Domestic Mission, Part 2
Het, Tony/Pepper
It's ridiculous, how nervous I am. I adjust and re-adjust my tie, wishing Pepper was here to do it for me, but she's not. She's making her own preparations, for our 'date'.
"Jarvis, is everything ready?" I call out.
"Yes sir," Jarvis says in his usual neutral way. Sometimes I wish I had similar sangfroid. Though I can have sex and he can't, so I guess it's an even trade. "The dining area has been set, the chefs are preparing the meal, the wine is decanting-"
"Good!" I say. I check my watch, a present from Pepper three years ago. Good thing I wasn't wearing it during my Afghanistan 'adventure'.
It's time. I clear my throat, check my reflection in the mirror for the thousandth time, and then head towards my dinner destination. A stairwell, two long hallways, and here it is. I stop to admire the place setting.
White tablecloth, silverware, tons of candles, and of course the view of the ocean through the large windows. It's romantic, alright.
Also terrifying. Normally, I don't have to 'court' women. A few well-placed flirts, and they're rolling into bed with me. This is so different.
There's a sound behind me. I turn, and behold the object of my affection. Pepper is wearing a little black dress that I've either never seen before or don't remember seeing, with black pearls that I 'bought' her for a birthday several years ago, and her red hair is free and loose over her shoulders.
I tell myself I will not sprout a pup-tent. I wish I had the Iron Man codpiece on, just to be safe.
She laughs gently, striding into the room on yet another pair of high-rise stilettos. "You look like a teenager on his prom night."
"No," I bluff. "I'm just terrified you'll trip and injure yourself." The familiar, comfortable banter helps. I pull out her chair for her, then settle myself across the short distance of table from her. At least I can drape my napkin over my lap now.
"Don't worry, I have many years of practice walking," she answers.
The waiter appears suddenly by my side, offering to pour the wine.
And so it begins, our first 'date'.
It goes easier than I expected. I thought we'd either talk shop, or perhaps about the Iron Man, two topics which I'm sure would make for crappy 'date' material.
But it's easier than that. There's surprisingly a lot about each other's pasts that we don't really know. Anecdotes, my stories about my first miserable (and often explosive) failures in engineering back in university, her stories about some rather clueless bosses she used to work for.
Before I know it, dessert is over, and Pepper is blotting her mouth with the napkin. Now comes the awkward moment. Well, more awkward moment.
Normally, this is where I'd make my move. Come in for the kill, so to speak. Not this time, however.
Instead, I offer her my arm and lead her outside to the limousine, so Happy can take her home. I have to content myself with a kiss pressed to the back of her hand, a gentlemanly gesture which I'll want to kick myself for later, but she smiles and appears to appreciate it.
When she's gone and I'm back in my greasy clothes in the basement, tinkering with the suit as always, I'm glad I didn't try to push things. It's better this way. More special. And when – if – we do finally take that final step, won't it be all the better for the delay?
I wonder if I'll find out soon.