Archive of Our Own

Pepper hasn't had a good night's sleep in years, it seems. When she was first hired by Stark Industries, it was work things that kept her up, more nights drinking and talking than she'd ever had in college; once Tony took an extra special interest in her, it was nights drafting letters of apology, organising his schedule, navigating various states' legal systems. Later, it was fielding calls, usually from Rhodey, on the current status of Tony: 'can you get a plane to pick us up? We're gonna need some clothes, too', 'I didn't know that Disneyland security could actually detain people...', 'so, where can one get an annulment in Vegas at four AM?'. And, of course:

“He's-- Pepper... They took... he's been kidnapped. Tony's been kidnapped.”

She didn't sleep for three months.

Now, with Tony in her bed (or she in his, but Tony says everything he has is because of her, really), she can rest a little easier at night, safe in the knowledge that he isn't in an expensive gutter somewhere, or marrying showgirls on a whim. But, still, she wakes up alone, when the sun is just rising over Malibu, or New York, or New Mexico, or wherever they are; because now, Tony doesn't sleep. She remembers Before (there have been a lot of befores in her life: before Tony, before Iron Man, before the kiss, before Steve, but Afghanistan is the Before that takes centre stage in her mind), when he'd work all night and sleep all day and she built up considerable upper body strength hauling him out of his bed. Now he goes to bed with her but wakes four, five hours later, almost without fail, to go down to the basement to work, work, work until he can ignore his bodily needs no longer. When she first realised that he was doing this, before she was in his bed or he was in hers, she tried to draw him out of the workshop, with food, alcohol, lewd comments, anything, but he didn't hear her, so immersed in his own mind. She learnt to let him come out of it on his own.

She hates waking alone, though, stranded in his oversized bed. And then there's Steve. Tony likes to be in the middle – of course, when doesn't he – but once he's up, Steve inevitably shifts in closer and she opens her eyes in the morning to his arm snaked around her waist, not too tight, because even unconscious he's aware of his strength.

Steve wakes at every distinct noise: doors being opened or closed, cars backfiring, creaking footsteps on floorboards, Jarvis clanking around getting the house in order for the next day, but curiously he can sleep through any continuous sound. New York traffic, the television, Tony playing his favourite Black Sabbath records way too loud, way too early in the morning. It lets Pepper do some of her work from bed, tapping furiously at her laptop, BBC World News 24 on in the background, with Steve next to her. He even sleeps politely, on his side with both hands under the pillow, blanket pulled up to his arms, taking up no more space than he needs, unlike Tony 'Starfish' Stark. He never snores, or talks in his sleep, even when his eyes are flicking back and forth wildly beneath his eyelids and his fingers are digging into the mattress. He's the perfect person to share a bed with. Though he is extremely noisy during sex.

What a ridiculous and delightful thing for her to know about Captain America.

She watches stocks in Stark Industries take an abrupt nosedive on her laptop, echoed by an English accent reporting the day's financial news. She thinks about what might have prompted this sharp fall: Tony did destroy half of the Beverly Hilton yesterday, but there was a known genocidal criminal (she continues to resist the term 'supervillain', even though Tony has taken to it with gusto) staying in one of the rooms, so that probably gives him a pass.

Then her computer explodes with emails, her phone vibrating insistently beside her on the bed.

“...sex tape just released on gawker.com shows Mr Stark with an unidentified woman...” the reporter on the TV says.

Ah. From the mass of emails filling up her inbox, she selects one from [email protected], subject line: 'I'll hold him down while you kill him'. Natasha includes a link to the offending video, and the offer of a chat when Pepper's available: I kind of hope you're still asleep and not seeing this break all over the news right now, but I know better.

Pepper watches the video on mute for a couple of minutes, pursing her lips. It's not his best work, that's for sure. He's obviously completely wasted, and the woman does not appear to be enjoying herself all that much. She studies the scene for clues: silver platter on the bedside table, several tiny bottles of alcohol littering the floor. A hotel, then. She moves on to Tony, silently critiquing his form as he thrusts erratically into the poor woman; what a disappointment this must have been for her. His arms are slimmer, the muscles in his back less defined – she congratulates whoever set up the camera, it's a very clear shot. This was from Before, she concludes, closing the window.

Not to worry, she emails back to Natasha, the video is at least four years old. I think I'll leave Tony to the fate of Steve's quiet disappointment. And Fury's not so quiet disappointment, I suppose.

At the bottom of the screen, a notice pops up: stocks are continuing to fall. “Fuck,” she pronounces.

Steve's eyes flicker open. “What's wrong?” he says around a yawn.

She heaves a sigh, looking round at him. “Tony destroying the company yet again. Sex tape, you know, the usual.” At his eyebrows drawing together, she adds, “Don't worry about it, go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” he says into the pillow, already halfway to sleep again.

-

When she comes back from work the following evening, after a day that more resembled the duties of a publicist than a CEO, she finds Tony and Steve in the workshop, Steve stripped to his waist, though his skin appears to have taken on a gold sheen. She stops at the bottom of the stairs outside the workshop, stares a moment longer at Steve with his arms out at his sides, Dummy moving around him, and Tony... on his knees in front of him. This is a whole new realm of kinky sex for her.

She pushes the door open. “Do I want to know?” she asks.

“Oh, hey, Pep.” Tony sits back on his haunches, tipping his head back to look at her, safety goggles placed precariously on his forehead. “I'm just doing some upgrades.”

“To Steve?”

“Can't upgrade perfection,” he says, and she catches Steve shift awkwardly, facing away from her. “Nah, I'm working on the suit, needed a model. Rhodey refuses to since Dummy almost took out his eye.”

“You did not tell me that,” Steve says, shuffling away from the automaton's ministrations.

“Keep your arms up, soldier,” Tony says quickly. “This tech is crazy cutting edge and, therefore, staggeringly delicate and expensive.”

Pepper approaches them and sees now that Steve's entire right leg is encased in an unpainted metal boot, closely resembling the Iron Man suit.

“Why is he gold?”

“Oh!” Tony jumps up. “This is really cool. It's nanotechnology, it forms a sheath around the skin to wear underneath the suit. Touch it, go on.”

At Steve's head tip of assent, she runs her fingers along his bicep. She needn't have chosen there, really, but Steve pinks adorably, as always, and she supposes Tony has rubbed off on her somewhat. “It feels like cotton,” she says.

“Exactly! It's thinner than paper, but extremely durable.” He picks up a pocket knife and presses the blade against Steve's arm before she can register her concern. Steve doesn't even blink; clearly they've been playing with this for quite some time. The blade doesn't even irritate his skin. “It's gonna allow to suit to be way closer fitting, and give it a much wider range of movement.”

“And how much is this costing?”

“A lot,” he says, delighted with himself.

“Hm,” is all she says as he drops back down onto his knees to tinker with the boot. “And you don't mind being Tony's latest test subject?” she asks Steve.

He shrugs, then stills when Tony sharply tells him not to move. “I was bored.”

“You don't know how many times I've heard that. Normally before receiving a phone call from a DA.” She pokes Tony's thigh with the tip of her shoe. “We need to talk about this sex tape.”

“Uh. Yeah.” He puts down his wrench and looks up at her. She's pretty sure he's been practising Steve's innocent, open stare. He has not yet succeeded. “I don't know what to tell you about that.”

“Who you were with, and possibly when would be a start.”

“I... don't know either of those things.”

“I am so shocked,” she says flatly. “Perhaps we could discuss how this attention is negatively affecting your company, then. Or, I should say, my company. Whenever you're ready.”

His eyes widen, cheeks flushing slightly. Honestly, everything turns Tony on. She looks him up and down, then turns on her heel and heads for the door.

“Can I put my arms down now?” Steve inquires quietly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony murmurs. She doesn't need to glance back to know that he's only a couple of steps behind her.

-

It turns out that being a superhero isn't really a full time job. Megalomaniacs are about as common as one would think: translation, not very common at all. There are the occasional minor criminals with impossible powers who refuse to be contained by local police departments, but in general the cops can manage just fine. And in New York, at least, the police department objects rather strongly to the Avengers unsolicited help. It's okay for Natasha and Clint who are, more often than, out on S.H.I.E.L.D. assigned missions. Last time Pepper spoke to Natasha, the two of them were at a classified location, Clint shouting something along the lines of 'eat my arrows, motherfuckers!'.

“Don't mind him,” Natasha had said mildly. “He's living out his Die Hard fantasies.”

Dr Banner's okay too; more than okay. As a reluctant member of the Avengers, he's always thrilled (as much as he ever expresses any emotion) to be left to his research. Thor is similarly occupied, by Asgard, or Dr Foster, or, as Tony suspects, brushing his hair. Tony's fine, of course, so used to being idle six days out of seven. The seventh day being a party.

So that just leaves Steve, who has nothing to do but study modern history and learn how to delete search histories. This is why she agreed with Tony that Steve should come stay with them in Malibu, a little under a month ago, until the next great catastrophe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it occurs to her now that she's basically given Tony someone who can be talked into most harebrained schemes, unless said schemes are explicitly illegal. Tony has that effect on people: she still remembers the stories of Tony and Rhodey's misbegotten time at MIT.

As much as she's charmed by Steve's obvious infatuation with Tony, sometimes she looks forward to the day that his affections aren't so unconditional, though it's possible that with Steve that day will never come. She would never have agreed to pursue this new relationship if she hadn't been absolutely sure that Tony's intentions were good, but the fact is that Tony can cause mayhem and heartache without even realising he's doing it. And Steve is so young.

As well as being, until very recently, a virgin.

“You're twenty seven years old,” Tony said incredulously when Steve had first mumbled it over his cereal, the morning after Pepper had visited the Avengers Tower and got this whole thing rolling.

“I know that,” Steve said, ducking his head. “It just didn't come up.”

Tony looked pointedly at his crotch. “How did 'it' not come up?”

Steve picked up his bowl and moved away from Tony, walking across the kitchen to stand next to Pepper. She smiled reassuringly, but she really didn't know what to think; honestly, how much were they going to corrupt this guy? She wasn't sure how she felt about popping the cherry of the personification of America.

“You know what I mean,” Steve said.

Tony stared for a long moment, then grinned. “Well, no big deal. I've devirginised a lot of people.” He looked inordinately pleased by this fact.

'Devirginised?', Steve had mouthed at her once Tony turned his back to them, digging around in the cupboards, occasionally grumbling about Thor eating all the Lucky Charms. She patted him on the arm.

“Don't worry,” she said quietly, “we can keep him under control.”

Which, she supposes now, had at least a grain of truth to it. Tony hasn't destroyed any government property in over five weeks.

“Do you like that?” Tony asks. His hands are on Steve's thighs, gripping hard enough to leave bruises for a few hours, at least. His eyes are even darker than usual, sending a thrill down her spine when he looks at her. “Steve?” he pushes, digging his fingers in for good measure.

Steve moans something. Tony smiles.

“That's not an answer, Steven,” he says in his best mature adult voice, which he only ever pulls out at the most absurd times; like now, for instance, going down on Captain America.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbles. “Yes.”

“You don't seem so sure.”

Steve groans in frustration, mouth falling open for a moment. This is Tony's favourite part, she knows, being able to get Steve squirmy and agitated. He does it in their everyday life, why wouldn't he do it in bed, too? It has a certain appeal, she has to admit. It's becoming rather hard to just sit next to him, not participating, however. She trails her fingers along Steve's arm.

“Stop teasing him.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees hoarsely, “stop teasing me.”

“Teasing, huh?” Tony says. He climbs back up the bed, planting a hand either side of Steve to brace himself over the other man. Steve opens his eyes, breathing hard, before Tony leans down and kisses him. Steve's hands tangle in his hair, anchoring him down, a leg wrapping around one of Tony's. Tony grinds against him slowly, then faster at Steve's insistent pawing at his t-shirt. Pepper helps strip him, Tony sitting back long enough for her to her hands on his belt and expertly remove it; she could this in her sleep. He tugs his t-shirt off and throws it behind him, where it hits a lamp and brings it to the floor.

“Oops,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around her waist so that everywhere from her hips up is pressed against him. She can feel his erection against her leg, can feel Steve shuddering involuntarily between Tony's legs. She pulls his jeans down to his knees, and pulls him in for a short, hard kiss; when he tries to lengthen it, she swats him on the cheek.

“I said stop teasing Steve.”

“Your wish is my command,” he says, letting go of her and turning his attention back to Steve, who for his part reaches up and grabs Tony by the back of the neck, pulling him down almost roughly. How they've corrupted him in three short weeks.

The thing with Steve is that he has a lot of... stamina. Like an endurance runner, 'but with sex!' as Tony had helpfully pointed out. It makes him uniquely qualified for these sorts of activities, because while she can tell that Tony is nearly there – by the way he stills his grinding, pressing his face into Steve's neck, muscles in his back bunched up, feet dragging against the comforter – Steve won't be. It's like he was created for threesomes, Tony says.

“Fuck,” Tony says into Steve's skin. He pants against Steve for a few more moments before rolling to the side. “All yours, Pep,” he says vaguely.

Steve flushes, just a little. He still has the occasional flash of shyness around her, especially when this part comes up. They're still working out what the limits of this thing are, what everyone likes, what Steve's comfortable with, and exactly how kinky Tony's allowed to be. It's hardly a hardship on Pepper to take the reins here, though.

She straddles him quickly, kisses him. “Okay?”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony adds.

“Quiet, you,” she says. She tucks as much of her hair behind her ear as she can, then leans in and kisses Steve more soundly. He tastes like a mixture of himself and Tony: the alcohol he drank with dinner before they all decided that they weren't hungry, the breath mint afterwards. It inspires an unexpected spike of arousal in her. She feels around for Steve's hands without breaking contact; when she finds them she presses them to her breasts. His breath hitches slightly in his throat, but he leaves them there, giving the occasional experimental squeeze. She laughs against him.

Next, she reaches down and wraps her hand around the base of his cock. His mouth goes slack and she lifts herself up onto an elbow, looks at Tony as she pulls her underwear down and settles onto Steve.

“Jesus,” Steve groans quietly, bucking his hips against her. Tony hasn't blinked yet, staring at her as if in challenge. She smiles and leans back into Steve.

“Fast or slow?” she asks.

She's not sure if Steve's comprehending her at first; his pupils are totally blown, a fine sheen of sweat covering his face. Finally he pants out, “Fast.”

He lets go of one of her breasts to wrap an arm around her back, holding her tight as she moves against him. He cants his hips up, holding her up with the kind of strength that surely only super soldiers have. She can feel her orgasm building fast – it wouldn't normally happen this quick, but she's had ample time to get worked up into it tonight. She doubles her efforts, moving against him as fast as her muscles will allow without seizing up on her, waiting for that tell tale sound from him.

His breath stutters, and he whines a little; she rewards him with a kiss, dragging herself up as much as she can then pushing back down against him. “I'm gonna--” he stammers.

“I know,” she says, capturing his mouth again, swallowing the rest of his words.

“This is some 'Dear Penthouse' shit right here,” Tony says, jokingly but with an unmistakeable undertone. She's pretty sure Steve tries to whack him with his arm, but then she's going going gone, and she hopes that he is too, because she is way too tired to do this again for at least twenty four hours.

A long, drawn out, 'fuck' from Steve suggests that she doesn't have to worry. She clenches her muscles around him, drawing out another long groan, and keeps going while he rides out the last of his orgasm. When his arm against her back loosens, she slides off him, moulding against his side. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and she tucks her chin into the hollow of his collarbone; she feels sticky and sweaty, and Steve is like a furnace, but she isn't quite up for moving yet.

“That was swell,” she says. He laughs silently, the vibrations making her shiver pleasantly.

“It was kind of awesome,” he replies.

“Hey,” Tony says, indignant. “Don't do that flirting thing without me.”

“So stop us,” Steve says, lifting an arm before Tony tries to hit him with a pillow, easily twisting it out of his grip and throwing it to the floor. Tony drops back to the mattress with a huff.

“You know I like being in the middle,” he says, leaning his cheek on Steve's arm.

Pepper shushes him, reaching across Steve and running her fingers through his hair. “Go to sleep. Unless you're ready to talk about the tape now.”

“I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping,” he mutters.

“That's what I thought.”

-

Her mother cried the day she found out Pepper was engaged to Tony. It didn't help, of course, that she was informed of it by her local newscaster; by all accounts, she burst into tears on the spot. Pepper's stepdad didn't know what to do.

Her mother had never been keen on Pepper working for Tony, only twenty two when she was hired, banking on the fact that her looks would override her lack of practical experience for the already famously womanising Tony Stark. She was correct, and she bounced around the company for a couple of years, working in different departments, before Tony deemed her 'too awesome' to be sitting in a cubicle. She quit several times in the proceeding months. Her parents lamented the lack of phonecalls.

Her family think her quite mad, now.

“But you used to be so sensible,” her elderly grandmother comments when she calls. “That young man is bad news, let me tell you. Not like Captain America...” She trails off here, and Pepper is forced to remember that Grandma crushed 'something awful' on Cap when she was a girl. Pepper tries not to think about this too often.

She has yet to talk her mother round, and somehow Tony's gift of a new cinema standard entertainment system didn't endear him to her. The Stark Industries engineered Mercedes Benz he gave her dad worked, though. Her father, however, was always 'a bit of a rogue', according to her grandmother.

The sex tape was really the final nail in the coffin.

“He cheating on you!” her mom says the first time they speak after it hits the news.

“Trust me, he isn't,” she reassures. One thing she knows for sure is that he wouldn't cheat. Which is, admittedly, strange, and if someone had told her ten, five, hell, even three years ago, that Tony could remain happily faithful, she wouldn't have believed it either. The only time he's even come close to being nervous was the day he told her how attracted he was to Steve.

“If I wasn't prepared to have Tony's past indiscretions rubbed in my face, I wouldn't have ever worked for him,” she tells her mom. Predictably, this doesn't make her mother feel any better.

Her sister likes Tony, but that's mostly because he let her drink when Pepper wasn't paying attention, the first time they met. Julia was only eighteen at the time. 'As always,' he had said, 'we must defer to the wisdom of our enlightened European cousins'. That was the first inkling Pepper had that she genuinely liked Tony Stark, even if he was off his face and possibly trying to bed her sister.

He never so much as touched Julia's hand, though, Pepper made sure of that.

So, when Julia insists that they're going to celebrate the engagement in style, Pepper only turns her down the first four times.

-

Her plan is to slip out without Tony noticing – not a particularly hard feat when he's tinkering in the basement. She tells him earlier in the day that she has a late meeting, a statement which she thinks vaguely registers with him, and then she proceeds to get ready in their bedroom, hoping that he won't come out of his cave and wonder why she's wearing so much lipstick.

The doorbell goes at six pm on the dot; Potts's are, on the whole, a punctual people. Julia barrels through the door as soon as it's opened.

“That freaky robot butler gives me the heebie jeebies,” she says, then envelopes Pepper in a hug. “I still can't believe you're getting married.” She grabs Pepper's hand, eyeing the ring. “It's bigger than it looked on Skype.”

“Yes, it is,” Pepper replies, trying to keep her tone even. As she thought, she's had to endure much teasing from her co-workers, as well as not an insignificant amount of spite; she gently reminded everyone that she could easily transfer anyone who did not appear to be enjoying their time at Stark Industries.

“It'd be a pretty good weapon, at least,” Julia says. “Take someone's eye out with this, no problem.”

“That has been mentioned,” Pepper says. “Come on, let's go before something happens.”

“What's going to happen?” Julia says, craning her neck to look around Pepper. “Will it be fun?”

The statistical probability of a catastrophic event happening when Tony's present goes up with every minute that passes, not to mention that things have been exploding in the workshop all afternoon.

“Let's not find-- ah,” she finishes as the smoke alarm begins to wail. “Too late.”

“Jarvis!” Tony's voice carries up the staircase from the workshop, getting louder. “Shut it off!”

“The alarm or the automaton currently pursuing Captain Rogers?” Jarvis asks coolly.

“The fucking robot!” Tony yells, as Steve runs across the foyer. The robot in pursuit shoots a laser at the wall next to Steve's head, destroying a mirror; what's seven more years bad luck in this house, really?

“The 'fucking robot',” Jarvis replies primly, “is not accepting commands at this time. I believe it has glitched.”

“You think?” Tony spares Pepper and Julia a glance as he makes it to the foyer, then turns his attention back to Steve, currently flattening himself against a wall.

“Why does this keep happening?” Steve asks in despair. The robot hovers threateningly in front of him.

“Dunno. My 'bots just don't like you, I guess. Duck.” He lifts his arm, wearing what Pepper identifies as an old Iron Man glove prototype, hastily linked into the arc reactor. It powers up and shoots a haphazard bolt of energy at the robot, knocking it out of the air. Steve jumps up quickly and smashes it under his shoe.

“Oh, that wasn't necessary,” Tony whines. “I liked that one!”

“Is it always like this here?” Julia asks. Tony notices them again and slides up to Pepper before she can answer. She glances at him and his expectant smile, and sighs.

“You remember my sister, don't you?”

“How could I forget Little Potts!” He takes her hand and kisses it. “Ma chérie.”

“Tony,” she says, mock curtseying. She looks slyly at Steve, who's watching the crushed robot with trepidation. “Who is that?”

“Oh, that's Steve. Steve, come here!”

“No,” Pepper says, at the look on Julia's face.

“What?” she asks.

“No,” Pepper repeats. Steve reaches them and stands uncomfortably. Julia smiles at him. “No.”

Julia takes a deep breath. “You two should join us!”

“Join you?” Tony arches an eyebrow. “You mean your 'meeting' was with your sister, Pepper? How dishonest of you.”

“It wasn't a lie,” she says, “it just wasn't the whole truth.”

“An important distinction,” Tony agrees. “Where are we going?”

“My sister and I were going to go to Spago.”

“On my dime? And you weren't even going to invite me?” Tony lays his hand over his chest. “Really, Potts, I'm hurt.”

She purses her lips. “I think you'll find it's my dime, now, Tony.”

He drops his hand back to his side. “Please?” he says, eyes wide.

She pulls Julia back as she moves slowly towards Steve, who's clasped his hands behind his back, radiating awkwardness. “Fine,” she settles on eventually, worn down by Tony; even not speaking, he can exert massive amounts of manipulative pressure. “Go shave, they don't let scruffy people into the restaurant.”

“Oh, me and the chef are good friends, he won't mind,” Tony brushes off.

“Go. Shave,” she repeats.

“Yes, ma'am,” he says, bowing before her.

“Steve,” she says, as Tony retreats. “Why don't you... get your jacket?”

He nods, casting one last nervous glance at Julia.

“Where do you find these hot guys?” Julia asks once he's gone. “I have got to get me some of this.”

-

Tony has no trouble getting her reservation for two changed to a reservation for four – she catches a couple being turned away at the front desk and tells a waiter to put their next visit on her tab.

“So what's it like being engaged to my sister?” Julia asks.

“Like when she was my PA, but with more sex,” he says around a mouthful of bread.

“Tony,” Steve says, elbowing him. They've arranged themselves with Pepper and Julia on one side of the table, and the two of them on the other; Julia lobbied hard for sitting next to Steve, but Pepper put a swift stop to that.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Officer, I didn't realise the morality police were here.”

Steve continues to stare at him while he swallows his food and knocks it back with some wine (he puts a lot more effort into worrying about Tony's drinking problem than Pepper does these days. It's a relief to have someone shoulder some of the burden. 'Bucky's father drank,' he told her once, darkly). Tony pushes Steve's face away from him, a gesture that's probably somewhat too intimate in a roomful of interested celebrities and billionaires, and shifts in his seat.

“But it's good, you know. It's cool.”

Their food arrives shortly after – the most expensive thing on the menu for Tony, and the least complicated sounding dish for Steve, which roughly translates as something unpronounceable and unidentifiable, and fish. Tony had wanted to go for fugu, but they both vetoed that once Pepper explained that it was poisonous if prepared incorrectly.

Steve eyes the array of knives and forks. “Which one am I supposed to use?”

Tony rolls his eyes and leans over. “Well, it's obviously... Huh. Pep?”

She stretches across the table and picks up the correct utensils, putting them into Steve's hands.

“Thanks,” Steve says.

“Where did you find this guy?” Julia asks. “He's adorable.”

Steve puts a lot of concentration into cutting his food.

“Er.” Tony chews on his whatever-it-is, looking thoughtful. “Family friend. My dad used to... coach... his little league team? Yeah, that's what he did.”

That is not the cover story. The cover story is that Steve is a junior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent assigned to work with Tony – the logic behind it being that the closer it is to the truth, the less likely the media are to dig. Pepper thinks that Fury is maybe a little naïve in this regard.

“And what do you do, Steve?” Julia asks sweetly. Pepper kicks her under the table.

“I'm, um.” He stops and smiles a little. “I'm an artist.”

“Will you draw me something?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows. Steve looks at Tony, who mimics Julia's expression.

“I think I'm being led somewhere I don't want to go,” Steve says slowly. “Stop looking at me like that, Tony.”

“What am I looking at you like?” he asks petulantly.

Pepper bangs her hand down on the table, a little too loudly, judging by the looks it draws. “Will everybody just eat their food?”

They all quieten down for a little while, until Julia rallies and opens her mouth again. “You know where we should go after this? A club. I want to dance in proximity to a movie star.”

“Yes!” Tony says too enthusiastically, drawing looks to the table again. There are lots of reasons that Pepper would like Robert DeNiro to stare at her, but this is not one of them. “I know just the place.”

-

“We won't be here long,” she reassures Steve as they enter the hot club. Steve looks unconvinced. “I just stay with me, and you won't have to dance or anything.”

“Swing dancing never seemed this loud,” he mutters as the owner leads them to the exclusive back rooms. The Tony Stark rooms, the man quips. Julia quickly excuses herself to the ladies, having spotted several handsome men that she recognises from TV – not exactly A-list, but it'll do for now, she says.

“You didn't tell me that your sister was awesome!” Tony says, settling in at the bar. The bartender places a drink in front of him without prompting.

“Well, you had a very strong impact on her, much to my mother's chagrin. Mostly because you flirted with her until you passed out.”

“I flirted with her until I passed out?” he repeats. “How old was she?”

“Eighteen.” The bartender hands her a Blood Mary, and looks at Steve. “He'll have a beer,” she says.

“And how old was I?”

“Twenty eight.”

Tony takes a sip of his drink and nods appreciatively. “How extremely inappropriate of me, I do apologise.”

“I don't think she minded, she was the envy of everyone in her dorm that year.”

Julia rejoins them, cheeks flushed, a new pair of heels on. “They have a couch in that restroom. I think I saw Megan Fox in there, too.”

“Where?” Tony asks, looking around. He grins when Pepper smacks him on the shoulder.

A new song begins to play, Julia perking up at the sound. “I love this song! Ginny, come dance with me!”

Pepper shakes her head as Steve says, “Ginny?”

“No one in my family calls me 'Pepper',” she tells him. “Tony made that one up.”

“I rename everyone I know,” he says. “You've got Happy and Rhodey, obviously. Grumpy, that's Coulson. Nerdy is Bruce, Natasha's Sexy, uh, Clint is Crazy, Thor's Dopey, and Fury is his own nickname.”

Steve leans back against the bar, seeming to relax a little. Pepper can't help but enjoy the way that his shirt pulls across his chest, riding up a little, and she knows both her companions do, too. “So, who am I?”

“Bashful,” Tony says. Steve rolls his eyes.

“And me?” Julia says.

“Little Potts, obviously. Mini Potts, Pint-Sized Potts, Nano Potts, you get the idea.”

“But I'm not little any more,” she almost purrs. Pepper joins Steve in eye-rolling.

“You're always gonna be Little Potts to me, sorry.” He holds out his hand. “I'll dance with you if Big Potts won't, though. If that's okay with her?” He directs this last part at Pepper, and she waves them off.

Steve listens to the music for a couple of minutes while Tony and Julia dance in a borderline inappropriate manner. “This song has five words, and most of them are just sounds.”

“Kids these days,” she says.

Steve laughs, drinking some more of his beer. “Yeah, my mom thought swing music was the beginning of the collapse of society.” He pauses, watching Tony's simulated grinding. “Don't you mind... that?”

“Well, considering--” she lowers her voice and glances around for unwelcome company; finding none, she continues, “--that I've watched you have sex with him at least ten times in the last month, no, I'm not worried.”

The tips of his ears go pink. If they weren't surrounded by interested parties (many of whom are, they think, sneakily taking photos of Tony on their iPhones – there are some battles Pepper has given up waging), she'd kiss him, overwhelmed by this affection for him. It's different than with Tony, who's easy like, but difficult to love, or rather: easy to fall in love with, difficult to be in love with. Steve's straightforward, kind, shy, hot, and brave, fulfilling the criteria of most 'perfect person' lists – it's not the same kind of love, the crazy I'd-follow-you-anywhere, do-anything-for-you love, but it's a welcome relief from the intensity of Tony Stark.

“There is that,” he says into his beer. The DJ switches to a new track, some unholy Lady Gaga mashup, and Tony and Julia bounce back over to them.

“We have decided that you two need to stop being so boring and come dance with us,” Tony announces, pulling Pepper out of her seat. Steve's shoots her a faintly panicked look.

“I can't dance,” Steve says hastily as Julia pulls him out onto the dancefloor. “I'll step on your feet. I'm kinda heavy. And, and I definitely can't dance like you were before.”

“I can fix that,” Tony says, before pushing through the small crowd – although most of them part for him, anyway – and shouts something at the DJ. The discordant sound stops, replaced a slower beat. He grabs Pepper around the waist when he gets back to her, spinning her around.

“How did that fix anything?” she asks, fighting down a squeal of laughter.

“I asked him to put something old and slow on,” he replies, and pulls her against him, resting his chin on her shoulder.

She listens for a moment, then shakes her head. “Barry White? I don't think that's going to help Steve much.”

“Well, I can't do everything for him, can I?” He lifts his head and looks at her. “How's he doing?”

She looks past Tony at Steve and Julia, Steve clearly trying to keep several inches of space between them, Julia moving closer every now and then, making him back up. “As well as you'd expect,” she says. “Julia's got her A game flirting out.”

“Jealous?” Tony asks.

“No,” she says quickly.

“I am,” he replies, voice low, looking at her through his lashes.

“Well, that's hardly fair, considering.”

“Being fair isn't known to be one of my virtues.” He leans in, whispers this in her ear. She slides a hand over his neck, holding him there, hearing the click of someone's phone.

“We're being watched,” she says.

“We always are. How about we give 'em something to tweet about?” He dips her without further warning, staring at her for a moment before kissing her. Briefly, she considers the tabloids and her assistant's nervous blathering tomorrow, then pushes her fingers through his hair and returns it. She quickly remembers that Tony has really strong lungs – three years of competitive swimming at his fancy prep school before he lost interest and dropped it without a backward glance – and he can just keep going until she is literally breathless.

Someone whoops, she's pretty sure that it's Julia, and she digs her fingernails into his scalp. They continue a moment longer, then he sets her upright again, gently tidying her hair.

“Hi,” he says, face flushed. Barry White thankfully wraps up his song around them.

“Hm.” Her legs feel a little weak, and she'd prefer not to stroke his ego any further by telling him that. “I think I'm going to sit this next one out.”

“Sure,” he says, obviously pleased with himself. She shakes her head as he escorts her back to the bar, shooing the people sitting there with just a look. Then he turns around and fixes his gaze on Steve. Steve smiles, his eyes bright – he looks a little breathless, too – then takes a step back when Tony advances on him. He seems to be mouthing 'no', somewhere between put out and amused.

Julia sprawls onto the seat next to Pepper. “So, that was kind of hot.” She pauses, and when Pepper doesn't reply with anything more substantial than a hum, she continues, “Captain America enjoyed the show.”

Pepper blinks. “What?”

She indicates to Steve, who's stiffly allowing himself to be pulled around by Tony. “Come on, it's hardly rocket science.”

Pepper blinks again. “What?”

Julia heaves a sigh. “Okay. He obviously is or was in the military, he's got that whole straight-backed, yes sir, no sir thing going on. Plus, you know, your creepy robot butler referred to him as 'Captain Rogers'. He's super prim, which has not been my experience of modern army boys, and he's, what, in his late twenties and is all friendly and flirty with the decade older son of his supposed little league coach? I mean, it could be true, anything's possible, but the odds are stacked against it. And, of course, his voice sounds the same as Cap's did on his Good Morning, America interview.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Pepper asks. She doesn't mean it as a confirmation, but Julia takes it as such, and Pepper's a little too tipsy to pull her up on it.

“I am responsible for at least a quarter of that interview's hits on Youtube. I'm also going to guess that 'Natasha' is the Black Widow, and 'Clint' is Hawkeye, judging by Tony's descriptions.” She waves the bartender over and orders 'whatever's good', then settles back in, smiling broadly. Pepper regrets taking Julia under her wing so much, now. She'd have a prosperous career at S.H.I.E.L.D., the way she's going.

“Which just leaves me to wonder-” Julia says, taking the umbrella-ed drink handed to her. “-why Cap's staying at your house.”

Pepper takes her deep breath. “Steve is between apartments, we're just putting him up for a while.”

“Uh huh.” She takes a sip and wrinkles her nose, rejecting it as too sweet. “As a good sister, I'm going to tell you to be careful. As your sister, I'm just going to say: have fun.”

Pepper throws her shoulders back, puts on her best 'no, Tony, I won't go on a double date with you, Carmen Electra, and The Rock, and get down from there!' voice, and says, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

-

By one am the gossip sites are filled with stories like 'Tony Stark Dances With Unidentified Woman AND Unidentified Man While Fiancée Watches!' and 'Tony Stark Gets Intimate With His CEO On The Dance Floor!'.

Coulson sends her an email that simply reads, 'why?'

-

Her assistant tries to take all in her stride. As always, the moment any new information about Tony is leaked, the media is awash with ever more ridiculous stories. Only, this being Tony, they aren't that ridiculous at all. The 'unidentified woman and man' are quickly identified as Julia, and junior S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Steve 'Roberts'. Perez Hilton suggests a ménage à trois 'or maybe more, the dog'.

She gets two text messages in quick succession after that, the first from Julia: PEREZ HILTON TYPED MY NAME. LIFE = COMPLETE., and the second from Natasha: FURY IS THISCLOSE TO FIRING PHIL RIGHT NOW.

Her assistant sifts through the many articles and directs calls away from Pepper, while Pepper meets with investors. It's excruciating at first, the way they smile condescendingly at her and give each other significant looks that say that they're going to lowball their offer because the papers say her fiancée is sleeping with her sister and some random guy, and Pepper should just be grateful that anyone still wants to be associated with the company.

She remembers her third month as Tony's assistant, walking in behind him for a meeting with some guys from Microsoft, their newest investors. They had demands – she's hazy on the details now, but it had something to do with branding. Microsoft had a better public image than Stark Industries, apparently; a company left in the hands of Howard Stark's stupid son. They wanted their name everywhere, their designs built, their final approval on everything. Obadiah was meant to deal with this side of things, but it pissed Tony off so much that he called a meeting without Stane's approval, and so they stood before these guys, these older, terrifying, successful men who made Tony and Pepper, twenty seven and twenty four respectively, look like teenagers, and laid into them.

“Don't sit,” Tony had said to them. “I don't want your ass imprints on my furniture. So here's the thing: get the fuck out and don't come back.”

They'd protested this, and Tony had continued: “Take your fucking Internet Explorer and leave. You're fired. I'm firing you as investors.”

Pepper had pointed her pen at the door, clamping down on the heady mix of exhilaration and fear. “The exit is that way.”

Afterwards, Tony high-fived her and took her out for pancakes. Obadiah didn't let Tony attend meetings for the next three years.

So, when she's had quite enough of the looks and smirks, she stands up, effectively silencing them, and says, “Stark Industries is no longer interested in doing business with you. I do apologise for the confusion.”

“Was that a good idea?” her assistant asks her after. She throws a worried glance at the men leaving, no doubt appalled at their treatment.

“It's pointless to work with people who don't respect you. Anything new happened while I was in there?”

“No, they seem to be buying Steve's cover.” This assistant is another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, though one Pepper was informed of beforehand, who was quickly installed at Stark Industries when Steve came out to California with them. Agent Sharon Carter, niece of the late Peggy Carter. Steve so far seems to be trying to block out Sharon's existence beyond her duties of as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Pepper is certain that Fury picked her for the assignment to keep them on their toes.

“Good. My sister's loving the attention, but I could do without it.” She turns to her computer and begins to draft a letter officially withdrawing their interest in the previous investors, reminding them that they signed a confidentiality agreement at their first meeting and so cannot disclose any new technology they saw being developed at Stark Industries.

Sharon clears her throat. “Have you thought about a dress yet?”

Pepper sits back. “A dress? Our next gala isn't for two months.”

“No, I meant a wedding dress. It's just--” Sharon leaves for a moment, then reappears with a stack of bridal catalogues, dropping them carefully on Pepper's desk. “--people drop these off a lot. I'm not sure what to do with them.”

“Oh.” There are Post-it notes on the front of almost every catalogue saying things like: '50% off!', 'one of a kind couture', 'free of charge if wedding covered by Hello'. “I hadn't thought about it.” She tidies up the stack. “Leave these with me.”

Sharon looks like she wants to say more, but she's a consummate professional; has to be with Coulson and Fury around. “Will that be all?” she asks instead.

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Carter.”

-

The stack of magazines stay on her desk for the rest of the day. Occasionally her eyes are drawn to them over an expense report, or when one of the accountants looks at them and says, “Never pegged Mr Stark as the marrying type.”

He isn't the marrying type – a couple of years ago, this would have been completely unthinkable, not necessarily because she couldn't see him wanting to marry someone, but because she never in her wildest dreams would have imagined herself agreeing to be tied to him like that. There was always that thought in the back of her mind, the voice that said 'one day, you won't be able to cope with this any more'. Sometimes she thinks that Tony hears it too.

The ringing of her office phone pulls her out of her thoughts; it's Sharon, telling her that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s forensic video analysts have located the woman on the sex tape, a Miss Lindsay O'Brien. “I have her on the line, Agent Coulson thought that you should speak to her before S.H.I.E.L.D. does.”

She stares at the phone for a moment, then says, “Put her through.”

“You call me and then you put me on hold? Who the hell are you?” O'Brien asks. Her accent is faintly midwestern.

“This is Virginia Potts of Stark Industries,” she says. There's a pause on the line, and then a muttered 'fuck'. “I take it that I'm speaking to the right person, then.”

“Fuck,” O'Brien repeats. “What do you want?”

“It's come to my attention that you are the woman on the sex tape leaked to gawker.com a couple of weeks ago. Is that right?” She turns a pen between her fingers and waits out the answer.

“Yeah, it's me,” comes eventually. “What do you want?”

“I think the question is, what do you want?” Pepper replies evenly.

“What? Do you think--? I didn't leak that fucking tape! I didn't even know about it until I saw it all over Twitter!”

Pepper stills the pen and taps the nib on a piece of paper. “You didn't know about the tape?” she repeats back slowly.

“No. God, and I'd've rather forgotten that night altogether. Now it's all over the news and my douchebag ex is threatening to out me to the media. They're offering thousands of dollars for my identity.”

“Maybe--” Pepper drives the pen into the paper, breaking through to the other side. “Maybe you should start from the beginning. Where did this take place?”

“Fuck,” O'Brien says once again. Pepper fancies that she can guess why Tony took a liking to her. “It was at the International Trade Convention in Chicago in 2005. I was one of the dancers – you know, for the big show Tony puts on at the start? Anyway, we hit it off, and I was really into it – I mean, Tony Stark, right? Who isn't? So, he went and did his thing on stage and I hung around, hoping... you know. He was kind of drunk by the time I caught up with him, and he was fighting with that guy or more being told off, I guess, by that guy that died in a plane crash couple of years ago, the big bald dude?”

“Obadiah Stane,” Pepper supplies quietly.

“Right. Anyway, Tony invited me up to his room, but he couldn't find his keycard, so that guy, like, threw a card at him and told him to use his room instead. So, we did, but it was just-- he was really wasted and it was pathetic. I woke up at few hours later and heard him on the phone, he was talking to-- I guess it was you, you're Pepper, right?” She doesn't stop for the confirmation. “He was saying that he needed a plane back to LA as soon as possible, that 'Obi' had told the flight staff not to take orders from him, or something. I just pretended to be asleep until he left.”

Pepper vaguely remembers this, being woken up in the middle of the night with a request from Tony that didn't seem out of the ordinary at the time. The convention hadn't gone well, one of the prototypes had blown up in front of the five thousand people watching, and he'd wanted to get the hell out of dodge, he'd said.

“--thought nobody would recognise me,” O'Brien is saying now. “I'd dyed my hair for the show and I still had all my stage make up on, but Trevor managed to work it out: the only intelligent thing he's ever done in his miserable life--”

“So, you were in Stane's room?” Pepper cuts in, forcibly relaxing her grip on the pen. “That's where the tape came from?”

“Yeah. Fuck. It was a horrible day, I didn't want everyone knowing about it.”

“Miss O'Brien,” she says, cutting in again. “Don't worry about anything. We will deal with 'Trevor', your name won't get out.”

“You're not gonna kill him, are you?

Pepper forces herself to laugh mirthlessly at this. “Nothing like that. Have a nice day, Miss O'Brien.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks?” O'Brien says uncertainly before Pepper hangs up. She lays the pen down and runs her fingers through her hair. It's been four years, why does this man still have such a presence in their lives? She shakes her head and pulls her cell phone; she doesn't want this call to be on company time.

It's answered within a couple of rings.

“Rhodey?”

“Hey, Pepper, what's up?” He sounds faintly worried – she rarely calls him for anything other than a major Tony-related crisis, and the same is true for him.

“Stane,” she says, and he takes a sharp breath in. “He had a son, didn't he?” She knows he did, a skinny, pimply teenager when she first started working for Tony. He'd be about thirty now, she guesses.

“Ezekiel, yeah. Used to try and hang around with us when we were on break from MIT. Nasty little kid, Tony didn't like him at all. Why?” He keeps his tone light, but the mood is heavy; he's the only one who understands her feelings on Stane – and she includes Tony in that – because he was in the same position as her, for even longer than she was.

“That tape that's been making the rounds on the internet? I think Stane had it. I think--” She sighs. “It was part of the grand plan, before his thoughts turned more... violent.”

“Shit,” Rhodey says. “Shit, I thought this was over with. What do you need me to do?”

“I assume that Ezekiel inherited all his father's possessions, which means that he probably had the tape. I need to know that he doesn't have anything else.”

“Okay, okay. Damn. I'll, uh, I'll do something. I'll deal with it.” His voice sounds a little shaky, mirroring hers, she imagines. “How's Tony?”

“He's fine. Rhodey, he doesn't know about this, and neither does Steve. I don't want them finding out.”

“They won't find out from me.”

“Thanks,” she says. “Thank you, Jim.”

“Hey, someone's got to look out for him, huh?” His laugh is a little uncertain, but she still smiles in response, glad for the pretence.

-

It's dark by the time she gets home, though the house is, as always, lit up like a beacon. She pulls the car up to the garage door, relieved when Jarvis tells her he'll 'take it from here', opening the driver side door and taking over control of the driving. She doesn't know what they'd do if he ever went mad.

The house is silent; even Jarvis's 'good morning, Ms. Potts' is hushed and brief. She strains to hear Dummy whirring, or the TV murmuring, or, and her heart drops a little at the thought of this, bottles clinking. She hasn't forgotten yet that coming back to a quiet house at a little after midnight normally meant something had happened in Tony's day to throw him into a tailspin. She doesn't see any evidence of this, though: no broken glass, no stains on the walls, no discarded clothes. Which makes it all the worse – she imagines, for a second, Tony alone in his workshop, dying, thinks of Obadiah and lets that moment of 'why didn't I see it sooner?' wash over her before she takes a breath and pulls herself together. Steve's here, he wouldn't let anything happen to Tony.

She walks across the foyer, avoiding the stairs to the workshop, and pushes the doors to the lounge open. There's a scritch scritch scritch sound that immediately draws her attention.

“Steve?”

He glances up over the top of his sketchpad and quickly takes his feet off the coffee table. “Hey.”

The room is almost dark save for the floor lamp that he has positioned behind the couch. “Where's Tony?”

“Asleep,” Steve replies.

She tells herself that she isn't relieved, because she shouldn't have been worried in the first place. “At twelve thirty?” she asks, crossing the room.

“Well, I--” The corner of his mouth turns up, and she can just make out a blush; at first she'd thought that he was just pathologically shy, but now she wonders if some of it isn't at least a little put on. “I tired him out.”

“I see,” she says. She sits down on the couch, leaving a few inches space between them, and leans down to rub her feet. “Fuck,” she mutters, pulling one shoe off, then the other, feet swollen and sore. Damn Jimmy Choo, and damn the heat. She lines the heels up neatly with the corner of the couch, and flicks her eyes to Steve. “You like my shoes, don't you?”

He ducks his head, skitching at his paper again. “Yeah,” he says, and smiles a little more.

“What are you drawing? Can I see?” She knows better than to ambush him over it; Tony did that last week and Steve came the closest he ever has to fighting with him.

“Sure,” he says. She scoots down the couch to his side and, after a moment's hesitation, he settles his arm around her shoulders. “Tony said that he's going to build me a motorcycle exactly as I draw it.”

“It's nice,” she says. She doesn't know much about bikes; Tony's more into cars, so she taught herself enough about them to know whether his newest projects would blow up before they ever hit dirt or not. She admires Steve's work though, the detailed body and smudgy wheels – there are black fingerprints around the edges of the paper, charcoal darkening the fingers of his right hand.

“You should probably hold off on saying that until you find out how much it's going to cost,” he says.

She rests her head on his shoulder. “Probably,” she echoes, and laughs. He goes back to the drawing, and she watches the hypnotic strokes until her eyelids begin to droop.

“Pepper?” When she doesn't respond, he moves slightly under her. “Why do people keep falling asleep on me?” he asks himself quietly.

-

She wakes slowly the next morning. It's light already, she can feel it on her skin, warming one side of her face, the silk pillow beneath her cheek cooling the other. She almost slips back into her dreams before she wonders just exactly where she is. She opens her eyes slowly, notes white sheets in front of her, the wrap around window beyond it, the Pacific Ocean stretching out forever. She thinks for a moment on whether she remembers coming up to bed last night; she doesn't, but she does have some hazy recollection of being talked to, of having blankets draped over her. Looking down, she notices that she's wearing a checked shirt, the one Steve had on last night, and little else; she pulls at the collar and checks down her front: she still has her bra, underpants and, curiously, stockings on. She has a dark smudge on the inside of her left wrist.

“Jarvis, what time is it?”

“It is 10:17am, Ms. Potts.”

“Where are Tony and Steve?”

“Mr Stark and Captain Rogers are currently in the kitchen, overseeing the production of French toast. May I humbly suggest that you join them as soon as you are able?”

“You may, Jarvis.” She gets out of bed, sees her skirt and blouse folded and placed neatly on the dresser table, a pile of dirty clothes next to them on the floor.

She makes her way downstairs, following the strains of AC/DC.

“--don't touch it. Tony, just-- Tony! You're going to get burnt!”

“Just because you've been to France once doesn't mean you know how to make French toast.”

“I'm following Jarvis's recipe! Didn't you program him?”

“He gets that shit off the internet; I wouldn't be surprised if it's actually the recipe for edible condoms.”

“I can assure you that it is not,” Jarvis interjects.

Pepper gets to the door of the kitchen and watches them, Steve in front of the stove, holding a wooden spoon, Tony sitting on the counter beside him.

“That doesn't even make sense, Tony. I doubt those... things involve milk and eggs.”

Tony catches sight of her and lifts a hand in greeting, but Steve doesn't notice. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and grins. “And just what do you know about edible condoms?”

“Not as much as you, probably.” He slaps at Tony's hand when Tony tries to taste the milk and egg concoction. “Seriously, you are going to burn yourself.”

“But you're not doing right! It's not supposed to bubble like that.” He makes a grab for Steve's spoon, which Steve easily evades. The second time he tries it, Steve drops the offending item and wraps his arms around Tony's waist, lifting him up and off the counter. They struggle for a minute, but Steve holds firm, laughing as Tony pulls at his hair. “Save me, Pepper!” Tony cries at last, throwing his arms wide.

Steve whirls around. “Oh! This was supposed to be a surprise.”

“I'm surprised,” she says, as Tony, still in Steve's grip, tells him that the food is burning.

“Dang,” he mutters, putting Tony back down. He waves away the rising smoke and takes the frying pan off the range, looking at it sadly. “That was meant to go better.”

“It's the thought that counts,” she says.

“That's what people always says when their loved ones fuck up,” Tony says. He takes a glass of orange juice off the counter behind him and hands it to her. “We managed to do this much without breaking something, at least. It's fresh squeezed. Ish.”

“Thank you.” She takes a sip, choosing not to ask how something can be 'fresh squeezed-ish'. “So, why am I wearing Steve's shirt?”

“Steve?” Tony prompts, as Steve gives up trying to dissipate the smoke and just throws a dishcloth over the pan.

“Oh, I- You fell asleep on the couch.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “I carried you upstairs, and it looked kinda uncomfortable, sleeping in a blouse and skirt, and I didn't want to go snooping around in your closet, so I just... used my shirt.”

“You undressed me?” She smiles at the thought of her neatly folded clothes; military precision, she should have realised.

“Well.” He looks at Tony, who's cocking his head, eyebrows high. “Yeah.”

“I suppose that explains why I've still got my stockings on, then.”

“I didn't want to, um-- I...”

She laughs. “Steve.”

“Right,” he says, grinning ruefully. “Sorry.”

She checks the clock: 10.25am. “I should really be at work by now, you shouldn't have let me sleep in.”

“I called and told...” Tony glances at Steve. “...uh, your assistant that you wouldn't be in today. Or tomorrow. I think it's high time we introduced Steve to the wonders of Los Angeles. Disneyland and the like. I think the ban's up, now.”

“You seemed beat last night,” Steve adds. “We thought we should let you rest.”

“It was a close thing, though,” Tony jumps in. “Steve was totally cheating at sparring earlier on, and we really needed a referee. Jarvis took on the responsibility.”

“You can't cheat at sparring,” Steve says as Pepper crosses the room towards them. He trails off as she approaches Tony.

Tony smiles, confused, as she stands in front of him for a moment, then wraps her arms around him. “Hey there,” he murmurs, returning the hug. She sighs into his shoulder, noting wryly that he smells awful; his ability to ruin a moment stretching beyond the verbal and into the non-verbal. She lets go of him with one arm and waves Steve over. She curls her free arm around him and reaches up to kiss his cheek.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

Right at this moment, it is; later today she'll probably have to have a hushed conversation with Rhodey while Tony is distracted, and next week her mom will call and they'll argue about Grandma's wedding dress, and at some point a moustache twirling bad guy will kidnap a bus load of nuns and both Tony and Steve will almost get killed, but right now, everything is fine.

“Yeah,” she says. “Everything's great. But I think we should go out for breakfast.”