Author's Note: My first official fic in the MCU Fandom! Beta'ed by Kadigan, amazing writing buddy and best friend.
Tony Stark once described James Rhodes as a soldier with a conscience. Rhodes wants to know what other kind of soldier there is. If you've served in any active war zone and don't sometimes lie awake at night wondering which of your calls in the field were the right ones, then you were probably damaged before you ever put on the uniform.
Rhodes has lost a lot of sleep replaying the deaths of his men and his enemies in his brain, has lost interminable hours counting the bullets that left the muzzle of his M16 in slow motion, listening to the final breaths of insurgents whose names he never knew. Sometimes, even in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he sees F-16s go belly-up, spiralling in a stream of black smoke into the desert, the jungle, the ocean. On good nights, he also sees the parachutes pop open just in time.
There have been very few "good nights" these last three months. Rhodes can't close his eyes without seeing the sprays of sand, feeling the bomb concussions, and hearing the call over his radio: "The Leviathan has been taken. Repeat, the Leviathan is in hostile possession."
His therapist says it's PTSD from the attack, but Rhodes calls bullshit on that. He has been in too many firefights, flown through too many miles of occupied airspace, to succumb to one little ambush. No, he knows this heavy liquid disease that's eating its way into his brain: guilt. Guilt for letting Tony bully him like he always does, for leaving Tony alone with a handful of starstruck E-3s too new for this kind of assignment (who died because they weren't ready, don't think Rhodes doesn't know that, too). Guilt for allowing the terrorists to just pop in and take the world's most brilliant weapons designer without going over Rhodes' dead body first.
Rhodes has made a lot of bad calls, and his conscience eats at him constantly. But he feels the rightness of this latest decision, the rescue mission dubbed Operation Malibu, down to his bones. He's risking his career, his reputation, his life, on an arms manufacturing playboy egotist who a lot of people in the world would love to never hear from again.
But it's Tony Stark, Rhodes' best friend, the only guy who gets away with calling him "Rhodey" and who can talk him into the stupidest (and most entertaining) circumstances he knows he'll never remember. Rhodes owes at least a little of his own current success to Tony, he's man enough to admit, but he's also got an ulcer from the genius, too.
Rhodes' life would be miles easier without Tony around to muck up headlines and drag Rhodes' name into the less-than-amused attention of his superior officers.
But he knows he can't abandon Tony. Knows long before he's in Qatar, boarding the third Chinook bound for an Army Afghan mountain base, that Tony deserves so much more than an empty casket and a huge mocking performance of a funeral. Especially when Rhodes would bet his Bronze Star that the idiot is still out there, fighting his captors and the Middle Eastern heat and alcoholic's withdrawal.
It's still a couple of hours before they touch down just east of Bamiyan, so Rhodes has plenty of time to replay the painful conversation he had over dinner two nights ago.
Pepper Potts looked horrible.
That may not have been entirely fair. Pepper actually looked phenomenal considering the circumstances. If Rhodes didn't know her as well as he did, he would never think she was so close to having a breakdown.
But he saw what most people wouldn't. He saw the slight redness around her eyes, carefully hidden with makeup; he saw the frizzed slivers of hair sticking out of her usually impeccable bun; he saw the jagged edges of her pink nails as she cradled her wine glass with finely trembling hands.
"Thanks for coming out," she said, and her voice was steady. "I know you leave again on Thursday, and you probably have so much to do before then."
"I have flunkies for the little stuff," Rhodes replied easily, trying to keep the conversation light. Not that he thought Pepper couldn't handle it; she had just obviously been neck deep in stress for three solid months. "Like I would pick hanging out in a windowless bunker over dinner with you."
It made her smile, but the expression was a ghost of her usual mirth. She didn't even roll her eyes at his (mostly) token attempt at flirting.
"It's...things are bad," she confessed quietly, staring down at her plate. "At Stark Industries. Obadiah is scrambling to keep investors interested, but the stocks have never been this low. With Tony gone, there's only so much we can do."
Rhodes shifted, uncomfortable at the implications of SI going under. The company had so many military contracts still open, and without Tony as both a figurehead - no matter how unstable - and a top inventor, the Armed Forces would seriously feel the effects.
"And I don't give a shit about any of it."
His head snapped up, meeting Pepper's hardened look with one of confusion and a little shock. Those words were Tony's, not Pepper's. She always took her job seriously, sometimes too seriously in what Rhodes suspected was an attempt to compensate for Tony's lack of interest.
"I do care about the company," she amended when she saw her companion's expression. "But honestly, what's the point? Tony's not coming back," her voice only broke along the edges, barely noticeable,"so as soon the numbers have stabilized, I don't have a job. I am...I was just his PA."
"He wouldn't have made it a day without you," Rhodes said gently and not untruthfully, sensing imminent danger if Pepper started down this road of self-deprecation. He took a breath to tell her she'd have no problem finding a new placement, considering her skill set and God-like patience, but he was still stuck on her conclusion about Tony.
"You really think he's dead." He set down his fork, folded his hands, and looked at her. It wasn't meant as an accusation, but Rhodes winced a little at the tone of his own voice.
Pepper's jaw clenched and relaxed before she answered. "I want to believe he's alive. I pray every day that he's still alive, James. But it's been three months, and we've heard nothing. No news, no ransom demands, not even...nothing. There's been nothing." The redness was deepening around her eyes, and Rhodes realized she was fighting back tears.
Rhodes loved Pepper. It wasn't romantic, for all that he tried years ago, just a deep-seated respect for her competence, poise, and patience. She was a practical woman above all else. Of course she would come to the conclusion that nearly everyone else had: Tony was dead, either at the hands of terrorists or the merciless elements. In that moment, he wanted to hate her for her lack of faith.
Then she let out a long, shaking breath and reached out to touch the back of his hand. She smiled, and though it wilted around the edges, it was genuine. "But you volunteered to go back. You think he's still out there."
"I have to believe he's alive."
Her eyes softened, and Rhodes felt his stomach churn in dread. He knew the turn this conversation was about to take.
"It wasn't your fault, James."
He cut her off, unwilling to listen to whatever gentle lies she was on the verge of spilling. "Like hell it wasn't, Pepper. He was my responsibility. I should have been there with him, not sulking down the line like he'd grounded me or something."
"Tony's the biggest kid at the grown-ups' table, you know that."
"And I'm a grown man with a job to do. I let him push me around and now he's probably being tortured because of it."
Rhodes regretted that statement the second it left his mouth. He was angry with himself, but that was no excuse for forgetting about Pepper's pain.
He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. She set down her silverware and pushed back from the table, not rising but clearly on the edge of her chair. A blotchy redness was rising in her cheeks, darker around the eyes, and Rhodes covered his face with one hand.
"Christ, Pepper, I am so sorry."
It took her a moment to compose herself. Rhodes was always in awe of how she could do that, slip on a mask every bit as convincing as Tony's public face. She fixed him in a gaze that was usually reserved for her boss's worst tantrums.
"You're convinced he's alive. Just a...what, a prisoner of war?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "Then you damn well better find him. I can handle his death. I can handle the emotional and financial fallout. But I cannot even begin to imagine Tony suffering at the hands of anybody but himself."
The mask cracked around the edges, but Pepper pressed on, so used to dealing with people who tried to take advantage of her weaknesses.
"You have to find him. Because if he's dead, that means there's nothing we can do. But if he's...he's just being hurt by people, and we're still here just going about our lives like nothing is wrong..."
Rhodes reached out and grasped both of her hands before she worked herself up into another bout of crying. "Pepper. I swear I'll find him. I'll make this right."
"Sir," the voice in his ear is reedy, bad reception on Army comm lines, "detecting movement down there."
Rhodes doesn't let himself get excited just yet. It's day four of recon, and so far the only things they've found are a camel caravan, two lost insurgents, and a stray injured goat. This quadrant of the desert is technically no-man's land, and the nearest known village is twenty miles north. The only reason they are bothering to buzz these hills is the clipped message from the boys in the 54th Signal. Something blipped one of their radars an hour ago, something with a flight path, and Rhodes finds himself jumping at anything unusual.
But it's cramped in the Black Hawk with eight Green Berets in full gear, Rhodes hasn't slept since they arrived at the Bamiyan base, and it's hot as fucking hell. He doesn't quite have it in him today to hope.
"We have a visual," the pilot reports as they crest the next hill, flying low enough to tear the sand up into wild cyclones.
"Shit," Bradley, the Sergeant First Class beside him, breathes just loud enough for Rhodes to hear. "Colonel, it's one guy."
"Confirm visual," Rhodes barks at the co-pilot, shifting to see out the sand and grime-encrusted window.
"One subject," the co-pilot replies. "You want a closer look, Colonel?"
Rhodes does. Because even if this isn't Tony, isn't the whole reason they're on this ill-advised mission, it could be another victim of war. If Rhodes is too late to help his friend, maybe he can at least lend aid to some poor bastard lost in the deadly heat.
It's hard to see anything in the sheer, unfiltered sunlight, especially out here where sand, sun, and sky seem to fade together in menacing monochrome. The guy on the ground has seen them - it's nigh impossible to miss three choppers two hundred feet above - and he waves desperately. There's no mistaking the Hawks for anything other than American aircraft, but still he waves (is he flashing a peace sign?) for their attention. If he's not a friendly, he's suicidal.
Despite the soldier's protests, Rhodes is out of the chopper before it has properly touched down. The others follow close behind, M16s readied, but Rhodes can see the target clearly now.
The guy is on his knees in the sweltering sand, and even filthy, bruised and bloody, sporting three months' beard growth, Rhodes would never mistake that billion-dollar face for anyone else.
A hand on his shoulder stops Rhodes mid-enthusiastic-stride, and he nearly punches Bradley in the face. Not that clocking even the lowest of ranking Special Forces guys is a smart decision. "What, Sergeant?"
"Colonel," Bradley says as he nods toward Tony, "look at his chest. Is that a bomb?"
Rhodes looks, sees for the first time the perfect circle of blue light in Tony's chest, and pauses. It's a legitimate concern. With a second look, he also sees the pure relief on his best friend's face. If it were a bomb, and he was sent out here to blow up any potential rescuers, Tony would have let them know by now. Rhodes is also pretty certain that Tony could have defused any mechanical device deposited on him within minutes.
It's another one of those "deep in his bones" decisions. Rhodes knows he's right, doesn't question the instincts that have helped get him this far. He doesn't know what the glowing disk is, but it's not immediately dangerous.
Rhodes says no, shakes off Bradley's hand, and kneels to see Tony, Tony, real and alive right in front of him. He wants to say a hundred thousand things, about how worried they've all been, how it's a miracle Tony survived, about his injuries and what they did to him and who was it -
But that's not what comes out of his mouth, when he opens it.
"How was the Funvee?"
It's absurd and inappropriate, but Tony grins and the sight is so familiar that Rhodes kind of wants to cry - not that he'd risk his manly military credentials by doing that in front of all these decorated Snake Eaters. Instead of crying, he wraps Tony up carefully in a hug, mindful of any injuries.
"Next time, you ride with me."
Tony goes boneless in the embrace, not even really conscious as Rhodes lifts him with surprising ease. He's too light, lost too much weight in captivity. Rhodes allows two of the soldiers to help manhandle Tony into the Medivac, and Rhodes climbs in without a second's hesitation. He's not going to let Tony out of his sight until they're both back safely on American soil.
Rhodes has lost men in battle. His pilots have gone MIA, been prisoners of war. Hell, some have even been rescued and returned to their families mostly still intact. But none of them ever really came home. Rhodes knows things happen out here that no one can ever understand and can never come to terms with, and those are soldiers who were trained for the worst. This is not the same. Tony Stark is not a soldier.
And none of Rhodes' men have ever come back with a goddamn Lite Brite embedded in their chest.
Whatever happened out there in the hellish nothingness of mountains and sand, Tony Stark made it back alive, probably through his own sweat and blood (he'd never wait idly for the cavalry rescue). But this Tony Stark, with the gridwork of scars and faintly ominous glow, will not be the same man Rhodes flew here with in the spring.
Better for Rhodes to get that through his head now, while Tony dozes in a haze of drugs, so that when the genius wakes, Rhodes won't show his disappointment at the loss.
He wonders what Tony will have to say about the rescue mission. He wonders if Tony will make a crack about his conscience this time, now that it's the reason Tony will get to see California again.