"Happy?"
God, what a stupid name.
"Miss Potts?"
"Please, Happy." She's quiet as she steps up behind him; subdued. "Just Pepper for now."
He nods silently. The seconds stretch out, accompanied by the sounds of the city. They're on the roof, and though this office building isn't quite the tallest in Los Angeles, the lights spread out for miles below them in the dusk. He turns after another second, lifting his sunglasses to look up at Pepper. He gestures with his cigarette to the space beside him: sit.
Alarmed, she shakes her head and takes a half-step backwards. "I'll fall."
He gives her a measured look, then turns his head slightly to the side in his own conservative shake. "I won't let you, Miss -- Pepper."
She remains doubtful, but she moves forward again. More hesitation -- but she crouches oh-so-carefully, puts down the Starbucks drinks she's carrying, then edges forward a little more before sitting beside him.
"...I'm going to fall," she says again, but only shakes her head. She takes off her shoes before shuffling forward, stopping just short of letting her legs hang over the edge properly.
"Don't look down," he advises, and gets a tight-lipped thanks for that expression for his trouble.
But she doesn't look down. Instead, she picks up the drinks she brought and holds one out to him. He stares at it for a long moment before taking it. It's an iced coffee -- a vanilla whatever, judging by the smell -- and he turns his stare on Pepper.
She reddens just a little (he likes that; it shows up her freckles) but gives him a defiant look in return. "It's too warm for hot coffee."
It's never too warm for hot coffee -- real coffee -- but he nods and turns back to look out at the city. It'll be fully dark soon, night-time bringing the full array of L.A. lights; another day over.
"He's ... still out there, isn't he?"
Another day over without news.
"Just say yes, Happy. Just tell me yes."
(His name. He's never hated it, not since he got it, even if he doesn't quite remember when that was anymore. It's just one of those things, isn't it? But he hates it right now. There's only so much irony in the world.)
"Yeah. He's still out there, Pepper."
"Rhodey'll find him, won't he?"
"...yeah." He concentrates on his drink, on the absurdity of sipping cold flavoured coffee through a straw, then nods. "Rhodes'll find him."
Neither of them adds alive; it remains an unspoken qualifier, taken for granted.
She doesn't speak again, only nods without looking at him. But she turns her hand palm-up and holds it out.
He hesitates, then stubs out his cigarette -- it's almost burned down anyway -- and takes her hand in his. He knows he's not much comfort, never has been, but he'll help her if he can. And if that just means sitting on the roof, holding her hand and watching the eastern horizon as if Tony Stark will just appear out of nowhere, well, then that's what he'll do.