Despite a series of homemade roadside mines, a twenty minute firefight with bazookas and AK47s, a two-hour escort duty for the ten truck of refugees and NATO personnel, Tony certainly hasn't forgotten. It's not foremost in his mind--survival is--but the lingering memory of Pepper's lips against his own, of her minx-like tongue teasing his is certainly *there* in an instant's recall.
He's dwelt on it off and on for hours now, and has learned that it's not a good thing to think of while in the Suit since it makes his pulse jump enough to have Jarvis asking about his health. Thinking about Pepper's kiss also makes his codpiece chafe, and Tony hopes he never has to share that aspect of his armor with anyone.
Tony is in a quandary; thrilled, fearful, elated and worried. Thrilled and elated for obvious reasons, clearly. That Potts has made the first move is more than he'd ever hoped for; a clear sign that she's finally seeing him the way he wants her to see him.
Changed.
Maybe even, worthy.
In any case, it's such a shift from any previous sorts of feelings he's ever had for a woman. Tony is honest enough to admit he's been a bastard about using young, pretty girls for a lot of his life. It was easy to attract them; money tended to do that, along with the lifestyle.
But they weren't relationships, not in any sense of the word. The rules were clear: sex, definitely, but more than that simply wasn't expedient or of interest. Tony genuinely couldn't relate to the women he bedded in his old, hedonistic days—none of them understood engineering or business management or the sublime beauty of four-wheel acceleration.
Not that those topics came up often in bed; not unless attempting a particularly exotic position counted as engineering.
To be fair, he admits to himself, he hadn't actually *tried* to build relationships either; too many times he'd been burned by discovering that he was being used himself, and after a few disastrous affairs in college, Tony decided that he would simply take love out of the equation. That policy had worked well for a longer time than he wanted to face up to.
And then Potts came into the picture. Virginia Caroline Potts, quiet, competent, gentle. A woman who took him for what he was and still came to work every day, smoothing out issues here, planning events and meetings there. Willowy yet strong. Patient to the nth degree, yet with enough of a sense of humor to give as good as he dished at times.
A woman he'd grown to rely on, and admire as time passed.
And the one woman who'd been in his thoughts all through his bleak captivity.
When Yinsen mentioned family, hers was the face Tony had thought of; not those of his parents or of Obadiah. Pepper with one little strand of hair falling loose from her bun, bent over her Blackberry, concentrating. A serene memory of the curve of her neck, and the sunlight making her strawberry hair gleam.
And God, the sight of her there, waiting as he limped off the plane—
That pretty much put everything into focus for him. The quiver of her bottom lip, her soft, so-close-to-tears voice had left him a goner in one blinding moment, and Tony Stark knew he was going to have to figure out this love thing, because it was right there, making his chest ache every time he looked at her.
Tony manages to get home, get out of his Suit and shower, then checks the time. Hours yet, and sleep is a clear priority, so he makes his way to the guestroom and collapses into the bed, pulling the flannel sheets and comforter around him as he drops off.
He dreams.
Later, much later, Tony muzzily opens his eyes, aware that the light has shifted and he can't tell if it's dusk or dawn. He's also aware that what has woken him up is a shift of weight on the mattress.
Tony breathes in the scent of Pepper, sun warmed and sweet, and for a moment he feels so much inside himself that he's trembling slightly. Then a cool hand touches his forehead, and he looks into her concerned eyes.
"Hey," she whispers. "How do you feel?"
"Pretty good, I'm told," he replies with a little bluster in his weak grin. "I have references." It doesn't faze Pepper, who smiles for a moment, and slips her hand to the back of his neck. He loves her when she's casually dressed like this, in jeans and a simple grey top.
"You're warm. I think you're running a little fever," she murmurs back. "Want some water?"
He's reluctant to nod; if he does, she'll leave from her perch on the edge of the mattress. She hasn't commented about him being here instead of in his own room, and Tony's glad because he doesn't really quite have an explanation. Pepper moves to rise, having come to her own decision about the water.
Tony tries not to pout, and when he feels his lip threaten to quiver, he covers it by rubbing his nose. "Just dehydrated. I'll be fine."
"Hmmm," comes Pepper's knowing reply. She returns from his bathroom, paper cup in hand, and he drinks the contents down, grateful for it. Once he's done, Tony crumples it in his fist and tosses the wad towards the trash can. It just misses it, bouncing off the edge of the can and skittering onto the tile.
They both look at it.
"And you wonder why Phil Jackson hasn't called you yet," Pepper murmurs, deadpan.
Tony turns to glare at her, his stare nearly a match for hers. "Clearly, the light was in my eyes."
"Riiiight," she scoffs sweetly. "The light that isn't on in this room."
"Oh like *you* could do any better--" Tony shoots back, and Pepper saunters to the bathroom, gracefully bending to pick up the crumpled paper cup. She strides back out to stand next to the bed, gives a light overhand shot and even with the handicap of a cast, Pepper promptly sinks it into the center of the can.
"Ha."
"Pfft. You're standing. *I* am sitting. Makes all the difference, Potts."
"Fine." Pepper collects the cup again, and returns once more, waving to Tony to scoot over to make room. He does, aware that his boxers, while stylish, aren't covering quite as much as he'd like. Pepper slips out of her shoes and sits on the bed, gauging the distance for a moment.
Just as she moves to throw, Tony murmurs, "kiss."
The shot goes wild, flying up far too high and the crumpled cup ending up neatly hooked between the vanity bulbs of the bathroom mirror. "What?"
"Miss. I was betting you would," Tony replies smoothly. "Miss, that is."
Pepper's look is a mingling of suspicion and embarrassment. She looks as if she wants to say something, and knows anything she *does* say will lead right into a conversation she doesn't want to have—
--while in bed with Tony.
She scrambles off the mattress. Tony leans to stop her and gives a yelp as a knife of pain lances along the back of his ribs. The sound brings Pepper back, and she gestures for him to lean forward. Her gasp is soft and startled. "Oh Tony!"
"What?"
"You've got some sort of infection here—there's pus."
He makes a face and tries to look over his shoulder to where she's staring. "Damn. This means what I think it means, doesn't it?"
"We're going to get you seen."
000ooo000ooo000
Back in his hedonistic days before Tony had even concieved the Suit, he had a personal physician in Sean Granger. Sean Alonzo Granger was a long, lanky, red-haired Texan with a handlebar mustache and a dry outlook about his patient's risque lifestyle. He and Tony went back several years, when an ER visit after minor crash had the good doctor putting stitches into the young millionare at three in the morning.
Tony had been impressed by Granger's sly sense of humor and efficient work; he arranged to make the man his primary physician on the coda of being on-call around the clock. The benefit to that clause was the money, which was substantial, and it allowed Granger to open a partnered practice anywhere he wanted.
Granger chose Long Beach, and teamed up with Saburrah Phair, a calm, intelligent GP with the patience of a lioness. Together they ran a community clinic with a clientele that paid on a sliding scale, and established themselves as dedicated caregivers. Doctor Phair, a small, fine-boned woman with a warm, direct gaze and a reputation for excellent care, understood her partner's private connection to the billionaire but didn't completely approve.
Even after the Suit and the advent of Iron Man on to the world scene, Doctor Phair still wasn't entirely won over, but she covered Granger's caseload when he was required to tend to Tony Stark, and on more than one occasion, she herself had had to care for the battered hero. Consequently, her initial mistrust of the man and his motives had softened. Not that she wanted to admit it, so she focused her criticism on the process of his heroics rather than his motives.
At the moment, both she and Granger are at the compound garage; Granger is disinfecting the cut along Tony's back while she is examining the Suit with a sense of disapproval.
"You don't remember cutting yourself at any point?" she asks again, her voice soft. Tony winces against the anticipated sting of treatment and shakes his head. Pepper, who is trying hard not to hover, looks to Granger, who nods his head toward a tray with gauze pads on it. She hands him one. Phair pulls a chair over and climbs on it to peer down into the open Suit. "This armor of yours has some sharp edges, Mr. Stark."
"They form a seamless seal better if they do . . . ow, ow, ow," comes his inhaled little yelp as Granger wipes down the newly irrigated wound with Septosol.
Granger snorts a little. "Oh stop bein' a baby, Iron Man."
"Stop searing my flesh with caustic agents then. I'm *not* a baby. Tell him, Pepper."
Pepper wisely says nothing. Phair bends down, her khimar nearly touching the Suit as she gives a deep sniff, then straightens up quickly, her expression slightly grim. "Ohhhh dear. Mr. Stark, tell me; do you clean this armor? The inside, specifically?"
"The outside gets washed down after every mission. As for the inside, I wear a neoprene liner that absorbs anything I sweat or bleed in it."
"Hmmm." She shoots an insightful look at Granger, who nods.
He begins to tape the bandage into place over the cut and speaks up. "And you wash that ol' liner regularly, right?"
Tony's guilty silence is answer enough, and both doctors are shaking their heads now. Phair climbs down from the chair and tidily puts it back near the worktable. "Where is the liner now, Mr. Stark?"
He points towards a doorway. "I was *getting* to it—I've been busy lately," Tony sulks.
"Sanitation is nothing you can put off, Mr. Stark. Clearly you cut yourself, and the close, airless contact with a bacteria-laden surface is responsible for your infection," Doctor Phair chides him softly. "I would recommend you get yourself at least three liners and rotate them so that you always have a clean, sterile one for use."
"Noted," Pepper murmurs, glad to have something to do. She has her Blackberry out and is already typing. Tony has the grace to look sheepish, and nods. Granger finishes up with the cut and reaches into his bag once more, pulling out a hypodermic and a refridgerated pouch; seeing it, Tony makes an unhappy face.
"Can't I just get pills?"
"Oh you'll be getting those too, but this here is a tetnus booster," Granger drawls. "Seeing as how your immunization records are a mite spartan, sport."
"Oh come on, Granger--can't I bribe you out of this?" Tony asks hopeful for a moment. Granger ignores him and neatly loads the hypodermic. Doctor Phair has a perscription pad out and is filling it out in her graceful printing. She holds it out, and Pepper is torn between taking it, or going to stand next to Tony as he proffers his arm to Granger and grits his teeth.
She moves to the man, reaching down to turn his face up to hers, away from watching the injection. "I didn't know you were afraid of needles, Tony."
"I'm *not*," he rasps back. "I'm just not crazy about being pierced by them, that's—ow!"
"Yah know, Saburrah, I think I jest figured out why he *needs* that armor," Granger murmurs to his partner, who fights not to smile.
"I think Mr. Stark has been pierced much more than any of us ever will be, and as such is entitled to flinch," she replies, her gaze on the arc reactor for a moment.
"Gotta point," Granger agrees grudgingly. "Okay Stark, once you get some antibiotics goin'—and you take them *all* you hear me—you'll be feelin' a lot better. And get some sorta sterilizer for those Suit liners."
"Yes, yes, I got it," Tony grumbles.
Pepper has stepped back, but she bends to look him in the eyes. "I brought chocolate cake," she whispers gently.
This is enough to bring a quick expression of bliss. "Caaaaaake."
"It's in the kitchen. I'll see the doctors out and you can go eat, all right?"
This is agreeable all around, and Pepper walks the two doctors to the Dodge caravan near the front of the compound. Granger is quizzing Pepper gently. "He eatin okay? Hittin' the booze at all?"
"Yes, he's eating all right, and I haven't seen him take more than a single shot of anything for a few months now."
"Good. That old lifestyle was gonna kill him faster than anything he'll come up against in that Suit of his."
"He does seem to be much more relaxed," Phair points out, "And his blood pressure is lower. How is your arm?"
"Better. I'll be getting the smaller cast by next week, thanks."
The two doctors drive off, and Pepper turns to re-enter the house, aware that there are still matters she needs to discuss with Anthony Edward Stark, matters that are as much on his mind as on hers.
Still, it's good to feel useful and needed; she makes her way towards the kitchen to see Tony, still shirtless, licking the fork. Pepper moves to take it from him, and before her courage fails her, she kisses him, firmly.
Again chocolate and the equally sweet taste of the man himself; Pepper is sure she's going to forever associate kissing Tony with chocolate cake.
He's startled, but only for a second; Tony reaches for her, arms slipping around her slender frame, bringing her in for a second, much more enthusiastic kiss. Somewhere in the background comes the tinkle clatter of the fork on the floor as Pepper drops it blindly.
It's a good kiss, hot and delicious; Tony is putting everything he's got into it and Pepper isn't slack either, hungrily delving into his mouth, giving in to all the guilty desires she's harbored for a while. The kitchen stool, however isn't quite ready to support the shifting weight of the two of them, and with a sudden tip of balance, goes over, taking both Tony and Pepper to the floor in a clatter of chrome legs and thumping bodies.
They don't let go of each other, though, and after a second of wordless confirmation that they're fine, Tony and Pepper kiss again, this time more slowly, savoring the clear, unmistakable desire between them. Pepper pushes herself up after a moment, feeling giddy and light; as if this is only a dream and not the truth.
Tony stretches out on the kitchen floor, wincing as his bandage makes contact with the wood. "Ow."
Pepper is immediately contrite, concerned and exasperated. She stands, and holds her good hand out to Tony to help pull him to his feet. "Oh God, I can't believe us--"
"I believe us," Tony murmurs happily, rising with her help and taking advantage in slipping his arms around her. "Very much."
"Your back, yes," Pepper manages, only slightly distracted by Tony's gentle stroking along her spine. "I just didn't mean to hurt you."
"Not hurting," Tony replies, nuzzling her neck. The scoop line of her top makes this easy, and as he burrows his nose through her hair to the skin there. He feels warmth under his mouth, and licks.
"AaaaAhhhhhhh," Pepper yodels, squirming as he reaches a spot under her ear.
Tony pulls back, memorizing the magic place and grinning like an idiot. "Sensitive."
"Ticklish!" she counters, but there's a bit of a dimple along the corner of her mouth. "You have frosting on your face."
"So do you," he points out, and licks her cheek. Pepper closes her eyes and gives a little purr; Tony swipes his tongue from the smear back down to her lips and licks those as well until she opens them to him in another kiss. It's tender this time, and both of them keep it going until Pepper breaks away gasping.
"We need to discuss this, Tony," she manages in a wheezy breath. He cocks his head, receptive for the moment, and the stare of those warm brown eyes unnerves her a bit, so Pepper takes a deep breath. "Okay then. You and I . . ."
She can't go on; his gaze is still steady, but the curl of his mouth is distracting her, as are the fingers along her spine. He shifts to the look of faux innocence he does SO well and blinks. "Go on, please."
"I think we *both* would like to . . ." again, the wrong place to stop, judging by the hungry look in Tony's eyes, so she rushes the rest of the sentence in one quick roll of words, "haveanofficialrelationship."
That gets his attention.