Fic: Empty, 1/2 (Tony/Pepper)
Title: Empty (Tony/Pepper)
Prompt: Pepperony 200, #104. Empty
Rating: PG-13 (mild sexual content and brief language)
Word Count: 1,696
Summary: Tony’s out of contact somewhere in South America. Pepper’s left behind to panic worry.
Author's Note: Meant to be a drabble but got a bit out of control. Oh, well. :)
The house echoes more when it’s empty of all but her.
She knows it’s unrealistic, knows that one more warm body in the immense structure, all glass and cement, doesn’t actually make any difference. But when Tony’s here, home, his presence seems to fill the entire house, at least to her; even if it’s just the music thumping through the floor from the garage, it’s enough that it doesn’t matter if they’re in opposite ends of the house from each other. She can feel him there.
And it feels different when he leaves. Colder, no matter how many degrees she asks Jarvis to raise the temperature.
But he’s not usually gone this long, and not without radio contact. JARVIS had informed her, a day and a half into his mission in Columbia, that the Iron Man helmet had been damaged, and while to the AI’s knowledge Tony still had access to the platform built into the suit itself, the AI no longer had contact with its creator. Now, with Tony three days gone, Pepper has ensconced herself in the chair in front of Tony’s monitors in the garage, watching the screens and waiting less than patiently for the small red blip to reappear.
The news had reported Iron Man’s involvement in the clash with the drug cartels, but no details about its resolution. None. A call to Rhodey had gotten her nothing but the Colonel’s voicemail, and she’s certain that if--when--Tony returned, she’ll shake him, or throttle him, or... or something else, something violent and physical so that he might possibly be able to understand how frantically worried she’s been over the past three days.
“I’ll be right back, Potts. This is, like, nothing. Don’t freak out, I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He’d given her his shit-eating grin, obviously glad to be getting out of the planned Board of Directors meeting scot-free, and she’d’ve smacked him if he hadn’t taken off right then, not giving her a chance for a goodbye or a be careful. She’s not comfortable enough with more than that... God, when has she ever been? She’s never been the touchy-feely sort, and he is. Yet another reason nothing will ever come of this... this irrepressible feeling she hasn’t been able to stomp down over the last... however long. Since he’d disappeared, she supposes.
Disappeared the first time, her mind reminds her slyly, and she snarls aloud at that, prompting JARVIS to ask if she’s all right.
“Fine,” she snaps, shoving out of the chair and stripping off the sweatshirt she’d borrowed from the pile of work clothes he keeps down here. She shouldn’t be wearing it anyway. Despite the changes that have taken place in their relationship since he’d returned from Afghanistan, despite this... strange intimacy they’ve developed, this co-dependant relationship (because she’s not stupid enough to miss that she’s just as dependant on him for her sanity as he is on her), in the end... the truth is the same. He’s Tony Stark, prolific engineer, genius, superhero, and she’s... Pepper Potts. His personal assistant. She who can coordinate his life, can schedule and moderate and organize, but... who is not girlfriend material. Or arm-candy material. Or any kind of material, really, for Tony Stark. It just... won’t work. She’s not willing to risk the close relationship she has with the man who is her best friend, who has been the focus of her life for half a decade, give or take, for something that she doesn’t even think he’d be particularly interested in. Sex, yes. But what would happen after the sex...
Stomping up the stairs, she heads right for the fridge and pours herself a glass of orange juice, reminding her nerves that this is not the same as when he’d gone missing in Afghanistan. He’s not presumed dead. His communications are down, and he’ll probably fly down into the garage in a matter of hours. She won’t spend three months rattling about this house, seeing his ghost everywhere she turns, realizing slowly but surely exactly how in love with him she’d fallen since she’d begun working for him.
No. She refuses to worry that way again. Refuses to sink into that hole. She’s going to go to her office, that’s what she’s going to do. And she’s going to reorder his schedule to accommodate everything he’s going to have to make up after the past three days. His trip to the Tokyo office to evaluate their new arc reactor will need to be rescheduled. And R and D will need to delay production until they hear back from him--
Forcing her mind into work channels, Pepper refills her glass and turns to head back to her office, so distracted by trying so hard to distract herself that she almost misses the loud, incredibly quick bang that is the sound of the Iron Man armor landing on the cement floor of the garage.
Before the full glass of juice hits the floor and shatters, she is halfway down the steps, punching in her code and bolting into the workshop, bare feet slapping on the cement as she skids to a stop behind him. The mechanical arms are retracting, armor removed, and he’s unzipping the neoprene suit as he turns to face her, looking exhausted but pleased to see her there.
She can do nothing but stare, not even breathing. He’s all right. Safe. All right. Barely dented, apparently. Three days of panic, nerves shot to hell, and he doesn’t look like he thinks anything’s wrong. The urge to do violence hits her again, and her fists clench.
“Pep, Christ, what are you doing up, it’s three in the--”
She kicks him in the shin.
“Ow!”
“It’s been THREE DAYS with no word from you and you ask me why I’m AWAKE?”
“I thought you’d be asleep, I didn’t know you’d be here, the comm malfunctioned in the suit, I didn’t have any access to--”
“Did it OCCUR to you to maybe stop at a PAY PHONE?”
There’s a pause. He looks guilty. “No... no, it didn’t, I’m sorry, that was stupid of me--”
“Damn right.” This last is nearly hissed. “CNN said nothing but that the conflict had been resolved. Nothing about Iron Man. Nothing about what had happened. Rhodey didn’t answer his phone. You’ve been gone three days. I didn’t know if you were--”
She cuts herself off there, and turns away. He flinches. “Pep--really, I--look, my armor’s--I’m fine. Honest to God. I’m sorry. I--”
“If you say ‘I’ one more time, I’m going to slap you.”
He falls silent, and she starts back toward the stairs, but then pauses, turns and stares at him. Her eyes are red, but her voice is clear. “I know you couldn’t help the comm. I know that. But I had to stay here, when you disappeared for three months, when I thought you were dead. I was here, alone. I thought--” This time, she stops mid-thought because to put it into words would be to make it real, and she just can’t handle that right now.
She’s just getting used to this. He’s only left... three times? Maybe four? Not so many, in the few weeks since Stane’s death. She assumes it will become more routine. But right now... now she wants to go home, because if she stays here much longer she’s going to say things she really shouldn’t.
This time when she turns to go, she gets all the way to the stairs before his voice stops her. “You know you really don’t have to... stay. When I’m gone. I know... Pepper, you don’t have to deal with this. It’s my...” He clears his throat. She hasn’t turned back around. “It’s what I chose for me. It doesn’t have to be what you choose for you.”
She swallows, and starts back up the stairs, not responding. But even when she gets up there, sees the broken glass on the floor... it’s not enough to make her go, the way she knows she should. She should walk out, get in her car, and drive away. Go home, get a good night’s sleep. Except if she leaves, she won’t sleep. Even after three days of nothing but dozing, she won’t sleep.
Her mouth is dry when she turns right around, leaving the glass and the orange juice where it is. When she gets back down to the bottom of the stairs, Tony hasn’t moved far, having peeled the neoprene from his upper half, only to the workbench to pour himself a glass of scotch. But he hasn’t drunk it yet; he’s running his ringers around the rim of the glass, clearly lost in thought, when the glass door opens with a quiet beep, making him jump.
She stands, framed in the doorway, for a long moment. “Do you not want me to help you with this?”
Now it’s his turn to stare, first in shock that she’d come back at all--he’d been certain she was on her way out, of his house and possibly his life--and then in even greater shock that she could even ask that question. “I can’t do it without you.” Simple. Too simple. But it’s the truth, as uncomplicated as he can make it. He can’t do this without her, not and survive it.
And it’s true, he hadn’t thought about what it would have been like for her, to wait, with no word, so soon after... Afghanistan. He opens his mouth to apologize, but before he can, she’s crossing the floor to him, her arms are around his neck, his skin is sweaty and really just feels disgusting but she doesn’t even care. And then her mouth is on his, and he smells terrible, three days of no showers and perspiration and neoprene and it’s somehow still the best thing she’s felt in years. Possibly ever.
Part 2
Prompt: Pepperony 200, #104. Empty
Rating: PG-13 (mild sexual content and brief language)
Word Count: 1,696
Summary: Tony’s out of contact somewhere in South America. Pepper’s left behind to panic worry.
Author's Note: Meant to be a drabble but got a bit out of control. Oh, well. :)
The house echoes more when it’s empty of all but her.
She knows it’s unrealistic, knows that one more warm body in the immense structure, all glass and cement, doesn’t actually make any difference. But when Tony’s here, home, his presence seems to fill the entire house, at least to her; even if it’s just the music thumping through the floor from the garage, it’s enough that it doesn’t matter if they’re in opposite ends of the house from each other. She can feel him there.
And it feels different when he leaves. Colder, no matter how many degrees she asks Jarvis to raise the temperature.
But he’s not usually gone this long, and not without radio contact. JARVIS had informed her, a day and a half into his mission in Columbia, that the Iron Man helmet had been damaged, and while to the AI’s knowledge Tony still had access to the platform built into the suit itself, the AI no longer had contact with its creator. Now, with Tony three days gone, Pepper has ensconced herself in the chair in front of Tony’s monitors in the garage, watching the screens and waiting less than patiently for the small red blip to reappear.
The news had reported Iron Man’s involvement in the clash with the drug cartels, but no details about its resolution. None. A call to Rhodey had gotten her nothing but the Colonel’s voicemail, and she’s certain that if--when--Tony returned, she’ll shake him, or throttle him, or... or something else, something violent and physical so that he might possibly be able to understand how frantically worried she’s been over the past three days.
“I’ll be right back, Potts. This is, like, nothing. Don’t freak out, I’ll be back in time for dinner.” He’d given her his shit-eating grin, obviously glad to be getting out of the planned Board of Directors meeting scot-free, and she’d’ve smacked him if he hadn’t taken off right then, not giving her a chance for a goodbye or a be careful. She’s not comfortable enough with more than that... God, when has she ever been? She’s never been the touchy-feely sort, and he is. Yet another reason nothing will ever come of this... this irrepressible feeling she hasn’t been able to stomp down over the last... however long. Since he’d disappeared, she supposes.
Disappeared the first time, her mind reminds her slyly, and she snarls aloud at that, prompting JARVIS to ask if she’s all right.
“Fine,” she snaps, shoving out of the chair and stripping off the sweatshirt she’d borrowed from the pile of work clothes he keeps down here. She shouldn’t be wearing it anyway. Despite the changes that have taken place in their relationship since he’d returned from Afghanistan, despite this... strange intimacy they’ve developed, this co-dependant relationship (because she’s not stupid enough to miss that she’s just as dependant on him for her sanity as he is on her), in the end... the truth is the same. He’s Tony Stark, prolific engineer, genius, superhero, and she’s... Pepper Potts. His personal assistant. She who can coordinate his life, can schedule and moderate and organize, but... who is not girlfriend material. Or arm-candy material. Or any kind of material, really, for Tony Stark. It just... won’t work. She’s not willing to risk the close relationship she has with the man who is her best friend, who has been the focus of her life for half a decade, give or take, for something that she doesn’t even think he’d be particularly interested in. Sex, yes. But what would happen after the sex...
Stomping up the stairs, she heads right for the fridge and pours herself a glass of orange juice, reminding her nerves that this is not the same as when he’d gone missing in Afghanistan. He’s not presumed dead. His communications are down, and he’ll probably fly down into the garage in a matter of hours. She won’t spend three months rattling about this house, seeing his ghost everywhere she turns, realizing slowly but surely exactly how in love with him she’d fallen since she’d begun working for him.
No. She refuses to worry that way again. Refuses to sink into that hole. She’s going to go to her office, that’s what she’s going to do. And she’s going to reorder his schedule to accommodate everything he’s going to have to make up after the past three days. His trip to the Tokyo office to evaluate their new arc reactor will need to be rescheduled. And R and D will need to delay production until they hear back from him--
Forcing her mind into work channels, Pepper refills her glass and turns to head back to her office, so distracted by trying so hard to distract herself that she almost misses the loud, incredibly quick bang that is the sound of the Iron Man armor landing on the cement floor of the garage.
Before the full glass of juice hits the floor and shatters, she is halfway down the steps, punching in her code and bolting into the workshop, bare feet slapping on the cement as she skids to a stop behind him. The mechanical arms are retracting, armor removed, and he’s unzipping the neoprene suit as he turns to face her, looking exhausted but pleased to see her there.
She can do nothing but stare, not even breathing. He’s all right. Safe. All right. Barely dented, apparently. Three days of panic, nerves shot to hell, and he doesn’t look like he thinks anything’s wrong. The urge to do violence hits her again, and her fists clench.
“Pep, Christ, what are you doing up, it’s three in the--”
She kicks him in the shin.
“Ow!”
“It’s been THREE DAYS with no word from you and you ask me why I’m AWAKE?”
“I thought you’d be asleep, I didn’t know you’d be here, the comm malfunctioned in the suit, I didn’t have any access to--”
“Did it OCCUR to you to maybe stop at a PAY PHONE?”
There’s a pause. He looks guilty. “No... no, it didn’t, I’m sorry, that was stupid of me--”
“Damn right.” This last is nearly hissed. “CNN said nothing but that the conflict had been resolved. Nothing about Iron Man. Nothing about what had happened. Rhodey didn’t answer his phone. You’ve been gone three days. I didn’t know if you were--”
She cuts herself off there, and turns away. He flinches. “Pep--really, I--look, my armor’s--I’m fine. Honest to God. I’m sorry. I--”
“If you say ‘I’ one more time, I’m going to slap you.”
He falls silent, and she starts back toward the stairs, but then pauses, turns and stares at him. Her eyes are red, but her voice is clear. “I know you couldn’t help the comm. I know that. But I had to stay here, when you disappeared for three months, when I thought you were dead. I was here, alone. I thought--” This time, she stops mid-thought because to put it into words would be to make it real, and she just can’t handle that right now.
She’s just getting used to this. He’s only left... three times? Maybe four? Not so many, in the few weeks since Stane’s death. She assumes it will become more routine. But right now... now she wants to go home, because if she stays here much longer she’s going to say things she really shouldn’t.
This time when she turns to go, she gets all the way to the stairs before his voice stops her. “You know you really don’t have to... stay. When I’m gone. I know... Pepper, you don’t have to deal with this. It’s my...” He clears his throat. She hasn’t turned back around. “It’s what I chose for me. It doesn’t have to be what you choose for you.”
She swallows, and starts back up the stairs, not responding. But even when she gets up there, sees the broken glass on the floor... it’s not enough to make her go, the way she knows she should. She should walk out, get in her car, and drive away. Go home, get a good night’s sleep. Except if she leaves, she won’t sleep. Even after three days of nothing but dozing, she won’t sleep.
Her mouth is dry when she turns right around, leaving the glass and the orange juice where it is. When she gets back down to the bottom of the stairs, Tony hasn’t moved far, having peeled the neoprene from his upper half, only to the workbench to pour himself a glass of scotch. But he hasn’t drunk it yet; he’s running his ringers around the rim of the glass, clearly lost in thought, when the glass door opens with a quiet beep, making him jump.
She stands, framed in the doorway, for a long moment. “Do you not want me to help you with this?”
Now it’s his turn to stare, first in shock that she’d come back at all--he’d been certain she was on her way out, of his house and possibly his life--and then in even greater shock that she could even ask that question. “I can’t do it without you.” Simple. Too simple. But it’s the truth, as uncomplicated as he can make it. He can’t do this without her, not and survive it.
And it’s true, he hadn’t thought about what it would have been like for her, to wait, with no word, so soon after... Afghanistan. He opens his mouth to apologize, but before he can, she’s crossing the floor to him, her arms are around his neck, his skin is sweaty and really just feels disgusting but she doesn’t even care. And then her mouth is on his, and he smells terrible, three days of no showers and perspiration and neoprene and it’s somehow still the best thing she’s felt in years. Possibly ever.
Part 2