FIC: When in Venice; Tony/Pepper UST; PG
Title: When in Venice
Rating: PG for mild swearing
Character(s): Tony/Pepper UST, Obadiah
Summary: Once in a while (probably more often than most people think), Pepper is reminded why she took this job in the first place, and why she has stuck around as long as she has. AKA that one time, in Venice.
Notes/Warnings: Not really spoilers, though inspired by that line from Iron Man 2. You know the one. Set before Iron Man. So many thanks to thewlisian_afer, as always, for the support. 1,610 words.
Let’s go to Venice… Cipriani, you remember?
Oh, yes.
This is how it goes.
“Venice,” he says, marching up the stairs and into Pepper’s space that she’s made for herself on the couch, laptop and phone and a cup of herbal tea at hand.
“Uh.” She doesn’t even look up from her work. “What about it?”
He sits, close enough that she can feel his body heat, smell the scent of grease and metal shavings and soap, but he’s not actually touching her.
“What I need is a vacation. In Venice. The Cipriani Hotel, they have a suite that’s suspended over the lagoon. Two weeks, make it happen, Potts.”
She sighs, resists the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs so he’ll move farther away - it wouldn’t work, anyway, it’d just encourage him - and tries once - just once - to get him to be reasonable.
“You promised Obadiah you’d have something for the board by month’s end. How’re you going to do that if you’re spending the rest of the month on vacation?”
Tony gives her a mock-stern look, like he’s trying to be patronizing and conciliatory and maybe share a secret with her at the same time, with a hint of pleading puppy in there, too (how he manages to convey so much with one look probably says more about Pepper than it does about him, but she manages to ignore that). “Please. I’ll handle Obie, you handle Venice. Venice, Pep, c’mon. You’ll love it.”
She doesn’t say that she almost never loves Tony’s vacations, because they tend to be one long string of headaches and logistical nightmares and fending off rabid paparazzi, and instead says, “Anything else, Mr. Stark?”
Then he grins, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and makes something inside her melt, and says, “That’s all, Miss Potts.”
----------
Obie calls her, halfway across the Atlantic.
“Italy, Pepper? Really?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says with that tone which means, ‘Tony will be Tony,’ which Pepper appreciates. She appreciates that he understands - she can’t control him, that’s not her job. “Will he at least talk to me?”
“Tony, Obadiah wants -”
“Nope!” Tony’s voice is just a little louder than it would be if he were sober, and he drains the last of the scotch from his glass. “My vacation hasn’t even started yet, and he wants to lecture me. Gotta wait at least three days for the lecture. Tell him I’ll get him a pair of Italian silk pajamas.”
Pepper sighs, and Obadiah chuckles. “I’d rather have something to show the board,” he says. “But okay, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t let him get into too much trouble, and try to have some fun yourself. Venice is beautiful.”
“Thanks, I’ll try.”
----------
Once in a while (probably more often than most people think), Pepper is reminded why she took this job in the first place, and why she has stuck around as long as she has.
Standing on the little balcony of her hotel room, looking at the lagoon, is one of those moments. It is the most breathtaking thing she has ever seen, and she would go to a lot more trouble than putting up with Tony Stark, eccentric billionaire, for a chance to see it.
She’d possibly be willing to give up an arm or a leg.
The only thing that mars her first few days is having to call hotel security to get rid of three disgruntled Italian models from Tony’s suite. A small annoyance, in the grand scheme of things.
She doesn’t even have to pick up their dry-cleaning.
----------
Inevitably, Obadiah is calling her once the requisite three days have passed.
This time, she gives Tony a Look, one she rarely uses because Pepper is conscientious about anything that has such power, but this is one of those times when she feels it’s necessary to break out the big gun. So to speak. So Tony takes the call.
“I swear to god, you and Pepper have to stop conspiring against me. What part of ‘I’m going on vacation, see you in two weeks,’ don’t you understand?”
He doesn’t sound nearly as annoyed as the words might imply. Pepper is beginning to think that Venice just has that effect on people. Even she isn’t nearly as tense as she usually is when Tony’s on a trip.
“Hey, look. I made a promise, I don’t go back on my promises. I’ll get you the pajamas and I’ll have something for the board. Nah, nah, it’ll be amazing, I’m working on that repulsor tech I told you about. Trust me on this.”
She can see the gears turning in his head as he speaks. One of the things that always amazes her about Tony is his ability to make things up as he goes along and then actually make them happen, as though it were carefully planned and organized.
Pepper expects napkins covered in equations within a couple of days.
“I even have a name for it. Jericho, you know, the walls of Jericho come tumbling down.” He actually makes a crashing noise to illustrate his point.
Pepper reflects with amusement that Tony Stark toes the line between brilliance and insanity.
----------
Two days later, Tony is out to dinner with another model, and someone fires a gun at him.
Pepper doesn’t find out until the morning after, when it’s in the newspaper, and she spends the next two hours lecturing Tony about a) ditching Happy and the security guys again and b) being more forthcoming because it isn’t a good thing for his PA to be surprised when a reporter calls her asking to make a statement about ‘the incident last night’.
She needs time to prepare, dammit.
Tony just rolls his eyes and reminds her that he’s not even hurt, and crazies are always trying to take a shot at him, and could she lighten up a bit?
She nearly hits him at that, but somehow maintains enough control to go back to her room and punch a pillow instead.
The next day, she wakes up to a note telling her to be at the spa at ten, and leave her phone in the room, for god‘s sake. Tony bought her a deluxe treatment package as an apology.
As apologies go, Pepper has had far worse.
Of course, then he also insists on taking her to dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. It’s a beautiful night, and they’re eating outside on a terrace, overlooking the lagoon and with an incredible view of St. Mark’s square.
“This is borderline inappropriate, you know,” she comments lightly.
“Only borderline? I’m disappointed in myself. Should I be trying to play footsie with you, would that make it just ‘inappropriate’?”
“What do you think the tabloids are going to look like tomorrow?”
“Incredibly attractive, because that’s what we are, and I think a photographer just got a shot of us.”
“Okay, okay.” She laughs, and she’s glad the lighting is low, because her complexion is so pale it can never hide her blushing. “I’ve accepted your apology, you don’t have to keep doing all this.”
“Hey, give me some credit. I was going to get you that spa day anyway. Really, I was. It was good, right?”
“Yes, it was very nice. Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Potts.”
The crinkly-eye grin is back, she knows. And she’s blushing even more.
She tells herself she’s just had too much wine.
----------
Sure enough, a grainy photo of the two of them graces one of the local tabloids the next morning. The headline reads (roughly translated): “Tony Stark seducing his secretary?”
Pepper barely gives it a moment’s thought (except she wishes they wouldn‘t call her his secretary). It’s not the first time there has been speculation along those lines, and she’s sure it won’t be the last. It’s impossible to avoid, working for a man like Tony.
She’d certainly never think to let it spoil what’s actually turning out to be a wonderful trip, despite the apparent assassination attempt.
----------
Usually, by the time one of his vacations is over, Pepper is more than ready to get back home. Back to Malibu, and the office, and what passes for a routine in the life of Tony Stark. But this feels different, as though there was something in Venice that it will take a very long time for them to get back, or perhaps as though something is waiting for them back home that she won’t like very much. Eventually, she decides that she’ll just miss it. Pepper Potts does not, as a rule, do vacations. It’ll probably be years before she gets another one.
Tony spends most of the flight home regaling Obie with details of the new Jericho missile he’s got in the works. He’s already thought through a lot of the logistics of it, it’s just a matter (he says) of getting back home to his workshop to get the schematics worked out.
“We’ll have a prototype in two months, tops,” he says, all relaxed confidence and skin slightly darker from the Mediterranean sun.
Pepper can feel some of the tension creeping back into her shoulders, the closer they get to home. But that’s okay, it’s what she’s used to. It’s part of her, and she wouldn’t know what to do without that constant feeling between her shoulder blades.
Tony catches her eye once he’s off the phone, and there’s that grin again.
Someday those crinkly eyes will do her in, she’s sure.
“We’ll always have Venice, eh, Potts?”
She just rolls her eyes. Not today.
Rating: PG for mild swearing
Character(s): Tony/Pepper UST, Obadiah
Summary: Once in a while (probably more often than most people think), Pepper is reminded why she took this job in the first place, and why she has stuck around as long as she has. AKA that one time, in Venice.
Notes/Warnings: Not really spoilers, though inspired by that line from Iron Man 2. You know the one. Set before Iron Man. So many thanks to thewlisian_afer, as always, for the support. 1,610 words.
Let’s go to Venice… Cipriani, you remember?
Oh, yes.
This is how it goes.
“Venice,” he says, marching up the stairs and into Pepper’s space that she’s made for herself on the couch, laptop and phone and a cup of herbal tea at hand.
“Uh.” She doesn’t even look up from her work. “What about it?”
He sits, close enough that she can feel his body heat, smell the scent of grease and metal shavings and soap, but he’s not actually touching her.
“What I need is a vacation. In Venice. The Cipriani Hotel, they have a suite that’s suspended over the lagoon. Two weeks, make it happen, Potts.”
She sighs, resists the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs so he’ll move farther away - it wouldn’t work, anyway, it’d just encourage him - and tries once - just once - to get him to be reasonable.
“You promised Obadiah you’d have something for the board by month’s end. How’re you going to do that if you’re spending the rest of the month on vacation?”
Tony gives her a mock-stern look, like he’s trying to be patronizing and conciliatory and maybe share a secret with her at the same time, with a hint of pleading puppy in there, too (how he manages to convey so much with one look probably says more about Pepper than it does about him, but she manages to ignore that). “Please. I’ll handle Obie, you handle Venice. Venice, Pep, c’mon. You’ll love it.”
She doesn’t say that she almost never loves Tony’s vacations, because they tend to be one long string of headaches and logistical nightmares and fending off rabid paparazzi, and instead says, “Anything else, Mr. Stark?”
Then he grins, the one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and makes something inside her melt, and says, “That’s all, Miss Potts.”
----------
Obie calls her, halfway across the Atlantic.
“Italy, Pepper? Really?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says with that tone which means, ‘Tony will be Tony,’ which Pepper appreciates. She appreciates that he understands - she can’t control him, that’s not her job. “Will he at least talk to me?”
“Tony, Obadiah wants -”
“Nope!” Tony’s voice is just a little louder than it would be if he were sober, and he drains the last of the scotch from his glass. “My vacation hasn’t even started yet, and he wants to lecture me. Gotta wait at least three days for the lecture. Tell him I’ll get him a pair of Italian silk pajamas.”
Pepper sighs, and Obadiah chuckles. “I’d rather have something to show the board,” he says. “But okay, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t let him get into too much trouble, and try to have some fun yourself. Venice is beautiful.”
“Thanks, I’ll try.”
----------
Once in a while (probably more often than most people think), Pepper is reminded why she took this job in the first place, and why she has stuck around as long as she has.
Standing on the little balcony of her hotel room, looking at the lagoon, is one of those moments. It is the most breathtaking thing she has ever seen, and she would go to a lot more trouble than putting up with Tony Stark, eccentric billionaire, for a chance to see it.
She’d possibly be willing to give up an arm or a leg.
The only thing that mars her first few days is having to call hotel security to get rid of three disgruntled Italian models from Tony’s suite. A small annoyance, in the grand scheme of things.
She doesn’t even have to pick up their dry-cleaning.
----------
Inevitably, Obadiah is calling her once the requisite three days have passed.
This time, she gives Tony a Look, one she rarely uses because Pepper is conscientious about anything that has such power, but this is one of those times when she feels it’s necessary to break out the big gun. So to speak. So Tony takes the call.
“I swear to god, you and Pepper have to stop conspiring against me. What part of ‘I’m going on vacation, see you in two weeks,’ don’t you understand?”
He doesn’t sound nearly as annoyed as the words might imply. Pepper is beginning to think that Venice just has that effect on people. Even she isn’t nearly as tense as she usually is when Tony’s on a trip.
“Hey, look. I made a promise, I don’t go back on my promises. I’ll get you the pajamas and I’ll have something for the board. Nah, nah, it’ll be amazing, I’m working on that repulsor tech I told you about. Trust me on this.”
She can see the gears turning in his head as he speaks. One of the things that always amazes her about Tony is his ability to make things up as he goes along and then actually make them happen, as though it were carefully planned and organized.
Pepper expects napkins covered in equations within a couple of days.
“I even have a name for it. Jericho, you know, the walls of Jericho come tumbling down.” He actually makes a crashing noise to illustrate his point.
Pepper reflects with amusement that Tony Stark toes the line between brilliance and insanity.
----------
Two days later, Tony is out to dinner with another model, and someone fires a gun at him.
Pepper doesn’t find out until the morning after, when it’s in the newspaper, and she spends the next two hours lecturing Tony about a) ditching Happy and the security guys again and b) being more forthcoming because it isn’t a good thing for his PA to be surprised when a reporter calls her asking to make a statement about ‘the incident last night’.
She needs time to prepare, dammit.
Tony just rolls his eyes and reminds her that he’s not even hurt, and crazies are always trying to take a shot at him, and could she lighten up a bit?
She nearly hits him at that, but somehow maintains enough control to go back to her room and punch a pillow instead.
The next day, she wakes up to a note telling her to be at the spa at ten, and leave her phone in the room, for god‘s sake. Tony bought her a deluxe treatment package as an apology.
As apologies go, Pepper has had far worse.
Of course, then he also insists on taking her to dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. It’s a beautiful night, and they’re eating outside on a terrace, overlooking the lagoon and with an incredible view of St. Mark’s square.
“This is borderline inappropriate, you know,” she comments lightly.
“Only borderline? I’m disappointed in myself. Should I be trying to play footsie with you, would that make it just ‘inappropriate’?”
“What do you think the tabloids are going to look like tomorrow?”
“Incredibly attractive, because that’s what we are, and I think a photographer just got a shot of us.”
“Okay, okay.” She laughs, and she’s glad the lighting is low, because her complexion is so pale it can never hide her blushing. “I’ve accepted your apology, you don’t have to keep doing all this.”
“Hey, give me some credit. I was going to get you that spa day anyway. Really, I was. It was good, right?”
“Yes, it was very nice. Thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Potts.”
The crinkly-eye grin is back, she knows. And she’s blushing even more.
She tells herself she’s just had too much wine.
----------
Sure enough, a grainy photo of the two of them graces one of the local tabloids the next morning. The headline reads (roughly translated): “Tony Stark seducing his secretary?”
Pepper barely gives it a moment’s thought (except she wishes they wouldn‘t call her his secretary). It’s not the first time there has been speculation along those lines, and she’s sure it won’t be the last. It’s impossible to avoid, working for a man like Tony.
She’d certainly never think to let it spoil what’s actually turning out to be a wonderful trip, despite the apparent assassination attempt.
----------
Usually, by the time one of his vacations is over, Pepper is more than ready to get back home. Back to Malibu, and the office, and what passes for a routine in the life of Tony Stark. But this feels different, as though there was something in Venice that it will take a very long time for them to get back, or perhaps as though something is waiting for them back home that she won’t like very much. Eventually, she decides that she’ll just miss it. Pepper Potts does not, as a rule, do vacations. It’ll probably be years before she gets another one.
Tony spends most of the flight home regaling Obie with details of the new Jericho missile he’s got in the works. He’s already thought through a lot of the logistics of it, it’s just a matter (he says) of getting back home to his workshop to get the schematics worked out.
“We’ll have a prototype in two months, tops,” he says, all relaxed confidence and skin slightly darker from the Mediterranean sun.
Pepper can feel some of the tension creeping back into her shoulders, the closer they get to home. But that’s okay, it’s what she’s used to. It’s part of her, and she wouldn’t know what to do without that constant feeling between her shoulder blades.
Tony catches her eye once he’s off the phone, and there’s that grin again.
Someday those crinkly eyes will do her in, she’s sure.
“We’ll always have Venice, eh, Potts?”
She just rolls her eyes. Not today.