[It said something about Tony’s relationship and understanding of Pepper that he had no idea what her space would be like if it was not also his space. Her taste was imposed on enough of his offices, tertiary residences, and other various spaces that he assumed it would like extremely business-like and modern, sort of like one of her suits. That was the extent of his thought process on the topic, and he didn’t care to delve too much into this attitude of child to schoolteacher (surely you stop existing once the bell rings).
The suit almost never “contained” Tony Stark. Sometimes he was in it, true, but his personality always bled out of it when he wasn’t actually the one working the gears. The only exception was when he was the one pulling the puppet strings in an intimate way, and JARVIS was exactly mimicking his movements in three dimensional space. Even then, there was always something a little... alien about the way the suit moved if Tony wasn’t in it. His emotions seemed to bleed out of every joint, every step some poignant statement about how he felt at any given time. He let his head rest back against the neck support and the helmet’s weight slid entirely backward until it was held up by the back of the couch alone. The weight of his left foot dragged his weight down off the edge of the couch, and he had the other knee up in a vaguely childish, almost crumpled position. When he moved it was slowly, little twitches of his fingers, tiny movements of his head behind the unblinking glow of the helmet’s eyes.
He dropped his chin ever so slightly to meet her inquiring gaze, but as was his habit, Tony didn’t answer any questions, unspoken or otherwise. Instead he concentrated on his own, lecturing on like a professor who couldn’t see the students in the bad light.]
So then we could teach you the difference between metals, and I could tell you a component I wanted moved, and you could do it. With your mind. [He sounded incredibly pleased with the idea, through the faint slur of fatigue.]