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Rhodey has just finished showering and is fixing himself a sandwich when his custom-made StarkPhone starts blaring the unmistakable melody of Black Sabbath’s Iron Man (The phone was a belated gift from Tony for his last birthday - subtlety has never been his best friend’s strength).
“Hey man,” he greets.
“Rhodes?” Tony asks, sounding slightly off.
“Yes, it’s me. You should know this, seeing as you called.” A bit of worry starts gnawing in Rhodey’s gut.
“Listen...I might need your help here.”
Rhodey sighs internally. This is the same sentence he heard a year ago, when Tony’s bots managed to blow up a pyramid of paint buckets in the nursery and both of them spent the next seven consecutive hours hurrying to clean up the mess before Pepper came home. Rhodey’s just returned from a rather arduous week with Nat in Morocco and was looking forward to an afternoon spent entirely with himself, his food, and his TV remote.
“Sure,” he replies, trying his best not to sound entirely unmotivated. “What’s the mission?”
“Just, Morgan,” Tony says. “I, I guess I caught a flu bug, and I can’t - Pepper’s in L.A., and I can’t even open these stupid baby food jars without puking. Pep will kill me if I have Dum-E feed the kid.”
He breaks off and Rhodey hears a muffled cough from the other side.
“I know you just got back, but-” There’s a clatter, a muttered curse, and then the sound of a baby crying in the background. “I’m sorry, dude,” Tony continues in a hoarse voice.
Rhodey frowns. If Tony is calling him for help - hell, if he is actually apologising - things must be pretty desperate.
“On my way,” he confirms, getting up with a groan but already feeling his own fatigue fading into the background. “Be there in ten.”
*
The cabin sits at the lake, calm as ever. Rhodey smiles a little to himself when he thinks that his Tony, the former party king of New York, has chosen a lonely place in the woods as the site for his retirement. The front door opens automatically as soon as the hidden scanner has examined his face, and Rhodey steps into the warm interior.
“Welcome, Colonel Rhodes”, Friday’s voice greets him.
“Hey, Fri. Where’s Tony?”
“Boss is upstairs in the nursery.”
“Thanks.”
Giving Morgan the bedroom under the roof was probably one of Tony’s more selfless deeds (well, apart from saving the universe multiple times), considering the breathtaking amount of stars that are visible through the window directly from her bed.
On the other hand, Tony is understandably not very fond of stars anymore.
Rhodey makes his way upstairs, avoiding the building bricks littering the steps as well as the heap of washing on the first floor landing that needs to be ironed.
Tony is sitting on the floor in Morgan’s room, leaning heavily against the bed frame, the eight-month-old baby on a blanket next to him. She’s not exactly crying, but the noises she’s making definitely express discontent. Tony is trying to capture her attention with a screwdriver that he circles above her face, but he seems barely able to keep his own head up. There’s an unopened baby food jar and a spoon on the bedside table next to him.
“You look like crap,” Rhodey assesses. “What’s your temperature at?”
“I called you to babysit Morgan, not me,” Tony rebuts hoarsely. “If you’re fussing, I’ll ship your ass straight back home.”
“Sure you will.” Rhodey bends down to stroke the girl’s hair, noticing that she is swaddled up in multiple blankets like a baby-burrito.
“Is the little hobbit sick, too?”
“What?” Tony’s head shoots up. “No, I hope not.”
“Then why’s she wrapped up like this?”
“‘t was freezing this morning...Her skin felt cold…”
Rhodey frowns and checks the kid’s temperature. If anything, she’s a little overheated and clearly uncomfortable in too many layers. “That was probably the fever messing with you.”
“Oh.” Tony shifts uncomfortably. He is entirely too pale, with a hint of green on his face.
“When is Pepper coming back?” Rhodey inquires as he unwraps the blankets around the unhappy baby.
“’s Wednesday today, right?”
“Thursday,” Rhodey corrects.
“Ah,” Tony rubs his hand over his eyebrows in an exhausted gesture. He looks about ready to keel over. “Tonight, then. Probably late. You can, you can stay over in the guest room if you want to…”
“I know, Tony, don’t worry about it,” Rhodey reassures. “I’m gonna feed her now. You should move to your own bedroom, try and get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Tony nods, glancing at his feet for a moment as if not sure whether they will carry his weight. “There’s an idea.”
He hoists himself up and strokes Morgan’s hair out of her face with slightly trembling fingers before shuffling towards the staircase.
When the baby is fed and asleep, Rhodey makes his way to Tony’s room, hoping against better knowledge that his friend would be following the baby’s example. But of course that’s not the case. The sounds of dry heaving are carrying clearly over to the staircase from the first floor bathroom.
“Tones?” Rhodey knocks on the door.
“’m good, don’t come in.”
“Sure…”
Rhodey pushes the door open and takes in the scene. Tony is slumped over the open toilet bowl, his cheek resting on the seat. His face is showing an unhealthy pallor. Towels and discarded bottles of Gatorade are strewn around him, and the smell of sickness hangs thickly in the air. It’s obvious that Tony has been ill for a while already.
“Dude,” Rhodey starts.
“I said don’t come in. Not pretty,” Tony rasps.
“Well, I’ve seen you worse.”
“Yeah, don’t remind me…” Tony coughs again and retches drily, not even bothering to lift his head anymore. Rhodey can see the muscles in his back contracting when he throws up again, the ribs visible under his shirt. Hs still hasn’t gained back his full weight after the three weeks in space.
“Oh, fuck this.” Tony reaches up weakly to flush, then crashes back against the giant bathtub. Tiredly, he looks up at Rhodey, his dark eyes glazed over from fever.
“Okay. Back to bed,” Rhodey orders.
“Not sure if I’m done,” Tony admits.
“I’ll get you a bucket.” Rhodey grabs Tony under the armpits to pull him up and steadies him until he is sure that Tony’s own feet can take his weight. Then he hands him a glass of water to rinse his mouth.
“Do you want some Tylenol?” he asks, scanning the medicine cabinet.
“Nah,” Tony shakes his head. “Tried. Didn’t stay down.”
“At least drink a bit of water. You must be getting dehydrated.”
Tony obeys, sipping at the glass while supporting himself on the wash basin. His hand is shaking so hard that water is spilling over the edge, even though the glass is barely filled two-thirds.
All at once, Rhodey vividly remembers the week after Tony had returned from Titan. True to his word, the first thing he did when he was able to stand again on his own was try to shave. His hands were shaking so much that Rhodey had to help him, steadily clearing the stubble that was more gray than black, deliberately not talking about Steve and space and the child whose absence was so present in each of Tony’s words and actions.
It still is.
Rhodey gets Tony settled into bed. The engineer lies down on the mattress gingerly, as if his whole body hurts. Within minutes, he falls into an exhausted slumber, looking entirely spent.
He is undeniably older now - a fight in space, a lost child, and another one born having taken their toll - but something about the way he keeps his forearm curled protectively around his face reminds Rhodey of college, of watching over him while he slept off his highs, an arrogant, vulnerable, entirely too-young kid in a world that didn’t care enough.
Rhodey carefully pulls a blanket over his friend. He goes to the kitchen to fetch some crackers for himself and a basin in case Tony gets sick again and checks once more on Morgan, who is sleeping peacefully, hugging an Iron Man plush toy, then settles down in an armchair in the corner of the master bedroom. He picks up Tony’s tablet, scrolling lazily through the news, before setting out to ruin his friend’s Netflix viewing history.
Twenty minutes later, Tony starts moaning quietly, his face scrunched up and slick with sweat. He rolls to and fro, hands balled into fists, his eyeballs moving rapidly below his eyelids as he mumbles something unintelligible.
Rhodey sighs and stands up to wake him. Before he can do so, Tony snaps upright. “Peter,” he croaks breathlessly. His eyes dart around the room, taking it in with a mixture of confusion and fear.
Rhodey just shakes his head. “No, Tony, I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“Oh, shit.” Understanding settles in Tony’s features, disappointment, sadness. He slumps back against the pillows, brushing an arm over his face to wipe away sweat and maybe more. So much pain. So much guilt. “Is Morgan—?”
“She’s fine. Go back to sleep,” Rhodey advises.
Tony grunts in response. He closes his eyes, but opens them again a few seconds later, looking paler than before. “I need- ” he clasps a hand over his lips, sitting up, and tries to get his feet under him.
Rhodey takes the basin from the nightstand and pushes it into his hands, silently ordering him to stay in bed. “Here. It’s okay.”
Tony eyes the bowl and takes a few shallow breaths, closing his eyes. Rhodey can see his throat working as he tries not to be sick.
Upstairs, Morgan starts to cry.
Tony reflexively makes to stand up. “I got her,” Rhodey reassures, already half out the door. He feels his heart go a little warm. The one man whom nobody ever would have thought would be a father has turned out to be a pretty good one.
He hears Tony retch behind him and the sound of liquid splashing into the bowl when he climbs the stairs. Rhodey makes a mental note to keep an eye out for signs of dehydration since the only thing Tony could possibly be bringing up at this point is the few sips of water he had earlier.
Morgan is crying at a volume louder than should reasonably be possible for someone of her size. Rhodey changes her diaper and carries her around the room, talking nonsense to soothe her. It takes a while to settle her back down. She knows Rhodey, but it’s clear that she wants her parents.
When he returns, Tony is still in the same position as he left him, but now slumped over, holding his head in his hands. The half-filled basin is sitting in between his knees.
“Hey.” Rhodey takes the bowl out of his lap gently and sets it on the floor. Tony barely reacts. He’s malleable, radiating heat, the fever evidently much higher than earlier. He barely opens his eyes when Rhodey helps him to lean back against a heap of pillows in front of the headboard. Rhodey goes to clean the evidence and returns with a wet washcloth that he uses to wipe down Tony’s face and then cool his forehead.
Tony is too feverish and uncomfortable to actually fall back asleep, so Rhodey starts the TV for some white noise and settles into the bed next to him. Tony watches with half-lidded eyes and heavy breaths, his hands clenching the blanket. He keeps shifting his weight against the pillows until his head lands on Rhodey’s shoulder, the sweaty hair hot and damp through his shirt. Rhodey adjust his position a little to make him more comfortable.
“So that’s what it takes to get you into bed with me,” Tony slurs.
Rhodey rolls his eyes. “You wish.” There’s a pause as the weak smirk fades from Tony’s features and he lets out a tired sigh.
“I…” He struggles to form words. “Just…thanks, dude.”
“It’s okay, Tony. I know.”
And he does, he’s always known. During the nights at MIT, he understood the way Tony sought distraction in parties and wine to quiet his thoughts and how he brought people home to bed to keep the loneliness at bay. He was there when Tony OD-ed on his graduation day, after Howard hadn’t shown up and Tony had worn an AC/DC shirt instead of a suit, insisting he didn’t give a damn about his summa cum laude. And that other, horrible night, after Tony’s parents died and he stood on Rhodey’s doorstep, high and silent, with red-rimmed eyes and traces of tears on his face.
After he’d returned from space, starved and broken, when he was too weak to cry and water just seemed to flow out of his eyes like from an overfilled pond, Rhodey understood that those tears were for Peter Parker. And the day Morgan was born and Tony was more afraid than ever before, Rhodey had quietly waited at the hospital all the way until the door opened and Tony stepped out with his daughter in his arms, smiling like the proudest man on earth.
Now he just sits there, feeling Tony shiver when the chills run through him, doing what he always does - being there.
He stays until Morgan starts up again and he has to extricate himself from the bed. She’s clearly awake this time, and it seems she’s had enough time without her parents, so Rhodey takes her to the master bedroom.
Tony is too out of it to even move much, so he just lets the baby crawl around him and numbly plays with her hair while she tries to grab his fingers.
“Yeah, kiddo. Daddy’s not much fun today,” Rhodey comments. Tony just shoots him a tired glare.
“You up for some toast?” Rhodey asks.
“Please don’t.” Tony’s face scrunches up with nausea.
Rhodey gets him to very slowly drink half a glass of water during the next fifteen minutes before Tony lies back down fully while Morgan is on her stomach, playing with a War Machine doll that has inexplicably found its way into the bed. After a while, Rhodey wets the washcloth again and drapes it over Tony’s burning forehead, receiving a grateful sigh.
Tony’s breaths eventually even out again and Rhodey gently picks up Morgan. He takes her outside and feeds her dinner, and she stares at him intently with the dark, warm eyes Rhodey knows all too well.
*
When Pepper comes home late that night, Rhodey is on the porch, carrying a crying Morgan in his arms who has decided a few hours ago that she was definitely done sleeping for the day.
“What happened?” Pepper asks, a crease appearing between her brows and worry set in her eyes. It’s been almost two years and the fear is still there, always lingering below the surface, ready to materialise upon the smallest provocation.
“Hey, everything’s okay. Tony’s got the flu, but it’s under control. He was very well-behaved - called me earlier today to help out.”
Pepper raises an eyebrow. “He told me he had a cold when I called him up last night.”
Rhodey sighs. He’s never seen Tony ask for someone to be around when he was sick, thanks to Howard Stark, and he’s sure that he wouldn’t have done it this time if it hadn’t been for Morgan.
Pepper takes the child from his arms and greets her with a kiss before entering the house and making straight for the master bedroom, not bothering to remove her shoes or jacket. Rhodey follows her upstairs, but stops just outside the bedroom door. He watches Pepper step in softly, Tony warily blinking his eyes open and then struggling to sit up when Pepper settles down on the side of the mattress.
Rhodey can’t hear what they are saying, but he sees Tony mumble something and warmth filling his tired eyes. The tension bleeds out of Pepper’s body when she ghosts a kiss on his cheek. Morgan giggles upon seeing her father, not understanding the words, but fully able to feel the completeness, the love, the rightness of it all.
It’s an impossible life they lead, Rhodey thinks, but something right has come out of it after all.