Waiho i te toipoto, kaua i te toiroa
'Let us keep close together, not far apart.'
Maori proverb
Chapter Two
Long didn't begin to cover the day, Pepper thought wearily. Neither she nor Tony had anything between them that told time, but simple body-clock estimation was good enough, and looking up, she guessed that it was probably about three in the afternoon.
The skies were clouding over, and the breeze was stiffer; cooler. She glanced around briefly, hoping the rain would hold off just a while longer, and carefully, Pepper went back to sorting out the supplies that Tony kept bringing up from the beach. She was sitting next to the back third of the jet which was wedged between a pair of coconut trees forming a temporary shelter. It was more of a room with a raised floor than anything else, but it was *something* and Pepper was glad the locker in the wall still had emergency blankets in it.
She was glad, actually, to have something to DO. She and Tony had found the tail section early, and making it their shelter was both practical and comforting. Then Tony insisted on hauling up whatever could be salvaged from the beach, reminding her that getting it before the second wall of the storm hit was their best insurance on keeping it. Pepper had helped him until Tony pointed out she needed to get out of the direct sun.
"You're red already Potts. Stay put and I'll call you if I need help hauling anything."
She'd reluctantly followed his directive, seeing the sense in it even as she cleaned up the tail section and had begun the inventory.
"More clothes," Tony groused, tossing a handful of wet shirts across a bush as he came up. "How many suitcases were on the plane?"
"Ten," Pepper reminded him. "Eight of yours, two of mine. I guess there could have been more if Joe had anything packed. Oh, and all the gifts and souvenirs."
"I think our haul proves one unhappy truth," Tony sighed.
"What's that?"
"Crap floats," he groused, coming to sit down on one of the emergency lockers. "Take a note, Miss Potts; for our next Lear, I want more tents and chemical toilets."
"Noted, Mr. Stark," she murmured, tongue firmly in cheek. "Do you want to hear the inventory so far?"
"Sure," he sighed, and rubbed his clearly aching shoulder, "what have we got?"
All right, starting with consumables, we currently we have ten twenty four ounce bottles of water, six bottles of white wine, a large plastic bin full of sliced cheddar and salami and two packs of sugarless gum."
"A veritable feast," Tony mumbled. "That's it? I thought we had frozen dinners and honey roasted peanuts."
"Those went down with the galley I guess," Pepper sighed, "and I wouldn't trust a frozen dinner to last too long in this heat. Not even sure the salami will."
"We should polish that off first then," Tony pointed out. "What else do we have?"
She checked the list. "Shelter. We have this section of the plane with the sleeping cabin, although how secure it's going to be without the door is . . . debatable."
Tony glanced up at the skies. "We could cover it with palm fronds. It wouldn't be much, but it will keep the rain from blowing in."
Pepper nodded. "Agreed. And we have the tablecloth. We could tie that to the edges and pin it to the ground with rocks. There are a few holes in it, but nothing too big. If we lay the fronds over them, it should help." She noted Tony's expression; a mix of approval and admiration, and it warmed her to see that he appreciated the basic design.
"That's good. What else do we have in our favor? Matches? A Duraflame log?"
That made her laugh. "Hardly, Tony—FAA regulations and all. From the locker, we have a two first aid kits, a pair of foil blankets, and several changes of clothing . . . for YOU, anyway," she couldn't help grumbling.
"I'll share," Tony shot back, bemused. "You're always complaining I bring too many suitcases anyway."
"And I'm right, but at least you'll have clean boxers for a week."
"Hallelujah," he grinned. "That's definitely a weight off my mind. How about you?"
"I'll manage," she replied, almost primly, trying to avoid his smirk.
It didn't help that they would be holed up together on a full sized mattress in a matter of hours; Pepper had been doing her best to avoid thinking about what was sure to be an already difficult situation.
She wasn't afraid of Tony; years of working for him had given her some insight into the man and under his public persona he was a good person, although prone to mercurial moods and self-destructive tendencies. And now that he was back from Afghanistan, saving the world as Iron Man, Tony Stark had found some sense of mission. Some commitment.
No, what Pepper was afraid of was herself. Of overstepping that careful line she'd drawn between them from day one; the line that kept them as employer and employee.
Not that the line was all that straight to begin with, or that solid. Pepper knew she and Tony were closer than other people who worked together; for God's sake, she'd seen him drunk and naked and stoned, sometimes all three at the same time, and for a few years there, it seemed there wasn't a vice under the sun that he wasn't willing to try.
But Pepper knew too, that Tony *was* a good man. Not because of his power and wealth, which was what a lot of women zeroed in on, but because of his brilliance and carefully hidden decency. He was, under his playboy, shallow exterior, a caring, kind-hearted man, and why he chose to keep that from the public, Pepper never understood.
And he was handsome, in a compact, intense way, she admitted to herself once in a while. Charming. Raffish. Playful. All the things that made him dangerous, and off-limits in terms of personal involvement.
She bit back a sigh and looked out towards the water again.
*** *** ***
He was worried. Tony didn't like the way the wind was whipping up again. Fortunately the open door of the jet faced towards the interior of the island, so with luck they'd be protected from much of the rain, but it was getting dark fast, and there was still a lot to do.
His arm ached, but Tony ignored it and kept bringing debris up from the waterline, carrying what he could, dragging what he couldn't. None of it looked valuable, but the engineer in him kept nagging that pieces were useful and that he'd find something he could make from them. Part of it was about being practical, and part of it was about surviving.
Tony knew about surviving.
But he was pretty sure Pepper didn't, and he wasn't about to lose her. Not a chance, because she had his back, and he could count on her, and because she was . . . well, she was a lot more than he deserved, even these days.
Pepper Potts was *the* woman in his life, Tony knew; the constant, the anchor, the north star who held her position so he could fly where he needed to and get back in one piece.
Current situation excepted, of course.
Tony wondered if panic was making him wax poetic, and if he should concentrate more on hauling wreckage. He redoubled his efforts, and spotted yet another drifting suitcase, and waded out to fetch it, dragging it up to the sand. He didn't recognize it, and guessed it was probably Pepper's.
A blackish lump half-buried in the sand turned out to be a nylon duffel bag with the Stark Industries logo on it. Curious, Tony struggled to unzip it, and peeked inside, feeling a surge of delight at the sight of a tool box, nylon line and several pylons in it—one of the Lear maintenance bags. This was probably the most valuable find yet, and Tony yanked on the strap, thrilled.
"Potts! Get down here!" he bellowed, and even over the wind his voice carried enough that Pepper came out from the trees, looking for him. Barefoot, she ran lightly in his direction; Tony admired her grace for a moment, then turned back to tugging on the bag. When Pepper reached him, she smiled at the sight of her own suitcase.
"That looks familiar," came her out-of-breath chuff.
"Yeah, but *this* is what's gonna save us," Tony predicted, and gestured to the duffle bag. "Come on, we've got to get this one unburied and up to the plane."
Together they uncovered the rest of it, Pepper digging while Tony pulled. Grudgingly the wet sand gave up her treasure, and Tony whooped with joy, dragging the bag along the beach. Pepper took the handle of her suitcase and followed, even as the first drops of rain began to spatter the sand.
In the dim shelter of the cabin, they sat on the edge of the bed and ate while the rain began to fall. Pepper had pointed out that it wouldn't do any good to try and save the salami or cheese, and Tony agreed. They split one of the bottled waters to wash it down, and Tony was amused to see that Pepper kept wiping the mouth of the bottle before she sipped it.
He glanced out the tiny window and cleared his throat, not wanting to bring up the other aspect of digestion, but feeling he had to. "And we're going to need a, um, mutually agreed upon latrine area."
Pepper looked supremely embarrassed. "Yes, I know. For now, I figured the other side of the cabin will do, and later, after the storm we can make . . . other arrangements."
"We didn't salvage any toilet paper, huh?" Tony muttered wistfully. "because *that* would have been a godsend."
"Nnnno," Pepper replied softly. "The Charmin went down with the ship."
He laughed; trust Pepper to be able to put a humorous spin on it, even though the reality wasn't going to be a laugh at all. "Fine. Although with my luck, there's some tropical version of poison ivy out there just waiting for my ass."
"Tony!" But she was smirking through her chide, and he liked the way she blushed. Not that he could see it too clearly; the cabin was getting dark now, and neither he nor Pepper had found any flashlights.
He stood up, stretched, and moved towards the door, looking out into the dark jungle. "Okay, so I guess it's time to start closing off this doorway as best we can, and getting some sleep. I just want you to know I'm not going to . . . you know. Take advantage of you or anything," Tony mumbled, feeling an uncharacteristic flush across his face. He wasn't used to apologizing for his reputation, or being blunt with Pepper this way, but Tony *did* want it said.
"I know you won't," Pepper agreed softly, rising up as well and handing him a few pain relievers. "But thank you for reassuring me."
''Yes, well . . . I'm not an obnoxious jerk *all* the time," came his abashed reply as he gulped down the tablets and turned to pick up the tablecloth. It was damp, with a deep rip along one side, and Tony thought it was quite possibly the flimsiest bit of protection he'd ever seen. "Unless we're being attacked by ketchup stains, I don't think this is going to cut it, Pepper."
"I had an idea about that," she murmured. "What about if after we pin it up, we stack all your suitcases in front of it?"
"Good thinking," Tony muttered, pleased to see that she'd applied the usual Potts efficiency to the problem. "Protected by Vuitton."
"Once we're rescued, I'm going to send the company a letter commending the durability of their products," Pepper replied, reaching up to help Tony tie the tablecloth to the topmost hinge of the door hatch. "And suggest they look into making flotation devices as a sideline."
Tony gave a short laugh, amused. "Not a bad suggestion, actually. Okay this is about as secure as it's going to get without duct tape. Where's MacGyver when you need him, huh?"
"Back in Malibu, enjoying his residuals," Pepper sighed. "How long will the storm last, do you think?"
Tony shook his head. "You got me—meteorology was never my strong point."
"I thought you'd picked up some of it from Jarvis, during all those missions," she teased him, and Tony smiled to hear it, enjoying a moment of normalcy in this oh-so-abnormal day.
"Nope. He usually pipes in reruns of Firefly and only interrupts if something comes up."
"Oh Tony," Pepper laughed.
*** *** ***
She could hear the wind howling, and the sound of it was eerie, especially in the dark. The unknown dark. Along with the wind, the flapping of the tablecloth and the constant murmur of the waves made it noisier than she was used to, and Pepper wished she could unclench a bit.
Tony was asleep, and for a moment Pepper resented his ability to slumber away in the wail of the wind. He lay on his stomach, softly snoring, a big warm lump in his Mylar blanket, radiating heat. She had no idea he was so efficient at maintaining a core temperature, and it was a nice sensation to share a mattress . . .
Especially with Tony, Pepper admitted to herself. Over the years she'd experienced an occasional hug, and steered his unsteady form along when he was drunk or wasted, so she had always known he was definitely male; heavy, warm-scented and fundamentally desirable.
Now, lying next to him in the dark, Pepper felt a mingling of emotions too muddled to name clearly. Gratitude was there, certainly; she was *so* damned glad he was alive after the crash. Comfort too—having his familiar, if somewhat stronger than usual scent nearby did a lot to help her feel safe. Not that Tony could protect her from everything, Pepper knew, but he'd try.
And deeper, under that, in the don'tGOthere level of her mind, Pepper knew there was another emotion that was pushing to get out. A lean beast of feeling and sensation rising from the low throb that pulsed between her hips. The most primitive and basic desire driven by hormones, lust and awareness, goaded on by Tony's nearness, warmth and pheromone-loaded scent.
She fought it down, and rushing into the void came fear. Pepper knew it was coming; shock was like that, and all day she'd been holding off the blunt weight of what had happened. Knowing Joe Mueller was more than likely dead out there somewhere, and that she was miles from civilization, with limited hope of getting out, much less alive—
She fought a sob, not wanting, not *daring* to wake the man next to her. Pepper's jaw muscles ached as the hot tears leaked from her eyes, and she sniffed once to blink them away.
In his sleep, Tony turned. Pepper held still, but one of his arms slumped across her stomach, resting heavily there, pinning her under its weight. He made a contented sound—as if the act of claiming her pleased him, and just like that, Pepper felt the hard knots all along her body begin to relax. The touch of Tony; that arm in contact with her held some inner capacity to soothe, and Pepper sighed glad to feel it there, warm and strong.
"Thank you," she mouthed silently to the ceiling, and began to fall asleep.
Without sunshine, it was hard to gauge time passing, and the grey light through the cabin window and around the edges of the suitcase-blocked tablecloth didn't help either. The cabin itself was small, with the bed taking up most of the room, so they lounged on it, talking sometimes, silent at other times.
Rescue efforts would be delayed by the storm, Tony had pointed out, and although Jarvis would relay their last known position to the appropriate authorities, that would only happen *after* they'd been reported missing, which may or may not have happened yet.
To pass some of the time, Pepper inventoried the contents of each suitcase, shifting the items within them into logical categories: shirts (8) in one, pants and boxers (6) into another.
"How did you end up with more shirts than underwear—wait, don't tell me, I really don't want to know," Pepper murmured to Tony, who snickered.
Other items were harder to classify, but had some potential to them: A slightly water-logged guidebook to the Philippines, some socks, ear buds for an iPod, nail clippers.
And then there was her *one* suitcase, and Pepper knew what it would contain. She mentally sighed as she opened it, aware of Tony peering in over her shoulder.
"My, my. Looks like you *do* have something to wear," Tony murmured, his tone smug. Pepper wanted to smack him as she picked up the shortie nightgown and set it aside. Under it were a few bras and panties—cotton, thank God—and what she had hoped she'd packed . . .
Triumphantly Pepper pulled out her Teva sandals, grinning. "Yes!"
"And here I was, hoping for some of those killer stilettos."
"Yes, they'd be *so* much better for running on the beach," Pepper murmured, bending to slip the sandals on and strap them securely. It felt good to have footwear again, and she waggled her toes.
Tony laughed. "Anything else interesting in here?" He began to paw around, and Pepper smacked his hand. Tony pulled it back and rubbed it, scowling a little. "For the record, you're *mean,* Potts."
"For the record, I'm entitled to a little privacy."
"In *this* cabin, a little is all either of us is going to get," Tony pointed out. "And it's not as if you've got anything to hide . . ." he trailed off, throwing her an inquisitive look. Pepper shot him her driest look in return; quite a feat in the midst of the rain rattling all around them outside.
"Fine. Lotion—" she pulled out a bottle of Lavender Silk and waggled it at Tony. "And a few disposable razors, and . . . a book."
Pepper knew Tony caught her hesitation because he kept his gaze on her. "What's the book?"
"Nothing important," she replied, hoping to bluff him, but Tony held his gaze and she felt her face flush a little. "Just something I was reading in my few and far between free moments."
"And the title of this magnificent tome is--?"
Pepper gave up, and sighed. "Moonlight's Sweet Savage Surrender."
For a moment, Tony froze, his incredulous expression unable to take in the title, then he very carefully bit his lips hard, smothering down the laughter that nevertheless escaped the corners of his mouth in puffs of mirth. His eyes were bright with tears, and Pepper longed to smack him.
Her palm *itched* to do it, in fact.
"Go ahead; laugh. I don't care," she chuffed. "Yes it's drivel and pure escapism and I *could* be reading something more intellectually challenging like Pilgrim's Progress or The Fountainhead, but you know what? Sometimes I just need to lose myself in a story where nobody has to whip up a party in Dubai at the last minute, or set up conference calls with Tokyo, Cairo and Duluth, Tony. Sometimes, I deserve a chance to indulge in something mindless and fluffy."
"Yes, sure, of course you do," Tony managed, fighting hard to look serious and failing, utterly. "But it's so . . . unlike you that I'm having a hard time believing it. I mean seriously, Potts—lurid romance?"
"It's not lurid," she was quick to snap. "Lurid are those explicit websites you've got bookmarked as 'Hydraulic Suppliers' on your laptop."
Pepper didn't think Tony was *capable* of blushing, but clearly, she was wrong.