When Pepper walks into the arrivals lounge she has to bite her lip to keep from grinning like an idiot, because Tony is wearing an enormous pair of sunglasses and holding a sign that says POTTS. There are two exclamation marks after the S.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you how to punctuate?" she says, when she reaches him.
Tony grins and takes off the sunglasses. "Nope. Never. You're sunburnt, Potts." She smiles. She doesn't hug him; they don't hug. But she smiles, and Tony makes a grab for her luggage, clearly enjoying his little act. "Car's outside. Come on. You can tell me all about how much you missed me."
"I read six books," Pepper says. "There were cocktails and sleeping in and several very attractive waiters."
"And a creative combination of all of the above, I suppose," Tony snips, and his forehead does something petulant, and Pepper smiles and lies --
"So you see, I didn't miss you at all."
Tony is sulkily quiet during the drive home, and Pepper mentally reviews his schedule for the next couple of weeks. Half an hour later she's halfway through physically reviewing it, admiring the neat efforts of the man who was her substitute, when Tony drags her into the kitchen and demands that she make him a cup of coffee. He seems uncharacteristically urgent about it, and lets out a blissful sigh when he takes the first sip.
"Jasmine my ass," he murmurs. "No substitute. Oh my god. Yes. Coffee."
"Will that be all, Mr Stark?" She's amused despite herself, and is about to leave when Tony sets down the mug and shakes his head, one arm outstretched.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Potts."
They don't hug but now they are, and Pepper doesn't have time to think or prepare or anything and her heart stutters for a moment like a sixteen-year-old being taken to prom. But then she remembers following the news every evening on her hotel room's TV and reading the papers in the morning, hearing Tony's most urbane voice on the radio describing war and devastation and corruption and all the things he has to see before he can fight them; she remembers how close she came to picking up the emergency cell phone and calling him; she feels the slight tremor in Tony's coffee-warm hands before he steadies them on her lower back.
"Okay," she murmurs, and slips her arms around him, "okay," and she means it's and we're and a lot of other things that she doesn't yet trust herself to voice.
this follows on from the one above
"Didn't anyone ever teach you how to punctuate?" she says, when she reaches him.
Tony grins and takes off the sunglasses. "Nope. Never. You're sunburnt, Potts." She smiles. She doesn't hug him; they don't hug. But she smiles, and Tony makes a grab for her luggage, clearly enjoying his little act. "Car's outside. Come on. You can tell me all about how much you missed me."
"I read six books," Pepper says. "There were cocktails and sleeping in and several very attractive waiters."
"And a creative combination of all of the above, I suppose," Tony snips, and his forehead does something petulant, and Pepper smiles and lies --
"So you see, I didn't miss you at all."
Tony is sulkily quiet during the drive home, and Pepper mentally reviews his schedule for the next couple of weeks. Half an hour later she's halfway through physically reviewing it, admiring the neat efforts of the man who was her substitute, when Tony drags her into the kitchen and demands that she make him a cup of coffee. He seems uncharacteristically urgent about it, and lets out a blissful sigh when he takes the first sip.
"Jasmine my ass," he murmurs. "No substitute. Oh my god. Yes. Coffee."
"Will that be all, Mr Stark?" She's amused despite herself, and is about to leave when Tony sets down the mug and shakes his head, one arm outstretched.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Potts."
They don't hug but now they are, and Pepper doesn't have time to think or prepare or anything and her heart stutters for a moment like a sixteen-year-old being taken to prom. But then she remembers following the news every evening on her hotel room's TV and reading the papers in the morning, hearing Tony's most urbane voice on the radio describing war and devastation and corruption and all the things he has to see before he can fight them; she remembers how close she came to picking up the emergency cell phone and calling him; she feels the slight tremor in Tony's coffee-warm hands before he steadies them on her lower back.
"Okay," she murmurs, and slips her arms around him, "okay," and she means it's and we're and a lot of other things that she doesn't yet trust herself to voice.