Saving Grace

Eighty Three

Pepper is chopping tomatoes in the open kitchen, sunlight permeating the room enough that the lights inside aren't turned on. Tony is attempting to help her, a towel draped over his shoulder, and he squints at the long, red berries in a bowl he just got from the fridge.

"Are those our gojis?" he asks, referring to the berries they grow in the garden outside. They grow a lot of fresh foods out there, enough for their little family and a bit extra for the occasional guest (aka Happy and Rhodey) and some storage.

Pepper continues chopping as she answers Tony's question. "They are not."

Tony's brows furrow. "What's wrong with ours?"

A small hint of amusement and a large hint of accusation in her voice, Pepper looks up at Tony and answers, "Your alpaca ate them all."

"Oh," Tony says.

"All of them."

He laughs, says, "What a glowing endorsement," then sets the berries down on the table next to her. "First of all, Gerald is our alpaca."

Pepper can't help but laugh too, especially at the name Morgan picked out. "He's not my alpaca if he's eating my gojis."

"Okay," Tony concedes, grabbing a handful of the berries and reaching over to sprinkle it in the bowl of lettuce next to Pepper. "They're gonna be nice in the salad, though, right?"

Pepper quickly shoves his hand away. "No, don't, don't, don't, don't, don't! Could you just put it down?" Half exasperated, half amused, she says, "Get out of my kitchen."

Tony turns, dropping the berries back in the bowl. "Okay." He starts walking away, going to the stove, then nearly knocks the pan on top of it into the floor. "Whoops."

Pepper is now fully exasperated.

"We're good here, right?" he asks.

"Yeah, we're great," Pepper replies sarcastically. "Go tell Willful and Bossy that lunch in is five."

Tony discards the towel and opens the door. "I will collect our little dwarves posthaste."

"Yeah, well one's not so little anymore," Pepper calls.

"She is to me," Tony replies, closing the door behind him.

~~~~

Out back, past the garden and the picnic table, nestled in a small circle of thin trees, is a tent, just big enough for Morgan and Grace to fit in together, though Grace slouches a bit. But she doesn't mind.

Across from her, Morgan holds a hand out as if to blast her, the too-big, now-detachable helmet from Savior on her head. She says, "My name is Morgan Stark! You killed my father! Prepare to die!" They watched The Princess Bride last night, upon Grace's recommendation. Needless to say, Morgan really liked it.

Grace chuckled, the blue helmet from her mother's not-quite-finished suit on her own head. Morgan lunges to attack her, but Grace catches her, now full on laughing. "I hate to break it to you, Morg, but I think you've got the wrong person."

Morgan reaches out and, with some difficulty, lifts up Grace's helmet, then gasps. "Inconceivable!"

Grace's brows raise as she puts the helmet carefully off to the side. "That's a big word."

"Yeah," Morgan says, a proud smile evident in her voice. Then, her head tilts to the side. "What does it mean?"

"It means that something is absolutely, totally, completely impossible to believe."