1. Attempting to Communicate
Why did bed rest have to be so boring?
Bruce had been back in the tower for nine hours, twenty-seven minutes, and . . . six seconds, and he had already become so bored that he wanted to die.
You're not allowed to die, Tony had told him, when they brought him home. Strange to think of the tower as home now. First time in years he'd actually had one. You're too important, and too clever, and I—we need you too much.
All right, so maybe not die. But maybe collapse into a coma from lack of anything else to do.
You have a state-of-the-art entertainment center with all your favorite movies, and anything else you care to watch on demand. You have books stacked all the way up to the ceiling! How can you be bored?
But he was. They had all gone out somewhere, each in a different direction, and left him all alone here. True, he had said that he didn't need a babysitter, but did that mean that they all had to leave at once?
There was one thing he could do. He closed his eyes and began to call up his "quiet place" in his mind, to get it fully formed before summoning his other half to join him.
He had heard about the technique in psychological journals: create a quiet place, a safe place, to which he could retreat when he needed to. Bruce's quiet place was a room indoors, a study or a library, filled with books from floor to ceiling. The window seat was soft and inviting, and there was another chair, larger and heavily reinforced, for his guest. The view was that of a colorful garden, in the middle of summer. Sometimes there would be a white, long-haired cat purring on one of the book shelves, but today the cat was roaming elsewhere.
He sat down in the window seat (the cushions were pink and beige, and he realized that they were the ones from his childhood home. Pink and beige were his mother's favorite colors) and waited for the Hulk to appear.
There was a low growling sound. He looked up, and saw his other half in the large chair, looking uncomfortable, as he always did.
"What puny Banner want?" He had the diction of a caveman. It was Bruce's imagination, so he could have had his alter ego quoting Shakespearean sonnets if he wanted, but somehow that just didn't seem right.
"I just want to talk to you. About what happened in Buturu."
"Where that?"
"The village in Africa. Do you remember?"
"No."
Okay. Don't push him. Move on to a different subject. "Tony's promised you your own room, full of stuff to smash. Does that sound like fun?"
"Smash?"
"Yeah. He said it's not quite ready yet, but it will be by the time we're up and around. I want you to feel at home here, too."
"Where Lightning Man?"
"Thor? He's around." Bruce had been surprised to find that his other half both respected and obeyed the Asgardian, but he supposed it was because Thor was one of the few people who wasn't afraid of Hulk. And also one of the few who could spar with him hand to hand and not get hurt.
"Want fight Lightning Man."
"Not yet, buddy. We're not strong enough yet. One week of bed rest, one week of light duty. Then we'll be ready for action."
"Where Nathan?"
"He's back at his school. I talked to him yesterday, before I came home. He might come visit again this weekend."
"School?"
"He has to stay at his school, to learn things."
It was hard trying to talk to the Hulk. Bruce had to keep his words and concepts simple, and that wasn't always easy for him to do. If he wasn't careful, his little sanctuary could wind up smashed all around him.
"Mine! My Nathan! Mine!"
"Yes, of course he is," Bruce said, although technically that wasn't possible; Nathan had been born years before the accident that had created the Hulk. On the other hand, the rage and fury that had given birth to him had started a long time ago. But it was best not to get too technical with the Hulk, lest he get confused and start smashing things. "He'll be here for vacation in April, and you can practice with him then."
"Want Nathan now!"
"No," he said firmly, trying not to raise his voice. "Now it's time to rest and be quiet. I'll let you paint pictures." There was an easel set up on the other side of the room, and a tub of purple finger paint. Sometimes, to calm himself, Hulk would paint what he saw of the world. Bruce had chosen purple paint because red was too angry, and green would be too hard to clean up. (Purple wasn't much better, but at least he could see it clearer.)
"Paint?"
"Go for it. Just be careful not to get any on the rug." The carpet in this imaginary room was a light green plush, like the one in his Santa Fe apartment. He had loved to walk around barefoot, feeling the texture with his toes. It was a bitch and a half to clean, though.
Hulk went to the easel, dipped his index finger in the already-open paint tub, and began drawing lines on the paper. Bruce watched him, deep in meditation now. This was the voice of his subconscious, trying to find expression. He waited to see what it would come up with this time.
One corner of this room was taken up with past Hulk pictures, pinned on a cork board to remind him of what was bothering him at different points in time. It was actually therapeutic to stick those pictures in the corner and have them, but not have to deal with them the whole time. He could look at them, or not look at them, as he chose.
Sometimes the painted lines on the page made no recognizable pattern. Other times, he could see crude figures or objects making themselves known on the paper. One from the last session was of a huge green figure and a smaller purple one, holding hands. He took this as a sign that Hulk wanted to be friends. Well, they were working on that.
There wasn't a clock in this room. The constant tick, tick, tick would have been too distracting. He didn't know what time it was, but it couldn't have been too long. He looked out the window at the garden, but the shadows remained constant; it was always around two o'clock here, no matter what time it was outside this room. He'd have to come out of this meditative state if he wanted to find out what time it was, but he didn't want to do that until he had seen what Hulk was painting.
The emerald giant sketched a line a bit too far, frowned at it, tried to erase it, and when he found he couldn't, tore off the paper with a growl of rage and crushed it into a ball, which he tossed aside. The second attempt went much better; Bruce could actually see a picture forming. It was a horned figure with wavy lines representing fur and big, round eyes.
Nathan.
It wasn't an exact likeness, of course, but at least it was recognizable as his (their?) son. When Hulk showed it to him, Bruce said, "That's good, buddy. I'll put it right in the corner there, and you can look at it next time."
"Next time?"
"It's time to go." There was a creak as the door, covered in fancy carvings and with a small window at eye level, opened a crack. This was symbolic of Bruce's desire to end this session. "I know you miss him. We'll see him soon. Come on, let's go."
He opened his eyes . . .
For half a second, he had expected to see that crude line drawing of Nathan pinned across the room, but of course that was a different room. It was always a little disorienting to come out of the deep meditation, even more so when it happened suddenly. He gradually became aware of a presence in his room.
"Didn't mean to wake you up," said Tony, lounging lazily against the door frame.
"I wasn't sleeping. I was meditating. Trying to talk to the Hulk."
"You talk to him? How?"
"I just picture the two of us in a little room together, and sometimes he paints pictures."
"Uh huh. Of what? Stuff being smashed?"
"Sometimes. He painted Nathan just now. He's very . . . attached to him. I don't suppose you could talk him into another weekend visit?"
"Well . . ." Tony pretended to be considering it, when Bruce knew he loved the kid. "I think I could manage that. To keep Hulk happy."
"Always a good idea."
And from deep within, he thought he could hear a grunt of satisfaction. Yes, Hulk was happy.
2. Valentine Surprises
4:00 PM, Stark Tower
Tonight was the night. This very evening, over dinner, Tony Stark was going to propose to Miss Virginia Potts, and everything had to be perfect.
He called the restaurant to check on the reservation. Yes, of course, the maitre d' told him, six-thirty. Do not be late! He had no intention of being late. In fact, he was ready to go now, and it was only four o'clock.
Wardrobe check! Hair combed. Tie tied. Zipper zipped. Shoes neatly polished. Ring . . . not in his pocket.
Where the hell was the ring?
"Okay," he said out loud, "where did I have it last? I put it on the dresser when I took my shower . . . then I put it on the bed . . . what next?"
He searched the entire bedroom, looking on, under, and behind every piece of furniture, including the bed. No ring. He looked in the bathroom, just in case he had brought it in with him by accident. Unless it had been flushed down the toilet, it wasn't there.
"I didn't flush it, did I?"
Finally, in desperation, he turned to a higher power. "JARVIS, you don't happen to know what I did with a small pink box, about yea big?" He marked off a small square with his fingers.
"Yes, sir," the smoothly-accented voice said. "The box you describe is on the coffee table."
"How did it get there?"
"I believe you put it there when you went into the kitchen to check on the flowers."
"Oh. Right. Thanks, JARVIS." Now that he thought about it, he did remember putting it down to pick up the phone to double-check the flower delivery. The flowers were due at five o'clock, Pepper would be arriving at five-thirty, and he had to have that ring in his pocket when they departed.
Sure enough, there it was on the coffee table, right where JARVIS had said it was. If he were human, Tony would have given him a raise, but being cybernetic, he would have to settle for an upgrade. Tomorrow. No time right now.
He scooped up the box and put it in his suit coat pocket, smiling to himself. Mentally he rehearsed again what he planned to say to her, at just the right moment. It had to be just right, and it would be. Because he couldn't imagine the rest of his life without her.
Four twenty-one. What was he going to do now?
Sometimes being ready ahead of time just meant sitting around doing nothing for hours.
Might as well catch up on his e-mail. He opened a window and got lost in the Internet.
4:37 PM
Stark Tower, Suite 7907B
"Oh, my God, how did you know?" the image of Jane Foster on the computer screen asked. "It's perfect! I've been wanting that book since it came out! I don't remember telling you about it. So how did you know?"
Thor just grinned and refused to divulge his secrets. "I am glad that you like it, Jane. Was it a proper gift for the Day of Valentines?"
"It's great! And it got here right on time, too. You even included a little love note. I liked that."
"I have learned the Amazon Dotcom! It is easy, is it not?"
Behind him, Loki rolled his eyes and asked, "Is it my turn yet?"
"Patience, brother. You will have your chance soon."
"You've been on that thing all day. I expect you're pretty pleased with yourself."
"Hold your tongue for now, Loki. I will tell you when you can use this device."
"Maybe you should get separate computers," Darcy suggested from out of camera range. "I haven't broken in my new laptop yet. I'm thinking of calling it either Marvin, like the Paranoid Android, or Holly, like in Red Dwarf. Which do you like better?"
Thor blinked in confusion. "I am not familiar with these . . . persons. You should give it a bold and heroic name."
"Maybe I'll call it Malcolm, then, after Captain Reynolds."
Again, the gods failed to understand the reference. "Did you receive my gift to you?" Loki asked Darcy.
"Yeah, it's . . . nice. I've never had a Valkyrie helmet before. Where did you get it?"
"I Googled it," he said proudly. "There was a matching breastplate, but I didn't know your size."
"No, that's okay. Just the helmet is fine. I'll send you a picture of me wearing it. Or I'll put it on Facebook. You have a Facebook account, right?"
"I am . . . not allowed."
"Oh. Well, whatever. I can e-mail it to you. You do have e-mail, right?"
Thor stood by during this exchange, his arms crossed over his chest, his face set as if in stone. It was just like Loki to hijack his conversation, not by force but by being clever enough to slip in at just the right moment. He wondered when it would be his turn again.
4:51 PM
Stark Tower, suite 7805
Steve Rogers was also on a call, this one to London.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he said to the only woman he had ever loved.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Steven."
"I didn't wake you, did I? I know you sometimes go to bed early—"
"Not this early," she chuckled. "The photographs were lovely. Wherever did you find them?"
"Some of them, from the National Archives. Some of them I found on eBay. And some, believe it or not, were in Tony's attic. I didn't realize he had pictures of you and his father."
"Howard was . . . quite a man. I almost married him, you know. He could be very sweet. But also, very dedicated to his work. And in the end, I didn't have the patience to put up with him."
"You've got loads of patience. You waited all this time for me."
"But I didn't. I waited for a few years, and then I got on with my life. I couldn't put off living forever."
"And it would be unfair of me to expect you to. I get it. So when can I come see you?"
She sighed. "We've talked about this, Steve. I simply don't have the time right now. And I know you're busy with your . . . work."
"Not at the moment."
"There's still snow on the ground in New York. There might be a storm, and the airports would close down."
"How do you know there's snow here?"
"I have a computer. They do wonderful things, you know. One of them is being able to see the weather in other countries."
"Right. I'm learning how to use the computer. It's easy, once you know how."
"Most things are, love."
5:15 PM
Stark Tower, penthouse
Pepper was right on time. As usual. Tony met her at the elevator, handing her the flowers which had just been delivered.
"I thought we'd take the Audi tonight," he said to her. "Something a little less flashy than we usually show up in."
"You, wanting not to attract attention? Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," he said, smiling. "Tonight's all about you. That is why, tonight, we will be dining in Le Fantastique."
She gasped. "That fancy new restaurant that I've been wanting to see the inside of for months? You really got us reservations?"
"No, I thought we'd stand outside and look miserable until they took pity on us and let us in. Yes, of course I have reservations! And because tonight is so special, I haven't even tipped off the press that we'll be there."
"Not funny, Tony. So what time do we have to be there?"
"Seven. Which gives us time to go and have drinks at Nightlight first. If that's okay with you?"
"Are you kidding?" She threw her arms around him. "I don't care what they say about you, Tony Stark. You really are a romantic at heart."
"Shall we go, then?"
"Why not?" He took her arm and started to accompany her back to the elevator.
"Wait a minute!" she said suddenly. "Before we go, let me just . . . powder my nose."
"You can just say you're going to the bathroom. I'm not offended."
And it was a good thing she did, too. On her way back, she happened to glance down and spot that little pink box she had seen before, on the kitchen counter. Tony must have put it down and not realized it. She scooped it up, tucked it in her bag, and thought about whether or not to tell him about it.
Not right away. Clearly he had everything planned out, and she didn't want to interfere with his plan.
Besides, she wanted to see his face when he realized he didn't have the ring. It was a bit mean, but it would be funny.
5:23 PM
Stark Tower, suite 8102
Bed rest was still boring, but at least now Bruce was strong enough to sit up and work on his laptop. He had a brief chat with Nathan via Facebook, before the boy said he had to go and give Riley her gift.
Riley, huh? Somebody special?
I hope so. I mean, she's been so down since Ben dumped her at the Valentine dance. I want her to feel better.
Good for you. Just remember: sometimes all you have to do is listen. Let her take the lead. Just relax and go with the flow.
Okay, whatever that means. Gotta go. Love you, Dad.
Love you, kiddo.
Funny how he had never heard those words from his own father, and he never let a day go by without saying them, in some form, to his son. Or maybe it wasn't so funny. He-
"Excuse me, sir," the synthesized voice of JARVIS interrupted him. "You have a visitor."
"Really? Who?"
"The young lady did not leave her name."
"Young lady? Send her up, by all means."
Who would be visiting him? And not want to leave her name? He couldn't think of anyone it might be . . .
And then the doorknob rattled. "Come in," he shouted, before he realized that it was locked. "Hold on." He got up, crossed the room slowly, and unlocked the door from the inside. Then he opened the door.
"Surprise," said Betty Ross, standing there with a basket of goodies in her hand.
Bruce's jaw dropped. When he found himself able to speak again, he stammered, "B-betty! I didn't know you were in New York! It's been . . . five years?"
"About that," she said. "Can I come in?"
"What? Oh, sure! Come on in. Don't mind me, I'm still supposed to be on bed rest. Picked up a virus in Africa—I'm fine now," he hastened to reassure her.
"Yeah, I heard about your, um, problem. I'm consulting at one of SHIELD's labs right now. Is it true you were rescued by a ten-year-old kid?"
"Yes, and . . ." He sighed. He would have to tell her sooner or later, and sooner was better than later. "The almost-ten-year-old is my son."
She gave him an odd look. "Your son? How? I mean, how do you have a son that old that I don't know about?"
"I didn't know about him either, until a few years ago. You remember Micky Sandoval?"
"The one who had a thing for you?"
"She did not have a thing for me! Okay, maybe she did. The point is, she . . . got hold of my DNA somehow, and she and Jack Franklin continued Project Minotaur on their own. She was the carrier, as well as the egg donor. And, well . . . that's him." He showed her a recent photo of Nathan, taken at his school.
"I can't exactly see the resemblance," she said, half-joking.
"He was created to be a weapon. Strength of a bear, cunning of a snake, toughness of a goat . . . he has my eyes, though. Jack did that just to get in his digs at me. Anyway, he's an incredible kid. He's doing college-level work at his age."
"Clearly he got his brains from you."
"Well, Micky was no slouch, either. It's just too bad that she fell in with the wrong crowd. Jack twisted her mind like a pretzel."
"So the kid works for SHIELD?"
"No, no, this was a one-time thing. They just brought him in to calm me down. He . . . he sings, slow songs—I don't know if you remember the kind of stuff Micky listened to?"
"You mean Retro Radio? And not even good retro, either."
"Oh, I don't know. It works. They say it's the sound of his voice that does it, but the music helps. Um, can I get you anything? Something to drink? I'm not supposed to be up, but I can have one of the robots bring you something . . ."
"Robots?"
"Tony's big on robots."
"No, thanks, I'm fine. I brought this for you, actually." She set the basket down and began unpacking it. "From that gourmet shop you like. Didn't know they had a branch here, did you?"
"Somehow I'm not surprised. You always seem to get what you want."
"Happy Valentine's Day," she said, laying a package of peanut-butter-filled chocolate hearts on the bed beside him. Peanut butter was one of his weaknesses, and she knew it.
"Happy Valentine's Day," he smiled. "Sorry I don't have anything for you."
"That's okay. You will next year. You can make up for it then."
"Next year? So you're not . . . with someone?"
"Not anymore." At his questioning look, she explained, "I was married, but I got divorced last year. Long story."
"Well, as long as you're happy now."
"I am. And you?"
"There's nobody in my life. Except Nathan. That's his name. And my teammates, who are like family. I've never been good at relationships . . ."
"That's okay," she said. "Neither have I."
5:45 PM
Xavier Institute for Gifted Students
Riley wasn't in her room. Her roommate, Julia, told Nathan that she was in the lounge, watching TV.
"By herself?" he asked.
"That's what she wanted."
"That's not right. She shouldn't be alone. Not on Valentine's Day."
"Tell that scumbag Ben that. I can't believe he dumped her at the dance. What cheek! What utter bloody cheek!" Originally from northern England, Julia would occasionally lapse into her native accent when she was upset or stressed.
"I'll go find her, then. Oh, I have a card for you." He handed over the card with Julia's name on it.
"You got me a card?"
"I have one for everyone. But I have something special for Riley. I hope she likes it."
"I don't know if she's in a mood for gifts, but you can try. And if you happen to see Ben, punch him in the gob for me."
Nathan blinked. "I—I don't think I'm supposed to do that . . ."
"It means the mouth, love. But on second thought, don't do anything stupid. The size you are, you'll kill him."
Nathan didn't know what to say to that, so he just went to the lounge to find Riley.
She was watching a Supernatural rerun, and the moment he entered the room, Nathan felt an intense sadness. He wasn't really sure why until he realized that it was coming from Riley. Her power was an unusual one: she could project her emotions to other people, which could be useful in a battle situation (making an enemy feel her fear, for example) but in everyday life often got in the way. He understood now why she'd chosen to be alone.
"Riley?"
She sighed deeply. "Do you think Dean would dump a girl at a dance? Just like that, without any warning at all?"
"I doubt it. He's a player, but he's not that much of a jerk."
"I mean, who does that? It's as bad as breaking up via text message."
"He did that, too?"
A commercial came on, and she finally tore herself away from the TV. "No, that would require him actually answering my text messages. Of which, I've sent about fifty. Don't tell me he's not getting them."
"I wouldn't know."
"What's that?" she asked, seeing the wrapped package in his arms.
"It's, um, it's a Valentine's Day present. For you. If you want it."
"You didn't have to get me anything."
"I wanted to."
"Well, sit down and let's have a look at it."
"I can't sit on this couch. It's not strong enough."
"Sure it is. Come on." She patted the cushion beside her, and Nathan sat. The couch did creak when he settled his nearly three-hundred-pound bulk into it, but there wasn't the groaning and snapping of wood that meant it was about to collapse. He took that as a good sign.
"I don't have anything for you, though," Riley said.
"That's okay. I hope you like this." He handed it over, and she unwrapped it carefully, lifting up the tape on one end and working her way around. "Oh, it's a bear! How cute! And in a little mug, too!"
"He plays music, too." Nathan pressed the bear's middle, and the tune played.
"Oh, I love Billy Joel! How did you know? It was just what I needed!" She threw her arms around him (or at least as far as they would go), and he felt waves of joy radiating from her. He had to remember to send Uncle Tony a thank-you note.
6:25 PM
Nightlight Club
"I suppose we should get to the restaurant before they give our table away," Tony said. "I'll go bring the car around."
Pepper was proud of him. He'd only had two drinks (so far), and he was being a perfect gentleman. If she hadn't known what he was up to, she'd be suspicious right now. This was shaping up to be the best night of her life.
She double-checked that the ring was still in her purse as soon as he was out the door. When they sat down to dinner, she'd come clean to him, and not drag out the moment too much. But she'd let him ask her properly, and of course, she'd say yes.
She stood on the front sidewalk, watching the cars zoom by, and waiting, when Tony walked up to her. Walked.
"I can't find the car," he said. "I think it's been stolen."
"What?"
"The car is gone."
"Did you give it to the valet?"
"No, I parked it myself. Remember? I let you out here, and I went around to find a space. Now where the hell did I put it?"
"How could you lose the car? Maybe you didn't park it where you think you did." This had happened once before. He'd parked his old Nissan in the side lot at the office, thought he'd parked in the back lot, actually called the police to report the car stolen, and almost got arrested when he insisted that someone had to have moved it, because there was no way he could have parked it there and forgotten about it.
"No, I'll show you." He led her around the building to the public lot, which was completely full. "Do you see a silver Audi anywhere here? Anywhere?"
"I see a lot of silver cars. Did you check the other lot?"
"No! I know I parked it over here! See that building over there? I was right in line with the ground floor windows. I know it."
"I just think we should go check the other lot before we report it stolen," she suggested, but Tony wasn't listening. He never did, when he was so sure he was right.
"I've looked all over this lot, and the car is just not here! Why would someone steal my car?"
"We don't know that it's stolen yet. Can we please go check the other lot and see if it's there first?"
"We don't have time! We'll call a taxi, and come back for the car later. Let's face it, it's gone."
Pepper gave up trying to argue with him. She didn't feel right leaving the car there, but trying to change Tony's mind was like herding cats uphill in the rain. "All right," she said. "Let's get to the restaurant before they give our table away. We've still got time, right? Seven o'clock?"
"I think so. It might have been seven-thirty. So we'll be early; so much the better. Taxi!" He waved his arm in the air, but four cabs drove past without stopping, having already been engaged. Luckily, the fifth one was free.
Tony gave the driver Le Fantastique's address, and they pulled away from the curb. As they went around the corner, he happened to glance towards Nightlight's side parking lot. The last car in the front row was a silver Audi. His silver Audi.
"Hold on! Stop for a second!" The cab pulled over, and he got out and confirmed that this was indeed his car. He came back, paid the driver an exorbitant amount for such a short trip, and escorted Pepper to the car.
"Why didn't you tell me the car was over here?" he demanded.
She knew better than to tell him that she had done just that, at least five times. "I don't know. I guess it just didn't occur to me."
"I hope we get to the restaurant in time. At least we're on the right track now. Nothing else can go wrong."
11:32 PM (local time)
Belfast, Northern Ireland
They looked like any other couple in the pub, but the truth was, they were there to wait for their target. He was known to frequent this particular neighborhood watering hole, and he should be coming through the door any moment now.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Clint said, sliding a small red box across the table.
Natasha's eyes were wide. "I completely forgot. Can I make it up to you when we get home?"
"Sure. Open that first."
"What is it?"
"Open it and find out."
"You know I hate surprises."
"You'll like this one. Open it."
"Fine." She opened it, just as their drinks arrived. Under the frilly pink paper was a small white box.
No . . . it can't be. We always agreed, no strings. No connections. No commitments. Has he changed his mind?
She opened the box. Inside, sitting on a bed of soft cotton, was an enamel brooch of a bird in her nest. "Oh, it's beautiful! I thought . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"What?" he asked. "You thought what?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
"No, come on, tell me. What did you think? That it was a ring?"
"Well . . . yeah."
"Even though we agreed a long time ago that we can't make that sort of commitment to each other, because of . . . our jobs?"
"I thought you might have reconsidered."
"You know me better than that, sweet cakes." Then his eyes shifted to something behind her. "No, don't turn around. Our man just walked in."
"Time to go to work." She tucked the brooch into her pocket, hoping it wouldn't get damaged in the inevitable fight. It really was better than a ring.
7:02 PM
Le Fantastique
"What do you mean, you don't have a table for us?" Tony stared down the tiny, cowering maitre d'. "I called three times to secure the reservations!"
"Yes, sir, but you see, the reservation was for six-thirty, and we only hold the table for fifteen minutes before we have to give it to the next one on the list . . ."
"Six-thirty?" Pepper looked at Tony in confusion. "I thought you said it was at seven!"
"I thought it was seven. You sure you're looking at the right day?"
"Sir, I am looking at today's reservation list. Here is your name, and as you can see, the time listed in the opposite column is six-thirty PM. We waited as long as we could, but we have a very long waiting list for tables."
"Can you get us on the list, then?"
"Yes, but I'm afraid it will be at least a forty-minute wait—"
"That's fine. We'll be in the bar." Tony hung around just long enough to make sure that their names were added to the waiting list, and then he strode off in the direction of the bar. After a moment, and a hasty apology, Pepper followed him.
She found him sitting at a table, his head in his hands. "Damn it! How could I have been so stupid? First I lose the car, then I lose the reservation! What's next?"
Now was the time to brighten his evening a bit. "Well," she said, "at least you didn't lose this." And she took the small pink box out of her bag and put it on the table in front of him.
He stared at it, and then up at her. "Where . . . where did you find this?"
"You left it on the kitchen counter, right before we left. I had a feeling you might need it."
"Did you open it?"
"No. I didn't want to deprive you of your big moment. So . . . do you want to wait until we're seated for dinner, or should we not wait any longer?"
He thought about it for a minute before he made his decision. "Well, since it's not a surprise anymore . . . Pepper, you mean more to me than anything in the world. You've always been there for me, putting up with my bullshit when no one else would, because you knew that wasn't really me. I don't know what I'd do without you, and I hope I never have to find out." He opened the box, exposing the ring in all its brilliance. "Will you marry me?"
She didn't even hesitate. "Yes! Of course I will. What took you so long?"
12:45 AM
Stark Tower
"Come up with me?" Tony asked, as he and Pepper entered the building. Her apartment was a few floors below his, but tonight, he wanted her to stay with him.
"Are we not done celebrating, then?" she asked, leaning into him. She'd had a bit to drink herself that evening, and was not too steady on her feet at the moment.
"I was hoping we'd get back in time to give the guys the news, but I guess they've all gone to bed. We should follow suit."
"If you say so."
So it was spur-of-the-moment. So she didn't have even a toothbrush at his place. They had a good thing going, and why spoil it now?
"I wonder what they've been up to while we were out?" he mused. "Anything good? Blackmail-able?"
"You would think of that," she said. The elevator came, and they got on.
"Love in an elevator . . ." Tony sang under his breath. Pepper looked at him, mischief shining in her eyes.
"We've got time," she said.
When they reached the penthouse level and the doors opened, they straightened their disheveled clothing (zipping and buttoning in a hurry in case anyone was still up) and proceeded to the bedroom to continue in private.
It was glorious.
When they were finished, after Pepper had fallen asleep but Tony was still awake, staring at the ceiling, he wondered if this was how it was going to be every night, once they were married.
He wouldn't mind that at all.
7:30 AM
Stark Tower, penthouse kitchen
They broke the news at breakfast the next morning, since everyone was together.
Rather than give them a long, rambling speech, Tony decided to get right to the point. "We're getting married!"
There were congratulations all around; Tony was slapped on the back by Thor so hard that he nearly lost a few teeth. Bruce sent an Instant Message to Nathan; Steve e-mailed Clint, although it was two in the morning in Ireland and they probably wouldn't see it for some time.
"I was thinking September," Tony said, when they asked about dates. "Right around Labor Day. And of course you're all invited. Hell, you'll probably be in the wedding. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go alert the media." He poured himself a cup of coffee and disappeared in the direction of his study.
"He's not serious about the media, is he?" Bruce asked Pepper.
"Honestly? I'm not sure. He probably does have some calls to make. But I wouldn't be surprised if he held a press conference this afternoon. And frankly," she said, caressing the ring on her finger, "I support him one hundred percent."