gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“And that’s supposed to help him how, exactly?” She jerked open the balcony door, remembered, and grabbed her earpiece before stepping out and dropping off the edge. “Not that, you know, I can /carry/ him but I can keep him from smashing his face. Here’s an idea, Jarvis: go get in one of the other suits in case of stupid. It’s Tony. There will be stupid.”

Jarvis sounded perhaps slightly offended when he replied.  -Because the odds of the suit bursting apart all in one fell swoop are laughably miniscule.  Which means if something does come loose, or is about to, I can point it out and he can land.  Considering, as you pointed out, you can’t carry him.-  He didn’t bother pointing out that he was too tall to actually wear any of the other suits, beyond the gauntlets.

“I hate it when you’re logical at me,” she grumped, peeling off in the general direction of Tony’s flight. “Which way did he go? Is this going to be like that video you showed me of his first flight? I don’t want to chase him through the stratosphere.”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“Best I could do,” she claimed, giggling and pushing his hands away. It was hard to do both, but she managed a few telling shots. “I hate puns, but sometimes … ” A shrug turned into a squirm away as he found one of her weak points, and then she couldn’t talk for laughing.

“Really?  The absolute best?” he wondered, as he rolled partially onto his hip, leaning on one elbow in order to get at her more easily, grinning triumphantly as she rapidly lost coherence.  “Not sure I believe that.”

“Mmmheheheh — s-stop, Tony, I can’t breathe.” All she could do was flail helplessly at him; she didn’t want to hurt him for tickling her. Whichever way she curled up, he found an unprotected spot, and she couldn’t turn it off for laughing. “T-tony!”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“I don’t drink coffee — how do you not know I don’t drink coffee — and the painkillers aren’t /working/. If I throw myself from the top of the Tower, do you think it will hurt less?”

“Miss Summer, half of my life consists of making Mr. Stark coffee.  As far as I’m concerned, it could be a plausible solution to any issue.  And no.  Besides, do you really want to leave your cats in Mr. Stark’s care?”

“Ugh, god, no. You’re right, Tony would use them for experiments probably. Buttered toast and cat monorails. Ngh. I’m hydrated, the painkillers are worthless, I didn’t hit my head on anything that I know of — did someone come in and mug me in my sleep?”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

That did it. She sat up a little bit, just enough to go looking for the ticklish spots. “Can’t help it,” she shot back, in between return prodding. “You lie like a rug.”

“That was the worst pun,” he said, trying his damnedest not to sound amused, as he retaliated in kind and tried to deflect her hands.  “Ever.”

“Best I could do,” she claimed, giggling and pushing his hands away. It was hard to do both, but she managed a few telling shots. “I hate puns, but sometimes … ” A shrug turned into a squirm away as he found one of her weak points, and then she couldn’t talk for laughing.

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“I feel like my brain is coming out my ears, Jarvis.”

“Oh my.  While that does sound alarming, I’m reasonably certain that coffee or Advil might prove more helpful.”

“I don’t drink coffee — how do you not know I don’t drink coffee — and the painkillers aren’t /working/. If I throw myself from the top of the Tower, do you think it will hurt less?”

gadgeteerphilanthropist:

iamthefirechild:

“Please kill me now.”

“While I am admittedly inexperienced with human matters, that seems a touch drastic.”

“I feel like my brain is coming out my ears, Jarvis.”