f2020 | Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes

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Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes | Closed

WHO: High Chancellor Stark and Pepper Potts
WHERE: The White City
WHEN: Following the Gala
WHAT: Iron Man welcomes Rescue to TWT. Technically that's true.
WARNINGS: Language, identity crises, tragic reunions...

The White City still shines at night, bright enough to see over the black waters of the Gulf, a neon jewel rising as a symbol of hope, or perhaps a shout of sheer defiance to its silent neighbor: due east, the rest of Florida lies dark and dead under the canopy of the Deathdome, the Porter at the ruins of that far coastline running ceaselessly as latecomers are steadily drawn into this world, strangers soon to make their way across the globe. A weather alert pings in his HUD, the satellite images of some nameless storm churning far out in the Atlantic, projected to hit land in a handful of days with no one alive to meet it. In the past they might have sent imPorts to disperse them if the Porter risked a direct hit, before they learned the dome devoured everything, even the massive, deathly vortex of a hurricane.

Stark does have things to do, really, more than clearing his head through this impromptu flight. There's always the endless list of action items to accomplish prior to a Synod, tasks to see to the bitter end, whenever that truly happens. Rey will strike when she sees fit, and he must be ready for her.

...okay, seriously. Enough dicking around.

He feels it ahead of the alarm of sensors as he returns to land, the murmur of a system in the distant vicinity, a system he knows as surely as himself- and doesn't, all the same, bright and chatty amid the streamlined cacophony of electronic input. There's a suit of armor out here, touring the bright skyline, and it isn't one of his. The four Legion droids that flank him shoot forward at a thought, thrusters burning:

Intercept.

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The city might somehow be even more grand at night, sprawling and gleaming like a pearl in the darkness, but Pepper can't appreciate its beauty now. Not with about a million other more pressing things crowding at her. She should be home now, in the ravaged vestiges of Earth after Thanos' devastation upon it. She'd left a confused, teary-eyed Morgan in Happy's care with a breaking heart, pinky-promising the girl she and daddy would be back as soon as they could. She'd donned the suit Tony had made her, and followed the Master of Mystic Arts named Wong through the portal he'd opened only sometime earlier in the middle of the cabin's yard. And now... this. This insane reality television parody on steroids.

It's a complete nightmare.

Pepper doesn't know what she hopes to accomplish, taking to the skies like this; hoping for the suit's analytics and radars to give her some idea, any, as to how to find a way back where she belongs. She can't raise FRIDAY, but at least the HUD and the suit's systems still work the way they're supposed to. She's preoccupied running another analytics cycle when the HUD suddenly flashes a proximity alert. Five approaching from her six, fast-- no, Pepper realizes. Giving chase.

"Oh, come on," she mutters. Hostiles? She doesn't think so, but... can't be too sure. Barrel-rolling gracefully to avoid a spire of a skyscraper, Pepper kicks up the thrusters and takes up higher in a blur of silver and indigo, her heart hammering. She can't risk collateral damage, if this comes to a confrontation. The bogies are on her trail still and she deploys the energy displacer sentries from the suit's back unit, the separate pieces twirling around her as she loops around, the air brakes at her back flaring and thrusters firing as she throws her arms and legs out to decelerate quickly. Hovering in place now, she waits, the HUD honing in on the approaching forms and scanning them as the sentries around her form a uniform piece, ready to fire at her will.

Drones? No, they look like.... Pepper draws in a sharp breath. "What...?"

The armor jets off further skyward, so Stark and the Legion pursue. Encryption's solid, familiar too, and he knows where to press, where to pull at code like thread winding out from a sweater, careful coaxing so as not to break the fine weave of it. "Who are you," he murmurs, lagging behind to let the cavalry proceed, because this is... it's taking him longer than expected, with the odd, sinking sensation crawling up his spine.

"Unidentified craft," the Legion droids declare through comms as one smooth male voice, clinically precise, "You are flying in restricted White City airspace without permission. Please disengage all ordnance, and we will escort you to the nearest safe landing platform. Failure to comply will result in your immediate destruction."

So polite. So stern, as they offer her a wide berth of airspace and flank her, one by one.

"Oh my god," Pepper whispers in astonishment as the droids flank her one after the other, data scrolling down the side of her HUD and the targeting system already pinpointing weak spots. Those look like... they look like the Iron Legion droids. But how can that be? Cold dread creeps down her spine at the fleeting thought that occurs to her; the stones. Is this some kind of tearing of reality-- realities?

"That's a welcome," she goes on, a little shaky in the wake of her discovery. And yet, she also bristles at the command. Immediate destruction. Pepper is pretty sure she could deploy the suit's electric force field and drop these droids from the sky with very little effort -- the suit boasts hefty defensive capabilities, after all -- but how many would replace them? She can't risk open battle above civilian airspace, can she? She needs to get to the bottom of this. Gritting her teeth, she pulls back the sentries, returning them to the back unit. For now.

"All right, boys," she says through the comms, crisp and undaunted. "Have it your way. I'm having a few words with whoever's in charge of you, make no mistake."

That voice.

For a moment that stretches out long into the realm of discomfiting quiet, the Legion don't move from their positions, hovering as a semi-circle of menacing- and slightly uncertain -synthetic intensity. Those two most forward suddenly begin their descent, with the expectation that she should follow, the other two units bringing up the rear. Flying swiftly, their aim is clear, even helpfully sent over to the other suit: a Legion installation in Midtown, landing lights blazing a welcome- with even more of the droids waiting on arrival.

Stark won't believe it. Not yet. Clearly someone stole his tech, of course, clearly there's something sinister here, a preemptive, malefic strike before the synod, in the wake of everything, Jane's defection, Rey's efforts... the theories spin out wildly, until JOCASTA feels the need to remind him to take a breath, his own gasp loud in his helm.

Not once in the past ten years has Pepper Potts arrived via the Porter. He knows that. He's checked. Every month, he paid attention to the lists of arrivals, searched and dug through digital files of factions that would never offer up their own freely. Others gained their loved ones without effort; they put out hopeful feelers into the wide networks and were rewarded with joyful acknowledgment, or they all straight up departed, vanished back into the worlds they came from. Pure serendipity, and he resented it so thoroughly, bitter for each happy reunion until he finally, finally had to let go. Pepper was never coming.

Please don't tell him she's here, now, after he'd given up hope.

The Legion land with her and go to join their identical brothers. Stark lands not long after, cutting repulsors for a quick, hard touch down. Mk 50 is inky black, gleaming like it's fresh from the fabricator, and presently informing Stark that his heart rate is dangerously high.

"I am only going to ask once. Who are you, and where did you get that suit?"

Edited (let's just go for the full reference) 2020-09-11 23:51 (UTC)

It does occur to Pepper as her suit scans the landing area -- and the multitudes of additional droids there -- that this could well be a trap of some kind she's walking into with eyes wide open. Guess she'll find out soon enough, won't she? She touches down on the platform with a quick flare of repulsors, light on her feet even as she's immediately on guard; but the droids retreat and leave her in the middle of the landing area without further notice.

She has little time to puzzle on it when another suit lands hard mere handful of feet from her, so so familiar and yet so foreign that Pepper's breath catches with a sharp gasp, staggering an instinctive step back even as her HUD pings softly with identifying analytics. No, it can't be. It can't.

"It's mine," she forces out, her voice sounding tight and winded even over the comms like she's been punched in the gut, and that's honestly how she feels like just then. A hint of fire comes out next, born out of the pain of this place parading this mockery of her husband in front of her. "And if you really were who you appear to be, you'd know that. So the real question is..."

Her helmet retracts, revealing her defiant expression. "Who the hell are you?"

Forget the suit, it shears away from him and elegantly reassembles itself at the edge of the platform. Dressed down in monochromes- dark jeans, dark shirt, a charcoal grey zip up -he looks as unguarded as his expression, still lit as it is by uncertain shock– and something so close to devastation. Distant neutrality reasserts itself, a Hail Mary just to steady him against how fragile he feels.

"High Chancellor Stark." She knows who he is, of course, but not who he is, unknowingly identical to her husband solely in appearance, but not history. He can't easily hide how red his eyes might be, or the faint quaver of his voice as every inch of her suit relays to him what he's afraid to accept: "It's been a long time, Pepper."

The more of him the suit reveals, the further that angry defiance is stripped away from her expression, replaced with something far more raw; a turbulent amalgamation of devastation and confusion that constricts her breathing and pricks at her eyes. She knows this isn't her Tony, her husband. Can't be. She's sure now the stones have somehow meddled with the flow of reality again, somehow sent her careening into this alternate existence. It doesn't make this any easier to deal with, not when he sounds and looks exactly like the man she loves.

"Tony." Her voice is quiet now, choked out through a throat tight with emotion, swallowing thickly to rid herself of the lump there. Her head spins, a painful knot lodging itself behind her breastbone. Exhaling a shaky breath, she closes her eyes and shakes her head, gauntleted fingers pressing against her temples as if warding off a headache. "God, I don't..." she breathes with a tremor of her own in her tone, not really expecting him to have answers rather than just airing out her complete confusion before she loses her mind. If she hasn't, already. High Chancellor Stark? Jesus. "I don't understand what's happening."

Oh now, that's not fair, she can't get emotional too. He blows a breath out, reasserting control. Though they steward the Porter from this careful distance, the White Tower does not control it. No one does. Arrival is arbitrary, pure random chance, even he knows that in spite of his bitter anger.

Rey, for all her careful, clever machinations, couldn't produce Pepper Potts as she is right now, older and even more arresting than he remembered. Wherever she's come from, life has gone on for her, and not just alone, no, but with him. She's really here.

"It's okay," he assures her, and that's all it takes to break past the imaginary line he had yet to cross between them, forcing himself to keep his hands off her suit. "A lot has happened since, god, it's been ten years. You look amazing."

"What's all this," Stark continues hurriedly, before the lump in his throat can find purchase, gesturing at her gorgeous suit, "So you finally let me build you one, what's her makeup– are those, nanites–"

Edited 2020-09-12 14:25 (UTC)

She drops one hand but cradles her forehead with another, the coolness of the gauntlet helping with the insistent throbbing behind her skull a little as she struggles to get a hold of herself.

"Ten years?" Wetting her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, she mulls that over for a second and tries not to be flustered by the compliment. "Ten years since...?" What, exactly, but just like her Tony, this Stark also changes topics on a moment's notice-- and god, that familiar quirk just serves to pierce her heart more keenly.

"Uh--" Glancing down at herself as if needing the reminder of exactly what she's wearing, Pepper manages a weak half-smile though there's very little to smile about in the present situation. "Well, I suppose it was an anniversary present of sorts."

"'Anniversary', wow."

Oh cool, that feels... weighty. Relief, that she's been safe all this time, looked after and cherished, that wars slightly with the rise of something cold, something bleak.

"How long have you been-" y'know, married to another me that wasn't trapped in another world. Next to Pepper, the White City seems dull.

Something in Pepper's steady gaze softens just a little at the way he trails off, only now considering how strange this must be for him, as well. Ten years... here, then? Alone?

"Five years," she finally whispers, some subtle sorrow written across the faint lines on her face that seems at odds with the answer. The beginning of their marriage and Morgan's birth-- such happiness from the ashes of so much loss and destruction that Pepper can never completely separate from one another.

She drops her eyes at the thought with a small, silent sigh, and by accident happens to see something; a quick gleam of light across a bit of metal in his hand, the lights around them catching it just right, just for a second, to draw her attention. It's a ring. It's a wedding right. Her mouth goes dry, and no matter how stupid and irrational it is, something twists painfully in her chest.

He hasn't been alone, after all.

"You're," she starts, clearing her throat to get rid of the sudden catch in it. "You're married, too?" To someone else. Someone not her.

If anything, so short a time confuses him. Only five? What had they waited for? What happened back home?

"O-oh, yeah." He lifts his hand, so the ring catches the light even better, wiggling his fingers. "Almost five years."

Stark turns his wrist, thumbing at the band as if he'd forgotten it was there, forgotten how it felt. "The First Lady's, ah," plotting my swift demise, according to the handmaiden my spies broke over the weekend, he smiles and it never reaches his eyes, "You know how it is, marriage is a work in progress."

Preaching to the choir, Stark. What didn't, is probably a better question...

Five years. She's not sure what to make of it. She should be grateful he's found someone to support him, surely, (sweet summer child) but something churns in the pit of her stomach all the same unpleasantly. But that aside, something about his answer feels... not quite right. She notes, too, how empty his smile is-- it sends a shiver down her spine, because she doesn't think she's ever seen an expression quite like this on her Tony's face.

Pepper bites her lip, a lightest frown crossing her face. "But you love her?" she asks quietly after a beat, unable to help herself; why that is, she can't or won't answer even in the privacy of her mind.

He can't help it, his expression faults for the first time in- ever, really, a splintering crack in the cool, remote facade he's kept up for so long. Stark glances aside, squaring his shoulders before swinging his gaze back. Lies come so readily these days, but it's hard to lie to Pepper, to even want to, a habit he's never had to cultivate here.

I thought I did.

I don't.

Not like how I loved you.

It's complicated, Pepper.

"We're going through some stuff right now," he settles on, true enough, freeing him from navigating that particular briar patch even if it doesn't answer her question at all. Stark clasps his hands behind his back- offending ring? gone! -and moves to change the subject, stepping around her to have a further look at his handiwork.

"So, what's new with you? The construction of this really is- it's exquisite-" and this time he does touch her, smoothing his sensitive fingers down her armored shoulder, slipping past the slim ailerons folded down over her shoulder blades.

It's like a crack in the mirror, that falter in the facade he seems to don-- similar and different all at once than the masks she's watched (her) Tony wear from close proximity over the several years they've orbited around each other. She thinks she sees beneath the surface just for a moment now, feeling a distinct welling of sympathy for this Stark that's reflected in her expression.

What sort of a world is this that's forced him to build such a strong armor? She doesn't think she likes it very much.

Another topic change, obvious and seeming to brook no objections. She doesn't move or make any effort to deter him when he puts his hand on her shoulder to trace the sleek lines of the suit, so different than the bulkier Iron Man armors, only turning her head in effort to watch him.

"Well, it is your design," she remarks only a little wanly, but credit where it's due. Tony's creations are all beautiful works of engineering and craftsmanship, her own conflicting emotions regarding the suits aside. "I haven't really... used it all that much, yet. You could probably tell me more about it than I can, honestly."

Just by casual (or not-so casual, judging by his interest) study of it, she means, hardly aware of his extra talent. But Tony Stark was Tony Stark, no matter the world, right?

Stark let his fingers fan out at her waist, dancing lightly over each seam and plate, feeling the power humming strong through the nerve-like structures of each connected, microscopic nanite. Tracing the "RESCUE" printed boldly across one aileron, and the "0049" on the opposite, he smiles faintly behind her back, bittersweet, stupid, romantic bastard.

"Sure, I can take a look." Skimming the surface tells him a lot, but it's not enough; he wants to know every detail, every line of code. Drifting his other hand to her opposite shoulder, he lets himself drift too, a cold mental plunge into the suit's processor and further, inhabiting it completely as he still stands behind Pepper.

That's it, sweetheart, tell me everything.

Normally this is quick, the work of an instant, but this is also his creation. Delving deep, poring through analytics, test runs, flight logs, video– wait– -snippets flicker past, some enormous, nameless conflict, and others still:

Happy, carrying a tearful little girl with dark hair, one small pinky wrapped around Pepper's armored one. He misses what's said, for the sudden, bizarre buzzing sensation between his ears. Back further- a week, two? Less? And the scene is different still, strange and...short? A white tent, a small pink and blue table, the hum of a child's voice as she concocts some wild adventure with herself and–

"Morgoona. Morgan H. Stark-" -his voice, this other him in this other life, cheery and warm and leaning in for a quick kiss.

The entire tableau plays out in the span of nanoseconds in the real world, as Stark goes from silence to recoil, a snap back, jolted into himself so fast he's already striding away from Pepper before he realizes what he's doing. Retreating, from a life that isn't his and now never could be, the sudden welling of heartache so sharp he staggers in its wake.

Edited 2020-09-12 19:51 (UTC)

It's an oddly charged moment. Pepper can't really feel such a light touch through the armor, she knows that intellectually-- and yet... it's almost as if her skin prickles anyway when his fingers fan along the curve of her waist, tracing, brushing, learning every seam and interlocking plate. There's something strangely sultry about it, and for a moment she feels guilty; but is wrong if it's still Tony? Even if not hers.

Pepper has no idea just how intimately he truly does learn it, and far more besides. Private things and memories she hasn't yet even thought of speaking about with this Stark (and maybe never would have) in this onrush of new and confusing issues this world is still throwing at her.

Then all of the sudden he jolts, staggers even, pulling back and... fleeing, inexplicably. At least that's what it looks like to Pepper, whose heart leaps in abrupt fear. Don't leave me alone, flashes through her head sooner than she can fully comprehend it. Her Tony or no, he is at least someone she knows, someone she (hopes) she can trust in this strange place.

She hurries to follow him, boots clacking against the platform under her feet. "Tony! Wait. What's wrong?"

"Don't-" he cuts in sharply before he realizes, softening because she's owed it, she's owed more than anything he can offer to her here, now, pulling up short so he can turn back to her with his heart is still ringing in his ears. "I'm not your husband, Pepper. I'm not. You have- no idea what I've done to build this city, what I've aided and abetted to get where I am now."

"The best thing that you can do for yourself, for him and for your daughter right here, right now, is go. Run. There is nothing I can do to protect you, not anymore."

"H-how did you...?" Pepper backtracks a step, brought up short by his words. How could he know about Morgan? For a moment, a pain-laden confusion is at the forefront in her mind. But a moment later, it gets pushed aside in favor of simple... anger. No, suddenly she is furious. How fucking dare he? Her expression shutters even as her nostrils flare a little as her breathing picks up, jaw clenching as she grits her teeth.

"You think I don't know that?" When she finally speaks, her voice is so chilly it could freeze the Arctic. She starts out soft enough, but every word spilling from her lips is more weighty, just a little more fervent. "You think that I'm not looking at you right now, sounding and looking every inch like my Tony, and not know with painful clarity that you're not him? Do you think I want to be here?"

She waves a gauntleted arm in a sharp, angry movement, haphazardly indicating their surroundings.

"I left my daughter behind to join my husband in battle because something a million times worse than whatever petty turf war is going on here was on its way. I made a promise to my little girl that we'd be back soon, without knowing if that was true. I did it because I had to. And instead, I somehow end up here."

Something bitter twists at her expression. "So instead of lecturing me about things I already know, Mr. High Chancellor, tell me instead how to get the hell out of here, back home. You can be sure I'll be gone before you even know it!"

"If I knew that, do you think I'd still be here?"

For Pepper's cold, chilly fervor, Stark returns her volley with simmering heat, walking back to stand toe to toe with her.

"I've spent the last ten years trying to get home. Trying to get all of us home, every imPort on this whole godforsaken rock. Nothing. Works. I've built the Porter so many times I could do it in my sleep, but it doesn't. matter. You could disappear home tomorrow, or you could be here for ten years, just like me. I'm sorry, Pepper."

Pepper doesn't quail for a second, doesn't budge an inch. If anything, she meets his stormy gaze head on, chin tipping up assertively like it always does when they go a few verbal rounds-- not that they'd fought like this with her Tony in years, now. Her blue eyes narrow, but the spear point of her anger is starting to dull, mixing with dread slowly creeping in.

"So, that's it, then? Sorry, but you're shit out of luck? That's all you have?"

It's not her usual style to use language like that, but she thinks she's allowed this once. She wants to rail against his claims, but deep down she knows Tony Stark in any universe wouldn't leave a single stone unturned.

"That's... " She shakes her head, and her smile is an ugly, bitter thing, sharp with disappointment and nameless fear she desperately tries to strike down. "Fantastic."

"Yeah."

Under the ebbing tide of his anger, there's just the shame, prickly and exhausting. He failed, failed to get anyone home, failed to stay true even to his own ideals. Stark rubs absently at the center of his chest, the odd little self-soothing he shares with her Tony, and sighs.

"Might as well make peace with it now, before you start tearing yourself apart for a pipe dream. I wish-" whew, his voice catches, taut against the lump in his throat, "I wish I had more to offer you, I really do."

Pepper remains silent for a long while, expression inscrutable save for a faint flicker of... pity, perhaps, at his summation. Exhaling a soft breath, she shakes her head slightly and turns away, taking a few steps closer to the edge of the platform, staring out at the gleaming city without really seeing it. She turns her head just a little to be heard when she finally speaks, even if her gaze never leaves the glimmering cityscape.

"I'm sorry you've been here for so long, alone." Without anybody from home, she means. "I'm sorry for what this place has done to you. I really am." Made you into might be more accurate, but it sounds so harsh. But it's evident to her even outside of the fact that he's not her Tony that there's an edge, a hardness to him she finds difficult to reconcile with any iteration of Tony Stark. Maybe she's just being naive. Maybe it's denial. She doesn't know. Her shoulders jump visibly as she inhales and exhales deeply, battling a sudden wave of despair.

"But I can't just-- I can't give up right out of the gate. I can't fail my family like that." That's the one thing she does know. And that she really, really abhors this place already.

Edited (typos n' things) 2020-09-13 10:20 (UTC)

Pity is the last thing he wants- needs, really -to see on her face, so he looks away, closing his eyes, unmoving until she steps away.

"...things are changing." He's worked hard to keep the status quo as it is, to keep the White City strong against its enemies, without and within, but the last week- hell, the last twenty-four hours -have shown him how quickly everything can crumble. Joining Pepper at the platform's edge, the city breeze carding through his hair, Stark pulls in a slow, steadying breath.

"In a handful of days, there's a chance I won't even be here anymore." He turns toward her, insistence in his posture, his tone, "You need to not be here, too. See if you can find Jane Foster, she defected only a few hours ago and might be on her way to Krakoa."

Pepper is quiet until he gets to that piece of information. She turns her head sharply to stare at him, startling just slightly; what does he mean by that? And, wait-- Jane Foster is here? She files the news away, and the mention of this Krakoa, but her immediate attention is on what came before.

"What? What do you mean by that?" She returns his insistence with her own, a deep frown knitting at her brows and concern worming its way through her. She has a sinking feeling he's not talking about a sudden vacation or a business trip.

He meets her question with a straightforwardly impassive look. What do you think I mean?

"In the meantime, JOCASTA will transmit you coordinates to a randomized safe-house somewhere in the city. I can't know where you are. If you want to keep fighting, getting caught by my wife isn't going to help."

Pepper gives him a look right back, a flat stare. The kind Tony's been on the receiving end from her too many times to count, probably.

"So, the stuff you're going through is... your wife is -- literally -- out to kill you?" She breathes an incredulous half-laugh with no actual mirth involved. "You sure know how to pick 'em, Mr. Stark."

Okay, no, she's not here to judge. (Much.) Shaking a head, she turns more serious and forges on. "Come with me. There's a whole world out there to disappear into, I assume."

What can he say? Stark doesn't know how much Morgan takes after him, with the look of fondly mild exasperation he gives Pepper, an expression she typically focused on her dad.

Searching Pepper's face, he steps closer, quick to kiss her cheek. "No. "

The expression on his face is so much like Morgan's just then that Pepper is almost overwhelmed with longing and heartache, blinking rapidly a few times to get rid of the hot sting of sudden tears, closing them entirely for a moment at the kiss to her cheek.

Her voice is soft when she insists, "You can't be planning to stay. Why are you risking yourself like this?"

"Would he stay, or would he run?"

It's unexpectedly tough, seeing her so briefly, knowing what he knows now, and having to usher her away. There's no future left for him here, not with her, and she can't survive this place if she tethers herself to him. In the end, he knows, he has to finish what he started, wherever it may lead.

That's unfair. Totally below the belt, and it effectively robs Pepper of whatever counterargument she may have had chambered up and ready to go. It shows on her expression as well, a pained grimace with a hint of exasperation flickering across her face.

"I would disagree with him, too. Vehemently."

A-ha. If only he could feel any kind of victory in that, and not the temptation, however small, to ask her to stay. It'll help nothing, so he just smiles tightly, eyes shining.

"See? I know what I'm about."

"Ugh," Pepper huffs quietly and glances down at her feet, the noise caught between reluctant amusement and mild exasperation. "You're... infuriating."

Just like her husband. Her smile is wan when she lifts her gaze again. "And you're not gonna change your mind, are you?"

The inflection of a question is there, but she already knows the answer, betrayed by the calm acceptance in her eyes.

That's precisely the Pepper he remembers, the woman he could annoy and amuse with the same statement. God, he has so many regrets, so much he should have done back then.

"Not a chance, Miss Potts." Pause, then a thoughtful correction, "Mrs. Potts. Stark-Potts- did you hyphenate, how did that work out–" And also so like him, to get caught on that, stalling for just one more fraction of time.

It's so him to get caught up in a detail like that. Pepper's heart squeezes and lines are blurred-- for a moment, there's just Tony. Just the man she loves. She breathes a watery little laugh, helplessly endeared...

and leans in to kiss him before she completely realizes what she's doing.

Her lips press against his for a couple of seconds, lingering long enough to be evident before she pulls away, looking a little wide-eyed and taken aback. "Oh! Sorry, I..." What? She doesn't even know.

Shock colors his expression, eyes wide for the sudden press of her mouth to his, melting so briefly beneath her warmth, her taste, her touch until it's gone.. Even as Pepper draws away, he'd like to pursue, and stops himself, settling his hands at her waist.

"Now we're really delving into cliche," Stark tells her, even as he smiles, and it's his turn to be fondly exasperated. "And you gotta go."

Common sense returns quickly to her after that. Come on, Potts. Don't go kissing your husband's lookalikes... or alternate universe versions of him, rather. Something like that.

"Yeah, I know," she agrees, lips tugging into a hint of a wry smile now. "Don't sue me over a goodbye kiss."

She just decided that in the last few seconds, but it works. More seriously, she adds, "Be careful. And don't tell me you're always careful, you probably aren't even if you think you are. Call it a hunch."

He offers up a briefly flat look that really doesn't have much of an impact, not when there's the too-familiar gleam of affection in his eyes. His next smile manages to be slightly chastened, thoughtful, while he searches her face again, as if committing her to memory.

"...Goodbye, Pepper."

This time, he doesn't linger, calling his suit to him without a second thought.

The small smile Pepper gives him in return is sad, even if there's a similar warmth in her own gaze, silent as he watches her. This has been a surreal night, and Pepper is kind of dreading how it will unfold after they separate. She doesn't know how she's going to navigate this strange world, but she can't hang her hopes on this facsimile of her husband, either. Suppose she does need to try to find Jane Foster and map out her options going forward. It's her turn to watch him when he calls the suit to him, swallowing a bit thickly at the goodbye; it's hard not to hear anyone else in those words but her own Tony.

Tearing off the band-aid, she lets the helmet of her own suit pull back over her head, the eyes glowing bright blue as the HUD comes online. "Goodbye, Tony." Be safe.

Assuming she doesn't have to worry about the Legion droids this time, she fires up the repulsors and lifts off the platform with a bright flare of thrusters, taking back to the skies with a heavy heart.

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Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes | Closed

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