Some women wear sequins, and sing in the light;
Some women wear silk, and they cling to you all night.
Some women wear cotton—it gets the job done;
She wore taffeta.
(David Poe, Taffeta)
**
Tony Stark’s face slid into a rare look of concern as his girlfriend dragged another overstuffed garbage bag through the living room.
“Pep, you don’t have to take out the trash.”
“It’s not trash,” she announced, straightening up. “I’m going through my closets. It’s just past September.”
Tony smiled indulgently at his clockwork girl, who scheduled herself as strictly as she did him. She went through her wardrobe once a quarter deciding what to keep and what to give away.
“Did you have Nat and Peg by already?” It amused and pleased Tony to no end that Pepper, before donating her quarter’s cull, checked with Natasha and Peggy to see if there was anything they wanted. Peggy, being curvier, couldn’t always fit in Pepper’s things, but she usually asked for a few work appropriate capsule items. They did have the same shoe size. Natasha had a smaller foot, but was partial to cocktail dresses. She had once smiled sweetly and explained, “Mine keep getting blood on them.” Tony usually said his hellos, brought them a bottle of whiskey (no boxed wine for their girls, he was fond of bragging to his fellow Avengers, they played as hard as they worked) and left them to it, sitting in a pile of tasteful silks and sateens while they drank and giggled and tried things on; their friendship in the midst of their male-dominated team pleased him, especially in the case of Pepper, who had no super serums or powers and was brains, not brawn.
“Yeah. Nat made out like a bandit. You buy me too many dresses.”
“I like to see you in pretty things almost as much as I like to see you out of them,” Tony teased cheekily. “And let’s be fair, you usually choose them and just charge them to my account.”
Pepper softened, her face losing its mocking smile and her eyes warming. “I don’t give away the ones you pick out.”
Tony blinked; he hadn’t known that, and silly as it sounded he was flattered to learn it. Circling her, he slipped his arms around her from behind and touched a chaste kiss to her cheek.
“Love you. In pretty things and out of them.”
Pepper reached back to ruffle his hair. “Come on, let me finish, then we can order in dinner. How’s that sound?”
“Good,” he murmured, like a happy child, nuzzling at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Pepper bent slightly at the waist with his arms still around her, which did traitorous things to his libido, or at least it would have if the bag hadn’t torn; with a wordless exclamation Pepper grasped at it, trying and failing to stop clothes from flooding out.
“Oh, hell!” Pepper said in exasperation, and despite himself Tony almost laughed at his polished Pep sounding so cranky.
“Sorry, baby,” he apologized. “I should have let you do your thing.”
“No, it’s my own fault,” Pepper sighed. “I should have lifted from my knees. I’ll go get another bag.”
She wandered off to do that, running a hand through her strawberry hair. Tony knelt, beginning to gather the clothes that were bleeding from the torn bag. His movements were idle, absent, until his fingers brushed something that felt like the crossroads of textured and slippy, something that crinkled slightly beneath his hand. A frown line creased his brow as he pawed aside the torn plastic bag to see the dim gleam of the fabric, a clover green sheen that brought a memory back so forcefully that for a moment he thought that his arc reactor’s power had stuttered for a second.
“Oh, Pepper, not this one,” he called out in genuine dismay before realizing that he’d spoken aloud.
Pepper poked her head back into the room. He heard the rustle of the replacement garbage bag. “Which one?”
Tony had the clover green garment in his hands now, in his lap. His hands were spread upon it and they were transmitting a strange feeling to his brain, that they’d missed touching something they hadn’t touched in years, and only once at that. “Don’t give away this one,” he said more softly, looking up at her. “Keep just this one.”
Pepper wrinkled her nose. “That old thing? You didn’t buy me that one. I don’t even remember where I got it, actually. I’m surprised it lasted in the closet this long. It’s not vintage enough for Peggy, and Natasha would never have taken it because it’s so damn ugly. I must have shoved it in the back of the closet and forgotten about it.” A puzzled line of her own creasing her own forehead, she asked, “Why this one, Tony?”
Tony’s fingers tightened a little, the fabric sliding between them, and he allowed his face to relax into all the expressions he’d felt that night and hadn’t allowed her to see on his face.
**
(Some not so very special night, long in the rearview)
**
Watch her move, unforgiving and fierce, as she comes over here.
And I’d rather not know anyone new; I’d rather just go to bed with you.
**
Tony Stark loved a party.
In fairness, he was great at throwing them. He spared no expense of course, and the ballrooms were always packed. Tony didn’t delude himself into thinking they were there to see him as much as they were there for free food, endless booze and the chance to get their photos in the society pages—he was much too grown-up for that—but it was nice to pretend, and it was very nice to have the big rooms, usually so empty, alight and alive with music and laughter.
It was also important to Tony that he cut a dashing figure at these events, not simply for his cheerful reasoning that it was the better to convince a young socialite in a sparkling dress to spend the night in his bed for their own personal after-party, but for the chance that garnering praise and impressing people might make the ghostly voices of his father and everyone who’d ever compared them and found Tony lacking shut the fuck up for a while.
Look, Dad. All this. It’s mine. I kept what was yours and built what was mine alongside it, on top of it, made it shine and glow and would you please, just please be happy with that, would you please just let me be, let me be, Dad, I’m trying, I’m trying so hard—
“Sir?” Jarvis, his family’s faithful butler, who had done probably as much to raise Tony as ever Alfred Pennyworth had ever done for Bruce Wayne in the pulp comic pages Tony had loved as a child, was at his elbow.
Normally, Tony would have brushed any other interruption off in favor of continuing to flirt with Suki Chandler, the lithe, bronzed host of Evening Affair. Evening Affair remained one of the few tabloid television news programs that Tony hadn’t made a smooth appearance on before making a jackass of himself by scoring with the host, and given the vision of honeyed blonde goodness who hosted it, Tony deemed it worth sacrificing any future appearances on it after Chandler inevitably dumped him and began hating him.
But he loved Jarvis, respected him—Jarvis knew the real Tony. He let Jarvis take him aside, having a few things he wanted to discuss that would, in his mind, blow his image of the devil-may-care playboy.
“Lay it on me, Jarvis,” he said jovially, and the butler smiled, used to the flippancy of his charge.
“The champagne in the main ballroom is running low, sir. I have taken the liberty of asking the catering staff to replenish it. Wine and beer are still plentiful at all stations, but I shall keep an eye on them.”
“Excellent. Don’t feel like you can’t get out there and boogie if a lady catches your eye.” He winked at his old friend, then got a little more serious. “Did you put aside dishes for the catering staff and the bartenders?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“What about for yourself? Don’t forget that.”
“Done, sir, for us both.”
“Good. Don’t let ‘em leave without eating. If they’ve got to run, have it wrapped for them. Save a bit for us tomorrow so we can chill out and laugh at anyone making a drunken ass of themselves tonight, then call up the usual suspects and see who could use the rest.”
“I’ve reached out to two local shelters already, sir, and they said they shall be glad of the gift.”
“Great.” Tony clapped Jarvis on the shoulder. “Envelopes?”
“Stuffed and ready, sir, for the caterers, the bartenders and the band.”
“Terrific. Keep ‘em happy, they’re doing a good job. What else?”
“Mrs. Blumstead is insisting on bringing in her Corgi,” Jarvis sighed, “despite my best efforts to dissuade her.”
Tony waved a hand. “Ah, indulge her as long as she keeps it on a leash. She and her husband donate a lot to mom and dad’s foundation. Set her up at a far table and have someone bring a bowl of Perrier for the pup. Lucky for it it’s cute, the little shit.”
Jarvis almost smiled, although decorously caught himself.
“We ready for my speech? Damn it, I wish I’d thought to make a PowerPoint or something, I’m so bad at keeping my brain at the same speed as my mouth. And if I use the holoscreens everyone’s so damn impressed by the shiny that they don’t hear a word I’m saying.”
Jarvis did allow the smile then. “You have much to be proud of, sir. Including the holoscreens.”
Tony chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, Jarvis, if they’re impressed I want to keep them that way, but we’re trying to get them to donate to what’s on the screens. Guess they’ll just have to listen to my mouth falling down the stairs while we hope for the best.”
“You needn’t worry, sir,” Jarvis said. “Miss Potts anticipated you might need a less flashy visual aid. She remained at the office after hours to compile a presentation. She’s actually standing by to run it while you speak.”
“Pepper Potts? The new girl?” Tony’s brows shot up in undisguised surprise. “She did all that? When did she go home after work today?”
“I believe Miss Potts also anticipated that she might have to ready herself for the gala here,” Jarvis said, “and had brought her dress in a garment bag to the office this morning. I took the liberty of steaming it and allowing her to freshen up in some guest quarters.”
Tony blinked, surprised but not displeased. “She did all that? Kid might make it after all.” Clapping the butler on the shoulder once more, he said, “OK, buddy, it’s go time. Can you make sure there’s a fresh drink waiting for me when I’m through? Don’t tell anyone, but I hate this part.”
“The secret dies with me, sir, “ Jarvis said with his usual dry wit as tony began to wade through the crowd toward the podium that had been set up next to the band. “Knock them, as they say, dead. Your drink shall be waiting.”
“Get one for Potts, too,” Tony added, straightening his red tie, which matched the ruby cuff links that glittered at his wrists. “Kid’s earned herself one.”
At the sound of her name, Pepper Potts, who was waiting beside a screen she’d had brought in for the presentation she had set up for Tony’s speech, looked up.
“Ready when you are, Mr. Stark,” she said, “but if you call me ‘kid’ again, I’ll slip an embarrassing childhood photo of you into the next PowerPoint I make for you.” She looked breathless, possibly due to the adrenaline and nerves that came from standing up to her very rich new boss, and two spots of color that didn’t match the apricot blush she was wearing glowed on her cheekbones. She had a sweet, heartshaped face that only emphasized her youthful appearance. She looked about sixteen.
Tony couldn’t help but grin; this was something his other assistants had never done, which was interest him. “Joke’s on you, Potts. All of my childhood photos are embarrassing. Get me through this and stick around, and I’ll have Jarvis show you the one of me trick or treating as Captain America.”
“That doesn’t exist,” Potts said, but he thought he saw her hide a smile.
“On my parents’ graves. It does. I was five. Now, if you please, Ms. Potts,” he said, although his tone was nothing but friendly, “help me make the legacy of those graves proud?”
This time she did smile, right at him. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”
Flashing her a triple-A-bond smile of his own, Tony ascended to the podium. He had much experience with ascension.
**
Touch her and it sounds like footsteps in the snow.
Taffeta, tight and shiny and tiny as a girl can go.
Want to fit you like a glove; how can I get your love?
**
The presentation went better than it had any right to, and Tony had to give Potts credit—her presentation on the application of the foundation’s grants, complete with accurate figures to the end of the last quarter, was slick and excellent, and the visual aid saved him from what definitely would have been pockets of dead air while he searched for the next thing to say. When the waiters had begun clearing the appetizers and the dancing had resumed, he held out his hand to Potts, who gave it a confused look.
Smiling patiently, Tony boldly took her hand in his own, taking her through the motion of slapping him a low five.
Now she looked shocked. “Did...did you just high five me?”
“Low five, Potts,” he said cheerfully. “I believe in saving the high fives for the really, really big wins.”
Her brow crinkled in a way he was familiar with—the look everyone got when they absolutely did not know what to do with him. Initially surprised at her clapping back at him earlier, he was a bit disappointed that she’d backed down so quickly—
—until she revealed she hadn’t by saying, “I can’t wait to see what you consider a big win, since Mr. Armbruster just wrote an annual gift of two hundred grand, and if that only gets a low five I can’t wait to see my Christmas bonus.”
Tony had to stop himself from laughing out loud, but couldn’t keep the delight entirely off his face. “The sky’s the limit, Potts. You’ve already started to earn that bonus, anyway. Nice work on the PowerPoint. Don’t tell anyone, especially not Armbruster, but you kind of saved my ass with it tonight.”
She arched an auburn brow rather prettily, smirking. “Tony Stark thanking an assistant. Should I bronze that?”
Tony wasn’t ignorant of his own reputation in the typing pool; this didn’t faze him. “Join the boss man for a drink and tell me what the typing pool’s been saying about me this year.”
She impressed him again by saying, “Only if you’ll tell me which ones are true and which are false.”
He did allow himself to laugh this time. “Call me Tony and you have a deal.”
“Call me Pepper and we’ll shake on it,” she agreed, and they did. Her firm no-nonsense handshake further surprised and pleased him; Howard Stark had always stressed that handshakes, like voices, should be well modulated. She did not touch his hand lightly as though she were expecting him to turn the tables and kiss it, as many women he met did; she did not try to break three of his fingers to prove she could work with very powerful men, as some women he’d worked with did, and she did not bat her eyes, as they all did.
True to his word, Jarvis was ready with their drinks—Scotch for Tony, and a Gibson for Pepper; he wondered how Jarvis had known to get her such a specific drink, but imagined that his faithful friend, far more straightforward than him, had likely just asked. Pepper took it and thanked him, but waited for Tony before sipping. He didn’t make her wait long, clinking his glass against hers gently and saying, “To the first assistant who’s gone a month without crying or breaking anything.”
Pepper allowed her surprise to show on her face. “Get out of here.”
“He is serious, Ms. Potts,” Jarvis said mildly, then added, “well done on the presentation; well done indeed.”
Pepper gave Tony an incredulous look. “How many assistants have you made cry?” She asked.
Tony held up one hand and his Scotch in an I-mean-no-harm gesture. “I don’t do it on purpose. I’m just...I’m a lot to handle. I know that. And I sort of don’t know how to let them know they’re not failures for not being able to keep up with me, because literally nobody can. It’s not their fault, but every single one of them cites ‘high pressure’ for the reason they walk out.”
“Every single one?” Pepper was incredulous.
“Okay. My reputation precedes me and I earned that. Two of them quit so we could date, and then they cited ‘high pressure’ for the reason they dumped me.”
“And how many have you fired...or dumped?” Pepper asked dryly.
“Zero!” Tony insisted. “I can’t afford to do either! I’m running out of assistants and girlfriends.”
She was ready with her next question. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that you’re having this conversation with your assistant?”
“Why?” he said honestly. “If we hired you out of the typing pool then you’ve already heard the stories, and unless you’re living in a cave you probably read at least a few tabloid articles. I don’t have the luxury of a private life, and if you’re going to be my assistant you deserve to know all of it anyway so you can do your job. Right?”
Pepper thought it over, then gave him that look that was almost a smile. “That’s...not the answer I was expecting. It’s not even a bad one.”
“Good, because after a night of social butterflying I’m all out of lies. You are stuck with the truth.”
“Keep sticking with the truth, Mr. Stark, and we’ll get along better than I anticipated,” Pepper replied stoutly.
He liked that. “So you admit you were expecting to hate me and that I’d yell at you a lot.”
Pepper tilted her head, thinking on it. “Not exactly, but gossip is gossip and I need this job, so I was expecting to have to buckle down to deal with potential stress and unpleasantness to keep it. I’m sure there will be days where we’ll drive each other crazy, but...” she regarded him plainly for a moment. “I apologize for not allowing myself to see you as a person, initially.”
Okay, this was interesting, really interesting.
He clinked his glass against hers. “Forgiven, forgotten. Three more of these and I’ll forget that much faster.”
She looked hesitant for a moment, as if she weren’t sure she should speak on that, then apparently decided the risk was worth it, and said, “I advise, Mr. Stark, that you limit yourself to two. I haven’t, as you say, been living in a cave, and the tabloid reporter from the Sun-Times is here. It’s probably best if you don’t give him anything to chew on.”
Tony blinked in surprise, not just at her boldness but at her insight and the fact that she’d noticed the presence of the reporter when he himself hadn’t. “I’ll have to tighten up the security next year if that toad got in. Did we just send invitations to everyone?”
“No. His invitation was stolen from another guest,” Pepper reported promptly. “I overheard him by the punch bowl bragging about it—I’m too new for him to know exactly who I am, which is probably why he then went on to brag to me that he stole it. I can have him removed, if you like—I would have, but I had to set up the PowerPoint directly after.”
Again, Tony was impressed. “No need. Let the little weasel eat the hors d’ouerves. We’ll just gloat about not giving him any ammo.”
Pepper nodded at his glass. “In that case, it really is smartest to only have one more. Two at the absolute most.”
Tony gave her his best innocent face. “I think it’s a great idea, but who will force me to stick to that plan?” He grinned at her.
Pepper rolled her eyes. “The job description said executive assistant, not babysitter.”
“I’ll be good, since you’re letting me stay up way past my bedtime,” he said angelically. “You’re the best dressed babysitter in the room.”
Even as the words left his lips and she ducked her head almost shyly to look at her skirt, he realized she wasn’t, exactly. The dress she wore was, not to put to fine on a point on it, very ugly. It looked like it had run away from a junior high prom. He could almost hear the green taffeta crackle as she moved. Taffeta—not what most of the other women at his parties wore. A satin Alaia here, a gauzy Miu Miu there, a velvety Victor Costa across the dance floor—Tony had fond memories of his mother in a sweetheart-necklined victor costa, about to attend someone else’s gala on Howard Stark’s arm, how she’d spun gracefully with her toddler in her arms, saying he could have her first dance, while Howard beamed, and then she’d kissed Tony goodbye before leaving him to Jarvis, who would soothe the absence of their presence away with a good game of Alfred and Batman, then milk and cookies.
But Pepper wore taffeta. Not classic black or satiny navy or bold red or any of the “safe” colors, but a paler clover green that stood out in its brightness, the sheen of the fabric somehow louder. As he stealthily let his eyes dip to her side, he could see where one of the seams beneath the armhole had been restitched. He knew somehow she’d done it herself. The green taffeta had an a-line skirt, a straight-cut neckline and one wide strap, which was crowned with a fabric bow that could only be described as hideous. One side of her auburn hair was held back with a sparkling clip—not diamonds but rhinestones, and Tony could see it selling easily in a junk jewelry shop down in the fashion district for $15.99, no more. More rhinestones glittered on her earlobes, bouncing the light around the way only synthetic material could. The chain around her neck was sterling silver, and it didn’t sparkle but gleamed; there was another cheap-looking rhinestone dangling from it. Only the silver bangle bracelet around her wrist looked valuable; he guessed (incorrectly, he would discover later) that it was a family heirloom.
I need this job.
It occurred to him all at once that she really did. This was no spoiled socialite, no woman keeping a desk warm until her trust-fund jellybaby of a boyfriend proposed. This was a woman with goals and aspirations—this was a woman with shit to do. She had proved that, in his estimation, with her anticipating he wouldn’t be prepared for his speech and having a solution ready. This was not so much to impress him so he’d think she was good at her job—it had been almost automatic because she knew she was good at her job. She’d been bold enough to instruct him to curtail his drinking, and about that she was right. As he looked at her he kept remembering more and more things she’d done efficiently and neatly to clean up the mess of the office after Nadine had flounced out in a huff and taken the company accounting file with her—it was in fact Pepper who’d initiated legal action to recover it.
EA? He thought, not realizing how predictive this thinking was and not coming to the conclusion until several years later when it came true, no. This is CEO material.
But right now, he realized, the future CEO was exhausted from staying late to make up for his shortcomings, unable to go home and rest because her attendance was mandatory a gala at which she was likely uncomfortable, and she was probably wearing her best dress to do it.
And yet he hadn’t noticed how shabby looking the green taffeta was at first, and he had the feeling that once he stopped focusing on it, he’d forget almost instantly. Amidst the bead-encrusted dowagers and satiny socialites, she stood out like a shimmering party favor, no matter how laughably tacky her dress was.
That slender fox Suki Chandler from Evening Affair was making eyes at him again, her shimmering champagne colored sheath dress making Pepper’s green taffeta look like his assistant was dressed up like a birthday present, but Tony was surprised to feel a distinct sense of exhaustion at the idea of playful verbal fencing with Chandler all of a sudden. “Come on,” he said to Pepper. “Let’s hit the dance floor.”
“Absolutely not,” Pepper said immediately. “I am not going to dance with my boss. It’s not appropriate.”
“Come on. I haven’t embarrassed myself enough yet tonight. You keep saving me. I have to make my quota.” He extended his hand. “You were right before. You’re too new for anyone to know who you are. I’ll introduce you. Think of it as networking, for when you finally decide the job is too ‘high pressure’ and leave me high and dry.”
“Mr. Stark, you underestimate my patience for bullshit,” she said, taking his hand, and Tony could hold back no longer—he laughed aloud.
**
Tony was a good dancer, and he kept his promise—he was a perfect gentleman, introducing Pepper to several well-to-dos without embarrassing her.
“Have you met Pepper Potts? Oh, she went to Vassar. Thinks circles around me,” he said at one point. Or, “What did you think of the presentation? ...Hell, no, I didn’t make it, that was all Miss Potts, here. You know I couldn’t come up with something that good on my own.”
He spun her gracefully out so that her taffeta skirt flared, then back in, saying cheerfully, “Mrs. Blumstead! Is Benson enjoying the party? I like his bow tie. Very dapper corgi you’ve got there and believe me, I appreciate that he dressed for the occasion. Have you met Pepper Potts? ....Hell, no, she’s too smart to go out with me. She’s a coworker.”
"One more," Tony entreated when Pepper glided to a stop and looked up at the bandstand, then at him, as if she were unsure they ought to continue dancing. "This is fun. You're a pretty good dancer, Potts. Where'd you learn?”
"In a shabby studio in Queens, on the second floor above a Chinese take-out place," she answered readily, allowing him to keep her on the dance floor and lead her into another dance step. "I was never much for ballet or tap dancing, but I took all the ballroom classes. My mother thought it was the perfect way to meet boys, and I thought it was the perfect way to get out of the house and away from her nagging that I didn't have any boyfriends."
Tony could not help himself; he laughed aloud. "How old were you?"
"Sixteen. Old enough to be in the college course track at my high school and stressed enough to want to do anything to take a break from studying."
"You seem to have balanced it all rather well, if this foxtrot is any indication," Tony said, spinning her smoothly.
"Graduated high school salutatorian with twelve college credits," Pepper said, with a proud little tilt of her head. "Graduated university a semester early and started working right away."
"What company was dumb enough to let you go and have you fall into my clutches, with a parking space between Mr. Zebub and Dr. Frankenstein?"
Pepper rolled her eyes, although Tony couldn't tell if it was at his quip or at the memory of her previous jobs. "A lot of places. Remind me to tell you about that first one out of university. Until you try to give a twenty-one-year-old kid power of attorney because you're too stubborn to stay in a hospital bed while dying of a staph infection and are yelling at the nurses for taking away your Blackberry, you won't beat that executive for high maintenance."
"He really tried to give you power of attorney at twenty-one?"
"She."
Tony stopped his eyebrows from disappearing into his hair by smirking instead and saying, "I can't beat that--no one at Stark Industries uses a Blackberry. My designs are far superior. In fact, no one uses Blackberrys anymore. I think the last one is in the Smithsonian with the rest of the fossils." He thought about it briefly. “Remind me to get you a company phone and put you on our plan if I haven’t already. If you’re going to be on call to save my ass all the time, the least I can do is pay your phone bill.”
Pepper looked surprised that he’d offered, but also briefly terrified, and he realized what he’d been implying.
“I’ll try not to need you too much outside of business hours, I swear,” he added. “That wasn’t supposed to sound like I was shackling your ankle to your desk.”
“Mr. Stark, I don’t care how many tabloids have aired your dirty laundry. Anything in your life that involves shackles, I do not need to know.”
His turn to look surprised and concerned, until she winked at him, and it was so adorable he thought he heard a camera shutter clicking as her lashes fanned up and down. He was stunned speechless enough that when the music came to a crescendo, he spun her back into his arms and then gracefully dipped her. Pepper was surprised for only a minute, her old ballroom training conditioning her to bend her knee and point her toe in just the right way as she demonstrated her flexibility by bending her back till her long auburn hair nearly brushed the floor. She laughed aloud in clear delight—a high and happy sound, the innocent laughter of a child—and that, more than anything else she’d done tonight, cut through all Tony’s usual gala bullshit, rocking him in a way he hadn’t expected.
“Apologies, Mr. Stark, but these shoes aren’t being as kind to my feet as you are,” Pepper said when the band took its next break. “Want to take a rest?”
“That’s you all over, Miss Potts—full of good ideas,” Tony said, suddenly winded from more than just the dancing.
**
She could wear a wedding gown
She could wear a train
She could wear a crown, or a chain.
She’s going to wear it for you.
**
As they threaded their way through the crowd, he thought of that dip again, her surprised laugh, as if she hadn't been able to stop herself from being charmed.
He would have said it was her one misstep of the night, but the problem was it wasn't. She hadn't misstepped at all.
He hadn't even realized he was dipping her at first; it was such a practiced move, and in defense of Pepper, few could resist it (he could be charming when he wanted to be). The problem wasn't even so much that he had fallen into the old habit, but that it was less about following the formula (dip, laugh, a few more drinks, cut out of the party early, conduct rest of the getting-to-know-you bit between the sheets of Egyptian cotton sateen that he insisted on having in every bedroom) than about dipping a girl at the close of a dance simply for the pure pleasure of it and getting rewarded with exactly that kind of laugh.
I could ruin you, he thought, with the slow dawning realization of exactly where everything was aligned in his universe.
He could ruin her and he would ruin her, because no matter how he trumpeted and waved and bluffed with bravado, he was very aware of the fact that he could and would and did ruin everything he touched.
Pepper had not been incorrect in telling him to curtail his drinking. He'd made plenty of spectacles of himself on nights long before this one, and had had plenty of martini glasses thrown at his head by women he'd either woken up next to the following morning or women he'd failed to get to that last step of cutting out of the party early, bound for the destination of the luxury sheets.
It wasn't that Pepper was the only one who had ever stood up to him at first, although she had certainly already proved herself to be the strongest. Some of them had been coy at the beginning, made him work for it a little. But not a single one had outlasted him, and he didn't think he was making himself look better when he thought they had all eventually given in out of their own free will, some of them even enjoying the surrender, feeling they'd led him on a merry chase. Even if he was subconsciously tarting himself up a bit to flatter his own ego, he had statistics on his side—they couldn't all have been strong-armed into it.
And it wasn't, necessarily, that he thought Pepper might be the one to outlast him—someone had to be first, after all. But once again, statistics were working against her—none ever had.
None of them.
And for the first time, he felt a pang over it. Again, it was not because hewas trying to make himself seem better—in fact, it made him feel suddenly cheap. He'd loved some of them, or thought he had, and in the end it came to the same. But it had never been enough to make it last, although he hadn't been lying to Pepper when he said he hadn't dumped any of them; he'd proved to be too much for all of them.
He’d ruined them all—ruined this path and this chance for them, at least; thrown them off the track they were meant to be on for as long as it took to learn he wasn’t it. And somehow, remembering Pepper’s seemingly effortless handling of him, he’d sparkle and wit, her challenging of him, he found himself hesitating at the idea of doing the same to her, when there was a real chance here—a chance for an actual, professional, grown-up partnership. If and only if he could for once restrain himself from playing his childish games.
He saw it all in the blink of an eye—the chase, the slow chipping away at her professional walls, faster and faster until they couldn’t help but fall into bed and how hot they would burn at the beginning, oh it would be good, it would be so good. But then the fighting, the exasperation, the discomfort, the scars on him when they parted ways and he’d accepted the fact that he’d failed once more, wondering for the first time what scars he’d put on her. And Tony Stark, who at that age was only finally learning to appreciate that all women are special, found that this would be the one, the big mistake, the mistake which there would be no recovering from.
The thought was there and gone in a moment, so brief it would take him years to remember he had even realized it, so early on, that first night.
I’d never get over her.
There, like a flash, then gone, buried in his mind for years to come, only to resurface the second time he saw the clover colored sheen of cheap taffeta, on a not-so-special day long in the future.
He could reach out and take her hand right now with his reverse Midas touch, begin the slow descent that would burn so hot before flickering out. He could do what he’d always done, and get what he’d always gotten.
Or he could try harder. Try at all, for once. Be better. Be the person he wanted so badly to be—the person he kept trying to convince everyone he already was. Be the person his Aunt Peggy Carter had started trying to help his father Howard be, but had never gotten the chance to finish.
He could ruin her, or he could let her build her own future. For once, instead of trying to outshine everything else around him until he burned them in his wake like an expanding star, he could let someone else build something, too.
Help them build it.
“Why don’t you head to the bar and order us one last round?” He suggested to Pepper. “I promise not to leave you hanging. I’ll be right back.”
Pepper smiled wryly. “I’ll try not to count the minutes.”
It was so cute he almost stuck his tongue out at her. Instead he said, “Back in a flash. Oh, and if Mrs. Blumstead buttonholes you, two things: try to wring more money out of her and compliment her corgi’s tie.”
This made Pepper smile. “Aye aye, Mr. Stark.”
”Jarvis!” Tony hissed, chasing down the butler, who was serving fresh drinks to the Armbrusters, Suki Chandler and the mayor.
“Yes, sir?” Jarvis asked calmly.
Taking the butler aside, Tony asked, “How much food do we have left? Can we make up a few warming trays and still have enough to take care of the staff and donate to the shelters? If not, put aside my share.”
“Nonsense, sir. There is quite enough for all those things, and to compile the few trays you are now requesting.”
Tony clapped the butler on the shoulder. “Perfect. Awesome. Tell the caterers to make up two—no, three—three warming trays. Something good—the penne vodka, that was great. And the lobster salad, put aside some of that. And the salmon. And a vegetable—I don’t know, any vegetable. Just, I don’t know, enough for like a week for one person.”
Jarvis didn’t bat an eye at this discombobulated request. “It shall be done, sir.”
“Gotta be right now, though,” Tony said. “In fact, I need it loaded into a car, and I need a driver. Where’s Hogan?”
“Standing by for you, sir.”
“Nah, forget me. I’ll take a cab—you and I will take a cab. Tell Hogan to pull up around the front, and have the caterers make up those trays and load them into the trunk. Carefully, though.”
Finally, Jarvis’ brow crinkled—not with concern, but with interest. “Sir?”
“I know what I’m doing. It’ll be a nice cab, I promise. Thanks, buddy.” He clapped Jarvis’ shoulder again. “’Scuse me, have to go finish my drink.”
Jarvis smiled. “Very good, sir.” He nodded, and turned towards the kitchens, to fulfill Tony’s request.
Tony allowed himself to be corralled by the mayor, knowing he’d have a better chance of implementing his future plans to help socialize the city’s power grid if he had the mayor on his side. But Pepper wasn’t far from his mind, and as he returned to her, he couldn’t believe how flustered he felt, like a kid.
Luckily Pepper was in a perfect position to break his nervous mood; he had to laugh aloud when he approached her at the bar and heard her exclaim loudly, “Oh, that tie is you, Benson! I love the color.”
Mrs. Blumstead cooed, “Do we say thank you, Benson?” And the corgi barked, panting happily.
“Well, we thank him for his generosity. Please, enjoy the dessert, both of you!” Pepper beamed, and Blumstead gave Tony a knowing, grandmotherly look that for the first time in his life made him blush hotly, as if he hadn’t just been thinking along those lines himself.
As the dowager bent to fuss over her corgi, Tony took Pepper’s arm and murmured, “She didn’t.”
“Oh yes,” Pepper said calmly. “An additional annual two hundred dollars per year. From Benson Blumstead.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You are good at your job.”
“Told you so.” She smirked cheekily at him, and he resisted the urge to chuck her gently under the chin. God damn it, she was cute.
Jarvis arrived with his usual easy grace with a tray that contained two more drinks—one for Tony, one for Pepper—and a bowl of sparkling water. Pepper took the drinks neatly, leaving Jarvis free to kneel to give the bowl of water to Benson, the who was indeed wearing a bow tie and looked downright thrilled at all the attention.
“Here you are, Mr. Stark,” Pepper said, handing him his drink. It looked like a vodka cranberry, not his usual fare, but he wasn’t going to say no when a cute girl handed him a drink.
“Hey, thanks, but shouldn’t I be cutting myself off?” he reminded her.
Pepper smiled. “Take a sip.”
He did, sudden sweetness sparkling on his tongue, and gave her an amused chuckle. “Is this a Shirley Temple?”
“Old company party trick,” Pepper explained. “You slip the bartender a twenty and give them a code—you order a vodka cranberry, they’ll give you this; order a screwdriver and they’ll give you an orange juice. That way you can pretend you’re still drinking but you’ve still got full control of your brain. And you’d be surprised what people will say around you if they think you’re a little sloshed. It’s good for learning secrets.”
Damn it, he was so impressed, and worse, he was enchanted. He grinned and clinked his glass against hers. “You’re the best. In fact, wait.” Turning towards Jarvis, he said, “Hey, can I get a cherry?”
“Certainly, sir.” There was indeed a small dish of them on the tray, and he offered the tray to Tony, who boldly plucked a cherry out of the dish by the stem.
“Thanks!”
Turning back to a bemused Pepper, he placed the cherry in her glass. “There. Perfect.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Pepper smiled, but it didn’t escape Tony’s notice that her long-lashed green eyes were beginning to blink.
“Thank you,” he said. “For the PowerPoint, and the dance, and the drinks. You did great tonight, Pepper. I mean it.”
“All in a day’s work,” she promised, sipping her Shirley Temple.
“I know. And you’ve had a long day.” Tony sipped his own, demolishing half of it and relishing its sweetness. He looked the question at Jarvis, who nodded an affirmative. “So when you’re finished with that drink, I want you to go out front. A car’s going to be waiting to take you home.”
Pepper blinked in surprise. “Mr. Stark?”
“My driver’s going to pull up for you. You’ve spoken to him a few times to have him ferry me around—Happy Hogan is his name. He’s a great guy. He’ll take you home. Have him help you unload the trunk when you get there, okay?”
“The trunk?” She looked confused. “I thought I’d take a cab.”
“Nonsense. Let the boss handle this. You go home and take it easy for the weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Do you...do you need anything over the weekend, Mr. Stark?” she asked, seemingly unable to let it go entirely.
“Yes—you to take a break. I have your number, anyway, and I’ll call or email you if I need anything. But I’ll try not to need anything.”
“It feels irresponsible to do this,” she said plainly as Jarvis took her empty glass.
“I have spoken to Mr. Hogan. Miss Potts’ car is indeed ready, sir,” Jarvis reported.
“Terrific. Everything loaded up?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Hogan has been instructed to assist Miss Potts with it when she arrives at her home.”
Pepper looked back and forth between the two men. “Um—okay?”
“Come on, kid. Let’s go.” Tony offered Pepper his arm, and Jarvis inclined his upper body to her in a sort of bow.
“Well done tonight, Miss Potts. We shall see you on Monday.”
“Do I still have a job?” Pepper asked as Tony shepherded her towards the door.
“Are you kidding? Keep working as hard as you did today and you’ll have my job in a month,” Tony said cheerfully as they exited the ballroom. He accompanied her on the elevator ride to the lobby, then walked her out and into the cool night air. Happy was waiting in the valet’s lane, one of Tony’s luxury cars purring beside him. “Hey, Happy!”
“Mr. Stark,” Happy greeted them amiably. “Hello, Miss Potts. Ready to go?”
“I suppose that I am,” Pepper said, still off-balance from Tony’s generosity and his insistence that she accept it. “Thank you, Mr. Hogan.” To Tony, she said, “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”
“Go home and take it easy,” Tony repeated as Happy opened the car door for Pepper, “and that can be all for tonight, Miss Potts.”
The taffeta dress ruffled and crinkled as Pepper got into the car, and Tony knocked gently on the roof as Happy returned to the driver’s seat and started it up. “Safe home, kid.”
Pepper flashed a cheeky smirk at being called “kid” again, then visibly reclined tiredly against the seat as the car rolled smoothly away.
Tony allowed himself a smile, hoping she had room in her fridge for all the food he’d sent home with her in the trunk of the car—he was remembering the mended tear in her dress, the cheap flash and glitter of the rhinestone barrette.
I need this job.
The least he could do was feed her, he thought, and send her safely home after she’d all but broken her back saving his ass tonight.
**
And I’d rather not know anyone new;
I’d rather just go to bed with you.
Watch her move, unforgiving and fierce, as she comes over here.
And I’d rather not know anyone new;
I’d rather just stay in bed with you.
**
Finally—mercifully, in his opinion; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this profoundly tired after one of his parties—the crowd began to thin out. The coffers were certainly full—Jarvis was reporting record donations, which was a good thing, and Tony closed his eyes briefly with the same thought he had at the close of every one of his charity galas.
For you. For you both, always for you. I miss you. I’m trying.
“Mr. Stark,” Suki Chandler trilled, boldly brushing at an imaginary speck of lint on his lapel as he returned to the bar. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all evening.”
“That’s interesting,” Tony quipped. “I’ve been trying to get me alone all evening too.” Turning to the bartender, he said, “Hey, can I get a…” He thought about it a moment, glancing at Chandler’s shimmery gold-wrap dress. “How about a screwdriver?”
Chandler’s eyes lit up, assuming he was making an innuendo, but the bartender had clearly pocketed Pepper’s twenty and remembered her code; he winked. Tony took the glass and sipped, feeling the acidic bite of orange juice. Raising the glass in a mock toast, he said, “Good night, Ms. Chandler,” and left her looking mildly bewildered as he set off to reconnoiter with Jarvis.
**
(Some not so very special night, yet, present day)
Taffeta.
Who do you wear it for?
**
“Tony, what has gotten into you?” Pepper asked as he stood up with the green taffeta dress in his hands, but her voice was not unkind, and she reached to slip a cool hand around the back of his neck. This was one of his favorites of her caresses, and the one she saved only for when he was very visibly tired or she knew he needed comfort.
“Nothing, just, not this one, Pepper. Keep it.” An idea flared into bright light in his mind, and he said, “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Go doll yourself up, and we’ll go out for dinner instead of ordering in. Wear this dress. I’ll dress up too.”
Pepper blinked in confusion she didn’t bother to disguise. “You want to go out on a dress-up date all of a sudden?”
He smiled—he loved her use of cute phrases like “dress-up date”. “Yeah. Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s Friday anyhow. We can indulge tonight and sleep in tomorrow.” He handed her the dress. “Do you still have that silver bangle bracelet that your job at the law firm gave you on your birthday before you came to work here?”
Pepper thought. “Actually, I think I do. I can’t believe you remember that.”
“Good. Wear that. And the diamond pendant and earrings I gave you for our first Christmas.”
“Tony, are you going to explain what you’re driving at here?” Pepper asked. “Not that I’m going to say no to dinner out or anything.”
“Come on, let me feed you,” he said affectionately, knowing she probably wouldn’t remember that either. “Have we ever been to Eleven Madison Park?”
Pepper’s eyes shot wide. “Good Lord, no. That place is exorbitantly expensive, even for you.” Glancing down at the clover colored taffeta that was now crinkling in her hands, she said, “And you want me to wear this ugly thing?”
“Yes. It’ll be gorgeous and so will you.” He gave her his best triple-A-bond smile. “Come on, Pep. For me?”
She gave him a suspicious look, but he could see a smile playing on her lips. “You are so weird.”
“But I’m yours,” he said beatifically. “Meet me here in an hour and we’ll go?”
She shook her head fondly. “Yes, Mr. Stark.” She glided off to their bedroom and the attached bath, muttering, “I don’t even know if this monstrosity still fits,” and Tony loved her incredibly in that moment for indulging him.
He was perfectly content to freshen up in a guest bed and bath on another floor, feeling amusedly like a bridegroom awaiting his bride. He had no idea where any of his old suits were, but before he’d left Pepper to her privacy, he’d searched his drawers and found the ruby cuff links he’d been wearing the night of that long-ago gala, along with a red tie that matched them. He put them on with his best suit.
**
“I feel like I’m wasting money just sitting here,” Pepper whispered after they’d been shown to a table in Eleven Madison Park. “And coming from someone who dates you, that’s pretty impressive.”
“It’s nice, huh?” Tony said, looking around—he was pleased with his choice. “Beats the hell out of the catering at my parties, doesn’t it? I should try to steal their chefs away.”
Pepper snorted. “You’re such a jerk.”
“Yeah, but I think you kind of like me anyway, kid.” He grinned at her.
“How long have I been telling you not to call me kid?” Pepper teased playfully, the diamonds at her ears and throat throwing rainbows—real rainbows, for real diamonds—in the warm light of the restaurant.
“Since we met,” he laughed. “What’s my punishment?”
Pepper tilted her head, pretending to really think about it. “How about you love me for the rest of my life?”
He reached for her hand across the table, and she gave it to him. “How about I love you for the rest of mine?”
Pepper smiled fondly. “I’ll do the same for you, and we have a deal.”
He squeezed her hand, and then the waiter arrived with their drinks, which Tony had ordered while Pepper had checked her light jacket. He managed to take his glass without letting go of her hand, raising it in a toast as the waiter left them to consider the menus. “To the first assistant who’s gone our whole relationship without breaking anything, including my heart.”
Pepper’s eyes were bright as she clinked her glass against his. “Oh, Tony.” She sipped her drink, and then her face crinkled in what could only be called adorable confusion.
“Is this a Shirley Temple?”
Tony lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across the back of it.
**
Taffeta.
Who do you wear it for now?
**