When the call comes, Tony is up and down to the workshop within ten minutes, washing down antihistamine with a glass of orange juice and protein powder, his nose still red. Pepper frets as he suits up, torn between protesting and staying quiet; not quite comfortable with either option.
This is nothing new, but she feels a stronger sense of unease welling up because things have been said, and deeds done; more is on the line now, and they both know it.
"Come on, kiss me goodbye, Snuggles, and save me some of that turkey soup for when I get back, because I'll probably *need* it," he rasps gently. Pepper hesitates, then tiptoes and pecks him lightly; Tony slips an arm around her waist, reels her in for a better kiss, lips to lips, and sighs afterwards.
"Just remember--if you die, I'll kill you," Pepper murmurs without rancor. Tony dimples for a moment, winks at her, and then the helmet pieces drop and lock around his face, encasing it. She steps back and he rockets off, following the curve of the garage tunnel and leaving behind the scent of ozone and stirred dust in his wake.
Pepper feels hollow. She blinks against the sting of tears, and wraps her arms around herself, thinking back to Tony's words of so long ago; his half-tease, half sincere private speech to her before the press conference.
If I were Iron Man, I'd have this girlfriend who knew my real identity; she'd be a wreck, she'd always be worried I was gonna die but she'd be so proud of the man I've become . . .
And they're true, all six of his statements are now fact, undeniable and not much comfort as Pepper stands forlornly in the garage, whispering prayers just under her breath.
*** *** ***
It's a long flight, and in a direction he isn't used to. Tony doesn't share the details with Pepper; she has enough to worry about when he leaves, but he does log the flight path and mission data with Jarvis as a permanent record of his actions. There's a tracking program downloaded with the AI too, in case Pepper ever wants to follow what Iron Man is doing, but so far she's never activated it.
Tony understands. Pepper is a gentle soul for the most part, unless someone she loves is in danger. Then she has the protective instincts of a lioness, and the courage to boot.
But she's not in love with Iron Man; only the core within his gaudy red and gold sarcophagus.
Only with Tony.
He understands that too, and is glad of it. Tony's already had a few fleeting encounters with Iron Man fans, and while he appreciates the enthusiastic support, some of their intensity disturbs him. They think nothing of encouraging him to kill, and in his pre-Afghanistan days he would have been smiling and supportive of that point of view.
Life was easier, Tony thinks, when he didn't know how the politics of warmongering really worked; when being a patriot above all else was all that mattered.
But life also, he admits to himself, wasn't nearly as rich then as it is now. It's harder; facing up to responsibilities. Tony still doesn't like doing it most of the time, but the consequences of denying accountability are not acceptable anymore.
And Pepper, Tony sighs happily, is his reward for growing the hell up.
*** *** ***
Pepper prepares beds. She lays down rocks and gravel; adds charcoal and a thin cover of cheesecloth before pouring bags of potting mix and soil into the big boxes along the windows of Paradiso. It's hard work; good work for keeping herself occupied, and she's glad she remembered the latex gloves. Getting dirt under her nails would be fine if she didn't have meetings scheduled with a few of the upper management of Stark Industries later in the week.
As she works, Pepper listens to old jazz coming from the amped Bosch radio Tony set up to pipe music through the greenhouse. The soft strains of Brubeck's 'Take Five' drift around her as Pepper hums along, still sniffling once in a while.
The tint on the windows cuts out a lot of the glare, but even so, the brightness of the day and rumble of her stomach remind her it's nearly noon, and time to quit. Pepper stretches and rubs her lower back, aching a little from the strain of working the tables. She peels off the gloves, steps over to the radio and turns it off, then flexes her fingers, glad of the work, glad of the chance to enjoy herself.
Aunt Ruby has given her a few seeds, and Pepper is excited to get them planted. Some small sugar pumpkins, some sweet onions, a handful of potato eyes and her ultra prized goldfinger carrots, a treasure Pepper knows is pretty much equivalent to a dowry. Normally she would store these until spring, but the thrill of a greenhouse is being able to have things out of season, and what better way to christen Paradiso than with a gift?
Too, there are the catalogs Tony has given her, smirking about names like Burpee, and Pepper has earmarked a few things she wants to try. She figures the first crops should be some tried and true standards; time after that to get to some experiments, but for now, all Pepper wants is that first happy yield.
It feels good to be planting, but she knows perfectly well there is plenty waiting for her at Stark Industries too, so Pepper goes inside, showers, dresses, and makes herself a grilled cheese sandwich.
At headquarters, the budgets for R & D are coming up, and Pepper grits her teeth, remembering how much of that work Obadiah used to do, and how much she'll have to pick up this time around. Tony still hasn't gotten around to looking at the board recommendations for the former CFO's replacement, and the list of candidates is still sitting on his desk. She picks it up and glances at them, putting faces to the names. Jody Halloran, formerly of the Defense department, a good woman with numbers and an inside knowledge of weaponry; Peter LaMarr, former Lockheed CFO with an impressive resume in bringing projects in under budget, and Xochitiotzith Perez, Director in chief of Dynamic Aeronautics . . .
The last name makes Pepper draw in a breath, and she stares unseeing at the paper, remembering a tiny, vivacious woman with dark exotic eyes. The last time she'd seen Xochi Perez, Pepper had nearly walked in on her and Obadiah locked in a clinch in his office a few days after Tony had come back from Afghanistan.
The thought that Obadiah had *any* sort of a personal life had been startling enough; to think of him involved romantically seemed bizarre. Pepper had slipped away then to give them privacy, and debated mentioning the affair to Tony but events unfolded too quickly after that to matter, and with Obadiah gone now—
Still, Pepper wonders if Xochi has some sort of agenda, and sends a terse message to HR to have a full background check run on the woman. Pepper doesn't want to disqualify her on the basis of her former association with Obadiah, but it would be helpful to have more information.
She sets up final interviews with the other two, and looks over Tony's schedule, wincing when she sees the GQ annual fashion shoot coming up in three days. Gentleman's Quarterly has featured Tony Stark as part of their Year in Review Icons of Style for the last four years, and Pepper detests how all the credit for Tony's meticulous public wardrobe consistently goes to him rather than to the people it rightfully belongs to: namely his tailor, Mr. Chan, and his buyer, Pepper Potts.
Pepper also detests the simpering young female models who pose and flirt and generally bed Tony after these shoots. She wonders how he'll deal with them this time, and while part of her is annoyed, another part is genuinely curious. Giving a sigh, Pepper makes a note to call Mr. Chan and go over the selections for this year's photos.
*** *** ***
Tony is worried about his testicles.
It's a legitimate concern, even in the Suit, particularly at these radiation levels, and even though Jarvis is monitoring the situation, Tony isn't really happy.
The facility's lead shielding is faulty; even he can see that, and the UN inspectors and scientists are hiding their terror fairly well. Considering Tony is trying to rescue them, that's probably a good thing; hysterics would be very distracting right now, since there are already terrorists to deal with, and guns.
Still, it's not the bullets that bother Tony, it's the rems, and at last count it was 11—not dangerous, but not terrific either. He's put three armed thugs out of commission and is finishing up with the last one, hurrying because the North Korean troops are going to be moving in, and he doesn't want to get shot at by *them* as well.
After the corridor is cleared, he tells the trapped group to get out; get moving to the surface and let the authorities there check them over. Most of them don't need to be told twice; the exodus renews his faith that most people DO want to survive. Tony herds the last of them out, and once he's on the surface, he rockets up, clearing the cold, empty ground of the nuclear test facility with ease.
"The vehicle with the last of the terrorists is moving north by northeast two miles away," Jarvis tells Tony, and that's all he needs to hear. Iron Man shifts in the sky, moving with glittering accuracy towards the speeding truck kicking up dust along the narrow overgrown road. Tony lets the targeting eyepiece focus on the truck's rear tire just as Jarvis speaks up again.
"Your opponents have an RPG."
The rushing missile grows from a small silver looking ball to a lethal tube in seconds, and Tony dodges, cursing a bit under his breath and snuffling because his nose is running, and he can't do a damned thing about it at the moment.
He lifts one hand, bracing himself with the other repulsors, and neatly blasts a forearm rocket into the back tire of the truck. It disintegrates in a dark cloud of shredded rubber and the truck veers back and forth, losing speed, finally driving off the road and into a ditch below. Tony knows a truck full of KPA Ground Force are on the way to pick up the shaken terrorists, and figures it's time to move before Kim Jong Il's Air Force catches up to him.
Tony makes one quick pass over the wrecked truck, and turns, speaking softly. "All right, what about the UN team?"
"Preliminary assessment is that they are all well, except for minor radiation exposure which will pass in a few days," come the urbane voice," As will your own, which thanks to your armor is considerably less."
"Still would be worth lining the codpiece with some lead," Tony grumbles, wishing he could blow his nose. "Are we good here?"
"There are two MiG-29s on an intercept course for us, sir; I suggest we accelerate and return home."
"So let's do it," Tony agrees, and braces himself, wrists flexed, feet together before becoming a red and gold streak in the sky.
An hour later, having made it free of radar and escorts, Tony speaks up again as he flies over the dull green-grey of the Pacific. "So I'm not sterile."
"Statistically it is unlikely, although you may wish to conduct an examination of your semen under a microscope within the next few hours," Jarvis tells him serenely.
"Yeah," Tony mumbles. "Fun, fun." There's silence for a few more miles and Jarvis speaks up again.
"Query."
"Go ahead."
"Given the degree to which you employ prophylactic measures to prevent conception, why are you concerned about your fertility?"
"That's a pretty personal question," Tony evades, startled by the nosiness of his AI. "I think the bigger question is why do *you* want to know?"
"All information is useful when a context is found," Jarvis replies. "And given that I am still gathering data on the human social interaction loosely defined as a 'relationship' between you and Miss Potts, any further explanation of behavior is enlightening."
"And entertaining, I'm sure," Tony grumbles, embarrassed.
"I assure you sir, nothing amuses me."
"Sure. Okay, facts of the matter are that I'm picky about who I mate with--"
"—Incorrect," Jarvis interrupts with a hint of smugness. "The listing of your past coital partners is well into double digits, suggesting a biological nonchalance bordering on stupi—"
"—I've *changed!*" Tony hisses, red in the face under his mask. "Maybe the better phrase would be 'I'm picky who I BREED with."
Jarvis is silent for a moment, and Tony senses doubt. He growls, deciding the best defense is a good offense. "Sex is biologically for procreation, a fact I'm sure you're well aware of. But there's also a pleasure component to it that makes it desirable to most humans on a pretty constant basis. Since filling the world with my offspring would be a colossally bad idea for ohhh*so*many reasons, I employ contraception to prevent the former and promote the latter."
"And yet, you are concerned about your fertility," Jarvis points out. "Is this because you are considering offspring at some future date?"
Tony is silent for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is monotone. "Not really. I just prefer to be able to have the option."
"With Miss Potts?"
"Look, can we talk about something *else* right now? This is . . . not a topic I'm comfortable with," Tony sighs. He really, really wants to blow his nose, and not think about offspring of any sort; the memories are too painful.
"We are within forty minutes ETA," Jarvis announces gently, and stays silent for the rest of the trip.
*** *** ***
Pepper isn't there when he gets in, but she calls, her voice warm and reassuring as Tony climbs out of the dismantled suit and uses three tissues to empty his nose.
"You sound like a flock of Canadian geese," comes her tease from the house speakers.
"Blame it on the shift of pressure inside the Suit," he grumbles, scooping up Rrrrrrr from the worktable and petting her. The kitten settles down in the crook of his arm, a deep purr rumbling out as Tony carries her with him through the glass doors and up the stairs. "Where are you and when are you coming home?"
He wanders into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge, reaching for a container.
"I'm on my way, and you had better *not* be drinking that orange juice out of the carton, Anthony Stark. Heat up some soup, and I'll bring some bread from the Bouncy Bakery. We need to look over your wardrobe."
"What for?" Tony asks, guiltily putting the OJ back into the fridge, and wondering if Jarvis is doing a surreptitious live feed from the kitchen to Pepper's BlackBerry.
"For your upcoming GQ fashion shoot of course," Pepper sighs. "Mr. Chan and I need to make you look *so* five minutes into the future. Again."
Tony doesn't answer as he sneaks a slice of pumpkin pie out from the leftovers.
*** *** ***
One soup dinner and pie dessert later, Tony is stretched out on the sofa, head in Pepper's lap as she absently strokes his hair and scrolls through Tony's wardrobe via the laptop resting on his stomach. "The St. Laurent three-piece, definitely," Pepper murmurs. "You look very nice in that."
"Mmm," Tony murmurs drowsily. "Okay."
"And maybe the Manfred Jones," Pepper continues. "That knit polo is dark enough to hide your arc."
"Crap, I forgot about that," Tony sighs. "It's going to show up in a few shots, isn't it?"
"Yep. However, if we get Wally to do the shoot . . ." Pepper suggested.
Tony nods, the weight of his head shifting in her lap and tickling. "Wally. We could trust him, and he'd be able to airbrush the arc out of any shots he wanted. Hmmmmm." Tony turns his face and rubs his nose along Pepper's flat belly, his words slightly muffled. "This means no models though."
"Oh darn."
"Try not to let any sympathy get in the way there," Tony laughs softly, now tugging her shirt up to lick her skin. Pepper shivers and tries to push him away, but Tony uses one hand to set the laptop on the coffeetable and the other to slip around Pepper's waist as he continues to rub his goatee on her stomach. "You smell nice."
"And you are *tickling* me," Pepper squirms, caught between the back of the sofa and Tony's warm weight. "If you blow your nose on me, I swear---"
"I'd never do that," he promises, and plants little kisses all around her belly button, rolling towards her and working on undoing the zipper of her skirt. Bit by bit Tony manages to debrief Pepper amid threats and squirming and little gasps of pleasure.
They make their way to the bedroom and the loving is slow and intense; Tony keeps Pepper right on the edge of coming, lost in the sight of her so erotically beautiful as she writhes against the sheets under him. She finally pulls him to her, nails biting along the back of his ribs and he groans, coming hard and deep as he holds her.
In the darkness, later, Tony curls up behind Pepper, whispering softly. "You love me, right?"
"Yep," comes her sleepy, satisfied sigh.
"Even if—" he tries to hypothesize, but Pepper rolls over to kiss him, pulling his head to rest on her bare chest.
"Tony, even if you were a cross-dressing ax murderer from the planet Remulak I'd love you, insane as that is."
He smiles against her skin. "You sit around thinking those up, don't you?"
"Yes. I have nothing else to do all day while you're gone."
"Do you want kids?" Tony blurts in his blunt, out-of-left field manner. In his arms, Pepper stirs, raises herself up on one elbow and brushes her hair from her face.
"Why? Are you pregnant?" she murmurs, trying to defuse the jumpy panic his question sparks in her. This isn't something they've discussed yet. Oh it's been touched on in passing, mostly in terms of the condoms, but really, it's not a discussed *discussed* issue.
Yet.
"No, but I got a tiny bit irradiated today and that sort of set off a bit of a philosophical discussion with Jarvis--"
"Whoa, back up—you got *irradiated?*" Pepper gasps.
Tony shakes his head and lays a finger on her lips. "Way, waaaay under danger levels. I would never have put you at risk if it had been anything else, okay? And it got me to thinking about you know . . . kids."
"Tony . . ." Pepper sighs, sitting up now, pulling the sheet around her. "I don't think now is the right time to think about anything this . . . big."
"You know, you're right," he replies thoughtfully, "we'll just table this discussion for . . . oh, a year."
"Two," Pepper interjects; Tony nods quickly.
"Three, even; no rush."
"Three is good," Pepper agrees, biting her lips. "A thirty-six month moratorium sounds about right."
Neither of them say anything, both of them looking straight ahead.
Finally Tony speaks up. "You're as terrified by the prospect as I am, aren't you?"
"More," Pepper assures him, nodding. "A lot more."
"Yeah, I get that," he mutters. "Look, I'm sorry I brought it up. I guess I just realized our current birth control isn't quite as . . . secure . . . as it could be."
Pepper scoots back down under the sheet and wraps her arms around Tony. "I'll set up an appointment with Doctor Phair and see what she can offer me."
"Us," Tony corrects, and relaxes a bit. Pepper finally drops off to sleep after a while, but Tony lies awake,
--Remembering.