Tony was trying to extol the virtues of a restored Mixmaster to a round little woman in glasses, pointing out the replaced cord when he caught sight of Pepper hurrying over towards him.

"Anyway, think about it, okay?" he murmured and moved to intercept Pepper.

"Diablo," she said in a slightly breathless tone, tipping her head towards the house and long driveway.

Tony sharply looked up, spotting the approaching vehicle. "Not good."

The car wasn't moving very fast, but still, the vision of a driverless car moving towards the tables was not something either he or Pepper wanted to see.

"Why is he coming out?" Tony wanted to know, his expression perplexed. "Is he getting enough exercise? Er, mileage, I guess?"

"Well I don't know!" Pepper mutter in exasperation. "Maybe you could go ask him, Tony! And how did get out? I'm fairly sure Jarvis wouldn't have—!"

"—He's got a remote," Tony cut in absently. "Clipped to his visor."

She turned to look at him and he gave a helpless shrug. "Hey, I have them on all the cars; you know that! I just didn't think he'd know how to, um, use it."

"Go stop him," Pepper ordered with terse exasperation. "Now."

Tony looked as if he wanted to argue, then thought better of it and nodded. He moved around the tables and trotted towards the gate while Pepper put her headset back on and spoke softly. "Happy?"

"Right here—who's bringing out the 'Cuda?"

"Um, Tony's got a remote on it," she replied, not exactly going for a lie; it was the truth, sort of.

"Okay. Are they bringing it out the gate? Because if they are, they'll need to go around to the right," Happy replied, his voice slightly tinny. "Does he need access to the road?"

"I'll get back to you on that," Pepper told him, and looked around. Merwin was still there, perusing the table with the Bento boxes, so Pepper went over to him, smiling nervously.

"Mr. Kelley, I have a huge favor to ask," she began.

He looked up from the chopsticks he was toying with. "Yes, m'dear?"

"Would you . . . keep an eye on the tables for just a moment? I have something I need to handle, and—"

Merwin Kelley nodded, grinning a little. "It would be mah pleasure. I assure you, I'd be delighted."

"Thank you so much," Pepper breathed a sigh of relief and turned to look at the gate. Diablo had just reached it, and Tony was working the lock, slipping through it to the other side. She moved as quickly and discreetly as she could, weaving in and out of interested buyers, browsers and window shoppers until she reached the gate and followed in Tony's wake.

Diablo was rumbling softly, the hemi a tiger's purr in the still air, and Tony had the driver's side door open. Incongruously, strains of a Ted Nugent song were playing on the car's radio, but very softly. Pepper peered over his shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"Jack," Tony replied bleakly. The kitten was curled up on the driver's seat, and when he raised his head, both Tony and Pepper froze, looking at his runny eyes and sandpaper dry nose. He gave a pitiful squeak of a 'mew' by way of greeting and proceeded to sneeze several times.

That was when Pepper realized she was hearing 'Cat Scratch Fever.'

"He doesn't look good," Tony muttered, reaching for the kitten and picking him up. "Pepper, he really really doesn't look good."

"I know," she replied, feeling panicky and working not to show it. "We need to take him to the vet. Oh God! Tony! Diablo knew and brought him out to us!"

Tony's eyebrows went up at this, but he nodded and reached out one hand to pat the steering wheel. "Okay, I'm impressed. Not meaning to make things anymore difficult than they already are, but how are we going to work this, Miss Potts? We have six tables and about thirty people between us and the road."

"The right. Happy said to take it around to the right." She tapped her headset. "Happy, yes, we need access to the road—can you make it happen?"

"Absolutely," came his calm reply. "Start moving around right and you'll see the cleared area."

Tony gently handed Jack to Pepper as the fuzzy head of Ace appeared between the seats and Queenie looked up from the back seat. "He brought everybody."

"They should all be seen," Pepper agreed pocketing the headset again, and looked at Tony. "All right, Mr. Stark, here's our situation. We need to take the kittens in to the vet, but we have a garage sale in progress. I have an idea how we can handle both situations but I'd need your permiss—"

"—done," Tony told her, climbing into the driver's seat. "Get in."

"Tony! You haven't even heard what I'm suggesting!" Pepper snorted, carefully holding Jack against her shoulder as she went around the front of Diablo. Jack's fur felt extremely warm against her fingertips.

"Potts, I *pay* you to handle the logistics of my life," Tony pointed out, buckling up. "Whatever your suggestion, I'm good with it. Think you can keep the cats from getting under the pedals here?"

"Let me sit in the back—" she folded the seat forward and climbed into the back and conveniently, Tony used the rearview mirror to view her rear as she did so.

He smiled at her innocently when she turned to catch him in the act. "Why do you do that?" Pepper demanded, settling behind the passenger seat, blushing. "I've worked for you for years and after all this time, I'd think you would be bored with my . . . backside. It's not like it's particularly new or exciting."

"Pepper, as long as I have testosterone circulating in my body, your booty will always be fascinating," Tony admitted. "It's a guy thing; a reflex from the brainstem that can't be fully controlled, not even by Tibetan monks on the highest level of meditation and added onto that is the fact that you possess one of the finest asses in the world. I speak as a connoisseur, so trust me; looking at it is a privilege."

"Tony," Pepper blushed crimson, "Just . . . drive."

Diablo edged around the tables; a few people looked over at it curiously, and Pepper leaned out the window, waving to Merwin Kelley, who came over, his expression bright-eyed and curious.

"You've made sixteen dollahs so far, and someone's thinking about picking up most of the um . . . lit-er-a-ture under the table for a hefty sum," Merwin reported, trying to hand the bills over. "Not that I approve of that sort of magazine, but money is money."

"Mr. Kelley, I really, really hate to impose any further on you—" Pepper began, but Tony interrupted, his eyes locking on those of the older man.

"Mr. Kelley, if you agree to run this garage sale until Pepper and I get back, I'll give you seventy percent of the proceeds and double them in contributions to whatever charity you favor."

Merwin Kelley set his hands on the open window frame of Diablo's door and blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm serious, Mr. Kelley. Pepper and I need to take one of our pets to the vet, and we need someone to run the sale while we're gone. You're sharp and more than qualified to know about how to run these things any way you see fit, and Pepper and I respect you."

For a moment Merwin Kelley stared sharply at Tony, as if searching him for some trace of mockery, but at that moment Jack mewed piteously again. Seeing the kitten, Kelley managed a small smile.

"I appreciate your faith in me, and I'll do my very best, Miss Peppah . . ." he paused and added, "--Mr. Stark."

Tony blinked and extended his hand; Kelley shook it firmly.

As Diablo pulled along the cleared path towards the road, Pepper pulled out the headset. "Happy, Mr. Kelley is now in charge of the garage sale. Tony and I have a . . . minor medical issue to deal with, so help Mr. Kelley out until we get back."

"Okay," came the completely unfazed reply. "What about the other one? The, uh, lady?"

"Dottie's an honored guest," Tony called out, pulling out onto PCH 1 and shifting Diablo into drive. "But if she tries to talk down the price on any of the boom boxes, forget it."

*** *** ***

"Rhinitus," came the diagnosis from Doctor Hepple, a little round man who looked like a direct descendant of the original Doolittle. "He'll need fluids and rest; antibiotics wouldn't do anything for him, but a lot of TLC and moist food will—not that he needs much of that last," the vet commented, running a gentle hand over Jack's round tummy. The kitten was making an effort to be nice, purring between sneezes. In Tony's arms, Queenie was completely spooked, claws into his shirt, eyes wide. Pepper held Ace, who wanted to ride on her shoulders.

"So he's . . . okay?" Tony asked, wincing as Queenie's tiny needles snagged his shirt.

"He'll be fine in a few days," Doctor Hepple remarked cheerfully, then added, "But they all need to be neutered. Once all three of them have run through the virus, I'd recommend you bring them back for that as soon as possible, Mr. Potts."

"Mr.--?"

"My name's on the paperwork," Pepper reminded him in a whisper. Raising her voice she added, "How long do you think that will take, Doctor Hepple?"

"Give it a week and a half," he suggested, stroking Jack gently along the spine. "It's fairly routine."

"Is it . . . necessary?" Tony asked, wincing a little, and the vet looked at him with a bemused stare over the top of his glasses.

"It isn't necessary, but it's highly recommended. Un-neutered toms spray, fight, and get their sisters pregnant."

"Ew," came Tony's cringe.

Pepper bit her lips to keep from laughing, and even the vet was fighting a chuckle at Tony's expression.

"Yes, well aside from that, it's beneficial for them in a lot of ways. The receptionist has a checklist for the process and will give it to you when you go to make an appointment. In the meantime I suggest you let these three have a nice cozy place to sleep and monitor them for a day or two just to make sure it doesn't progress into anything else. There are some drops for Jack's eyes—not necessary but they may make them a bit more comfortable. Do you need a carrier?"

Twenty minutes later, all three kittens were yowling loudly from a cardboard box with a handle and air holes. Pepper tried to soothe them, but didn't have much success. Tony sat behind the wheel, but was talking to Diablo instead of driving.

"They're fine—they're just a little pissed off at us," he was trying to explain. "Jack's going to be okay; you did a good thing to show us what was wrong, you know. Good thinking on your part."

Diablo reluctantly turned his engine over very gently, then began to inch out into traffic, barely moving over twenty miles an hour.

Pepper gave an exasperated sigh. "Diablo, please—the sooner we all get home, the sooner these three big babies will stop crying."

That was a regrettable statement; she realized a moment too late. Diablo revved up and accelerated, driving everyone back in their seats and for a moment all three kittens were stunned into silence by the sheer velocity.

Tony had the nerve to grin, and whooped once, the sound dying when he saw Pepper's terror turn to exasperation.

"Mach . . . one . . . is NOT . . . the . . . speed limit!" she managed to shout towards the dashboard. "Slow DOWN!"

Diablo wove through traffic, reached the highway onramp, accelerated up it, dropped to a reasonable sixty-two once there, and the purr of his engine had a hint of smugness to it. Pepper looked around the interior of the car with suspicion, but didn't say anything more as she clung to the carrier on her lap.

Tony folded his hands behind his head and yawned innocently. "I wonder how the garage sale is going?"

Pepper glared at him.

Turning up the long curve from PCH to the estate road proved to be difficult. There was a helicopter in the air and crowds of cars everywhere. Diablo instantly tinted his windows, and Pepper felt a dawning fear rise in her. "Oh God—the media figured it out. Those are news vans, Tony."

"Here—" he reached over for her headset and holding it up, spoke into the mouthpiece. "Happy? Report, please?"

"Mr. Stark," came the slightly breathless reply. "Your . . . sale is doing brisk business, and Mr. Kelley has one hell of an uppercut for a senior citizen."

"Brisk? Uppercut?" Tony puzzled. "Is there a party I'm missing here?"

"You could say that, sir," Happy replied. "We're clearing a path for you now."

Diablo nosed forward, weaving through the other cars on the road easily, and pulled off on the grass where men in dark suits were standing. Pepper looked out the window, her gaze transfixed on people at the tables, elbowing each other over various items. There were reporters everywhere, and a bubbly Anne Marie was being interviewed, a painful prospect right there.

And Merwin Kelley was standing on a dais improvised from a crate, waving and pointing like a madman.

"I think . . ." Pepper murmured in a stunned monotone, "He's . . . auctioneering."

Tony leaned her way, "Diablo, down just a crack, please."

The window went down fractionally, and the clear, unmistakable roll of Merwin Kelley's Texas twang zipping a mile a minute reached them. "'yousirtwentyfivehundredwho'llmake it twentysixhundred—"

Tony spoke into the speaker again. "How much has he made?"

"Rough guess, sir—about forty thousand so far."

"Forty . . . thousand?"

"Yessir. Apparently your, um, how did he put it? Broad-minded literature went for damned near fifteen on its own," Happy reported.

Pepper gave a groan; Tony chortled. "I knew that box would move!"

"Before you start rummaging under your bed for more to put out, may I remind you we have some kittens to take care of?"

"Diablo, home!" Tony murmured, and the car moved forward, letting the rumble of the hemi clear the path a bit wider. The gates swung open and the car squeezed through, accelerating back onto the road. Pepper glanced back; there were security men closing the gates against a push of onlookers.

She sighed bleakly and looked at Tony. "As we speak, I'm sure a news chopper is circling overhead, and Diablo is probably now being screened in a hundred TV stations. Merwin Kelley might be making you good money, but after all this publicity, I'm betting this will be the last garage sale we ever get to take part in, Mr. Stark."

Tony was quiet as Diablo rumbled along the winding curves to the house.