This one is shamelessly stolen from real life. Robert Downey Jr. and Gwyneth Paltrow presented the Oscar for Best Documentary this year (2012). While onstage, they were totally Tony and Pepper. Seriously, sometimes the fanfic just writes itself. . .

http: /www. youtube. com/watch?v=OTcNX_n3lIQ

And here's the soundtrack for the third chapter -

http :/www .youtube .com /watch?v=8PTDv_szmL0&list=FLO96D9IhXdSlLzDufm2gQWg&index=38&feature=plpp_video

You know the drill - remove the spaces, copy/paste, etc.

At this point, do I even need to say I don't own any of this? Well, I don't.

Enjoy!

It's The Oscars, Grouch

"Tony, you really need to put on your pants."

"Just a sec. Jarvis?"

"Yes sir?"

"How are the mods coming for the Mark 5.5?"

"The fabrication will take approximately 15 more min. . ."

"Tony, just put on your pants."

"Just a second, Pep. Is the finish going to flake off like it did during the tests this afternoon?"

"The addition of the new silicates seems to be preventing. . ."

"Anthony Edward Stark. Pants. Now."

"Well, make sure it gets properly polished - that crazing really ruined the whole effec. . ."

"Tony! If you don't put on some pants immediately, I am not going to go with you!"

He finally stopped toweling off his hair and chatting with Jarvis, and turned and looked at her. She was wearing a statuesque white drapey thing that he could have sworn was designed to give him the worst kind of sleepless night, and she had obviously put on the four-and-a-half inch heels tonight, because she was a bit more towering than usual. And there were those deliberate little curls of hair around her neck. . . Blast it all, this was not the moment for daydreaming. . .

"What's wrong Pepper?" Casual. That was the ticket.

Her jaw jutted a little, and her eyes narrowed, "Tony, you have just gotten out of the shower, and we need to be out of here in less than 20 minutes. Since you are incapable of not getting distracted, I am going to stand here and watch you." She crossed her arms. "So put on your pants. "

"Right. Sure." He grabbed the pair of dress slacks she had laid out for him and decided not to mention that he was already wearing boxers. She obviously wasn't in the mood for semantics. "You have to come tonight - it's the freaking Oscars, Pep - you don't turn them down." Of course, one didn't generally turn down Tony Stark, either, but best not to mention that right now either.

"Right, Tony, and that's why the Academy had to reschedule a meeting four times before you actually talked to any of them, is it?"

She was leaning on the partition wall, dispassionately watching him button up a black silk dress shirt. Just seeing her there made him have trouble with the buttons. . .

Suave. "I guess I'm just that irresistible. And I don't like this tie." He tossed the green and blue striped thing to the side and ducked into the closet to retrieve a silvery damask bow tie he'd just picked up. Distinctive. Flashy and classy.

She came over to tie it for him, "No, Tony, it's because the documentary they made about you was nominated last year, and traditionally. . ."

"Yeah, and what was up with that thing about the King of England winning instead of us? A Da Vinci of our time should beat out royalty. . ." Be cocky. The abrasive sting of it could cover what that musky, spicy smell of her was doing to him.

She exhaled sharply. That wasn't helping. "You might be handing a gold statuette to a member of royalty tonight, Tony, so please remember. . ."

She was really close to him. "I won't have to. You'll be there, presenting it with me." She finished tying the bow tie and stood back to look at him. "Right?"

"I'm only coming if you go do your hair. Now. Quickly."

Oh, the teasing possibilities. "Right."

A few sprays of a marvelously overpriced hair product and a few sweeps of a comb later, he was ready.

"Finally," she said, looking him over critically, one more time.

"Hey, I wasn't that lon. . ."

"And isn't this situation supposed to be the other way around?

"What?" He grabbed his sunglasses and his wallet and started towards the elevator.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one preening at the last minute and you're the one supposed to be pacing and waiting for me?"

"I don't preen. . ."

"Yes you do, don't change the subject - why do you always wait until I have to drag you out of the house just to get somewhere on time?"

They exited into the workshop, and Tony went over to prep the newly modified 5.5. "I dunno - maybe it's because you'd be gorgeous if you were barefoot in a dirty burka, while I have to rely on carefully cultivated charm - takes more time than real beauty, you know." He risked a look at her. Truth could be a lot more dangerous than their usual shallow banter. . .

She shrugged the comment off. "So, is it ready?" She looked at the specially painted suit.

"Sure is." He stepped onto the platform and Jarvis began assembling the suit around him, "Did you make sure Happy has my shoes? I'm not wearing shoes inside the repulsor boots ever again. I was limping all over the Expo. . ."

"He has them. They're in the limo, and he'll make sure you get them before it's time to go backstage." While she was talking, Jarvis finished the assembly of the suit and ran a quick system check.

"Right," said Tony, turning to her, "Kiss for luck?"

She smiled at him and pushed a curl behind her ear.

"You don't need luck."

He half smirked, "Right."

Then the faceplate clanked shut. His mechanized voice said, "See you there," and he was gone.

She got into her car and followed him.