from the shareholders meeting tomorrow."
"I'm still CEO; it does if I say it does," he scoffed.
Her smile turned wry. "Tony ..."
"Fine. I'll call in sick! I'll say I have a concussion!"
"You probably do, which is all the more reason for you to stay here."
"But you're going to a hospital!" he pointed out.
"On the other side of the country!" she retorted.
God, he'd missed this in Afghanistan. And he didn't want to miss a second more.
Unfortunately, Pepper had other notions. "Besides ... you're, ah ... not exactly my mother's favourite person right now."
He blinked. Usually he had to actually sleep with a woman before earning her mother's wrath .... "What'd I do?"
"Well, the incident last night was all over the news, and it leaked that I was there."
Yeah, nearly getting your girl killed was not a way to win her mother over.
"I could apologise?" he offered. "Use some of the ol' Stark charm?"
She grinned, rolling her eyes. "Another day, okay? For now, let me get her through losing her dad."
"Oh! Right, I'm sorry!" he hurriedly apologised. Here the poor woman was losing her father, and Tony was worried about impressing her. Apparently he had work to do yet in the whole putting others first department.
"It's okay, Tony," Pepper assured him with a kiss to the corner of mouth.
He couldn't hide his disappointment at the little peck.
"If we go any further, than that, I'm never going to get out of here," she mused.
Would that be so bad? he wanted to ask. "Sorry, you're right," he told her instead, sighing more at himself than anything. "Let's get you to the jet."
~ * . *. * ~
"Tony? What's wrong? Are you all right?"
When Pepper reached for him again, Tony pulled even further away, hand over the arc reactor, falling back against the couch. His back arched, and he whimpered, eyes screwed shut in apparent agony.
"I-I'm fine," he insisted, obviously not.
"I-is it you're heart?" she asked, franticly shifting to the couch to get closer. She flashed back to the night before, when he lain on the roof, his arc reactor flickering. She couldn't get him out of the suit; thankfully, this time he wasn't trapped in his own armour, wasn't at risk of being killed by the very suit that was supposed to save him She ripped his considerably-more-fragile-than-iron shirt open, buttons spraying like bullets in her hurry to bare the reactor and make sure that its light was glowing steadily.
It didn't disappoint her. She felt a surge of affection for the powerful little power source, grateful to whatever forces had spurred her to save it when Tony had told her to get rid of it. She reached for it.
"Pepper! Pepper, stop!" he pleaded, panting, grabbing her wrists. "It's just a muscle spasm."
The iron grip on her flesh said that it was a pretty intense spasm. She bit her lip, both in worry and to keep from crying out in pain, unwilling to tell him to let go; it was, in an odd (and possibly disturbing) way, a comfort to have him hold on to her like that, clinging hard to life. Slowly, his grip relaxed, but it was still a long moment before he even realised what he was doing and finally let go, apologising breathlessly. The spasm having apparently passed, he lay there panting, drenched in sweat, eyes closed in simple exhaustion rather than crinkled in pain.
She picked up a napkin and wet it with the remains of the water bottle, then pressed it to his brow. "I'm the one who's sorry. It's too early yet for another pain pill," she informed him, apologetically. "Stupid of me to encourage you to ... " She cleared her throat, embarrassed. Just how far had she expected to go, anyway? Even if he hadn't been so hurt?
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Hey, now, I think I bear some of the responsibility here — I kissed you!" he pointed out, grinning boyishly.
She smiled, ducking her head and blushing. The light of the Arc reactor caught her eye; she reached out and traced the curve of the device with her fingertips, reverently. This device kept him alive, kept him with her. "It's so beautiful," she marveled. He'd never made anything that she would have called beautiful before he'd made the full-size reactor, but this one was even prettier than it parent. Great, I'm a magpie .... "You're amazing, you know that?" she whispered to him, emphatic. "That you could make something like this to keep yourself alive — and while you were so badly hurt!" She knew he was smart, and driven, but she had never imagined he was so strong, or ... well, so brave. "I can't imagine doing something like that." She was sure that she would have just panicked and died. She hadn't done all that well the night prior, just barely managing to do what Tony had asked of her, And if she hadn't ...
"Yeah, well ... you never would have gotten yourself into that mess in the first place," he told her in wry undertones. And he had a point. Still, she supposed life with him would never get boring, at least .... "You're the one who amazes me — I don't know how you put up with me," he remarked.
She smirked, happy to be past the awkwardness, to be bantering with him again. "Well, then — maybe I should get a raise?" she teased, getting a laugh out of him.
"Pardon the interruption," came the voice of JARVIS, sounding suspiciously subdued, making the hair on her neck stand on end, "but there's a call on the land line — according to the number, it's from a hospital in Poughkeepsie."
Pepper grew cold. Home. Who was hurt? "I have to take that," she told Tony, scrambling to the closest phone, on the end table. She almost dropped the handset, her hand shaking as she brought it to her ear. "Hello? ..."
"Pepper?" came the hesitant reply through the receiver.
"Mom? Yeah, what's—"
"Your grandfather has had a stroke. He's ..." Her mother let out a little sob. "He's in a coma, a-and they don't know if he's going to wake up. Pepper ... honey, I know there wasn't a lot of love lost between the two of you, but please ... please come home. For me?"
Pepper bit her lip, screwing her eyes shut against the start of what she feared was a migraine. Even on his deathbed, the man finds ways to ruin my day, she mused, thinking of what she had come to expect to be a really, really good evening (even if all she and Tony could do was talk — and kiss), then feeling a flash of guilt for the selfish thought. As very small one, anyway .... "Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Thank you, sweetie. I love you!"
"I love you too, Mom."
"See you soon, dear."
"Bye." Pepper hung up and sighed, rubbing her temple. She stood up and inhaled deeply, searching for the calm center that she often accessed for work.
"Pepper?" Tony asked, tentative, and she felt a twinge of longing in response. Not that she didn't like the assertive, confident Tony, but she was looking forward to getting to know this quieter, more attentive side of him better.
She didn't meet his eyes as she spoke. "My grandfather is in the hospital — he's had a stroke. They don't think he's going to wake up." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice; the calm center was proving elusive. It made her feel petty, but there it was.
"Oh ..."
She sighed. "Does it make me an awful person that I don't care?"
"I suppose that would depend on what kind of a person he was — I'm guessing not a very nice one?" he asked.
If she didn't already love Tony, that observation, that understanding, would have been a very good reason to start; most people insisted that, because her grandfather was family, she had to love and forgive him. Pepper preferred the notion that every person had to earn the right to be considered family, whether you were related or not — and could lose the right through inappropriate actions, something her grandfather had committed in abundance ....
Pepper wanted to beam at Tony, but finding herself suddenly tired, she only managed a small smile. "No. Not at all. But Mom's pretty upset — I need to go offer moral support."
"We can take the jet," Tony suggested.
She blinked. "We?"
"Well, yeah, I'll be your moral support!"
Okay, perhaps she shouldn't be surprised anymore, but this — a Tony who was willing to put aside his business for her well-being? A Tony who would even think of doing such a thing, much less actually doing it? This was something of a miracle, and she marveled appropriately. It was also very tempting to take him up on the offer, but she remembered the frantic call she'd gotten from her mother that morning, when the woman had heard what had happened on the news. Her mother already didn't like Pepper working for a "war monger" — the woman's opinion hadn't changed even with Tony's change of heart — and this incident had just added logs to her burn Stark at the stake pile. So as much as Pepper welcomed the idea of Tony coming with her (hell, she'd rather stay here with him), she knew it was a bad idea — her mother was upset enough at the moment. Besides, he had plenty on his own plate.
She gave him a small, amused smiled. "Sorry, Tony, but I don't think a death in my family will excuse you from the shareholders meeting tomorrow."
"I'm still CEO; it does if I say it does," he scoffed.
Her smile turned wry. "Tony ..."
"Fine. I'll call in sick! I'll say I have a concussion!"
"You probably do, which is all the more reason for you to stay here," she insisted, exasperated — and somehow enjoying the fact that he did exasperate her.
"But you're going to a hospital!" he pointed out.
"On the other side of the country!" she retorted, even as she was so very tempted to let him talk her into it. She reminded herself of why she was trying to talk him out of it, and decided she probably should tell him. "Besides ... you're, ah ... not exactly my mother's favourite person right now."
He blinked, looking confused and hurt. "What'd I do?"
Nothing, she wanted to tell him — it was true, as far as she was concerned. Besides, hadn't the man dealt with enough negativity being thrown at him lately? Especially over things that weren't his fault? "Well, the incident last night was all over the news, and it leaked that I was there," she admitted reluctantly.
"I could apologise?" he offered. "Use some of the ol' Stark charm?"
She grinned, rolling her eyes, but really almost falling for his charm herself and relenting. Unfortunately, she suspected her mother would be immune. "Another day, okay? For now, let me get her through losing her dad."
"Oh! Right, I'm sorry!" he hurriedly apologised.
"It's okay, Tony," Pepper assured him with a kiss to the corner of mouth, just barely resisting the temptation to be more squarely on-target.
He looked crestfallen, and resisting got even harder.
"If we go any further, than that, I'm never going to get out of here," she mused aloud.
Would that be so bad? she asked herself.
"Sorry, you're right," he agreed, sighing. "Let's get you to the jet."
~ * . *. * ~
"Hey, Happy, we need to take Pepper to the airport. I can at least go that far with you," he insisted when Pepper turned to him in surprise. Her warm smile was definitely better than scotch. He returned it, raising it to a grin, which she met.
"Okay, but I don't know how quickly were going to get there. There's paparazzi watching the road out of here," Happy informed them. "I had to put down all the windows in the limo to prove you weren't with me and get them to leave me alone when I went for the food run."
Pepper suddenly looked very weary — almost as weary as Tony suddenly felt. Then he got an idea.
Ten minutes later, they watched Happy drive off without them. Tony opened the door to the BMW, the least ostentatious of his vehicles, for Pepper.
"Uh-uh. You still might have a concussion, buster — I'm driving."
He scowled. "I'm fine."
Her eyes narrowed. "You just don't want a girl driving your car."
"I just don't want to not be driving myself," he corrected.
"Happy drives you," she pointed out, arms crossed.
"The limo!" he protested. "It defeats the purpose of having a limo if you drive it yourself! And it defeats the purpose of having any other car if you're not going to drive it yourself!"
She put her hands on her hips, and he knew he was in trouble. "If you don't let me drive, I'm not going. I'm not risking your safety — or mine — to indulge you."
"But you'll indulge me if safety's not an issue?" he asked with a waggle of his brows.
Her glare lasted about two seconds before she caved, shaking her head and laughing silently into the back of her hand, depriving him of the sound.
"And anyway, I'm going to have to drive the car home after I drop you off!" he added, pleased by his logic. Concussion my ass.
Pepper started to protest, but Tony's cell rang then; it was Happy, calling to inform them that, having ventured forth with the limo's tinted windows up this time, he was indeed being followed by the paparazzi.
As Tony started to say goodbye, Pepper snatched the phone out of Tony's hand. "Happy, once you get a few more minutes out, I want you to circle back and meet us at the airport, so you can drive Tony home."
"Hey!" Tony protested, reaching for the phone.
She snapped it closed, hanging up, smirking at him with smug superiority. So not a cute look on her.
Well, okay, yes it was. Very, actually.
Even so, he considered kissing her, just to wipe the smirk away (not at all because she was so damn cute, nosiree), but she was already circling around the car to the driver's side. As he got into the passenger's side, he considered quickly slipping into the driver's seat from that side, but the twinge in his ribs as he got in quickly squashed that notion. And then Pepper was seated and starting up the car, and they were off.
An awkward silence settled over them, accentuated by the sound of the road beneath their wheels. Tony reached over and turned the radio on.
"—Can he walk at all? Or if he moves, will he fall? Is he alive or dead?—" sang Ozzie Ozbourne. Tony quickly moved to change the station — the last thing he wanted was to remind Pepper about the whole Iron Man thing.
She reached out a hand to stop him. "Leave it. Driver picks the music." She shot him a glance out of her peripheral, and smiled, albeit a little sadly.
He smiled back gratefully, a warm tingling feeling flooding through him; she was telling him she was accepting that he was Iron Man. Well, he hoped she was, anyway.
"I still owe you that drink ..." he remarked. He thought for a moment, and was pleased with himself when he actually remembered, "Dry martini, lots of olives?"
"Yeah," she said, sounding pleased at his memory, "but I think you owe me interest on that. Now you owe me dinner."
"Sure," he told her, grinning. "Although it might end up being fast food again, once the board is finished with me ..." he added ruefully.
She grew thoughtful. "Tony ... you do know that your money doesn't matter to me, don't you? I mean, if I come back from New York and you're a pauper ... I'm still coming back to you."
A tightness in his throat stole his words from him for a moment, before he finally managed to jest, "Wonderful — we can look for work together, then!"
She laughed and reached out, squeezing his hand for a moment before gripping the wheel again. "I'm not worried. You're an inventor — you'll just reinvent yourself, if you have to. I mean, you've done it once already, right?"
"I prefer thinking of myself as a phoenix ... I rose from my own ashes in Afghanistan, and I look really good in red and gold!"
"Isn't there already an X-Man by that name? ..." Pepper teased. "Besides, you already have a code name — 'Iron Man'!"
He wished he could see Hank McCoy's face when the man heard about that.
~ * . *. * ~
"Hey, Happy, we need to take Pepper to the airport," Tony told the driver.
Pepper gaped at him. When he'd said "Let's get you to the jet," she'd thought he'd just meant making arrangements, not actually coming with her.
"I can at least go that far with you," he insisted.
This time, she did beam at him. He was already treating her far differently from the other women he'd wined and dined (even if he hadn't gotten her a drink yet and she had technically dined him). After shed told him he couldn't go with, she'd expected him to abandon her to her own devices — not out of spite, but because he'd go off to do his own thing then, the way he'd always leave his bedfellows cold in the mornings. She was glad her fears were already proving to be unfounded.
Tony grinned at her; it was contagious.
Happy interrupted the moment, warning them about the paparazzi.
Pepper felt like the energy had been sapped right out of her; she couldn't let Tony leave the house under those circumstances! She perked up again when Tony came up with a solution; the man really was a genius!
Ten minutes later, they watched Happy drive off without them. Tony opened the door to the BMW for her.
As if. "Uh-uh," she told him. "You still might have a concussion, buster — I'm driving."
He scowled. "I'm fine."
She scowled at him. Was he seriously going to act like a little boy, possessive over his toys? "You just don't want a girl driving your car."
"I just don't want to not be driving myself," he corrected.
Okay, so he hadn't reverted to the sexist side of his nature; that was something. Still ... "Happy drives you," she pointed out, arms crossed.
"The limo!" he protested. "It defeats the purpose of having a limo if you drive it yourself! And it defeats the purpose of having any other car if you're not going to drive it yourself!"
She put her hands on her hips, letting him know she meant business. Even if he had a point. Well, on a normal day, when he didn't have a knock on the head, he had a point. "If you don't let me drive, I'm not going. I'm not risking your safety — or mine — to indulge you."
"But you'll indulge me if safety's not an issue?" he asked, waggling his brows.
She tried to cow him with a glare, she really did, but damnit if the man wasn't a charmer! She stifled the giggles rising within her with the back of her hand, shoulders shaking with pent-up mirth.
"And anyway, I'm going to have to drive the car home after I drop you off!" he pointed out triumphantly.
She started to protest, but Tony's cell rang then. It was Happy, reporting that Tony's brilliant plan to use the limo as a paparazzi-decoy had worked swimmingly.
As Tony started to say goodbye, Pepper snatched the phone out of Tony's hand. "Happy, once you get a few more minutes out, I want you to circle back and meet us at the airport, so you can drive Tony home."
"Hey!" Tony protested, reaching for the phone.
She snapped it closed, hanging up, throwing a triumphant smirk at him. Let's see him try to counter that! She made her way to the driver's side. As she got in, she noted his grimace of pain. She'd have to make sure Happy knew when to medicate the man.
They got on their way, an awkward silence settling over them. As she pondered a way to break the silence, Tony reached over and turned the radio on. Then he quickly moved to change the station.
She knew full well why — the song was Black Sabbath's "Iron Man". She made a quick decision, reaching out a hand to stop him. "Leave it. Driver picks the music." She shot him a glance out of her peripheral, and gave him a bitterweet smile, hoping he would get her drift. She still wasn't happy about his decision to become a superhero, but she understood why, and she would support him, not tear him down. She would be the girlfriend who worried but was proud.
Girlfriend. Would she be able to wrap her head around that by the time she got back? Would she pull a 180, and realise she would have to be out of her mind to date him?
He smiled back at her, obviously grateful, and she decided that being out of her mind was worth it.
"I still owe you that drink ..." he remarked. He was quiet a beat, then, "Dry martini, lots of olives?"
A little thrill went through her: he remembered! "Yeah, but I think you owe me interest on that," she told him playfully, trying to keep things from getting too heavy between them for now. Let serious discussion wait until she got back. "Now you owe me dinner."
"Sure," he told her, grinning. "Although it might end up being fast food again, once the board is finished with me ..." he added ruefully.
Something occurred to her then; had he ever been with someone who hadn't at least partially been interested in him because of his money? "Tony ... you do know that your money doesn't matter to me, don't you? I mean, if I come back from New York and you're a pauper ... I'm still coming back to you." Okay, so maybe she wasn't doing so well at keeping the conversation casual, but she needed to make sure he knew that, that she wasn't abandoning him — she needed him to keep it together until she could get back.
He was silent a moment, and she regretted the serious topic even more. "Wonderful — we can look for work together, then!" he said finally, and she could tell he was more upset than he sounded, his voice strained in a way that usually only Pepper could pick up on.
She laughed, reaching for an air of levity again as she reached out for his hand, squeezing it for a moment before gripping the wheel again. "I'm not worried. You're an inventor — you'll just reinvent yourself, if you have to. I mean, you've done it once already, right?" Although really, she prayed he would never have to do so again ....
"I prefer thinking of myself as a phoenix ... I rose from my own ashes in Afghanistan, and I look really good in red and gold!"
Inwardly, she winced at the mental image; "Tony's own ashes" was a notion she didn't want to contemplate ever again. "Isn't there already an X-Man by that name? ..." she teased. "Besides, you already have a code name, 'Iron Man'."
Even if she sort of hated it.
~ * . *. * ~
"I'll call you when I get there," Pepper told Tony.
He'd insisted on getting onto the plane with her to say goodbye. The plane was almost ready to take off, and Happy was waiting for him in the limo, in the darkness down below; he'd arrange for someone to pick up the BMW, parked next to it, tomorrow. If he thought of it; he had a feeling he was going to be busy tomorrow, especially without Pepper there to help him.
That wasn't why he was going to miss her, though.
The captain informed them that they were about to have a window in the runway, so Tony had to get off the plane. As he walked to the door, his feet were incredibly heavy, like he was wearing his iron boots. He turned back to her, for a last glance—
And she was right there, her lips pressed hard against his, her hand tangled in his hair. He more than willingly let her take what she wanted, having learned already that night that it was as good to give as to receive. She drew away, and he could tell it took effort on her part.
"That'll have to tide us over, I guess," she whispered breathlessly.
"Well, it gives us something to look forward to," he said, panting a little. He turned, stumbling, to the door, wishing he had the do to do his walking for him now. He'd had an easier time walking after half a bottle of scotch! Still, he managed to keep his footing enough to make it back to the limo in one piece. He leaned against the vehicle and, looking back at the plane, found Pepper's face in one of the windows. They kept their eyes locked for as long as they were still visible to each other as the plane pulled away — and for long after.
He missed her already.
~FINIS~
Go on to the sequel, "Homecoming" ....
Author's Notes
Yes, I know, in the comics, Pepper ends up with Happy, not Tony. But I never really read the Iron Man comics, just the instances where he was in the X-Men books. And I was instantly sold on the idea of Tony/Pepper. I'm just afraid the next movies will take the Pepper/Happy path and end up with an unhappy ending for our Tony-boy. *sigh* So viva la fanfiction, sou desu ne? :)
Aaaanyway ... took much longer to write and became much more involved than I expected it too — especially since the notes I didn't really stick at all to the notes I jotted down when I first got started, regarding what I wanted to do. Part of this is because I realised that final scene in the movie, the one with the Nick Fury, likely took place that same night, so I had to rework my original ending plans and a) have a reason why Pepper wasn't there, and b) have an excuse for Tony to leave the house and come back. But I also couldn't see Tony letting Pepper go off alone if she was distraught, so I had to come up with a good reason why she would leave but Tony wouldn't follow, hence my having her have to console her mother but not actually be broken up about her grandfather.
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