Well, Tony had Jarvis make the call. But it was the thought that counted, right?

Pepper picked up on the second ring. "Hey, Tony, this isn't a good time." At least she didn't sound that horrible mixture of disappointed and angry anymore; resigned was a better word for it. "Can we meet for dinner? Reggiano's?"

Tony blinked. That saved time. "Sure, yeah, definitely. What I was going to ask, actually—"

"Okay, see you then," she cut him off abruptly. "Sorry. Gotta run."

"Yeah. Um. See you." And he was left staring up at the speaker in his lab, completely confused—well, not completely, but he'd rather feel confusion than sinking apprehension.

"Shit," Tony said aloud.

The lack of surprise in her voice, like she'd been considering calling him before his name had popped up on her phone screen, the quick getaway, the obvious lie. How she wanted to see him, but didn't want to prolong their conversation.

He was a genius, after all. The real question was how hadn't he seen it sooner?

"Seriously?" was the first question Tony asked that night. No hello, nothing. Yeah, it was rude but she'd lost the privilege (aka chore) of lecturing him about his manners.

He knew what she was going to say. He could see from the stoic twist of her lips that she knew he knew what she was going to say—so why bother.

"Tony," she sighed in that way he had heard so many times before and, now, might not hear again.

The thought hurt. Just a little, though. Seriously. He was Tony Stark. He could fucking pay people to sigh at him. It was stupid to be all hung up on one little condescending sigh.

"I'm sorry," she said and the worst part was it sounded like she meant it.

"Great." Tony held up his hands as Pepper gave him a half concerned, half suspicious expression. God, she was gorgeous when she was…worrying about him like he was a little kid.

Wow. Genius right there.

"Really. Great. Okay. Bye-bye. See you never." Tony gestured at a waiter. "Can I get some wine? Yeah. Bring the bottle."

"Tony." The waiter handed him a bottle and scurried away as quickly as he could.

"No," Tony said, not bothering to pour the wine into his glass. He took a sip and winced. "Wow. Dummy could make better wine then this shit."

"Tony," Pepper repeated, frowning.

He pointed the bottle at her. "No. You're not allowed to say my name, like I'm supposed to listen to you, goddammit, if you're breaking up with me." He took another long drink.

"I just…" she looked like she was resisting the urge to knock the bottle out of his hand. "Well. I was going to wait to tell you this, but I obviously can't continue working for you anymore. Not full time."

Tony made a deliberate point of looking Pepper in the eyes. He'd always liked her eyes. "Not full time? So…part time?"

Pepper cleared her throat with difficulty. "I was thinking co-CEO. I have a successor in mind. He's—"

"Great. Whatever." The thought that her 'co-CEO' might be more than just a coworker flitted by and was quickly dismissed. Pepper was nothing if not professional. But the knot of jealousy in his stomach stayed. "Now can I go? This stuff isn't tasting any better."

"Tony," she said and he pointed the bottle at her again, narrowly avoiding splashing her in the face, which, truth be told, was not a completely unattractive prospect. "Sorry. Just, don't shut me out, okay? I'm still your friend."
"Yeah, sure. Really. Have fun with the co-CEO. Bye." The chair squealed as he pushed it back and Pepper let him go this time. She even politely pretended not to notice his brief entanglement with his crutches.

"Bye, Tony," she said softly. Tony tried not to care. It was probably better to be out of the restaurant before he broke something.

As a matter of fact, Tony didn't break something. Once he got back into the sanctuary of his lab, he broke several somethings—Dummy, the door on his Shelby Cobra (who knew crutches could cause damage), and then one of his aforementioned crutches.

It was a miracle the crutch hadn't exploded or anything, considering he'd given it some firepower for shits and giggles. You know. Normal Stark upgrades.

He considered getting Jarvis to fetch him another crutch, but really couldn't be bothered. What did he have to do anyway? The Avengers could manage themselves.

So instead he picked up a StarkPad from a nearby table and sat down on the ground to work. The cartoonish Gremlin icon caught his eye, and, well, why the fuck not. Pepper wasn't around to care anymore.

Tony worked for a while, configuring the Gremlins to make them smarter and stronger and more organized. More strategic. Like a game of chess with a healthy dose of brute force.

It was an empty thrill, though. He'd removed the more realistic settings—knowing if he injured himself anymore, he'd be off the Avengers for good—and so it was only a few notches above one of Clint's Call of Duty games.

The Captain came by sometime later and banged on the lab door for a while. Something about Jarvis being worried. Tony took one look at him, resplendent in sweatpants and built like Thor, and wondered, stupidly, if Pepper would have stayed if he'd looked like that.

Then he shook it off—for God's sake, he was Tony Stark, not some kid in high school—and told Rogers to go fuck off.

For once, the Captain listened.

It wasn't until Tony saw the tears dotted on his StarkPad screen that he realized why.