"He's impossible to shop for," Pepper sighs.
Next to her, Rhodey gives an emphatic nod of agreement. "That's the trouble with billionaires—they tend to just go out and get whatever they want for themselves. I wish *I* had that problem, you know?"
Pepper shoots him a dry look. "Surrrre you do." They are standing in the edge of Galleria Glorioso, looking over the directory of stores and debating where to go first as all around them the bustle of holiday shoppers trot, amble, stroll, lumber and trudge around them. The tinny sounds of 'Little Drummer Boy' rattle out from the hidden overhead speakers, competing with the mingled orchestra of voices, cell phones and shop muzak streaming from various stores.
"The only store that might have something Tony likes is *this* one," Rhodey touches on the map, "And I am *not* going in with you."
Pepper goes pink. "I'm *not* going to shop at Jezebel's for Tony! That's . . ." She tries to figure out what to say, but Rhodey grins.
"That's what he'd like, unless there's a Victoria's Secret in this place. Same merchandise, different corporation."
"None of it is on my shopping list," Pepper grumbles, still embarrassed. "Not even remotely."
"So what *is* on your list?"
"Um . . ." she stalls, embarrassed now for another reason. "A few things . . ."
Pepper doesn't dare admit that there are only three items on the list, and one of them is a new microwave for the garage workshop kitchen. After years of abuse, the old one is so encrusted with exploded pop tart crumbs and fossilized bits of pizza that she can't stand looking at it anymore.
It's a practical gift, and she hates herself for that, because like socks and underwear, it's just not fun to get those at Christmas.
The problem though, is that Rhodey is right—generally Tony is very generous with himself, and trying to find something he'd like that he hasn't already purchased is difficult at best.
Then she notes a store and smiles. "Come on, Jim; I think I know where we might get a few things."
Rhodey allows himself to be towed along, privately amused because he has already had the 'what do I buy?' conversation with Tony about Pepper one day earlier, and apparently the task is no easier for him than it is for her.
"Not jewelry; she won't take it, not clothing because I won't pick the right size or color; not a car because I'll get a damn lecture on how she doesn't *need* a new one—seriously, Platypus, I am screwed on this gift thing."
"The greenhouse was good," Rhodey pointed out pragmatically.
"The greenhouse was a *no-BRAINER!*" Tony barked. "The minute I saw her singing while yanking up green beans out in Kansas it was pretty clear to all and sundry that Potts is Persephone to my Hades."
"Tony, get a hold of yourself, man, you're taking this *waaaay* too seriously."
"Don't talk to me about serious. You know what I *want* to give her?"
"No, no, don't *go* there. It's too early in the relationship, and you do NOT want her shooting you down!" Rhodey told him, alarmed and amused all at the same time. It was rare, damned rare to see Tony Stark at a loss, especially over a woman, but then again, this was Pepper they were talking about, and considering how utterly ga-ga the man was about her, all bets were off.
"I know, I know," Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "I don't get it--*why* is it so hard to find the right thing for the person I give the biggest damn about?"
"Oh great, I've been bumped. Next thing you'll tell me, I'm out of your five," Jim grumbled good-naturedly. "Look, give her something meaningful. Something that means something to YOU, Bro. Something your mom would have approved of."
That was when it happened.
Tony scrambled around the desk, cupped Rhodey's face and quickly, fiercely* kissed* him, laughing manically at his expression a second later. "That's fucking IT! Oh I LOVE you, Colonel! Just for that I'm going to make it my personal mission this Christmas to get you set up with Miss Jodie Bodacious Zody!"
"Aggggh! Damn it, you did NOT just *fucking* KISS me!" Jim spluttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and pulling away. Tony laughed again and batted his eyes coyly.
"Sure did, but don't worry--you've got that 'don't ask, don't tell' policy to fall back on, although I have to admit I *do* like your aftershave--"
"Tony, NO," Jim growled, annoyance rising in his tone. "Don't make me beat the crap out of you!"
"Again, you mean?" Tony cheekily inquired, although there was a wary glint in his eyes that immediately made Jim feel guilty.
Ancient history. Not a shining moment early on in their long friendship.
But sometimes the ghost rises up, briefly, and Jim always hates when it does.
"Just . . . don't kiss me, man. Don't ever *kiss* me," he growled, softening his tone.
"Not even under the mistletoe?"
"Yeah right. Not unless you want it shoved up your ass, Stark."
*** *** ***
"Which parties do I turn down and which do I accept for you this year?" Pepper asks thoughtfully. She's perched on the edge of his desk, folders in hand, all business and looking marvelous. Tony, back from his second mission in a week, however, is slouched in his chair, nearly asleep, a fading bruise on one cheek.
"Which ones are from shameless suck-ups?"
"Most of them."
"Choose two and we'll send Enrique."
"That's mean," Pepper murmurs absently, but moves the stylus over her BlackBerry, tapping the screen. "Okay, he can do the Malibu Holiday Fest, but which second one would he like better; the yacht club Gala, or the Aspen Christmas Ball?"
"Aspen—Alden gets seasick," Tony replies. "They can have my suite at the Westwood. Which parties *aren't* looking for the glory of my name recognition?"
"The hospital party," comes her prompt reply. Pepper knows it's a winner; Tony, despite his playboy ways has always been a sucker for a good charity, and the Children's hospital is one of his dearest causes. He supported it before his days in Afghanistan, and doubly so now.
"Good. We'll go to that one. Oh, and make sure both Rhodey and that nice Miss Zody get invitations too, will you?"
Pepper looks askance at Tony, who gives his most innocent smile in return. She waits a beat. "You're plotting something."
"I'm not plotting, I'm matchmaking. Platypus needs a woman."
"Isn't she a little . . . young for him?" Pepper questions, curious now, and amused as well. Tony is a lot of things, but a romance arranger isn't one of them.
"Nope. She's out of college with two degrees and runs her own business, so no matter what her chronological age, mentally she's right there with our Jimbo. And besides, he loves big . . . personalities," Tony trails off, smirking.
Pepper rolls her eyes, well aware of the euphemism. "Crass, Mr. Stark."
"Actually that was tactful, for me," he points out. "I *could* have called them--"
"--Don't," Pepper tells him, fighting a smirk of her own. "I'm not interested in your descriptive capacity for mammary glands of any size."
"A large vocabulary is essential in this world," Tony chides. "But the point is that Rhodey loves making the trip to Hooterville, so just have Miss Zody invited to the party, okay?"
"Once again, you're *all* about the Christmas spirit Mr. Stark," Pepper sighs.
"Have I mentioned lately how much I love being the boss of you, Miss Potts?"
"Frequently," she replies, and slides off the edge of the desk. "Oh! There are packages that have arrived at the house, and you are *not* to open, shake or peek at them."
"That's okay," Tony agrees amiably.
Too amiably. Pepper adds, "No X-raying them either."
"Then can I have Jarvis analyze the weights and shipping addresses for reasonable hypotheses?"
"No."
Tony sighs. "Fine. That will be all, Miss Scrooge."
Pepper moves around the desk and lightly touches his cheek, the back of her fingers cool against his skin. "I can reschedule your appearances today if you'd like, and you can take a long nap."
He opens his eyes and looks up at her, shifting his face to kiss her fingers lightly. "It's okay, I'm good for now, but I might make it an early night."
"We could stay in, decorate the tree," she offers, and he nods perking up a bit.
"Sounds good. Did you find the ornaments?" Tony reaches for his coffee.
"I found a few labeled boxes after Jarvis printed out your household goods inventory list," Pepper murmurs. "I'm not sure what shape they're in since I haven't opened anything."
Tony shrugs. "We'll find out together, okay?" He gives her fingers a squeeze and smiles at her before she nods, and steps out of the office. Once she's gone, Tony allows himself to slump against the desk, yawning.
Aside from the bruises, being a hero is also hell on the circadian rhythms.
*** *** ***
Rrrrrrr has decided that the Christmas tree is her new jungle gym. Pepper tries to coax her down, but the needles and branches are too enticing to the kitten, and she climbs out of arm's reach, a long stretch of black and white along the trunk.
"Tony. I'm afraid she's going to fall," Pepper mutters.
He stares at her, one eyebrow going up. "Exactly how many cats have you owned, Potts?"
"One," she replies, reluctantly, not looking at him.
"Not *counting* Rrrrrrr."
"Look, that's not important right now," Pepper bluffs. "And besides, how many have YOU owned?"
"Four," Tony tells her, his voice matter-of-fact. "Ombra, Roger, Madame Curie and now Rrrrrrr. Cats get stuck in trees, sure, but they don't fall out of them. Unless you shake the tree, really really hard," he adds thoughtfully.
"Tony!"
"The trick is to entice her back down, and then put a deterrent around the base," he continues, warming to the topic, a gleam in his eye. "Dummy?"
The robot rolls up, claw clacking in anticipation of an order. Tony smiles, briefly. "Fetch. One can of tuna and a can opener."
"We don't *have* a portable can opener," Pepper interjects. "It's electric."
"I'll rewire one into Dummy," Tony decides, receiving an approving claw waggle. "But for the moment, we'll adjust."
Ten minutes later, Rrrrrrr is happily wolfing down a small portion of Magic Mermaid albacore from a plastic dish, her little tail sweeping back and forth with kitty bliss as they watch her. Pepper shoots a sidelong glance at Tony, impressed with his feline familiarity.
"Tell me about your cats," she requests, softly as she pours out two cups of eggnog.
Tony smiles. "Evil Ombre, my mother's *other* baby. She adopted him from the SPCA back when I was eight, and God, he was this huuuuge short-haired black hulk; ten pounds, all muscle. Looked like a Mafia button man, cat version. He love my mom, tolerated me, and really disliked my dad at first, but gradually that changed because Dad used to have this putting green in his study, and Ombre used to bat the golf balls back to him. They'd get into this back and forth which was damned funny to watch. Good cat."
"Sounds like it. And the others?" Pepper hands Tony a cup and they walk back to the tree. Dummy has already wrapped the lights around it in neat spirals. Tony eyes the job critically, and Pepper wonders if *all* men have some genetic propensity for hanging Christmas lights.
"Roger was this skinny brown tabby back at MIT. Total mooch—he'd wait until we'd ordered pizza and gotten distracted by some problem in the design lab, then he'd slink in and drag away slice after slice to chew the sausage and pepperoni off. I didn't exactly *own* him, since he was property of the lab, but I probably spent more time with that furball when I was there than any other student."
"Nice," Pepper tells him softly, picturing a younger, intense Tony absently talking to a cat on a drafting table. She guides him to a few boxes set out neatly along the sofa, and Tony smiles again, the warmth of memory in his gaze.
"Yep, he was. And Madame Curie--" Tony grimaces a little. "She was this runty Siamese that some party guest left at my house about ten years ago. Used to stomp on my face at six AM, whether I, um, had company or not, and yowled like Aretha Franklin. NOT fun during a hangover," Tony shuddered. "But she was a *great* lap cat, and her purr was so strong you could feel it through her ribs. I ended up giving her to Happy's aunt Mona because I was travelling so much in those days that I was hardly home."
Pepper nods; at least Tony understood pets needed some stability. "I'm glad you found her a good home. *Another* good home," she corrects, seeing Tony's slightly hurt glare.
"Yeah well . . ." he sighs. "Things are different now, and I like Rrrrrrr. She's good for the house. Let's open this box first."
The box in question is an old cardboard one with a label so ancient it's pasted on. Pepper watches as Tony tugs the tape off the seam and pulls the flaps open, releasing the soft whiff of mildew. Yellowed, crumpled newspaper lies on top, and he pulls wads of it out, reaching to lift a glass ornament up.
It's a pickle. A green, glass gherkin, frosted with snow sparkles, glittering as Tony holds it up and smiles.
"Wow. Talk about memory lane. Did you have the pickle thing for your tree at Christmas?" he murmurs, examining the ornament closely.
Pepper looks puzzled, and comes nearer, looking at the ornament. It's bizarre, but pretty, and she shakes her head. "Nooooo. We hung food on the tree: Popcorn strands and candy canes, one or two gingerbread men, but not pickles."
"Oh you lost out then: too bad, *so* sad," Tony teases, bringing the ornament around to her. "The tradition is that the first person to find the pickle ornament on Christmas day gets an extra present. And the winner hangs it the next year."
There's a lightness in his tone; mingled delight and memory that Pepper loves, because this is clearly good for Tony, so she takes the ornament from him and holds it up, letting the light gleam on it. "An extra present, you say? Not that I'm greedy or anything."
"Forget it, Snuggles. I'm the pickle champ of this house, and you're gonna owe ME." He throws down the gauntlet blandly, in true Stark competitive fashion.
"We'll see," Pepper tells him loftily, and sets the pickle next to one of the peppermint candles.
They open the rest of the box, which is filled with ornaments that are sixty years old. The colors have faded on some, but Pepper delights in the Old World puffy glass shapes, and loves Tony's comments about them as he takes them from her and hangs them reverently on the tree.
"My dad bought this set of Murano balls for my mom when we went back to Italy once . . . I broke the Nutcracker's jaw when I tried to get into the center of a marble . . . . made *this* crappy thing in grade school. I think God's Eyes were required of every second-grader."
"They were," Pepper laughs. "I have one in *my* box of ornaments."
"Is yours purple and green?"
"Pink and white."
"Girly," Tony snorts.
"Yes, well, I was a girl," Pepper points out wryly. "It fit."
She brings over the folding ladder and a few more boxes, including her own. Tony opens it with a certain nosiness that amuses her. Rrrrrrr has finished her tuna and now comes over, looking up at the tree warily.
Then Tony finds the little silver whistle. He blows it experimentally, and Rrrrrrr panics at the high and unexpected sound; she skitters wildly, her claws having trouble finding purchase on the stone floor as she shoots off.
Tony is laughing, shoulders shaking as he doubles up for a second, and although Pepper feels sorry for Rrrrrrr, she can't help but laugh too.
"Oh *that* was a cartoon classic!" Tony chortles, making a rocket gesture with his hand, "Vrrrrooooom!"
"That was . . . mean," Pepper tries to chide him, but since she's still giggling a little herself, he turns and wraps his arms around her, kissing her. Little chuckles puff out between their lips as they keep remembering Rrrrrrr's exit, and the sensation tickles enough to make them both keep laughing.
Finally Tony pulls back and shoots Pepper a smutty look. "You know, there's *another* tradition to incorporate, Snuggles. I'm sure you'd look deliciously salacious with the lights of the tree on your bare skin. In fact, we could do number twenty-three right here and add a whole new dimension to it, Rrrrowrrrrr!"
Pepper laughs. "Oh I don't think so, Tony. Think about it--we'd need kneepads, a vintage Chablis, a gallon of lube and the Barry White Christmas album. Let's save twenty-three for a time when we won't have to show ourselves in public the next day."
Tony pouts, but Pepper bends to nip his neck and add, "Besides, there are *other* numbers. I'm very interested to see you do nine."
"Reaaaaally?" he murmurs. Nine is one of his own naughty turn-ons, and Tony suspects Pepper knows it. Now he's a little stunned and a lot aroused; the latter is helped by Pepper's busy hand running up along his inseam of his jeans in a warm caress.
"Oh really," she purrs back. "Face it; you need to *earn* your top spot on Santa's Naughty List, Mr. Stark."
Her fingers tug his fly down, and Tony gives a happy moan.