Seven Times Over: Humility (4/7), Tony/Pepper, PG-13
Author's notes in Part 1.
4. Humility
In the aftermath of the Hammer Drone attack, Tony retreats to the same pre-war classic six where he grew up. He’s long since outgrown the place, of course; his own sleek, glass-walled penthouse is only a few short blocks away. But he’s kept it up, paid for it to be cleaned and the furnishings and fixtures cared for. It stays tucked away in the background, ready for him to slip into any old time-like a favourite pair of sneakers, or a secret identity.
After everything that’s happened, everything that he’s been through, Tony needs to be here.
It has often been said of the emperor Nero that he fiddled while Rome burned. Entirely aside from the anachronism of a fiddle existing in 1st century Rome, many sources mention the fact that Nero actually organized and personally funded a relief effort, providing food and shelter for those who lost their homes in the Great Fire.
The combined self-destruction of the Hammer Drones has cut a comparable swath, taking out almost half of Queens. Tony-who, in his hedonistic heyday, drew frequent comparisons to certain members of the Julio-Claudian family tree-personally coordinates medical care, transport, and accommodations for those who need it. And he does it all from Howard’s office, with his bare feet propped up on Howard’s desk. He’s in his boxers and undershirt; his disassembled armour is stacked in the far corner by the bookshelf, the sweat-soaked neoprene sheath wadded up inside.
It’s been a while since Tony has dealt with public officials-between the illness, the armour, and the inherent advantages of wealth, he’s been insulated from the world these past few months, even more so than usual. He’s exhausted, and he can feel his temper fraying. He has to resist the urge to yell at people who are just trying to do their jobs. It would be so much simpler to give up, to hand the phone to Pepper and sink into the leather couch in the corner, but Tony feels as though he has something to prove, about how similar he is to his father. And how different.
Pepper has been to the Upper East Side apartment only a handful of times in all the years she’s worked for Tony-usually just a quick walkthrough so that she can report back on its upkeep. He almost never stays here, even though he owns the entire building. It’s always seemed so strange to Pepper that he just keeps it like this, in stasis, his childhood preserved in amber. It’s one of Tony’s few secrets, one of the exceedingly rare topics on which he has absolutely no comment.
After a quick run for supplies, she makes coffee in the kitchen, stocking feet sliding pleasantly against butter-soft parquet. Maria Stark’s kitchen. To her delight, Pepper discovers a series of faded pencil notches on the molding that adjoins the dining room. Below each tiny tick, a date is carefully inscribed in an elegant, flowing hand. She keeps losing track of what she’s doing because she can’t help but turn around again, to double-check that the marks are still there.
Pepper sets the mug down on the scuffed mahogany desk, next to Tony’s right hand, just as she’s always done. She hovers behind him for a moment, uncharacteristically indecisive, eavesdropping while he insists to whoever is on the line that no, it doesn’t matter how much it costs, it has to be tonight. It has to be now. “What part of ‘I will pay for it’ doesn’t make sense to you?” he demands. “Look, is there someone else there I can talk to?”
Pepper gives in to impulse and leans down, kisses the top of his head. His hand rises up and takes hold of her wrist, pressing it silently to his lips before settling her arm around his neck. She drapes her other arm across his chest, his body reassuringly solid under her hands. She runs her fingers over the flat surface of the new RT-it’s quite cool to the touch.
“How about the mayor, is he up? Well, get him on the phone. I’ll wait.”
She closes her eyes, dips her face into his hair, and inhales deeply. His very presence is intoxicating; she wants to breathe him, drink him, absorb him through her skin. It’s frighteningly easy-despite so many years of struggling against it, this closeness is as natural as waking.
When he starts speaking into the phone again, she stands up and slides her hands over his shoulders. She gradually works her way from caressing to kneading, digging into the knots of muscle with fingertips and knuckles. She’s always wanted to do this; after a decade of walking three steps behind him, Pepper has learned to read the line of his back, and knows all the spots where he carries his cares.
Tony continues to argue into the ether without breaking stride, but his voice is rapidly losing its edge, becoming deeper, more fluid. He’s able to speak calmly, invoking the easy charm that invariably fells obstacles like dominoes.
Finally, having achieved some measure of success, he hangs up and tilts his head back, sighing in utter satisfaction as she grinds her thumb against a persistent knob of tension between his shoulder blades.
“I should be doing that,” she remarks, guiltily, indicating the phone.
“No. I’m pretty sure you should only do this, ever again.”
“I’m still the CEO, technically.”
He grins. “You said you didn’t want the job anymore.”
“I was tired of trying to do it all alone.”
He gazes up at her, his expression something akin to wonder. “Me too,” he confesses.
*
Later that night-so much later that it’s technically well into the next morning-Tony props his chin up on Pepper’s shoulder and murmurs, “I’ll flip you for the couch. Heads or tails?”
“Don’t be an ass, Tony.” She knows he doesn’t have any coins-he’s in his underwear, for crying out loud. Superheroes don’t carry spare change. She leads him by the hand down the hall and into the bedroom.
Unlike most of the furniture in the house, the bed in the master suite is relatively new. Tony’s the only one who’s ever slept in it-he doesn’t bring girls here. This isn’t girls, though. It’s Pepper. He’s pretty sure it’s okay.
He sinks into the mattress; his limbs feel heavy, as though his bones are made of granite. Between Rhodey and Vanko, he took a pretty decent pounding, not to mention the lingering effects of the palladium. He’s torn between needing to be close to her and wanting everything to be perfect; he has a reputation to live up to, after all.
As usual, Pepper does most of the work for both of them in a way that makes it seem effortless. The blue glow of the RT fills her eyes with foxfire, pools in the slopes and swales of her body as she rocks into him, envelops him. Her touch is gentle, and sure, and it isn’t long before the only thoughts in his head are more, please, yes, and Pepper. The sheer, unfettered beauty of her makes his heart ache.
Afterwards, she tells him his skin tastes like coconut, and he laughs into the hollow of her throat; it’s a pleasant, if somewhat distracting, sensation. He refuses to explain why it’s so funny. She falls asleep nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She’s heavier than she looks-heavy enough to cut off the circulation in his arm.
*
“Tony,” murmurs Pepper, ruffling his hair. She hates to wake him; uninterrupted sleep is exactly what he needs, and he’s so still and peaceful, his face buried in the pillow. But it’s almost noon, and there are over five hundred messages on her BlackBerry. Every news outlet in the country is trying to find Iron Man. They need to start triaging.
He doesn’t stir as she runs her hand over his shoulder, down his back. “Tony,” she says again. “Come on.” Despite the warmth of the room and the heavy down comforter, he’s quite cool.
It’s then that she notices: he isn’t breathing.
JARVIS was right. The new RT wasn’t ready.
================================================================
Honesty | Patience | Loyalty | Humility | Benevolence | Moderation | Persistence
4. Humility
In the aftermath of the Hammer Drone attack, Tony retreats to the same pre-war classic six where he grew up. He’s long since outgrown the place, of course; his own sleek, glass-walled penthouse is only a few short blocks away. But he’s kept it up, paid for it to be cleaned and the furnishings and fixtures cared for. It stays tucked away in the background, ready for him to slip into any old time-like a favourite pair of sneakers, or a secret identity.
After everything that’s happened, everything that he’s been through, Tony needs to be here.
It has often been said of the emperor Nero that he fiddled while Rome burned. Entirely aside from the anachronism of a fiddle existing in 1st century Rome, many sources mention the fact that Nero actually organized and personally funded a relief effort, providing food and shelter for those who lost their homes in the Great Fire.
The combined self-destruction of the Hammer Drones has cut a comparable swath, taking out almost half of Queens. Tony-who, in his hedonistic heyday, drew frequent comparisons to certain members of the Julio-Claudian family tree-personally coordinates medical care, transport, and accommodations for those who need it. And he does it all from Howard’s office, with his bare feet propped up on Howard’s desk. He’s in his boxers and undershirt; his disassembled armour is stacked in the far corner by the bookshelf, the sweat-soaked neoprene sheath wadded up inside.
It’s been a while since Tony has dealt with public officials-between the illness, the armour, and the inherent advantages of wealth, he’s been insulated from the world these past few months, even more so than usual. He’s exhausted, and he can feel his temper fraying. He has to resist the urge to yell at people who are just trying to do their jobs. It would be so much simpler to give up, to hand the phone to Pepper and sink into the leather couch in the corner, but Tony feels as though he has something to prove, about how similar he is to his father. And how different.
Pepper has been to the Upper East Side apartment only a handful of times in all the years she’s worked for Tony-usually just a quick walkthrough so that she can report back on its upkeep. He almost never stays here, even though he owns the entire building. It’s always seemed so strange to Pepper that he just keeps it like this, in stasis, his childhood preserved in amber. It’s one of Tony’s few secrets, one of the exceedingly rare topics on which he has absolutely no comment.
After a quick run for supplies, she makes coffee in the kitchen, stocking feet sliding pleasantly against butter-soft parquet. Maria Stark’s kitchen. To her delight, Pepper discovers a series of faded pencil notches on the molding that adjoins the dining room. Below each tiny tick, a date is carefully inscribed in an elegant, flowing hand. She keeps losing track of what she’s doing because she can’t help but turn around again, to double-check that the marks are still there.
Pepper sets the mug down on the scuffed mahogany desk, next to Tony’s right hand, just as she’s always done. She hovers behind him for a moment, uncharacteristically indecisive, eavesdropping while he insists to whoever is on the line that no, it doesn’t matter how much it costs, it has to be tonight. It has to be now. “What part of ‘I will pay for it’ doesn’t make sense to you?” he demands. “Look, is there someone else there I can talk to?”
Pepper gives in to impulse and leans down, kisses the top of his head. His hand rises up and takes hold of her wrist, pressing it silently to his lips before settling her arm around his neck. She drapes her other arm across his chest, his body reassuringly solid under her hands. She runs her fingers over the flat surface of the new RT-it’s quite cool to the touch.
“How about the mayor, is he up? Well, get him on the phone. I’ll wait.”
She closes her eyes, dips her face into his hair, and inhales deeply. His very presence is intoxicating; she wants to breathe him, drink him, absorb him through her skin. It’s frighteningly easy-despite so many years of struggling against it, this closeness is as natural as waking.
When he starts speaking into the phone again, she stands up and slides her hands over his shoulders. She gradually works her way from caressing to kneading, digging into the knots of muscle with fingertips and knuckles. She’s always wanted to do this; after a decade of walking three steps behind him, Pepper has learned to read the line of his back, and knows all the spots where he carries his cares.
Tony continues to argue into the ether without breaking stride, but his voice is rapidly losing its edge, becoming deeper, more fluid. He’s able to speak calmly, invoking the easy charm that invariably fells obstacles like dominoes.
Finally, having achieved some measure of success, he hangs up and tilts his head back, sighing in utter satisfaction as she grinds her thumb against a persistent knob of tension between his shoulder blades.
“I should be doing that,” she remarks, guiltily, indicating the phone.
“No. I’m pretty sure you should only do this, ever again.”
“I’m still the CEO, technically.”
He grins. “You said you didn’t want the job anymore.”
“I was tired of trying to do it all alone.”
He gazes up at her, his expression something akin to wonder. “Me too,” he confesses.
*
Later that night-so much later that it’s technically well into the next morning-Tony props his chin up on Pepper’s shoulder and murmurs, “I’ll flip you for the couch. Heads or tails?”
“Don’t be an ass, Tony.” She knows he doesn’t have any coins-he’s in his underwear, for crying out loud. Superheroes don’t carry spare change. She leads him by the hand down the hall and into the bedroom.
Unlike most of the furniture in the house, the bed in the master suite is relatively new. Tony’s the only one who’s ever slept in it-he doesn’t bring girls here. This isn’t girls, though. It’s Pepper. He’s pretty sure it’s okay.
He sinks into the mattress; his limbs feel heavy, as though his bones are made of granite. Between Rhodey and Vanko, he took a pretty decent pounding, not to mention the lingering effects of the palladium. He’s torn between needing to be close to her and wanting everything to be perfect; he has a reputation to live up to, after all.
As usual, Pepper does most of the work for both of them in a way that makes it seem effortless. The blue glow of the RT fills her eyes with foxfire, pools in the slopes and swales of her body as she rocks into him, envelops him. Her touch is gentle, and sure, and it isn’t long before the only thoughts in his head are more, please, yes, and Pepper. The sheer, unfettered beauty of her makes his heart ache.
Afterwards, she tells him his skin tastes like coconut, and he laughs into the hollow of her throat; it’s a pleasant, if somewhat distracting, sensation. He refuses to explain why it’s so funny. She falls asleep nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She’s heavier than she looks-heavy enough to cut off the circulation in his arm.
*
“Tony,” murmurs Pepper, ruffling his hair. She hates to wake him; uninterrupted sleep is exactly what he needs, and he’s so still and peaceful, his face buried in the pillow. But it’s almost noon, and there are over five hundred messages on her BlackBerry. Every news outlet in the country is trying to find Iron Man. They need to start triaging.
He doesn’t stir as she runs her hand over his shoulder, down his back. “Tony,” she says again. “Come on.” Despite the warmth of the room and the heavy down comforter, he’s quite cool.
It’s then that she notices: he isn’t breathing.
JARVIS was right. The new RT wasn’t ready.
================================================================
Honesty | Patience | Loyalty | Humility | Benevolence | Moderation | Persistence