Chapter Four

Pepper wasn’t sure she could handle any more ego on Tony’s part; now that he understood the power of Charm he was on the verge of overdoing it with nearly everyone he met, and several times she had to discreetly remind him to behave. He’d flirted with the meter maid outside the doctor’s office, the front room receptionist, the janitor in the hallway, and looked as if he was going to score with the triage nurse as well before she finally stepped on his foot to break his concentration.

“Ow!” he hissed, shooting her an annoyed glance. “What was that for?”

“For blatant idiocy, Mr. Stark,” she replied serenely. “We’re here for a blood test, not to collect a harem.”

“Someone’s jealous,” Tony smirked. “Incredible. I didn’t think you cared, Potts!”

“I care about you not ending up with more contenders than the Miss Universe pageant. Tone. It. Down.”

Doctor Fiske was a whip-thin African-American man with quiet elegance. He also had Fey blood. Doctor Fiske listened carefully to Pepper recite Tony’s medical history and health as he signed the Arc non-disclosure form, tested the man’s reflexes and examined his back and wings.

“Dragonfly, with touches of Moth; a good combination for strength and endurance,” came the quiet observation. “Have you flown? Without your Iron Man suit, that is?”

“No,” Tony admitted. “Dreamed it, though.”

“That counts,” Doctor Fiske told him cheerfully. “You’ll have better maneuverability than most, and all the practice with your Suit will help.”

“Why is this all happening now?” Tony demanded, pulling on his shirt again and buttoning it up. “From what I read, most people like this tend to um, pop wings just after puberty.”

“True, but there are late bloomers in every aspect of life,” Doctor Fiske pointed out. “And forgive me for mentioning it, but the trauma of losing your parents could have been a factor as well. It’s possible you might never have budded without this—” he tapped Tony’s arc lightly, “—changing your metabolism and body chemistry. You sublimated all your latent talents into your Suit, but eventually your body caught up. Let’s have a look and see exactly what percent Fey you are, Mr. Stark.”

He excused himself and carried the vial out of the room; Tony looked at Pepper while he did up his cuffs. “Will he be able to tell which parent it was, too?”

“I think so,” Pepper nodded, “Tony . . . I am worried. I don’t know what exactly will happen if you don’t go through with the Bonding Agreement, but it might be . . . serious.”

“More serious than being betrayed by your mentor and nearly murdered then held for ransom in a foreign country for three months?” Tony replied, his voice light but his words hard. “More serious than losing control of your company and having a fight to the death with someone you trusted?”

“Tony--” Pepper whispered, her eyes starting to sting, “I--”

“Don’t need to say anything, Miss Potts. I may be a late bloomer, but I’m a damned quick study, and nobody’s going to make me do anything I don’t want to do. I think you can testify to that.”

He flashed her a quick smile; despite the cheer in it, his eyes were slightly haunted, and before she could stop herself, Pepper slid a hand along his shoulder in a quick, comforting caress.

Tony bit back a purr. “You keep doing that--”

The door opened, and Doctor Fiske re-entered, his expression chagrined and delighted at the same time. Carefully he closed the door, then handed a printout to Tony, his voice slightly strained. “Mr. Stark, this is . . . unprecedented. Truly, and I’ve been working with Fey clients for upwards of twenty-two years now. According to this, you’re nearly seventy-three percent Fey, and from both sides of your family!”

“And that’s good?” Tony asked dubiously, staring at the paper in an attempt to decipher it.

Doctor Fiske gave a snort of amusement. “In terms of bloodline, yes, it is. I can see now why there was a Bond agreement for your parents—clearly the big wings saw the potential if they succeeded in producing offspring.”

“That sounds so . . . coldly clinical,” Tony pointed out. “Calculated.”

“It does,” Doctor Fiske agreed, “But then again, human and Fey culture have some differences, Mr. Stark, and without meaning to alarm you, I can state that you are a valuable potential contributor to keeping the Fey element strong for this and the next generation.”

“First time in my life I’ve earned the title ‘stud’ . . . and I don’t think I want it,” Tony sighed. “Okay then. I’m more Fey than human?”

“No, that’s not how it works,” Doctor Fiske assured him. “You’re human, Mr. Stark. We all are . . . it’s just that a small percentage of the population carry Fey DNA chromosomes fused with our human ones. There are markers in the blood that those of us in the know are trained to spot and measure, but beyond that, we all live very human lives.”

“Some of us excessively so,” Pepper murmured, earning a slight smirk from the doctor, and a scowl from Tony.

He hopped off the exam table and let Pepper help him with his coat, then spun and looked again at Doctor Fiske. “Thanks. I appreciate the info.”

“I appreciate the trust, Mr. Stark. Good luck,” the doctor replied, simply, and shook Tony’s hand.

In the limo, Tony reached for the bottles in the bar, pouring himself a finger of scotch and downing it in a single gulp. Pepper shot him a commiserating look and said nothing.

Tony sniffed. “So. I have to choose a . . . mate in roughly six hours, Miss Potts.”

“So it seems, Mr. Stark,” she replied. “I’ve . . . received instructions for the . . . event, in fact, and they’ve agreed to hold it at the Arboretum.”

“Convenient,” Tony replied, making a face.

Pepper nodded and went on. “You’re required to wear, um, culturally pertinent formalwear for the evening. Altered for your wings, of course.”

“Dress up,” Tony sighed. “Fairy Dating Game, but without the cheesy Herb Alpert music and questions loaded with innuendo. And for what? Making fairy babies? Seriously Pepper; do I even look like daddy material?”

Tony,” she murmured, her eyes kind, her smirk knowing.

“You’re going to be there, right?” Tony asked her softly. “I mean I can’t really face this without my major domo, and I don’t think Cupid will beat me up too much if you’re there to witness it.”

“Cupid won’t touch you; I promise,” Pepper assured him.

“Okay then. Do you . . . know the guy?” Tony asked. The limo was heading up the highway, he noted.

“I’ve . . . met him before,” Pepper admitted cautiously. “Years ago. The Fey can spot him at work.”

“Did he stick you?” Tony demanded, looking alarmed. “Jesus--!”

“No. I watched him get a nice little couple together down in the typing pool of Stark Industries. It was . . . sweet.”

“It seems unnatural,” Tony grumbled, fingers playing on the scotch bottle but not lifting it. “Falling in love shouldn’t happen because some gorilla with cutesy arrows targets your ass.”

She shrugged, and her smile had that mysterious glamour to it that Tony was learning to spot as Fey. “No, because in nature, courtship dances and mating rituals are ALL based on logic, right?”

He gave a conceding grunt. “There is no logic to the heart, but I’ll tell you this, Miss Potts: I’m not going to make it easy for that bastard, that’s for sure.”

The Jelpers Arboretum was a beautiful grove in a small canyon north of Malibu; privately funded, it had one of the finest collections of native and imported trees set in a well-cultivated spread of ten acres. It was available for private functions, and this evening, in a wry and very Fey turn of events, the gate was manned by large and unsmiling men who looked as if they could juggle mountain lions.

When Tony and Pepper arrived, they dismissed Happy, who wasn’t very at leaving them at the gate. Pepper worked a little Charm on the driver in an effort to soothe him. “Don’t worry; I’ll call when we need you, I promise. We’ll be fine.”

The latter was more of a hope than a reassurance, but it was all Pepper could offer, and with a doubtful nod, Happy turned the limo, heading back down the road to the main town a few miles away. Pepper watched him go, and then turned to glance at Tony, who was smoothing down his kilt.

The Stark tartan was wool, green, mostly, and went with the black velvet jacket and grey hare sporran. Tony seemed indifferent to his rakish charm in it, and clomped in his brogans towards the gate; a man on his way to an unpleasant duty. The guards looked down at him, and he squared his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Anthony Stark, only son of Howard and Maria Stark, Water born.”

The two figures didn’t move; Tony sighed and let his wings slide out. At that point, the guards shifted, their respect grudging, but genuine. Tony strode through, glancing back once to see if Pepper was following. The guards let her pass, and she hurried to keep up with Tony, pulling her blue angora shawl more closely around her shoulders.

The pavilion stood on a platform over the stream, making a picturesque setting, and there were a good twenty people milling around, chatting and making the endless small talk that seemed to be required at gathering everywhere. Pepper knew many of the faces from the Internet photos, and quietly named them for Tony as they approached. “That’s Ellison Macht, who runs F-Net and all the associated web businesses; that’s Dolly San Dorian, Director of the west coast office, and over there, that’s, um, Mab.”

“Mab?” Tony muttered, dim memories of Shakespeare rising in his brain. “THE Mab?”

“Apparently . . . yes,” Pepper replied in a low, awed voice. “She, along with Cupid and a few others are the last generation of full-blooded Fey on the planet. The fact that she’s here for this is very impressive, Tony. It’s quite an honor.”

The woman in question was small and frail-looking, with curly silver-white hair and dark eyes. She wore a pantsuit of black velvet, and had a carved cane of black wood topped with a globe of silver.

“She looks like she just stepped out of a gingerbread cottage in the woods,” Tony whispered. “Do I have gumdrops on my breath?”

“Tony!” Pepper muttered, trying not to smile despite herself. “You need to behave.”

“Can’t make me,” he teased, but gave a nod, and stepped forward. Mab looked up; Tony was taller than she by nearly five inches. She scowled at him.

“Knew your father. Ambitious man. Your mother was too good for him,” Mab announced, her voice unexpectedly deep. “He loved her though.”

“That’s . . . good,” Tony muttered, not sure of what to say. Mab arched a white brow at him and the corners of her mouth twitched in wry amusement. She shifted her gaze from Tony to Pepper, and for a moment the two women looked at each other.

Mab spoke. “Moon lover, you’ve done your job in delivering him. You are dismissed.”

Pepper stiffened, and gave a small nod, then turned and began to move away, trying to keep her face averted. She’d been dreading the entire evening, trying hard to keep the truth at bay even as she pulled up the contingency wedding planner file earlier and made sure it was updated.

She had plans already set up for most of the events in Tony’s life, up to and including his wedding and funeral; given his impulsive nature it seemed wise to be prepared for anything, and Pepper was an organized soul. She’d kept the plans updated, working hard to stay objective about them, but the wedding one always made her chest ache in a way she refused to acknowledge, all the way up until now.

The ache was nearly unbearable at the moment, tears held back by sheer stubbornness.

“She stays with me,” Tony announced in a quiet, firm tone. “Non-negotiable.”

Mab’s eyebrow went up again, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she cocked her head and moved off without another word. Tony inclined his head in grudging respect, then shot a sidelong glance at Pepper.

She tried to look calm, but there was a flush to her face; she could feel it, and knew that Tony could see it as well. One corner of his mouth quirked up. “I’m getting the hang of this.”

“She’s got more Dragonfly in her little finger than you do in your entire body, Mr. Stark,” Pepper warned, her voice shaky as she said it.

Tony took a moment to lean down and whisper in Pepper’s ear. “Don’t care. Nobody dismisses you. Ever.”

Before Pepper would say anything, or fight the rolling sweetness in the pit of her stomach, the sound of glass chimes rang out over the assembled group and everyone looked up expectantly. Above them, a startling and beautiful flying formation of five figures flew into sight, turning in perfect unison before slowly coming to touch down a few feet up along one side of the valley. People politely applauded, and the flyers gave brief nods.

The three women in the center were flanked by two men, all of them with moth or butterfly wings. The men were in formalwear, the women in fancy dress, and the effect was of an escort.

Tony gave a soft snort, unimpressed. “If this is the way Fey things are done, they seriously need a shake-up around here.”

The sudden appearance of Cupid made more people murmur again, and Tony broadened his stance, looking wary. “Ah yes, Mr. Touchy-Feely. This looks like fun.”

“The Time of Union is now upon us,” Cupid rumbled, and even though he hadn’t raised his voice, it seemed to carry throughout the glade. “We are here to witness the Bond of a pledged Water Born to the Life Mate of his choice.”

Tony noted the approach of one of the escorts; he and Pepper were led to a smaller area of the pavilion that was slightly raised and further over the water of the stream below. Tony moved to the center of it, casually resting his hands on the rail.

“Miss Potts--” came his murmur, “I have to ask . . .”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” she replied, trying to pay attention to him and the group at the same time.

“You like the skirt, right? I mean, for a fairy, I’m still . . .”

“You’re still very . . . macho, Tony, yes,” she sighed, hiding a smirk. He squared his shoulders in the jacket and sighed; Cupid was inviting people to move back and was starting to escort the three women forward.

With the general noise of the crowd as cover, Tony leaned towards Pepper once more and added, “Okay, when I pick you, act surprised, okay?”

“What? Tony! You can’t do that!” she hissed back, eyes wide. “I’m not a contender, and . . . and it’s---”

“—The best choice,” Tony cut her off absently. “Just go with me on this; I had Jarvis check out the agreement—”

And then Cupid strode forward, looking more formal in a sleeveless suede tunic of dark red, with small gold fetishes sewn on it, but muscles bulging, teeth gleaming. He waved a hand, and the people before him shifted away, not all of them voluntarily. Behind him, the three contenders followed, smiling to everyone, their wings glittering.

Cupid looked at Tony and managed an expression that promised things of a painful nature. “You showed up. Good, although hunting you down could have been fun too.”

“A Stark is as good as his word,” Tony replied, his tone utterly serious.

The crowd murmured approval of this, and even Cupid gave a slow nod. “Touché, Oh Needle of the Devil.”

Tony looked askance; Pepper murmured, “An epithet for those with Dragonfly in them.”

“I knew that,” he bluffed. “I just didn’t like his tone.”

Cupid heard that and his expression shifted to faint amusement. “As we all know, the penalty for noncompliance in a Pledge is severe. In your case, Stark, it would mean saying bye-bye to your entire fortune, since it was built on the initial input of Fey gold. Oh, and we get to surgically cut your wings off.” Cupid managed a somewhat pleased expression. “The big Snipowitz, so to speak.”

Tony stood stock still, but blinked a few times, and Pepper could feel him tense up. “Potts, you never said anything about that part!” He managed in a sotto whisper out of the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t think they’d um, do it, Tony!” She hissed back, her tone slightly miserable.

“Yeah, well I suppose that’s what I get for pissing Arrow Boy off. Bluff. Time to bluff, Pepper—”

Cupid waved a hand toward the three woman. “Your aspirants, Stark. Ladies?”

The first one was familiar to Tony; Elise Marcov winked at him knowingly and stepped forward, her figure in a gold metallic mini-dress. “Elise Marcov, Field Born, sixty-three percent. Pledge to me and I’ll make you . . . happy.”

“Doubt it,” Tony muttered under his breath, but he gave her a perfunctory smile.

The next woman stepped forward; a thin blonde with smooth tresses and big blue eyes that matched her two-piece dress. “I’m Shari. Shari Wilkerdoon, and I’m, um, Water Born. Almost half, they tell me. And I’m not in it for your money at all. You look nice.”

“Yeah,” Tony sighed softly, but managed more of a smile to Shari, who dimpled and wiggled her fingertips at him.

“And I’m Renata Bentancourt,” came the confident and sultry tones of the last woman. She was a beautiful shade of mahogany, and her smile was genuine. “Mountain-born, mostly moth, Mr. Stark. “

He nodded approvingly, liking her quiet, understated style, and for a long moment nobody said anything.

The pause went on, and finally Mab lifted her walking stick, her expression ever so slightly peeved. “It’s not rocket science or speed dating, Stark. Choose!”

“Potts. I choose Potts,” he called out loudly, making sure his voice was heard. Immediately Shari pouted and Renata shook her head, smirking.

Elise bared her teeth. “She’s NOT in the running!”

Around them the crowd was shifting uneasily; people ruffled by this break in protocol and interested in what would happen. Cupid shot a look at Mab for instructions; a nod from the elder fairy and he had an arrow out in his huge fist.

“Gonna have to do this the hard way,” Cupid muttered. “Lucky for me I like the hard way.”

“You know, I sort of got that,” Tony replied, and in a quick, almost dance-like move, snatched the arrow from Cupid’s grip. The watching crowd gave a gasp and Cupid himself growled.

“You don’t want to mess with that, Stark.”

“And neither do you,” Tony pointed out. “But I’ll use it if I have to, so listen up.”

As he spoke, Tony waved the arrow like a baton, passing it almost under Cupid’s nose. “I’m. Choosing. Miss Potts. According to the Pledge made by my parents on my behalf, the terms were less than defined. I was to Bond with someone and I quote, ‘of Fey blood’ unquote. No comment about what percentage, or what lineage in the entire document. However, since the Pledge clearly leaves the choice up to little old me, then I’ve fulfilled the terms of the stated agreement in making the selection I’ve made.”

No one spoke for a long, tense moment, and slowly, the crowd turned to look at Mab, who stood glaring at Tony. She looked as if she wanted to take the staff in her gnarled hand and rap him on the top of the head. Hard.

Pepper felt rather the same way.

Then unexpectedly, Mab smiled, and in that moment, the full force of her Glamour flared out over the company in a wave of anticipation; that giddy excitement before the first drop of a rollercoaster rose in everyone. “Oh by all means, Anthony. 
IF . . . she’ll have you.”

The tension shifted back to Tony; the crowd turned like spectators at a particularly intense tennis match.

He shot a sidelong glance at Pepper, his expression going pale at this unforeseen coda. “Pepper? Sort of hanging here. A nice ‘yes’ would be good about now.”

“Tony,” she squeaked, flushing at the sudden weight of attention.

“Being poor I can handle,” he babbled in an undertone to her, “I can work my way up from the bottom if I have to, but the wing thing? Um, help?”

But Pepper wasn’t looking at him now; her gaze was on Mab, who was staring back, dark eyes flashing with hints of silver in a kaleidoscope effect. “Up to you, little Moon lover,” Mab purred, sounding like a tabby over a baby mouse. “You know what this will entail. How loyal are you, truly?”

Pepper lifted her chin and inclined her head to Tony, her voice a soft and urgent whisper. “Use the arrow on me.”