Hello~ God I am such an ass. Don't really have much of an excuse besides being occupied with school and trying to deal with my Civil War feelings. I'm trying!
Inspiration doesn't grow on trees, my friends.
Comment, my smol cinnamon buns.
~Airbrushed
When Tony woke the next morning, it was to the smell of coffee, toasted Pop tarts, and the sounds of sizzling bacon and eggs in a pan. It took him a minute to place his location, because the past few times he had woken up, it was to white walls and a white ceiling and white bed sheets.
This time, however, he recognizes the space as the Avengers communal living room; which is odd because as the memories come back to him he's pretty sure he fell asleep in his own bed. Then again, he also vaguely remembers speaking to Natasha in Russian and having a pillow hurled at his face, so what did he know?
His thought process was still a little fuzzy, which appears to be one of his new constants upon waking, so he's probably just feeling the aftermath of medication and such, but it's clear enough that he's managed to conclude he is no longer in a hospital.
In all honesty, that was good enough reason for him to keep his eyes closed another minute or two, no matter how tempting the aroma of coffee was.
He can hear gentle shuffling around him, accompanied by some not-so-gentle shuffling (Steve and Thor), but it didn't bother him much. It was actually nice to gain a sense of comfort in his team's company, and though he knows good things never last and that he was entering potentially dangerous territory, he allowed himself to be selfish just this once because he was too out of it to care.
Maybe he'll find the time to care about it later.
His peaceful, uninterrupted rest didn't stay uninterrupted for long, however. Somewhere in front of him came a snore, followed by a thump and a, "Fucking hell."
With a groan, Tony throws his left arm over his eyes, lazily scrubbing away the sleep before he has to open them and face the music.
The sight before him is more amusing than he had imagined, and he finds himself whisking away any initial annoyance from the interruption.
Clint lay half on, half off the love seat, his torso being on the floor. He's tangled in a blanket and there's a slightly amused but also slightly exasperated assassin hovering over him from behind the sofa. Given her current stance, it seems likely that she had shoved him off when the archer decided to be stubborn and not wake up.
Well, that would explain the thump.
Her calculating emerald eyes snap up to meet his. "Morning Stark," she says and offers an innocent smile.
"Mm," he mumbles in reply, but she gets the point. With a sigh he moves to sit up, and immediately regrets it.
"Mother fucker-"
"Language," Steve chides from his place in the kitchen, to which Tony's response is to throw him the middle finger over the back of the couch.
"Hand gestures count too, you know," he calls back, voice laced with a bit of affection, so Tony opts to ignore it for now because a) not dealing with emotions right now, and b) fuck is he in pain.
"Take it easy," Natasha reminds him, coming to kneel at his side and ease him back down, "Do you really not remember our conversation last night? I thought you were supposed to be a genius."
He's about to say 'Last night? What about last night?' because really, all he could conjure up was completely destroying everyone at poker, but then he catches a glimpse of her (ahem, his) MIT sweatshirt, and it all comes back to him.
"Right, stitches," he nods and then adds, "And for your information, I am a certified genius. I take personal offence to the fact that you would doubt my intellect-"
"Alright," she shuts him up with a hand to cover his mouth, "Sounds like someone's feeling better."
"Mrhg," he murmurs under her hand, and when she doesn't retract it he licks her palm.
She pierces him with a deadly glare, and for a moment he actually fears for his life, but she doesn't move her hand.
"Are you aware that I could kill you at least 13 different ways right now with just my pinky finger?"
He swallows, and then offers a nod because god, she's terrifying.
Her lips curl up into a small smile and then just like that, her glare is gone, "Good."
He watches her stand and walk gracefully into the kitchen, and he doesn't dare say anything else to provoke her, even though Clint, still lying on the floor, seems to have found it entertaining.
"Not a word, Barton."
The archer just chuckles and stands up, offering a consoling pat on the genius' shoulder as he passes, following Natasha's trail into the kitchen.
He grumbles but makes no effort to get up, half because he's sort of learned his lesson and half because he's not ready to find out Black Widow's secret plans to murder him.
The only problem with being a certified genius is that his hands are itching to create, and his brain is in 100% support of satisfying that urge, but he's stuck on the damn couch.
And the ceiling is just so… boring.
"Jarvis," he croaks.
"Yes, sir?"
"Give me something to do with my hands," he says, grabbing the tablet from the table beside him and setting in on his chest.
"Of course, sir."
A holographic display of Cap's uniform appears from the tablet, rotating in a circle as it hovers innocently above the screen, waiting to be adjusted and revised.
He reaches up with his good hand, zooming in on the material that just won't fucking cooperate with him- not good enough, his mind scolds him.
He's examining the inner workings and the bonds of the material when Natasha comes back in, not saying much but helping him into a sitting position so that he'll be more comfortable. Other than that, the team lets him work, and go about their morning routine while discussing what will be done with Loki.
That's when the elevator dings.
"Where is he?" A very (very) familiar voice demands, and he hears Barton answer with a quick "Living room. Couch."
Oh, he is so in for it.
A very angry, but also very worried and concerned, looking Rhodey marches into the room, and doesn't that just make his heart clench with guilt?
"You fucking god damn idiot," Rhodey growls, stomping over to the couch and snatching Tony's tablet away from him and setting it on the coffee table.
Tony swallows, and prepares himself for the ass-chewing of a life time, but color him surprised when that's actually the opposite of what happens.
One second he's swallowing hard and readying himself for a lecture, and the next he's being engulfed in a hug that only succeeds in strengthening the painful tugging of guilt in his chest.
He takes only a moment to gather his thoughts before he's hugging his best friend back, doing his best to ignore the sharp pain that shoots up his side and through his right arm, because he doesn't care right now.
Rhodey is home; Tony can be anywhere in the world, and as long as he's got Rhodey, he's home.
Rhodey was the one who absolutely refused to give up on him when he was lost in Afghanistan, and in the end, had been the one to finally bring him home.
When he had found Tony in the desert- injured and dehydrated and just so fucking tired, when he had fallen to his knees in complete and utter relief, and when he had grabbed Tony by the shoulders and looked him in the eye before pulling him into the first hug he'd had in three fucking months- it felt like home.
Even when he was in the place he hated most in the world- that cursed desert- when Rhodey hugged him all he could think of was home, and safety.
While it may not be under the same circumstances now, that familiar feeling was back and he allowed himself to be selfish for the second time today and just revel in it, and Rhodey must have understood that, or maybe he wanted to be selfish too, because he didn't let go of Tony either.
"You god damn idiot," he repeats, but there's no more heat to it, just relief, and Tony can feel all the tension run out of him.
"I know," he says, patting his best friend on the back while simultaneously fighting with his emotions because no, he's not going to cry, "I'm sorry."
When Rhodey finally pulls away, he's giving Tony that look, the one he gave when he rescued him from Afghanistan, the one that was filled with his own guilt because he felt he didn't do enough, and he wasn't there, but was also filled with relief because his best friend was alive.
Tony's never considered himself to have any real friends, and if he does, his brain usually writes them off as temporary company and never allows him to get too comfortable with them. And usually, his brain is right, but Rhodey has always been the exception.
Rhodey is the only person who Tony can honestly say that, 'Yes, Rhodey is my best friend,' but more importantly, he can speak for Rhodey when he says that 'Yes, I am James Rupert Rhodes' best friend.' And that's always been important to him, and it's the one thing he firmly believes will never change; not in a million years.
Someone clears their throat from the kitchen, and the two friends turn to look.
"Ah, we were just about to eat breakfast. You're welcome to join us if you want to," Bruce offers with a gentle smile.
"I didn't mean to intrude, I just wanted to make sure this idiot wasn't causing anymore trouble," Rhodey replies, jerking a thumb at Tony.
"Hey! You came because you love me, and you know it," Tony points out with a cheeky grin.
Rhodes rolls his eyes, shooting an exasperated look at his friend, "Unfortunately."
"Don't be getting all sour on me, Honey bear."
"The offer still stands, Colonel," Natasha speaks up, and before Tony can antagonize him too much, she saunters over to the couch and flicks Tony on the forehead.
Rhodey offers her a nod, "Nice to see you again, Natasha."
"A pleasure, as always, James," she replies with a smirk, "Besides, anyone who can offer a helping hand with Shellhead over here is welcome anytime."
"You're one to talk, Natashalie," Tony grumbles.
She rolls her eyes and starts to walk back to the kitchen, "You know, I was going to bring you some coffee, but now I'm not so sure."
"What?" The billionaire pokes his head over the back of the couch, "No, I'm sorry! I take it back, Natasha, moon of my life! My sun and stars!"
"Stop making Game of Thrones references and I'll consider accepting your apology," she shoots back over her shoulder.
"Got it, deal," he sighs and leans back on the couch.
"Really?" Rhodes quirks an eyebrow at him and lowers his voice so only Tony can hear, "You managed to convince a lethal assassin to watch Game of thrones?"
"He made all of us watch it, actually," Steve calls from the kitchen.
Tony snorts out a laugh and calls back, "Damn you and your super soldier hearing. And I didn't make you do anything! Admit it, you love it!"
"I like it," Clint shrugs, appearing out of fucking nowhere next to Tony and Rhodey. He settles on the love seat and kicks his feet up.
"I second that!" Thor booms from the kitchen, "There have been many glorious battles!"
"I still think it's bad for my stress," Bruce mutters.
"It's really… violent…. And there's so much… ah," Steve cuts himself off, still uncomfortable saying the words.
Tony secretly thinks it's adorable.
"So much boobs?" Tony asks, and Steve turns beet red, and god he loves doing that to him. "The boobs are essential, Spangles, you'll get used to it."
"He's seen 5 whole seasons, Tony, if he's not used to it by now he never will be," Natasha responds, and Tony knows that Steve is hiding his face in his hands by this point.
He looks to Rhodey instead though, who's just grinning like an idiot at him.
"What?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.
"Nothing," Rhodey chuckles, and then pats Tony on the shoulder, "You guys are just crazy."
Tony considers responding with an incredulous objection to how no, he is not crazy, but the words don't come out. Because no matter how many ups and downs they have, Rhodey is right. They're all crazy, but he wouldn't ask for them any other way.
He knows that sounds cheesy as fuck, too, but when Natasha finally brings him his coffee, her eyes are full of fondness, and when he takes that first sip, all he can think of is home.
Sorry, but after Civil War I just really needed to get my [Tony & Rhodey] feelings in writing.
