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So, one of the things Tony likes most about the suit: he finally managed to make something that holds him together when he's falling apart.
That's quite literal, even. Some days, anyway. Like tonight. He likes the metaphor - he likes metaphors - but some days are just like this, despite the new reactor. Metal bracing him around the chest, keeping his head in place on his shoulders. Keeping his fingers from dropping off his hands all by their lonesome. Metal shielding his face, the wiring inside it augmenting his vision, the display alive and moving with him, shifting with every breath he takes. Tonight, for all the electricity that's constantly sparking at his fingertips, he can't find it in himself to move enough to press the emergency release.
"JARVIS," he croaks, all but under his breath. "Get this thing off of me?" He clears his throat, manages to get a little bit louder. " - This thing. That's a part of me. Get this thing that's a part of me off of me."
The suit detaches immediately, over his chest and face, down toward his arms and legs. Finally, as gently as it's possible for JARVIS to be, his head, neck and shoulders fall free, and he remembers why he can't move. Right. The shoulder. The one that hit that billboard, then that other skyscraper, then the ground. He's pretty sure the shoulder blade's not broken, but that's about as far as he'll venture for tonight; his breath catches as the suit falls away, the pain dizzying even while he's lying down, and he tries to keep as still as possible, even through the lights dancing across his vision.
As the helmet unlatches and retracts, he blinks to clear his eyes. Sees the dress on the bed out of the corner of his sight, sparkling red as the curtains flap in the breeze.
He remembers the suit he picked out, the one with the red waistcoat to match. Red tie. Red cufflinks. He thinks of the burst of red roses he had the maitre d' pick out for the table. He shuts his eyes when he hears the distant click of Pepper's heels on the floor.
She says nothing as she approaches. There's no huff to her breath, no extra pointedness when she steps out of her heels at the door. Only the barely perceptible sound of her nylons swishing; only the faint, floral scent of her perfume, the polymer smell of offices and chairs and tech.
Pepper sits down on the floor, behind his head, crossing her legs neatly beside him. He wants to turn and press his face to her hip, nose up the hem of her blouse till he can kiss and lick the skin at her waist, breathe in her scent of the day mixed with the scent of her. Tease her till she's half tempted to abandon their date. Ask her if she wants him to kneel. He doesn't move.
"I'll pick up after myself, I swear," he says instead.
"Hey, Tony," Pepper says gently. "You were all over the news."
"Hey, Pep. You smell like boardroom." He tries to look up at her without moving; he doesn't catch much. "And ponytail?"
She doesn't laugh. "You look miserable, Tony."
He'd promised to be up and dressed by now. "I suck, Pep. We have plans."
"We had plans." She lifts a hand, puts it to his cheek. "How many hard objects did you hit today?"
"Heh. It's funny 'cause you said 'hard objects'."
She runs a finger lightly down his face; along with the pain from his shoulder, it gets a wire or two crossed somewhere in him, and he shivers.
"Galileo," he whispers, and she lifts her fingers immediately, giving him a moment to breathe and then laying a palm flat and gentle and unmoving against his cheek.
"What are you safewording for, Tony?"
"That," he says, doesn't elaborate, the way you're touching me so gently. "This is good, though. Gimme a minute of this, and I'll pick myself up off the floor for you."
Pepper pats his cheek, removes her hand, clicks her tongue, and picks up her cell phone.
"Hi, could you push our reservation to next week?" she says, and Tony hears the affirmative over the line. "Yeah, that'd be great. Thank you so much."
"What are you doing, Pep?"
"There, was that hard?" she says. "I'm not going to let you hurt yourself more over date night."
"Hey, I could've got myself together in time."
"Sure you could. Now, let me help you up, Tony. I don't want you laying there all night and catching a chill."
He makes vague noises of protest, but he does let her, promising he'll have JARVIS send one of the bots to collect the pieces of Mark VI so she won't trip over them. It's a process, first sitting up and having her gently poke and prod his shoulder, then leaning heavily on her as she all but lifts him to his feet. Letting her guide him into bed as she whispers reassurances, almost blacking out until he's safely horizontal, buried in the fluffy pillows. He worries about the dress.
"You're gonna wear that dress some other night, right?" he whispers, listening to her reach into drawers, feeling her press two pain pills into his hand.
"Yeah, and you're gonna wear the matching suit, too." She leans down and kisses his temple, offers him a glass of water. "Drink."
He manages to lean up, takes the pills with a couple of sips. "Yeah. Arm candy suit, Pep, not ass-kicking suit, I promise. I won't disappoint you."
"You haven't disappointed me much of late, Tony. Definitely not tonight."
"That's a good thing, right?"
"It's definitely a good thing." There's a hint of amusement to her voice, only broken by the gentle whir of a bot coming up to hand her something. "Thanks, JARVIS. Thanks, bot."
"What is it? You're conspiring." They are conspiring; it's a heating pad. She coaxes him up, tucks it underneath his shoulder, and he almost sobs with relief, the tension he'd been carrying ebbing from him as she eases him back down.
"I'm your CEO, Tony," Pepper says. "I think I'm entitled to some conspiring."
"Thanks, Pep," Tony sighs. "I'll make it up to you for tonight soon, I swear."
"Not till you're feeling better you won't," she says, and kisses him.