[Iron Man drabbles]

[fahye]

Well, you know. 'Drabbles'. I've still got a couple of drabbles to complete but all of the Iron Man ones are finished, so I'm putting them in their own little post, all the better to bookmark with my brand spanking new del.icio.us tag for this movie, with which I am becoming a little bit obsessed in the fannish sense. That was a long sentence. Anyway. Onwards!



For agonistes -- Uncle Iroh as Tony Stark's substitute assistant when Pepper goes on vacation.

Tony's finger was hovering longingly over the speed-dial when the image popped into his head: Pepper, who was probably lounging on a beach wearing a tasteful bikini and enjoying the sun, having her holiday disturbed by the beeping of the Only For Emergencies, Real Emergencies, I Mean It Tony, And No, A Lack Of Pressed Shirts Does Not Constitute An Emergency cell phone. And all because her boss really, really wanted a cup of coffee.

With heroic effort, Tony shoved his phone into his back pocket. He kept the mental image, though; he figured she owed him that much. Bikini firmly envisaged, he turned back to the patiently smiling man.

"Fine, whatever. Jasmine," he said. "That was the one you made yesterday, right? The one that was slightly less horrific than all the others?"

The man's smile didn't flicker, but his eyebrows crept upwards. "I would have thought, sir, that a man with your experience would be a little less casual with a word like 'horrific'." And then, before Tony could quite quash the terrible feeling of juvenile guilt that this guy was so good at inspiring, he continued, "Jasmine? Excellent choice, sir. I'll go warm up the pot."

Tony glared at the man's retreating back. "This was not the plan," he complained. "Why did I have to hire someone even bossier than Potts?"

"He came highly recommended, sir," Jarvis said. "And he has kept your schedule impeccably."

"I want Potts," Tony muttered; if he was going to be treated like a five-year-old, he felt perfectly justified in acting like one. "When does she get back?"

"In five days." Jarvis paused. "You'll notice that this number has not changed from the previous three times I have provided it for you this morning, sir."

"Oh, go and run maintenance on the security system or something."

Iroh was frowning when he re-entered the room. "You are carrying a lot of tension in your shoulders."

Tony, mindful of the fact that he had to spend another five days with the man, bit back his first comment about the weight of the Iron Man suit and settled for some mild sarcasm.

"And what I really need is a nice cup of tea, right?"

"Actually," Iroh said, with the exact pitch of respectful reproach that Jarvis had mastered within the first two beta versions, "I was going to suggest a massage. I am highly proficient in several forms of therapeutic chakra manipulation."

Tony eyed him suspiciously. "Now you're going to tell me that you could also break my neck with two knuckles or something."

Iroh set down the tea, shrugged, and kept smiling.

What the hell, Tony thought. "Yeah, okay," he said, wriggled out of his shirt, and threw himself onto the nearest couch.

"Relax, sir," Iroh said in a voice like quiet, late-night, soporific jazz. "Imagine your troubles flowing through your skin and into a gentle river."

Tony gave that a shot, but the bikini got in the way -- river, beach, practically the same idea, right?

Iroh put his hands carefully against the skin of Tony's upper back, probed around for a moment, and then dug in all at once with what seemed like four hands' worth of fingertips.

"Gnnnnnn," Tony said, and melted into the cushions.



For setissma -- Tony/Pepper (which follows on from the above)

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.



For tahira_saki -- Rhodey and Jarvis

"Mr Stark is in Papua New Guinea," Jarvis says in that voice that reminds him of glass: thin, polished skyscraper panes tinted with privacy. "He should be back within the hour."

All things considered, Rhodes quite likes Jarvis; it's good to know that Tony has someone to talk to in the midst of his creative trances. Between the AI and Pepper, there's no chance that Tony will slip into his student habits of developing vitamin deficiencies and severe sleep deprivation in the name of perfecting a new design. (Although Rhodes has noticed that since -- well, since, you know -- Tony has been different about food, more appreciative, both in extravagant and subtle ways.)

But Rhodes stills gets a bit creeped out by the fact that the house has a personality. It's all very well that the lights turn on when he steps into the bathroom, and clean hand towels slide out from a hidden drawer, but when you get right down to it, it still means that someone is watching him piss.

And that's just not cool.

"Are you in contact with Tony? Right now?"

"I have been uploaded to the suit helmet," Jarvis says. "I am always in contact."

"Tell him his fridge is full of shitty beer."

A pause.

"Mr Stark has asked me to inform you that he's a little busy right now, and also that it is your fault for coming around so often and drinking all the good stuff."

Rhodes laughs and nabs a bottle of something that's mediocre, but at least cold. When he wanders out of the kitchen his eye is caught by something in the corner of one of Tony's workspaces, a hologram design of -- "Hey, new prototype?"

It blinks out of existence.

"Oh, come on." He also doesn't like never knowing where to look when he's talking. "Let me see."

"Apologies. That is a personal project of Mr Stark's. No visual access allowed."

"Come on." He takes a swig of the beer, locates an armchair, and tries not to think about the fact that he is wheedling an AI. "I'll -- I don't know, what do things like you want? -- I'll get Tony to design you a friend! Maybe one with Jessica Alba's voice. How's that."

"No visual access allowed."

"Yeah, I figured."

"Out of curiosity," says the glass-voice, after a moment, "did you actually think that would work?"

Rhodes grins, leans back in his chair, and props his boots up on one of Tony's obscenely expensive tables.

"Nah," he says. "I've always kind of thought you were gay."



For minna -- Martha Jones and Pepper Potts

"I can see what it says," Pepper said for the third time, "and it's a very nice replica of the invitation, yes, but I know the guest list inside-out and there is no Martha Jones on it, let alone a Martha Jones plus one."

The young woman pressed her lips together and shot a look at her companion. "Well?"

He shrugged, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and leaned forward. "S'funny, usually just showing the paper's enough. I don't suppose you know if you're psychically retardant? No?"

"Excuse me?" Pepper drew herself up, and was about to signal security to lead them outside when Tony appeared at her shoulder.

"Look, Potts, you promised me a dance and if you don't deliver soon then I will insist on it being the macarena. Oh. Is something wrong?" He slid effortlessly into friendly, professional concern, and the tall man with the untidy hair broke into a wide grin that made him look even more British.

"Look at that! Tony Stark himself! Pleasure to meet you, I'm the Doctor, and this is Martha Jones."

Martha lifted one hand in a slightly embarrassed wave, and Tony shook hands with the Doctor -- somehow, Pepper thought, the capital D was audible. When the handshake broke the two men stood looking at each other for a while, their postures almost mirror-images of insoucient charm, and Pepper realised that there was no way Tony would be turning these two away now. Sure enough --

"Potts," he said, waving two fingers carelessly. "I'd like some champagne."

Pepper knew exactly how this worked. She folded her hands in front of her. "Of course, sir," she said with her most graceful smile.

The Doctor's face settled into something bright and challenging. "Martha...?" He didn't sound too certain, though, and with good reason. Martha put her hands on her hips, displacing a couple of sequins.

"We're at a party. Being your maid once was quite enough -- I'm not about to go all Taming of the Shrew just because you've decided to get into a pissing contest. And yes. I'd like some champagne, thanks."

"Ah." He scratched his head. "Well, all right then. Two champagnes for us, please, Miss Potts."

"Certainly."

When Pepper returned with the drinks, Martha Jones gave her a look that very clearly said she considered her a traitor to the sisterhood, but Tony gave her a look that sparkled with mischief.

"You know," she murmured as she passed him his drink, "I should have left you standing here. Waiting. It would have served you right."

Tony slid his arm around her waist, pulled the empty tray from her hands and handed it to a passing waiter, and beamed at their gatecrashers. "Enjoy the party."

"Oh, we will. I love the macarena." The Doctor beamed back and the two of them melted into the crowd, and Tony laughed and tugged her closer.

"Very nice, Katarina -- what? Don't look so surprised, Potts, I'll have you know I sat through that whole play."

She raised an eyebrow. "Anything to help you win a pissing contest, Mr Stark."

"Hey." Tony released her and stepped to face her, his expression dropping from levity, his voice concerned. "You know I -- I don't think of you as -- you know what I'm saying, right?" His hand rested gently on her upper arm, and they were surrounded by beautiful people saying fascinating things, and Tony was looking at her like they were alone on that desert island. "All that lord and master bullshit, you know --"

"I know." She smiled and reached up to adjust the crease of his collar. "And I believe you'll be paying me overtime, this being a Saturday night."

"You know, I really should hire a personal assistant less demanding than you, Potts."

"You could hire fifty," she said, and let her hands rest on his chest, her index finger just brushing the edge of metal under his shirt. "You'd still be worse off."

Tony laughed and lifted his free hand to squeeze one of hers, and then the mischief flew back all at once, the familiar I've-had-a-great-idea glow suffusing his face. Pepper's heart sank.

"No, Tony," she pleaded, "it’s been a nice evening, don't, don't say it --"

He ignored her. He grinned. "Kiss me, Kate!"

Pepper smiled sweetly and upended his champagne onto his shoes.