Iron, Whiskey, and Redheads: An Ironman RP (SevenxGwendolyn)

[sevenpercentsolution]

Before Afghanistan, Tony Stark had always thought of himself as a Patriot; his years of toying with weapons of relatively minor destruction had never bothered him one iota. Tinkering with explosives, building better bombs, better rockets, better jets and new tanks had all just been part of what he had thought was an honourable goal. It had never occurred to him that his lifelong career of building weaponry for the American people to protect their country with - he'd never once thought that -

- well, before, he'd always slept. And damn well.

Not so much anymore.

After he'd been struck by the shrapnel from one of his own rockets, and after he'd been put through hours of invasive, horrifying surgery, and after they'd hooked him up to a car battery to save his life only to torture him and nearly end it later, and after he'd seen the massive storage they'd had of Stark Industry weapons - he'd realized that he had supplied the enemy with a means to kill the people he was trying to protect.

And after the sweat, and the blood, and the anger, and watching as Yinsin - the man who had kept him alive - died an agonizing death in front of him, he'd realized that he'd had it all wrong.

He was the enemy.

It was Stark Industries, it was all of the munition and arms dealers, all the people who had built lives around finding new ways to kill eachother, new ways to torture and mutilate and horrify eachother, to force others to submit or be terrorized. It was Stark Industries that had a hand in killing Yinsen's family and destroying his village, and countless others before it, and it had been his lack of focus, his innattentiveness that had allowed Obidiah the opportunity to work behind his back, to sell to people who wanted the weapons solely for the purpose of killing, not to defend anything.

But he wasn't even sure there was a difference anymore.

So he'd done the only thing he could think of, and he'd shut down the weapons factory of Stark Industries, and he'd turned his attention to other aspects of the business: renewable energy and medical technology.

After his time in Afghanistan, Tony had changed - he refused to think of it in terms of 'soul-searching' or a 'life lesson'. He'd just - changed. Of course, this was the sort of change that he couldn't come back from, not with a miniature arc reactor buried in his chest. He still never went to the award shows that were held in his honour, which was no real change, but he'd even stopped attending the parties, stopped showing his face at casinos, he'd even stopped bringing women home with him - after all, it was difficult to explain why his chest was capable of lighting up the room.

He was a freak now.

And, presently, a very drunk freak.

After Obidiah had left the picture, and he'd stopped producing weapons, Tony had found he would lay awake at night; some nights he would think about how he could improve medical technology, and other nights he could only think about all the people he had killed with his ignorance. How many innocent people had died because of Stark Industries? How many people would he have killed in the future if he'd kept the war machine rolling?

And some nights, when he was lucid enough, he would think about Pepper. He wasn't sure why, but he told himself it was guilt, the knowledge that, if Obidiah had it his way, she would be dead. In fact, if Obidiah had it his way, he would have killed Pepper right in front of him, because he knew what it would have done. She could have died, and it would have been because of him - because she had tried to help him. Because he'd convinced her not to leave him. Not that Pepper was with him, exactly, but - he'd never been without her, not since he could remember.

That night, he had laid in bed for hours, unable to sleep, scratching irritably at the metal piping that fit closely to the skin on his chest; when the clock hit the very early hours, he rose and went to his workshop where he stayed well into the morning. Bare foot and dressed in loose slacks and a gray t-shirt, Tony's hands were strong and sure even while the whiskey made the rest of him unsteady.

 

[Gwendolyn]

Pepper Potts was a woman of many talents. She was intelligent and articulate, she could answer calls and e-mails practically at the speed of light, her personal appearance was never short of impeccable, and she had the unique ability of being able to call Tony Stark on his bullshit.

As patient and level-headed as she was, even Pepper got a little frustrated and stressed at times. She had been dealing with the overwhelming amount of press they had been bombarded with since Tony outed himself as Ironman, and all the added publicity, on top of everything else she was responsible for, was really starting to wear on her.

Like Tony, she barely slept, and when she did, it wasn't restful. She usually spent her nights tossing and turning, then getting out of bed and answering e-mails in the dark downstairs, falling asleep on the couch around four, and waking up like clockwork at seven.

It had been even worse when Tony was gone – there wasn't a night when she didn't dream of every possible horrifying situation he could have been in. She would wake up shaken and alone. Pepper hadn't been lying when she admitted that Tony was all she had. The only people who could be called her 'friends' were Rhodes and some of her associates. She didn't have a boyfriend – God, she hadn't even been on a date in five years. Men didn't jump at the opportunity to date a woman who was so involved with Tony Stark, infamous billionaire womanizer.

But Tony returned to her, changed but the same all at once, willing to risk his life for hers. She'd never forget that night, him screaming at her to blow the reactor and stop Obidiah even though it might take his own life. She'd thought he was dead, then, too – but again, he returned to her. Tony Stark was becoming a lot more reliable. Well. In some ways. She still couldn't get him to attend the balls or galas or fund raisers that were held in his honor, or organized for some of his charities. But perhaps it was best to keep a rather low profile – if that was possible for Tony Stark – because Pepper would rather not deal with even more PR, and it seemed that now that Tony had revealed himself as a 'superhero' there were audacious rumors of a romance between he and his long-time assistant. People would stop at nothing for a story, would they? There was quite clearly nothing but platonic affection between them (at least thats what Pepper told herself and others), but still. Soon they might start making up a nickname for them, a la Brangelina.

Pepperoni. Oh, good God...

“Good morning, Miss Potts,” Jarvis greeted her as she walked into the kitchen.

Operating on three hours of sleep, Pepper was startled by the cool mechanical voice. “Good morning Jarvis,” she recovered quickly.

“Mr. Stark is in his workshop,” Jarvis informed her, “as always.”

“Indeed,” Pepper said absentmindedly as she thumbed through the mail. Funny, how Ironman still got mail like everybody else.

“Oh, and he's drunk,” Jarvis added.

Pepper sighed, setting the mail on the counter to be accounted for later. “Fabulous.”

“Miss Potts, it is my suggestion that you check on him,” Jarvis said. “I believe he's made several advances toward the suit already, but tripped and relented each time. But he may just make it next time.”

“That would be the last thing we need,” Pepper muttered, imagining an intoxicated Tony Stark, with only half the suit on and a bottle in hand, trying to take flight and landing on the expressway, or worse, in the ocean. Pepper, caught between amusement and anxiety at the imagery, grabbed a bottled water from the fridge (the fancy, expensive type that was supposed to be Brazilian rainwater, or something) and walked toward the spiral staircase that led to Tony's sanctuary. “Put the coffee on, please, thank you Jarvis,” she said as she descended the staircase, black Prada heels clicking.

Pepper stopped in front of the glass door – she could see Tony from here, stooped over and tinkering with some device, and nowhere near the dangerous Ironman suit, thank god. She smoothed the front of her black pencil skirt, which was paired with a matching blazer and cream blouse. As always, her planner and her Blackberry were tucked under her arm. Her ginger hair was down, in soft curls. Professional, yet feminine. Pepper liked to think she had perfected the look.

Without further ado, Pepper typed in her password and opened the workshop door. “Good morning, Mr. Stark,” she said as she approached him. She could already tell that he was wasted. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. It gave Pepper a secret, rather sadistic thrill knowing that Tony could hardly function without her. It felt good to be needed, and the truth was, she needed Tony just as much.

She stopped at his side and set the water bottle on his table. “You might want to drink this. Can I get you anything to eat?” Pepper didn't really wait for an answer before pulling out the planner and opening it, thus beginning her daily debriefing. Perhaps drunk Tony would be easier to reason with or coerce. Probably not. “You've been approached by MTV with another reality show deal... again, I politely declined on your behalf,” she said. She could see it now: 16 beautiful ladies fight for Ironman's heart – but only one will be his Wonder Woman. Pepper almost gagged.

“The benefit you promised to attend for the Vivienne Lehr Foundation is Tuesday night – two days from now. Its for children with leukemia, so showing up sober might be a good idea, but thats only my suggestion,” Pepper said with a hint of a smile.

“Oh, and Bruce Wayne's people called to invite you to a fund raiser he's hosting in Gotham City. Apparently, somebody blew up a hospital... I told them you would get in touch, but that you most likely had other priorities, in which case you would still love to make a donation,” Pepper told him, aware that the drunken man probably wasn't going to retain any of this, but at least she could say that he had told him when he tried to come up with an excuse not to go to the benefit in two days. A little fresh air might do him good, anyway. Pepper still didn't like the thought of Tony practically living in his workshop, and when he wasn't, fighting terrorists as Ironman.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Tony eyed the bottle of water as though it might explode, though this may have just been because he was having trouble focusing on anything specific; he never did the shopping and as far as he was concerned there was no excuse for putting a fancy label on something he could get directly out of the tap in his kitchen. His eyes shifted up to Pepper then when he realized she was talking, and he was at once struck by the sight of her, and by the fact she was hurling so much information at him that it made his head spin. For a guy who could remember countless mathematical equations and chemical structures, Tony had a terrible time remembering anything regarding social matters - most of the time it seemed that it went in one ear, hung around for all of ten seconds, and then went right out the other.

"Wow," Tony said finally, "That was, uh,"

It was pretty clear that he was clueless as to what she had just said, and the way he was leaning on the table for support indicated that he was still very, very drunk.

"You look nice." he said finally, trying a different tactic to try and deflect the attention from his clear state of inebriation, and he was silent for a long moment, closing his eyes, his brain struggling to backtrack, "Wait, Gotham? Aren't they - weren't they, uh, having some sort of clown problem?"

Very occasionally the ridiculousness of his own life struck him as funny, but Batman's was even funnier to him; Gotham was littered with the most outlandish criminals, the most recent of which was a guy who dressed as a clown and cut people's faces - it made him wonder what would happen next in Gotham city.

He'd never gone there before.

Not as Ironman, anyways - maybe it was something to think about; maybe he could clear out some of the criminals that Batman's particular morals wouldn't let him touch. After all, Ironman didn't have an issue with shooting bad guys, in fact, he was pretty eager to do so - it was so nice and efficient. For Batman, the rule was never to sacrifice ethics to stop someone, for Ironman, it was to stop the bad guy with any means neccessary; they had similar goals, but Tony's meant he would always come out of it in one piece.

 

[Gwendolyn]

“Thanks,” Pepper said with a roll of her eyes. Of course ‘You look nice’ would be Tony’s only response to everything she’d said. He wasn’t exactly in a state to hold a proper conversation. That didn’t stop him from inquiring about Gotham, though.

“That’s what I hear,” she replied. “Actually, that’s what everyone hears. You obviously make no use of the T.V. you keep down here. Or did you accidentally destroy it?” She craned her neck and peered across the room, but the television was in its usual place. “Their ‘clown problem’ is the reason Bruce Wayne is hosting the charity. A psychotic clown blew up Gotham General.” She grimaced. What was the world coming to? Here she was, discussing mass-murdering circus freaks that rigged hospitals for fun. It didn’t help that the person she was talking to was Ironman.

For all its rich, shallow and over-tanned residents, at the moment, Malibu seemed like a haven compared to Gotham. Malibu didn’t have any murderous clowns running around, or any... supervillains in general. Not that Pepper knew of, anyway.

Pepper closed her planner, and set it, along with her Blackberry, on the table temporarily. Then she grabbed the bottled water, twisted the cap open for him, and set it back down with a pointed stare – the sort of look that was uniquely Pepper and said You’re an idiot, without her actually having to say it. He was an idiot, though. For being drunk at eight in the morning, among other things.

“You’re an idiot,” Pepper said, figuring that she might as well. “Have you eaten anything at all? Or are you drinking on an empty stomach?” She could probably guess the answer to that one. “What do you do down here?” She paused, then clarified: “What could you possibly get done when you’re this drunk?” Pepper glanced at the table, with all its random mechanisms, the light, the magnifier, the tools, and had to admit to herself that he was obviously getting something done – whatever that was. She didn’t retract her question, though. Instead, she placed her hand on Tony’s back, an awkward (it didn’t matter how long they’d known each other, it was always a little) yet genuine peace offering. It was intended to be comforting. He was an idiot sometimes, yeah, and occasionally he was wasted at eight a.m., sure, but who wasn’t? (Well, the idiot part, not the drunk part.) Pepper took the good with the bad and everything with a grain of salt.

“I wish you wouldn’t drink so much,” she said quietly, sincerely. To avoid an uncomfortable, tender moment, Pepper recovered by adding, “I mean, there’s got to be some weird little kid out there who looks up to you. What are you teaching him?” That little half-smile was back as she looked down at Tony, her hand still on his back. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt, and maybe because of that, couldn’t bring herself to lift her hand. “Just say no to drugs, Tony. Maybe Ironman should become the mascot for D.A.R.E.”