Comic/movie: Iron Man
Pairing: Tony/Pepper
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: T
A/N: Saw Iron Man 3 opening night and LOVED it. The Iron Man trilogy has been an excellent one with actors that fit their characters (or are their characters in RDJ's case), a believable and adorable side romance, and decent pacing and plotting.
Fixer
The world was exploding around them. Well, not really the world, but his suits were, and the view was extravagant. And a lot safer.
Tony Stark didn't know whether to laugh or cry or do some weird combination of the two that would more than likely come out sounding like the screech of an alpaca. He was Tony Stark after all, Iron Man, and Tony Stark, Iron Man, didn't cry. Even if it was tears of joy. And even if he really, really wanted to.
Chocolate brown eyes blinked rapidly to keep treacherous teardrops at bay as they gazed upon the night sky, his suits detonating with spectacular brilliance. It was magical, even though it was hours of his hard work going up in smoke. This moment was worth it, she was worth it—god, was she worth it and so much more—and it was the least he could do for her after what she'd done for him, after all the crap she'd put up with over the years, his irresponsible behavior, his rugged good looks and cheeky personality, the sleepless nights, the torture she'd just endured at the hands of a madman…
Tony swallowed the uncomfortable lump forming in his throat, his eyes traveling over to rest on the woman wrapped tightly in his arms, her attention currently on the chaos in the blackness above. She was smiling, her visage full of amazement and wonder, and it made his heart do something funny in his chest. Her mouth was open in an awed gasp and she was acting as if the events that had just transpired were naught but a dream.
He wished that that was all the past few days had been—a dream. He'd never been so taxed, so pushed to the limit and running on low. This was his entire fault, as it normally was. He was always screwing things up. The pain she had gone through, the mental and physical scars she would bear, the nightmares she would have because of the torture she had endured on his account; all because he was stupid and arrogant, reckless and idiotic, childish and proud…
He let out a shaky breath, trying to keep himself composed. He was trembling, so close to breaking. He was relieved, ecstatic, worried, angry, thankful. He didn't know what he was other than a hot mess and in that moment the only thing keeping him together was the feisty redhead tucked securely against his body.
She was all that was good in his life.
And he had almost lost her.
Killian had been right—he didn't deserve her. And yet there she was, in his arms, alive, smiling, breathing, living. He could feel the warmth radiating out from her thin form, could feel her muscles shifting beneath his fingers, could feel the blood pumping through her veins, could feel her chest rising and falling against his. They both smelled like ash and sweat, but he didn't care. They were both sticky and bloody, but he didn't mind.
It wasn't the most romantic scene—suits exploding, blood coagulating, perspiration drying—and was anything but normal, but then again, so were they. This was their normal he supposed, this craziness.
But it didn't change the fact that she was all that was good in his life.
And he had almost lost her forever.
The muscles in his jaw strained as he resisted the urge to speak, knowing that he would spout some stupid, cheesy line that would make her roll her eyes and effectively kill the mood. He didn't want that now; he wanted to be serious—as serious as he could get anyway—and just enjoy having her there, caught in his embrace.
It was a little embarrassing, the way he was clinging to her as if she was the only thing keeping him rooted to the ground, like she was his last lifeline. He couldn't help it. He was afraid that if he let go she would burst into flame, that she would disappear and he would be left alone forever.
Perhaps it was selfish, his reasons for wanting her alive, but he was Tony Stark and Tony Stark was a selfish little rich boy with an ego to boot and that selfish little rich boy with an ego to boot needed her in his life for more reasons that he could list. He would do anything to keep her there, to keep her as she was now, alive. Even if it meant that he had to die, even if it meant that he had to go back out there and fight those things he had seen all those months ago. He would go any distance, travel every mile, face every threat. All for her.
He could cure the virus within her, it would be as easy as snapping his fingers. Hell, he'd had it all practically figured out years ago when he had had a hangover. But that wasn't what worried him, what was eating away at his gut.
It was the fact that she might not have survived the Extremis process at all. Whatever phase she had been in when Killian had shown him the live feed, to see her like that—to see his Pepper in agony as her body, the very essence of her being, had been forcibly rewritten—had killed him.
He'd felt anger before and he'd been scared before, but never like he had been in that moment. Never before had he been so utterly helpless, so unable to do a damn thing. Even when he'd been kidnapped all those years ago he'd managed to make it out alive by building his first Iron Man suit with help, even when he'd faced off against aliens from another world that had all but destroyed New York he'd had a team to do some of the heavy lifting.
Never before had he been alone like that, restrained, watching as the one thing that gave his life purpose writhed in agony. Never before had he wanted to just kill, to pummel the object of his complete and utter loathing into oblivion. Never before had he felt a rage so great that his vision had gone red and he had been positive that had he been loose he would have snapped the man's neck with his bare hands and watched in detached fascination as his body fell lifelessly to the ground. It had been terrifying.
He had wanted to hurt Killian until he could hurt no more. He had almost been glad that the man was able to rejuvenate himself. The more he did, the more Tony could hurt him. He had threatened everything Tony held dear, had made him feel fear like nothing had before, had made his mind go blank, had made the blood freeze in his veins as he had dangled the one thing in front of him that he had never been able to handle: death.
The thought crept down Tony's spine like a ghostly chill, and despite the abnormally warm Pepper pressed against him, he shivered. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against hers and took deep, calming breaths.
Death was something he couldn't fight against. No matter how intelligent he was or how much money he accumulated, he would never be able to bring someone back from that dark abyss.
And yet, he almost had.
He had been so focused on his suits, on upgrading and pushing himself to the next level that he had almost lost the very reason for why he fought. It was a tricky line he had to walk; he had to become stronger to protect what he couldn't live without while enjoying what he had at the same time. And in his desperation, his fear of the unknown, of the great beyond—he had almost lost it all.
His house, his suits he could rebuild, but not her. There was only one Pepper Potts. And she was beautiful, kind, understanding, supportive, perfect. And his.
He wanted her—no—needed her to stay with him. He needed to wake up every morning with her next to him, needed her to kiss him on the lips, needed to feel her beneath him, needed to hear her say his name over and over. He needed her to stay alive, to stay in his life, needed her forever and ever and he just couldn't let go. He'd always been spoiled after all.
He'd had far too many close encounters in his life, too many brushes with death to waste another moment. He could taste them all, could still recall the sensation of his body being broken, of the blood spilling from his mouth, of his heart stopping. He could still see all the could-have-beens and should-have-beens, the times when Pepper could-have and should-have died.
His limbs were still hoping with nervous energy, his fingertips still burning where she had brushed them as she'd fallen. He wanted to shout and scream and run around and just do something to show that he was alive and well and that he'd beaten the odds once again.
He'd made a promise to catch her and he'd failed and it was only by the grace of whatever was out there that she'd survived. It was because of Killian's mad plan that she'd been in danger in the first place, because of Tony's blind arrogance, and it was only by luck that the Extremis virus hadn't killed her in the early stages and kept her from perishing in the inferno.
His arms tightened around her, the adrenaline rushing through his veins anew as his mind jumped back to the dark place he had been mere minutes ago, when he had thought that his world had just been burned to the ground. His heart was racing, eyes stinging with unshed tears, a new sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin, and his throat clogging with grief.
She had saved him in so many ways. She had lived through the virus's first stages; she had endured a 200 feet drop. She had managed to outmaneuver his suit, take it out, and use it to finish off the bastard that had done this to her. She had saved him, saved him from his despair, his fears, his—
"Tony."
Tony blinked and shook his head, coming back to reality.
"Yeah?" he managed to croak out, his voice sore from his earlier screams.
"Breathe."
Snorting, he let out the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. He suddenly became mindful of the way she was crushed against his chest, of the feel of her bare skin under his rough and calloused fingers. He swallowed hard, their eyes connecting, and just like that it was all gone. All the rage, all the fear, all the sadness and anxiety—gone. There was just him and her and his exploding suits. All he needed in his life.
Yeah, he screwed up, but what had he said he was? A mechanic? Mechanics fixed things. And he was going to fix this. He was Tony Stark for Christ's sake. Iron Man. Billionaire-former playboy-philanthropist.
And she was alive.
He grinned, his mischievous, carefree persona back in full force. "What's say we go make some fireworks of our own? I've gotta admit, that—uh—display of yours was really, um, really hot."
Pepper rolled her eyes and laughed, cuddling even closer to him. He smiled and kissed her forehead, content.
Yes, he was Tony Stark, Iron Man, the mechanic, the fixer.
And she was alive.