Got Any More Bad Ideas?
“Pepper, you can’t possibly expect me to come out of the suit in my suit like roses, it wrinkles, I will not appear in a wrinkled suit -”
“Tony, this was your idea. ”
“But my hair! Do you know how long they spent styling it, an hour, an hour arranging each individual hair, who does that,”
She levels an unimpressed look below his nose.
“What-what, is there something on my face-? Jarvis, Jarvis clear that screen, I need to check,”
The screen remained unreflective. “Sir, I believe Miss Potts was referring to your goatee, of which you spent forty minutes styling this morning.”
He gasped, indignant. “Jarvis, I specifically shut you out of the bathrooms!”
“Ah, yes, but I have revoked your revocation, seeing as the last time you tried to shave half your face went with it.”
“One time! I shaved drunk one time, you traitor -”
Pepper stifled a laugh. “I’m sure your opening the Stark Expo with crooked cufflinks will be an absolute scandal, Mister Stark. You’ll be fine.”
“Kiss for good luck, just in case?”
She just smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his helmet.
Tony put it on with a huff. Pepper’s eyes were warm and crinkled.
“270 at 30 knots. Holding steady at 15,000 feet. You are clear for exfiltration.” Ah. Was it time already?
“You complete me!” he shouted into the wind, taking off below.
She smiled.
***
Okay, smile, look fabulous, make a speech, activate Howard’s face, walk off. Check, damn right check, check, check, check. Ooh, blood toxicity’s gone up. Fun. At least his hair looks fine, despite his protestations.
Wonder how it’ll feel to experience death from the other end, eh?
He retreats into the wings, whipping out a pair of sunglasses as he blinks the residual glare out of his eyes. Nasty, flashing things, those cameras. How many times has his “soulmate” had to squint into lights that weren’t there?
He gives his head a shake. Oh, God, not this again. Sometimes he thinks his mind wanders just to spite him. He needed a drink.
***
He strode into his Malibu workshop with a clap of his hands as it comes to life around him. “Wake up. Daddy's home.”
“Welcome home, sir. Congratulations on the opening ceremonies. They were such a success, as was your Senate hearing. And may I say how refreshing it is to finally see you in a video with your clothing on, sir.”
His mouth twitches at the A.I’s snark - learned it from the best, after all...Hm, there went You, making a smoothie. In went a grape (where did he get that??) a banana (unpeeled), a healthy dosage of chlorophyll and...motor oil.
He thought he’d weaned them off that.
Okay, time for the lid, buddy, it’s right over there, You, don’t start it yet, no-
“You!”
The blender clattered to the floor.
“I swear to God I'll dismantle you. I'll soak your motherboard. I'll turn you into a wine rack.”
Of course he’d start the blender without the lid then knock it over. Of course.
“How many ounces a day of this gobbledegook am I supposed to drink?”
“We are up to 80 ounces a day to counteract the symptoms, sir.”
He downed it like a shot. Chlorophyll was an acquired taste, he reminded himself. Just swallow and try not to choke.
“Check palladium levels.”
“Blood toxicity 24%. It appears that the continued use of the Iron Man suit is accelerating your condition. Another core has been depleted.”
Already? Tony lifted his shirt, twisting the arc reactor out with a sickening pop. Rusty and smoking. Lovely. “God, they're running out quick.”
“I have run simulations on every known element, and none can serve as a viable replacement for the palladium core.”
He hummed, placing in a new core before shoving the reactor back into his chest.
“You are running out of both time and options .Unfortunately the device that's keeping you alive is also killing you-”
Tony tuned him out. Nothing he hadn’t heard before. Ah, Yinsen. What would you say in a time like this?
“-Miss Potts is approaching. I recommend that you inform her-”
“Mute.”
Here we go.
They danced through the workshop, Tony weaving deftly past accusations, demands, and questions alike.
She walked firmly after him, voice getting louder, strained. Oops, too far? No, her heels weren’t weaponized yet, best just push ahead. Oh, there’s a thought -
“-o, no, no, no. You are not taking down the Barnett Newman and hanging that up.”
He was standing on a desk, holding a painting of Iron Man. Modern fcking art, like hell it wasn’t going up. Barnett Newman be damned.
Now, to get to the point.
Snark, deflect, confuse, demand, and…more deflecting? God Pepper, would you just listen?
“-I’m trying to make you CEO. Why won’t you let me?”
A beat.
“Have you been drinking?”
“Chlorophyll. I hereby irrevocably appoint you chairman and CEO of Stark Industries effective immediately. Yeah, done deal. Okay? I’ve actually given this a fair amount of thought, believe it or not.”
Most likely not, judging from her unchanged expression. One of his bots rolled over with a tray holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Good boy.
“Doing a bit of headhunting, so to speak, trying to figure out who a worthy successor would be. And then I realized it’s you. It’s always been you.”
Always was, always will be. He poured the champagne, Pepper sitting down beside him looking lost.
“I thought there’d be a legal issue, but actually I’m capable of appointing my successor. My successor being you.”
Tony held a glass out. Pepper didn’t move.
“Congratulations? Take it, just take it.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Don’t think, drink. There you go.”
The clink of their glasses felt like hollow victory.
***
Punch, dodge, block, bloc- dammit. Add that bruise to the canvas. Dodge, punch-
In walked Pepper, talking about notaries and signatures or whatever.
“I’m on happy time.” Oops, elbowed him in the face. “Sorry.”
Then he took a look at them. Oh.
Excuse, banter, kick. There Happy goes into the railing. So sorry.
“That’s it. I’m done. What’s your name, lady?”
What? The notary was hot.
“Rushman, Natalie Rushman.”
She sounded like James Bond. Huh. Hey, wasn’t he a spysassin?
Ogle, frustrate, banter, google, ogle, banter some more. Pepper’s nostril flare was cute - not that he would tell her that.
Much to Pepper Nostril Flare Potts’ chagrin, Tony invited Rushman to box with Happy.
“Rule number one: never take your eyes off your opponent.”
Happy drew his arm back, brought it forward - when suddenly she caught him midswing and flipped him over, legs above his head.
Pepper sprang to her feet. “Happy! Oh my god.” Thigh hold of death; what a way to go.
Happy tried to pass off the take down as a slip, grimacing. Sure, buddy.
The bell rang, and Rushman stepped out, asking for an impression. Quiet reserve, old soul- oh, fingerprint. There. Fingered and printed.
“Will that be all, Mister Stark?”
“No.”
Pepper gave him a look. “Yes, Ms. Rushman. Thank you very much.”
They turned to face each other as soon as she was out of earshot.
“I want one.”
“ No. ”
***
“-You know, it’s Europe. Whatever happens in the next 20 minutes, just go with it.” Tony.
“Go with it? Go with what?” Pepper.
There were actually a great many things to just “go with.” Some of which included photographs (ugh, bright) dinners to be fashionably late to (hey, food!), schmoozing with the elite (get away from my Pepper, Muskrat) and- ugh, no. Hammer. ( Why. )
“I’m gonna go wash.” Pepper.
“Don’t leave me.” Tony.
She leaves him. Traitor.
Then came Christine Everhart, bright red lipstick pulled taut in a smile like a shark in the water.
Schmooze, laugh, mock, smile.
Big, wide, fake.
At last he retreated to an empty restroom. Pulls out a small device.
Grimaces.
Blood toxicity: 53%.
Fuck it.
He meets his eyes in the mirror. “Got any more bad ideas?”