Seven Times Over: Loyalty (3/7), Tony/Pepper, PG-13
Author's notes in Part 1.
3. Loyalty
Pepper hates press conferences. She gets anxious in situations where there are too many variables, too many balls in play. She second-guesses herself, worries that she isn’t able to react quickly enough.
Tony vaguely remembers her telling him this; he wasn’t certain how to respond to such a candid admission from his terrifyingly competent PA. He decided that a riff on the word ‘balls’ would be the most appropriate direction to take the conversation-at which point Pepper sighed, and changed the subject.
This was long before that fateful night when he’d finally kissed her on a rooftop, and essentially broken a bottle across the bow of their ‘stable-ish’ relationship. From Tony’s perspective, the sailing is remarkably smooth; Pepper, on the other hand, frequently feels as though she’s boarded the romantic equivalent of RMS Titanic.
The thing that makes this particular press conference exponentially less stressful is that Tony will not be the one running the show. Pepper, as CEO of Stark Industries, is going to announce Tony’s appointment as CTO. He is going to say a few carefully-vetted words, sharing a double lectern with Pepper the entire time, and the media have already been advised that he will not be taking any questions. Pepper has ensured that the microphone on Tony’s side of the podium is equipped with a kill switch that she can easily reach, just in case.
In the green room, she fixes his hair, knots his tie, and adjusts his pocket square. She doesn’t have to do these things for him-she never did, not really-but she likes to have a concrete task to focus on when she’s nervous. He’s chosen a tone-on-tone ensemble today: navy suit, royal blue shirt, ice-blue tie. He knows how much she likes him in blue. His hand eases down her back and roams idly over her bottom as she reviews the major talking points.
“Don’t stress.” He pats Pepper’s ass reassuringly, the way most people might touch a hand or a shoulder. “You’re going to be great.”
“I hate these things.”
“I know. The balls, right?”
He expects her to blush, but instead her gaze sweeps downward, then back to his face, raising a single eyebrow. There’s a slight, suggestive curl to her lips. His inventive imagination kicks into overdrive, his body reacts accordingly, and he feels his own face getting warm. Potts, 1; Stark, 0.
She kisses him, just once, very carefully, so as not to smudge her mouth or stain his. She glances down once more, with an air of disapproval that he suspects is feigned. “Get that under control, Mr. Stark,” she tells him sternly. It’s a tactical error, because he loves when she gets tough with him.
He slides his hands into his pockets and smiles like a shark. “You started it, Ms. Potts.”
*
Tony never has the opportunity to give his speech-which is a shame, because it’s a good one, and he was honestly planning to stick to the cards this time.
As he rises and walks towards the podium and Pepper, there’s a flash of metal in his peripheral vision, and two small pops, like party balloons bursting. The crowd erupts, a single mass of bodies surging in all possible directions, including onto the stage. Tony scans the room for Happy, who’s carrying the suitcase armour; the ex-boxer is already charging into the crowd, tackling the shooter.
In all the confusion, it takes Tony a second to realize that the front of him is covered in warm blood, and another few to realize he isn’t the one bleeding.
Pepper turns to face him, hands scrabbling aimlessly at her belly, blood spurting through her tiny fingers. She seems to be more focused on trying not to make a mess than actually staunching the wound. Tony reaches for her, impossibly slow, as though he’s moving through quicksand.
She starts to crumple, bracing herself against his chest with both hands, and he catches her under the arms and lays her down flat on the floor. Kneeling over her, he pulls up her suit jacket and shirt, and finds the hole. His head is throbbing-his brain persists in redrawing her with an intact torso, refusing to process the information it’s receiving. Pepper is craning her neck, trying to get a look at the wound.
“Lie still,” he says, and eases her shoulders down. He takes off his jacket and presses it into her abdomen. She gasps, sharply. He’s screaming at anyone within earshot to call the fucking paramedics right fucking now, and-
“It’s okay, Tony,” she whispers, her small hands covering his and squeezing. “It’ll be okay.” He wants to believe her, wants this to be a moment he will tease her about later-her reassuring him, it’s so Pepper-only she’s ashen, the colour literally draining from her face. The carpet beneath them is so soaked that it’s already reached the saturation point; blood pools around them, seeping into the fabric of his trousers. He can’t figure out where it’s all coming from. It isn’t until much later that he remembers about exit wounds.
He mentally reviews the things he’s going to need to tell the EMTs when they arrive: allergies (strawberries), medications (the pill), next of kin (himself). He wishes he knew her blood type, but he usually depends on Pepper to keep track of all that stuff. “I’ll fix this,” he tells her.
“I know you w…” Before Pepper can complete the thought, she exhales, and he feels her fingers slacken. Her eyes stare into the middle distance, glazed, unfocused. She’s gone.
*
Tony manages to stay quietly inebriated through the majority of the inquest, his own testimony included. Very few people notice, because he’s had years of practice at public intoxication. Jim Rhodes knows, of course. He takes as much leave as he can to be there; he wants to be sure Tony doesn’t drive. His chauffeur has had to take some personal time.
Tony’s bloodstained shirt and tie are displayed on a mannequin of Tony’s approximate size and shape. His wadded-up suit jacket rests in an evidence bag on a nearby table. Rhodey tries not to dwell too much on the shirt, the transfer stains in the shape of Pepper’s hands. Tony sits quietly through the entirety of the blood spatter analysis, eyes trained on his faceless doppleganger.
The next stage involves a lot of medical jargon-most of which Tony actually understands, human anatomy and physiology having become a hobby of his since building the armour. Tony seems to come alive at this point; there’s something horrifying to Rhodey about the way his friend keeps leaning over to explain what the terms mean, as though they’re watching Grey’s Anatomy or something.
There are photos of the wound-close-up, sanitized, devoid of context. Tony begins to get irritated with the fact that they keep calling her Virginia; Rhodey has to take him out of the room because he starts correcting people. Loudly.
Later, they review the press footage from the event, which is how Rhodey and the rest of the world learn that it wasn’t the first shot that killed Pepper-it was the second. And only because she changed direction at the last possible moment. Only because she deliberately stepped in front of Tony when she heard the sound.
Tony will spend years trying to convince himself that he would have done the same for her.
================================================================
Honesty | Patience | Loyalty | Humility | Benevolence | Moderation | Persistence
3. Loyalty
Pepper hates press conferences. She gets anxious in situations where there are too many variables, too many balls in play. She second-guesses herself, worries that she isn’t able to react quickly enough.
Tony vaguely remembers her telling him this; he wasn’t certain how to respond to such a candid admission from his terrifyingly competent PA. He decided that a riff on the word ‘balls’ would be the most appropriate direction to take the conversation-at which point Pepper sighed, and changed the subject.
This was long before that fateful night when he’d finally kissed her on a rooftop, and essentially broken a bottle across the bow of their ‘stable-ish’ relationship. From Tony’s perspective, the sailing is remarkably smooth; Pepper, on the other hand, frequently feels as though she’s boarded the romantic equivalent of RMS Titanic.
The thing that makes this particular press conference exponentially less stressful is that Tony will not be the one running the show. Pepper, as CEO of Stark Industries, is going to announce Tony’s appointment as CTO. He is going to say a few carefully-vetted words, sharing a double lectern with Pepper the entire time, and the media have already been advised that he will not be taking any questions. Pepper has ensured that the microphone on Tony’s side of the podium is equipped with a kill switch that she can easily reach, just in case.
In the green room, she fixes his hair, knots his tie, and adjusts his pocket square. She doesn’t have to do these things for him-she never did, not really-but she likes to have a concrete task to focus on when she’s nervous. He’s chosen a tone-on-tone ensemble today: navy suit, royal blue shirt, ice-blue tie. He knows how much she likes him in blue. His hand eases down her back and roams idly over her bottom as she reviews the major talking points.
“Don’t stress.” He pats Pepper’s ass reassuringly, the way most people might touch a hand or a shoulder. “You’re going to be great.”
“I hate these things.”
“I know. The balls, right?”
He expects her to blush, but instead her gaze sweeps downward, then back to his face, raising a single eyebrow. There’s a slight, suggestive curl to her lips. His inventive imagination kicks into overdrive, his body reacts accordingly, and he feels his own face getting warm. Potts, 1; Stark, 0.
She kisses him, just once, very carefully, so as not to smudge her mouth or stain his. She glances down once more, with an air of disapproval that he suspects is feigned. “Get that under control, Mr. Stark,” she tells him sternly. It’s a tactical error, because he loves when she gets tough with him.
He slides his hands into his pockets and smiles like a shark. “You started it, Ms. Potts.”
*
Tony never has the opportunity to give his speech-which is a shame, because it’s a good one, and he was honestly planning to stick to the cards this time.
As he rises and walks towards the podium and Pepper, there’s a flash of metal in his peripheral vision, and two small pops, like party balloons bursting. The crowd erupts, a single mass of bodies surging in all possible directions, including onto the stage. Tony scans the room for Happy, who’s carrying the suitcase armour; the ex-boxer is already charging into the crowd, tackling the shooter.
In all the confusion, it takes Tony a second to realize that the front of him is covered in warm blood, and another few to realize he isn’t the one bleeding.
Pepper turns to face him, hands scrabbling aimlessly at her belly, blood spurting through her tiny fingers. She seems to be more focused on trying not to make a mess than actually staunching the wound. Tony reaches for her, impossibly slow, as though he’s moving through quicksand.
She starts to crumple, bracing herself against his chest with both hands, and he catches her under the arms and lays her down flat on the floor. Kneeling over her, he pulls up her suit jacket and shirt, and finds the hole. His head is throbbing-his brain persists in redrawing her with an intact torso, refusing to process the information it’s receiving. Pepper is craning her neck, trying to get a look at the wound.
“Lie still,” he says, and eases her shoulders down. He takes off his jacket and presses it into her abdomen. She gasps, sharply. He’s screaming at anyone within earshot to call the fucking paramedics right fucking now, and-
“It’s okay, Tony,” she whispers, her small hands covering his and squeezing. “It’ll be okay.” He wants to believe her, wants this to be a moment he will tease her about later-her reassuring him, it’s so Pepper-only she’s ashen, the colour literally draining from her face. The carpet beneath them is so soaked that it’s already reached the saturation point; blood pools around them, seeping into the fabric of his trousers. He can’t figure out where it’s all coming from. It isn’t until much later that he remembers about exit wounds.
He mentally reviews the things he’s going to need to tell the EMTs when they arrive: allergies (strawberries), medications (the pill), next of kin (himself). He wishes he knew her blood type, but he usually depends on Pepper to keep track of all that stuff. “I’ll fix this,” he tells her.
“I know you w…” Before Pepper can complete the thought, she exhales, and he feels her fingers slacken. Her eyes stare into the middle distance, glazed, unfocused. She’s gone.
*
Tony manages to stay quietly inebriated through the majority of the inquest, his own testimony included. Very few people notice, because he’s had years of practice at public intoxication. Jim Rhodes knows, of course. He takes as much leave as he can to be there; he wants to be sure Tony doesn’t drive. His chauffeur has had to take some personal time.
Tony’s bloodstained shirt and tie are displayed on a mannequin of Tony’s approximate size and shape. His wadded-up suit jacket rests in an evidence bag on a nearby table. Rhodey tries not to dwell too much on the shirt, the transfer stains in the shape of Pepper’s hands. Tony sits quietly through the entirety of the blood spatter analysis, eyes trained on his faceless doppleganger.
The next stage involves a lot of medical jargon-most of which Tony actually understands, human anatomy and physiology having become a hobby of his since building the armour. Tony seems to come alive at this point; there’s something horrifying to Rhodey about the way his friend keeps leaning over to explain what the terms mean, as though they’re watching Grey’s Anatomy or something.
There are photos of the wound-close-up, sanitized, devoid of context. Tony begins to get irritated with the fact that they keep calling her Virginia; Rhodey has to take him out of the room because he starts correcting people. Loudly.
Later, they review the press footage from the event, which is how Rhodey and the rest of the world learn that it wasn’t the first shot that killed Pepper-it was the second. And only because she changed direction at the last possible moment. Only because she deliberately stepped in front of Tony when she heard the sound.
Tony will spend years trying to convince himself that he would have done the same for her.
================================================================
Honesty | Patience | Loyalty | Humility | Benevolence | Moderation | Persistence