Tony's grand entrance to the main room was in the wheelchair. That wasn't how he wanted to make his return, but he bowed to the collective wisdom of those accompanying him.
Which is to say, he didn't care what Rogers and Wilson thought and he told them so. Barton blocking his way out of the car with the wheelchair and silently staring him down was slightly more effective. Rhodey's wordless look of censure accompanied by a head tilt toward the chair had him settling his ass in the faux leather seat without further protest.
When they reached the main room, Tony wasn't sure what was more unbelievable: that everyone else was gathered there and seemed happy to see him, or the seemingly endless Christmas decorations strewn about the room.
He absently responded to their greetings and inquiries about how he was feeling, still focused on the eruption of festive garlands and knickknacks, complete with a large, brightly decorated-and evidently real, from the smell as he was pushed closer-Christmas tree in the far corner. Who the hell owned so much holiday stuff? And why?
"Did the elves get lost on the way to the North Pole?" he asked finally as Lila threw herself toward him with a squeal of joy.
"We decorated, Uncle Tony," she said, giggling as he helped her sit on his lap. "Christmas is coming soon and we get presents!"
"Presents? Why would you want presents?" he teased, focusing on her rather than where his thoughts wanted to go next.
"I like presents, Uncle Tony," she said, then lowered her voice to a whisper that could be heard across the room. "We have one for you already. I'm not supposed to tell."
"I won't tell either," he whispered back even as his heart sank a little. Gifts. Shit. He wasn't good at gifts.
Her voice returned to its normal volume. "Why do you still have that?" she asked, pointing to the nose tube (cannula, his memory finally reminded him).
"I'm not quite better yet, so I still need it. It will go away soon," he said, uncertain if that was actually the case but he didn't care. He wanted it gone, the sooner the better. Remaining tethered to something was . . . unsettling.
"Do you need to take a nap?" she asked earnestly.
He had to laugh. "No, honey, I'm all right for now."
Eventually he was moved from wheelchair to armchair-Barton even helped by moving the oxygen tank from where it hung on one of the wheelchair handles to the floor by his chair-and the activity of the room circled around him. Every so often he would be drawn into the conversation or asked a direct question but mostly he could simply sit and observe, which was fine by him. Just watching everyone move around was tiring and his mind was still preoccupied.
From his new perch he could see that a stocking had been hung for each person along the railing; each person included him, and his stocking bore an uncanny resemblance to the one lost when his Malibu house was destroyed. How they'd managed that, he didn't know, but Pepper was probably involved and maybe that meant something. Or maybe not. Their phone conversations had stuck to safe topics like Stark Industries business and avoided anything remotely treacherous, like their relationship, so he had no idea how Pepper was currently feeling about him on a personal level.
And the fact that there were two and a half weeks until Christmas (he'd had to ask Friday the exact date) when he'd last been aware of the calendar around mid-October was difficult to digest. Not that holidays held much significance for him, but the sheer amount of time that had slipped away without anything to show for it was staggering. He could have finished so many projects. How much had happened in the world, with the Accords, that he was unaware of? How could he possibly catch up?
He felt exhausted just thinking about it.
.
The afternoon seemed endless. After a while Tony realized a nap would have been an excellent idea, but he refused to let himself fall asleep in the chair like an old person and moving seemed like too much work.
Dinner felt hours long and when it was finally over, he knew he wouldn't last much longer before keeling over and sleeping in spite of himself. The trouble was how to make his excuses and get to his room without anyone being the wiser.
As it turned out, no excuses were necessary. He hadn't even mustered up the energy to leave the table when Rhodey's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Come on, Tony, we're going to bed."
"Are you propositioning me?" he joked, smirking up at his friend.
Rhodey gave him a disapproving look. "I'm tired, you're tired, and I want my wheelchair back, so I'm dumping your ass in bed."
He considered putting up a token resistance to the idea in the interest of maintaining his public image, but they had all seen him in the hospital bed so there wasn't much of an image to preserve. He nodded briefly in acquiescence.
Barton brought the wheelchair over and offered to push, an offer which Rhodey accepted on Tony's behalf before Tony could say a word. Lila came along for the ride and told him what she called a "bedtime story," though there was no discernible story line and the main character's name changed every few sentences.
Father and daughter left them at the door of Tony's room. Rhodey held open the door while Tony slowly got to his feet. He sighed as he surveyed the expanse that was his bedroom. "I'll be fine if you have somewhere to be."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going anywhere," Rhodey said in a tone that brooked no argument.
By the time he readied himself for bed with Rhodey's invaluable assistance, Tony was trembling with exhaustion and fighting back a cough with almost every breath.
Even after he was settled in bed, his cannula hooked up to a large oxygen tank squatting beside the headboard, Rhodey remained in the room. "Are you going to watch me sleep?" Tony asked seriously, unable to come up with an appropriate jibe for the occasion.
"Do you have a problem with that?"
"I have a problem with you staring at me like I'm going to kick the bucket any second, yeah. You look like the Grim Reaper."
Rhodey didn't smile.
"Come on, man, if you're going to be here, you might as well be in the bed. There's plenty of room and I know you've been shorting yourself on sleep."
"Since when do you like cuddling?"
"No one said anything about cuddling," Tony said quickly. "Just sleeping."
Rhodey relented after a little more convincing and climbed into bed.
And if Tony happened to fall asleep with his head on Rhodey's shoulder, Rhodey wasn't going to tell.
.
Despite having been in bed at like eight o'clock the previous night, Tony still felt bone tired when Friday woke him in preparation for Rachel's imminent arrival. He even dozed despite the noise of the nebulizer during the morning breathing treatment.
"How are you feeling?" Rachel asked as she put away the nebulizer mask.
"Tired," Tony sighed. "I feel like I hit a wall."
"Did you rest yesterday?"
"No," Rhodey answered for him, (in)conveniently returning to the room as the question was asked. "He was up and awake the entire time," he elaborated as he set a plastic cup with a lid and a straw on the bed near Tony's hand and held it there.
"I was sitting on my ass in a chair all afternoon. That hardly counts as being up," Tony protested. At Rhodey's glare he picked up the cup. "What is this?"
"A probiotic and protein smoothie, or so I'm told. In other words: your breakfast. Drink up."
Tony sighed but took a sip, then turned his gaze to his breakfast to avoid seeing Rachel's forbidding expression. His cup had cartoon animals of some sort on it; must be one of the kids'.
"Adequate rest is essential, Tony. You ought to remember that from last time," Rachel said with some exasperation. "Treat your immune system like a toddler: it needs regular naps or it will get cranky with you. If it will help, I can demand that you rest at a certain time each day."
"I don't need a babysitter," Tony grumbled.
"Except when you do. Stay in bed this morning and see how it goes. If you actually rest and behave yourself today and you still feel like crap tonight, we'll consult your medical folks to see if there's some sort of infection recurring. Got it?"
"Yeah, I'm good," Tony said sullenly.
Rachel turned to Rhodey. "He's allowed to leave the room starting at lunchtime if he's feeling better. If you're in doubt about him feeling better, don't let him leave."
"Don't worry, I'll have it covered," Rhodey said, crossing his arms across his chest. His gaze never left Tony.
Tony meekly sipped from his straw.
.
When all was said and done, Tony had very little trouble behaving himself. Feeling physically ill from being too tired wasn't a thing he had experienced in a very long time, and even then it was usually associated with either copious amounts of caffeine or alcohol, which had their own side effects. He wasn't eager to prolong or repeat the experience.
He spent the bulk of the morning sleeping or dozing-and coughing, but that went without saying-with the occasional trip to his ensuite bathroom, which felt so very far away even though he knew it wasn't. Rhodey was gracious about helping him with the stupid oxygen thing and not saying anything about how pathetic he must look.
By lunchtime, he felt marginally better but he wasn't overly eager to budge from his bed, so he didn't. Rhodey didn't leave to eat his lunch until Barton appeared with food for Tony in tow.
Tony didn't appreciate that he was being treated like a naughty child, but under the circumstances he supposed he'd proven it necessary. And having his meals brought to him in bed wasn't all bad, though he eyed the salad, soup, and sandwich warily. He wasn't particularly hungry and he certainly wasn't hungry enough for all three, but he wasn't sure who he would offend if he didn't eat it all.
Barton waited to say anything until Tony was halfway through his soup. "Will you come down for dinner, do you think?"
Tony looked at him over the rim of the soup mug suspiciously. What difference did it make where he ate his dinner? Assuming he ate any dinner . . . the soup was proving a formidable foe and he hadn't even touched anything else yet.
"I'm asking for the kids," Barton said defensively. "Lila wanted to visit but Rachel told us you weren't to be disturbed as long as you were in your room."
"I think I can come down for dinner," Tony said slowly. "For the kids."
"They'll be happy to see you."
When Rhodey returned from lunch, Tony threw back the covers of his bed. "I need a bath," he announced.
.
It took Tony most of the afternoon to bathe, rest, shave, rest, dress, and rest in order to be able to venture downstairs for dinner. But he was ready in time and Rhodey let him borrow the wheelchair again so he wouldn't exhaust himself.
The visually overwhelming Christmas decor was still a bit of a shock, but even more of a shock was how much effort had been put into the meal. There was quite a spread on the table and spilling over onto the counter, with turkey and potatoes and gravy and pies and, and, and . . .
"We thought we'd have a smaller repeat of Thanksgiving since you and Rhodey missed it," Barton explained.
"This is smaller?" Tony asked in disbelief.
"Yep. There's only one kind of meat, and we've only got about half the sides."
Tony was impressed and also felt guilty: there was no way he was going to be able to do justice to that array of food. He hadn't even managed both the soup and the salad at lunch, never mind the sandwich.
But he would try, since they had gone to such trouble on his behalf. It was almost like they cared. Though honestly, it hadn't bothered him to miss Thanksgiving.
He refused to sit in the wheelchair at the table, so Barton showed Lila how to help with the portable oxygen tank while Tony moved the short distance. Lila eagerly climbed into a chair next to him. "Uncle Tony, you fixed your face!" she cried in delight. Natasha grinned as she sat on Lila's other side.
Tony rubbed his cheek self-consciously. It had taken more time and effort than he had expected to trim his facial hair into its usual style, but having that little part of himself back to normal was well worth it. "You were right. It was too scratchy," he said.
The food began circulating around the table, and he and Lila developed a system where he would hold the dish and she would serve the food onto both their plates. It was a good strategy, since it meant he ended up with a little bit of everything, but only a little bit.
Even so, he was right in thinking he wouldn't do it justice. No one seemed to notice, much less mind.
He didn't know what to make of that.