pepperony100, "Drink"
Title: Scotch.
Author: dinerstate
Theme: 30 - Drink
Length: 1,027 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Communication is down, and Tony's been gone for too long.
Five days he had been gone, and for three days and seventeen hours (the rest was spent sleeping, barely) Pepper was worried. Well, no: she’s always worried when he leaves, but this is usually somewhat sated by his constant check-ins and the fact that he is typically back within about forty-eight hours or less. This time, however, the all-out anxiety began near the end of the second day, when communications were abruptly cut in the middle of a phone conversation, but at least they had lasted just long enough for him to quip that she shouldn’t wait up tonight, fully knowing that she would anyway.
She had no means of contacting him. Jarvis could locate him geographically for a few hours after but on the third day all other communications were lost. No phone link, because apparently he couldn’t run the diagnostic while he fought and Pepper had no idea how to repair the connections on the home front. She had alerted Rhodey first, and by day four even he started to sound concerned, yet optimistic as always. However, if he was still flying, he was somewhere outside his jurisdiction, as he hadn’t even heard a whisper of a sighting. This frightened the both of them, but at least Rhodey didn’t have to be the one receiving him, to witness firsthand whatever injuries he’d bring back with him, his own proverbial stars and bars for completing his tasks. The bottles of scotch he always had on-hand had tempted her many a night, but instead she always opted for a shot of espresso or some good, old-fashioned sleep. She hated scotch, maybe because of the things it sometimes made her boss do, but this wasn’t something she’d readily admit.
On day five Tony staggered home, exhausted and bruised and mumbling to her about a mortar to the back cutting out his comlink back home, and more about autopilot, and chiropractors, and a vague mention of wheatgrass. She wanted to slap him, wanted to tell him that it was his own fault, dammit Tony!, and why did he insist on doing such ridiculously dangerous things, and leave her an absolute wreck with days worth of work to shuffle around without him while all she wanted to do was sit and wait and worry? But instead, this time she found herself embracing him and his sweaty, spent body before she even had the chance to process any sort of intelligent thought other than “Oh thank god, thank god, Tony.”
After the bots had removed the scuffed and dinged casings from his body, and after he had downed half a tumbler of scotch (he had wanted a whole glass, without anything to eat, but Pepper talked him down, in exchange for the hollow promise of going braless on the next cold day, which she knew in his state he wasn’t going to remember anyway) Tony groaned and shifted on his aching feet as they rode the elevator upstairs. Pepper eyed him anxiously, wringing her hands as a set of hot tears rolled down her cheeks before she could catch them and will them to stay. She wiped them quickly away and stepped out of the elevator as its door slid open.
“Hey, Potts,” he had chuckled groggily, as she shoved him through the house and to the master bathroom, “are you…are those tears? Again? Your eyes are red. They’re puffy. You know I don’t like that. It’s not good for you. Have a drink, relax, okay? Works for me every time. Scotch is good. I’d like another glass.”
“Sorry, last call was ten minutes ago. And you know I don’t drink on the job, Mr. Stark,” she said, after taking a few seconds to compose herself and level her breathing from behind him, her hands still gently pushing his strong back as she directed him through the bedroom.
“Miss Potts, you should probably be home right now, am I wrong?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrow at her, but just barely. The area near his temple was darkening into a nice bruise. “I don’t think I am. Jarvis?”
“Correct. Miss Potts’ workday ended approximately seven hours ago, sir. She is, in fact, officially off the clock," the AI affirmed. “Although, I would suggest paying her at least time-and-a-half for her services during the hours you spent on this particular mission.”
“And you’re not. Home, I mean. You might as well move in, Potts, then you always would be” Tony shrugged, and then groaned as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, letting the arc reactor in his bruised chest glow freely now, unrestricted by the thick fabric of his shirt.
She smiled, despite herself, (and tried to pretend like she’d never considered the possibility of moving in before) and the desire, the need to be mad at him, to justify those tears and this worry and the fiery knot caught in her breast, but instead she opted to throw a warm towel at his chest as he started stripping down. He fumbled, but caught it. “Wash up, Mr. Stark,” she said, and paused to look over him for a few seconds as he turned toward the shower. Pepper was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was grimy and coated and sweat, and how he’d gotten much more muscular recently, and the sexy, barely-there dimples in the small of his ba-she paused, pushed the thought away with some effort, and began to mentally tally up the number of ice packs she’d be needing for him. She was just glad there was no blood this time, that she could see, anyway. This relieved her immensely. “I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”
“Promise to call me 'Mr. Stark' when we get there, Miss Potts?” he cackled gleefully as he stepped into the steamy shower, his punch-drunk laughter echoing through the bathroom and out into the bedroom. Pepper followed it out and hurried downstairs to finish the neglected half of his glass of scotch, as more tears slid down her cheeks. “Dammit, Anthony Edward Stark,” she whispered, almost laughing through those tears as she removed her bra and tucked it into her briefcase.
Author: dinerstate
Theme: 30 - Drink
Length: 1,027 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Communication is down, and Tony's been gone for too long.
Five days he had been gone, and for three days and seventeen hours (the rest was spent sleeping, barely) Pepper was worried. Well, no: she’s always worried when he leaves, but this is usually somewhat sated by his constant check-ins and the fact that he is typically back within about forty-eight hours or less. This time, however, the all-out anxiety began near the end of the second day, when communications were abruptly cut in the middle of a phone conversation, but at least they had lasted just long enough for him to quip that she shouldn’t wait up tonight, fully knowing that she would anyway.
She had no means of contacting him. Jarvis could locate him geographically for a few hours after but on the third day all other communications were lost. No phone link, because apparently he couldn’t run the diagnostic while he fought and Pepper had no idea how to repair the connections on the home front. She had alerted Rhodey first, and by day four even he started to sound concerned, yet optimistic as always. However, if he was still flying, he was somewhere outside his jurisdiction, as he hadn’t even heard a whisper of a sighting. This frightened the both of them, but at least Rhodey didn’t have to be the one receiving him, to witness firsthand whatever injuries he’d bring back with him, his own proverbial stars and bars for completing his tasks. The bottles of scotch he always had on-hand had tempted her many a night, but instead she always opted for a shot of espresso or some good, old-fashioned sleep. She hated scotch, maybe because of the things it sometimes made her boss do, but this wasn’t something she’d readily admit.
On day five Tony staggered home, exhausted and bruised and mumbling to her about a mortar to the back cutting out his comlink back home, and more about autopilot, and chiropractors, and a vague mention of wheatgrass. She wanted to slap him, wanted to tell him that it was his own fault, dammit Tony!, and why did he insist on doing such ridiculously dangerous things, and leave her an absolute wreck with days worth of work to shuffle around without him while all she wanted to do was sit and wait and worry? But instead, this time she found herself embracing him and his sweaty, spent body before she even had the chance to process any sort of intelligent thought other than “Oh thank god, thank god, Tony.”
After the bots had removed the scuffed and dinged casings from his body, and after he had downed half a tumbler of scotch (he had wanted a whole glass, without anything to eat, but Pepper talked him down, in exchange for the hollow promise of going braless on the next cold day, which she knew in his state he wasn’t going to remember anyway) Tony groaned and shifted on his aching feet as they rode the elevator upstairs. Pepper eyed him anxiously, wringing her hands as a set of hot tears rolled down her cheeks before she could catch them and will them to stay. She wiped them quickly away and stepped out of the elevator as its door slid open.
“Hey, Potts,” he had chuckled groggily, as she shoved him through the house and to the master bathroom, “are you…are those tears? Again? Your eyes are red. They’re puffy. You know I don’t like that. It’s not good for you. Have a drink, relax, okay? Works for me every time. Scotch is good. I’d like another glass.”
“Sorry, last call was ten minutes ago. And you know I don’t drink on the job, Mr. Stark,” she said, after taking a few seconds to compose herself and level her breathing from behind him, her hands still gently pushing his strong back as she directed him through the bedroom.
“Miss Potts, you should probably be home right now, am I wrong?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrow at her, but just barely. The area near his temple was darkening into a nice bruise. “I don’t think I am. Jarvis?”
“Correct. Miss Potts’ workday ended approximately seven hours ago, sir. She is, in fact, officially off the clock," the AI affirmed. “Although, I would suggest paying her at least time-and-a-half for her services during the hours you spent on this particular mission.”
“And you’re not. Home, I mean. You might as well move in, Potts, then you always would be” Tony shrugged, and then groaned as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, letting the arc reactor in his bruised chest glow freely now, unrestricted by the thick fabric of his shirt.
She smiled, despite herself, (and tried to pretend like she’d never considered the possibility of moving in before) and the desire, the need to be mad at him, to justify those tears and this worry and the fiery knot caught in her breast, but instead she opted to throw a warm towel at his chest as he started stripping down. He fumbled, but caught it. “Wash up, Mr. Stark,” she said, and paused to look over him for a few seconds as he turned toward the shower. Pepper was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was grimy and coated and sweat, and how he’d gotten much more muscular recently, and the sexy, barely-there dimples in the small of his ba-she paused, pushed the thought away with some effort, and began to mentally tally up the number of ice packs she’d be needing for him. She was just glad there was no blood this time, that she could see, anyway. This relieved her immensely. “I’ll meet you in your bedroom.”
“Promise to call me 'Mr. Stark' when we get there, Miss Potts?” he cackled gleefully as he stepped into the steamy shower, his punch-drunk laughter echoing through the bathroom and out into the bedroom. Pepper followed it out and hurried downstairs to finish the neglected half of his glass of scotch, as more tears slid down her cheeks. “Dammit, Anthony Edward Stark,” she whispered, almost laughing through those tears as she removed her bra and tucked it into her briefcase.