The sequel to Selfish (go read this first!!), this is going to (hopefully) be a multi-part little fic. It's probably only four chapters at the most unless my muse goes batshit crazy, but I doubt it.
But hey, we'll see.
Enjoy, and please review!
Virginia Elizabeth 'Pepper' Potts-Stark does not care.
She does not care that she's teeter tottering at seven months pregnant on not-very-sensible five inch Alexander McQueen's down a hospital corridor. She does not care that the press are already outside that hospital and that she'd been photographed with red rimmed eyes and teeth worn lips. She doesn't care that the doctors insist that it's family only, or that he's in surgery and that they don't have any information right now. "But I'm his…"-she wails and breaks off because she's not his wife and can't go in and this is not happening right now…
None of that matters because she's breaking down in the middle of the corridor in front of rushing nurses and harried doctors and bright florescent lights and ugly white hospital walls. In front of strangers. In front of God. In front of Tony. And though she can barely register anything else she clings to his voice and the strength of his good arm.
"He's gonna be okay, Pep. I swear…I swear to God he's gonna be alright…"
His voice is choked and he's near crying and she knows he's blaming himself for this even though it's not his fault.
She turns as the tears fall and takes in his bruised face, the black eye, the busted lip. He's got a broken arm and cracked ribs and lord knows how many cuts and he's in so much pain but Rhodey's worse off and she knows that he's not feeling anything but worry and dread and this-should-not-be-happening. She presses her forehead to his and takes in a shaky breath and forces his bloodshot eyes to focus on hers.
"He'd damn well better be," she says. "Or he'll have to answer to me."
James Rhodes is quite possibly-and this is saying something-the master of seduction. He's got Tony beat by a hair, and only because Tony's so not used to this even now and he goofs up and stands in the middle of a hundred melted candles butt naked with a silly grin on his face. Tony's brand of seduction usually leaves her laughing till she's breathless and he's mock pouting before scooping her up and ravishing her amidst giggles on the sofa.
James, on the other hand, leaves her dizzy and flushed and shivering while his fingers run up and down her spine and his lips are just barely brushing her throat. He's not naked, only shirtless, slacks hung low on his hips, barefoot. There's melted chocolate on the stove and bourbon on the island, and Pepper knows that by the end of the night she's going to wind up one sticky, sweaty, sated mass of woman on the kitchen floor.
Sometimes, when she's in the middle of a strenuously long work week in New York and the wind chill is below 0 and Tony's up to his head with design projects with the R & D guys in California and Rhodey is at another finance meeting in Tokyo, she sits back in the big chair in the big desk in her office and daydreams she's got both of them wrapped around her so tightly it's simply a tangle of varying shades and limbs. She hits the speaker phone button for her conference call in forty-five seconds and opens the window even though it's snowing outside and lets out a breath.
Thank God they'll both be at the penthouse tomorrow.
Pepper's red and gold custom made stilettos are an anniversary gift from Tony from the first year. He made them himself, by hand, and though they're crafted from titanium alloy and are five and a half inches high they're delicious to walk in. She's never actually worn them anywhere but the house before, mostly because she doesn't really have anything to wear them with and because she kind of wants to keep the custom made to-die-for shoes her husband crafted especially for her to herself. And so she does-for nearly four years, they sit quietly in her ridiculous cavern she calls a shoe closet (just a shoe closet) on the back middle wall, the Red Wall, in the very middle on a satin pillow. Once or twice a year she takes them down and shines them up, and, wearing only one of Tony's expensive silk dress shirts or a pair of Jimmy's soft cotton jersey boxers and a bra, she parades around her big Malibu home all day in her five and a half inch red and gold titanium alloy custom made stilettos.
Until the opening of the Howard Stark Concert Hall.
It's the biggest event she and Tony have ever been to, save their wedding, the biggest event of the year, the biggest event in New York. It's in New York because that's where Howard was raised and where Stark Industries was born. It's on a stretch of land in Manhattan and is the size of a football field, once the home of an old hotel and a parking garage. Pepper's seen the building while in progress but this is her first time seeing it all done and up in lights. And if she knows her Tony like she knows her Tony, it's going to be one helluva hall.
Jimmy's in town and though it's no big deal that he'll be there, it's a big deal that they are going together. Rhodey and Pepper's been to several galas and events on each other's arm when Tony's out of town and Pepper's gone solo when both were called away on business, SHIELD or otherwise. And on a few occasions, they all get gussied up and crowd the Bentley and go together.
Except this time, there's an overblown media storm brewing around them. One of the daily rags in Malibu published a picture of what looks like her and Jim kissing outside the penthouse and there's speculation that they're having an affair for a week before they catch all three of them on Tony's yacht and it's hell from there. They're dubbed the "Terrible Three" by TMZ, covered constantly by ET, and Howard Stern's having a field day with it. The paparazzi outside the mansion is such a mess, Pepper hasn't been anywhere in a month, doing business from her office at home, taking conference calls and vid meetings with the Board, who's demanding an explanation from all this, doing her best at damage control. She doesn't even want to think of what the poor PR people are going through.
It doesn't help that she's pregnant.
Nobody but she, Tony, Jimmy, Happy and SHIELD know about this and they only know because if anything were to happen to Iron Man, she and their child would be first priority. When she first finds out, she's no where near ready for her pregnancy to explode on the news; she can already see the headlines, already feel the heat. And she's not quite ready right that moment to face the world if her unborn child just so happens to not be Tony's. Because that is a definite possibility and it terrifies her in a way she's not sure she understands.
But tonight, at four months, she showing a bit and though the short, thigh length Givenchy dress she's wearing is designed to flaunt her curves, she's not going to worry about her bump or the media or the paparazzi or what everyone's going to say when they figure out she's knocked up. She's going to put on her anniversary gifts and show off her new hair cut and flaunt her legs and if she wants to kiss her husband and his best friend, then, well, damn it, she will. It's none of their fucking business anyway.
Pepper tucks Tony's hankie in the front pocket of his silk suit and straightens his tie. He's got on red and black and Rhodey, in the seat next to her, has on gold and black. She crosses her legs and leans back in the seat, the two halves of her whole on each side flanking her in case of emergency, but Pepper's okay. She's had a whole month to prepare for this and she knows how crazy it's going to be, but what the hell. The Bentley slows to a smooth stop and they're right outside the red carpet, the crazed masses screaming already because they know that this car holds Tony Fucking Stark and his wife and his best friend, her lover, his business partner, the Terrible Three, the most gossiped-about triangle since Camelot.
"You ready, babe?" Tony asks quietly, calm excitement and dread in his voice. Her Tony, her Arthur. A rough, calloused thumb strokes the inside of her arm, and she turns to Jimmy, her Lancelot, and nods, smiles. Traces her husband's lips with one slim finger and reassures him with blue eyes that she is. And Guinevere, reverent and splendid in black and gold and red, is the first to step out the car when Happy opens the door.
She takes a breath, steadies her shaking hands and stands proud and tall for the longest five seconds all by herself on the edge of that red carpet. When her two knights in shining black armor emerge from the vehicle, the world stands still. She wonders vaguely, as she takes the first step forward, if she really understands just how much they love her. Then, as the world explodes around them, two big hands slip into either of her petite palms, and she thinks maybe she can begin to grasp how much.