I own absolutely nothing, Marvel has that honour. This could be either comicverse or movieverse but considering my influences are the comics Iron Man Volume 1 and Iron Man: The End, it leans heavily towards comicverse. Although from what I've heard Bethany Cabe will be featured in Iron Man 2 so you could work it that way. For those who don't know who Bethany Cabe is she's pretty much Tony Stark's one true love, the woman who saves him from alcoholism and generally just a kick ass gunslinging lady. Of course Marvel had to ruin the fun by changing writers to a bunch who didn't like how serious the relationship was and cut her out completely. The muppets. Thank goodness for the comic oneshot "The End" they churned out a few years ago, otherwise I don't think I would have got my happy ending for those two. Oh, and this one shot is set before she becomes Security Chief at Stark Industries for all you comic aficionados out there.
I was surprised by the severe lack of Tony/Bethany shippage on here so I'm throwing some out there. Feedback is more than just appreciated, I'd really love to know what people think. Thank you for reading.
Anytime
by DawnStag
*
She was asleep on the sofa again, stretched out shoes off and a car magazine lying open on her stomach. Flame red hair created a glossy, if mussed, halo around her face, she snored gently. He smiled.
The sun had been up for a good hour by the time he returned, but the shades were still down and the dim light cast a sepia coloured glow around the room. It made her look more tanned than she actually was, could ever be with the lily white complexion that refused to change despite the amount of time she spent in the sun. She didn't have lots of freckles like Pepper did; instead her cheeks were rosy even whilst she slept. Looking at her was like looking at a porcelain doll.
From the appearance of her crumpled skirt and blouse she'd not been home or even bothered to change since he'd left abruptly on a mission sixteen hours earlier. She'd waited for him again, waited to make sure he got home safely and as always, fell asleep as she did so.
He told her not to bother, that between the suit and Jarvis there was no reason for her to put her life on hold for him, he would be fine; either she didn't agree or didn't care what he thought because she was always there on that couch when he returned, secretly he was glad.
They had a routine that had established itself somewhere along the line. He'd go, she'd wait, she'd fall asleep and he'd wake her up when he got back. She'd make espressos for them both and they'd sit and drink them in a comfortable silence. There was never any need for words; they didn't speak about his job just like they didn't talk about hers. Touchy topics the both of them, ones that only brought into focus their mortality and the risks they repeatedly took.
He didn't realise how much he relied on their little routine until the days she wasn't there to partake in it; her work took her away almost as much as his did him, he forgot that sometimes, she always seemed to be there when he needed her no matter the time of day. He really had to work on doing the same for her.
Her handgun and holster sat on the glass surface of the coffee table, he wondered if the smaller secondary revolver she carried was still strapped to her thigh discreetly tucked away from the eyes of the public. Bethany was not one to take chances, always ready with back up whether it was a colleague or a flawless plan, prepared to lay her life on the line if it was required of her. That was what made her such a good bodyguard, even if it did drive him crazy with the knowledge that maybe one day – and those forever after it – she wouldn't be there to make him his bitter black shot of coffee. He was scared of that day, every time he returned home from a mission and she wasn't there he couldn't help but think the worst, luckily for him Pepper was usually around to set him straight on the matter.
How many times had he tried to persuade Bethany to work for him at Stark Industries? He couldn't remember, it had been quite a few considering she turned him down time and time again. She was just as persistent and stubborn as he was, and that was another reason they didn't talk about work. Their arguments could last for an eternity, neither willing to admit defeat. Well matched hypocrites the both of them.
She was a fidget, like him, but whereas his constant movement was a side effect of being an insanely intelligent inventor, hers was borne of a lifetime of constant hard work to become the successful, independent woman she was. So the rare chances Tony got to watch her sleep, when the only movement was the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed were moments he made sure to take full advantage of.
Not that she knew he did of course, Tony didn't fancy facing her wrath over it.
His eyes glanced over her sleeping figure, her legs tucked up bent at the knee, one hand draped over her stomach and the magazine, the other flopping off the side of the sofa – fingers brushing against the floor. She was a different woman when she slept, peaceful, soft and vulnerable; it was unnerving but…nice, endearing.
Tentatively he teased the magazine from its resting place, briefly acknowledging the article she had been reading to be on customised turbo charges. He decided to have a look at it himself later on in the day, it looked to be an interesting read. The magazine was closed and placed next to her holstered gun on the low table, he perched himself on the edge of the couch next to her and held off waking her up for another moment or two, content to just look at her for the time being, drifting off into thoughts and wonders about how life could be if they gave up their responsibilities and ghosts, if they stopped hiding behind fear and pride.
Long dark eyelashes fluttered against her alabaster skin, the muscles in her face twitching as she began to wake up. There was a sigh, Tony sat up straight but did not look away from her.
Dopey blue-green eyes opened taking a moment to focus, when they did and settled on Tony a soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"Hi," her voice was husky with sleep. Tony smiled back.
"I see you didn't go home like I asked you to," The admonishment was too light to be taken seriously; her stubbornness humoured him more than anything.
"When do I ever do what you want?"
Her eyes danced with the same humour his did, slowly she pulled herself upright yawning as she moved.
"Touché Miss Cabe, as always. But if you keep doing this I'm going to have to get a restraining order against you and we both know that wouldn't be fun at all. Just imagine all the enjoyable things we wouldn't be able to do together."
She stretched, groaning at the ache in her muscles; "I'm sure you'd find a way around it, you always manage somehow. Espresso?"
A sharp nod accompanied his affirmative answer, "Espresso."
He watched her get up and move in the direction of the kitchen, bare feet padding against the tiled floor. She was quick, efficient in the simple task of espresso making after so many months of doing it. Within minutes she was seated beside him again, offering him one of the petite bone china cups. They settled back against the sofa, feet on the coffee table and shoulders pressing lightly together in a manner welcomed by the both of them.
He took the cup, clearing his throat; "Thank you."
There was a double meaning to his gratitude. Thank you for the espresso? Yes, definitely that, but also a thank you for being there, for waiting for him.
For understanding.
"Anytime," She replied quietly, simply. And she meant it – on all counts. She hadn't missed the tone in his voice, just as he didn't either when she answered.
Anytime, anywhere, any place. It was a promise, a vow between two people who understood why they did what they did, and why it was they couldn't give it up.
Not yet, one day they would and they waited patiently, silently for it to come.
Nothing was said after that. They just sat on the sofa looking out at the room in front of them, glancing from the corner of an eye between themselves when they thought the other wasn't looking, sipping at the piping hot coffee and fidgeting as was habit.
He'd gone she'd waited and fallen asleep; he came back and woke her up.
They drank espressos in a comfortable, knowledgeable silence.
Routines were completed and promises were kept.
Life was good.