Watching her cross the
tarmac, pulling her bag behind her with her good arm, the mid-afternoon
breeze blowing her hair is the hardest sight for him. That slender
back, those delectable legs—Tony takes another sip of his
scotch as he stares at Pepper out the window of the jet.
He’d come with her this far, insisting she deserved the
escort, and she hadn’t argued. During the flight Pepper had
commented about the poles and Tony had lied sweetly, insisting they
were there to stabilize the cabin.
“That’s too bad. I’d hoped that
you’d dance for me,” she’d murmured,
earning a splutter and clink of ice.
“Maybe for your return, Ms Potts. If you’re a good
girl,” he’d replied coyly, knowing that if it would
keep her from going, he’d do the full damned Monty right then
and there.
Now Pepper is speeding up, Tony notes moodily, hurrying to meet a woman
almost as tall as she was, in jeans with a matching denim jacket.
Before he can get a good glimpse, the pilot begins to roll the Lear
away, and Tony loses sight of the two women as the jet turns for the
runway.
He finishes his drink in silence, deliberately thinking of other
things, his expression impassive.
Tony works for the next fifteen hours straight, moving from meetings to
labs, to the garage of the compound, focusing his attention on whatever
was in his hands or under his nose. In the early evening, he showers,
and tries to sleep.
After an hour of restlessness, he rises and wanders into the guest
room, finally dropping off on the mattress there as he breathes in the
scent of Pepper still lingering on the pillow there.
Aunt Ruby is quiet and a little formal, but that wears off quickly as
Pepper settles in. The guestroom is small, and she shares it with a cat
and a sewing machine, but the wallpaper is still the yellow one with
the daisies on it, and the sweet smell of hay hangs in the air.
It’s been a warm spring, and at sunset, the sound of crickets
carry over the flat land. Pepper curls up on the lumpy mattress and
sleeps deeply, grateful for her pain relievers.
Pepper lingers on the front porch, mug of coffee in hand, watching the
sunrise. She’s in a satin nightshirt of pink, barefoot on the
wooden planks, breathing deeply. It’s good, she thinks, and
smiles.
She’s known this farm for a good part of her life; spent
summers here, and later lived with Aunt Ruby and Uncle Jan for a few
years when her mother died. Pepper knows by sight what crops are in and
which are coming up; she knows by smell how long it’s been
since the last fertilizing, and how the weather’s been.
Things she hasn’t thought of in years come back in the simple
act of breathing.
This is as far as a person can get from Stark Industries. As far as
possible from the tech and toys of Tony Stark.
Breakfast is pancakes. Aunt Ruby speaks up as she loads
Pepper’s plate. “Your boss called while you were
asleep, Ginnie.”
Pepper is not surprised. “Oh?”
“Wanted to know what coffee he likes.”
She sighs. Tony hasn’t ordered his own coffee in nearly three
years, so it’s no surprise he has no clue about what
she’s been bringing him each morning.
“Is he all right in the head? Because any man who
doesn’t know how he takes his own damned coffee has to be a
mite touched,” Aunt Ruby murmurs. Pepper giggles to herself a
bit and pours syrup on a golden, fluffy pancake.
“He forgets, when he gets busy. Captains of industry are like
that,” Pepper replies through a mouthful of breakfast.
Aunt Ruby snorts a little. “Heh. I told him black, straight
up, and to call back when it wasn’t three in the
morning.”
“Good answer,” Pepper agrees.
She phones in mid-afternoon, and can tell that Tony’s routed
her call immediately because he’s on by the second ring,
sounding a little breathless. That pleases Pepper for reasons she
can’t quite hide.
“Busy?”
“Yes, completely, extraordinarily, utterly. I thought you
were on vacation, Potts. Miss me already?” he shoots back,
and in the background she can hear the familiar music of Zelda.
The Ocarina of Time of all things—one of his old, old comfort
games. She grins.
“I just wanted to tell you that you don’t
drink your coffee black, you like two creams and two sugars
generally.”
“I thought it was incredibly bitter,” Tony muses.
“Your aunt must be cackling.”
“She was remarkably polite, considering the hour you called,
Mr. Stark.”
There is no answer to this; Pepper knows Tony well enough to picture
him concentrating on the game, brow furrowed slightly.
“Other things you need to know include the fact that you hate
toothpicks in your sandwiches, and you don’t like guacamole.
Just in case you and your Air Force liaison decide to run down to the
Malibu Grill for dinner,” she tells him forthrightly.
“Why don’t I like guacamole?”
“Because you vomited up a pint of it two years ago after your
‘All you can Drinko-De-Mayo Cinco De Mayo party. As I recall
it even came through your nostrils in a spectacular display of
grossness yet to be topped.”
“Mem-mories light the corners of my mind,” Tony
sings back mildly. “Misty guacamole memories, of the way we
were---“
“I have a question, speaking of that incident,”
Pepper breaks in. “When you’re in the suit, and you
sneeze--?”
“I bruise my forehead, mostly.”
“Ah.”
“How’s the arm?”
“Healing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Until then, my Navi Miss Potts.”
That makes her smile, and she pockets the phone before heading into the
barn. Out of habit she looks up along the doorway for spiders.
Tony argues with himself for the better part of three days, reminding
himself of the cons constantly. She’ll
get pissed, is the big one. When Pepper disapproves of
something he does, or says or wears he can tell. Her mouth tightens up
and she takes a deep breath before trying to reason with him.
He grins at the memory of it.
The second con is simple. I
don’t have clearance. That’s a minor
issue since he can always fly under the radar, literally, for most of
the distance. Edwards, Lackland and Travis are monitoring his flights
most of the time anyway.
The third is the common sense one: It’s
unnecessary.
Tony Stark dismisses that one as soon as it dawns in his brain.
With every con, the challenge of making the trip becomes more
appealing, and Tony realizes that his one pro argument trumps all the
others and always will. He tells Jarvis to wake him two hours before
dawn, and when the time comes, Tony suits up and takes off.
Destination: Kiowa, Kansas.
Cow pastures are muddy, Tony learns. They are muddy and consequently
not safe ground for a mechanized suit that weighs two hundred pounds.
He glares at his feet in disgust, already realizing he’ll
have to hose down the outside of his creation once he gets back.
Tony is so busy trying to extract himself from the sucking sludge under
him that he doesn’t pay attention to the bulky shape that is
moving behind him and nudges his shoulder until contact is made. He
turns and sees the wall of black muscle; hears the heavy snuffling of
wide nostrils in line of sight.
“Shit!”
The bull is merely curious about this odd metal-smelling thing. He
ambles closer, pushing against it and past it, ignoring the stream of
curses that echo out of the top.
Tony wonders if he’ll have to hose out the inside of the suit
as well. He manages to free himself and tramp his way towards the porch
of the farm, setting down the reinforced cardboard box on the topmost
step before stepping back. Infrared shows him there are two people in
the house, both of them horizontal and so probably sleeping. He looks
again at the box to make sure it’s in an obvious place, then
tromps off to the gravel driveway before taking off.
A backward glance shows him the lights going on in the house---
So much for stealth.
Pepper recognizes Tony’s precise engineer’s
printing on the box, spelling out her name, Ms. V. Potts C/O Mrs. Ruby
Cozlinski, Kiowa Kansas. She sighs and opens it, expecting
paperwork, or possibly laundry; with Tony’s sense of humor
it’s hard to anticipate what might show up on her doorstep.
What she finds in the cardboard is a bottle of high grade sunscreen, a
copy of The Wizard of
Oz, and the newest Astrabella shoe catalog, complete with
gift card for an outrageous amount.
She feels her eyes well up; two parts caring one part
corny—this is the new Tony Stark and it still takes some
getting used to. Pepper takes the gifts inside and shows them to her
aunt, who smirks in a very familiar way.
“Showed up to deliver it himself?” her Aunt Ruby
ponders in a question and Pepper nods. The tracks through the pasture
are clear enough, as are the ones through the gravel driveway.
“Yes.”
“Startled Clarence too, by the look of it.”
“At least he didn’t leave the gate
open—I’m not in the mood to round up a wandering
Angus bull this morning,” Pepper replies gently. Her aunt
keeps scrambling eggs, and smirking.
“City man, is he?”
“Completely,” Pepper tells her with a sigh.
“He’d need a video orientation on how to collect
eggs.”
Aunt Ruby laughs and serves up an omelet, hot and fluffy.
“Good lord, Ginnie—and yet he’s a genius,
you say?”
“He is.”
“Ah well, that accounts for some of it, I guess. Geniuses can
be pretty dense about the world outside their functions. If the man
came back from Afghanistan in one piece, I reckon he’s
entitled to some leeway. More egg, hon?”
Pepper sets aside the catalog and picks up the yield book in her late
uncle Jan’s study. Her aunt has kept the records up, and
it’s depressing to see the numbers going down harvest after
harvest. The stock is good, and the quality of the fertilizer and
pesticides are consistent, but the weather and the markets fluctuate,
most often downward. She tries to remember his lessons on economics and
agriculture, his steady optimism in the face of unknown factors.
He was a good man, Pepper acknowledges, but not always a successful
farmer.
The farm is in the red, she sees, and already owes the bank for last
year’s soybean crop. Her aunt hires out part of the pasturage
to locals, and that that helps a bit, but the only thing selling well
at the moment is corn, and that was underplanted last year in favor of
oats. The livestock has dwindled down to fifteen good layers, a few
geese here and there, and some mares being boarded for the neighbors.
There’s Clarence too—he’s a prime breeder
and his semen sells well to the dairies in-state, but other than that,
the assets for her aunt’s farm are few, and Pepper worries a
bit.
She wanders out through the cornfield later in the day, breathing in
the warm air, feeling a serenity in the quiet spaciousness of big sky
over her. Pepper loves this land; loves the easy connection of earth to
plant all around her. She realizes she’s missed it over the
years.
Life as Mr. Stark’s PA is wonderful: always a challenge; a
balancing act; a fast-paced course into the known and unknown
sometimes, and she’s grown accustomed to the demands it makes
on her time and efficiency and intelligence. But there are very few
quiet moments in the position, and although her boss is making a better
effort to pace himself, Pepper realizes that she needs more of a
balance to her life.
She needs something to call her own; an alternative project to managing
Tony Stark.
Carefully Pepper studies the closest corn plant, running a hand over
the budding ear nestled in its sheath of green leaves. She bends to
sniff it, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed stalk. Pepper wishes
Tony had plants at his house; she’s never seen any and has
never thought to ask him why. It’s possible he
doesn’t like them, or that he’s allergic to them.
In any case, she decides to ask him about it when she returns.
That night her aunt Ruby bakes and sets aside a baker’s dozen
of her homemade chocolate chip cookies. She wraps them in wax paper and
packs them in a cardboard box, which she leaves on the front porch with
the name Anthony E.
Stark carefully written on the top flap.
“I’m addicted. I need more.”
“They’re just cookies, Tony—I can make
them for you when I get back.”
“God yes. Please. They’re incredible.
I’ve never had oral orgasms before—“
“Tony!”
“Sorry, but that’s about the most accurate
description I can give without sounding like some sort of
commercial.”
“Yes, well I doubt Pepperidge Farm would use quite those
terms.”
“Pffft, Pepperidge Farm doesn’t even come close to
these masterpieces. Tell me, do you think I could talk your aunt into
being my chef? Or at least my own personal baker? “
“No. You had
a chef, and drove him to a nervous breakdown when you kept adding
mustard to his cordon bleu meals, remember? I think we’re
still billed for his therapy sessions.”
“Hey, I thought I was being culturally
sensitive—French’s with French.”
“Not in this case, Mr. Stark.”
“I need only the simplest things in life: a handful of these
cookies, some plutonium, a remote control for the suit and a loyal
personal assistant by my side. When are you coming home?”
She sighs. “Four days; you know
that.”
“Just checking.”
The next time he calls, he gets the aunt. Ruby Cozlinski is far more
practical than most of the women that Tony Stark has charmed, and her
conversation with him initially consists of direct answers to his
questions.
“Ma’am, where is Pepper?”
“Swimming down at the creek.”
“Will she be gone long?”
“Hard to say; it’s a scorcher today and she might
stay a while.”
“Have you ever considered baking cookies for a
living?”
“Not particularly; the startup for that sort of venture
isn’t cheap and producing a specialty product requires a good
marketing strategy on a two to three year plan.”
“You’re toying with me, aren’t you, Mrs.
Cozlinski?”
“Mr. Stark, you’re crazy about my niece, so
let’s cut to the truth. Do you have serious
intentions?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now stop trying to butter me up and get back to doing
whatever it is that makes you your money. Pepper deserves the chance to
skinny dip without either one of us fretting about it, right?”
“Gah. Skinny dipping?”
“Grow up, Mr. Stark. And I’m glad you liked the
cookies, young man. Goodbye.”
The image of prim and proper Pepper Potts cavorting out in the open,
naked, is one that won’t leave him. Tony suspects the aunt of
deliberately planting it, and he credits the old lady with a deft
evilness that her niece clearly has inherited. He wonders if Pepper
will mention swimming in their next conversation, and blush when she
does.
He wishes like hell he could see it.
But while money and fortune and a flying suit can do a lot of things,
they can’t grant this particular wish, and Tony tries hard to
banish the thoughts of pale wet skin and concentrate instead on the
things he’s supposed to be doing. Fortunately most of it
consists of things he CAN do by rote: maintenance on the cars, working
on a more comfortable helmet lining for the suit, and an upgrade of the
compound’s security links. Tony goes through the motions,
paying just enough attention to do a good job, and lets the rest of his
mind dwell on thoughts of Pepper, naked on the bank of a Kansas creek.
That night he has an erotic dream about her, and wakes up moments
before orgasm, the sheer power of it enough to leave him gasping as he
slumps back in damp sheets, embarrassed and amused at the same time.
Tony hasn’t had a wet dream in years, and despite all the
women, of course it would come down—or up, in this
case—to the thought of long-legged freckled, sweet Pepper
Potts, skinny dipping.
Tony lumbers off to the bathroom to clean up, smirking to himself,
wishing he could tell her, and knowing at least for now, he
can’t.
