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It catches him completely off guard.
They’ve been existing like this for months. Days locked in a lab, pages and pages of notes scrawled and piled together. He won’t let one piece of it slip away no matter how insignificant it seems because this is Pepper and he’s not risking anything.
A normal routine develops and, no matter how challenging and frightening it gets, he thinks they’re handling it well. Every day business as much as possible and when it’s not...
Well, they deal with that, too.
He’s taken to holding her close at night.
Not that there weren’t nights he did before, but his brain rarely shuts off. He needs to be focused on something.
Now he just pushes the pressing feeling away, watches the rise and fall of her chest, her hair splayed across the burgundy pillowcase.
It’s almost alarming the way she curls into him, depends on him to figure this out.
To fix it.
And there are nights where she wakes in a cold sweat, shaking and gasping for air. They happen way too often for his liking and rather than pull her close like he wants to he gives her the space she needs, lets her come back when it’s not invading they space they’ve carved out.
(A few times he wonders if they’ve completely switched roles in this relationship but then he remembers her admonishments as he’d driven thirty miles above the speed limit on their way to the lab, the precise way she keeps checking his progress, and it’s clear they’re exactly who they’ve always been.
They’re just relying on each other in entirely new ways. Letting the way they color the other person’s life shine through.)
It’s one of those nights.
One where she’s gone up to their room hours before to work or read or, hell, she could be catalog shopping for all he knew.
He stayed behind to review the results from the day, making note of anything important. Of any avenues he wanted to explore more in depth.
He’s exhausted though so he pushes everything to the side and starts up the stairs.
He’s right outside the door when he hears it.
The rustling of sheets, the rapid inhalation of air.
Turning the small table lamp on, he crosses the room, lowers himself to the bed near her legs. He’s frozen for a moment, watching the terror etched in her face even in sleep, her eyes wild though closed.
He runs his hand over the curve of her hip, twists their fingers together as he softly calls her name.
It seems to work, her legs stilling against his back almost immediately.
“Hey.” He tamps back any desire to smile at the way her hair looks freshly tousled. “It’s just me.”
Tension is pouring off her in waves as she pushes up on her elbows, but there’s a glimmer relief in her eyes, the slight tugging at the corner of her mouth, as she leans against the headboard and brushes her thumb across the palm of his hand.
“It wasn’t as hot this time.”
It takes him a minute.
Ok, it’s more like a couple minutes, but hey, he was half asleep on his way to the room and the way she’s looking at him...
It blindsides him.
Everything at once.
Her meaning and the variable that had been eluding him the past two weeks mix with the fear that’s been pounding in his chest since that night, the dizzying array of feelings he’s always had and suddenly he’s the one out of breath.
Because he knows.
He’s going to marry this woman.
Not that hadn’t thought of it before, but there's no doubt left. He’s going to ask her right now if only he could remember where...
“‘lo... Earth to Tony.” Her hand tightens around his wrist and he smiles at her, scoots closer on the bed. “Did you understand what I said or do I need to write a memo, including footnotes, for you to catch the full meaning?”
He laughs then, his shoulders lifting as he leans forward, their bodies pressing together.
“I got it, smartass, the energy released was diminished by yesterday’s cycle of therapy which—” He stops himself, their eyes meeting in the low light. “It’s working.”
“Yeah.” She breathes it out, cups his face as a warm smile blossoms on hers.
“Told you.”
“You did.”
There’s a finality in her tone, one undercut by affection that cements it even further. Still, he can’t help himself...
“I’m even going to beat the projected timeline.”
“We’ll throw a parade.”
“Only if you ride next to me on the float.”
“I think I could free some time up.”
“Good.” And now he doesn’t even think, just lets his forehead fall against hers as his hands press into the curve of her waist. “How about the rest of your life?”
“I... are you...”
“Marry me.”
He pulls out the drawer on the bedside table, rummages for a few minutes and then wordlessly hands her a pen, her title etched on the side and right above it...
Pepper Potts-Stark
And now she’s shaking beneath him, but in a good way, fingers flexing on his back as she closes her eyes.
“Presumptuous.”
“I know.”
“Ok, as long as that’s established.” She presses her lips together then closes the tiny distance between them, kissing him soundly. Pulling away, she leans back against the head board, grinning. “That was a yes, in case you hadn’t realized.”
“Of course it was.” Falling against his pillow, he pulls her to him, covering her mouth once more, and gets lost.
(It’s the best night of sleep they’ve had in months.)