Spoilers/Timeline: IM3/set in future
A/N: Oh look, I'm back already. *face palm* Anyhow, again, no beta so any mistakes belong to me.
Disclaimer: Iron Man doesn't belong to me. Title found in Sara Bareilles' The Light.
She pushes back in her chair, listens to the sea breaking against the shore. The rhythm is constant, soothing, and she realizes it's just what she's needed.
What they needed.
Because yes, she's fixed—not a cell or hair out of place—now, but it's been a hellish half a year. Physically and emotionally.
So much so, that the first time he'd suggested a vacation she'd practically laughed in his face.
Not that she didn't believe that he'd whisk them off somewhere perfect, but it had seemed so impossible to think of not having to worry anymore, to being able to just enjoy being together.
Finishing her wine, she turns to take in the view. It's the same from the porch of their bungalow, lush greens framing the pink and golden sand that stretches until it meets the crystal blue of the ocean. It makes her smile, feel just a little more relaxed.
She knows he enjoys not holding back—being able to have a personal tour guide waiting for them the minute they'd stepped off the plane that afternoon, having dinner ready for them on the beach when they'd arrived at the cottage—but sometimes it still catches her off guard.
Truthfully, she'd be happy just to sleep for the next twelve hours, but she knows it won't happen. He's always on the move, ready to tackle the next adventure, even in his sleep.
(She had the black and blue knee to prove it.)
And really, it is nice to be sitting here, watching the sinking sun bounce off his shoulders, catch the joy in his eyes as he pushes his plate away and smiles that slightly cocky half smile at her.
She grins back, goes to lift the napkin from her lap only to realize she'd already folded it and put it on the table about five minutes ago. The lapse amuses her to an absurd degree and suddenly she's giggling.
And she can't stop.
Just when she thinks she's about to get it under control, she glances at him and loses it all over again. It's something in the way he's watching her, like he's half afraid she's completely lost it and half ecstatic that she has.
"Alright, let's go for a walk." Not waiting for an answer, he stands, kicking off his shoes.
"Ok." Taking a deep breath, she does the same and glances down the shoreline. A few couples stroll hand in hand, one group seems to be chasing after a little girl who's holding a marshmallow on a stick high in the air, the seagulls circling above. "You realize we can't take the open bottle of wine with us though."
"What?" The way his eyebrows knit together is enough for her to know he's going to put up resistance and sure enough, "I'm Tony Stark, of course we can."
She lets it sit for awhile as they start to walk, his thumb brushing over the inside of her wrist, the cool water lapping over their feet. The almost empty wine bottle is in his other hand, bouncing off his leg with every other step they take. He's ignoring it though and she suppresses a smile at his determination, the way just one corner of his mouth turns up.
"You know though, it has been a few months; law enforcement might not even remember you." She flexes her fingers against his, leans into him as they continue down the shore. "At this point, you'd probably be better playing it off as Pepper Potts' boyfriend."
He stops abruptly, eyebrow raised in question. It's all the momentum she needs. Reaching across his body she grabs the bottle and finishes what little is left. It's two sips at most, but the warmth of it buzzes through her body intensified by the feel of his gaze on her.
She drops the bottle just as their eyes meet, laughing at the mock anger he's sustained probably since she uttered the words 'not remember'. It disappears quickly though as he tackles her to the soft ground, one hand cupping her neck as they land.
Grinning up at him, she tangles their feet together in the ocean swells. "What? I can't let you have all the fun." Pulling him to her, she kisses him hungrily, all teeth and tongue, before slipping out from his embrace.
He falls to the sand laughing, the happiness—love—in his eyes evident even in the fading light.
"Are you coming?" She's already halfway back to their room when she stops to look over her shoulder, certain she should have been pulled into the ocean already or, at the very least, raced back to their room. It only takes her a minute to see why: he's struggling to get up out of the sand, arcs of it flying in either direction as he tries to find purchase. "Or do the suits have to do everything for you?"
His cursing and mumbling about "sand... not good... footing..." reach her ears just as he finally gets traction and stands. He doesn't even stop to brush off, just starts after her and she kicks it into gear almost too late, making it to the door of their villa just as his arms wrap around her.
He presses her against the frame, mouth searing to the skin where her shoulder and neck meet just as the door opens and they fall inside. "Think... we can have some fun... together..."
And suddenly he's everywhere in an overwhelming way.
She shakes her head, smiles against him, and lets go.