Iron Man: Aftermath - Part 2

Rating: PG-13
Genres: Angst, Romance (Tony Stark/Pepper Potts), Character Study (Tony and Pepper both) Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Friendship (Tony/Rhodey/Pepper, Tony/Happy/Pepper)
Summary: Picks up right where the main part of the film left off, but before the scene after the credits. Tony and Pepper explore their feelings in the aftermath of the press conference the day after the battle with the Iron Monger.
Spoilers: The Iron Man movie.
Length: 4 chapters, about 20,000 words — 39 pages
Notes: The scenes alternate — we see Tony's POV, then repeat the *entire* scene from Pepper's POV, (except for the final scene).
TTTTTT = the scene following is from Tony's third-person POV
PPPPPP =  the scene following is from Pepper's third-person POV
Also, it might interest you to know, as you read, that I used Robert Downey Jr's album, The Futurist, as a soundtrack of sorts while I wrote Tony's parts, and I used Madonna's Hard Candy for writing the Pepper bits (well, with a bit of crossover here and there). See the deviation description at the end of Part 4 for more notes.
DISCLAIMER: Iron Man, Tony Stark, Virginia "Pepper" Potts, James/Jim Rhodes/Rhodey, Obadiah Stane, Iron Monger, Harry "Happy" Hogan, Trish Tilby, Hank McCoy, Phoenix, and X-Men all © Marvel Entertainment, Inc. This is not a licenced story, and no profit is being made from it by the author.

Chapter Two
TTTTTT
The rest had done him good; Tony was able to get to his living room couch without the aid of his self-appointed human crutches. Rhodey seemed ready to stay and chat for a while, too, but the colonel's cell phone rang, and Tony could hear the tinny yelling of an irate general from across the room. Tony winced in apology, to which Rhodey laughed.

"I may have to listen to the yelling, but I'm not actually the one in trouble, man," Rhodey pointed out with a sympathetic grin before slipping out the door.

In the long silence, Tony took a deep breath and held it, waiting for an explosion that he was sure would outdo any produced by one of his missiles. He had to take another breath, though, and still Pepper hadn't said anything. He didn't know why, but somehow the prospect of facing her was scarier than facing down the Iron Monger had been. Finally he worked up the nerve to look at her. Well, okay, it wasn't a matter of bravery — his curiosity had simply gotten the better of him.

Pepper's face was even harder to read at the moment than the faceplate of his Iron Man suit.

He tried to think of something to say to lighten the moment. He had a quip on his lips, but what tumbled out when he opened his mouth was, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Her voice was as unreadable as her eyes.

He swallowed hard. The space between them, all seven feet or so (and don't think he hadn't noticed that she had taken the seat farthest from his), might as well have been filled with land mines; he knew he was gong to have to tread very carefully with his next words. "For a lot of things," he began tentatively. "For abandoning you at the gala, for one." Had her eyes softened? Even a little? He told himself they had, and it strengthened his spine even better than his 50-year-old scotch could have. "I swear I hadn't meant to leave you; it's just that I—"

"That's becoming a habit with you, you know."

He blinked. He had the sense he was skirting the edge of disaster now, and he had no idea where firm ground was.

"Swearing?" he asked, his voice small and cracking, his spine gone liquid as he slumped in — yes, in, not on — his too-plushy-and-comfortable couch. God, he was thirsty. His eyes flicked to the wet bar, which might as well have been as far away as civilisation had been from the caves he'd spent months as a captive in.

"The leaving thing," she elaborated with false casualness, crossing her legs primly, her tasteful high-heels elongating the elegant lines of her calves.

As her skirt hiked up slightly with the motion, Tony suddenly felt a different kind of thirst, far fiercer than the kind that was currently demanding a scotch on the rocks. He realised suddenly that it had been many months since he'd indulged in the waters of female company. He shoved both thirsts fiercely aside, disgusted with himself, and focused on her. His Pepper. Fiery and loyal — well, he hoped still loyal — and deserving of every ounce of respect and gentlemanliness and attentiveness that he could muster.

"That night at the gala, like you said," she clarified. "And before that, the Jericho demonstration." When he started to protest, she smiled, waving a hand. "Oh, I know, I know, neither of them was exactly your fault — I'm teasing you!" she informed him fondly, as if she hadn't been holding a grudge over it, hadn't reminded him of his faux pas when he'd hinted at the idea of her being his girlfriend just a little over an hour ago. And, to an outsider's eye, he supposed Pepper would seem to be just teasing him. But Tony could see the hairline fissures in her composure, the slight tremor in her grin. He could remember how red-rimmed her eyes had been when he'd come back home finally, or how, echoing his own words to her, she had told him that he was all she had. He realised that, in getting his literal heart broken, he'd broken her metaphorical one as well. Okay, so maybe she wasn't his girlfriend, but in many respects, at least from his point of view, she was far closer to him than any woman he had actually slept with. Whatever it was he and Pepper had, his potential loss had obviously frightened her, maybe even as much as ... as much as almost losing her last night had scared him. Understanding sat like lead weight in his stomach.

No. An iron weight.

"In fact, I sent you there in the first place, right?" she continued, fissures appearing in her voice now too, albeit nearly imperceptibly. "Practically shoved you out the door, even." He remembered complaining to her, jokingly, that she was rushing him, accusing her of having plans. "And then you ..." Her face fell finally, and his stomach dropped with it.

"And then I disappeared. For months," Tony quietly finished for her. It hadn't even occurred to him until this moment that he'd gone missing on her birthday. Some present he'd given her. "Pepper, you weren't the one who'd insisted on me doing the demonstration out there!" He wondered if he's ever spoken to her this way before: earnestly. It felt as foreign on his tongue as Abu speaking Dari had been in his ears. "I pay you to make sure I meet my obligations — you were doing your job! Obie—"

He hadn't addressed what had happened out loud yet. Did he think that not talking about it somehow made what happened not real? That if he just ignored it, then the man who had been a second father to him hadn't really tried to kill him — twice — or nearly killed Pepper? That it would mean Obadiah hadn't nearly killed that family in the SUV last night as well, nor sold weapons behind his back and, consequently, killed Yinsen's family?

That it would mean Tony hadn't really been the one to kill Obadiah in turn, even if he'd used Pepper's hand to flip the switches?

That same hand on Tony's shoulder made him jump; Pepper had come to sit next to him when he'd been too self-absorbed to notice. With a sharp intake of air, he discovered he'd been holding his breath, as if time has stopped when he'd stopped speaking. His breath shuddered as he let it out slowly now, hands trembling as he lowered his head into them, pressing his palms hard into his eyes as, if they could stop the tears he felt stinging them now from forming in the first place.

"God, I killed him, Pepper," Tony croaked.

Her hand, which had been moving in soothing circles across his back, paused a moment, then pushed on the front of his shoulder, swiveling him. Her other hand grabbed his far shoulder, forcing his body to face her fully, even if his face refused.

"Don't say that!" she admonished, more fiercely than she'd ever chastised him before. "That bastard tried to kill you, Tony! I saw—" She stopped. It was her turn to look away, hands letting go of Tony as if she'd touched a live wire.

He supposed that, tense as he was, crackling with electric anxiety, that wasn't an unfair assessment.

"What did you see, Pepper?" he asked softly, brow furrowed. He searched her face even as her own eyes seemed to be searching the floor, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if she were struggling to keep a secret between her palms. He lay his hand over both of hers, and they opened under his touch like a blossom, the fingers of her right hand intertwining with his own. He could swear he felt a jolt of current spark between them then, but he didn't — wouldn't — let go. She, in turn, held his hand tightly, as though he might disappear again if she didn't anchor him firmly. And maybe she was right.

"I-I saw a video of you being held hostage," she said in a whisper, tears falling freely as she either failed to keep them at bay or gave up trying. "I used the translator on it. Obie—Obadiah had you abducted — paid them to ...."

He nodded, numb; Obadiah had already told him as much. He wished now that he hadn't sent Pepper to get information; she would have been spared that much horror, at least.

As he reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek, he discovered that crying was like yawning: contagious. He could feel his own misery making a warm, wet track down his skin. She offered him a sad smile and leaned forward, stealing the salt from his face with soft lips. When she leaned back again, the sudden cold made him shiver; when she then cupped his cheek with her hand, he leaned into her touch, like a leaf to the sun. Her thumb brushed against his face, and the gesture seemed to remove the more subtle armour he always wore; if there was anyone in the world he could feel safe letting his guard down around, it was her. He crumpled then, like an aluminum can under a boot, doubling over under the weight of too much change dumped on him, by others and by himself, all at once. He was vaguely aware of her arms around him, rocking him gently, her small hands still stroking his back soothingly as a warm rain of her tears soaked into his hair. Was she crying for him? Or because of him? His own pain, physical and the kinds made of fear and sadness and loneliness, burst forth from him. Not just in a flood from his eyes, but in ragged breaths forced through a throat choked and knotted with the words he couldn't say — words he didn't even know. The flood raged on until he unintentionally traded Pepper's embrace with that of the dark nothing he'd become all too familiar with of late.

PPPPPP
Pepper was happy to note that Tony seemed much better when they got out of the car, no longer seeming so tired, so weak, so fragile. She thought maybe an evening of quiet with his friend Rhodey would do him good — she didn't think he should be alone right now. Unfortunately, the government wasn't so cooperative, calling Rhodey away. Pepper felt sorry for Rhodey, but was relieved that they hadn't called Tony yet. Perhaps someone, somewhere, had the sense to realise it was bad form to yell at a man who'd gone into cardiac arrest the night before. Rhodey gave her an encouraging smile before he left.

And then she and Tony were alone.

He didn't seem quite so healthy as he'd been a moment ago, as if it had all been yet another suit that he'd discarded as soon as Rhodey had departed. Well, two could play at that game. In fact, she had to — how could she keep him together if she fell apart herself? She decided that the best way for her to maintain her own iron composure was to feed the anger she'd felt at the press conference, restoring the balance of it in relation to how much she cared for the maddeningly frustrating man in front of her. The stalemate between the two emotions produced something she was fairly sure mimicked cold indifference.

It took him a long time to meet her eyes.

That was fine with her; the less he looked her way, the less chance there was of her composure crumbling under scrutiny.

When he did finally face her, Tony had the grace to look sheepish, at least, but she just knew he was going to start making excuses.

"I'm sorry." That was it? No glib story blaming his lack of judgment that afternoon on low blood sugar or ... well, or on nearly dying the night before?

"For what?" she asked, and it was something of a miracle that she sounded so calm; she felt like someone else was speaking through her. If she could channel whomever it was for the rest of the night, they might actually get through this ....

"For a lot of things," Tony began, seeming hesitant. "For abandoning you at the gala, for one." He sounded sincere, and she felt the icy veneer she was trying so hard to maintain melt a little. "I swear I hadn't meant to leave you; it's just that I—"

"That's becoming a habit with you, you know," she cut him off. If he wasn't going to be glib, then she would have to be, because that was how they did things, the two of them — they bantered and teased. She needed that familiarity, or she would go to pieces and then they'd both be in trouble.

"Swearing?" he asked, his voice small and cracking as he slumped back against the couch.

She ignored the stab of pity, resisted the urge to comfort him; babying him would only encourage him to fall apart — and take her with him. "The leaving thing," she elaborated with false casualness, crossing her legs and trying to get into Executive Assistant-mode.

He didn't make it any easier, looking at her the way he was now. He had looked at her just like that when she was in her backless birthday present, and it had nearly undone her.

At the gala. Right. Stay on target, Virgina. "That night at the gala, like you said. And before that, the Jericho demonstration," she clarified, pouncing fiercely back onto her train of thought. When he started to protest, a smile broke through her own armour, surfacing as she waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I know, I know, neither of them was exactly your fault — I'm teasing you!" she informed him, unable to keep the fondness from her voice.

And she did know that he hadn't left her intentionally, even while she was still a bit hurt over having turned out to be so forgettable. But that reporter had given Tony a very good reason to be distracted: lives in danger because of weapons he had made. And then Obadiah had dropped the bombshell that he was the one behind the injunction against Tony. No, she couldn't fault him for forgetting her when it seemed that the world was falling down around him.

Now, if he'd left that night to be with that reporter, Everhart, again, that would have been a very different story.

Instead, Pepper knew all too well that Tony had gone home to get the damn suit on and play superhero — and then had nearly gotten himself shot out of the sky by his own countrymen! Even while part of her marveled at his bravery, was pleased at his sense of responsibility and proud of the fact that he'd saved innocent lives that day, her stomach gave a sickly turn at the memory of finding him in the lab, robot arms trying to get him out of the battered suit like sardines out of a tin. Her stomach did another little flip as she considered the fact that, had things turned out just a little differently, that night at the gala could have ended up being the very last time she'd ever seen him.

Such thoughts were not helping her maintain her composure — nor did her next realisation, about the day she'd badgered him to get on the plane to Afghanistan .... "In fact, I sent you there in the first place, right? Practically shoved you out the door, even. And then you ..." She could feel her mask cracking. That day, her birthday could have been the last time she'd ever seen him too. For a a long while, she'd thought for sure that it had been.

"And then I disappeared. For months," Tony finished, his voice filled with understanding and apology, tempting her to ask who he was and what he'd done with the real Tony Stark. "Pepper, you weren't the one who insisted on doing the demonstration out there!" he told her earnestly, no trace of blame in his eyes. It didn't really alleviate her own guilt, although she noted with no small surprise that the earnestness suited him somehow. She never would have guessed. "I pay you to make sure I meet my obligations — you were doing your job! You couldn't have known what would happen! Obie—"

Seeing the sudden, stricken look in Tony's eyes, Pepper realised that the full scope of the past few months — the lies Obadiah had told, and what he had tried to do — hadn't really had time to sink in yet for him. Not for either of them, really — she was still in shock herself. She hadn't known the man nearly as long, but she'd been fond of Stane, who was like a second father to Tony; she could only imagine what it was like to be betrayed by a parent. Her heart broke for Tony, the last vestiges of her anger draining away. She could no longer resist the urge to comfort him, couldn't watch him sit there alone, in pain. She came to sit beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his near-catatonic state.

She hadn't felt so ill-at-ease in handling him since he'd insisted she help him replace his arc reactor, but she managed to keep her hand on him now, moving her fingers in soothing circles on his back. He lowered his face into his hands, pressing his palms to his eyes, and told her, brokenly, "God, I killed him, Pepper."

Anger flared in her again, and she wasn't really sure who she was more furious with, Obadiah or Tony. She tried to get hom to face her, swiveling him by the shoulders, only belatedly realising that she might have hurt him. He dint cry out, though.. She wasn't sure he could even notice pain, in his current state.

"Don't say that!" she admonished more harshly than she'd meant to, wincing inwardly. "That bastard tried to kill you, Tony! I saw—" She stopped, jerking her hands away, feeling much like she imagined Tony had felt just a moment ago; she hadn't had time to even think about the video. Come to think of it, did Tony even know about that? About how Obadiah had not only tried to Tony's company out from under him, and tried to kill him over the arc reactor, but had actually paid to have him assassinated? That what had happened to Tony in Afghanistan had happened because Obadiah had made it happen? She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes, wanting to shield him from yet another awful truth if she could. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap, holding desperately on to the last thread of her composure.

"What did you see, Pepper?" he asked softly.

He lay his hand over both of hers, and she found herself relaxing under his touch, her fingers intertwining with his almost without thought, the most natural thing in the world. She gripped his hand tightly, not wanting to let go — maybe ever again. She wished he hadn't asked such a direct question, though. She'd never be able to lie to him — they both knew that that fact was a big part of why he'd made her his personal assistant in the first place.

"I-I saw the video of you being held hostage," she confessed in a whisper, the dam finally breaking, tears flowing like Niagara. "I used the translator on it. Obie—Obadiah had you abducted — paid them to ..." She couldn't lie, but the words wouldn't come now, either. How could she speak such a horrible truth?

He nodded; she could see the movement out of the corner of her eye, and it drew her attention back to his face. She was shocked by what she found there: she'd never seen Tony cry before. Even when she made the original mini-arc reactor into that trophy, with the little plaque that declared it proof that he had a heart, she hadn't believed he'd had it in him to actually cry. What is it about a crying boy that always gets me? She offered him a sad smile and leaned forward, drawn to his tears as shrapnel was to an arc reactor. She brushed her lips against his cheek, tasting the salt before she'd even had time to think about what she was doing.

When she pulled away, she found him looking at her the way she'd always wanted him to — even when she didn't know it. She was surprised to find that it was similar to the way he looked at her every day, although she'd never thought about it before: he looked at her with need. Not in a lustful way (though there was a hint of that now); he'd needed her help, always. The look said she was important — vital — to his existence. And he'd told her as much, hadn't he? When she'd told him to get someone else to help him replace the arc reactor, and he'd said there was no one else? Hell, she'd said it, when she'd pointed out that he didn't even know his own social security number. And now she better understood why she'd instinctually laughed him off when he'd hinted at the notion of her becoming his girlfriend: she was afraid he'd make her trade it, trade being the one he needed for being the one he used. She'd rather get his coffee and be with him every day than be tangled in his sheets for just a night or two. She already had what she wanted most from him, or so she'd thought. Looking in his eyes now, she saw she'd underestimated him; in offering love, he was trying to offer her more than what she got from him every day, not less.

But she had to offer something too. His heart was already so damaged, physically and metaphorically — could she share hers with him, so to speak? Would he even let her? She realised that, in order to find out, she would have to be the one who reached out — physically as much as metaphorically — past the armour. Not just his, but her own.

She cupped his face with her hand, discovering that she craved the contact as much as he seemed to as he leaned into her hand. She brushed her thumb against his cheek — and he shattered under her touch, face screwed up with grief as he doubled over, sobbing. She gathered the pieces of him into her arms, even as she felt herself breaking. Maybe this was what he really needed anyway: not for someone to be strong for him, but rather to be with someone who was broken too, who could understand what he was feeling and help him understand it himself. A grief shared is a grief lessened — she supposed it was a cliché because it was true. Her hands trembled as she rubbed his back, her tears falling silently into his hair as she cradled him, rocking him gently. Each sob that tore through his throat also tore through her heart.

Even while she wished she could take away his pain, though, she enjoyed the feel of him, reveled in the prolonged and intimate contact — and felt all the worse for her pleasure. Now her anger was aimed at herself. But she couldn't let him go, couldn't punish herself without punishing him, too.

Before long, his breathing had changed, his soft sobs fading into nothing. She did let go then, leaning him gently against the couch, and found that he was sleeping. Grief had led him to rest — she refused to let herself think she might have had a hand in bringing him peace. Not because she didn't believe it, but because it sickened her to think of deriving satisfaction from his pain, like the sort of profiteer that bitch Everhart had accused him of being.

Pepper found herself also afraid of having him in her arms in happier times, when he wouldn't be there because he needed her so much as because he wanted her. She realised then why exactly she'd never entertained the thought of him wanting her before: he was like a kid with a toy with the things he wanted — he stopped wanting things once he had them.

Well, he usually did. Watching him sleep, his brow marred by pain and worries that few in the world even knew he had, she reminded herself again that he'd changed. Before Afghanistan, a new woman could be found stumbling out of his room at least once a week; Pepper hadn't found a single new face at his abode since his return. Not even a familiar one, for that matter. It seemed warfare wasn't the only arena in his life which reflected his change of heart.

She smiled fondly as she settled him more comfortably on the couch, undoing his tie and taking off his shoes. It wasn't the first time she'd done this, not by a long-shot; she was always finding her boss sprawled unconscious on the couch in his lab as he waited for simulations to run, or here in the living room, surrounded by papers filled with designs and notations. She kept a blanket in the coat closet for just such an occasion; she got it now, laying it over him. She wiped damp hair from his brow and kissed his temple; he smiled softly in his sleep, for just a moment. As she left his side, a sense of warm affection wrapped around her, like a blanket of her own.

Pepper was in Tony's place so frequently, she considered the TV room her office-away-from-office. At the moment, it had the added benefit of allowing her to keep an ear on Tony while she caught up on things that she would have had done yesterday, if only it had been a lot less exciting of a day. And Tony's proclamation was likely to make her busier than ever as they dealt with the reaction from people both within and outside of the company alike.

An hour later, though, she hadn't gotten much done. She felt awful — and not just because of the events of the evening prior. What was it about a "good cry" that made you feel like you'd been punched in the eyes? What was good about it? And now her stomach was rumbling. She wasn't sure if she should attribute her lightheadedness to the crying or her hunger.

Tossing her papers aside, she got up and ducked into the kitchen, figuring on fixing dinner. A quick search proved fruitless, save for some cheese and a few eggs in the fridge, and basket of bell peppers on the counter. Pursing her lips, she picked a bell pepper up thoughtfully, supposing that she could make a couple of omelets.

"You hungry?"

Pepper let out an embarrassing little yelp as she jumped, dropping the fruit on the floor. It rolled over to Happy's feet.

"Oh, sorry!" Happy apologised, picking the pepper up and dusting it off on his chauffer's coat. Not that it could have gotten very dirty, considering that Pepper wasn't sure Tony even knew that he had a kitchen, much less set foot in it.

"It's fine," she told him ruefully, accepting the spicy fruit back and eyeing it thoughtfully. "You know, I've always wondered which pepper he was thinking of when the boss gave me my nickname."

Happy stared at her blankly.

"You do know that my name's actually Virginia, right?"

"As in the state?" Happy asked. "I have a cousin named Dakota."

Fanning? Pepper wanted to ask, but bit her tongue.

"Happy's not my name either," Happy informed her.

Since Hogan was a sweetheart, really, she managed to keep the snark out of her voice as she told him, "I know, Harry."

He gaped at her.

"I sign your paychecks," she told him with a wink.

"Oh! Right!" he said, laughing. "Hey! I'm Harry and you're Ginny!"

"Well, she's Ginevra," Pepper corrected automatically, then blinked in surprise. "You've read Harry Potter?"

"Hasn't everyone? Well, except maybe Tony ...."

She grinned while inwardly wincing at herself for thinking so poorly of Hogan's intelligence. Truthfully, she didn't know him all that well, despite how often they saw each other. She reminded herself that, despite seeing her every day, Tony had been surprised at her appearance at the gala. It seemed you could see a person all the time and still not know them, could still make assumptions ....

"Thought you and the boss might be hungry — I was gonna go get some dinner ...." Hogan informed her.

"Yes! Happy, you're a lifesaver ...."

(To be continued ....)