2014.03.03 - The Importance of Believing In Unicorns

Tony just slept for twelve hours and is now feeling much less like eating someone's brain.
Up, showered, and dressed for the day (Clash shirt, a printing of the cover of the album Give 'Em Enoug Rope, because only Posers know London Calling, well worn pair of jeans, no shoes.) he's got a bottle of water because in the past three days he's quite possibly drank his own body weight in calling. He ughs to himself, "I gotta hit the gym. This all work and no play thing is making Tony a dull boy."
Rubbing at the corner of his eyes he goes to the balcony and observes the Metropolis skyline and remembers what he did a few hours before he collapsed into his bed.
The world has a Superman again.
Tony nods, taking a drink of coffee, "Tony, old boy, you just might make out of this life alive." he says to himself. There is a moment of complete calm..
..which is promptly ruined by the Artificial Assassin of Joy.
"Sir, I hate to both you during your introspective period, but there is a Dr. Black from SHIELD here to see you, referring to a necessary meeting regarding your profile."
"Oh yeah, I told Pepper to work from home the rest of the week." he says, rubbing his chin. "But Profile? Who wants to see my profile? JARVIS, is there anything wrong with my profile?"
"No, sir, you look as stunning as always."
"Right. Have security send her up."
If there is a drawback to fantastic wealth that the mind can scarcely comprehend, it’s that it takes /for-ever/ to just walk around your ‘house’, for lack of a more appropriate word. This is even further complicated when you’re a notorious superhero playboy billionaire who employs a staff of god-knows-how-many and you live on top of a skyscraper. Consequently, it takes Etta fully twenty minutes to make her way through the security checks, secretaries, hand-offs to other employees of more dubious titles, further security checks, further secretaries, butlers, Maxim-models-in-French-Maid costumes, juggling midgets, matched sets of white Siberian tigers and whatever else might be strewn across the yellow brick road that leads to Tony Stark. 
Eventually she gets there though, and her years of experience with pat-downs, armed guards and government bureaucracy have hardened her against these sorts of minor irritants. Still, this is quite a place and she can’t entirely resist glancing around appreciatively as she’s shown into the master’s presence, a black folio emblazoned with the SHIELD logo held against her chest like a... well, appropriately, like a shield. Her sharp heels click out a rhythm as she makes her way across the palatial expanse of his living room, not yet having caught sight of him. 
“Mr. Stark?” She eventually calls out after trailing to a halt towards the center of the room, and as soon as the words cross her scarlet lips she can’t help but listen to see if there’ll be an answering echo.
Tony pops out of the kitchen, the smell of rich coffee brewing filling the space. "Dr Black." he says, warmly. He gets a few steps away, "Dear god, you look like you've been through a warzone. You didn't get harassed by Happy Hogan and his Hogan's Heroes security thing, did you? I've told him to lay back on people coming up here."
He extends a hand, "I put on some coffee for you, if you want. If not, it's no big deal..."
The warmth and welcoming response seems to surprise her a little. His reputation in her agency being what it is, perhaps she expected to find him ‘occupied’ with some questionable pastime or, even more likely, not there at all, but whatever the case the offer of coffee startles her enough that she just blinks at him for an instant before shaping an answering smile. “Coffee... would be lovely. Thank you. “
Tony Stark he claps his hands together, "Great!" he takes a couple of steps back, and tilts his head to one said, "Lemme guesssss...you're a one sugar, light cream kinda girl?" - he /does/ have a reputation around SHIELD - but he's not /at/ SHIELD right now. "Anything else?" he says, hopefully.
“Two sugars, if it’s no bother. I like it a bit sweet.” Etta says in answer, relaxing a little as the last hurdle of what could have been a /very/ challenging assignment seems to have been cleared. “And no thank you, plain, non-Irish coffee will be more than sufficient.” She tosses a smile his way before turning to look around once more, this time with a bit more purpose. 
“Where would you like to do this, Mr. Stark? A comfortable place is best, but really, anywhere that takes your fancy will do. I’ll try and keep things as brief as possible, but the point is us for us both to benefit from this afternoon. You don’t even need to lie down unless you’re feeling terribly traditional...” Etta trails her way through the room as he plays host, weighing the merits of one arrangement of couches versus the other while she waits.
Tony Stark fixes the coffee, adding "I've more or less quit, you know." he points out, calling from the kitchen.
He emerges a few moments later with a steaming cup of very rich coffee, "I know I have a reputation, but recent events can change a person." he explains, offering you the cup. As for the seating arrangement, he motions generally, "Anywhere in here is fine, I guess..I'm comfortable here." he motions, "Wherever you'd like to make yourself comfortable is fine, of course."
That’s twice he’s surprised her in as many minutes. Her coppery-blonde head tilts to one side as he emerges with the coffee and explains about the booze, or lack thereof. “Really?” She asks as she reaches out to take the offered cup from him and, as it seems one place is good as the next, sinks to perch on the edge of the nearest sofa. “What prompted that?” She asks, taking a sip before settling the cup on a nearby table and taking out her pad and pen.
Tony Stark sits down, "What, the drinking?" he asks, taking a drink of water as he settles in.
He has the whole of her attention now, her eyes fixed studiously on him. She dips her chin in a nod, offering up the smallest and most fleeting of encouraging smiles before the expression’s lost to curiosity and concern. “It’s rather a big change to make on a whim. It seems likely that something prompted it. Can I ask what that was?”
Tony Stark nods, "Of course." he says, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle, "It was looking at Superman's heart beating in its chest."
He sips.
"After body slamming a T-Rex into the moon the day before."
Henrietta Black only stares a moment before scribbling something down in her notebook. Probably something severely understated like ‘unusual circumstances’. The sound of the drag of the pen nib on paper fills up the silence for a second or two before she looks up at him from beneath her lashes and sets the pen down atop her pad. “If I’m being honest, Mr. Stark, normally I’d probably speculate about how you might have felt and why that would have been the catalyst for you to take a break from your usual lifestyle, but...” She gives a little shake of her head as she watches him, and there’s genuine concern and softness in her voice. “I can’t imagine. It would be beyond ridiculous for me to even /attempt/ to imagine. And I can’t even promise that I’ll understand if you want to try and explain it to me, but... I would like to try if you’re game. What in the world do you do with something like that? Good lord...”
Tony Stark sits back, trying to take a different tact that he's being profiled by a SHIELD psychologist. Instead, he thinks of it like an interview - the kind of thing he's done numerous times before. "Oh," he says, "Well, um..there was this temporal thing, and it opened in multiple points. Mutants were involved, most of the JLA and some SHIELD people were involved," he says, trying to remember it all, "I was trying to stop the Enola Gay from bombing Vegas, but I got magnetized in place, and when I was actually able to take off, made a slight miscalculation resulting in me accidentally picking up a T-Rex and couldn't stop until I had slammed it about a quarter mile into the moon's surface."
He takes a deep breath, "Then when I got back, I had to get a lecture from Batman about how dangerous I am."
It’s okay, Etta seems to be slowly forgetting that this is all for paperwork herself. The longer he talks the more her brows start to knit together in an expression of continued low-grade worry and, now, a hint of vexation. “That’s what happened.” She says by way of correction. “I’m not asking about what happened. I could have saved us both the bother if I were and stayed aboard the Argus and read the report in my pajamas. I’m asking... how in the world do you process seeing something like that? Because I imagine I’d be utterly terrified, if I’m being honest. I’d be thinking something like, ‘Bloody, buggery hell, that’s Superman’s heart and I might as well be made out of tissue and matchsticks in comparison’ and then be terribly busy getting ready to say goodbye to this mortal coil and whatnot.” 
She sounds just a little exasperated by the end. Her painted mouth purses into a bow and she says, “I said I wouldn’t do that, and of course I immediately did it. And it was absolutely as ridiculous as I imagined it would be. I’m terribly sorry.”
Tony Stark shakes his head, "No, no, it's ok. I didn't realize you were talking about that." he pauses, "It was..well, not to sound punny - sobering. They called me because I was the first person Romanov thought who might have kryptonite - and I did, actually - and so Pepper and I went up to the JLA base in orbit and they whisked me into this operating suite and I had to figure out how to use the Kryptonite blades that I have to actually open Superman's chest, so they could extract the kryptonite tipped bullet that had lodged in there. And when I held the blades so they could, I looked down, and there was his heart. Looks just like ours does. Beating. Like ours do. It's kind of..." he takes a deep breath, "Yeah." he says, finally, "I don't think someone CAN process that, at the end of the day."
He shrugs, looking a little blank, though his voice was very animated, "I came home and realized something - that if I had hit the sauce that day, I wouldn't have been able to do that. I wouldn't had the hands to save Superman's life. I went through the bar here and down in my office and got rid of ninety percent of the bottles." he pauses, "I've had..three drinks since then."
She doesn’t rush to pick up when he’s finished speaking. For a moment, she just watches him with unblinking blue-green eyes, till a soft smile slowly blooms on her mouth. “Because, for you, that’s just Tuesday.” She murmurs with a wry little upward quirk of one corner of her mouth. She’s ended up wriggling to the very edge of the couch, so lost in the whole thing that she’s leaning towards him. A thought narrows her eyes and she asks, “Has it been difficult? It’s a... huge change. And while I think I can understand the impetus for it... your life hasn’t really changed. You’re still under enormous pressure on a daily basis. You’re still at the top of everyone’s list to call in case of disaster. How have you been coping?”
Tony Stark laughs at that, "Oddly enough, working even harder. I don't miss it, because usually when I think about drinking now, I think about Superman's heart." he looks at Henrietta, "That's really weird, isn't it?" he asks, abruptly, sounding somewhat confused about that.
“No.” She answers without thinking, and then is forced to concede, “Well, yes... it’s completely bloody bizarre, but if you accept the premise of T-Rexs and the moon and outer space surgery to save alien heroes, /then/ the part about not drinking because of it isn’t weird at all. That’s quite possibly the only part of that which is not completely weird.” Her pad is completely abandoned now, but she seems utterly transfixed by him, alternately oddly proud and baffled too. “You know, I think I’m ashamed to admit that I had some preconceived notions coming into this. But bloody hell, you have a remarkable ability to handle stresses that would leave the vast majority of men jabbering incoherently on the floor.”
Tony Stark smiles, holding up a finger. "Okay, let me guess - preconceived notions: Borderline alcoholic, raging egomaniac, arrogant, narcissism issues, womanizing, emotionally unavailable, among other various and sundry psychological terms I haven't studied yet?"
“I think you’ve ticked most of the large boxes on the sheet.” Etta concedes with a grin. “Though personally I would have added a bit about the dangers of always being the smartest man in the room, how it tends to isolate you and frustrate you because you have lived your entire life waiting for people to catch up, but that impatience makes it very difficult for you to form attachments to anyone else because they perceive your frustration as disdain and hate you for it, which you’re more than willing to return in kind...” Another little flicker of a smile and she clarifies, “We’re technically done. I’ll file all the proper forms and nobody will bother you for another six months but I’d like to stay if you’re not occupied in saving the world again this afternoon.“ She pauses a beat before asking, “If you know what people think, why do you play into their ideas so easily? I’d even say you enjoy it in some cases."
Tony Stark shakes his head, "No, my day's clear. I need one off every once in a while, too." he says with a smile and a chuckle. "It's like.." he says, trying to think for a moment, "It's like being Keith Richards. Everyone has this idea of the kind of person you are, and how you're supposed to act, and you feel like you have to give the people what they want." he says, rubbing his chin. "The Tony Stark they see out there, is different from who I really am - and when it comes to being intelligent and being frustrated, I learned to turn that off a long time ago. Sometimes it's nice to not have to be the great inventor, or innovator, or whatever Wired's calling me this month. Sometimes I just wanna be the guy in the room cracking jokes and making people laugh, or talking about whatever everyone else is talking about."
Perhaps as a sign of her off-duty-ness, Etta slips her stocking-clad feet out of her teeteringly high heels and tucks them up beneath her on the couch, propping an elbow up on its arm and resting her chin in her hand as she looks across at him. “So it’s all selfless? Fulfilling the desires of your public?” She asks a bit dryly, one brow arching. This she’s less inclined to go along with, though she doesn’t seem to judge him too harshly for it. “And you don’t even derive the teensiest bit of satisfaction from leading those foolish enough to see you as just the one thing down the proverbial garden path?” The brow stays arched and she smiles a little wickedly at him before her train of thought shifts and she looks more pensive. “Does it work? Being ‘one of the lads’? It would have to be an exceptional group of lads, I would imagine, but then you seem to have plenty laying around the city that could fill the bill.”
Tony Stark returns that smile with one his own, and his eyes narrow "Hey, if people wanna get played - I'm gonna play 'em. The best thing anyone can do for me is underestimate me. Like when you first met me on the bridge of the Hellicarrier - and I'm sure the things they said over there before you had the utterly unpleasant experience of coming here this morning." he sips from his water bottle, "I like surprising people. However I can get that, I'm good with. I like not being what people expect when they get in close with me. Because usually, when it's from behind a velvet rope or at the end of a camera lens or news camera, then I don't mind being whatever they think I am. It doesn't always work, being one of the lads..but I won't stop trying. But when it does work..then yeah. It's pretty cool." he props his chin under his hand and looks at your relaxed posture. "I'd say you're one of the most classically beautiful women I've seen in a good, long while - but I wouldn't want an honest opinion to be confused with being a womanizer."
If Mr. Stark is still collecting victory points in the game of life, he can add another to his enormous heap here. The reference to the ‘unpleasant experience’ of her morning kindles a positively brilliant pink flush in her cheeks and causes her to avert her eyes from him for a moment. And that’s before he even makes it to the compliment portion of his answer, which makes her just a tiny bit concerned she might actually burst into flames on his couch for an instant and delays her reply. 
”Well. Hmmm.” She makes a few delicate little throaty noises to stall for time and summons the resolve to look up and meet his gaze again. “You would be in a position to judge I expect.” 
Whereas an hour ago, that might have passed her lips with an air of disapproval, now it practically sounds like an inside joke. She smiles back at him with, gasp, something approaching fondness, and says a little more seriously, “I think it would be important for you though. Probably necessary even. We all need a tether or two, especially when our jobs make us rather likely to drift into war zones.”
She’s still really quite remarkably pink in the cheeks. Just sayin’.
Tony Stark chuckles at that, "Especially when your job is to be where the war zone is. Or preventing them from erupting anyway." he nods, "And I wouldn't be so quick to assume I can be one to judge..not as of late, anyway." he says a bit wistfully.
It’s not like she’s going to miss the change in tone. Her eyes trace the lines of his features from her much more informal perch, stretching another half an inch in his direction before she asks, “Its difficult to judge in the best of circumstances, and those are usually in short supply. But why do you say that? It sounds... specific.”
Tony Stark shakes his head, "Here's the rub. I'm supposed to be one of the biggest philandering womanizers on the planet, yet I've been on three dates in the past year. Well, four if you count me taking Dazzler to the Expo opening, but I don't think she was really that into me."
Reflexively, Etta sits up straighter in her seat and looks, in a word, surprised. This is getting to be a thing, apparently. Her lips part, but this first attempt doesn’t actually produce any words, so she closes her mouth and tries again with better success. “That... that /is/ actually very surprising, yes.” So much so that she has to spend a moment processing it before she can go any further. A little shake of her head to clear it and she launches straight into speculation. “Is it because its difficult to find someone who could even hope to relate to what your life is really like, or... you’ve got such an image that the women you’d be inclined to date are put off before you can charm them... something that I’d say you are good at, so in this instance your reputation is pretty spot on...” 
While for the duration of most of her speculating her gaze had grown unfocused and lost in thought, the last thought that occurs to her fixes her eyes firmly to his face once more. “Or maybe there’s someone particular and you don’t know... what to do about it exactly?” He may not have an Oxford doctorate in this, but like his, this has the ring of specificity to it.
Tony Stark shakes his head, "No, not the last thing there..but definite the other two. You look up toxic in Mirriam-Webster's and they have a 3x5 of me in there." he sits back, "You'd think oh, he could date anyone he wants - you'd be surprised how much mileage that doesn't get you when you actually want to see someone the next day."
Well, if it’s any consolation he seems to have turned Etta in a neat little 180 since she stepped into his living room. She smiles across at him with an expression that’s all sympathy and affection, her accented voice gentle as she says, “It comes with the territory a bit. For all of us, even us lowly agents doing crowd control while you zip about the skies with a T-Rex in one hand and an alien overlord in the other.” She gives a little shake of her head and sighs. “You live for your work and it eats you whole. You have nothing left to give except scraps and... what normal person would want that? So it leaves you with the option of a quick tumble with a colleague to take the edge off or the unwise proposition of actually trying to cultivate something like a real relationship with someone who has all your same flaws and little time or energy to devote to something beyond survival and duty.” 
Sensing that this is not the most encouraging speech ever she says quietly, “Its hard. Very hard, but not impossible. And you needn’t and shouldn’t be alone.”
Tony Stark waves a hand, dismissively, "Actually you hit the nail on the head. All I'd have left are scraps..and why should anyone have to deal with that?" - he doesn't seem depressed or dour about it. More accepting and cool about it. "I don't really blame anyone - it's not entirely my fault. I've just been /really/ busy. With stuff. And things." he looks over at Etta and grins, "But mostly stuff."
This time she’s not buying it would seem. She looks levelly back at him, unwilling to be distracted and says, “Because you’re quite amazing. Moreso than I ever would have imagined, honestly, and I expect I only have the barest inkling. And I don’t mean your money or your... your prettiness... or even your intelligence, which...” A brief purse of her lips as she tries to find a safe way to phrase this, “... is a selling point. I mean you.” 
”Yes, it would come with strings. So does every relationship. Yours bigger than most, but still...three nights a month and a weekend every quarter with you versus dinner every night and bed by nine-thirty with a perfectly lovely chartered accountant named Phil is not even a competition worth speaking of. It just requires the right person who can really /see/ you and /understand/. That’s all. Much easier than outer space surgery when you get right down to it, Mr. Stark.”
Tony Stark guffaws at this, "You'd think it would be. But there's no one that's willing to settle for even that -- which would be a lot more than that, I think I should say." though he seems to deflect the compliment levelled at him. He seems to be looking around an awful lot though. Does relationship talk make him nervous?
“I find that very unlikely.” Etta says, dry and a little wry but not at all unkindly. His restless eyes and refusal to meet her gaze eventually pique her, however, and cause her to uncoil one leg from beneath her with a hiss of stocking on stocking and... kick him. Well, tap really, but forcefully tap him with the tips of her toes right against his shin. Provided that gets his attention she smiles rather winsomely at him and says, “You know I’m right. We’re not talking about sex, which you and I both know you could have in abundance... but something a bit more meaningful than that. I find myself fairly confident that you could more than make up for the bits that required patience to deal with if you put your mind to it.”
Tony Stark laughs at the nudge, "Oh I could, I know I could. But the challenge is finding someone willing to put up with it all for more than a short period of time. The new relationship smell wears off quick, you know." he points out as a matter of fact. "But you're right - for once, I'm not talking about sex, either."
His laugh makes her smile, but she sinks back into just watching him for a moment. “You’ve put your mind to it though.” She observes after a moment, pulling her leg back and tucking it back beneath her. “Or you could. You’re a bit on the fence still and could teeter either way, but you’ve at least decided its important and you want it. I don’t know you from before but I expect that’s a bit of a change. So. You can’t count the bits before you decided this is important, like the drinking. Just going forward. Eventually, I promise, the right sort of girl is going to drift across your path... one that isn’t going to throw in the towel for missing dinner with their parents because you had to prevent an extra-dimensional elder god from rising from the depths of the battery street harbor.” A little grin and she can’t resist, the leg sweeps back out to nudge him with her toes again. “And it may or may not work out, but when such a mythical unicorn of a girl wanders by, you had better chase her a little or I shall be ever so cross with you.”
Tony Stark pauses, "Funny you should mention that, I've had that happen before..alongside Wonder Woman and Superman. It turned out to be a Kraken, though, and was on our side. I shot it on accident." he says, remembering that very well. "The girl though? Is just that - a unicorn."
“Like you do.” Etta says indulgently with a little shrug over the friendly fire incident and a smile at the complaint. “Believe in unicorns then. Based on this conversation, I would say you’d seen far stranger things than that which were turned out to be all-too-real.”
Tony Stark chuckles, "It reminds me.." he says, looking over at Etta, "I had just finished shaking down the Mark 3. I took out the terror cell that had taken over Gulmirs." he chuckles, "JARVIS is trying to get the armor off me. We hadn't worked that part of things..I was hanging up there, half in and half out of armor when Pepper walks in and she just makes this sound and I look over and I say 'C'mon..this is NOT the weirdest thing you've ever caught me doing'." he laughs a little at the memory, "I can honestly say that looking for someone to fit the bill is NOT the strangest thing I've ever done - but in all of the things I've ever done? It's the hardest."
The story makes her smile, but the last line is the killer. The faintest little wince pinches her for an instant and she reacts instinctively. Her arm comes out, fingers stretching to take his hand... only halfway across she seems to remember that, A, She’s still ostensibly here in a professional capacity and, B, Discounting the quick brush aboard the Argus, she’s really only just met him and this feeling of closeness and complicity is probably destined to be illusory at best. 
It does make for a super awkward gesture, however, as she sits there with her hand stretched out into midair for a moment like she was about to salute him in grand Third-Reich fashion. She blinks before snatching it back quickly and settling it firmly in her lap. Her cheeks pinken again and she looks down, but she doesn’t hesitate in saying, “If anyone can do it, you can I think. And you will.” 
And having turned pink in front of him for the second time in an hour she says, “I’m sorry, I’ve taken up far too much of your time Mr. Stark. I’m sure that you have a lot to do even on your day off and I should go file this report...” She unfolds herself from his sofa, busying herself with gathering her notebook and pen which seems to involve a remarkable amount of fiddling really, for two things.
Tony Stark nods, and looks..actually, well, disappointed. "Right..and sadly, this is not your day off. Otherwise, I'd ask you if you'd want to spend it with me." he says gently, "I hope this isn't because you were using your professional technique, but I find you amazingly easy to talk to." there's a gentility to the statement that makes it sincere.
“Well, I do have some leeway. As you say, you have a reputation so it’s likely that if I were to disappear for a week after coming over to interview you and then call for an airlift from the rainforests of Bolivia... well, I probably wouldn’t even be written up. They’d blame you /entirely/.” The humor seems to help her find her balance. She looks up at him thoughtfully, managing a smile in return, and tellingly she hasn’t put her shoes back on yet. “And no, I don’t think this has actually been a shining example of dispassionate professionalism on my part... but in my defense, I can... relate very strongly to most everything you can say. Not the dinosaurs in outer space parts or the alien surgeries or the difficulties that come with being branded a devil-may-care playboy in the tabloid press obviously, but... the rest of it.” She hesitates before giving him a little nod. “I could play hookie a bit longer, but you’d have to call me something other than Doctor-Agent-Miss-Black.”
Tony Stark sits back down, "Fair enough, Henrietta. Only if you promise to call me something but Mister. It puts on eight years I don't want to age yet." he gives you a smile. Not the one he greeted you with, either. That's the practiced, megawatt grin that gets in the magazines. This is something gentler, more soulful. A real smile. It lights up his whole face.
She looks rather pleased with the expression. So much so that she just watches him for a moment in lieu of filling up the companionable quiet with words. A little turn and she perches on the arm of the sofa, letting her coppery head loll a bit to one side before she asks, “You know... what /does/ Tony Stark do on his day off? Do you secretly paint watercolor landscapes of harbors or... I don’t know... make soufflés for the needy? I’m honestly curious...” A little grin lights her face. “I can’t help but feel like I’ll be surprised. Again.”
Tony Stark hmms, "I used to work on cars. I still do, but they're in Malibu. But I like to work on simple stuff like that because I can do it and not think. Since I've been based out here I like to go walk through Central Park. There's a little duck pond, and I like to feed them." he muses, "I walk around the city alot when I have time. I feel really rooted when I do that. Help some people out from time to time. I do big stuff, like all the charities, but I mean I like to do stuff more personal than that."
Tony Stark he sits back, "What do you do on your days off? I don't see you exactly as the stay home and needlepoint type."
“Days off are my unicorns. I suspect they’re out there but I haven’t seen any up close for a very long while. I quite literally live at work. But... when I was still working on my doctorates I’d cook occasionally. Probably for much the same reason that you like cars. My fingers didn’t need too much monitoring from my brain, so it could switch off a bit... only my way had the added bonus of pudding at the end.” She grins and stretches out a hand in invitation. “Come on then. I’ll trade you a tour of your technological marvel of a kitchen for a lesson in how to make sticky toffee pudding, mm?”
Tony Stark blinks at this. "You know, that's.." he thinks to himself, "No, that IS the first time I've ever gotten such an offer. Usually it's for a tour of the armory and pudding is not involved." he accepts the hand, and leads you to the cavernous professional grade kitchen and fully stocked pantry, "Right this way..I don't think I have any pudding mix though, I might have to send out for that.." because yes, Tony is not culinary minded and just that dense that he thinks real pudding comes in a box.
She keeps a light hold on his fingers, looking around with a small degree of renewed amazement at the kitchen. “I get the distinct feeling that its entirely possible that you’ve never been in here before. For you, the kitchen is a mystical land from which servants bring forth food via some sort of arcane alchemical process...” She looks coyly at him over the round of one shoulder and adds wryly, “Also, you’re /hopelessly/ American I’m afraid. But its fine, we’re going to educate you. Your mission is to find me dates, brown sugar, flour, butter, eggs and milk.” 
She slips her hand from his with a little smile, saluting him with the tips of her fingers before starting to shrug off her lady-in-black suit jacket and the shoulder holster underneath, because it wouldn’t do to get toffee sauce on her .45.
Tony Stark watches for a moment, then nods when you finish shrugging off the shoulder holster. "Something about women with guns.." he says almost under his breath, "I have all that, actually.." and as he gathers the requested ingredients, "I have actually been in here before. I'm in here /all the time/. I don't bring in a professional crew unless I'm doing a huge dinner or catering event or something like that. Usually, it's just me. Or Pepper rummaging around in here when she's convinced I'm malnourished or something."
He sets everything down on the island in the center of the kitchen, "Okay, now what?"
She gets the lay of the land as he’s assembling the raw materials for their day-off experiment, occasionally looking back at him over a shoulder or out of the corner of her eye. Day-off Etta is much less stoic. She smiles quite frequently and seems perfectly at home padding barefoot around the kitchens of infamous billionaire superheroes. “Alright, so /you/ are going to chop the dates for me. Just half a cup, and we want them quite fine because they’re practically going to dissolve in the batter after we soak them.” And /she/ is going to gather a bowl and a whisk and a saucepan and a pan and preheat the oven. Speaking of, she eyes Tony’s elaborate professional range with a small degree of uncertainty. “Oven” She says tentatively after a moment’s study. “Preheat to 350 degrees.” 
And, failing that actually working, she just fiddles with buttons and knobs until it turns on.
Tony Stark nods, and when she tries to go to the oven, he holds up a hand and grins, "JARVIS, Oven 350 degrees. Preheat. Go."
"Yes sir. It's nice to see you using the oven. For once." the fellow Brit sounding AI
"JARVIS.."
"Yes, sir. Shutting up."
Tony looks with a sheepish grin as he dices up the dates. As opposed to being diced up while ON a date, which has also happened.
Oh, that is lovely. For lack of a particular object or entity to focus on, Etta ends up glancing towards the ceiling here and there before saying, “Brilliant. Thank you so much.” She sets about buttering the pan she’s found while Tony is on date duty and she adds, “When you’re done, put them in a little bowl with half a cup of quite hot water and a teaspoon of baking soda. It’ll foam up a little bit and feel like science, so you’ll be right at home.” She assures him before moving on to mixing the dry ingredients together. She’s quiet a moment, lost in the movements of her hands, before she starts to hum to herself. It’s a very happy little noise, homey and content.
Tony Stark looks at Henrietta as he finishes with the dates and does as directed, "You do, of course, realize that I am not in fact a barbarian. I am a civilized person who is not alien in a kitchen." he says, voice good natured and amused at the somewhat surreal goings on." he says with mock indignation.
Tisk. Etta makes the noise at him in answer, her tongue clucking against her front teeth, and shoots him a wry look as she finishes up with the dry ingredients. “Why would you want to ruin all the fun I was having teasing you mercilessly? What sort of host are you? Just for that, I’m withholding vanilla ice cream at the end... and you will be /so sorry/, I assure you.” She flashes him a bright smile and says, “Alright, bring those over to me when they’ve gotten soft and foamy. And a cup of milk.”
Tony Stark makes a wounded face, "Oh my god. You're diabolical. Withholding the ice cream? That's /gotta/ be a violation of some charter or convention." he says, pouring a cup of milk and the dates. He stands close, but not too close. For a moment he debates stepping closer, but doesn't. "I'm going to go on a limb here and assume these," he says holding the milk and the dates, "Are going in there?" and inclines his head towards the bowl 'etta is holding.
Henrietta’s head turns toward him and affects the semblance of wide-eyed admiration as she looks up at his face, “You /are/ a genius, Tony Stark...” She says in a breathless whisper before laughter overcomes her. She nudges him with her hip now, thus relieving him of that particular quandary, and says in a chipper lilt, “In they go and mix gently until combined, then into the pan.” 
There’s renewed humming as she pads to the stove, adding butter and sugar to the saucepan and, with some effort (cross your fingers), getting the burner to turn on at a temperature nicely between ‘barely’ and ‘fiery conflagration of doom’.
Tony Stark leans in very naturally, laughing before remarking, "Oh witty, are we?" before returning the bump. He pours the stuff into saucepan, and goes to touch the burner when you do, fingers resting against each other for a lingering moment. He smiles again, that real smile of his, and turns the burner. "Okay, so what now, O Culinary Goddess?"
She smiles back, looking genuinely happy and completely at ease. “Now we put the pudding... or cake to you Americans... into the oven and, in the meantime, we’ll make the toffee sauce. And if you’re ever so well behaved and patient, then maybe... /maybe/...” she emphasizes, lifting the wooden spoon up between them. “I will relent about the ice cream. Because you really have to have it with the ice cream. I swear you’ll never want anything else ever again...” She purrs with enough enthusiasm that her eyes flutter closed for an instant, though her smile never waivers. She dips the spoon into the saucepan, swirling the contents steadily as the butter starts to melt and combine with the sugar into a deliciously caramel-y looking substance. She watches it a moment before looking back at him out of the corner of her eyes. 
”Thank you.” She says quietly. “This is really... really lovely. And maybe just what I needed as well.”
Tony Stark nods, grinning. "Me too," he says softly, "I really think I did, after the past few days." he keeps the close distance, "and might I say, I have /never/ thought of a toffee pudding as sexy before...but I think you're changing my mind."
And again with the blushing. It’s the trifecta. No mean feat when the target in question is a trained SHEILD agent ostensibly capable of all manner of spycraft and feats of artful violence. She glances down, but her smile holds, even as she says with a bit of a sigh, “Now you’ve made licking the spoon terribly awkward. I’m not sure that I can forgive you for that...” She muses, pulling the aforementioned spoon out of the pot and blowing on it as the sauce bubbles. When its cooled enough not to induce blisters, she sweeps a tiny taste off of the utensil with her fingertip, bringing it to her lips and testing to see how much cookery she’s managed to retain after a seven year break. 
”Mmmm.” She concludes with another enthusiastic flutter of lashes. She opens her eyes and looks back up to his face, her brows lifting in a question she can’t actually manage to articulate out loud.
Tony Stark can't help but smile, and is going to speak..but then..for some reason finds himself silenced - no mean feat when you see that the person struck dumb is the same man who exchanges barbs with demigods, word leaders, and Director Fury himself. His eyes lock with yours, holding a long moment, before he finds himself biting a lip gently and nodding to the unspoken question. Whatever it is, the answer is yes.
Huh, funny... that color in her cheeks really seems to have stuck this time. She watches him until the nod, dropping her gaze then to the spoon clutched loosely in her fingers like she was suddenly not quite sure how to use it or why she was holding it. It comes back eventually and the tip of her finger is drug through the sticky sauce a second time before she looks back to him again, offering him his turn at a taste with only the barest little hesitation and slightly parted lips.
Tony Stark leans in, and slowly licks the sauce from your finger. He isn't lewd about it, but he isn't trying to downplay the sensuality of it either. Taking a moment, he nods and swallows a little hard and says, "Yeah..that's..actually quite amazing.." his breath a little light.
“Mmm-hmm.” So eloquent, our Etta. She half turns away, returning the spoon to the pot and becoming exceedingly focused on the sauce for the moment, and after a few breaths she’s able to say in a quite normal voice, “Cake, ice cream, sauce. Its absolute heaven. Speaking of, we shouldn’t be too far off from the cake being ready.” That could be truth or wishful thinking, she’s sort of lost track.
Tony Stark nods gently, "It's..quite possible." - it would seem he's lost track himself, wonder why..."350 degrees, you say..seems a bit..warmer than that, or is it just me?"
Tap. Her stocking-clad toes nudge him in the shin again and she gives him a scolding look that, after a few seconds, turns into a smile and more laughter. “Good lord. And you wonder why...” She mutters, trailing off into a slightly shallow breath. “Check the cake and I’m going to investigate your ice cream situation. I’m assuming there’s not some sort of exotic lock on the freezer, but if I run into trouble I’ll give a shout.” 
She pads off and, not to prove his point exactly but it is worth mentioning, spends a good minute with her head inside his freezer sussing out the state of his ice cream supplies.
Tony Stark knows she's not leaving, not yet, anyway and turns to watch her got to the freezer, anyway. He gives that a moment, before turning back towards the oven. He exhales slowly, silently for a moment before he opens the oven and checks.
It looks like cake..but is it?
he gets a toothpick and pokes the middle. It comes out clean.
"Congratulations," he says, "It's a pudding." before grabbing oven mitts and pulling it out of the oven. He closes it again with a foot and stands there for a moment. Behold: Tony Stark, the modern day incarnation of Shakespeare's Benedict himself, Avenger, Iron Man, CEO of a Global Empire. Looking for at least one moment, completely domesticated.
One should put this on her resume.
Etta can’t help but admire it as she spins back ‘round, vanilla bean ice cream in hand. Kind of adorable, honestly, and her opinion shows in her smile. “We can let it cool just a smidge, but it’s the best a little warm still.” There’s a hint of roses still lingering in her cheeks, but her time in the freezer seems to have done her some good. She sets the ice cream on the counter and starts guessing at which cabinets are likely to contain bowls and which drawers might have spoons.
Tony Stark nods and sets the pan on the marble island to cool, because that makes sense to him. Losing the mitts, he snags bowls, spoons, and (of course) a rather futuristic looking ice cream scoop. He smiles, almost apologetically, "Um, it has a laser element in it, so instead of scooping, it just kinda cuts. Sometimes ice cream can be a little fussy. I take my ice cream kinda seriously."
... because of course it does. Honestly, though, if their adventure in the kitchen had not involved at least a little bit of ridiculous future-tech, she probably would have been disappointed. “You’re in charge of ice cream... uh... development then.” Which leaves her with cake, which she cuts into neat little squares that are carefully settled in the bottom of their bowls, topping each slice with a generous spoonful or two of toffee sauce. She almost gets through the sauce without looking up at him, but... not quite, no. A little peek up at his face from beneath her lashes and she quickly returns her attention to dessert. “There, all set for you.” Her work done, she hooks her fingers over the edge of the counter and uses the leverage to hop up atop it, sitting there with her legs dangling as she watches the ice cream master work.
Tony grins at Etta when she looks up after spooning the toffee sauce on the pudding. It's set now - their first inside joke, and no matter what happens from here, they'll always have toffee sauce. Chances are, unless Etta's involved, Tony will never have toffee sauce again. It's one of those kinds of things he wishes to preserve. He turn on the ice cream scoop, because yes, Tony would have a sooop that one has to power on. He makes two scoops for each bowl, perfect round spheres of ice cream that sit on top of the toffee suace on top of the pudding. He sets the scoop down and grins, "Ice Cream..developed." he says, before laughing some.
“That’s... actually quite amazing.” She is forced to confess after watching the fruits of his ice cream development. But its definitely made to be eaten, not admired, and she plucks up her bowl and spoon and is about to claim her first bite when a thought occurs to her. “To unicorns...” She says with a small smile, leaning over to clink the edge of her bowl against his. “Cheers.” 
And that done, she does take that bite, and to judge by her expression... its every bit as good as she remembers. Her eyes close as she savors the warm cake and toffee and chill but quickly melting ice cream spreading across her tongue, making practically lascivious little noises of delight. “You’re surprisingly good at cake too...” She says in between bites, smiling at him with... a look that is patently and unrepentantly fond.
Tony Stark takes up his bowl, and smiles, "Indeed. Unicorns. Or something like them. Cheers." he says, and digs in and first there are eyes widening and then closing half way and a low mmmmm sound from him that might almost be a purr, once the bite is down he says, "That is one of the best things I have /ever/ had. If it actually came from some place I would buy it." he mmms again and smiles, the fondness in expression returned, genuinely. "And I find you to be quite amazing at it as well."
“Happily, it came from a place you already own.” Etta observes, licking the hollow of her spoon and grinning over at him. She just watches him for a moment, finally giving a little shake of her head before marveling, “Its amazing how you’re absolutely nothing like I thought you were, and yet all the more amazing for it.” 
She seems to sober a bit after that, pushing herself off the edge of the counter and landing on the floor. “I have to get back.” She murmurs, and for a moment it looks like she’s going to make a bee-line right for her coat and gun and flee, but... instead she turns towards him. Her stocking feet carry her over to where he stands and she looks up at him with rather graven blue-green eyes. “Thank you again. Truly.” She leans up onto her toes, one hand settling on his shoulder while her lips brush across the stubble on his cheek. 
She lingers for just a moment, smelling of a mixture of caramelized sugar and violet-scented soap. “This is probably fairyland, and when I leave it will never be quite like this again,” She whispers into his ear with a tickle of warm breath, “...but when you have a hard day of monsters and you feel bleak and ragged... I’d like it if you’d call me. I’ll come.”
Tony Stark puts his hand on your shoulders in return and leans in, and says softly, "One of the things I take the most delight in, is being an expediter of dreams. If this is fairyland to you, then I'll make sure it always will be..and I can promise you, Henrietta, I /will/ call you then, and probably when I've had a good day as well." - he takes in that smell of sugar and violets, as if capturing that in a memory as well, before gently returning the kiss on the cheek that you gave him.
When he pulls back, everything about him wants to say more, but he restrains himself for once.
She has a funny sort of look on her face when he pulls back. Not quite wonder, or at least not just that, but a big dollop, with a bit of something like gratitude and amazement. A touch of surprise, a dash and a smidge of emotions more obscure for spice. Quite a recipe, really. And there’s so many unspoken things crowding around that she can’t seem to find a voice for any one of them. They sort of push her back towards her jacket and gun, plucked up without looking away from him. And, just before she turns to go, she dips her chin in the smallest of nods and offers up one last smile before padding off silently to slip back into her work shoes and go back to being Agent Black once more.
Tony watches Etta go back to being Agent Black once more, He's silent, but not tensely so. It's more of a not-trying-to-ruin-a-moment quiet. He recognizes them when they happen. They're rare, though, like stardust. If she speaks to him before she leaves, he's got enough wits about him to respond.
Category:Log