The list of people Tony could stand to see anymore was getting shorter by the minute, but thankfully Emma stayed cushioned somewhere safe near the top. It remained to be seen how long Tony could go without fucking this up, too, and making the list one less. The odds were 50/50-- Tony had the singular luck of their relationship not entirely depending on them liking each other at all, and still being jointly satisfying.
"Long flight," was Tony's excuse, like this had ever been an issue and the jet wasn't his second, if not first and most consistent home. He had remained unmoved at her approach, downing the contents of his glass with one hand held up for her patience, to leave it inviting a refill on the bar when he finally stood to greet Emma. He slipped from his seat to touch her elbow and say, "You're almost exquisite enough for the both of us,"-- almost, because Tony knew at top form he was hard to match-- and press a kiss to her cheek. It was a good thing they didn't have to agree with each other, because fit like that they could have been calculated opposites; her strict and rigid and all cool light from head to toe, and him contrasting in warm darkness and inviting curve.
"Finish this bottle with me," he offered as the girl returned to pour the champagne, inviting Emma to sit with him with one hand while he took up his glass in the other. Stepping back into the country and falling directly into bed with Emma was certainly a welcoming prospect, but he felt it had been a lifetime since he had last seen her. After all, his suit had mutilated one of her comrades. A drink to clear the air-- away from the cool watch of Ms. Potts-- would be enlightening for both of them.