Chapter Two

Fortingall’s Yew Oil came in a small green glass bottle with a cork stopper. The vellum label appeared to be hand-written in a script that looked like runes, and Pepper knew that when she pulled the cork out the scent of pine and ash would rise up intoxicatingly, and linger in the air for a while, bringing with it pleasant memories and a general air of sweetness.

This was from her personal supply; even a rush order to Scotland wouldn’t get it to California in fewer than three days, and Pepper was glad she had some on hand. Tony was in misery, and the sight of him constantly rubbing up against the doorframes of the mansion had her feeling itchy in sympathy.

She wondered how far along his metamorphosis was, and why she wasn’t more surprised at it. Thinking back over the years, Pepper realized how many of the little signs had been there all along without her being aware of them individually. She wondered too, if her own attraction to Tony Stark was simply due to Charm rather than affection born of familiarity and respect.

“Pepper, dying here—“ his voice interrupted her musings. Pepper sighed and yanked open the cork with a ‘pop.’ Down on the massage table, Tony lay prone and shirtless, his arms folded and his chin resting on his crossed wrists.

She looked down, and noted the long irritated edges of skin along the edges of Tony’s shoulder blades. The inflammation had a dark center to it, like a thick line of ink or a tattoo. Each line ran along the scapula and down Tony’s back, bracketing his spine nearly to the waist.

He was budding, Pepper realized, and winced in empathy.

Carefully she poured some of the Yew Oil into one palm and set the bottle down, then moved to spread the oil on both hands. Leaning over, Pepper lightly began to massage the Fortingall’s along the dark lines.

“Ohhhhhyeahhhhhhh . . .” came the immediate, grateful rumble. “Oh Potts, you have no idea how good that feels!”

Pepper did, in fact, have an idea, but she said nothing and continued to stroke her hands over the inflamed areas. The oil sank in, making a slight hissing sound that faded with each pass of her palm. Under her fingertips, Tony’s skin felt hot, and it thinned along his shoulder blades in response to her touch.

“Tony,” she began quietly, fairly confident of his reply, “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”

“Positive. Whatever it is can wait until after my birthday,” he mumbled, his voice much more relaxed now that the oil had stopped the infernal itching. “Why? Does it look bad?”

Pepper glanced down, and let her fingers caress the dark, rising ridges lightly; this made Tony moan again, but with more pleasure than relief. “Ohnnnnggghhhhh . . . whoa. I don’t know what you’re doing, Potts, but that feels obscenely nice!”

“It . . . looks like it might um, break through the skin,” she tried to warn him. Under her fingers, the ridges moved, pushing upward, and Pepper suspected Tony would be fully avianated in about two to four hours.

Whether or not he was ready for it was another matter.

“Mr. Stark—Tony,” Pepper murmured gently. “Was there anything . . . unusual about your parents?”

“You mean other than the fact that they gave birth to the world’s most perfect son? Oh keep rubbing, pleeeeease, Miss Potts, you have the hands of a bonafide goddess!”

“I meant anything that might . . . relate to your dreams, or your back,” Pepper grinned at his pleasure. “Anything that might have sounded silly back when you were younger that could shed some light on things now.”

“Hmmmm,” Tony murmured. It was hard to think with Pepper’s hands sliding over his back; he’d never known she had the touch of a masseuse and when Pepper hit those places along his shoulder blades, certain other parts of his body reacted.

Strongly.

“Well let’s see . . . my mother used to call me her ‘principino’ sometimes, and she always asked about my dreams . . .”

He felt Pepper’s hands stop moving. “Your mother asked about your dreams?”

“Well sure,” Tony murmured. “Moms are like that. She liked hearing the details all the way up until I hit age twelve, and then I wouldn’t tell her about, um, some of them.”

“I’m sure,” Pepper chided, but gently. “So you dreamed a lot?”

“Still do,” Tony told her in a cheerful tone. “Ohh, could you rub a little more oil in my left shoulder, pretty please, pretty Potts?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she replied, noting the ridges beginning to pulse a bit now. There wouldn’t be much blood for the initial emergence, she knew; just some lymph and avian fluid, but having a towel or two would be handy, and given Tony’s ignorance, a big dose of valium would probably help too.

Pepper bit her lips, well aware that she couldn’t simply ask: “Mr. Stark, how would you feel if you sprouted wings?” and be taken seriously. On the other hand, letting it happen without any warning would be cruel as well, so she rubbed her fingers along the ridges firmly.

Tony shuddered. “Okay, keep doing touching me that way and I’m going to have to marry you, Pepper, because that’s a ‘mommy and daddy love each other very MUCH’ sort of sen-sation!”

She moved to the front of the table and leaned over Tony, running her thumbs along the dark ridges. Under her, Tony growled; his hands had shifted from under his chin and were now gripping the edges of the massage table, the corded muscle standing out on them. “P-P-P-Pepper!”

She ignored him and concentrated. Stroking would stimulate the nerve endings, speed up the process and put Tony out of his itchy misery. On the other hand, it would also irrevocably change his life, and in certain consequence, her own as well.

“Shhhhh. Push, Tony,” Pepper murmured, stroking again, her thumbs running from each scapula to his waist. Leaning over brought her chestdown against the back of his head, but she tried not to think about that, and kept going. “It might sting a bit--”

“Wha-a-a-a---!” was all Tony managed before a soft, wet ripping sound filled the air, and his back erupted. Black lace panels swiftly sprouted from his shoulder blades, lengthening as they rose. “The HELL!”

“Dummy, get me the dishtowels from the sink; hurry! Tony, relax, you’re going to be fine. Just . . . stay still, okay?”

“Damn it, Potts, what’s happening?” Tony tried to look over his shoulder, but Pepper’s chest made it difficult. He twisted his head the other way, but Pepper laid a cool Yew Oil coated hand on his cheek and pinned him down.

“Stay. Put.” Pepper growled, and for once, Tony chose to listen. He took in deep breaths, feeling the itch along his back replaced by a slight burning sensation, and a lightness that hadn’t been there before.

“Pepper---”

“Hold on. Thank you,” she murmured to Dummy, who rolled up with the towel in his claw.

Tony felt the towel dab at his back and made a face. “Did something . . . rupture? My back feels wet. This is gross.”

Pepper dabbed the dishtowel around the bases of the newly-sprouted wings, wiping away fluid as quickly as she could, and admiring the long, strong lines of them. Mostly dragonfly, she noted, with some traces of moth along the lower set. They were an impressive pair; Tony was going be the envy of most males, Pepper conceded as she worked quickly to dry his back.

“It’s not gross,” she murmured soothingly. “You need to, um, flex a little though. Can you do that for me? Wiggle your shoulders a bit?”

“Wiggle my shoulders? Sure, why not? Want me to bark like a dog, too?” came the sardonic mutter. “Pepper, what the hell is going ON?”

“Tony . . .” She began, pulling back and twisting the towel in her hands. “You have . . . well . . . wings.”

His sharp gaze up at her held damned little humor. “Is that a joke Potts? Because as punch lines go, you could do a lot better. Seriously, what’s going on? Did something gross burst back there? Get me a mirror.”

Pepper started to argue, sighed, and headed for the little bathroom off the workstation, returning with the mirror that hung over the sink there. She handed it to Tony, who was sitting up on the massage table. He took it, and held it out to get a better view of himself, frowning. The moment he caught sight of the wings, his mouth tightened, his eyes went wide, and Pepper fought the rising giggles in her own gorge.

“WhattheHEllarethoseandhowdidtheygetonmyshoulders---Potts!” Tony roared. He twisted, trying to peer around at the wings, sliding off the table in his attempt, and Pepper stepped forward.

The sweep of a wing nearly grazed her and she ducked. “Tony! Stop! Calm down!”

“I’m calm!” he argued, turning again. “I’m fine! I just have . . . Shit! Miss Potts, I have fucking WINGS!”

She rose and stepped back, out of the swing, her hands in a placating, palms up gesture. “It’s going to be okay, Tony!”

“The HELL it is!” he snapped back. “Jesus Christ! I’m a fucking FAIRY!”

She bit her lips hard, but the giggles puffed out of the corners of her mouth. Fighting to keep a serious expression, she wove around Tony’s second spin and caught his arm. “Stop! They need to dry before anything else, and you need to calm down, Mr. Stark!”

“Oh they need to dry, yes, of course—Potts how the hell do you know so much about this? Was it that damned lotion?” he growled, shifting his gaze around the room, his mouth an angry bracket. She reached for the Fortingall’s but he was quicker, and snatched up the bottle first. “Okay, this stuff—”

Tony sniffed the bottle, and blinked a little; Pepper moved closer and held a hand under it as his grip loosened. Expertly she caught the Fortingall’s when it slipped out of his hand. “It’s strong, Tony. You might want to sit down.”

“Just call me Tonybell,” he murmured dizzily, and leaned back against the massage table and shot a sorrowing look over one shoulder. “Fucking wings for crap’s sake!”

Pepper took a deep breath and stepped closer, in front of him. Carefully she set down the bottle and took Tony’s hands in her own. “Tony, yes. You have wings. If you flex your shoulders, you can move them a bit, and in a while, you’ll be able 
to . . . use them. Maybe,” she added, shooting them a quick, appraising glance. “It depends on how much Fey blood you have.”

“Fey blood?” he echoed, and drew his brows together. His grip tightened in hers; not enough to be uncomfortable, but strong enough to hang on. “Is this why you were asking about my mother?”

Pepper nodded. “Yes. If your mother was high-blooded, then that makes you at least half, which is pretty powerful. There aren’t many full or half-Fey around.”

“And what makes you the expert on this . . . bizarre aspect of unreality, Potts?” he cocked his head, and behind him, his wings vibrated ever so slightly. Dummy backed up a bit at the hum, and Pepper’s eyes widened.

“Because . . . . Because I’m a quarter Fey myself, Mr. Stark,” Pepper confessed quietly. “I had a fairy grandmother.”

She wasn’t quite prepared for him to laugh at her, and the fact that the sound had an edge of hysteria was definitely not good. Pepper stared at him patiently until Tony’s amusement died into snickers, and although he was trying to settle down, she could feel the effort it took through his grip. “All done, Tony?”

“Please, go on—” he snuffled, “This is fascinating, for a hallucination.”

Impatiently, Pepper let go of one hand, stepped forward and stroked the topmost ridge of one wing; he fought a shudder and shook his head. “A really good hallucination, mind you--”

“Shall I try breaking one off?” Pepper muttered. “Because I can tell you right now it will hurt, Tony. A lot.”

Uncertainly, Tony glanced over one shoulder, staring hard at the length of wing, his jaw moving back and forth. “Okay Pepper, okay. Talk to me, but while you do-- I need a drink.”

She nodded; it would settle her boss to some degree, as long as he didn’t overdo it. “Sure. Let’s go upstairs. Jarvis, please tint the house windows and make a scotch at the bar. Tony—” Pepper indicated he should go ahead of her. They had an awkward moment at the glass security door until he figured out to go sideways through it, and even then, the stairs up to the house weren’t any easier, not with a six and a half foot wing spread.

Tony grumbled. When they reached the living room, he glared at his reflection in the darkened glass, arms crossed over his chest. “I look like an idiot. Mosquito wings.”

“They’re dragonfly; you’re from the line of Water Born Fey,” Pepper murmured, moving to the bar to fetch the scotch. “In terms of lineage, that’s the oldest line. Water Born are among the toughest and strongest.”

He perked up for a moment, then stepped closer to the glass, studying the wings more closely, his engineering interest getting the better of him. Tony cocked his head. “The design has some strength to it, although I’ve got doubts about these things effectively lifting me off the ground, and what’s with the coloration? Black, with iridescent touches of peacock blue and teal green? What sort of camo is that?”

Pepper brought Tony the scotch; he took it from her with a nod of thanks and she sighed. “It’s not meant to camouflage, Tony. Wings are a status symbol; a definitive display of your lineage and powers. The color of your wings indicates that you’ve got no need to back down from anyone, not that you ever have.”

“True,” Tony preened for a moment. He took a breath and concentrated; a second later, the wings vibrated ever so slightly, the sound a faint, musical hum. Pepper’s hair fluttered in the back breeze and she stepped away, her expression tolerantly amused.

“Having fun?”

“No, but it’s interesting,” Tony admitted, taking a deep swallow of the scotch. “So, your granny was a fairy?”

“Yep. Granny Octavia was Field Born Fey, from County Cork, to be precise. Left to avoid an arranged marriage and immigrated here in the US. The blood stayed recessive through my dad, but when I was born, it popped up again,” Pepper sighed. “Most likely because I’m the spitting image of Granny.”

Tony eyed her and held out the glass; Pepper took it and went back to the bar, well aware of his gaze on her the entire time. “You don’t have wings.”

She filled the glass, hesitated, and then poured a second one for herself. Tony’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. Pepper brought the two glasses, handed him one, and managed a sweet smile.

“Actually . . . “ Pepper told him, “I do, Mr. Stark,” and swallowed her drink in a few quick gulps.

Tony matched her, draining his glass and licking the rim for a moment. “Prove it. Because I’ve seen you in a backless dress, Potts. Ohhh how I’ve seen you, and to my way of touch and sight, there’s nothing along your pretty shoulder blades but soft, soft skin.”

“Can’t just take my word for it?” she asked, knowing full well the answer. Tony’s sharp, cynical stare was reply enough, and Pepper sighed. She set her empty glass down on the coffee table and turned to Tony. “Unzip me, please.”

“I like this part,” Tony murmured, reaching for the little tab on her sleeveless dress. He tugged it down, the little growl of the zipper a seductive sound, and Pepper pulled away before Tony could take it down past the curve of her ass.

“Ah--!” she warned, and stepped away. “That’s far enough, Mr. Stark. Okay, give me a moment . . .” Pepper closed her eyes and concentrated, her breathing deep for a few long breaths.

As Tony watched, the edges of Pepper’s thin shoulder blades darkened to a soft shade of brown. With a quick, slightly slurpy sound, they erupted, and a pair of wings slid up and out, rising sleekly to frame Pepper’s elegant spine.

He sucked in a surprised breath; it was one thing to be told, and quite another thing to actually see the process. Tony stepped closer, staring openly now at Pepper’s metamorphosis. “Holy crap. You’ve got wings!”

“I told you I did,” Pepper murmured over one shoulder

To Tony’s way of thinking, they were gorgeous, and very much suited to Pepper. The pale orange-brown wings had cream outlines, and small dark brown dots speckled over them. The bottom lobes were rounded like a Luna moth’s, and at the shoulder point of each wing, thick tufts of down in soft cream around them made it look as if she had a feather boa edging.

She turned around, and slowly opened and closed them; the gesture was distinctly feminine and Tony gave a playful little growl in response. “Yeow! Those are . . . sexy.”

“Riiight,” Pepper smirked and shook her head. “Listen to yourself—two hours ago you had no idea such things existed, and now you’re making a pass because of them.”

“Call me a quick study,” Tony countered, reaching over her shoulder to stroke the fluff there.

Pepper gave a gasp and twisted away from him. “No touching, Mr. Stark.”

“Why? You touched mine,” he protested childishly. “And yours are simply begging to be . . . fondled.”

“That’s enough,” Pepper murmured. She drew in a breath, and as she did so, her wings smoothly slipped back into her shoulders. With careful contortionism, Pepper reached back behind her and began to zip her dress up again. “We’re getting off the point, which is that yes, I have Fey blood and more people than you’d imagine do, to a certain percentage.”

“I want to know how you did that retracto thing,” Tony demanded, waving his glass at her. “Got them back into your shoulders like that.”

“Practice. You can do the same when you concentrate, and I think that should be the first thing we work on,” Pepper murmured, struggling a little with the very last few inches of zipper. Tony stepped behind her, very close, and tugged the tab up. He stayed there a second longer than necessary, his breath warm against the nape of her neck.

“How could you go out backless in public, knowing you had those soft, fluffy . . . wings, Miss Potts?” he breathed in her ear. “That was . . . risky, wasn’t it?”

Pepper gracefully shifted away from him, not meeting his eyes, aware of a slight flush up her cheekbones. “I’ve had a lot more practice in control,” she chided him, “and at the time, I didn’t think you were going to be there, remember?”

“I remember,” Tony replied, his own grin widening. “You got flustered. Hey! Would they have--?” Her deepening blush was answer enough, and his eyes widened with mirth. “Seriously? You would have sprouted?”

“No,” she muttered. “I’d never let that happen, although . . .”

Tony narrowed his gaze, and his own wings gave a quick flick. “No wonder you were so rattled. You and me in the moonlight; a serious momentary disruption of our status quo . . .”

“Charm.” Pepper snapped defensively. “You’ve got Charm, Tony, and even if you didn’t have a conscious recognition of the attribute, you’ve always known how to use it, and yes, moonlight can amplify the effects.”

“Clearly,” he smiled. “Nice to know it’s not all ego on my part.”

“It goes both ways,” she informed him. “You’re susceptible to it too, as I’ve noted.”

“Oh really?” Tony drawled, crossing his arms and giving Pepper a playfully skeptical look. “Is that a fact?”

“Yes. For example; if I ask you to do something . . . and I dimple when I ask, you generally do it, Mr. Stark. Not that I overuse the trick, but—“

“Maybe I do things you ask because I like you, or because they go along with my own plans. Ever consider that, Miss Potts?” Tony countered.

Pepper tilted her head down and looked up at him through her lashes, the little dimple on her cheek evident. The effect was devastatingly adorable, and Tony pursed his mouth fighting the pull, finally conceding with a frustrated growl.

“So that’s how you get me to eat broccoli.”

“As well as catch your flights, brush your teeth and occasionally put your pants back on, yes,” Pepper laughed. “Charm has its uses beyond snaring others for, um, romantic encounters.”

“Sex. So I owe it all to Charm?” Tony looked annoyed and headed back to the bar, intent on topping off his glass as Pepper looked on, sighing.

“No, Mr. Stark. You’re a sensual, compelling and brilliant man in your own right. Charm is just sort of the icing on the cake, in your case.”

He picked up the bottle, hesitated and set it down again. “Okay then.” Turning, Tony shot her a serious look, eyes dark and compelling. “So where do we start?”

Pepper’s return glance was slightly troubled. “I can fill you in on the basics, Tony, but as for Cupid and the three day deadline; we’ll need to do some work.”