Theme 28 - Dry
Title: Gesture
Author: ZionAngel
Theme: 28 Dry
Rating: PG
Length: 814 words
Summary: “Like clockwork, as if he’s secretly invented a device that reads her mind, her phone starts to vibrate on the table.”
Author’s notes: So, yeah, I’m alive. And so is this story. A year later. Yeeeeaahhhh… Be kind, I haven’t written any fiction at all in about seven months.
Pepper tucks a strand of wind-tussled hair behind her ear, turning toward the ocean horizon and the setting sun. She’s mostly alone on the restaurant patio, just a few other people, seated far away from her, quiet. She tries to lose herself in the beauty of the gradually shifting colors of the sky. Part of he is glad to have the evening off, totally alone with herself while Tony rushes off toward New York City in the suit, to handle in person a dozen or so minor crises. But another part, small and persistent, wouldn’t mind trading the solitude for dinner with Tony sitting beside her.
Like clockwork, as if he’s secretly invented a device that reads her mind, her phone starts to vibrate on the table. She should be exasperated, annoyed that he can’t go more than ten minutes without pestering her. But she can’t help but smile, just a tiny bit. “Hello, Mr. Stark.”
“Hey, Pep. Listen, what was the name of that grandkid Madison just had?”
“What? Why-”
“I just can’t remember the kid’s name for the life of me,” he says, plowing through her questions, “and I really don’t need to piss him off by not remembering when he inevitably starts blathering on about her.”
Pepper thinks it’s sort of an odd question. But then again, Tony is an odd man, and she’s learned to just go with it. “Well it’s Johnson, actually. And it’s his great-grandchild. And it’s a boy named Joshua.”
“Oh,” Tony says, as if he never expected such a simple explanation. “Well. There you go. Crisis averted then.” He pauses for a moment, awkwardly. “So... Whatcha doin’?”
“I’m… sitting down for dinner at Leonardo’s. Tony, why did you really call?” She’s not giving up her quiet evening for work, no matter what he begs her to help with.
He makes a strangled little noise on the other end, and she can just picture his screwed-up expression. “I just… wanted to… make sure you were actually taking the evening off. You know. Not working or anything. Cause you usually work on your evenings off. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, I mean it’s why you’re so successful. But I mean, once in a while you’ve gotta take a break, Potts, otherwise you’re just -”
She stifles a laugh, and cuts off his rambling. “Well, I am. For once.”
“Right. You’re relaxing and enjoying yourself, so we’re good. And I’m about twenty minutes outside of Manhattan so I should probably let you enjoy your food.”
She’s surprised to feel… touched by his concern. The way he sounds embarrassed and flustered is surprisingly cute, and very sweet of him. “Thank you, Tony,” she murmurs quietly, sincerely. “Be sure to hurry back.”
“Will do, Miss Potts.” She hears a smile in his voice. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
They hang up, and her smile breaks free. She stares at the phone for a few moments before setting it down on the table, and, after another moment’s deliberation, puts it into her purse instead. She settles back into her chair and gives her attention back to the sunset, somehow enjoying it more than before. As the minutes pass by, she loses herself deeper and deeper into her thoughts.
A while later, the waiter’s voice pulls her out of her reverie. He’s said her name twice, she thinks, and she looks down to the table. He places a martini glass in front of her and tells her to enjoy the drink. She didn’t order this. She tries to stop him to tell him so, but he’s already gone. Not a second later her phone vibrates in her bag, again, and she picks it up without thinking. There is only a text message.
Three olives, right?
She looks at the drink again. Sure enough, three of the plumpest olives she’s ever seen are just barely squeezed onto a toothpick.
She has to laugh. Only Tony Stark would have the balls to order a woman a drink from 2000 miles away. Yet as she tucks the phone back in her purse without a reply, she can’t help but smile to herself. She’s not so much surprised that he remembered what drink he had never given her that night at the gala - a little, but not much - it’s more the fact that he even bothered. That after all these months, he felt the need to keep his promise, even if he only made the decision on the spur of the moment. That is something different, unexpected. Something he never would have done before Afghanistan, Iron Man, everything. This is new. Part of the New Tony. She’s still trying to figure New Tony out.
So she sits back, takes a sip of the perfect vodka martini, and watches the sun sink below the horizon as she wonders what this simple gesture might mean.
Author: ZionAngel
Theme: 28 Dry
Rating: PG
Length: 814 words
Summary: “Like clockwork, as if he’s secretly invented a device that reads her mind, her phone starts to vibrate on the table.”
Author’s notes: So, yeah, I’m alive. And so is this story. A year later. Yeeeeaahhhh… Be kind, I haven’t written any fiction at all in about seven months.
Pepper tucks a strand of wind-tussled hair behind her ear, turning toward the ocean horizon and the setting sun. She’s mostly alone on the restaurant patio, just a few other people, seated far away from her, quiet. She tries to lose herself in the beauty of the gradually shifting colors of the sky. Part of he is glad to have the evening off, totally alone with herself while Tony rushes off toward New York City in the suit, to handle in person a dozen or so minor crises. But another part, small and persistent, wouldn’t mind trading the solitude for dinner with Tony sitting beside her.
Like clockwork, as if he’s secretly invented a device that reads her mind, her phone starts to vibrate on the table. She should be exasperated, annoyed that he can’t go more than ten minutes without pestering her. But she can’t help but smile, just a tiny bit. “Hello, Mr. Stark.”
“Hey, Pep. Listen, what was the name of that grandkid Madison just had?”
“What? Why-”
“I just can’t remember the kid’s name for the life of me,” he says, plowing through her questions, “and I really don’t need to piss him off by not remembering when he inevitably starts blathering on about her.”
Pepper thinks it’s sort of an odd question. But then again, Tony is an odd man, and she’s learned to just go with it. “Well it’s Johnson, actually. And it’s his great-grandchild. And it’s a boy named Joshua.”
“Oh,” Tony says, as if he never expected such a simple explanation. “Well. There you go. Crisis averted then.” He pauses for a moment, awkwardly. “So... Whatcha doin’?”
“I’m… sitting down for dinner at Leonardo’s. Tony, why did you really call?” She’s not giving up her quiet evening for work, no matter what he begs her to help with.
He makes a strangled little noise on the other end, and she can just picture his screwed-up expression. “I just… wanted to… make sure you were actually taking the evening off. You know. Not working or anything. Cause you usually work on your evenings off. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, I mean it’s why you’re so successful. But I mean, once in a while you’ve gotta take a break, Potts, otherwise you’re just -”
She stifles a laugh, and cuts off his rambling. “Well, I am. For once.”
“Right. You’re relaxing and enjoying yourself, so we’re good. And I’m about twenty minutes outside of Manhattan so I should probably let you enjoy your food.”
She’s surprised to feel… touched by his concern. The way he sounds embarrassed and flustered is surprisingly cute, and very sweet of him. “Thank you, Tony,” she murmurs quietly, sincerely. “Be sure to hurry back.”
“Will do, Miss Potts.” She hears a smile in his voice. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
They hang up, and her smile breaks free. She stares at the phone for a few moments before setting it down on the table, and, after another moment’s deliberation, puts it into her purse instead. She settles back into her chair and gives her attention back to the sunset, somehow enjoying it more than before. As the minutes pass by, she loses herself deeper and deeper into her thoughts.
A while later, the waiter’s voice pulls her out of her reverie. He’s said her name twice, she thinks, and she looks down to the table. He places a martini glass in front of her and tells her to enjoy the drink. She didn’t order this. She tries to stop him to tell him so, but he’s already gone. Not a second later her phone vibrates in her bag, again, and she picks it up without thinking. There is only a text message.
Three olives, right?
She looks at the drink again. Sure enough, three of the plumpest olives she’s ever seen are just barely squeezed onto a toothpick.
She has to laugh. Only Tony Stark would have the balls to order a woman a drink from 2000 miles away. Yet as she tucks the phone back in her purse without a reply, she can’t help but smile to herself. She’s not so much surprised that he remembered what drink he had never given her that night at the gala - a little, but not much - it’s more the fact that he even bothered. That after all these months, he felt the need to keep his promise, even if he only made the decision on the spur of the moment. That is something different, unexpected. Something he never would have done before Afghanistan, Iron Man, everything. This is new. Part of the New Tony. She’s still trying to figure New Tony out.
So she sits back, takes a sip of the perfect vodka martini, and watches the sun sink below the horizon as she wonders what this simple gesture might mean.