Burger King and Extra Olives, Please

Then there was the time, nearly a year after That Day— a title Pepper and Rhodey had ever-so-affectionately dubbed the infamous press conference in which Tony effectively outed his own secret identity— when a young boy around the age of 3 or 4 showed up at the front of the Stark estate wearing a cardboard sign with the words He's Your Burden For The Weekend painted on it in black paint.

Now, Pepper had reacted as she always did in this situation— and ever since That Day and even before it, to a lesser extent, this situation occurred on a practically daily basis— she simply invited the kid into the house, gave him a frozen fruit bar and turned on the kitchen television to Nickelodeon. When the boy had settled in a bit, she began prying for information.

"So, what's your name?" she asked sweetly. The kid removed the pop from his now very messy mouth and pointed at the television.

"Dora."

Pepper bit her tongue. "Your name is Dora?"

The kid gave her a funny look and laughed. "No. Brendan. Dora is a girl's name."

"Well, then…" Pepper didn't particularly want to argue with the youth that he, and not she, had brought up the feminine name. "What is your mother's name?"

"Mommy."

Pepper tried to keep a smile on her face. Boy, did she hate children. "What is her real name? 'Mommy' can't really be her real name, can it? What do people call her?"

"I call her Mommy."

"I'll clarify; what do other people call her?"

Brendan grinned. "Jamie, but that isn't her real name." He put the Popsicle stick on the granite counter and stood up from the stool. "I have to find Daddy."

"Well, you can in a minute. What is your mother's real name?" Pepper asked as she picked up the stick tried to ignore the residue that remained on the tabletop.

The boy giggled. "Mommy."

It was then that she felt something snap in her hand and looked to find the Popsicle stick in two very splintery sections.

Brendan threw off the cardboard sign that had previously hung around his neck and the red-haired assistant picked it off the ground as he ran off into the large living room, noticing a neatly written address on the back. The child sat in front of the large television screen in that room, enchanted by its splendor in the way only a TV can enchant.

'I'll bet Jamie Carpenter isn't missing her baby boy,' Pepper thought agitatedly, picturing some blonde bombshell sitting in some mud bath in some high strung L.A. spa, not worrying about the little hurricane that had just thundered into Tony Stark's home.

And just as she thought of her boss, the man in question dragged himself into the kitchen, pulled a cold bottle of Heineken out of the refrigerator and drudged past the disheveled Pepper Potts, sitting lazily on the couch in the living room. For a moment, he looked around and frowned.

"Did you reupholster the furniture, Pepper?"

"No, why?"

Tony rubbed his goatee. "Something's a bit… off."

Pepper walked over to the child and pointed at him. "Tony, meet Brendan."

"What is that?"

"Signs point to a toddler, Tony."

"Well, excuse me for being blunt… but, uh, what's he doing in my living room?"

Pepper sighed. "He showed up at the doorstep about ten minutes ago and had this around his neck." She tossed the cardboard sign over to the multi-billionaire genius, who looked at it with disinterest.

"Doesn't really ring a bell, this Jamie Carpenter."

"Well, it wouldn't really be the first time and regardless, you knocked her up and now we've got another kid to deal with and at least another 50,000 lawsuit to shut the mother up."

Tony studied the boy for a moment. "Hey, kid, come here." Brendan turned and waddled over to him, staring at him with curious, wide brown eyes.

"He's got my dashing features."

"And your tact, too."

Tony pulled the kid to sit beside him and turned to the television, where a large headed Hispanic girl was running around in an acid-trip colored world with a monkey.

"What's your name again?"

"Brendan," the boy answered, revealing a toothy grin.

"He's kinda cute."

Pepper shook her head. "Oh no, you don't. Are we going to go through this each time Jane Doe lets her child wreak havoc on this house? Get yourself a dog if you want a plaything." Unfortunately, Pepper regretted those words as soon as they hit her lips.

"Pepper, if you insist."

And as soon as the child was picked up by his very thankful mother at the end of the weekend, Tony brought home a new little bundle of joy.

"What is that?"

"Signs point to a puppy, Pepper."

And the petite (if only temporarily) golden retriever waged his tail and tilted his head gleefully at her.

"Alright, but I'm not walking him."

"What do you think I'm paying you for?"

"Certainly not to pick up dog shit!" Pepper scoffed.

"You are a personal assistant, and therefore you assist me—"

"—in every way. Yes, I know the script."

Tony handed her the leash to which the large puppy was tied. "Pepper, meet Humphrey Bogart."

Pepper stared at her boss incredulously. "Are you joking? What type of name is that for a dog?"

"Well, he was awesome in Casablanca, the only movie I've ever cried watching."

"Just give me the damn leash."

And as Pepper closed the door, she heard a laughing Tony yell, "Here's looking at you, kid."

Still, as she caught a glimpse of the wet black eyes boring into her innocently, she couldn't help but consider it the start of a beautiful friendship.

A/N: Well, due to my sudden burst of inspiration, here's another update. Oh, and if you haven't seen Casablanca… I'm sorry. You must.