𝗶𝘁’𝘀 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆!

me:

My brain: you look like this

She doesn’t think she could, even if she tried. And she doesn’t. Try, that is. Because of all the things she’s trying to do these days (keep Stark Industries running, running damage control as Rescue, be a good parent, make sure Morgan doesn’t grow up traumatised, stop everyone from looking at her with so much pity), finding a new Tony is definitely not on her list.

The therapist Rhodey recommends her says that’s not what dating is. It’s rebuilding. The lady has experience. She must’ve gotten a lot of work after the snap. But Pepper knows what rebuilding is. It’s rebar and concrete and straining to push up walls with her thrusters in high and then it’s landing, it’s hearing a small crunch and looking down because somehow, inexplicably there’s a plastic iron man mask crushed under her boot and when she picks it up, and hands it back to the doe-eyed kid, she’s thankful the helmet hides her tears. That’s what rebuilding is, she snaps and the therapist - her name is something like Linda or Margaret and it doesn’t matter - the therapist just nods and Pepper doesn’t go back for a second appointment.

She knows that it’s not the point. That she didn’t win that argument, if it even was one. She knows that it’s because she can still feel his skin pressed up to her lips. Because he looked at her as he died. Because when he breathed for the last time, it was so that he could say her name.

It’s because of a lot of things, but in the middle of the night when Pepper wakes up to an empty space where Tony used to sleep, she knows that he was the only man she’d ever wanted to kiss.

They’d gotten married by the lake. The wedding was big, but not as big as it could’ve been - they’d been ready for the vows as soon as Tony could stand without passing out. And there was a line of empty chairs at the front, kept empty with a harsh whisper and a knowing look because everyone knew what it meant.

Tony had fiddled with his tie all morning.

‘You know I still think-‘ he’d started and she’d interrupted, amused, in love, annoyed at how he’d somehow messed up the Windsor knot.

‘I am not getting married to you in a metal suit.’

And then he’d gotten pouty and snarky and she knew he was nervous because she was as well. By the time they got to the altar, the tie was more like a decorative twist of cloth. But at that point she didn’t care about the tie anymore because he’d stared at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life and he’d laughed in this incredulous breath of love, speechless for the first time in his life, and he’d kissed her.

Later they would tease each other over crying. Pepper would always insist Tony was the first one to break, and she knows she’ll maintain that opinion until the day she dies.

At the after party, he’d spilled wine all over her wedding dress and they’d made out in a dark corner like they were teenagers. There’d been confetti in his hair, little scraps of rainbow paper that fluttered down around them when she dragged him closer, groaned into his mouth. He was still so fragile - Pepper remembers smoothing her hands over the shoulders of his dress shirt and catching on the bumps. But even then he was her anchor, he was a smug grin to cover up the bags under her eyes, a sharp quip made vulnerable - ‘not having second thoughts are you?’ - and then it was her kissing him again, knowing that there was more to do, more to say but in that moment all they needed was each other.