Tony Stark was not having a good day. His flight to London was officially delayed for twelve hours. If it got delayed any longer, he was going to go insane.
He pressed the call button harder, as if causing the touch screen pain would make her pick up. "Come on, Potts…" Once again, his assistant let it ring until it went to voicemail. "My flight is delayed, I could really use a rebooking," he said tersely, just like the last four voicemails.
Hermione Granger was not having a good day. Her flight to London was officially delayed for twelve hours. If it got delayed any longer, she might cry.
With such a large delay, their gate would be used for other flights in the interim. An entire Airbus A330's worth of passengers were shooed out of their gate, meaning a mass exodus to the stores, coffee shops, bars, and restaurants in their wing of the airport. And this meant that those places became crowded. Rapidly.
Hermione tried to resist joining the crowd. She would wait until the first wave of people passed through, then she would strike. For maybe ten minutes, she reread the track descriptions for the conference she was attending back home. When she realized she hadn't actually processed a single word, she moved her attention to the New York Times crossword.
When she was unable to complete a Monday crossword, she was forced to admit that she might need to eat sooner rather than later. And she could really use a drink.
Tony Stark's day continued to go downhill. No matter how many times he called Pepper Potts to see about switching flights to another airline, she never picked up. He decided to wait a while with the comfort of a glass of scotch and a good steak.
He'd hoped to be able to hide in a back corner of the classiest-looking grille he could find, but all of the nice, cozy spots were already taken. He was forced to a high-top at the front of the restaurant, where he had to endure the visual assault of what could generously be called 'decorations' only feet from his face.
The hostess assured him that a server would be with him soon. Seven minutes later, he was beginning to doubt it. He glanced around to find someone in an apron, but his gaze caught on something – someone – else altogether. A woman stood maybe six feet away, waiting at the hosts' stand.
She seemed lost in thought, and she was entrancing. Something undeniable ran through him when she bit her lip. Her hair was in thick, tidy deep-brown braids, and those at the front skimmed her cheekbones. The warm yellow of her blouse laid in incredible contrast against her dark skin.
A hostess made her way to the front stand and, clearly exhausted, said, "I'm sorry, there are no tables." When the woman Tony was watching raised her brows, the hostess elaborated. "I mean, there are literally no free tables. Every single table is taken."
And that's when Tony Stark saw his in.
"Oh, hey, you made it!" he called over to her. The hostess just missed seeing the woman's confused expression. "I think I got us the last table!"
He gave her his most winning smile, and she glanced around and behind her. "Oh, of course," she said awkwardly. "I'll just… go to our table," she told the hostess sheepishly (and in a British accent – maybe a London local?). The other woman was already halfway to the bar by the time she got the words out, clearly in too much of a rush to care.
The beautiful stranger approached his table with a suspicious expression. "Hello?"
"Come on, sit," Tony encouraged.
She slowly placed her coat on the back of the chair across from him and placed her carry-on tote at her feet. Once she sat, she finally took a good look at him. "Thank you."
She wasn't quite dragging her feet, but she did seem slightly reluctant. Their knees were practically touching under the tabletop. "I'm not a creep," he promised. "You can trust me. I don't bite." Her expression relaxed. "Unless you want me to."
The blush that crawled up her face was a delight, but the small smile on her lips was even better. "You're really selling me on this 'not a creep' thing, Mr…?"
"Just call me Tony." He leaned forward. "And who are you, Mrs…?"
She laughed openly. "Very subtle. I'm Hermione. Ms. Hermione," she added.
"Well, Ms. Hermione," he practically purred, "it is an absolute pleasure to meet you."
Hermione wasn't the type to hit it off like this with a stranger, especially a flirt like Tony Stark. Yes, he may have skipped his last name, but people didn't call her intelligent for no reason. Once prompted by the name, she remembered that handsome face from the news. After the press conference where he outed himself as Iron Man, it was all any pundit would talk about for days.
He was acting like a cad, but he did seem much nicer than he did on television.
Hermione hadn't noticed how far forward he'd been leaning towards her until he pulled away. With that, she realized she'd leaned in as well without noticing. She straightened up in her chair, unable to wipe the smile off her face. He was… charming, she decided.
Tony suddenly threw his hands in the air. "Well, looks like there's not much to do except get to know each other."
She raised a brow. "I have a crossword app on my phone. I'm sure you could find a way to keep busy."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "No, we're doing my thing." He paused, seemingly trying to decide on his first question. "Are you on the London flight? What are you doing in London?"
"I'm speaking at a conference," Hermione said shortly. "What are you in London for?"
"I'm going to a conference." He squinted for a second before his expression changed to one of (pleasant?) surprise. "You're that Hermione? Keynote speaker at Robotics, chair of the computer science department at MIT, Granger Institute for Gender Minorities in STEM, that Hermione?"
She blushed. "I've, er, never really had someone recognize me like that, Tony Stark."
He frowned. "I should've given you a fake name."
"Why?"
"Well, now you're not talking to Tony, you're talking to –"
"Head of Stark Industries, Iron Man, multimillion philanthropist, that Tony?" She laughed again and felt like a giggly schoolgirl. "If you can set aside Granger, I can set aside Stark."
"Alright," Tony said after a pause. "So, Hermione. Another question, since that got off track." He was briefly distracted by an approaching waitress, but she turned to help another table. They were never going to get their drinks. "Aha! What's your go-to drink?"
Hermione snorted. "Basic. Gin martini, dirty." He couldn't help the smirk that blossomed onto his face, and this time she held eye contact while she laughed. Something in the new tone of it sent a thrill through him. "And you?"
"Guess," he dared.
"Let's see…" She leaned in as though examining him closely and his senses were flooded by a wave of a floral scent, maybe rose. "Manhattan?"
He shook his head. "Scotch. But in a place like this," he added, "wine."
"Mmm, I agree. I don't drink rail," she said airily. He didn't have a response to that, mentally stuck on her 'mmm' and involuntarily imagining what other sounds she could make. Her face was still so close to his.
Mercifully, he was kept from having to reply by the sudden arrival of a harried waitress. "My name is Katie and I'll be taking care of you," she said in one big breath. "Can I get you started with any drinks or appetizers?"
"Just a glass of your house white, please," Hermione said politely. She was somehow all the way back in her seat.
The waitress's gaze flicked to Tony. "House red."
She let out a heavy breath. "Oh, thank God. I'll be right back." And she was off.
"I think if you ordered a gin martini," he said matter-of-factly, "this entire place would implode."
Hermione pretended to pick at her nails. "I do try not to cause disasters." Something about her was turning Tony into a bigger disaster by the minute.
By the time their drinks arrived, he was treading water.
After a quick thanks, Hermione picked her glass up and, clearly out of habit, swirled the wine before raising it to her face to take in its aroma. She made a beautiful picture with her eyes closed and a contented smile gracing her lips.
He swallowed thickly. When she returned to the external world, she caught his eye and he knew that Hermione knew that he was watching her.
"Yes?" she asked innocently.
"Don't mind me, I'm just enjoying the view."
She laughed. "Of the beautiful decorations, I assume," she teased. She turned her attention out towards the walkway and his reluctantly followed. A silent cannon shot a mass of fake snow. Hermione frowned. "It's like bloody Narnia out there."
He couldn't deny that: to stay away from an overwhelmingly Christmas-oriented theme, the airport had stuck with a general wintry theme. Silver and white ornaments hung from everywhere, some covered in glitter – which would occasionally shed onto the floor and made Tony look like he was fresh out of a strip club – and others the sort of shiny coated plastic that reflected the cool-toned lights around them in the worst possible way. Just looking at it was giving him a headache.
"I want to bury myself in glitter," said Hermione. He cocked his head. "To suffocate and not have to look at this anymore," she clarified.
Tony laughed heartily. "Of course. The glitter would probably be jealous anyways, you should stay away."
"From the glitter?" She tousled his hair, making some of the glitter float onto the table. She pulled her hand back quickly, as if surprised at herself. "I'll bite: why will the glitter be jealous?"
"Of your natural sparkle." Hermione giggled, and suddenly Tony was very glad their flight was delayed.