It was all over the news, and all anyone could talk about. The funeral sounded like it was going to be more of a parade than a procession, two reporters had tried to get comments from them on the way in, and the next room was full of Rhodey's future superiors, but all Rhodey could see was the way Tony's hands were shaking as he tried to knot his tie.
"Hey, c'mon, let me do that," Rhodey said, covering Tony's fingers with his, and riding out the reflexive jerk as Tony tried to pull away. "You're gonna make us late," he added gruffly, and watched from under his lashes for Tony's reaction. He was so tense it almost hurt to look at him, all of his usual grace and efficiency suffocating under the weight of it.
Thankfully, Tony took the excuse, and the defensive curl of his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Just don't screw it up," he grumbled.
"Hey, you're the one who taught me, remember?" Rhodey said. "It's your own damn fault if I get it wrong."
Miraculously, this won a faint half-smile from Tony.
The lesson - if you could call it that - had happened at MIT, at the farewell dinner for the parents before R/O Week kicked off. He'd gone to the restroom to fix his tie, which had suffered the inevitable fate of being shoved into a pocket earlier and was completely undone. While he was staring down his reflection, cursing, this kid had sauntered in, taken in the situation in a glance, and ambushed him: insulted his choice of knot, yanked Rhodey down to his height, and retied it for him, babbling the whole time about Windsor versus four-in-hand and fabric types. Rhodey had been too surprised to stop him.
Assuming that was the end of it, he'd left with a muttered thanks, but the kid had followed him out to his parents' table, sat down without asking, and proceeded to draw a series of perfectly rendered diagrams of every tie knot he knew. On a napkin. With equations. His parents, the traitors, had thought it was hilarious and somehow charming; they'd been so uncomfortable at MIT up to that point that Rhodey couldn't bring himself to ask the kid why he wasn't sitting with his own family, not when they were laughing like that.
He had been halfway through their ensuing argument about the aerodynamics of assorted salad vegetables before he realized that the kid was Tony Stark.
Thank god he hadn't asked.
Rhodey tightened the knot - Windsor, formal and just right for the collar of Tony's shirt - and cupped Tony's neck with one hand. He was breathing unsteadily, his head ducked so that Rhodey couldn't see his face. For a moment, he hesitated, weighing Tony's unpredictable pride against his clear need - then cursed himself for being a coward, and bent to place a kiss on Tony's temple. He rested his cheek on Tony's hair afterward, so careful, and Tony leaned into him, his breath stuttering against Rhodey's neck.
And for just a moment, Rhodey carried him.
Then the door clicked open, Obediah strode in, and Tony snapped upright, blank-eyed and tight as a wire once again. Rhodey wanted to cry. He knew Tony hadn't.
Rhodey won't tell Tony it will be alright, or that he's sorry, because neither of those things were entirely true. Tony wouldn't accept them even if they were. But he could get Tony's back, no matter what.
Someday, Tony will let go, and he'll need to someone there to catch him when he does.
no subject
It was all over the news, and all anyone could talk about. The funeral sounded like it was going to be more of a parade than a procession, two reporters had tried to get comments from them on the way in, and the next room was full of Rhodey's future superiors, but all Rhodey could see was the way Tony's hands were shaking as he tried to knot his tie.
"Hey, c'mon, let me do that," Rhodey said, covering Tony's fingers with his, and riding out the reflexive jerk as Tony tried to pull away. "You're gonna make us late," he added gruffly, and watched from under his lashes for Tony's reaction. He was so tense it almost hurt to look at him, all of his usual grace and efficiency suffocating under the weight of it.
Thankfully, Tony took the excuse, and the defensive curl of his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Just don't screw it up," he grumbled.
"Hey, you're the one who taught me, remember?" Rhodey said. "It's your own damn fault if I get it wrong."
Miraculously, this won a faint half-smile from Tony.
The lesson - if you could call it that - had happened at MIT, at the farewell dinner for the parents before R/O Week kicked off. He'd gone to the restroom to fix his tie, which had suffered the inevitable fate of being shoved into a pocket earlier and was completely undone. While he was staring down his reflection, cursing, this kid had sauntered in, taken in the situation in a glance, and ambushed him: insulted his choice of knot, yanked Rhodey down to his height, and retied it for him, babbling the whole time about Windsor versus four-in-hand and fabric types. Rhodey had been too surprised to stop him.
Assuming that was the end of it, he'd left with a muttered thanks, but the kid had followed him out to his parents' table, sat down without asking, and proceeded to draw a series of perfectly rendered diagrams of every tie knot he knew. On a napkin. With equations. His parents, the traitors, had thought it was hilarious and somehow charming; they'd been so uncomfortable at MIT up to that point that Rhodey couldn't bring himself to ask the kid why he wasn't sitting with his own family, not when they were laughing like that.
He had been halfway through their ensuing argument about the aerodynamics of assorted salad vegetables before he realized that the kid was Tony Stark.
Thank god he hadn't asked.
Rhodey tightened the knot - Windsor, formal and just right for the collar of Tony's shirt - and cupped Tony's neck with one hand. He was breathing unsteadily, his head ducked so that Rhodey couldn't see his face. For a moment, he hesitated, weighing Tony's unpredictable pride against his clear need - then cursed himself for being a coward, and bent to place a kiss on Tony's temple. He rested his cheek on Tony's hair afterward, so careful, and Tony leaned into him, his breath stuttering against Rhodey's neck.
And for just a moment, Rhodey carried him.
Then the door clicked open, Obediah strode in, and Tony snapped upright, blank-eyed and tight as a wire once again. Rhodey wanted to cry. He knew Tony hadn't.
Rhodey won't tell Tony it will be alright, or that he's sorry, because neither of those things were entirely true. Tony wouldn't accept them even if they were. But he could get Tony's back, no matter what.
Someday, Tony will let go, and he'll need to someone there to catch him when he does.