Work Text:
Iron Man
______________
Tony hears Pepper knock gently on the bedroom door. Maybe he doesn’t exactly hear it; his ears are bogged down, and the left one feels achy and bulgy with possible infection.
He thinks he smells her perfume. But no, Tony’s nose is clogged with inordinate amounts of yellow and green and terrible.
A rustle of papers. A clipboard being tucked under an arm.
Then, faintly, “Tony?” The doorknob clicks as it turns. The noise may as well be that of the guillotine meeting his spinal column in some fucked up slow-motion replay of his beheading.
Tony’s head remains on his shoulders. His mouth connects to his throat, which connects to his stomach, and everything in his upper digestive tract sloshes as he makes the attempt to roll over and rasp, “Yeah, come in.”
It’s pointless to speak, for Jarvis wouldn’t let anyone else into the room. Even paramedics would receive ‘access denied.’ Unless Pepper approved them beforehand.
The door opens, and Pepper stands just over the threshold to ensure it closes quietly. It’s probably meant to be a kind gesture. Sympathetic, maybe. But all Tony feels is sickly anxiety. What happened to that guillotine?
The mattress only dips a centimeter or so when Pepper sits down at Tony’s side. It’s memory foam, made from sustainably cultivated bamboo. With carbon offsets for the shipping as well. It’s a nice bed. Pepper probably didn’t mean to turn it into a pirate ship. Tony’s sinuses tingle. Deep pressure forms behind his eyes and nose. His jaw feels disengaged; like it might be hanging back in Malibu. Malibu? Is that south or north of New York? Miami. That sounds much more plausible.
“’M either gonna sneeze or puke,” Tony warns, holding his hand up to keep Pepper at arm’s length. “Where’s the thing? The square…?”
“What, that?” Pepper juts her chin toward the Rubik’s cube on the bedside table.
“Huh?” Tony tries to follow along. “That? Nah. Toss it. I got snot fingerprints all over it…” He swallows hard to head off the preemptive cough that’s bound to lead to an episode of retching. “The that.”
Tony points at the slightly squashed tissue box nestled in the blankets around his knees. “Something’s gonna give here…”
“Hmmm.” Pepper obliges. She pulls three sheets from the box and hands them to Tony.
“…nks…” Most of his word is lost as he tries to blow his nose. Plenty flows out, turning the tissues to a crumpled, soggy mess, but Tony’s forehead throbs something awful as fresh mucous shifts to replace the clear space. “Dammit.”
“Here.” Pepper takes the disgusting wad away with two fingers, lobs it into the trash bin near the closet, and pulls a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer from her pocket.
“What?” Tony asks her crossly. “Did you just come in here to rub it in that I’m all germy?”
“Your’re the one who threatened to put me in quarantine last time the bots dusted the ceiling fan,” Pepper counters. “And no, I came in here to tell you that city works denied your architectural proposal. We have to redo the blueprints.”
Geez. They couldn’t have waited to vote or stamp or sign the document or whatever they do until after Tony’s done being sick? His annoyance with the situation immediately doubles. Is multiplied by the power of 10. Expands exponentially. He wonders if he could use a bicycle pump to measure the PSI inside his own head.
“Fuck,” Tony mutters. “Why?”
“Well.” Pepper lets out a gentle sigh. “Do you want the long or the short of it?”
“Just, uh.” Tony sniffs, and tangible goo backs up into his throat. He gulps, trying not to taste the salty sourness, and says, “Make it make sense?”
“Ok.” Pepper nods. She rifles through her papers until she finds a map to scale, showing the foundation of Stark Tower and the adjacent buildings and roads. “So,” she continues, pointing to a blank space, “You wanted to build here.”
“Yeah…”
“Well, it turns out you only own half the lot. The other half belongs to the building next door.”
“So we buy them out, right?” That’s a logical conclusion, isn’t it? Not some messed up fever dream?
“They’re unwilling to sell.” Pepper’s voice is measured and stable.
“Oh, come on…” Tony rolls his eyes and immediately regrets it.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that.” Pepper presses her lips together.
“Ok…” Tony breathes in and out, trying to ignore the wavering snuffle of semi-solid snot rocks in his nasal cavities. There has to be a plan B. “So we build smaller.”
Pepper smiles sweetly, in the way one does when giving up the argument with a 3-year-old as to whether Pluto is a dog or a planet. “Unfortunately, the entire plan has been rejected. There’s…not going to be any opportunity to build.”
Tony’s head is swimming. He feels like he might throw up, if not because of mucous disagreeing with stomach acid, then definitely as the first punch of an impending temper tantrum. “I still don’t get it…”
“There’s a water main that cuts directly across the property,” Pepper explains.
“Dig it up and move it.” Tony massages the space between his eyebrows. There’s a terrible knot there, as if marionette strings operating the rest of his body have gone nonfunctional due to extremely questionable tangles.
“Tony,” Pepper’s definitely exasperated. “Are you aware that you’re practically inches from two different housing projects?” She takes a breath. “We are not cutting off people’s water so you can build a home gym!”
“Well–” Tony realizes he doesn’t have a good answer, and he decides not to stress his vocal cords, lest something else slip out of place too.
“You don’t even work out, Tony.” Pepper’s gone desperate and quiet. “I mean, you have the boxing ring and everything already.” She pauses, and they stare each other down for a moment. Then Pepper asks, “What is this even about? Why are you even thinking of remodeling?”
Tony’s mind is still a few steps back in the conversation. “They can tap a water line, right? Construction people?” He squints down at the map, which, unhelpfully, doesn’t show underground plumbing. “Gyms need showers and stuff.”
“Are you even listening?” Pepper asks.
“Yes.” Tony locks his eyes on hers again.
Pepper retrieves another tissue and takes it upon herself to catch the drip shivering at the end of Tony’s nose.
“We could tap it and make, uh… an outdoor fountain.” Tony’s grasping at straws. Even he knows that idea’s half-baked at best.
“No structures,” Pepper says. “They’ve outlined it pretty clearly in the rejection letter…” She looks at her clipboard, preparing to show Tony the words in writing.
“No, I don’t want to see.” Tony wriggles farther away from her in the bed. “Every part of me is drenched in something or other. Smeared fingerprints. It’s gonna be a no.”
“Ok.” Pepper sighs again. “Then could you just… maybe, believe me?”
Tony’s instinct is to strike her down again. But every ounce of his body and mind are screaming at him. Just let it go. She’s right. Deal with tomorrow when tomorrow comes. And god fuck it, snot’s running nose to lip faster than a 100 meter dash.
“Give me some more of those…” Tony waves a hand toward the tissues.
Pepper holds up the box. Tony grabs and grabs until he’s only snatching at air. He mops up what he can, then says, “ Hey, Jarv. Do we have more of these?”
A faint red light appears as Jarvis scans the room to clear up what Tony’s referring to. “Ah,” the AI says. “I will place a rush order to the Cost Co.”
“Fuck.” Tony breathes carefully, trying not to dislodge anything else. “And how long is that gonna take?”
“Approximately 1 hour and 34 minutes, sir.”
“I’m screwed…”
Pepper pats Tony’s hand. “Oh, you’ll make it.” She grins. “Ever heard of a hand towel?”
“I– oh…” Yes, she’s right. Pepper wins that one, fair and square.
A new thought strikes Tony, rather like missing a catch and getting the box of spaghetti straight to the face. “What about a crossfit yard?”
Pepper pops her head out of the ensuite and comes back to the bed, a clean hand towel gripped to her chest. “A what now?”
“Crossfit,” Tony repeats. “You don’t have to build anything. Just get, like, some tires. Ropes, maybe.”
Pepper looks dumbfounded. “You’ve never done crossfit in your life.”
Tony shrugs. “Thor seems like the kind of guy who likes crossfit…”
“I think you’re getting way too ahead of yourself.” Pepper motions for Tony to roll onto his back, then begins to carefully sponge sweat and grime off his face.
“Or pour some concrete. Make a basketball court.”
“Tony-”
“To invite the neighbors.”
“And double cross them to trick them into selling you the other half of the lot?” Pepper raises her eyebrows. “That’s maniacal. That’s low, Tony. That’s… very wrong.”
“You’re not listening now.” Tony fumbles for a corner of the hand towel and blows his nose with a staggered, groaning sound. “What kind of apartment kid doesn’t like to play basketball?”
Pepper’s expression softens. “You’re still getting way ahead of yourself.”
“Next time you video chat with the real estate person, scope out everything within two blocks. I wanna do a playground–” Tony gags on his own spit. Pepper relinquishes the towel so he can cover his face. Tony’s abdominal muscles scream as he lifts himself up to sitting and leans forward at the waist.
Actual vomit would be easier. Tony hacks until he can barely breathe, then winces as he tries to extricate a slug of mucous from the roof of his mouth. He wraps a finger in the towel and goes in for a manual scraping.
Pepper looks worried, like he might’ve gone out of his mind and started a new diet of terry cloth and Egyptian cotton. But a moment later, when Tony lowers his hand and reveals something like the decomposed body of a clam surrounded by a faint smear of pinkish blood, her face turns to relief.
“I’m glad you’re getting that out of your system.” Pepper takes the towel away and folds it, yuck in the center and the outside mostly clean.
“But could you–” Tony breathes.
“No. No business meetings or building plans until you’re 98.6 and no longer flinging boogers.” Pepper’s put her foot down. For the third time now, Tony sees the logic in respecting that.
He can’t help himself, though. “But–”
“Call me if you need your nose wiped again.” Pepper smiles as she stands up. “Or if you barf. Or if you reset all your passwords in your sleep.”
“Mm.” Tony groans. “I don’t do that. Any of that. Right?”
Pepper lets out a breath. Shakes her head. Then. “Nope. Not ever.”