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ficlet: these are the games they play [iron man, tony/pepper, pg]
Iron Man: Tony/Pepper, PG, 394 words. Inspired by word #72 at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15_minute_fic.
It took her some time (about two years, she thinks) to figure out how brilliant an actor he can be.
By now, her powers of observation are finely attuned to his every motion, exposing superficial patterns in his behavior designed to mask other, more revealing ones.
This, for example: when he comes back he very carefully doesn't walk with a limp. His steps are slow, deliberate; his voice soft and rough when he blames the suit's hydraulics. His breath sounds labored when he sends her out to get him a nice, cold coke (to peel himself out of his suit and hide the blood from her).
She plays his game; takes her time up the stairs and into the kitchen, rests her forehead against the fridge for a moment before she reaches in and gets him what he wants.
That's how it always goes: he doesn't tell and she doesn't ask. Protection for both of them. From each other, from themselves. From things Pepper doesn't name when she lies awake at night, wondering where he is and what he's doing and what shape he'll be in when she gets the next call.
Down in the lab he's sitting with his back to her (shoulders tight and hard and forbidding) but turns his head when she steps up to him. Smiles up at her, all dark eyes and pale face and don't ask, Pepper, and I won't tell. His fingers brush hers when he takes the can from her, his body tense and twisted awkwardly. She stays still for a moment, cold metal warm skin against her fingers, the pulse of his thumb drumming softly gently against her own. One, two, one, two, and she steps back, empty-handed and just as tense as him. No harm done, except that's not true and she doesn't know what to do about it.
So she steps back, out of reach and out of sight, her breath coming one, two, one, two until she reaches the top of the stairs and lets out a long, shuddering sigh that makes her chest ache. She turns her head, facing her reflection in one of the gleaming wall panels. Strong and determined, unfazed by anthing Tony Stark could say or do.
An act Pepper's taught herself to believe. So hard that even Tony must believe it.
Because that's the game they play.
15_minute_fic.It took her some time (about two years, she thinks) to figure out how brilliant an actor he can be.
By now, her powers of observation are finely attuned to his every motion, exposing superficial patterns in his behavior designed to mask other, more revealing ones.
This, for example: when he comes back he very carefully doesn't walk with a limp. His steps are slow, deliberate; his voice soft and rough when he blames the suit's hydraulics. His breath sounds labored when he sends her out to get him a nice, cold coke (to peel himself out of his suit and hide the blood from her).
She plays his game; takes her time up the stairs and into the kitchen, rests her forehead against the fridge for a moment before she reaches in and gets him what he wants.
That's how it always goes: he doesn't tell and she doesn't ask. Protection for both of them. From each other, from themselves. From things Pepper doesn't name when she lies awake at night, wondering where he is and what he's doing and what shape he'll be in when she gets the next call.
Down in the lab he's sitting with his back to her (shoulders tight and hard and forbidding) but turns his head when she steps up to him. Smiles up at her, all dark eyes and pale face and don't ask, Pepper, and I won't tell. His fingers brush hers when he takes the can from her, his body tense and twisted awkwardly. She stays still for a moment, cold metal warm skin against her fingers, the pulse of his thumb drumming softly gently against her own. One, two, one, two, and she steps back, empty-handed and just as tense as him. No harm done, except that's not true and she doesn't know what to do about it.
So she steps back, out of reach and out of sight, her breath coming one, two, one, two until she reaches the top of the stairs and lets out a long, shuddering sigh that makes her chest ache. She turns her head, facing her reflection in one of the gleaming wall panels. Strong and determined, unfazed by anthing Tony Stark could say or do.
An act Pepper's taught herself to believe. So hard that even Tony must believe it.
Because that's the game they play.