Work Text:
As the car pulls up to the entrance to the private underground garage, Rhodey glances out the window, up the side of the Tower. And he wonders - not for the first time - if the real reason reconstruction on the house in Malibu is going so slowly is that Tony's finding it hard to match or top the sense of security given by what is (let's be honest) a giant fortified castle in the middle of Manhattan.
Rhodey'd been privy to the architectural designs as they went up post-Battle of New York, after all. A lot of the very modern architecture and design looked arbitrary and too artistic for its own good, but the external circle of offices and labs could be abandoned to their back walls, which were strong enough to withstand hits from reasonable artillery, and the thing spread out underground into, if not a secret city, at least potential secret town - complete with sun-mimicking lamps, spaces it would take less than two hours to convert into huge hydroponics chambers, and of course all of the Tower's very environmentally friendly, green and efficient water and waste recycling, which was underground and heavily fortified in the first place.
In retrospect he was at one point tempted to blame himself for not seeing that as a hint at how far Tony's paranoia had gone, but he thought about it for a while and then waved it off: the first Stark Tower had been destroyed, it had been targeted by an alien threat specifically because of its association with Tony, at that point the saying "it isn't paranoia if they're really out to get you" fully applied.
There are some worrying conclusions to be drawn from the causes, such as the fact that Rhodey remains a little concerned about exactly who aliens think rules this planet, but as far as reactions go, well: building a fortress is really a pretty rational one, if you've got the means.
The driver, whose name Rhodey doesn't happen to know because she's new, stops at the elevator and is handing Rhodey his bag by the time he gets himself out of the car. Granted, partly that's because the sinus headache has him a little off-balance and the tired and the cold mean he's moving a bit slow. He smiles, thanks her, and maybe he sags a little bit when the elevator door closes.
"Welcome back, Colonel Rhodes," JARVIS says politely and it's a nice way to reorient himself to Tony's metaphorical world, Rhodey thinks, which sometimes doesn't seem like it's the same one everyone else lives in, not even at the cutting edge of R&D. "Would you prefer to rest or to join Mr Stark?"
Rhodey sniffs a bit and ends up sneezing, and seriously considers just going to his room and collapsing for a while, but in the end says, "Thanks, JARVIS. If you could get someone to come dump my bag in my room, I'll go bug Tony."
"Certainly, sir," JARVIS replies, and the elevator starts to move.
He'd actually meant to go visit his sister. He'd been handed the largely-expected you're messing with our paperwork, take some damn leave memo last week, so he'd arranged to take this coming one off and leave Major Sosa to terrify the rest of the teams into realizing she's actually harder to please than Rhodey is. He meant to go to Savannah and play with his niece and visit his new - very new, being preemie and just out of the ward and allowed to go home - nephew and drink his brother-in-law's beer for a while.
Then he'd come down with this cold, which is just about as nasty a cold as it can be without being the flu, and his sister's last text on the subject had been, jamie. you know I luv u like nething and I miss u like hell. but don't u **D-A-R-E** bring a fukkin cold into this house b/c if I gotta go back 2 the hospital with this kid im gonna strangle someone & it might be YOU. go see your buddy instead.
After thinking about it for a while, Rhodey'd decided being sick in a nice room in the Tower sounded marginally better than being sick at home by himself, so he rebooked his flight, repacked and headed to New York instead. He'd texted Tony from the airport.
Now, for once Tony's in his office, and his office looks like he's actually been using it, and he's sitting at his desk with his work-surface showing his custom-keyboard and little square 3-D projections of code, frowning at it the way he does when he's totally engrossed. Rhodey pulls the door closed behind him and says, "Should I be worried?"
"Probably," Tony says absently, not looking up yet, "there's usually something for you to worry about. Can't comment as to specifics unless you expand on the thought, though - and Jesus," he adds, and now he is looking up, "you look like crap."
Rhodey shakes his head, half-smiling, because Tony's never going to change and there's something reassuring in that. How after all the shit of the last few years and how a lot of it landed right in Tony's lap, he's still Tony.
Rhodey drops himself into the other comfortable desk-chair in the highly decorated cavern Tony likes to call an office and says, "Thanks, buddy, it's nice to see you too. And yeah, I'm here because I'm too sick to be allowed around a premature baby, remember?"
"Right," Tony says, getting up, "your sister's selfish preference for the health of her own offspring. What is family coming to - here," he adds, frowning at what looks like a high-end Star Trek prop on the sideboard, "caffeinated or not?"
"Not," Rhodey replies firmly, "I'm coughing enough already. I mean I'm not, right now, but I also drank half a bottle of DayQuil before I got on the plane."
"Cool," Tony says, still frowning as he pushes a few buttons in sequence, "you can have some of the stuff Romanoff sent me from Montréal. Should clear your sinuses, at least. Anyway, what should you be worried about?" He puts a cup underneath the spout Rhodey can see dropping out of the machine.
Rhodey might have to get him to explain this one later: Tony's idle hobby-quest for the ultimate hot drink machine remains funny as hell, and this looks like a new version. Rhodey's pretty sure someone down in R&D has each abandoned prototype saved, labelled and dated just so his or her descendants can sell it all to a museum in a hundred years and make a mint off Tony being ridiculous.
Which is only fair, really.
"You, actually working," Rhodey says. "In an office. Like a grownup."
"Grownups are boring," Tony replies. "But it's as good a terminal interface as anywhere else and it stops Pepper giving me that flat-lips-pressed-together look because Janice can't find me without asking JARVIS." He hands Rhodey a mug that even through the congestion smells of menthol and something equally bright and stimulating. "Which, for the record, I don't see what's so bad about that, but she keeps saying my PA should be able to keep track of me and totally ignoring me when I point out that asking JARVIS is a perfectly reasonable way to keep track of me. Anyway."
"What are you working on?" Rhodey asks, holding the hot drink for a minute or two and breathing in some of the steam because it actually feels pretty good.
"Stuff," Tony says, slightly too fast, making eye-contact only briefly, basically giving off all the signs and signals that Rhodey's at least sort of caught him at something; when Rhodey raises both eyebrows Tony shrugs and sits back down at the desk and says, as off-handedly as he can, "some . . .satellite . . . interference . . .stuff. Support for some younger app developers. Just stuff. Busywork."
The hot drink actively tastes medicinal, but not in a bad way and Rhodey takes a few swallows while Tony fiddles guiltily with things and tries to look unaffected and innocent. It's mostly funny because of just how well (Rhodey knows) Tony can and will lie and omit with absolutely no wrinkle of concern if he really means it. He's just always been crap at pulling it off at Rhodey, for some reason.
Eventually Rhodey says, "Exactly how upset is the Pentagon gonna be when this 'stuff' of yours hits release? On a scale of one to ten?"
Tony looks a little miffed. "Frankly, it should be zero," he says with a hint of grumble, "seeing as I'm basically solving a nightmare problem for them for free but okay, on a scale of one to ten, I'd say about . . . ." he puts on a Considering look, wobbles his hand a bit, finally settles on, "twenty, maybe twenty one. Definitely not higher than twenty four. On the other hand," Tony goes on, with utterly unconvincing dignity as Rhodey starts laughing, which only derails into coughing a little bit, "nobody will ever be able to use the Insight satellite DNA scan against our troops abroad and I think frankly I should get a medal for that."
"App designs?" Rhodey prods, amused. He should have known, honestly - he's been neck deep in his own shit, is going to be neck deep in it for years, for the love of God, so he hasn't been bugging Tony except to sound him out on whether or not he's reverting to hyper-paranoia and being grateful that from what Rhodey's been able to tell and Pepper's passed along, Tony hasn't been.
Of course he hasn't been, because he's been finding ways to chip away the potential cause.
Tony levels a finger at him. "Privacy and security are the right of every American citizen," he says, in his press-release voice. "Besides, the baby-developers are fucking adorable and it keeps my reputation good with the indies."
He ignores Rhodey's laughter and finds his own cup of something that isn't coffee but Rhodey doesn't recognize. "Anyway," he says, still trying for and failing at dignity, "what are you doing right now? Besides dying of highly communicable diseases, obviously."
Rhodey sighs. "Cleaning house," he replies. At Tony's quizzical look he elaborates, "I'm heading a task force assigned to investigating and countering any potential HYDRA infiltration into the Military Intelligence Corps."
Tony gives a low whistle and actually looks serious for a second. "Okay, I apologize, I'm gonna be nice to you the whole rest of your visit. How the hell did you get stuck with that mess?"
"Actually," Rhodey says, "you'll get a kick out of that. Because while apparently the Deputy Chief of Staff and other worthies of our government still feel a little ambivalent about whether you personally are a threat to national security - " and he pauses to acknowledge Tony's dramatic eye-roll with a brief smile, " - apparently they consider you a pretty good gauge of people who are definitely in no way associated with HYDRA."
Tony blinks. It's a completely disbelieving blink. "You're shitting me," he says, and, "they actually said that?"
"It was heavily implied," Rhodey replies, sipping at the tea-drink-thing he was holding, which actually seemed to be helping with his throat. "Frankly everybody's scrabbling for every damn thing, so it's probably as good a reason as any that go around the powers that be right now. And yours and Pepper's purge of Stark Industries has been pretty spectacular, plus that press conference - "
"Okay I was a little short on sleep just then," Tony says, defensively, "and that asshole was trying for a reaction. I mean, come on, he asked that fucking question and Christine Everheart gave him a sideways look and stepped away like she wanted to make it really clear she was not with him, that has to say something."
"I was not criticizing," Rhodey says, blandly. "I was just saying, you know? And especially with Hill on board, this is making what Pepper did after the Expo look mild. Speaking of that, actually," he adds, frowning and looking at the cup, "what the hell is Romanoff doing sending you tea from Canada?"
"No idea," Tony admits freely. "No-longer-Agent Romanoff is an unpredictable and impenetrable riddle beyond the comprehension of mere mortal man, but yes I did have it checked for hallucinogenics, poisons, et cetera, before I even tried it, let alone before I would give you any. I don't even think she's in Montréal, actually."
"Oh yeah?" Rhodey replies, but frankly he'd be surprised if she were - even after the whole vote-of-no-confidence mess right after Insight and rapid-fire election that ended with a much less America-friendly government running the place, Canada still has more than enough extradition treaties with the US to make it a little dicey. "Where do you think she is?"
"I forget. JARVIS," Tony says, raising his voice a little, "where did we last pin down the Barton-Romanoff Murder Tour 2014?"
Rhodey chokes a little and demands, "What?"
"The last recovered bodies were in northern Italy, sir," JARVIS says, just about the same time.
"Murder tour?" Rhodey demands and Tony just looks amused and gestures to the middle-distance, wordlessly asking his AI to elaborate.
Rhodey's never quite sure what he thinks about the fact that JARVIS can pick up and interpret those gestures correctly. It's a little unnerving. They're never exactly the same and they're not predictable, and frankly most humans have a hard enough time parsing each one for what it really means.
"Former Agents Barton and Romanova appear to be travelling across Europe," JARVIS says, sounding to Rhodey's ears just a little overly patient. "At several points over the last two months a body or bodies have been identified by local law enforcement in various member-states of the European Union as either HYDRA affiliates or in two cases known killers-for-hire, with one as yet unidentified body. Several of them were discovered nude by or broadly near a plastic tub filled with a concentrated solution of sodium percarbonate containing their clothing as well as clothes apparently belonging to one other male and one female. There has been no fibre or DNA evidence on any of the bodies, and all were dispatched either by single gunshot wound or up to three significant slash or stab wounds."
JARVIS pauses and then adds, "I may point out that from the precise nature of those injuries it is quite likely that the deceased were the ones who began the altercation that ended them and that as such, while these are undoubtedly homicides, they may well not be murder."
"Yeah," Tony replies, "but 'Murder Tour' sounds better."
Rhodey rubs his forehead and says, "Tony, your new friends are crazy."
Tony frowns thoughtfully. "I'm not sure if we're actually 'friends'. As such. Although the tea is probably a good sign." He shrugs. "Anyway, I honestly don't know why she sent me tea. Are you saving the military from HYDRA all by yourself, or do you at least get some minions? Who's minding the shop?"
"Major Sosa," Rhodey says, "and I have complete confidence everything'll be right on track and everyone's going to be relieved when I get back. She's got her own vendetta that might not be quite as personal as yours, but runs pretty close. Most of it's classified," he says, before Tony can ask, and Tony rolls his eyes and makes a well there you go gesture, "but she's done some extraordinary things with absolute shit for resources, so I'm happy to see what she can do with a real budget. Which, yes, they have given us that."
"Clearly we are approaching the End Times," Tony says solemnly.
One of the things Tony does for Rhodey, though he'd never be able to get anyone else to believe it, is put things in perspective. Sometimes before Rhodey even realizes they're out of it. Admittedly it's often by way of pendulum extremes, swinging things from being too far into the world of Colonel James Rhodes into staring at Tony way off in the distance in his own little special world, making the middle seem a good place to be, but it still works.
It helps him remember that colonel is a job description, that he does what he does for a reason and it just so happens he still feels that this particular career is the best way to do what he wants to do as far as making the world a better place goes, and that in order to do that he has to keep an eye on all the perspectives going, not just the ones saturating his colleagues and subordinates.
They've finished dinner and are sitting out on the balcony outside the penthouse, and Rhodey's just about ready to call it a day given his cold's starting to act up again.
And Tony says, "Okay. Serious five minutes." When Rhodey looks at him, Tony leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees and says, "How are you, really?"
Rhodey can't quite decide if that means he looks way worse than he thought, or if it's just Tony trying to actively take a minute or two to drag himself out of the world where he's the centre of it, but either way, he sighs, thinks about it and shrugs. "Tired," he says. "Got too much work to do and horrible fucking consequences if we screw up, in a particular area which as we both know isn't actually mine, but - " he shrugs. "I know I'm not HYDRA, so frankly I'd rather have me in charge than just a-fucking-bout anyone else." He picks up his mug, once again full of that tea-for-colds stuff, because it helps. "You?" he asks.
Tony takes a deep breath, exhales, and looks out over the city. "Well," he says. "Now I know it's not directly Dad's fault they're dead."
It's a big thing for Tony to know, and to admit, but Rhodey still eyes him sidelong for a moment. Says, "Directly?"
Tony snorts. "If you're the fucking head of SHIELD, ex or current, you should fucking well have better fucking security than that," he says flatly. "And be more fucking paranoid. It doesn't take much fucking imagination to figure out why Carter ran the fucking agency for another fifteen years after that, now, does it."
"No," Rhodey sighs, having to admit that. "No it doesn't."
"Fucking arrogant idiot," Tony mutters, meaning his dad. Then he shrugs with one shoulder and sits back. "And I get to bask in knowing that Stearns really was an evil son of a bitch, and I foiled him, even if I was having a fucking breakdown at the time. And that's nice."
Rhodey laughs, and then starts coughing again. Tony shakes his head. "Seriously, buddy," he says, "you sound like shit. Should go sit in the sauna for a while and then go to bed."
"Yeah," Rhodey says, "that's the plan."
And it is, but he sits out on the balcony with Tony for another hour or so anyway. The cold isn't that bad.