Work Text:
Tony likes to compliment her. From the over extravagant too loud declarations exhaling her many skills and accomplishments to the off handed asides about things she doesn't even think he's noticed, but he always does. He does it at weird times, in sometimes weirder places.
When she was just his PA she suffered through them with a quirk of smile and there wasn't always suffering involved.
("Thank god you were here, you saved the day, Pep. I thought for sure I grabbed the mini drive."
"It's always good to have a back up."
"You're so wise! You're my gal Friday, the Moneypenny to my Bond, the Rand to my Kirk, Potts. Seriously, can't live without you. I'd still be waving my hands around up there trying to explain to these moron how the optics system works. Not to mention Obie would have blown a gasket."
"Thank you, Mr. Stark."
"That's all? No comment on the ass kicking I did up there. Jobs can suck it."
"I have been wondering if you were a Trekkie. Mystery solved."
"You wound me."
"I'm sure I didn't.
"See, this is what I'm talking about, my Agent 99."
"I always did like Barbara Felton."
"Of course you did, of course you did.")
Tony had pushed a lot of boundaries those years, and she's sure she has a case or two of borderline misconduct, but there was always a line he hadn't ever fully crossed. Not that she would have let him. Well, she's pretty sure she wouldn't have let him in any case.
After Afghanistan and Obi—After everything that happened when he came back the compliments became a strange mix softer and/or desperate ("You saved my life, you know."
"Tony—"
"You persevered the first arc reactor, you pushed the button—"
"Tony."
"I'm just saying that… you saved the day. You can't leave now. What if I need you to save the day again?"
"You seem to be doing okay."
"Pep—"
"I'm not going anywhere, Tony.") like he had to make sure she believed him, that she believed in him. She always did, or she always tried. Tony, for all this bluster and shine, wasn't a good liar. It was all in the eyes. Still he knew how to fuck up with the best of them. He was the best of them. But she's had twenty years of becoming an expert in Tony Stark's Tells. She cleans him out whenever he wants to have a poker night with her and James because Tony still like to gamble, but says he hates going to the casinos now. Says that now that he's Iron Man full time the crowds and fans can get obnoxious, but Pepper remembers when Tony Stark always had his own share of crowds and fans, mostly of his own making.
She won't deny she has her suspicions on why he doesn't like to venture out as much anymore. She's noticed how people's eyes drift to the middle of his chest, not looking for his heart, but what surrounds it, greedy and curious. That's why she doesn't push him on the matter, because she prefers it this way too.
In twenty years she's the one that developed the poker face and she's pretty sure it's part of the reason she's still around.
Then he breaks it down — breaks them down — in one messy and uncomfortable kiss; messy because they had both moved into it too fast (too slow, James and Natasha joke), uncomfortable because his suit was not suited for warm embraces on rooftops.
The compliments come faster and sweeter and somehow lewder now than before. The fact she finds the blend charming tells her how far she's fallen. They also come with gifts. He always given her presents here and there, for Christmas and her birthday, when he remembered, or when they had gone to a show or gallery opening and somehow the picture she spent most of the night staring at showed up at the mansion a few weeks later.
But now, it's all compounded. First, he gave her the company (again). Made an official party for it and everything. Then he tried to make up for the strawberry thing* after he played around with her car, her phone, her tablet; ended up designing new StarkPhones, StarkTablets and engines because of it. Then he gave her 12% of Stark Tower in New York and donated a disgusting amount of money to cancer research. Sometimes he forgets she remembers everything too.
His best gift however comes after in the shape of him falling against her when she rushes to the SHIELD infirmary, his hand fisting at her back and wrinkling her suit. In the feel of his stale breath against her neck the next morning after pretty much passing out, and every morning after it. In the way his hand resting on her belly under the novelty shirt he bought her for on some random midnight work bender that came in the mail with two larger shirts: both of Iron Man. (And when she asked about it the explanation ended up being: "Rhodey linked me the shirt site and next thing I know I'm online shopping."
"You mean you were checking your Google Alerts for Iron Man and decided to buy your own merchandise."
"Who really knows what happened?"
"I can have Jarvis bring up the feed."
"But you won't."
"How come you didn't get me an Iron Man shirt?"
"Uh—did you want one? Because I know you have love/hate thing with the suit and—"
"I didn't want one, just wanted to know."
"Oh. Okay."
"I like it, it's cute. Educational."
"You don't have to keep it."
"I'll keep my shirt, Mr. Stark."
"Of course, Ms. Potts, whatever you say.")
But the point is he comes back to her (again). He comes back to her, whole, or as whole as he's been able to be since Afghanistan, and Pepper lets herself relish in that for a while. Too short a while in Pepper's opinion.
He's also come back full of brand new nightmares that he hates wake her up, too. She tells him that's the hazard of sharing a bed, which thankfully makes him smile. When his nightmares don't wake her and she wakes up to an empty bed she follows the sound of his music and tinkering to the workshop.
It's becoming too much of a habit now, Pepper thinks, moving from the bed, padding downstairs.
Moving across the house, she can't help being grateful that they're back in Malibu. The Tower is technically liveable but it isn't home.
She finds him in the same position she's found him almost every other night since they've returned.
Hunched over a new suit — there's always a new suit, a faster suit, a stronger suit, a better suit — he looks all of his forty plus years and then some. She doesn't hesitate as she walks across the workshop, her feet moving around the tables and discarded tools on instinct and habit her focus entirely on line of his shoulders.
When she touches him Tony starts, jumping a little under her hands, but relaxes almost instantly, looking over his shoulder at her. He doesn't smile, turns in his work stool.
"Did I wake up you?"
"No, the alarm did," she says, tapping her head. "I've—actually we have conference call with Tokyo in about an hour and half. Do you want out of it?"
His hand span her waist, thumbs dip under her shirt. He shakes his head, rests it against the cotton of the shirt just under her breasts. "It's okay, I'm up too. Might as well prove to those fogeys I'm not just a kept man."
Chuckling, she runs her hand through his hair. It's wild and just a little greasy. He didn't shower yesterday then. She came back home late and didn't really notice it last night.
"You need to shower. Come on." She starts moving backwards, pulling gently at his hands. When he stands he surprises her by pulling her forward. The arc reactor presses familiarly into her sternum. Her hands falls to his arms.
"Tony?"
"My gal Friday, couldn't make it a day without you," he says softly; too soft for him, really. His face is so close and all she see is his eyes. She swallows at what she sees in them. Her heart aches where the arc reactor presses over it.
"You know I'm not your assistant anymore."
His eyes crinkle. "That's right, Agent 99."
"That's right, 86."
"You wound me, Ms. Potts."
She covers his cheeks with her hands, the stubble tickling her palms, and touches his lips to hers. "Not for long." The engagement ring catches some of the workshops light and flashes at the edge of her vision.
"I thought you were keeping your name."
She grins against his mouth, "I am, but, you know, in spirit."
Tony laughs and she sees it in his eyes. One day soon he'll have to start talking about what he's seeing in his dreams, and one day she just might have to make him, but it's early and Tokyo is waiting.
"Come on, shower and shave time."
"Am I shaving you or are you shaving me, because I'm not going to lie, I find both extremely hot." He starts walking them towards the door, hands at her waist as she traverses a few steps backwards, before turning, his arm belting across the small of her back.
"You're shaving you, but if you're lucky I'll let you pick out the shoes."
"I love it when you include me on the big decisions."