The punchline is that Tony knew what Pepper was all along. No joke, he had it figured out.
The moment he clocked that Theory blazer and the fishtail braid, his first thought? "Yep, littlest little the world's ever seen." But, of course, it's not about appearances, right? It's what's in the file she handed over—straight-faced, all business—and boom, there it is. Hah, called it. Baseline. Baseline? Now hold on a damn second—that's something he thought too, by the way—what? Who cleared this woman? Does he have a nose that can sniff out the truth better than a two-day psych eval? Seriously? They were just thrown off by her height—yeah, she's got long legs, but is that it? Did they get so intimidated that they slapped a stamp on her and shoved her into the "common folk" category?
Absurd, irresponsible—honestly, borderline tragic. What he could actually do—being the paragon of... responsibility in—yeah, no, he'd take care of her. Naturally, in his own way, because that's what being a caregiver is all about. He'd keep her close, hire her, and then peel back the layers one by one. She'd be flawless—quiet, organized, soft-spoken. He sized her up as somewhere in the eight-to-ten range, no question—definitely not younger. She had routine, and consistency.
He mulled over all this for, what, two weeks? But Pepper turned out to be more... bossy, not shy in the slightest, and honestly, a bit nosy. Tony slipped from his boss role, letting her take charge most of the time—and that messed with him. The dynamic didn't exactly pop, and he started to think her files were spot-on. Honestly, he felt a little bad—at some point, he really did—because it was obvious Pepper needed some attention. Not help—not exactly help. More like a lot of attention.
She didn't need people telling her what to do—she had it all down. Perfect routine: skincare, yoga, Pilates, and so on, with manicured nails. Every night by ten, she'd already ghosted to bed. Made her own lunch. When they went out, he'd pretend not to notice her ordering from the kid's meal—all things that came with a toy.
For a niece, she'd claim, but she had no siblings. She mentioned it to Tony once, and he filed that away for future reference. Smart? Definitely. A good liar? Pushing it. So yeah, for a while, he felt bad because Pepper wasn't his match.
She isn't. Isn't. His match.
Perfect match: docile and predictable. Those words flash behind his eyelids every time she snaps at him with that sharp tongue.
Baseline. Could it be right? Was he... wrong?
The odds of a test going wrong are definitely higher than him messing up a basic arithmetic, c'mon. Seriously, it's like a bad joke.
He got himself a little to watch his every move, 24/7.
The whole "Pepper" situation came about because Tony's mind never shuts off—he'd constantly worry, especially when she'd head out unprotected, convinced she'd get kidnapped and sold. Even though she wasn't his ideal match, he cared about Pepper in a way he cared about no one else. She'd go out to exercise, and he'd make her flaunt that lipstick-sized pepper spray she kept in her fanny pack. She already knew the drill, he'd just say, "Pepper." It stuck. He couldn't say he enjoyed hearing Obadiah or Rhodey call her that.
He shortened it to Pep, then Sweetie.
The dating rumors kicked off in under a year—good luck shutting those down, Tony, when Pepper fits the bill of the exact type of woman he's seen with on weekends, and weekdays too. That thought didn't sit well with Tony.
Truth is, people were losing it. They didn't have a clue—did they? Silly Pepper, pulling the wool over everyone's eyes—playing grown-up.
So, yeah, he'd gotten used to press by now. Let people talk; he didn't care. He'd buy her things—all kinds of stuff, from designer dresses to ridiculously soft mattresses. He kept it low-key, though, because if she thought she was fooling him, he didn't want to burst her bubble. Once, in a fit of impulse, he ordered a bunch of teddy bears online. When she walked into the living room of his Malibu DreamHouse after coming from her apartment one morning, he swore her eyes lit up for a second before she slapped on a scowl. "What's that?" she asked.
He just flicked his fingers in the air. "Lost a bet."
It was stupid—he started to think he was going insane over it. Pepper never cracked, never showed a real sign, and she didn't have a caregiver, because how could she? She was with him all the time.
And then, bam, he's kidnapped, that's right. He... he didn't want to admit at first, but out of everything—sunlight, clean sheets—what he missed most was Pepper's face.
Crazy, he knew Pepper could take care of herself, but a part of him was sick thinking about how others wouldn't see her for who she really was. He couldn't shake the thought that people would hurt her, break her heart. Poor thing, poor baby girl. She didn't do all those things just because she was a control freak—she wanted Tony to glance her way once in a while and tell her she'd done a good job. That's all, just some validation. Sometimes, that's all she needed. She'd flash that small, sheepish smile, and the world would start spinning right again.
Tony was such a jerk. Who cares about being the right match? Who cares if she's a little difficult—takes one to know one.
And he started having nightmares, even before he escaped. Nightmares after the rescue, nightmares of her tear-streaked face when she first saw him coming back, and he started screwing everything up—everything. He drank, he played the superhero, and Pepper got scared, didn't want to look him in the eye anymore—because Tony is so fucked up.
He missed her—Pep. But he thought, and still thinks, that part of it was the right thing to do, and her walking away was a consequence. Maybe he's been completely wrong all along—maybe the baseline was spot-on—because two months after Pepper quits her job and quits him, she's dating someone.
Pepper, his Pep, dating a guy.
It all feels... wrong. Just wrong.
He saw her at a charity event.
Last time he saw her before that, her hair was still strawberry-blonde. But it changed. She dyed it to a lighter tone. He said, "Baby, you look gorgeous."
She replied, looking a little prim but still very adorable, "Thank you," with a glass of what looked like liquor in her hand—God, Tony wanted to snatch it away from her. "I—um, good to see you, Mr. Stark."
"Since when do you make an entrance at parties after ten, young lady?" Tony is three years older—that's not the point. Pepper hesitated, fiddling with the strap of her lilac dress. Tony couldn't help himself; he grabbed the glass from her hand and took a sip. "I'll take that. Come with me—I'll get you something more appropriate."
Her eyes widened. "No," she decided on the spot—and Tony figured he was crossing some line, maybe he was. She glanced around, as if looking for someone, like a lost little girl. "That would be rude; I have company."
Tony had seen it himself. The company.
He'd camped out, standing and chatting with old colleagues until three? Four in the morning? He saw Pepper fall asleep on the couch, mouth half open—it was torture to watch her like that, so small, not even able to stay upright. Then Aldrich Killian showed up, scooping her into his arms around four-thirty, casually saying goodbye to his friends while cradling her as if she belonged there. In his arms, no less. Like Tony wasn't even—like her damn parent. A quick search turned up: Dom. They probably have some sort of arrangement. Which, whatever, made sense, but he wasn't good enough for Pepper. Not a match, and honestly, kind of... weird.
But Tony knew he'd messed up, big time, and that he had no right to meddle in Pepper's life. Shouldn't, couldn't. Obadiah was out of the picture, but his words still echoed in Tony's head. He'd been dead set—determined to be a good father, nothing like Howard. He knew that. But the reality? He had no one, no expectations, just ticking clocks. He wanted to hit the brakes, slow down, and—be someone to someone.
So he thought about it—adoption. Sure, it was a slow process, and yeah, complicated. Maybe he was rushing it, but he filed the papers, called in a few favors, and had someone else handle the heavy lifting. All he had to do was show up for the interviews, and meet—
"I'm Peter, sir," the kid said, adjusting his glasses. "You're Iron Man."
"Oh, that I am." Shit, the kid was adorable. Tony wanted to take him home right away and build him a— "So, what do you like, Peter?"
"I don't know,"
Tony thought—seriously, what kind of question was that?
But the kid kept going, "I like blocks, and Legos, and reading, and—" on and on. Sold. Tony waited two months for him to move in and went all out—he took the biggest room in the mansion, hired someone to deck it out, and made sure it was perfect for a six-year-old.
He kept thinking—what would Pepper want in her room?
Peter is hilarious, a genius, kind, and gentle—everything Tony wished he were and none of the traits he couldn't stand. A great kid, really. Tony was more than happy to take him everywhere and punch paparazzi who thought it was funny to shove cameras in little kids' faces. They made a fantastic duo, and Tony absolutely fell in love with being a role model.
He sobered up and started drawing bubble baths—how many kids could say they'd flown with their... dad in a suit? They had tough days too, and every time Peter cried, Tony felt like he'd failed miserably. But from the start, he knew it wasn't going to be all smiles. The first time Peter called Tony "Dad" was just three months later, and Tony let him. He tried not to make a big deal out of it because Peter was so shy and he wanted him to understand that this was it—this was exactly how Tony wanted things to be.
Maybe he should've put in more effort with Pepper, maybe he should've asked her if there were lies in her file. Damn, he misses her so much—her eyes, her scowls, those little silly giggles whenever Tony cracked a dad joke.
The purpose of his life, where Tony finally found meaning—naturally, the nightmare started. There he was, putting sunscreen on Peter's forehead so the kid could dive into the pool with floaties, when he looked up and saw, for the first time ever, Fury standing there and saying, "We need to talk."
So it turned out Aldrich Killian was a maniac with a vendetta who'd been gunning for Tony for what seemed like forever. And, just to add insult to injury, he had Pepper. Tony's Pepper. And the bastard wanted everything Tony had. Honestly, Tony would've handed it all over—every suit, every dime, everything. He'd have given it up without a second thought. Not Peter, never Peter, but damn it, if it came down to his own soul—take it all. Killian didn't need to go that far. He didn't have to hurt Pep. Precious Pep, his sweetheart, his little girl.
Killian traumatized her, and Tony knew it was all his fault. Tony had been so dumb—so dumb. Stupid, selfish. And the damage was done, all done, and he wanted to kill Killian because, honestly—the antidote hadn't worked on Pepper three times, three tries, and he's sick of it, and that crap is still all over Pep.
"Do you think I'll live?" Pepper asks him, as he makes her drink another cocktail of medicine, feverish, lying on the bed in the room Tony insists they bring her to. Tony nods. He knows she will—he'll make sure of it, no matter what. "I don't want to die, Tony."
"You won't, baby," Tony reassures her.
"He said I had to do this," she whispers, her eyes fluttering shut. "He said I had to be perfect for people to like me."
"He's a sick man," Tony says through gritted teeth, his fingers gently brushing through her long, blond hair. "Everyone likes you."
Pepper lifts her face, wet with tears, and murmurs, "I wish you liked me."
Tony—what can he say to that? He knows he hasn't exactly been the best at showing it. "You're my girl, Pepper."
"I don't believe you."
Which is fair; she doesn't have to believe him—she feels betrayed, and how could he let her go with that evil man? Damn it, Tony wishes he could make her see that he'll regret not doing it differently for the rest of his life. "I'll take care of you, okay?"
Peter constantly slips his drawings under Pepper's door. Tony collects them, leaves them on her nightstand. In the middle of the night, FRIDAY notifies him that Pepper is crying. He rushes to her, finding her kicking off the blankets, her skin marked with streaks of fiery red, maps of torture. Tony suits up immediately, holding her close for twenty seconds until her temperature drops. She clings to him, sobbing, "No, no, it hurts. Hurts, daddy."
"I'm sorry, baby girl," he says, pulling her close. FRIDAY, already on it, lowers the temperature. "We're getting this out of you, I swear."
Pepper cries, kicks, and calls for Daddy for two more days until one of the antidotes finally starts to work. Tony sees some progress—so what if she needs a few diaper changes during the night? At least she's not burning up anymore. He doesn't care—he'll change as many diapers as it takes. As he's powdering her, she's fiddling with the button on her pajamas and quietly says, "You forgot about me."
"Never, Pep."
"Aldrich said so. You have a son now because you don't like me."
Oh, okay, Tony's gonna kill the son of a bitch. He sighs, tugging her pajama pants up. "That man... I thought you—" He stops, careful not to imply any of this was her fault, because it wasn't. "I thought he wasn't a bad guy, and I thought he'd be good for you. I was wrong. Peter's my son, but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you."
"He said you'd lie." She lowers her head. "Don't lie to me, Tony."
"Never, sweetie," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I would never."
He let Peter into Pepper's room to meet her the next day. Peter, being his adorable self, complimented her on looking pretty, and Tony hung back, watching as Pepper showed Peter how to fold his socks neatly to maximize drawer space. Tony later found himself lying in bed, tears streaming as he mulled over the therapist's confirmation—Pepper is—yes, a little. Not just a little—damn it, she’s way younger than he realized. It gnaws at him, thinking he didn’t do more for her. Wasn’t fast enough.
So, here's the thing—Tony can’t help but freak out. Pepper’s getting better, up and about in French buns and calf-length skirts, and Tony’s not sure he’s ready for her to just ignore everything and move on. She called him “daddy,” and that meant something, right? She couldn't just go home and forget about everything, could she? He sees her at the table, big bag slung over her shoulder and sunglasses on. “Sweetie, where are you off to?”
He sets down a cup of hot tea and three cookies from the box he ordered yesterday for her and Peter. She wrinkles her nose. “I figured I should get back to work now that I’m feeling better. My apartment... I need to go.”
“Nonsense, Pepper, you’re getting better, sure, but you still need your rest. I’d rather you stay here, where I can keep an eye on you,” he says, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. Pepper lowers her glasses to her nose and glances at him. “I was washing the dishes. Having two kids makes you do that at least twice a day.”
“You only have one son,” she says, standing up, and Tony is already walking around the kitchen counter. “Look, I’m not interested in your pity.”
“Pepper, wait, sweetheart—”
“No,” she protests, and he steps in front of her, determined. He would beg if he had to. “I don’t want to. I don’t need to. I’ve managed on my own all this time. And, and I was right here, the whole time. I was right here and you didn’t say a thing. You just watched me, studied me—like one of your projects. I saw it, you were analyzing me. I wasn’t good enough for you. You never even helped me with breakfast. I made you scrambled eggs. And I got you coffee all the time, even after bedtime. And now you… make pancakes for Peter? I think they’re delicious, but it’s not fair.”
“Do you want me to make you pancakes? I’ll make you a tower of them. Taller than you.”
She wipes a tear falling from behind her sunglasses. “I don’t want pancakes now,” she says, biting her trembling lip. Tony notices the subtle shift. She’s on the edge of tears. “I’m tired.”
Tony blinks back his own tears as he watches her start to crumble. “I know,” he says softly, extending his hands toward her. “Come on, let daddy warm you some milk. You need a nap, huh?”
She moves slowly but steadily toward him, and Tony catches her. He crouches down to remove her heels. “So tired, daddy,” she sobs. “Head hurts.”
“I’ll take care of it, baby girl,” he says with a sigh, rubbing circles on her back. “Gotcha covered.”