Archive of Our Own ^beta

James wakes up to someone knocking on his door. For a moment, he ignores it, hoping no response will be enough to send the mystery person away—until he hears that familiar voice call out a, “Mr. Rhodes?”

He sighs, slow and sluggish as he reluctantly pushes himself into a sitting position, brings up a hand to dig his fingers into his eye and rubs at the sleep crusting them shut. Even still, he contemplates staying here, wonders the likeliness of his surprise visitor giving up and just coming back later, but—

“Mr. Rhoooodes.”

It’s wishful thinking, at best.

As he clambers to his feet, there’s another round of knocking at his door—though, this time, it sounds like it’s in the tune of happy birthday, which he rolls his eyes at as he pads his way out of his rooms and heads down the hall—followed by a muffled huff and what sounds suspiciously like someone stomping their foot, to which he almost snorts. “I’m going to literally die out here if you don’t let me in! I’m going to die, and then you’re going to have a gross corpse outside your door, because I’ll be dead in the hallway!”

Thankfully, he reaches the door just then, reaching for the knob and pulling it open as he says, “No, you won’t.” He quirks a brow at the teenager that is now pouting at him standing in the hallway, trying not to let his amusement show on his face, instead pushing to project how tired he is in order to make an attempt to discourage random arrivals like this, though he knows, by this point, that there’s not much he can do to stop them, and he’s not sure he actually wants them to stop. “What do you want?”

“Summer,” Peter says—freshly fifteen and with a hip cocked out, showing the little bit of attitude that he knows how to show, the little bit that, not all that long ago, James had no clue even existed.

“It is summer,” James tells him, brows raising even higher.

“Only for, like, two more weeks!” Peter complains with a groan, head tilted back and looking seconds away from stomping his foot like some kind of toddler. It makes the ends of James’ mouth twitch, just a bit, almost betraying his already barely concealed amusement—something that’s even harder to fight off when Peter then makes his way into James’ apartment like it’s his second home, letting a backpack that James didn’t realize is hanging off one shoulder slide to the floor by the coffee table before collapsing onto the sofa with an even more exaggerated pout, brows furrowed and arms crossing over his chest. With a light laugh, James just swings the door shut and makes his way over, taking a seat on the other end of the sofa and resigning himself to the fact that this is going to be the start of his day, knowing that he’s going to have to entertain this conversation before he’ll be able to get away for long enough to start a pot of coffee and change out of his pajamas. “I want it to stay summer. Like, permanently, you know?”

Wryly, James responds, “Yeah, I think I get the gist. And I’m pretty sure that’s what every kid wants.”

Peter glares at him. “I didn’t used to want that, though, but then you got fired from Midtown—”

“Because of budget cuts,” James says, for clarity sake, definitely and decisively not defensive.

“—so now school is going to suck, because my favorite teacher won’t be there!” Peter finishes, pretending not to hear James’ interjection and throwing his hands in the air with an aggravated huff. “I mean, where am I supposed to go when Flash is being an asshole now, huh?”

James battles between two instincts, and settles on saying, “Language,” first, before tacking on, “Preferably, you’d go to the Principal’s office and report it,” afterwards. Thinks about it for a moment after he says it, too, before deciding that the order is good enough and doesn’t correct it. It’s fine.

Peter points at him, the action almost accusatory. “You’re not my teacher anymore,” he says. “Aunt May has deemed you a friend of the family and put you on my emergency contacts list, remember? So, I think I can swear in front of you now. Like, you can’t give me detention anymore. Not that you ever did, but you can’t even pretend to threaten it like you used to, because this is outside of the school place, in the real world, where detention doesn’t even exist. And reporting Flash would do nothing. Plus, he’s not actually an asshole, he’s just—Flash, y’know? It’s just annoying and your classroom was my safe haven and now it’s going to be, like, empty, or belong to someone else, and that is very super stupid.”

“I can tell May,” James reminds him. “Detention is off the table, but being grounded isn’t. Not that she’d ground you for saying asshole, but the point still stands. And just because Flash isn’t actually an asshole doesn’t mean he should be allowed to get away with treating you the way he does. Yeah, it’s mostly annoying, but he’s crossed the line a few times. I wish you let me report it for you at least once.”

Peter shrugs. “Well, now you don’t work there, so you can’t. Sucks to suck. Do you have any coffee?”

“For you? Absolutely not.” James gets back to his feet, ignoring the way Peter whines, making his way to the kitchen. He calls over his shoulder, “There’s some other options, though, if you want to look around. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes—whatever you find is up for grabs, as long as it’s an actual breakfast item and not something full of caffeine or sugar. If you’re going to be bugging me today, I refuse to let you give yourself a sugar rush or get so energized that you start doing laps around the room again.”

When Peter heads into the kitchen after James, he looks slightly reluctant, but still grateful as he starts to poke around the pantries and the fridge. “It’s not coffee,” he says defensively, “but thanks.”

That’s the Peter Parker way of saying you know how poor we are right now and I know you’re trying to be subtle about feeding me so now I’m trying to be subtle about saying thank you because I don’t feel comfortable addressing the issue, let alone accepting help for it. James is well versed in how to see through the hidden message, tilts his head in a nod and offers a warm smile before starting up a pot of coffee, leaving it there and only pausing shortly to level Peter with a stern looking, telling him, “Not a drop of that better end up in your system, Parker,” before ambling back to his room to get changed.

A few minutes later, he enters the kitchen again, finding Peter mixing together a bowl of pancake batter and a mug of coffee already waiting for him at his dining room table. Noticing the suspicious glance being sent his way, Peter rolls his eyes and grumbles out, “I didn’t drink any of it. Just bein’ nice.”

“That better be true,” James says, narrowing his eyes into a wary look, though he lets his smile show in order to assure that he’s joking. He can see the way Peter rolls his eyes while fighting his own smile, takes a seat at the table and picks up his mug to take a drink, then asks, “How’s May doing?”

“She’s busy,” Peter answers, turning his face to look fully down at the bowl, maybe to look away from James, maybe to hide his features a bit, maybe both. “She’s only got this last semester of school left until she’ll have her nursing degree, which is cool, but it’s—you know. Expensive. And it’s the first semester she has to pay for without—without Ben helping out with bills and any of the money and stuff, so it’s…”

James gives him a few moments. Then, when it’s clear he’s struggling to find the right words, offers, “It’s taking up all her time, right? Trying to cover all the costs he would have been helping out with?”

There’s a second of pause, and then James sees Peter nod slightly, the action a bit small. “Yeah,” he says. “Which—makes sense, and isn’t about me, obviously. It’s just… been kinda lonely. Past few days, ‘specially, since Ned’s on vacation until the Monday before school starts, and May is working, like, triple time until her classes start to make as much as she can, and I don’t like being in the apartment alone.”

“Makes sense,” James says softly—leaves it at that, letting Peter steer the conversation, not pushing further or pulling back. It’s been a hard year for him, and James knows it, often finds it hard to believe that it’s barely been over a year since he met the kid for the first time.

For a few minutes, the room is quiet, save for the sounds of Peter preparing and making his first batch of pancakes. It isn’t until he’s sitting down across of James, dumping (probably too much, but he just opened up unprompted about some of the heaviness in his life, so who is James to stop him now?) maple syrup and a few handfuls of blueberries on top before taking his first bite, that he looks back at James properly and, speaking around his food (like the heathen that he, trauma and maturity aside, he still inherently is as a fifteen year old boy), asks, “So, how’s the job search coming? Any offers yet?”

“A couple,” James tells him. “Midtown still has that promise to call me if they ever need a substitute to come in, so there’s that, if nothing else sticks. A couple other schools have reached out, as well, so I might just go to the district and see what I have to do to put my name out there for all the school, maybe just spend this school year that way and wait until next year to worry about a full time position.” He finishes his coffee, pushes off the table to stand and walks over to the counter in order to refill his mug, continuing with, “There was this one job posting I found, though, looking for a licensed teacher to fill a tutoring position. Which isn’t uncommon, to be fair, but what caught my eye is how much this person is offering to pay for it. Like, they’re offering over thousands, Pete. Per week. For the entire school year.”

When he turns back, Peter looks intrigued. “How many thousands? Like, uh—like—like, two? Three?”

James quirks a brow. “Six.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “Six thousands dollars a week?! For tutoring?!”

“Yeah,” James nods. “I think it might be a scam, but the site it’s posted on has a really strong screening process for job postings, so it’s hard for scams to get on the board. I think I’m going to check it out, see what it’s about. I mean, if it is real and I don’t check it out and I miss the chance, then it would be a complete waste of an opportunity to make a lot of money for a job that’s a lot easier than my usual one.”

“No kidding,” Peter murmurs, slumping back in his chair with a dazed look in his eyes. “God, if we had six thousand dollars, do you know how many of our problems could be solved? So many. Like…” he trails off, shaking his head in awe. He doesn’t continue to elaborate any further, just sits there a moment longer, then appears to shake himself off and leans forward to keep eating, but James gets the feeling. He knows it’s something Peter sometimes randomly remembers, too—as in, it just hits him, every once in a while, especially did during the school year, before summer started. Going to a pretty high end STEM school as a scholarship kid is bound to be a reminder of what privilege can look like, what a difference in life can be, whether it’s due to race, to gender, to sexuality, to financial stability, to homelife, to anything.

Sometimes, Peter gets like this, looking in awe of the differences, like he can’t believe how much people don’t seem to realize they have, like he’s constantly surprised by how unaware they seem to be.

Sometime, he gets angry.

James takes a drink of his coffee and is grateful that it is not one of those times.

He applies for the odd tutoring job posting, because, as he told Peter, it’s a waste of an opportunity on the off chance that it’s actually real. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take very long to get a call from a woman who introduces herself as Virginia, kindly asks when he is next available, and schedules an interview with him for the upcoming Friday at four thirty in the afternoon. That gives him two days to prepare.

Virginia sends him an email to confirm the interview and give him the address as well as instructions for what to do when he arrives at the building in order to avoid getting lost. James isn’t entirely certain why he’s apparently getting interviewed for a tutoring position at an office building, but quickly dismisses his curiosity and his questions as an upper class employee wanting to get it done during his lunch break. It makes sense to him, and it also explains why Virginia sounded like some kind of assistant, or something.

In the moment, he doesn’t look up the address, or realize what, exactly, the instructions say.

trying our best

baby parker: good luck w your interview today mr rhodes!

Aunt May: Good luck, James! You’ll nail it!

baby parker: don’t trip up a random step and break ur toe or something!

baby parker: that would be bad timing and very unfortunate

baby parker: also i found out where u hide ur spare key lol

baby parker: can i make popcorn

Aunt May: Peter

Mr. Rhodes: Thank you :)

Mr. Rhodes: I just bought a new box, so if all the popcorn is gone when I get back, I’m calling an ambulance and you’re getting your stomach pumped.

baby parker: fair enough!!!

Mr. Rhodes: And I bought the entire Star Trek franchise, by the way.

Mr. Rhodes: Ned’s on vacation. You can show your true colors.

baby parker: OH MY GOD UR RIGHT

baby parker: MR RHODES SIR I LOVE U AND I WOULD DIE FOR U

Aunt May: Oh my god

When the cab pulls to the curb and he steps onto the sidewalk, it takes a moment to click. By the time he realizes, the cab has already driven off, taking away the option to ask and make sure he was taken to the right address, so he settles for checking his phone. Looks down at the screen, then up at the building, then down once more, and up again. Compares once, then twice, a third and a fourth and fifth time, too. When it’s the same each and every time, matches up no matter how much he looks, he takes a slow, deep breath, tries to tell himself that it isn’t a big deal—there are plenty of departments, after all, and hundreds upon hundreds of employees working in them, so it doesn’t mean much of anything—and steps forward.

Towards Stark Industries.

As in, the Stark Industries. Billion dollar company, decades ahead of the game in clean energy, technology, prosthetics, innovation and creation and all that mumbo jumbo. Ironically enough, it’s the latest Stark phone that James has clutched in his hand, because the company has so many lines and departments, rakes in so much money yet doesn’t seem to care all that much about the profit, that it manages to keep the prices low. James makes a teacher’s salary, after all—then highest end technology like this wouldn’t be in the equation for him if it weren’t for affordability. It’s admirable, really.

(It’s worrying, in a lot of ways—what had to happen to reach this point. James won’t pretend to know all of what was reported about the incident that occurred in 2008 that resulted in the end of Stark Industries manufacturing weapons, but he knows what he did read about it had been… tragic, to say the least.)

Walking up the steps, he tries not to feel like he’s doing something wrong, though he does also prepare himself to be told he must be mistaken or been given the incorrect address, just in case. There are people coming and going from the building every few moments, some walking with purpose and stride, other relaxed and laughing like it’s a vacation spot—some dressed as he would expect business employee’s and tech workers to dress, other wearing ripped jeans and loose t-shirts.

He’s not entirely certain what to make of this, but elects not to focus on it right now.

The air feels inherently cleaner when he steps through the doors—which, on second thought, makes some kind of sense, considering where he is. Looking around the lobby, he takes in the abundance of people bustling around the room, coming in and out of various elevators, holding tablets and phones and chatting back and forth. There’s a sense of relaxed yet busy that’s odd yet feel perfectly in place here.

He looks back down at his phone, scrolling down to see the instructions listed at the bottom of the email, the ones he hadn’t really looked at before, and starts to make his way towards the nearest receptionists desk before suddenly stopping mid-step when he reads even further and realizes what it says.

Stark.

Not just Stark Industries, but—Stark. Actual Tony Stark.

James breathes in again, slow and a little shaky, and lets it out unsteadily. “Okay,” he says to himself. Thinks in the back of his mind, Six thousand dollars a week suddenly makes a lot of sense, and then steels his nerves and continues forward again, approaching the desk with his chin deceptively high and his features doing a shockingly good job at remaining calm and collected. This isn’t what he expected, and it’s his own fault, really, the he feels so unprepared—he could have properly read the email days ago and known before he got here what he was really showing up for—but this is a job interview, and if the posting is what it says, he’s still here to interview for a tutoring position. He needs to focus.

The receptionist at the desk smiles kindly at him when he approaches. “Hello,” she greets. There’s no name tag clipped to her shirt. “How can I help you?”

“I have an interview,” he says kindly, glancing down at the email to make sure he doesn’t misremember what he had read mere moments ago. Reading directly from the screen of his phone, he recites, “For the tutoring position with Mr. Stark,” and looks back up at the receptionist, who nods.

“Wonderful!” she chirps, glancing at her computer screen. “Friday, our building’s AI, will alert Mr. Stark that you’re here. Please head over to the private elevator—” she gestures with her right hand across the lobby, in the opposite direction of where the majority of the elevators are, and it takes him a moment to spot the somewhat hidden doors in the far corner, “—and Friday will let you in and take you up to the proper floor. If you have any questions, you can ask her, and she will be happy to assist you!”

He nods in gratitude, telling her a quick, “Thank you,” and making his way over to the elevator.

The moment he steps through the doors, they close behind him and a lightly accented voice greets him with a pleasant, “Good afternoon, Mr. Rhodes. We are pleased to have you here today.”

“Oh,” he says, looking up towards the ceiling. “Uh… Friday, I’m guessing?”

“Yes, Mr. Rhodes,” the voice responds instantly. “I am the AI for Stark Industries and in correspondence with Tony Stark’s personal AI, of whom you will be meeting if you get this position. Right now, you are heading towards the sixty third floor, where Miss Potts is awaiting you. She will walk you through the situation for the position, and, if you are still interested by that point, take you to the penthouse to meet with Mr. Stark and the child of whom you will be tutoring. Do you have any questions thus far?”

He squints at the ceiling with the slightest frown. “Who’s the kid?” Then, quickly after—he’s probably on video, and Friday will probably be citing his questions for the interviews sake—he amends his words by explaining, “I don’t mean to dig—if you can’t answer, that’s just fine. I just… haven’t heard of Tony Stark having a kid or anything like that, so I guess I’m just curious about who it is.”

Friday is quick to assure him, “No worries, Mr. Rhodes. I am not capable of answering that just yet, as you must complete the first part of the interview with Miss Potts before you are allowed to know the identity of the child in question in order to maintain privacy of identity, but I assure you that you will be meeting them if and when you finish said interview and agree to still want this position.”

“Understandable,” James murmurs, though the response does nothing to satiate his curiosity. He tries not to focus too much on it just yet, instead straightening out his suit jacket and placing his phone into his pocket before he can forget and walks into his interview with the damn thing still in his hand. It’s just in time, as well—not even a full two seconds later do the doors slide open in front of him.

“Please step forward,” Friday instructs him. “Miss Potts’ office is to the left and at the end of the hall.”

James leaves the elevator with another little, “Thank you,” and glances back to watch as the doors automatically slide shut behind him. This is so weird. He feels completely out of his element and unprepared, and part of him wants to find the stairwell and, sixty third floor or not, simply walk back down to the lobby and make a quick and easy exit and pretend this was never an issue. But another part of him reminds himself that being a teacher is his job, and being a tutor is something that he, as a STEM school teacher, is incredibly good at, as well as working with kids—and, with the job offering so much income and him now being a family friend of the Parker’s, he can use some of what he makes to assist them, even if it’s just a little bit, to help May and Peter rest that little bit easier at night.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls one of his coworkers, before the budget cuts and the bad news, accusing him of being too obvious in who his favorite students were. “I don’t have favorites,” he had told her, but they had both been aware it was a lie, and it became only that much more obvious when, the very moment he was no longer considered Peter’s teacher, May added him as Peter’s second emergency contact for the school, the hospital, and any other possible file out there.

James adores the kid the same way he adores his nephews. It’s quite impossible not to.)

Virginia “Pepper” Potts greets him at her office door. Her smile is warm and welcoming as she reaches forward to shake his hand and says, “It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Rhodes. Please, come on in and take a seat, and we’ll hop right on into this and try to have you home in time for dinner." He returns her smile and takes the offered seat opposite of where she herself sits only a few short moments later, after closing the door behind them. “So! Friday said she briefed you in the elevator, but just to reiterate, this part right here is the normal boring interview part, where I ask all the questions no one likes answering and explain what we’re looking for and what it entails, etcetera, etcetera. Then, once we get past all that fun stuff. I’ll check in with you to make sure you’re still interested in the job after knowing the full scope of what it is, and if you are, we’ll head upstairs to meet with Tony and have a… hm. Well, sort of like an on cite interview, if you will—you’ll get to meet the kid you’d be tutoring and see if you’re a good match, since not everyone just has very good cooperating energies, you know? Once all that’s done, you’ll be good to go home and Tony, the kid and I will take a day or two to weigh our thoughts, how we feel, if we think you’d be a good fit, all that, and on Monday I’ll call you to let you know if we find you a good match or not. Does that all make sense, or would you like to ask any clarifying questions before we begin?”

James thinks it all over for a moment, weighs what he’s been told until he feels as though he’s got a good understanding of it all, then tells her, “I think I’m alright for right now, but if I think of any questions along the way, then I’ll be sure to ask them as we go.”

“Excellent,” Pepper says.

And then the interview begins.

As it turns out, the position is both more complicated yet exactly just as simple as James had assumed.

“What we’re looking for,” Pepper tells him, “is a minimum of an hour and a half per weekday after school lets out to help with reviewing what was learned that day and help catch up if there’s any assignments that have somehow fallen behind, and, if-slash-when it might be necessary, a couple hours during the weekend to do the same. Since we’re offering a set amount each week, we’re only putting these minimums as a requirement, though if you do get the job and feel inclined to stay longer, you will always be welcome to join us for dinner or, depending on how much extra you work, could be paid more.” James nods along, sorting every piece of information he hears into different files in his mind in order to stay caught up and on track with what he’s being told. “Obviously, we won’t ask you to tutor during holidays, though if you’re able to make it a day or two during winter break or spring break, that would be incredibly beneficial and we’d be grateful, but it won’t be a requirement of any sort.”

“That seems reasonable,” James says.

Pepper appears to be pleased by his response so far, and goes on to tell him, “After looking into your work history and what you’ve accomplished, I feel like you’d be well suited for this—not to mention the fact that the school you last worked at, Midtown, is where the student in question will be attending.”

Interest peaking, just a bit, James muses, “Huh. I wonder if I met them already, then.”

“Not likely,” Pepper chuckles. “This is the student’s first year attending the school, and they only moved to New York back in January, so it’d be miraculous if you did. But, with you knowing the school, having worked there, and knowing the students and the staff, it might be… comforting, I guess? In case he starts to feel overwhelmed by the changes or has any questions that you could know the answers to.”

James nod along in agreement. “It’s a good school,” he offers. “And there are a lot of incredible kids.”

With a warm smile, Pepper looks down at the tablet in front of her. “Speaking of,” she says. “And I want to preface this by saying this isn’t meant to be an invasion of privacy, we’re just being as thorough as possible, since having a tutor is opening a door to someone who could potentially be after Stark Industries, or money, or power, or even just Tony himself, so we made sure to look into anything that could be potentially questionable or worrying, and Friday noticed that you have a former student—”

“Peter,” James interrupts, head tilting, just slightly, to the side. “You’re talking about Peter, right?”

She hums in affirmation. “I’m just trying to make sure it’s not a questionable situation,” she clarifies. “It’s not often you see a teacher become a student’s emergency contact less than a year after meeting, you know? All I’m looking for is a basic understanding of the circumstances and how it played out.”

“All due respect, ma’am,” James tells her, “but the full situation involves a lot of personal information that I’d rather have the Parker’s permission to share. What I can say, though, is that I started last school year with new kid in my homeroom, and I ended it with another nephew. If you’d like to know more, I can let May know ahead of time and you can set up a time to call and talk to her about it.”

Although she doesn’t say as such, the small smile that pulls at the ends of her lips makes it appear as though she’s pleased with him and his answer. “That won’t be necessary,” she assures him. “But thank you.” And then she looks down at her tablet and continues where she left off.

It happens quickly—the interview, and the questions, sorting out all the details with pay and expectations and all the little things that are to go into this position. James feels as though he’s barely blinked by the time Pepper is folding her hands over her desk and asking him, “With all of this in mind, would you still be interested in this job moving forward, or have you changed your mind?”

James wonders if he’s intrigued, if he’s desperate, or if this just sounds like it will actually be fun—either way, he doesn’t hesitate to say, “I’m definitely still interested, if you are.”

“Wonderful,” Pepper says, grinning. She gets to her feet. “If you’ll follow me, then, we can move on to the next part of this interview—and I’ll tell you a bit more information that I’m sure you’ve been wanting to know about since you got here. Sound good?” James nods, standing as well in order to trail behind her, out of her office and down the hall, into the private elevator that he had stepped out of on his way into the interview. There are no buttons to press, no words spoken—as soon as they step inside, the doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move. Pepper turns to him, arms folded over her chest with her Stark Pad held securely in her hands. “So,” she says. “Let me tell you about the kid before you meet him.”

“Alright,” James nods—clasps his hands together, tries not to look too curious.

Pepper lets out a light sigh, a smile pulling at her lips. “It’s alright if you want to know,” she tells him. “He’s a well kept secret, and Tony’s a well known public figure. What isn’t alright is if you plan to take this information to the public or the press in any way—which is why we covered the actions that our legal team can and will take if any information gets out there.” She says this kindly, but there’s a clear threat in her eyes that’s impossible to ignore. James just nods curtly, having no intentions of such a thing anyway, and listens intently as she nods back to him and continues. “His name is Harley,” she says. “Yes, he is Tony’s son—but the full circumstances and context of their relationship and Harley’s upbringing are a personal matter that will only be shared if either Tony or Harley choose to do so, which is the most polite and professional way that I can tell you that if you ask or push for answers, you won’t be welcome back.” Again, he nods—curiosity and a bit of natural nosiness aside, it’s not like he’s an asshole. “Harley is fifteen years old, as of April, and is going into his sophomore year. For his freshman year, however, he spent the first half at a very small school out of state—again, context is personal, so specifics are going to remain vague, but the reason I’m saying this is because he grew up going to this small school and, up until December, never changed districts. From January to the end of the school year, he was here, getting homeschooled, and now he’s going to be, as I said before, attending Midtown, which is a much larger school than he’s ever seen before. Seeing as you taught at Midtown, we’re hoping maybe your familiarity, if you end up with the position, might offer some kind of comfort to him as he adjusts.”

James hums, lips tugging into a sympathetic smile. “It’ll most likely be overwhelming at first, yeah. I can definitely say, though, that Midtown is not the biggest school by a long shot—and with it being a private STEM school that kids have to test in to, the student body is limited. I know that won’t eliminate how much of a change it’ll be, but, at the very least, it may help make the adjustment period a little bit easier.”

A pleased grin grows on Pepper’s face. “That’s exactly the kind of response I was hoping for, Mr. Rhodes.” Before he can respond,, the elevator comes to a stop, the doors sliding open. She bows her head in a handless gesture, telling him, “Please, follow me,” before leading the way once more, out the elevator and into what is clearly some kind of living space, though… James can’t quite say it feels very lived in. It seems more like a vacation home, where it’s always a bit too clean, a bit… lacking personal touch.

No pictures, other than paintings that look as though they were bought right out of a museum. None of the little touches that James is used to people adding, to being used to create something that is theirs.

Though, he can’t say much, he supposes—his apartment is mostly decorated with gifts that he’s been given by students and the parents of students over the years, and his only other examples are his moms house, which is the very definition of life, and the Parker’s apartment, which is so packed with personality that he’s fairly certain the place itself has a soul of its own. Maybe this is what’s considered normal.

(He hopes it isn’t, though, because this… it feels blank. Vacant. Too many white walls and wooden floors and empty spaces with nothing to fill in the gaps. It’s as if something that was never lived in has somehow been abandoned before it was ever even given a chance to become a home.)

“Right now,” Pepper tells him, leading them down a short hallway that opens up into a wide, open space that’s clearly supposed to be some variation of a living room, lacking the living part, “Tony and Harley are waiting for us in the kitchen. This shouldn’t take too long, really, since the actual interview part of all of this is done—all we’re doing now is seeing how you do around Harley. If it looks like you two might not get along or anything like that, then we’ll reassess. However, as long as this meeting looks good, then all that will be left is Tony and I going over the interview we just had, and going from there.”

“No pressure, then,” James says, a twitch of a smile at the ends of his lips, one that grows bigger and more genuine when Pepper lets out a little laugh. It’s hard not to feel at least a little bit confident in the fact that she seems to like him. Either that, or she’s incredible at pretending to, but he’s being invited up to meet the secret Stark kid, despite the safety secrecy measures. He thinks that’s a good sign.

The kitchen that Pepper leads him into is about the size of three of James’ kitchens put together, though he tries not to dwell on how grandiose it all is—he can think back on it later, or maybe, if he gets the job, get the chance to ogle over it all again—and instead brings his focus onto the two people residing within the kitchen and waiting for them. The first of the two that his eyes land on is, assumedly, Harley—he looks like the textbook definitely of a scraggly, annoyed teenager, being forced into something he doesn’t want to do by a parent, hunched down in his seat at the table with his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders up to his ears, lips turned down into a scowl so deep that it looks permanent. James has walked into morning classes many times throughout his years as a teacher to various teens looking exactly like this—it’s familiar, and he knows how to manage grumpy teens, so it doesn’t make him even flinch.

His eyes shift over, towards the figure standing over the teens shoulder, and it’s not question that the man standing there is Tony Stark—as recognizable as ever, dressed in a suit that probably costs more than James’ rent (a month’s worth? six? a year? he’s trying not to think about that part too hard) and has a watch on his wrist that reflects enough light to make its presence impossible to ignore, and maybe that’s not a factor of fanciness, but the fact that James can’t pretend that it isn’t there makes it feel fancier in his head, somehow. What’s easy to discern between the man before him and the guy James has seen on TV and in magazines is composure—as in, public figure Tony Stark is collected and calm, snarky and level headed and so blatantly himself. At least, that’s how it always seems, whenever he’s on a talk show, holding an interview, presenting something grand and glorious to the world.

Now, the man appears… manic, almost. Distraught, wild-eyed and frantic, gaze flicking back and forth between Harley, James, Pepper, and back again, as if he’s trying to get a constant read on the room, on the people within the space and the situation at hand. His smile is tense and odd and twisted, too high on one end and turned a bit down on the other. He isn’t sitting, yet it feels as though he leaps to his feet upon their arrival anyway, bounding towards James with an almost relieved sounding, “Mr. Rhodes! It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Tony, and this—” he gestures behind him, towards the teenager that only sinks lower in his seat, scowl deepening even further, “—is my son, Harley.”

Despite the clear disinterest in the situation, Harley still glances towards James and huffs out a reluctant, “Hello, Mr. Rhodes,” before turning his head towards the wall and acting as if none of them are there.

Manners, then. Like, instilled manners from a young age. The ones that are hard to ignore.

James smiles at him, even though he’s no longer looking. “Hello, Harley. It’s nice to meet you.” Then, turning towards Tony, he extends a hand and says, “And you, Mr. Stark. You can call me James.”

Tony’s face twists. “As long as you call me Tony,” he says, shaking James’ hand. “Please, sit.”

“Sure,” James says, releasing Tony’s hand in order to lower himself into the nearest available seat, across the table from Harley. He watches closely, without quite meaning to—maybe it’s just instinct, from all his years of teaching. During any parent teacher conference, he would make sure to keep a close eye on parent-child dynamics, on how they interacted, how they behaved around one another. Specifically, on how the kid behaved around the parent, always looking for red flags, for reasons to be concerned, reasons to reach out to his student and offer support, offer resources, offer anything he can. Even at a school like Midtown—hell, especially at a school like Midtown, where the pressure of academics is so much higher, where the expectations are raised so much more—there’s plenty of reason to keep a close eye.

And he does so now, as Tony hesitates, uncertainty flashing in his eyes, before taking a seat to the left of Harley, casting a subtle glance Harley’s way as if expecting some kind of reaction, of which he receives none. Pepper takes a seat at the head of the table, further from the three of them—simply watching, most likely, and taking silent note of their interactions—the irony is clear to James that he’s doing the same. And it’s curious, as well, that the antsy behavior he would be looking for in the child is what he’s seeing in Tony, as if he simply doesn’t know how to act, how to be, around his own son.

He gets the feeling the two haven’t been around one another for very long. Which he could assume already, based on what Pepper told him on the elevator ride up, but this solidifies it.

It’s not long before he’s leaving, and the conversations they have while he’s there aren’t much, aren’t very substantial—Harley contributes next to nothing, despite Tony and James attempting to include him, though James isn’t very surprised by this, and makes sure to make it clear he isn’t bothered by it, which he hopes makes the right impression—but when he leaves, he feels content with how it all went.

On Monday, his phone rings, and Pepper is on the other end of the line.

“Good news,” she tells him. He can hear the smile in her tone.

It’s exactly what he had been hoping to hear.

On the first day of the school year, James is awoken by a phone call—one that he only answers because of the name that flashes across his screen, though he doesn’t hide the grogginess in his voice as he says, “Good morning, trouble child. Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to school right now?”

“Yes,” Peter says chirpily. “I absolutely and totally am. Unrelated note—I missed the subway.”

James sighs heavily, eyes closing as he considers the idea of going back to sleep. The main perk of this tutoring position, he believes, is that it pays such an incredible amount, and he doesn’t have to be at Stark Tower until three in the afternoon—around the time that Harley is expected to get back from his classes. He supposes he’ll get the chance another day. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. With a bagel, because I know May is working a double and isn’t there to make you breakfast, so you probably haven’t eaten.”

“I would die for you, Mr. Rhodes!” Peter tells him, before the call drops.

Though he knows he acts reluctant, James is quick to get to his feet—he’s got a toasted bagel to make, after all, with the exact brand and flavor and cream cheese that Peter prefers, and he’s got to make it in record time in order to make it to the Parker’s apartment and get Peter to Midtown in time.

There’s cream cheese smeared on the corner of Peter’s mouth when he leans over the center console to give James a hug, rushing out a, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” before throwing himself out of the car, backpack in hand, and running up the steps of the school. James considers calling after him to let him know about the cream cheese, but considers it payback for waking him up in the first place before putting him car in drive, about to pull away from the curb when he notices another hunched figure approaching the steps. He doesn’t mean to look for long, but his gaze lingers for a moment, until—

He recognizes the figure as Harley, looking a bit pale, a bit shaky—terrified, really, as he makes his way towards the school, and then pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the building. His back is towards James’ car now, so he can no longer make out the kids face, but his body language is plenty.

The poor guy is trembling. And there’s no Tony in sight, like one would expect on a kids first day at a new school, parent by their side. Though, James can’t place if that’s for privacy reasons, or…

For a moment, he considers rolling down his window, calling out and offering words of encouragement.

Before he can, Harley squares his shoulders and marches up the steps and through the doors.

Tony greets him when James arrives at Stark Tower. At first, he doesn’t seem to notice that James has arrived, completely oblivious to the elevator doors sliding open, pacing back and forth a bit, but when he does, he comes to a halt and tries for a relaxed posture that does not appear nearly as natural that he’s clearly trying to go for. “Hey,” he says. “Come on in. Harley should be here any minute.”

He leads him to the kitchen table, where there’s an array of snacks already lined up along one end, plenty of vacant space on the other. James feels his brows raise. “This seems fancy,” he muses.

“Does it?” Tony looks, surprisingly, worried by that comment. “I… I just read somewhere that it was good to have snacks after school. Helps kids focus on schoolwork and all of that. Is it too much?”

“I don’t think so,” James tells him, trying not to look or sound shocked by the nervousness that’s so obviously wracking the billionaire. “Just not what I was expecting. Then again, you clearly have more money than I do. My version of afterschool snacks was just cheap sandwiches, cheese and crackers. Soup, maybe, when it was winter. Not… platters of fruits and vegetables. This is definitely healthier, though.”

Tony doesn’t seem fully convinced, but the worry appears to lessen, at least slightly, at James’ words. He looks towards the elevator, at the ceiling, at the elevator again, and then sighs. “Do first days usually go well?” he questions, sounding stressed. “I went to high school when I was, like, twelve, I think. I don’t really remember. It wasn’t a very good time, and it wasn’t the normal high school experience, you know? I’m not sure how first days are supposed to go, or how they usually go. Do you think he had a good day?”

James ponders that for a moment, before carefully responding with, “I think first days are usually not as bad as a kids anxiety tries to tell them it will be. Even if he didn’t necessarily have a good day, I don’t think he had as bad of a day as he—or you, I’m guessing—thought he might.”

Again, Tony doesn’t appear to be fully convinced or soothed by that sentiment, but he nods and loses a little bit of the tension pulling his shoulders up to his ears. “Well,” he says. “That’s good, I guess.”

“You can always ask him, too,” James tells him. “When he gets here. Ask how his day went.”

Tony glances at him, looking… guarded, almost. He puffs out a mixture of a sigh and a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I guess it’s supposed to be that easy, huh?” he asks, smile twisted up and a little bit bitter. “And I guess I’m a bit too obvious about the fact that it isn’t that easy for me.”

“I pay attention,” James says. “Without meaning to, usually.”

“Oh, I can’t fault you for that one,” says Tony, with a light hum. “That’s the story of my life, unfortunately. However…” he trails off, once again casting a look towards the elevator doors, another flicker of anxiety making his muscles tick up a notch in tension once more, before dropping again. “Based on what Pepper and I saw when doing our background check on you, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s obvious how much you care—about everyone, based on your volunteer work, your donations to charities, and all of that, but—your students, especially. I mean, not only were we able to see a history across the entirety of your teaching career of you being a favorite among kids and multiple stories about you helping them out, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a situation like you and—ah, Mr. Parker, is it?” James nods, though he finds himself tilting his head just a bit, unsure of where this is going. Tony won’t look in his general direction, instead examining the table as if searching it for blemishes that are not there. “Pepper told me about what you said during your interview,” he explains. “How you went from having a new student to having another nephew. It’s just—mind boggling to me, really, how you can develop such a deep connection like that in a single school year. Going from strangers to family so quickly…”

There’s a somewhat distant look in the mans eyes as his voice drifts off into something softer, something, if James were to make a guess, he does not mean to sound as vulnerable as it does, especially in front of a virtual stranger such as his sons new tutor. Still, James starts to tell him, “For me, it—”

Before he can continue to talk, the elevator doors slide open, and Harley steps through them with a slouch to his posture, head angled down and the hood of his jacket pulled up and over his head. Behind him stands a man in a suit, taller than James—than all of them, really, looking to be about six foot nothing in comparison to his five foot eight—and with a grimace tugging down the ends of his lips. “Traffic,” the guys tells Tony, stepping out after Harley and making his way to the table, eyeing the wide array of snacks laid out before swiping up a handful of salami and cheese before briskly walking away.

“Thanks, Hap!” Tony calls after the man, who waves a hand back at him before disappearing down the hall and around the corner, out of sight. James briefly wonders who he is, but brushes it off as Tony turns to Harley, who only looks up at the sound of Tony’s voice, distaste written across his features as he glances between him and James. Tony parts his lips—hesitates, for a long, drawn out moment—and then manages to get out the words, “How was your first day at Midtown?”

Harley looks like he doesn’t trust the question, squinting at Tony with a frown. “Fine,” he deadpans.

Tony, despite the lac k of engagement, keeps trying. “What classes did you get?”

“The ones they put me in,” Harley tells him, stepping up to the kitchen table in order to drop his bag in one chair, taking a seat besides it. He doesn’t seem interested in the food put out for him.

“Fair enough,” Tony murmurs, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “I’ll leave you guys to it, then? I have a meeting to get to in… hm. Ten minutes ago, I think. Let Jarvis know if you need anything, alright? He’ll have Friday let me know, meeting or no meeting, and I’ll get whatever it is sorted.”

When Harley doesn’t offer a response, James steps in to give the guy some solace. “We will,” he says.

Tony glances at him one final time, then looks at Harley for a moment, seemingly debating something within his head, before releasing a slow, heavy breath, turning on his heel, and leaving.

As soon as he’s gone, James takes a seat across from Harley, giving the kid a warm smile and being sure not to let himself look even the slightest bit offended—which he isn’t, anyway, but he knows facial features can be confusing, so he still maintains the smile and makes sure it stays as it is—when Harley only looks at him with his mouth pressed into a firm line. “So,” he says. “Shall we get started, then?”

The pattern, James notices, is that Harley likes to pretend he isn’t there.

He will get back from school, often make his own snack—ignoring whatever is waiting for him at the table, despite there being a wide range of options presented each day—and then pulls out his homework and sits in silence as he gets it done by himself. James isn’t bothered by this, and instead continues to make the occasional one sided small talk, complimenting the kid as he goes for getting his work done right, seemingly (at least so far) not needing much help on finding the answers. From an outsiders perspective, it might even seem pointless for him to be here at all, seeing as he’s not doing much of anything when he’s at the tower—but he’s decided, as of that first day of school, that his job here isn’t going to be just tutoring. Not when this kid is so clearly in need of something, something he refuses to talk about or ask for. Not when Tony Stark is so clearly struggling with his fatherhood.

Call him nosy, or an optimist, or whatever else may fit, but James thinks he could help.

So, he pays attention, when Harley ignore him. He pays attention when Tony is barely there, and when Pepper checks in on them and something a bit strained and heavy flashes across Harley’s face, and when, on the couple of days during the first two weeks that Harley doesn’t pretend that James isn’t there, the kid just grumbles to him reluctantly, as if he wants to keep pretending but there’s something stopping him.

He pays attention. It’s something he’s good at—and when he pays attention, and he notices all of these things, the dots begin to form a picture in front of him as he connects them, line by line. It isn’t a clear picture, he isn’t sure what the end result will be, but he’s got the first few steps figured out.

“So,” James says, on the second Friday of the school year, keeping his tone and his features as opening as he always does, wanting it to be clear that, ignored or not, he’s still here. “How’s Midtown?”

It’s one of those days where Harley can’t seem to ignore him, even though he wants to. “Fine,” he says.

“Make any friends yet?” James questions.

He’s expecting a shrug, or a grumbled out half assed response, or anything that fits the kind of behavior Harley has been showing him. He isn’t expecting the way Harley freezes, frowning down at him worksheet, and then says, “Not… Not really. It’s, uh—It’s a big school. Intimidating, I guess.” His frown deepens, and now he does shrug, though it looks more defensive than anything else, like he hadn’t meant to say what he said. “I just mean—there’s a lot of people there. It’s hard to talk to them.”

And James had kind of expected something along those lines, but the way Harley says it makes it sound like the kid hasn’t talked to anyone at all. He ponders this for a second, and then—“Have you met Peter?”

“What?” Harley looks at him, confusion evident on his features.

“Peter Parker,” James clarifies. “He’s in your grade. Have you met him?”

Harley continues to look at him as if he’s growing a second head, before slowly responding with, “He’s in a couple of my classes, but I haven’t tried talking to him or anything. Why?”

James smiles. “Try,” he advises. “Peter and his friends are the most open minded and friendly kids at that school, and they love making new friends. Give it a shot. I won’t tell him I’m telling you this, so he won’t be acting friendly because I told him to—he’ll really just be that nice, and Ned and Michelle will be, too.”

It looks like Harley wants to dismiss his words—and he does, with a light scoff and a shake of his head before going back to his assignment—but James can see the contemplation in his eyes.

The next day, Peter calls him. “Did you tell the new kid to be friends with us?”

James asks him, “Did it work?”

“Shut up,” Peter responds—and then hangs up the phone.

Harley is still quiet after school, but at some point—halfway through another worksheet, one that James hasn’t had to help him with in the slightest—he reaches over for one of the snacks that Tony left out, for the first time not pretending they aren’t there, and he murmurs a little, “Uh—Thanks, Mr. Rhodes.”

He didn’t do it to be thanked—but the thanks is still heartwarmingly appreciated, nonetheless.

Over the next week and a half, Harley slowly starts to brighten, day by day. He stops looking so broody and gloomy when he steps out of the elevator, starts picking at the snacks that Tony always manages to have set up by the time James gets there, actually lets James help out when he isn’t sure about a problem or an assignment—though James doesn’t need to help much, with how smart the kid is—and, at one point, even has a smile on his face as he steps into the kitchen, looking down at his phone.

James asks him, “Anything particular, or are you just in a good mood today?”

“Both,” Harley tells him—plops into his seat and grabs a handful of blueberries from the bowl closest to him, pops them in his mouth and waits until he chews and swallows them before saying, “I got invited to go with Pete and Ned and MJ to Homecoming.”

“Really?” James grins, thinking of how, just two days prior, he asked Harley if he was interested in going, and Harley had only scoffed in response, rolling his eyes and grumbling about how stupid school dances are. “What changed your mind?”

Harley sets his phone down, brings his backpack around so it’s settled in his lap, and starts to pull out his homework while he talks. “They did,” he answers simply. “Back in Rose Hill, dances were, like—like, the worst, you know? Small town, super judgmental and conservative beyond belief. I went to one in middle school and—never again. But, um—when I told them that, Pete told me that Midtown is a lot less shitty, and eve though it’s still kind of lame, it’s a lot more fun to go with friends, and Ned said I could just join them and go as a group if I wanted to, and I figured I’d try it out.’

It’s incredible, seeing Harley talk so freely, apparently forgetting how closed off he usually prefers to be. “I’ve chaperoned the dances before,” James tells him.

Harley glances at him. “Are they boring?”

“Not if you go with the right people,” James says. “You’re in good hands.”

The smile returns to Harley’s face, and James has never seen the kid smile before today, but he hopes to see that smile again, because Harley looking happy is a sight to see. He’s just a kid, after all, and James still knows next to nothing about how he grew up, but James can’t help but feel proud of how much Harley has started to open up. A grin pulls at the ends of his lips while he watches Harley grab his phone and happily tap out a response to whatever message he just got. “It’s weird,” Harley says offhandedly. “I never thought I’d be excited to go to Homecoming, you know? But I kind of am.”

“Homecoming?” Tony cuts in, stepping into the room with a look on his face, lighting up as if he’s been given a gift. He looks elated, really—like a man with a plan.

James thinks, in the back of his head, Oh no. Don’t do it.

And yet, Tony looks at Harley, who is already looking back at him with barely a hint of his smile left on his face, appearing unsure, cautious. Tony beams, and quirks a brow, and teasingly says, “You have a date, then? Is she your girlfriend? What’s her name?”

The barely there remnants of Harley’s smile vanish, his entire mood instantly shutting down—his eyes go blank, features emotionless, jaw clenched, shoulders tensing. He turns back around, pushes the bowl of blueberries away and ignores it when his phone vibrates on the table, instead staring down at the homework he’s taken out with a vacancy on his face. James isn’t sure if he should say anything—isn’t sure if this is an offer comfort moment or a give him space moment—and when he looks back at Tony, he can tell the man is internally panicking at Harley’s reaction, looking on the brink of fight or flight, eyes wide as he looks at his son in visible distress.

It’s not like the man meant to say the wrong thing—in fact, it’s clear he isn’t sure what he said that was wrong—so James tries to soothe the situation, just slightly, in the hopes of making it better. He keeps his voice casual, not letting his own slightly nervous tension show, and he tells Harley, “I think you’ll have a lot of fun, Harley. Peter is right, going with friends makes school dances a lot more fun—and you’ve got good friends to go with, too. Did they tell you about the tradition they started last year?”

“Yeah,” Harley murmurs, still staring down at his homework blanky. “Greasy fast food and milkshakes, or something. Um…” His brows furrow, just a bit, and he shakes his head, reaching forward to collect his papers. “I’m done for now, I think.”

And then—holding homework he hasn’t even started yet—he gets up and leaves.

Not once does he even acknowledge that Tony is even there.

The second that Harley is out of the room, it’s as if someone’s cut the string, Tony slumping in on himself and collapsing into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, putting his head in his hands and letting out a haggard sort of sigh. James lets him have a moment to collect himself—they’ve barely spoken, but it’s not hard to tell that he’s the kind of man who needs time to string his thoughts together before speaking—and finds himself listening far too intently when Tony eventually does talk, voice muffled by his hands as he says, “I don’t—I don’t get it, James. I… I mean, you’ve known my kid for, what, a month now? Two hours every week day, and he still talks to you more than he talks to me. He—I—I don’t know how to do that. How the hell do you do that?”

“What do you mean?” James carefully asks—not because he’s confused, but because he thinks Tony needs the chance to try and put it into his own words first and foremost.

“How do you—” Tony lifts his head, looking at James in bewilderment. “How do you talk to him? I don’t know how to talk to him, or—or how to get him to talk to me. I don’t know where to learn how to do this, or how to—I don’t know anything, Rhodes.”

Anything. As in, the basics of talking and interacting with ones own child. James ponders this, before asking, “Is it okay if I ask some questions? I can try to help, or give some advice, or something, but I think it’d be easier if I had some more info, y’know?”

Tony sits up a little bit straighter in his seat “Yeah, ‘course. Go for it. Ask away.”

“Alright,” James murmurs, thinking for a moment about what, exactly, to ask. “Well, I guess, uh—how long has Harley been in your life? It doesn’t seem like you raised him, but I could be wrong. I guess I’m just wondering how long you’ve really known each other, or if you always have, or—whatever you’re comfortable sharing, I guess.”

“I didn’t raise him,” Tony answers instantly, looking upset as he says it. “I didn’t—I didn’t even know about him until… nine, maybe nine and a half months ago. Got custody of him and got him out of the system as soon as I met him. It’s… a long story.”

Though he’s curious to hear it, James doesn’t push for details. “Okay,” he says. “So, he had his whole life before you, right? It makes sense for him to be closed off.”

Sighing, Tony tells him, “Yeah, but I haven’t been able to get through to him, like, at all. You’ve done better than I’ve been able to, and in a much shorter time, too.”

“Well, how often do you see him?”

And that—that makes Tony pause, for a moment, a silence settling over him as he looks down at the table. Then, slowly, he answers, “Not… Not a lot, actually. Partially because of how many meetings I have, and all the shit I need to do for this company, but I think he prefers to be more independent, you know?”

James cocks his head to the side. “How would you know that if you never see him?”

The silence returns. Tony doesn’t look like he’s going to be the one to break it.

“Look,” James tells him, voice pitching into something softer, because Tony looks terrified, pale with visibly shaky hands curled into fists in his lap, and it’s so obvious that he cares about Harley, he just doesn’t know how to show it. “Just… be here, alright? And keep being here, consistently, and regularly. Don’t assume things when he says things—like you just did with Homecoming, asking if he has a girlfriend instead of letting him tell you about it himself—and even if he ignores you, or if he says he hates you, or he yells at you—whatever he does, don’t leave. Be here even more.”

Slowly, Tony lifts his gaze to look at James once more. There’s something like pained gratitude in his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips. He doesn’t say it, but James can hear the silent thank you loud and clear.

He smiles back, tipping his head as his own wordless, you’re welcome.

Homecoming approaches faster than expected—the next two weeks fly by in what feels like the blink of an eye, days blurring together. James can only pinpoint a few key facts when he thinks back on the time that has passed—the fact that Tony has been around more, not hovering, but always close by, either at the other end of the table working on blueprints on his tablet, or in the living room, popping in every once in a while to check in. Harley, and how he’s been ignoring Tony’s mere existence since the man made his assumptions and caused his son to flee the room. Harley, and how he has been so quiet, not as silent and gloomy as he had been at the start of the school year, but close to it.

James tries to ask, “Are you alright, Harley?”

The kid shrugs. Murmurs a little, “Nervous ‘bout Homecoming, I guess.”

He doesn’t elaborate. James doesn’t push.

Maybe things would have happened differently, had he tried.

“I look stupid,” Peter says, pouting at May as he tugs at the sleeves of his suit—which is a bit too big on him, looks kind of baggy and crumpled in some places.

May tsk’s and says, “You look handsome!”

Peter glares at her, then turns to James and asks, “Mr. Rhodes, do I look stupid?”

“You look like a fifteen year old in a suit,” James tells him.

“That is so not helpful, Mr. Rhodes.”

Unable to fight back his amusement, James smiles and says, “You look fine, Pete. You’re also going to be late if you take too long, and May needs to go to work. Which means—” he looks to his watch, “—you’ve got two minutes for final adjustments.”

Looking panicked, Peter spins around and stares at his reflection once more, eyes bugging out and mouth pressed into a firm line. James can barely suppress his laugh.

James parks his car and gets out to greet Ned and Michelle—both of whom look ecstatic to see him, which, really, makes his chest feel warm, knowing that his presence as a teacher at this school is something that was truly appreciated. Peter rolls his eyes at him and tells him he can leave, but James shakes his head. “Harley’s meeting you guys here,” he says simply. “I’m waiting to say hi and talk to Tony.”

And he does wait, five minutes at first—then ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty.

At thirty minutes, he feels rightfully worried, and sends a silent thank you to his past self for having the foresight to get Tony’s number in case of emergency—pulls up the mans contact now, presses call and waits—hopes—for an answer.

“Rhodes,” Tony greets him pleasantly. “You guys get to Midtown in time?”

James frowns, just a bit, at this. “Yeah,” he answers, “but I haven’t seen Harley. Unless you dropped him off and I missed it, somehow. Are you guys running late?”

“What?” There’s a lilt of confusion to Tony’s voice, now. “Are we—I thought you were picking him up and taking him. That’s what he told me—said that he didn’t need a ride and would be back by eleven. Did he—he isn’t with you guys?”

Shit, James thinks. “No, he isn’t. Peter said that Harley told him he was going to meet them, but I’ve been waiting to make sure he got here, and he hasn’t yet.”

For a moment, there’s no response from the other end of the line—if it weren’t for the sound of Tony’s breathing, James would probably assume he hung up or the call dropped. Then, with a barely concealed tremor of panic to his words, Tony grits out, “Then where the fuck is my son? Where the hell did he—”

He stops. Breathes in a shaky breath, and slowly lets it out.

“I’m having Friday and Jarvis track his phone,” Tony says. “I’ll find him.”

“I can help,” James says. “I’m on my—”

Tony does end the call this time, but James doesn’t dwell on it, already speed walking to his car with the quickest route to Stark Tower mapped out in his mind.

“Good evening, Mr. Rhodes,” Friday greets him as he steps into the vacant lobby of the tower. The doors automatically lock behind him, and he wonders, briefly, if she specifically unlocked them to let him in, and when that was something he was able to do, be let in like this, but he doesn’t let himself focus on this train of thought for long. “Boss is currently out of the building to pick up Mr. Keener, but you are welcome to wait in the penthouse until they return.”

James feels his brows furrow. “So he found Harley?” he clarifies, heading towards the elevator with a sense of familiarity that he’s subconsciously built since the school year started. The doors slide open for him, and close once he’s inside.

Friday tells him, “He was able to locate Mr. Keener’s whereabout, yes,” as the elevator starts to move up. James nods once, relaxing just slightly with that reassurance.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s good. Do you know where they are now? Can I know?”

“Boss is approximately ten minutes away. He is bringing Mr. Keener home.”

Harley hasn’t once referred to the tower as home—not in front of James, and, if he were to guess, not at all since Tony’s gotten custody of him. Hearing Friday call it such when talking about him doesn’t feel right—and James can’t help but to say, “I don’t think you should call it his home until he feels ready to call it that himself, Friday.”

There’s a lapse of silence, before Friday says, “Alright, Mr. Rhodes. Making note.”

The elevator doors slide open once more, and James steps into the penthouse to wait.

He doesn’t have to wait very long.

Just as Friday said, it’s barely ten minutes later before he hears the two of them stomping into the room, quickly stands from the couch and turns around just in time to see as Harley storms past him, only stopping because of Tony following after him and exclaiming a furious sounding, “What in the hell were you thinking?!”

Despite the anger in his tone, James can tell from the look on his face that he’s speaking from a place of genuine, ground shaking terror—the idea of not finding Harley probably scared him more than he thought possible, as a parent of less than a year. Similarly, when Harley scoffs in response and James looks over at him, he can tell that the fury burning in his eyes is a barely contained mask to try and hide the fact that there are tears gathering there, as well—a build up of emotion he refuses to let show, though, if James were to make an educated guess, he might not be able to hold it back for much longer.

Oh, man, James thinks helplessly. Who knew a tutoring job would lead me to this?

(Oddly enough, he thinks of May Parker laughing at him and pointing out the fact that he quite literally went from Peter’s teacher to an honorary family member, but he pushes that thought away, deeming it an inappropriate time.)

“Alright,” James says, because it looks like Harley is about to explode, and he thinks Tony might not be far behind on that front. He turns to Tony first, because he’s seen enough fear based parenting in his years as a teacher and is well aware of the fact that, well meaning intentions aside, the damage it can cause is beyond detrimental. “You should probably take a seat,” he tells him—keeping his tone gentle, as he says it, because he doesn’t want to add fuel to the fire that’s already a bit too burning for his liking. “Take a breather for a minute, try to calm down and collect your thoughts, maybe? A screaming match isn’t going to help the situation, you know?”

Tony clenches his jaw and looks ready to protest, but then he looks at James, seems to pause and ponder, for a moment, and then, albeit reluctant, juts his chin in a nod.

Offering a small smile of encouragement, James turns to Harley, who is actively blinking back his tears while glaring daggers at the wall, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders hunched up in a defensive sort of way. “Okay,” James murmurs, holding out his hands a bit, wanting to try and come across as nonthreatening as possible, so as to avoid Harley feeling the need to be defensive with him. It doesn’t seem to work just yet, but James doesn’t expect it to. “Harley,” he says, still keeping his voice soft, approaching this with no judgement or assumption. “Can you tell me where you were?”

“A fucking bus stop in god damn Brooklyn—”

James swivels his head around, giving Tony a pointed look that makes him seal his mouth shut, though there’s still an angry sort of panic that makes him restless where he sits on the sofa, knee bouncing and hands clasped together. Once James is sure he isn’t going to interrupt again, he turns back to Harley, who’s got his jaw clenched and looks like he’s silently seething where he stands, and tries again. “So you were at a bus stop,” James says, again being sure to keep judgement from his voice. He waits a moment, and, miraculously, Harley offers a nod. “Can you tell me where you were trying to go?

He isn’t sure if he’ll actually get a response, especially once it goes on a tense minute or two of silence, but then Harley’s shoulders drop, just a tiny bit, and he lets out the smallest of sniffles, brings up a hand to rub at the skin under his nose, and James feels his heart ache when a single one of the tears that he’s been blinking back rolls down his cheek. Harley wipes it away quickly, angrily, and croaks out, “I just—I wanted to see my sister. I wanna go and—and—I haven’t gotten to see her, or—I haven’t even talked to her since CPS took her to live with David, ‘cause he’s her dad, and he isn’t mine, even though I thought he was, but he—and—I just wanted to see her, okay? I don’t know if she’s safe, or what David is like anymore, or if—or—she’s there, she’s in fucking—fucking Tennessee, in Nashville, with him, and I’m here, with Tony, and I want—I didn’t—I don’t get it! Why am I being yelled at for wanting to see her?!”

In the quiet that follows, James can’t help but think, Shit.

Because James didn’t know Harley had a sister. And, judging by the shattered, heartbroken look on Tony’s face when he looks back, he didn’t know, either. James can’t help but wonder if this is why Harley has been so closed off this whole time, if this is why Harley’s been so cold towards Tony, if this is what’s kept him so distant. Maybe he’s felt resentful. Maybe’s he’s blamed Tony for taking him away from her.

“Oh,” Tony rasps, after a lapse of heavy nothingness. Harley huffs a humorless laugh, one that sounds weighted with a lifetime, a sound a fifteen year old should not be able to make. “Harley, I… I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t—I didn’t know. God, I…”

“Why would you?” Harley muttered. “You never asked.”

It isn’t aimed at him, but James still flinches at the bitterness in Harley’s voice. He turns, takes a step back, so he can see both father and son with ease, and that heartbroken look on Tony’s face is worse—and James can see it, can see the way his eyes shimmer with realization, like he’s only just now been hit with the knowledge that he really does not know much of anything about his son. James takes another step back, knowing better than to interfere with a moment that isn’t his, though he chooses not to leave the room unless asked to, just in case the conversation devolves into more raised voices. Yelling, fighting, won’t help them. Talking through it will.

Tony swallows roughly and says, “You’re right, I didn’t, and I should have. I just…” he trails off, clearly floundering for the right words. James silently roots for him, and, though he was hoping for him to say something a bit more substantial, he still feels unexpectedly proud of the man when he says, “You can see your sister, Harley. I’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll—I don’t know how, but I will. We’ll fly her up here, or send you down there at some point, or something. I’m not going to keep you from your family.”

For the first time since they both stormed into the room, Harley’s gaze flickers over to Tony, and his features melt, another few tears escaping—ones that he stills wipes away, but not as angrily. He looks, though a little bit wary about it, grateful. “Really?”

“Cross my heart,” Tony tells him. “And I keep my promises. I’ll find a way.”

Harley keeps looking at him, jaw clenching and unclenching a few times, before, a bit curtly, nodding his head. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I—I wanna go to bed now. I’m tired.”

With a slight laugh, Tony scrubs a hand over his face and says, “Yeah, me too.”

Taking a step towards the hall, Harley then stops—hesitates, for a moment, and then turns back around, jaw clenches once more, and says through somewhat gritted teeth, “Goodnight, Tony, and… thanks, I guess, for—that. Or something.”

It’s not the most heartfelt thing to say, and Harley scurries off in his rumpled homecoming suit as soon as the words are out of his mouth, but Tony looks elated to have gotten a goodnight at all—and James, once Harley is out of earshot, asks him, “Is that the first time he’s said goodnight to you since he moved in here?”

“That’s the first time he’s been remotely nice to me, actually,” Tony says.

“Oh, that’s—kind of sad, but also good, I guess,” James muses.

A moment of quiet settles over them, and James, unsure of it he should leave or not, simply shifts his weight from one foot to the other—and, just as he’s about to ask if Tony is alright after the events from tonight, Tony speaks up, asking, “How did… I mean, I don’t wanna pry, but—Peter, right? Staring as his teacher, and then…”

James tilts his head, just slightly. “And then him becoming family?”

Tony nods, just slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “How did you do that? Get so close to him, and become… become family, you know? And so fast, too. You’re not even related or anything, but you talk about him like he’s yours sometimes. I mean, I know you said he’s like another nephew to you, but you act more parental, in a way.”

It isn’t what James was expecting, but he supposes he should have expected the question, especially considering the fact that Tony had tried to ask before but they were interrupted before James could provide an answer. He gives himself a moment to think of how to word what he wants to say, and how to say it in a way that’ll be beneficial to Tony and Harley, and, once he feels fairly confident, replies with, “Well, I cared, when he didn’t really have much left. I’d say that it’s personal, but if you look him up online you’ll find the articles and the news stories all over the place about it all, so it’s not really a secret, but—this kid… he’s been through a lot, and when he lost his uncle back in December, I told him he could use my office as a safe place. To be alone, to cry, to breathe, to call his aunt—whatever he needed it to be, it was just a place for him, where the other kids couldn’t see him or stare at him, and from there, it just… developed, until, like I said, I felt like I had another nephew. And I’m glad I did, too, not only because I love that kid to death, but because the only other family he had left is his aunt, and she’s working her ass off to provide for him, but working so much, even though it’s for a good reason, leaves him home alone more often than not, you know?”

For a moment, Tony lets those words sink in, then: “…That’s not good, is it? Her being gone so much and leaving him alone like that?”

“Not really, no,” James answers carefully. “I mean, luckily, Peter’s a smart kid, and he’s in a place where he knows that May loves him and he knows everything she’s doing is out of love, so he can kind of rationalize it in his head, but when he talks to me about it, he doesn’t really see it like that. He feels selfish for wanting to see her more, and for not wanting to be alone. To be young and have no one with you…” He lets out a sigh, heart feeling heavy as he remembering the strained look that always crosses over Peter’s face when he opens up about this. “It can be pretty damaging.”

Tony gnaws on his lower lip, hands clasped, still, and hanging between his knees. His brows are furrowed, clearly deep in thought. “But he has you.”

Nodding, James tells him, “He does, yeah, but he almost didn’t. If I didn’t offer him that safe space, we wouldn’t have ended up here, and he would have spent a lot of his summer alone, and sad, and just waiting for his aunt to get home from work so that he could see her again. It would have been a lot harder without that domino effect.”

“But how did—” Tony cuts off, looking a bit frustrated as he tries to piece together his thoughts. “How did you—after the safe space, right? After that, after offering him that, how did you talk to him. How do you talk to a kid, a—not even a kid, a teenager, who’s lived this whole life up until now without you in it, a life that you know nothing about, or—or almost nothing about, and who might not even want you in it, who might not even want you around them? How do you do that? How do I…”

It’s sad, seeing the genuine distress clouding Tony’s eyes, the way his features are scrunched up in an almost lost uncertainty. James is glad he’s the one who’s here to help, really. He’s got the experience that makes it possible for him to actually be helpful at all. Carefully, he asks, “What have you done to show Harley you care about him?”

Tony lifts his eyes from where he was staring holes into the carpet. “What?”

“Well,” James says. “You do care about him, right?”

While it’s an obvious sort of question with a very clear answer, an offended look crosses over Tony’s features—and, honestly, that’s exactly what James was looking for. “What are you—of course I do! I didn’t think I wanted kids, or—maybe I just never thought I’d be good with them, which I’m definitely proving to be true right now, but when I saw him, I—I don’t even know what happened to me. I just felt it. I can’t describe what it was, but it… it was overwhelming, and—and bright, and loud, and it’s still here, in my chest, all the time, whenever I look at him, you know? I barely know a thing about who he is and I don’t know how to say a damn word to him, but I see him and I know I love him. I know it. He’s my kid, and I love him, and I’m fucking it up.”

A small smile twitches at the ends of James’ lips, and the tension in Tony’s shoulders, upon seeing the smile, melts away, apparently realizing that James wasn’t trying to imply that the man didn’t care. “Okay,” James sys. “So, you care about him. You love him. What have you done to let him know that. Have you told him you love him?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Tony mumbles, “I. don’t, uh…  don’t know if he’d want to hear it from me, you know? He still… doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“Have you tried? Have you asked him?”

“I don’t know how to.”

“Alright, here’s your first step,” James states, turning, just slightly, to face Tony fully and make sure he’s really listening to what he has to say. “What I’m doing right now, what I’m asking? These are yes or no questions, and you’re giving me reasons without actually answering. And maybe your reasons are good, maybe they aren’t, but that’s not the point, because all of them are starting with the word I. You have to remember that this isn’t just you, not anymore—you have a fifteen year old son who just tried to buy a bus ticket to run away to Tennessee to go see a sister that, if my assumption is correct, you didn’t even know he had, because you either thought he wouldn’t want you to ask, or you just never thought to. You have your own things to work out, your own issues, or worries, anxieties, fears? That’s fine, that’s normal, especially for new parents. But don’t make it just about you, or else you’ll keep forgetting to make it about him, too.”

For a very long, very drawn out moment, Tony does nothing more than simply look at James, maintaining eye contact as his jaw clenches and unclenches—something that James recalls Harley doing, as well, and it’s an adorable case of like father, like son. It stays quiet for so long that he starts to wonder if, though he doesn’t regret what he said, the way he said it was enough to offend the other man—but, just as he’s about to try and soothe over potential rough edges, Tony relaxes, slowly but surely, and nods. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I needed to hear that, I think. Thank you, Rhodes.”

With a soft smile, James tells him, “Happy to help, Tony.”

Only a couple days later, on the Monday following Homecoming, James finds himself back at the tower again for their tutoring hours. Harley sits beside him, still in his pajamas—he tries to murmur an excuse for why he didn’t go to school, but James shakes his head and says, “If you don’t want to tell me or talk about it, you don’t have to. But here—” and he hands over his homework, which Harley is slow to take, brows furrowed with confusion. “Peter texted me,” James explains. “Once he realized you weren’t showing up today, he went around to all your classes and got a copy of your assignments for you, and whatever notes he was able to get, too. I picked them all up on my way over.”

Harley looks back down at the papers, mouth pressed in a firm line as he holds them gently, as if they’re suddenly precious items. “Thanks,” he softly says, before looking up at James, a bit bashful, and asking, “You’re staying today, right? For the—the tutoring, or whatever. ‘Specially since I’m behind, now.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” James asks him, tone a bit joking and light. “I’m down to visit, but just stopping by to drop off homework is a little too out of the way for me. But, before we start on your homework, Peter wanted me to tell you something, since he said you haven’t been answering your phone.”

Again, Harley looks down at his papers, only now he seems a bit tense, almost afraid. “They’re mad at me, right? For ditching them all at Homecoming?”

“Actually, he wanted me to tell you that they’re worried about you, and that they hope you’re okay and want to see you—whether it’s when you come back to school, or if you want to hang out soon. And to text him back.”

Slowly, Harley raises his eyes looking at him again—keeps looking, for a moment, as if trying to find any sign of dishonesty. When he seems to be satisfied, a smile pulls at the ends of his lips, and he nods, just a bit.

He looks so much like Tony, right then and there, that James wonders how anyone could have thought someone else was his father.

They’re halfway through an outline for Harley’s history essay, one that Harley’s clearly not all that happy about having to do, when Tony walks in.

It goes quiet—and the quiet isn’t all that unbearable, but it isn’t very comfortable, either. James can tell that it isn’t quite the same as it was before Homecoming, isn’t as tense or as cold, but Harley still looks over at Tony with wariness and uncertainty, clearly not sure of what to expect, while Tony looks back at him, nervously fidgeting where he stands. His eyes flicker over to James, just for a moment, and he looks so lost, but then he takes a deep, somewhat shaky breath, and he lets it out long and slow, and he steps forward with determination until he’s lowering himself into the seat on the opposite side of where Harley is sitting. There’s another small lapse of quiet, before—

“I got in contact with your—” Tony stops, clears his throat with a furrow to his brow. “With, uh—with David, about your sister.” At that, Harley perks up, shoulders going up and back where he sits, clearly listening with laser focused intent. Tony notices this, too, and James can see him try to fight off a slight smile as he tells him, “We were able to make an agreement, of sorts, to make sure you two get to see each other. She’ll be coming up to New York and staying with us for Winter Break—” Harley sucks in a sharp, sudden breath, and he’s facing Tony, so James can’t see his face, but he can imagine the sort of elated, overwhelming type of emotion that must be overtaking his features right about now, “—and I’m sending down a phone for her, one that—I don’t know, I can be paranoid, and you mentioned not being sure if she was safe, so it’s going to be a Stark phone, one that no one else can’t get into or anything, but since she’ll have it you two will be able to talk as much as you want.”

“Really?” Harley asks, sounding a mix between excited and skeptical, as if not willing to get his hopes up but wanting, so badly, to believe that what he’s hearing is true. “But, I—I… why? Why are you doing—all of that?”

The way he asks it makes it clear that Harley’s never really considered the idea of Tony doing something like this for him before—something so thoughtful, perhaps, specifically going out of his way to make something work for no reason other than the fact that Harley wants it. To him, it’s a foreign concept.

James questions what this David guy is like, but keeps quiet for now.

For a moment, Tony seems to freeze, and—oddly enough, he looks at James, first and foremost, with a mixture of fear, gratitude, and sheer determination shining in his gaze. James looks back at him and already feels himself smiling, tips his head in an encouraging nod, and tries not to get too overwhelmed by the swell of pride in his chest when Tony turns back to Harley and says, albeit nervously, “Because, you… you’re my kid, Harley, and it’s—I know it’s still weird, and it’s new, and it—it’s kind of scary and confusing, at least it is for me, I can’t even imagine how much it is for you, with all of this change and everything that’s happened, but—but I’m your dad, and I’m trying to learn how to be a good one, and I…” he trails off, breathes in, says, “I love you, okay?”

You’re already good, James thinks. And one day, you’re going to be great.

“I, um…” Harley looks down at his essay outline, fiddling with his pencil with a furrow to his brows, and he looks a bit unsure but James can see him rapidly blinking away the shine in his eyes. He nods, just once. “Thanks, Tony.”

It’s no surprise that he doesn’t say those three words back—it wouldn’t feel very genuine, saying them so soon, when the two of them have barely started to build the foundations of their relationship—but when James looks back at Tony, he can tell that the man is more than happy with how the conversation went.

“But…”

And that looks goes away, Tony’s features instantly clouding over with anxiety, with worry, with horrified uncertainty. “But what, buddy?”

Harley seems reluctant to talk, looks as though he’s regretting the fact that he didn’t stop at the simple thanks. It takes him a few minutes of parting his lips, sealing them shut, and having an internal battle with himself, before he speaks up again, sounding strained as he says, “I just—I think you should know, part of what, uh—part of why I ended up trying to hop a bus to Tennessee. It was… a little bit because of you. Or, uh—something you said, I guess.” Tony stiffens, eyes already shining with regret, without even knowing what it is he did.

Just ready, it looks like, to take criticism, to analyze it, to fix himself.

“When you asked me if I had a date,” Harley clarifies, wetting his lower lip. “And then you asked if I had a girlfriend. I—I didn’t like that question.”

Already, Tony is nodding. “It was a dick move,” he says. “It’s not my business whether you have a girlfriend or not, and I was pushing out boundaries in the name of trying to act like a dad, and in the process I went over the line. I’m—”

Harley scowls, shaking his head. “No, that’s—not the part that mattered. Or, it didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that word, the—uh. Girlfriend. I… I don’t want one of those, alright? I don’t—like girls like that. I’m—I’m gay. And I grew up in Tennessee, so it’s fine if you don’t accept that, God fuckin’ knows that no one else did, but—but Bee did, and I already was missing her so much, and, I don’t know, I just—I decided, after you asked that, that I wanted to find a way to get to her, no matter what it was or how I did it.”

“Oh,” Tony murmurs. James feels his heart ache in his chest, from both the steeled over fear on Harley’s features, and the pained heartbreak on Tony’s. “Oh, buddy. I should no better than to make assumptions like that, I shouldn’t have just assumed that you liked girls. And it doesn’t matter, you being gay. I stand by what I said. You’re my kid, Harley. I love you no matter what.”

Still, Harley doesn’t say it back, but when he looks up, James can practically see him starting to properly let down his guard and putting some trust in Tony’s words. He nods, barely there, barely visible, and says. “Okay. Okay.”

(An hour or so later, Harley heads to his room to take a shower, and Tony, still in the kitchen after deciding to help out with the essay outline, sits back in his chair and says, “I think I might be able to do this whole parent thing.”

“You’re getting there,” James says, tone light and teasing.

“Oh, thanks,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes. “Can’t deny the obvious, though—I wouldn’t be getting anywhere without you, James. Mr. Rhodes. Rhodes—Rhode—Rhodey!” He sits up, grinning. “Finally! Jesus, I’ve been trying to think of something for the last two weeks, now. What do you think?”

James tilts his head with a confused smile. “About what?”

Tony waves a hand at him. “Rhodey! Nickname, y’know? I like nicknames.”

For a moment, James isn’t sure if he likes it all that much, but—well… it’s got a ring to it, actually. It sounds kind of nice. And the only other nicknames he’s ever been given have been from his mom and his sister, and, while he loves them and would never imagine being bothered by them, it still…

It feels kind of good. Knowing that Tony wants to make a nickname for him.

“I like it,” James decides, and wonders how long it’ll take until it sticks.)

Halfway through October, James thinks to himself, Time is going by too fast.

“Hey, uh—” Harley pauses, and, though it’s not like it was, still looks a bit on the edge as he turns to address Tony, who looks ecstatic to be addressed by his kid at all. “I was wonderin’ if, um—if—if my friends could come over? There’s a science fair coming up, and we wanted to work on it together, and—”

Tony is already nodding enthusiastically. “Of course! You guys can come down to the lab with me, too, and I can help out, if you want me to.”

Harley falters, and—slowly, softly, smiles. “Okay. Uh… Thanks.”

As he turns back to his assignment, James meets Tony’s eyes over his shoulder, a matching grin on his face. You got this, he mouths to the man.

Tony flips him off, and when James snorts, Harley just turns to him with a scrunched up nose and a bewildered look. “Sorry,” James says. leaning forward to get a better look at the page. “So, you’re on the right track, but if you look—”

There’s a calendar on the table when James gets there, Tony looking down at it with a Sharpie in his hand and a pursed lipped frown on his face. James slows to a stop a few feet away from him, amused. “Don’t you have two AI’s to keep track of things for you? Why do you need that?”

Tony looks up at him, rolls his eyes, and responds, “Well, I was looking up some more tips on, like—like, helping a kid adjust to a new environment, and get comfortable, and all of that, right? I know Harley’s been here since January, so it’s kind of late to try and put it all in place, but since I’m finally pulling my head out of my ass, I figured it’s worth a shot, and it said to try and make their surroundings more familiar? And—I don’t know, I couldn’t think of a lot of ways to do that, but I figured he probably was used to having an actual calendar to write on, and, like, grocery lists, and shit, so I’m trying to put that kind of stuff around the penthouse and then in a few months I’ll see if he wants to keep them here or if he’d rather just use Jarvis, or… I don’t know. Is this stupid?”

James has to suppress a laugh at the sight in front of him—Tony Stark, tech genius billionaire, someone he never thought he would know but now, somehow, would call a friend—standing over a comically large calendar with his hands propped on his hips as he grimaces down at the month of October as if it personally offended him. He’s so focused on it, clearly not invested in a response to his question, that James doesn’t feel that bad about taking time to bring out his phone and snapping a quick photo (blackmail, maybe—or just to show the man later, when he isn’t stressing out over this, just to show him how hilarious it looked in the moment) before saying, “It’s not stupid.”

Gaze flickering back up with a bit of surprise, like he’s already forgotten that he’d asked, Tony nervously questions, “Are you sure? I feel stupid right now.”

“It’s sweet,” James assures him. “Y’know, it’s the thought that counts, right? So, even if it ends up being too late for any of this to do much, it still shows that you’re trying—but maybe it isn’t too late for it to be helpful, right? Either way, it’s a win-win, and it shows Harley you care. It’s good, Tony. It’s smart.”

Tony scans over his features for a moment, before puffing out a sigh and nodding, looking back down at the calendar with his grimace lessening, shoulders no longer as hunched or tense. “Alright,” he says. “Well, I’m a genius, so it makes sense that I can be smart sometimes. Now I just need to figure out what the hell to add to this damn this, and we’ll be good to go.”

This time, James can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, snickering as he steps forward and takes a look at what’s on the calendar so far. Tony’s crossed at the first part of October, leading all the way up to today, and has Halloween circled, only eight days away from now. “Have you put anything else down yet?”

“Not a damn thing,” Tony states. “I’ve never done this. Jarvis knows everything I need to know and tells me when I need to know it. Please help me.”

“Glad to be of help, Sir,” Jarvis says politely.

James snorts, shaking his head. “Okay, well, a good place to start is birthdays. Yours, Harley’s, anyone else in your life you want to remember the birthday of. Probably ask him when his sister’s is, too—that’d make him happy, I think.”

Slowly, Tony nods, murmuring, “Okay, okay, birthdays, um—” and starts to flip through the months quickly, a crease between the furrow of his brows.

As he’s flipping, the elevator doors slide open, and James looks back just in time to see Harley step through—and quickly stop, upon seeing the two of them, blinking in confusion at the scene before him. “What the hell…?”

“Your dad is putting up a calendar,” James informs him.

Harley blinks again, looks at James, and then at Tony. “For what?”

It’s a subtle little thing, but, judging by the way Tony looks up at James with slightly widened eyes, both of them caught it. Harley, that is, not hesitating or flinching away from Tony being called his dad. It’s not much, but it’s there.

“Since you didn’t grow up with AI’s,” Tony replies, once he shakes off the little bit of shock on his features and looks back at the calendar, writing something down in the month of May. “I thought it might be easier, having this.”

“O…kay…” Harley still seems to be confused, but also a little bit pleased, perhaps, as he approaches the table and peers down at the calendar.

Tony finishes jotting something down, then nods to himself. “Alright. My birthday in May, Harley’s and Pepper’s in April, Happy in July…” he trails off, then turns to Harley. “When’s your sisters birthday?”

Harley looks surprised to be asked this, but answers, “December 30^th.”

“A late Christmas, early New Years Eve baby,” Tony says, nodding as he flips back to December. “Very good, very good. Uh—Rhodey!” Tony turns to James, pointing his Sharpie at him. “Birthday, please. Adding it to the calendar.”

“Oh.” James isn’t sure why he wasn’t expecting to be included, but he steps forward and, suppressing a soft smile, replies, “September 3^rd.”

Instantly, Harley spins around, eyes bugging wide and face morphed into a look of horror and shock. “What?! We—I—We missed your birthday! We—”

James laughs, shaking his head. “It was before you started talking to me, it’s okay. I spent it with Peter and May, anyway—it was fun, I had a good time.”

“But still,” Harley stresses. “I probably acted like an asshole to you on your birthday ‘cause it was, like, the first week of school, and that’s—so not cool. We gotta, um—I dunno—” he turns to Tony, who looks, while not as distressed, just as upset by this revelation. “We gotta have, like, a dinner for him. And a movie, or something. I’m going to feel like shit if I don’t make up for this.”

“You and Peter being friends makes a lot of sense,” James muses. Tony tilts his head to the side, and James explains, “Guilty conscious the size of the moon.”

Harley points a finger at him sternly. “No. Shut up. What food do you like?”

“You just told me to shut up,” James says. “How do you expect me to answer?”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

Tony, apparently deciding that this is a moment he just has to participate in, dramatically states, “Oh, what a shame. Mr. Rhodes, I’m sorry to say that Harley no longer likes your company. We’ll need to find a new tutor to—”

Harley groans, buries his face in his hands, and then glares up at the ceiling. “Okay, Jarvis? I want pasta. Rhodey, you like pasta, right? Of course you do, because everyone does, so—Jarvis, please order pasta. We’re having pasta.”

Funnily enough, Harley doesn’t make it through the movie before falling asleep.

“He’s out,” Tony confirms, lightly poking at Harley’s shoulder with a soft little smile on his face. “I don’t think he’d be okay with me carrying him to bed, but I think I’ll wait a while before waking him up.” There’s a shimmering adoration on Tony’s features as he leans back in his seat, eyes still focused on Harley. “Do you think this is what it would have been like, if I got to raise him? Like, if… if I knew about him sooner, and was in his life, do you think we would have had movie nights, and little Harley would fall asleep and I’d take him to bed like a dad is supposed to? I mean, this…” he trails off, shakes his head. “This already is a lot, right now, but—but can you imagine? Like, five years old. What did he even look like back then? CPS didn’t give me any of his baby pictures.”

James isn’t sure if Tony is really looking for a response or if he’s just pondering out loud to himself. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth in an attempt to give himself a moment to think of a reply, just in case.

Turns out, it was the latter, however, as Tony then turns to look at James with a sigh and a grin, telling him, “I wish I knew about him sooner, and all of that, but, gotta admit, the timing of it all seemed to work out. Wouldn’t have hired you if it was any different, right? And not meeting you sounds illegal.”

“Oh, that’s flattering,” James snorts. “Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Glad you do,” Tony says. “I’m putting the extent of my emotional capabilities into trying to build a relationship with Harley, so this is all I’ve got to offer you right now. And, honestly, this is more than I used to be capable of. Just ask Pepper, or Happy. I don’t know how they recognize me now after knowing me for so long and seeing how much of a god damn mess I used to be.”

James quirks a brow. “Used to be?”

Tony glares at him. “Okay, not fair—I’m trying. And you’re helping!”

“I’m pulling shit out of my ass, man,” James tells him, laughing. “I mean, I’ve been a teacher for the past decade, and I know that I have experience with kids and all of that, but being a parent? I’m just making up advice as you ask for it.”

“Well,” Tony tells him, “I think it’s some pretty damn good advice. And I hope you enjoyed your month and a half late birthday dinner and a movie.”

It’s so odd, being here, and thinking of how he got here at all. James just chuckles some more and says, “Actually, it’s closer to two months late, I think,” just to see Tony roll his eyes, and then adds, “But I did. I still am. Thank you.”

The smile on Tony’s face is—well, the only word that comes to mind when James thinks it over, the only way that he can try to describe it is—stunning.

There’s weeks that go by in what feels like mere blinks—one moment, James is stepping out of the tower after his two month late birthday dinner and a movie, and the next moment, it’s Halloween, where Harley sprints out of his room with an excited shout upon getting a message from Ned, who has, apparently, gotten the go ahead from his moms to have his dog be Scooby so that the rest of them can be members of the Mystery Gang; when Tony curiously asks who’s Velma and who’s Daphne, Harley looks at him in borderline frustrated disgust and says, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever, “Ned and Peter,” and then elaborates no further before waving goodbye and leaving with Happy to meet at Ned’s house. James looks at the closed doors with bewildered amusement, then turns back to Tony, who merely shrugs at him.

(“Have you met May yet?” James asks him. “Because she gets off work soon, and Peter can meet her here if you want to have some kind of movie night.”

“Ooh, I like that idea,” Tony says, brightening. “With Pepper. And wine.”

May and Tony are two polar opposites yet incredibly similar, while May and Pepper are kind to one another, steadily becoming friendlier and friendlier as they sip at their glasses of wine. By the time Happy brings Peter and Harley back, having dropped Michelle and Ned off on the way, May has changed out of her work scrubs and into some of Pepper’s pajamas.

Peter, with a lopsided brown wig and unevenly applied lipstick—which, it seems, answers Tony’s earlier question; he was Daphne—seems to understand the way they’re sitting a bit too close, and James watches as multiple emotions cross over his features—first confusion, then uncertainty, then grief, then curiosity, and then, finally, some kind of acceptance. “Alright,” he says to May, who bounds out of her seat to greet him with a hug. “So we’re both bi.”

Tony snorts so hard that wine comes out of his nose.)

November starts too soon and each day is so quick yet so wonderful—it isn’t like teaching, and how those weeks could blend into one another with ease, this is different, but James doesn’t mind the change, and the more time he spends at the tower, the more comfortable he feels there, and the more he sees Tony, and Harley, and it starts to just be normal, spending time with them.

Not just because of tutoring, because he isn’t much of a tutor anyway. He helps, of course, but Tony is ever-present now, and helps just as much, if not more, and those tutoring hours are more of a hang out while the kid hangs out with them while getting his homework done. It’s a bit ridiculous, really—James tries to tell Tony that he can find another job, since he doesn’t think he should still be getting paid for this, but Tony looks at him with a twisted up expression and says, “What, are you kidding me? You deserve a raise with how much you do.”

It’s the response he should have expected, so he doesn’t bother trying to change Tony’s mind, instead going on with the schedule they’ve established since the start of September. Since meeting May, Tony’s had her and Peter coming over to visit often, as well, something that Harley is clearly excited about, even more so on the evenings where their other friends are able to come over, as well.

Overall, it’s good. It’s great, even.

Until December comes.

“It was, uh… the fifteenth,” Tony murmurs, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, looking over at Harley with worry as the teen hunches over his assignment with his headphones in, music blasting. “I didn’t get a call until January second, but that’s because it took them a while to go through all of Maggie’s stuff and find the letter she had. She was planning to tell him when he turned sixteen, but she… the accident happened before she could, you know?” James solemnly nods his understanding, resting his weight on the fridge as he listens intently to each and every word. “But she had written this letter for him that she was going to give him, and CPS found it, and, since I had a rough past, y’know, Friday is programmed to immediately send a DNA sample for comparison when people call claiming to be pregnant with my kid or anything like that, ‘cause—well. It’s happened a lot, with my… reputation, so when they tried to get in contact with me initially, I didn’t even hear about it, because Friday interfered and sent over my DNA to get a paternity test done. Once those results came back and it was clear that this was legitimate, Friday got me in the loop, and…” Tony trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah. It shouldn’t have taken so long for me to get him out of the system, but he was in foster care for almost a month by the time I got him. But the accident was, uh—”

James grimaces. “December fifteenth,” he fills in. Slowly, Tony nods.

“I don’t know how to help him,” he whispers. “I just—don’t know, Rhodes.”

Helplessly, James shakes his head. “Honestly? I don’t know, either. Peter’s going through the same thing—it was the ninth that Ben died, and I… I’ve never lost someone like this, you know? I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent, and Pete’s lost three. I’m trying to think of ways to be here and to help, for both Peter and Harley, but I’m just as lost as you are right now.”

They lapse into momentary silence, the only noise in the room being the muffled music coming from Harley’s headphones across the room. Eventually, Tony speaks up, softly saying, “You know, I… I lost my parents, when I was seventeen. Not as young as them—as him, and my relationship with my parents wasn’t the best, but… I remember what it was like, and how awful it felt, and how much it sucked. Even with that, though, I feel clueless on what to do.”

“Well…” James trails off, thinking. “Think about how you felt, maybe. On the first year anniversary, after you lost them—what did you want from the people around you? What do you think they could have done to help you?”

Slowly, Tony shakes his head again. “I didn’t really… have anyone around me,” he says. “Uh—Jarvis, kind of. The man I named the AI after. But I sent him away, and I think he thought I needed the space, so he went. I think that’s what made it so shitty, though—I was alone, the whole time.”

“You’re not alone now,” James states—knows it isn’t really relevant to the topic, but feels like he needs to say it anyway, feels like it’s important to get out there and make clear. “You know that, right? That you’re not alone?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, eyes flickering from Harley to James, ends of his lips twitching, just barely, at the hints of a smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Satisfied, James nods. “Good. So, I guess out jobs for these kids are to make sure that they know it, too, and try to go from there. Sound like a plan?”

Still looking back at him, Tony’s smile grows. It feels like agreement enough.

Tones: What if he cries

Rhodey!: Is he crying?

Tones: no

Tones: But what if he does

Tones: because if he cries, I will definitely also cry

Rhodey!: Well, then you can cry with him. It’ll be a nice father/son bonding moment.

tony: I can’t tell if you’re being or not

Rhodey!: (:

Tones: I don’t like this.

Rhodey!: That’s unfortunate for you

Rhodey!: Hey, slightly unrelated note, but Peter just showed me the crying cat meme that Harley sent him, so maybe go check on your son.

Tones: Sorry, the WHAT that Harley sent him?

Tones: What does that even mean?

Rhodey!: Either something really cute or something really sad. Check on your kid

Tones: How do you know these things???

Rhodey!: did you forget that I was working in a high school last year?

Tones: Touche

Tones: Harley showed me a video of someone tipping a waitress a thousand dollars and said that’s why he sent the crying cat picture. Not sure what that means still, but now I’m taking him out to eat somewhere so that we can tip everyone working a lot of money, so that he’ll be happy, maybe.

Rhodey!: Aw, that’s sweet (:

Tones: You want pizza? We’re getting pizza if you want to meet us there

Tones: May and Peter are welcome to come with, obviously

Rhodey!: Peter’s about to go with May to visit Ben, so they’re busy

Rhodey!: Which pizza place?

Tones: Guess

Rhodey!: The weird one that Harley’s obsessed with?

Tones: Good guess!

Rhodey!: Be there in 20

Tones: Alright

Tones: Situation

Rhodey!: Oh, I love those. What’s up?

Tones: Winter Break starts in 2 days

Rhodey!: Correct. And?

Tones: And Harley’s sister gets here in 4 days

Rhodey!: Wonderful. What’s the problem?

Tones: I have no idea how to act around a twelve year old girl.

Tones: Is she twelve? I think she’s twelve.

Rhodey!: She might be twelve

Tones: Either way, she’s a middle schooler, or something, and I can barely function around my own son, how do I act around another kid?

Rhodey!: You do fine when Peter and Ned and Michelle are over

Tones: They don’t count, because they’re nerds, so I relate to them

Rhodey!: Well, that looks like an insult, but I know what you mean, so alright

Tones: Shut up

Tones: Help me

Rhodey!: How can I help you when you just told me to shut up?

Tones: You can’t use that against me just because you’ve used it against Harley

Rhodey!: I think I can, actually

Tones: I’m asking May for help instead

Rhodey!: How’s it going?

Tones: Awful. Horrible. It’s the worst.

Tones: Not bad, actually, but you’re gone, and I didn’t realize how used to having you around I am, so it sucks. Who do I roll my eyes at now?

Rhodey!: You’re very dramatic for a fully grown man, Tony

Tones: I’m very proud of it, too

Rhodey!: I’m just gone for Christmas. I’ll be back next Friday.

Rhodey!: Eight days. Not too bad.

Tones: I still don’t like it.

Tones: But I hope you’re having a good time at home

Tones: Not as much fun as you would have had here, but still

Rhodey!: You can be so annoying sometimes, you know that?

Rhodey!: You’ll be lucky if I decide to bring any of my Mom’s homemade peanut butter cookies back with me that I was going to let you try

Tones: …I do like peanut butter cookies

Rhodey!: Be nice to me, then, dumbass

baby parker: MR RHODES ARE U BACK YET

Aunt May: Peter, it’s Tuesday

baby parker: shh

baby parker: MR RHODES

baby parker: MR RHODES

baby parker: MR RHODES

Mr. Rhodes: Good morning, Pete

Mr. Rhodes: It’s fine, I wasn’t sleeping or anything

baby parker: oh good!

baby parker: are u back yet

Mr. Rhodes: I get back on Friday

baby parker: i don’t see how that answers my question

Keener Stark: peter misses u

mr rhodey: He’s called me twice every day

Keener Stark: oh

Keener Stark: i mean i know

Keener Stark: he just is still complaining about missing u

Keener Stark: so i thought i’d reach out

Keener Stark: to like

Keener Stark: let you know? i guess?

mr rhodey: I miss you, too, Harley

Keener Stark: what?????

Keener Stark: shit

Keener Stark: okay fine maybe i also miss u

Keener Stark: i have work to do over winter break and u aren’t here okay?

mr rhodey: Oh, so you miss my help as a tutor?

Keener Stark: yea

Keener Stark: obviously

mr rhodey: Even though you do almost all of your work by yourself and basically only have me double check your answers?

Keener Stark: shut up maybe i don’t miss u at all

mr rhodey: I’ll be back Friday, okay? I can’t wait to meet your sister

Keener Stark: she said she’s excited

Keener Stark: and maybe i do actually miss you

Keener Stark: or something

Rhodey!: You may not have raised him, but it’s so obvious that Harley is yours

Tones: What do you mean ?

Rhodey!: [texts-from-harley.jpeg]

Rhodey!: Unless he inherited this emotional constipation from his mother?

Tones: This is an insult and a compliment at the same time

Tones: I don’t like it, but thank you, I think

(“You’ve been on your phone a lot,” Mama Rhodes comments.

Rhodey—James—he can’t quite tell which he prefers by this point, really—just shrugs his shoulders and says, “I’m just responding to texts.”

Mama Rhodes quirks a brow at him. “You’re not hiding a special someone from us, are you?” James—Rhodey?—laughs at this, shaking his head.

“Peter?” he jokingly responds.

Surprisingly, Mama Rhodes waves a hand through the air and says, “Oh, no, I have his number, honey. We talk all the time. He’s already family.”

“When in the hell—”)

Returning to New York leads to a multitude of things.

He meets Beatrice Jane Keener—the relation between her and Harley is instantly recognizable, and it’s equal parts endearing and saddening, the way that the siblings dynamic isn’t very much like a brother and sister, more brotherly caretaker, borderline parental. It makes it so much more clear why Harley was willing to take a bus to Tennessee to get to her, now that Rhodey sees how obviously protective he is over her. “Itty Bitty Bee,” he calls her, grin all snarky and teasing as he watches Bea roll her eyes, exasperated by a nickname that has some kind of history hidden behind it. Tells stories about when she was younger like a parent sharing tales from raising their children.

Judging by the ever present bittersweet aura clouding the air, Rhodey isn’t the only one who’s noticed, though not a word is uttered about this fact.

He’s invited to spend New Years Eve with the Parker’s—and then invited by Tony, who invites May, because Harley wants to have his friends over, and it becomes a bit of a group get together. December 31^st finds him in the penthouse that he’s spent enough time in to consider as prominent a setting in  his life as his own apartment, as the Parker’s apartment, as the halls of Midtown Tech used to be when he still taught there. Spaced out around the special living room area, there’s Pepper, who has only gotten closer to May since Halloween night and is sitting pressed to the other woman’s side, twirling some of May’s hair around her fingers as they carry a conversation with Happy, who is clearly disgruntled by the blatant flirtatious body language happening right in front of him. Peter eyes them with that borderline uncertain yet still supportive type of half-smile that he’s been sporting since this development was put in place, still on the fence about the idea of May moving on, yet unable to deny the fact that he wants his aunt to be happier—and, also, it’s Pepper Frickin’ Potts, as Peter so eloquently put it hen ranting to Rhodey about it over the phone—but, for the most part, he doesn’t focus on his aunt, and is instead circled up on the carpet with Ned, Michelle, and Harley, the four of them playing a particularly vicious game of Sorry, if the continuous shouting and vague threatening is any indication. Bea is sitting by Harley and occasionally showing the older kids random videos on her phone, apparently not in the mood to play, but still there.

Rhodey is sitting at the smaller sofa, a glass of sparkling cider in his hand and the duffel bag he brought with him pressing against his ankle on the floor. Tony is bouncing around the room, going from person to person, buzzing with an energy that’s almost contagious enough to inspire Rhodey into joining him, but before he can get to his feet, Tony seems to dwindle out just enough to take a seat—falls onto the sofa cushion next to Rhodey with a huffed out sigh and a big smile on his face. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing at the bag.

“Gifts,” Rhodey tells him, head tilting to the side, just a bit, as he offers Tony a smile and takes a sip of his cider. “Since I wasn’t here to give them on Christmas, I brought ‘em all with me tonight.”

“You brought Christmas presents and haven’t said anything about them?” Tony exclaims—a bit too loud, or maybe just as loud as he intended, drawing the rooms attention. Ned, Michelle, and Bea don’t look particularly invested—they’re smart kids, and Rhodey brought some general gifts for them that he bought on the way over once knowing they’d be here, but the actual presents he wanted to give out are for the people he knows a bit better, and those three seem aware of that right away, the Sorry game coming to a pause as they start their own quiet conversation while Harley and Peter come closer, intrigued.

May quirks a brow at him, smiling. “Presents, Rhodes? For us?”

Rhodey rolls his eyes at her. “You’re lucky I like you, Parker,” he tells her, already reaching forward the grab the bag and carefully pull it into his lap. “But, yes, there’s something for you in here. Do you wanna go first, then?”

Clapping his hands together, Peter declares, “Yes, please! Parker’s first!”

“Selfish,” Harley grumbles, though the ends of his lips are pulled up at the ends, and he practically giggles when Peter shoves his shoulder and rolls his eyes.

“You’ll be next,” Rhodey tells him decisively, before turning back to May and Peter, who are both peering at him curiously, clearly unsure of what to expect. He unzips his back and reaches in, telling them, “This is for both of you, since it’s a bit—well. You’ll understand when you see what it is, just… sit together.” At that, Peter scrambles to his feet, then shimmies in between May and the arm rest, where there definitely isn’t enough room for him, but they make it work, laughing softly as they do, until they settle comfortably and look back to Rhodey to show that they’re ready. Resisting the urge to grin too hard, he pulls out a small, simple rectangular box—not very large, looking, at first glance, like it’s maybe meant to hold a watch of some sort.

He hands it to Peter, then folds his hands in his lap and waits as May and Peter, always on the same wave length, share a look before they look down at the box and May reaches for it, carefully grabbing the lid and lifting it.

It takes a few seconds for them to process, but soon enough—

“No,” May says, voice thick as she whips her head up to look at Rhodey, a war of emotions flashing across her features. “Absolutely not, James.”

Peter is shaking, not blinking as he continue to peer down at the contents of the box—at the various bills, adding up to, Rhodey knows, a fair amount of money, likely more than Peter’s ever even seen in person before. “This is too much, Mr. Rhodes,” Peter croaks. “This is—I—I don’t know what—”

Before they can continue to object—which May looks more than ready to do, her pride and her stubbornness both rearing their heads—Rhodey speaks up to tell them, “I’m not doing this out of pity, or to treat you like a charity case, or anything like that. You guys are fine, and I know you don’t need my help to make it by—but I’ve been getting more than I need, with how much this tutoring thing pays me, and you don’t need my help, no, but I don’t need what’s in that box, and if I give it to you, then maybe—” he falters, looks between them, and takes a deep breath. “Maybe you can take a week off, May,” he goes on. “Or just work less hours, or whatever you want. Maybe you can have a bit of a break, and your schedules can line up enough to spend more time together.”

“I…” May trails off, clearly struggling to process what’s being presented to her, while Peter slowly raises his gaze, from the box, the bills, to Rhodey’s face. His eyes are a little bit watery, and it’s clear that he’s thinking of all the times he’s admitted to feeling lonely, to wanting to see May more than he does. There’s shock written across his features—but there’s love, and there’s gratitude, too.

“Take it,” Rhodey murmurs, talking, now, almost entirely to May. “Please. I know you don’t need it, but you could still use it for something good.”

For a moment, May continues to stare at him, debating a response, before she slowly nods, reluctant yet grateful all the same. “Thank you, James.”

“Of course,” he says. “Of course, May.”

It’s not much of a response on either of their parts, but they both seem to understand all the same, and nothing else is needed for them to move on.

Turning to Harley, Rhodey reaches into his duffle bag once more, pulling out yet another wrapped, rectangular type of shape—though this one is much larger, clearly not just a box, a bit heavy but not overly so—and passes it over. Harley, clearly eager to be getting a gift in the first place, doesn’t hesitate to unwrap it, careful yet quick as he rips the paper off and sets it to the side.

Much like before, there’s a pause before Harley seems to realize what it is he’s holding, but when he does, his eyes go wide, and he stares down at the suitcase style record player with something akin to awe in his gaze.

(“I miss having one of those,” Harley had told him, one day, back before break, when he was beginning to dip into the gloominess of the anniversary of his mother’s death. He was showing Rhodey a video of his sister showing off her new vinyl on a well loved record player that she had set up in her room. Harley paused the video and looked at the record player with barely masked grief. “It was our Ma’s,” he explained vaguely. “Bee wanted to keep it, so I didn’t bring it with me, but—Ma worked a lot, y’know? Trying to cover the bills, all of that, but whenever she was in a good mood and we were all home, even if it was the middle of the night, she’d wake us up and we’d put a record on and spend time together. Kinda became our thing. I just… I dunno. Miss it, I guess.”

Rhodey hadn’t said anything then, but he bought a record player on his way home that very afternoon, wrapped it, and waited until it was time.)

“Oh,” Harley murmurs, once he’s found his voice—runs a shaky hand over the case, around to the front, and pops it open to get a look inside. A Visa gift card falls out when he does so, and he blinks at it, slow and sluggish. “What?”

“That,” Rhodey tells him, “is for you to go pick out a few records.”

Harley looks at the gift card for a long moment, too. “Oh,” he repeats, even softer this time. “Wow. I, um… thank you, Rhodey. This is…” He shakes his head, a smile starting to form, a bit wobbly but still genuine. “Thank you.”

When Rhodey looks away, figuring Harley may want a moment to take in his gift, he turns to Tony—who is watching his son with a pained softness in his gaze, only glancing away when Rhodey pointedly clears his throat to draw his attention. He looks confused, for a moment—and then, utterly shocked, as Rhodey picks up the duffel bag and places it in Tony’s lap, instead.

“Your present,” Rhodey explains in response to Tony’s bewildered look. This is, apparently, not all that helpful, as Tony only blinks at him once in clueless surprise, causing Rhodey to roll his eyes and tell him, “I got you something too, Tones. Well, a few things—following a theme, I guess. Just look, dumbass.”

Though it still hasn’t seemed to fully compute in Tony’s head, the meaning behind Rhodey’s words, he does turn his attention to the bag now resting in his lap, gazing down at in with uncertain curiosity. He falters momentarily, before puffing out a breath and reaching a hand inside, brows furrowing as he pulls out a rectangular object wrapped with an excess amount of tissue paper. Eyes flickering to Rhodey, he quirks a brow, waiting until he’s gotten a slight nod in response before cautiously peeling the layer of tissue paper away, until…

A framed photo emerges, one that Rhodey had been lucky enough to capture during one of the rare moments where Harley and Tony have looked like the father and son that they’re working towards being—in the midst of a tutoring session that wasn’t much of a tutoring session, as they’ve started to become recently, when Rhodey had been offering an idea for an assignment and Tony had murmured some snarky reply that Rhodey can’t even remember now, about a month later, but it had caught Harley by surprise and made the boy snort, the apple juice he was drinking coming out of his nose. Tony had been so obviously delighted to have gotten such a positive reaction from his kid, while Harley had continued to cackle for the next five minutes, and, while the two were distracted, Rhodey had taken out his phone and snapped the very picture that Tony is now cradling preciously in his hands. He stares down at it, silent, and Rhodey knows full well that the rest of the room has moved on, that Peter and Harley are rejoining their friends, all ogling over Harley’s new record player, while May is starting to verbalize some ideas she has for how to use the money gifted to her and Peter to a quiet (but attentive) Happy and an obviously fond eyed Pepper, responding with their input every now and then. He knows this, and he knows that this means there’s a bubble, of sorts, wrapping around them, giving him the ability to remain soft spoken as he murmurs, “There’s more.”

Tony blinks owlishly at the photo once more, before peering over at Rhodey in disbelief—as if the concept of having pictures like this never crossed his mind, something that Rhodey has plenty of reasons to be inclined to believe. “More?”

“In the bag,” Rhodey tells him. “Keep looking.”

The rest of the photos aren’t framed just yet, mostly because he didn’t have the time to find enough for them all, but also because a majority of the other photos are ones he managed to convince Jarvis into emailing him in secret, taken from high perspectives, zoomed in to try and make them seem more personal, and none of the picture are bad, of course—each one is another example of the budding relationships within this very room, the friendships with the kids, with May and Tony, with Rhodey coming over, has snippets of moments throughout the past few months, capturing random smiles and bursts of laughter. Some photos are of just Harley and Tony, some with Rhodey in them, some without. There’s pictures from Halloween night, and movie nights, and dinners, moments that have built up into this collection of memories, clipped together in safe stacks freshly printed onto picture paper, ready to be sorted through.

Tony flips through the pictures silently, features slack. Rhodey patiently waits, but finds that it’s harder to be patient now than it usually would be—finds that he wants to know Tony’s reaction now, wants to know if his gift is as good as he had hoped, or if he missed the mark entirely. Becomes hyper aware of their surroundings, of the ridiculously large Christmas tree that’s still placed in the corner of the room, the flashy lights and streamers and tinsel strung up around the room in excessive amounts—sees the glimmer of light reflecting off of the curve of cheat metallic paper party hats that have HAPPY NEW YEAR written across them in blocky black letters, each of them responsible for their own expensive looking champagne glass filled to the brim with the same sparkling cider that Rhodey only just now remembers he still has in his hand—takes a sip, just to give himself something to do, while he waits, and waits, and waits some more, for what could be seconds, or hours, or years, he can’t be quite sure.

“Shit,” Tony rasps what may be millennia later, and Rhodey watches the way he harshly blinks, clears his throat, and blinks again. “My gift looks stupid now.”

Rhodey snorts, not expecting that as a response. “No, it doesn’t,” he assures, though there’s a light laugh in his tone that he hopes doesn’t make him sound ingenuine. He means what he says—Tony may have just gotten him a combo of a suit and various little collectors items, but he has the feeling he’s only used to getting gifts for Pepper and Happy, and, even then, he probably hasn't done so enough to have a clue how to shop for anyone else. But Rhodey could tell, despite the odd conglomeration of a present he received, that Tony had tried to put a lot of thought into it, and that’s the part that Rhodey really adores about it. “I love your gift.”

“But it’s not—” Tony weakly gestures down to the pictures he’s clutching onto. “It’s not this, alright? I never—I didn’t grow up with pictures around the house, or anything like that. It didn’t even occur to me, the fact that I could be getting pictures put up this whole time, and now I have… how did you even get all of these? I mean—Jarvis, I’m guessing, but still, how did you—?”

“I asked,” Rhodey cuts in, shrugging. “It wasn’t deemed a threat to anyone’s privacy or safety, so he agreed to send me a bunch of screenshots from security footage that he thought suited my idea. Took a while to narrow down which ones were the best, and get them printed, but it wasn’t all that hard.”

Tony shakes his head, an incredibly, airy laugh pushing past his lips as he looks over at Rhodey in stunned disbelief. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Rhodey assures him—goes all soft, without really being aware of it, soft in his tone, in his features, in every aspect of himself, as he meets Tony’s eyes and holds his gaze, feeling, oddly, like he can’t look away. “Just make this place a home for your family.”

(He doesn’t know this—because, really, how could he?—but in this moment, while staring back at him, Tony feels his heart thud heavily in his chest as a faint part of himself thinks, Maybe that includes you, too.)

Their routine falls back into place as soon as school picks up again, as easy to remember as breathing—and Rhodey sees it, every day that he’s back at the tower, sees the way that Harley and Tony have developed. It isn’t perfect, no, and it isn’t even properly parental, perhaps, but it’s incredible, the progress that’s been made. Even during the first few days back at school, when Harley had been grumbly and gloomy due to having to say a temporary goodbye to his sister, he had cracked a few smiles at the random things that Tony had to say.

It’s beyond evident now, as well, because, for the first time in a long, long time, Tony isn’t here during the tutoring hours—isn’t even in the building, or in the city. “I have a stupid meeting,” he had told Rhodey yesterday, sounding as disgruntled as someone being asked to do the dishes. “It’s in D.C., too!”

Apparently, Tony had fought tooth and nail against it, but he’s been avoiding any and all meetings out of the city ever since Harley moved in, and even Pepper didn’t have much to offer him other than a sympathetic smile and the promise that he’d only be gone for one night. Rhodey isn’t sure the kind of reaction he was expecting to see from Harley to all of this, but he’s surprised when Harley slumps out of the elevator with downcast eyes and a sigh.

“Long day?” Rhodey asks him curiously, pushing a plated grilled cheese sandwich over as Harley heavily falls into his usual seat.

Shrugging half heartedly, Harley dismissively answers, “Yeah, I guess.”

He doesn’t reach for the grilled cheese, or seem to notice that it’s there at all. Rhodey watches him for a moment, brows furrowed, and decides to take a simple, blunt sort of approach, asking, “Do you miss him?”

Instantly, Harley’s eyes snap up, looking at Rhodey in shock and forced incredulousness. “What? Why would I—I’m used to—I’m fine, Rhodey.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t fine,” Rhodey is quick to assure, thinking over his words quickly before he says them, wanting to be cautious in how he phrases his thoughts in order to prevent pushing too hard or pressing buttons that really do not need to be pushed. “But, even if you were used to being left alone, or being by yourself, or whatever you were planning to say there, the fact is that Tony’s been with you for a year now. Maybe not in the room, but he was always in the city, usually in the building—not all that far away, and you’re probably used to him not being far away. Not like he is right now.”

For a long moment, Harley stares at him—steadily, his stare turning into a glare, first angrily, then defensively as he hunches his shoulders and looks away, face turning a bit red and jaw clenching as he silently grinds his teeth.

“It’s okay if you miss him,” Rhodey offers, a lot more gentle in both his tone and the words themselves as he says them. “It’s okay to admit you care.”

Harley rolls his eyes, but Rhodey doesn’t miss the fact that he’s blinking rapidly, as well, sucking in a sharp breath as he casts his glare at the wall and grumbles, “I don’t care, but I don’t—not care, either, okay? It’s not a big deal, and I shouldn’t—I—I don’t miss him. There’s no reason to miss him.”

Rhodey says, “He’s your dad. There’s plenty of reasons to miss him.”

It looks like Harley flinches at Rhodey’s words, but he doesn’t get the chance to properly respond before Rhodey’s phone starts to ring—blasting, at an inappropriate volume, the Secret Tunnel song from Avatar, which would make him jump if he wasn’t as used to the sound randomly interrupting conversations as he is now. Instead, he just sighs, offers Harley an apologetic smile for having to cut off his chance to reply as he grabs his phone, barely glancing as the picture of Peter flashing across his screen before he answers with, “What’s up?”

Usually, when Peter calls after school, it’s for one of three reasons.

One, he’s hungry, and they’re still low on food at the Parker’s apartment, and he won’t admit that this is why he’s asking, he’ll just claim to be craving a specific kind of snack that he knows is stocked up in Rhodey’s kitchen and ask if it’s okay to use his spare key to let himself in and get some food while he works on homework. These calls only ever happen while May is working.

Two, he’s bored, and feels more comfortable asking Rhodey if Harley’s too busy with homework first before actually texting Harley about coming over to hang out or study. These calls happen randomly, sometimes when Peter is home alone, sometimes when he isn’t—and when he isn’t, May always comes over with him, taking any opportunity to spend time with Pepper that she can get.

Three, he’s lonely, and doesn’t want to admit to it. These calls come exclusively when May has gone days working nearly nonstop, when Peter goes far longer than wanted or intended without seeing even a glimpse of his aunt, and all the poor kid wants is to sit next to an adult in his life and not be by himself.

Rhodey always cuts tutoring hours short when he gets those calls in order to go over to the Parker’s apartment and spend time with Peter until May gets home.

When he answers the call, it turns out to be none of the above.

“M-Mr. Rhodes?”

Essentially, this is what happened.

May Parker is a stubborn woman, and, despite Rhodey gifting the Parker’s a decent sum of money in the hopes of preventing this, tends to overwork herself in order to make ends meet. As in, she’ll work a double shift, overnight, and drive home in the morning rush while everyone else is trying to get to their own jobs on time. As in, she’ll get the bare minimum of rest, and often won’t even get that, and often jokes about not knowing how she makes it home in one piece with how exhausted she is by the time she’s on her way home.

As in, self care was thrown out the window, sleep was put on the back burner, and a thirteen hour shift is far longer than she should have been working.

“The car is t-totaled,” Peter stammers to him over the phone, hiccups breaking up his words as he tries to stop himself from crying. “They don’t—won’t—I, um, I don’t know if—or how bad it is, or—they won’t tell me—”

It’s mid January, and the roads are icy, and an overworked nurse struggled to maintain full awareness behind the wheel while someone running late for their shift grew frustrated behind her. Tried to pass her, but hit the ice at a bad angle while trying to speed up, and from there—well. Peter doesn’t seem to know the details yet, and can’t say much more, but Rhodey can imagine just fine.

He’s at the elevator, ready to go, when Peter whispers, “I’m scared.”

“It’s okay,” Rhodey assures him. “May’s tough, you know that. She won’t let something like this be what takes her out.”

Usually, Peter would laugh at a joke like that, but he doesn’t, not right now. “What if it’s like Ben?” he asks, audibly petrified. “What if she… and it’s ‘cause she was working so much, and was so tired, and she was—she’s only been working so much for me, and—and now, she—”

“There’s a lot I could say right now,” Rhodey interrupts. “but that’s a conversation to have in person. I’m on my way, okay? I’ll be there.”

There’s a small lapse of silence, then a sniffle and a soft, “Okay.”

The second the call drops, Harley is there, a crease between his brows and hands a bit shaky. “I’m coming with you,” he states firmly.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Rhodey tries to say, but—

“You said the name of the hospital already,” Harley tells him. “While on the phone. I heard that, the room number, and everything. So, you can take me with you, and I can get there safely, or you can leave now and I’ll walk across the city to get there myself. Either way, it’s going to happen. It’s up to you how.”

That’s the Stark in you, Rhodey thinks with a sigh.

“Fine,” he reluctantly relents. “But I’m not taking you out of the tower without Tony knowing where you are and what’s happening. Jarvis, could you--?”

“Already taking care of it, Mr. Rhodes,” Jarvis assures him.

Though barely satisfied, Rhodey deems that good enough, gesturing for Harley to follow him as he steps into the elevator, anxiety making his stomach curl.

A foot and a half into the waiting room, Rhodey ends up with an armful of sobbing teenager, and he doesn’t hesitate to envelope Peter in his arms, having more than a good idea of how the poor boys thoughts are spiraling. Incoherent words attempt to filter through the choked off cries that spill past Peter’s lips, all jumbled up and slurred together, impossible to understand. Harley just stands a few feet away, frozen in place and watching with wide, alert eyes, clearly unsure of what to do, if he should do anything at all.

It’s a rough situation, Rhodey knows—and this is why, while he knows leaving Harley alone at the tower wouldn’t be ideal, he would have preferred that over this. Over Harley hovering there, panic written across his features, helpless to do anything other than listen as Rhodey attempts to calm Peter down—and Peter, though trying to take deep, even breaths, keeps cutting himself off with sobs, repeating things like, “I’m scared,” and, “I can’t go through this again.”

Again, being the key word. Again, being what really makes it hurt.

It takes what feels like hours, but, according to the clock, is really a mere twenty minutes, for Peter to gather himself—no longer hyperventilating as he tries to vent his anxieties and his fears, still softly crying but no longer wailing as the tears steadily fall. They’re all sitting, now, Peter leaning into Rhodey’s side with slumped shoulders and hands trembling where they rest in his lap, occasionally clenching up into fists and then relaxing once more. Harley sits on Peter’s other side, still silent, not interfering but making it clear that he’s present all the same.

“Sorry,” Peter croaks, once he’s no longer inconsolable. He glances over at Harley, and then looks down, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t… I—I mean, they said it wasn’t that bad, and that it’s a minor surgery, so it probably… like, there’s probably no reason for me to be freaking out, but—but—”

Rhodey shakes his head firmly. “You’ve lost a lot, Pete,” he murmurs. “May isn’t the only person you have left anymore, but she’s still your parent, and you’ve already lost three. Even if you logically know that she’s okay, it’s more than understandable for have such an emotional reaction, Don’t act like you’re being ridiculous or overreacting when we both know you aren’t.”

Peter shrugs half heartedly, staring down at his knees as he fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie. “I guess,” he mumbles. “But, I—I don’t know. I feel like I should be able to keep it together better than that, but after, um—after my parents, and—and B-Ben, I—I’m scared I’ll be the last Parker. If May…”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Rhodey cuts in, keeping his tone soft, but his words firm. “May isn’t going anywhere, not anytime soon, okay?”

Though he looks uncertain, Peter still nods, bringing up a shaky hand to wipe at the tears on his face, looking frustrated with himself for still crying. Rhodey leaves it there, knowing better than to try and keep pushing when Peter is still in distress. Harley, looking a bit pale, completely out of his element, and terrified beyond belief, reaches over a shaking hand and settles it over Peter’s silently.

Peter doesn’t look at either of them, but, slowly, his tension melts away.

By the time Tony gets there, having decided to rush back from D.C. the second that Jarvis alerted him, May is out of surgery and in a recovery room, and Peter is already asleep curled up in her bed with her, where she lay resting peacefully.

“I—tried to get here faster, but—” Tony attempts to tell both Rhodey and Harley, standing in the doorway and hunching over, a bit, making it clear that he likely sprinted up the stairs instead of taking an elevator. It takes him a moment to catch his breath, but he finally stands upright once more, hands on his hips, and says, “But there were some, uh—some delays. Pepper is already setting up a room in the penthouse for May to recover in. Which, what—what happened?”

“Car accident,” Rhodey responds quietly, not wanting to stir either of the Parker’s, both of them clearly needing their sleep. “She worked a double shift last night, and with the ice on the roads and people being reckless trying to get to work while she was already exhausted, it just… it was a recipe for disaster. But she got lucky, and she’s going to be okay. The worst of it was that her knee was broken pretty badly, so they had to rush her into surgery to prevent too much blood loss and make sure everything is aligned properly so that she can make a full recovery. It’s better, knowing that, but…”

But it could have been worse, is what he doesn’t want to say, but Tony knows it’s what he’s thinking, shares a strained look with him and offers a tense sort of smile, before stepping over to Harley, who’s sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and staring down at his knees, hands clasped together. After a moment of hesitation, Tony rests a hand on Harley’s shoulder and asks, “How are you feeling, bud? This couldn’t have been fun for you, huh?”

Harley clenches his jaw, stays silent for a long, drawn out moment, and then… then, he pushes himself to his feet suddenly, and wraps his arms around Tony.

“Oh,” Tony breathes, eyes wide as he turns his head to look towards Rhodey in panicked disbelief—though he doesn’t hesitate to hug Harley back, holds him closely protectively, looking as if one of his biggest dreams has come true. Even as worry clouds the edges of his features, the joy of being able to hug his son is still obvious, brightening Tony’s entire being. “Not that I’m not more than happy to hug you, Harley, but—are you okay? Where did this come from?”

“I—” Harley stops, voice cracking, and he holds onto Tony even tighter, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of Tony’s shirt—suit jacket gone, but other dressed as if he was about to go to a meeting when he left. “I just, uh… I just—I don’t know. This is kind of—kind of, really, actually, really similar to how my mom died, and—and Peter kept mentioning how he can’t lose May, ‘cause he’s already, y’know—he’s lost his parents, and Ben, and—”

Tony brings a hand up, cups the back of Harley’s head protectively, like one would do while holding their infant to their chest. Harley swallows roughly, tucks his head under Tony’s chin and lets out a slow, shaky breath.

“And I still—I lost my mom, but I still have a parent,” he goes on quietly. “It’s weird, and I’m not—I don’t—I, um… and I… I don’t know, but—but I—but I still have you. And I think I should start being more grateful for that.”

“Oh, buddy,” Tony murmurs, pressing his cheek to the crown of Harley’s hand and letting his eyes fall shut. Rhodey knows it isn’t his moment—though, he’s already been there for so many of these, he may as well consider himself a staple when it comes to the duo—but he’s sure to take a picture of them, anyway. If May were awake, she’d be doing the exact same think.

The circumstances aren’t ideal, but they would have reached this point eventually, no matter what. Rhodey’s just proud to see how far they’ve come.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for this.”

The words are soft spoken, carried gently through the air in the quiet room. Harley has fallen asleep, now, with his head leaning against Tony’s shoulder, looking a bit embarrassed while he was awake but remaining just as clingy despite the grumbling the came with it. Tony keeps a protective arm around Harley’s shoulders to keep him from falling over, though he’s peering across the room, eyes shining, meeting gazes with Rhodey—who, upon hearing those words, tilts his head and asks, “What do you mean?”

Tony’s smile is a little bit lopsided when he replies, “For helping me. I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious that I had no clue what I was doing, and I like to think I would have figured it out on my own, but I’m honestly not sure if that’s true. But I do know that I wouldn’t be like this right now if it weren’t for you. And I like being like this. A decent dad, you know? Almost a good one. It’s nice.”

“You are a good dad,” Rhodey tells him, shaking his head, just a bit. “You’re almost a great one. Maybe you already are. And it wasn’t me that did the work, Tony—that was all you. All I did was give you some words that you interpreted the way a good parent would, and you’ve done an amazing job at it, too.”

With a soft huff of laughter, Tony says, “You’re too modest, Mr. Rhodes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re his dad just as much as I am.”

Perhaps it is merely a joke. Perhaps it is not. Rhodey doesn’t ask for clarification, or feel as though he needs it—but he does stay quiet instead of offering a response, only quirking his brows up, just slightly, towards Tony.

“Sorry,” he eventually says, averting his eyes, looking… bashful. Huh.

Rhodey smiles—soft, warm, content—and tells him, “It’s okay.”

It takes a few days before May is discharged from the hospital—and, despite her initial complaints, she doesn’t do much more than let out an exasperated sigh and fondly shake her when Peter guides her wheelchair to the car that Pepper and Happy are standing besides. “This isn’t necessary,” she says.

“It’s happening anyway,” Pepper tells her cheerily. Rhodey, walking behind Peter and May, lets out a laugh and spends the entire drive back to the tower sitting in the passenger seat and subtly looking into the backseat every few minutes, barely managing to suppress the urge to snort when he sees the look of fond disgust on Peter’s features while glancing between the view passing by and the not so secret way that Pepper keeps a well manicured hand rested casually on May’s uninjured knee, the two women softly talking amongst themselves.

The plan is for May to stay at the tower while she heals—and, with May being there, that means Peter will be staying with her at the tower, as well. Tony assures her that she doesn’t need to worry about asking for sick leave or anything to cover their financials while she’s away from work, before nonchalantly adding that, “Your boss might have had a change of heart, not at all inspired or suggested by me, and gave you a promotion. With better benefits. And he even said something about a late Christmas bonus. Just so you know.”

(May laughs while she blinks away grateful tears, and Peter—Peter just walks over to Tony and hugs him, hands shaking, silently thankful.)

For the entire afternoon, they—being Tony, Harley, Peter, Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey himself—work on setting up the penthouse and stocking it up with extra snacks, drinks, stacking more blankets in the closets, putting together two of the guest rooms and loading up their en suite bathrooms with enough shower stuff to last the Parker’s up to two months, just in case. It’s a ridiculous time, and May continues to gripe at them from the background about how she doesn’t need all of this, and Peter and Harley end up dipping out when Ned and Michelle show up to hang out with them, but it’s a shockingly fun afternoon.

“And now,” Tony says, once bidding a goodnight to Happy and knowingly rolling his eyes at Pepper claiming the guest room next to May’s (‘You have your own floor,’ Tony had stressed, but she just shrugged, smiled, and walked down the hall). “Now, I get to make sure the four teenagers sleeping in the living room didn’t make a huge mess. And I’m not even upset about it.”

“You sound like a proper dad,” Rhodey muses, grin a bit wide and lopsided.

Tony grins back at him. “I do, don’t I?”

He sounds proud of himself. Rhodey feels fairly proud of him too.

A simple fact of James Rhodes life is that he wasn’t born or raised in New York. The city, while a home to him now, is now where he grew up—and, while he’s never been an antisocial person, he has always been someone who likes to make a plan and stick with it, and if people don’t fit in his plan, so be it.

This, of course, is only meant on a broader scale—day to day life, especially as a teacher, doesn’t really allow for strict plan keeping. It’s usually a lot of improvising, and going with the flow, while attempting to stick to the lesson plans he would usually only manage to get printed out Sunday night or Monday morning. But, in the long term, he’s fairly goal oriented, and, with his family not in the city, he’s never cared too much about keeping relationships with the people around him. He was basically friends with his coworkers, but hardly saw them outside of work. He had college buddies, but he’s lost their numbers.

All of that is to say—when he became an honorary Parker (not his own words, of course, though he likes to remind himself of them with a sense of pride), it was a fairly big deal. Making connections with students is an integral part of being successful as a teacher—and becoming family, afterwards, is something that never happened to him before. So, it’s huge, to him, maintaining this familial bond he’s created with both May and Peter, putting all the effort he can into seeing them often, being there for them whenever he can. Tony and Harley, both unexpectedly yet entirely expected, have become more of these people. People he cares about, deeply and wholeheartedly—unconditionally.

So, with the Parker’s—for the time being—staying at the tower, Rhodey finds himself there even more than he already was. Peter gets dropped off and picked up from school with Harley, Happy driving them to and from the tower with rolled eyes and a horribly hidden smile. Rhodey, with nothing else to do during the stay, stays with May to hang out and help her if or when she needs it, though she’s a stubborn, resilient woman, and barely allows him assist her at all. Tony and Pepper cycle through aas the day goes on, stopping by in between meetings and doing paperwork at the kitchen table while May and Rhodey have lunch.

“We have another guest room,” Tony tells him, a few days into this odd schedule being put in place. “If you want to just stay, you’re welcome to.”

Rhodey says he doesn’t need it at first, but—as a full week passes, he can’t deny that it’d just be easier, staying there as well. He’s basically spending his entire day at the tower, with his tutoring hours added into the equation, though tutoring hours are mostly Rhodey making sure Harley and Peter actually focus enough to get their homework done, and then checking their answers to make it seem like he actually deserves to be getting paid for this. He stays with them for dinner, and usually drives home after the sun has already set. It’d save time, and gas money, if he just accepted the offer and spent his nights in a guest bed that’s a whole lot more comfortable than his own. He may be reluctant, but on Sunday morning, he brings a bag in his car and asks if the room is still up for grabs.

Tony beams at him and says, “For you, Rhodes? Abso-fuckin’-lutely it is.”

As it reaches February, something becomes a bit clear.

Maybe it’s because it happened so subtly, maybe it’s because Rhodey is at the tower on a daily basis, has been staying in one of the guest rooms most nights, and walks the halls of the penthouse multiple times per day. Maybe it’s one of those things that gradually changes and the change is hard to notice.

Rhodey can’t place what, exactly, it is, or why he doesn’t see it, but one morning, as he makes his way to the kitchen, something catches his eye.

Lining the walls, there’s a few picture frames, spaced out in place of a couple of paintings that had originally been hung up where they are. Rhodey slows to a stop at the first one, brows raising, and sees that it’s one of the pictures he had Jarvis send him and gave to Tony for Christmas—a still-frame from the security cameras on Halloween, from before Harley and Peter had gotten back. Pepper and May are lounged together on one sofa, May in the borrowed pajamas she got from Pepper, the two laughing loudly, while Rhodey and Tony, sitting on the other sofa, both rolled their eyes at them. The picture is a bit blurry and it isn’t the best, but it’s still up on display, for anyone to see.

The next one is from the day Tony had been obsessing over the calendar that’s currently hung up on the wall by the kitchen table. Harley is standing next to him, staring down at the calendar with furrowed brows, while Rhodey stands a few short steps away from both of them with an amused sort of grin on his face. The angle is a bit odd and it, again, isn’t the best picture, but it’s still here.

So is the next one—one that isn’t a security camera screenshot, and rather a selfie that, by the looks of it, Peter actually took, judging by the half of his face taking up the bottom left corner of the picture. Behind him, there’s May and Pepper, leaning in far too close to one another. Peter’s got a disgruntled look on his face, and Rhodey, suddenly, remembers an afternoon, back in November, when he’d walked into the room and found Peter sitting on the floor and whining loudly about how he accidentally sent a picture to Tony instead of Harley, and Rhodey has asked to see the picture but Peter only whined louder.

As Rhodey trails down the hall and into the living room, he begins to spot more and more pictures—some are from security footage, some are pictures that were taken when Rhodey either wasn’t around or wasn’t paying attention, each one another snapshot of another memory put up and proudly displayed.

Just make this a place a home for your family, Rhodey had said. Looking at the pictures posted on he walls, he can’t help but smile—not only because of the fact that Tony’s actually been putting pictures up in the first place, but because the photos being chosen aren’t just of father and son. They’re of friends, of Pepper and May and Happy and Peter and Ned and Michelle.

And Rhodey. James Rhodes. A shocking amount have him in them.

Family, he had said. Maybe he’s a part of that funny little word.

Every day, there’s another picture put up.

By the time Valentine’s day comes around, all the paintings that had originally been hanging on the walls, each one lovely but hopelessly unpersonal, being taken down to make more room. Rhodey hasn’t once seen Tony put any of the pictures up, but it’s instinct, perhaps, or some sort of intuition, that makes him so certain that there’s no one else who could be putting them up.

May is past the point of needing daily pain killers, only has to take them whenever her knee is particularly annoying. She’s also already into the rehabilitation process, and, according to the medical staff that Tony hired to help, she’ll likely be back to walking around normally within the next month and a half. It can take up to six months, May’s doctor said, but as little as three. Of course, May being May, it looks like three is the right guess to make.

“I can do this from home,” May says—and has been saying, ever since Tony invited her into the tower and did so much to help her through this.

Pepper, brushing some hair from out of May’s face, says, “Or you can do it here, where there’s more room, more people to help you out, and more people to keep Peter company and keep an eye on him while you’re healing.”

May rolls her eyes. “You’re horrible at pretending this isn’t you being selfish.”

“Oh, I’m definitely being selfish,” Pepper agrees, and Rhodey leaves the room then, because the look they’re sharing is not one for other people to see.

He makes his way to the kitchen, where he passes by Peter. “Have you seen May?” Peter asks distractedly, looking down at his phone and chewing absently on a stick of string cheese. “We said last year we’d do something in honor of Ben on Valentine’s day, but we haven’t made any plans. I just wanna ask…”

Rhodey turns and tries to say, “Pete, I don’t think you should—”

But Peter waves his hand, still walking towards the room that Rhodey just walked out of, dismissively saying, “Nah, I’m just gonna see if she’s available. We’ll probably just order some of his favorite food, like last year, but I still wanna double check just in case she had something else in mind, y’know?”

Although Rhodey wants to stop him, there isn’t enough time for him to say anything else before Peter pushes open the door, looks up, and—

“OH MY GOD!”

—promptly screams, slamming the door shut again. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, face white as a sheet, hands shaking as he spins around and quickly paces back into the kitchen. Rhodey is stuck between asking if he’s okay and laughing so hard he passes out—which, judging by the muffled laughter coming from that room, May and Pepper are currently leaning towards the latter.

Peter stops in front of Rhodey, and his pale features heat up, burning red with a queasy shade of green. “Nevermind,” he squeaks.

“Oh, buddy,” Rhodey says—but a laugh bubbles up with his words.

“I hate you,” Peter tells him, glaring. “You could have warned me!”

Laughing a little bit harder, Rhodey tells him, “I tried, and I would have stopped you, but then you already opened the door. Sorry, but—happy valentine’s day?”

Looking half a second away from either crying, puking, or laughing himself, Peter just turns away and stomps over to the elevator, jamming the button as if Jarvis didn’t start to bring the elevator up for him the second he approached. “I’m going to commit a felony,” he states matter-of-factly. “It’s your fault.”

“Have fun!” Rhodey calls, just as the doors slide open and Peter steps inside.

He barely gets a glimpse of a raised middle finger before the doors shut.

The second that Peter’s out of sight, Rhodey’s laughter bursts out fully, loud and belly-aching as he leans against the counter for support. Part of him knows he should properly check in with the kid soon—he’s been mostly supportive of the obvious relationship growing between May and Pepper, but he’s still only fifteen, and, with Ben and losing him and how they lost him, it’s not hard to guess that the poor kid is still having minor conflicting feelings about this.

But he’ll wait until Peter comes back up to the penthouse, because right now is probably not the best time to try to have that talk, and, really, how could Rhodey keep a straight face when the memory of what just happened is so fresh in his mind? He needs time to compose himself first.

“Jarvis,” he says through a wheeze. “Please send that footage to Tony.”

“Of course, Mr. Rhodes,” Jarvis responds, sounding as close to amused as an AI possibly can. Rhodey murmurs his thanks, and waits at the table knowingly.

There’s still the occasional burst of chuckles escaping his mouth when the elevator opens again, and Tony makes his way in, his eyes alight with amusement. “That did not happen,” he instantly says, scrambling over to Rhodey with a tablet in his hands, the security footage on the screen. “There is no god damn way that actually happened. It was staged. Had to be.”

Rhodey starts laughing all over again as the footage plays out in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Tony murmurs, mirth bright on his features.

Tony puts the video on loop, dissolving into laughter that blends in with Rhodey’s, the two of them unable to stop watching for what must be a minimum of ten minutes. It’s only when they’re finally sobering up, wiping away tears and catching their breath, that the audio from the clip cuts through, the tablet ringing out with Rhodey’s voice saying, happy valentine’s day?

And then it goes quiet.

In his head, Rhodey counts up the months—the end of August is when he interviewed for the tutoring job, and in this very room, as the table only a few feet from where they’re standing, Rhodey had been introduced to Tony and Harley. That’s almost… six months, right? Officially, by the end of February.

Nearly half a year. Incredible, really, how much has changed. For the better.

“I forgot what day it was,” Tony eventually says, breaking the silence with a light laugh that sounds a bit—nervous, maybe? Shrill, for sure. “Any plans?”

“Who would I have plans with?” Rhodey asks, chuckling.

Tony huffs—not a laugh, but maybe it is. “Just wondering.”

It’s not awkward, but it gets quiet again, for a moment. Tony turns the screen of his tablet off, silencing the video. Rhodey, feeling oddly unsure of what else to say, casually points out, “You’ve been putting pictures up.”

“Oh.” Tony sounds shocked, like he wasn’t expecting this to be brought up, or simply never considered the idea of someone noticing. “Yeah, I, uh—I think someone said to make this place a home, right? And, with an actual family, now, it’s not all that hard to find good pictures of everyone to put up.”

Family, Tony says. Good pictures of everyone. Family.

So Rhodey is a part of that, it seems.

“I like them,” he says softly. He wonders if the bit of overwhelmed fondness isn’t too obvious in the way he speaks, but he knows it must be shining in his eyes, as Tony only glances at him before looking away. “It looks good.”

Tony shrugs, smile a bit bashful. “They’re good pictures.”

Rhodey shakes his head. “Not just the pictures. All of this. You. It’s… good.”

“Me?” It’s basically silent, Tony practically mouthing the word as he looks back at Rhodey once more, eyes wide and shining brilliantly. Rhodey doesn’t respond, but he maintains that eye contact and thinks what he means might be a bit easy to read, written across his features, because Tony appears to melt, after just a moment, and his smile grows wider. “Oh. Uh… Thanks. You, too.”

How high school, Rhodey thinks.

It’s also kind of perfect. It makes him feel warm.

There are key moments, as the months go by.

Pepper officially asks May on a date—and, after the two of them have a private conversation with Peter, May agrees to go on it, and Peter, though still obviously grossed out by any reminder of what he had seen during what he now deems The Valentine’s Day Incident, is considerably more happy about it all.

On St. Patrick’s Day, the only person who doesn’t wear green is Tony, even Happy remembering to put on a green tie. As the day goes on, people reach over randomly to pick him in the arm, the side, and, as they’re walking into the penthouse for a lunch break, Pepper even reaches over and pinches him on the ass, then promptly acts as if she has no clue what Tony’s talking about.

(May laughs so hard she nearly falls out of her seat, and Rhodey, with a faux apologetic smile, pinches Tony five times total, just for the hell of it.)

When April comes around, there are two birthday celebrations—one for Harley, who gets an ice cream cake and a movie night on the eighth, as well as a promise from Tony that, with it being his sweet sixteenth, they’ll find him a good, average sort of car, nothing too pricey but nothing too cheap, and get him enrolled for driver’s ed and start practicing as soon as he’s got his permit. The second birthday is Pepper’s, on the tenth, which they celebrate twice. Once, with the kids, and once without. The latter, of course, including lots of wine.

School is going by with a breeze, Harley and Peter working together to get their work done more often than not. May is finally able to convince them that, since she only has a light weight store bought knee brace on and is back to being able to walk around on her own, only needing crutches as a back up in case of agitation or discomfort, her and Peter can move back to their apartment, but with her promotion at work, her hours are more steady, so she’s able to come by the tower often to visit. The penthouse starts to feel a lot like Monica’s apartment in Friends—the general hang out spot, whenever they’re free, and Rhodey almost always is, so he’s still almost always there.

His own apartment is neglected, really. Even with the Parker’s being out of the tower, Rhodey finds himself either at the tower or at their apartment, never at his own. He doesn’t bring this up, and tries to make sure he’s sleeping in his own room, not the guest room that’s been unofficially decided as his, at least twice a week, just to make it seem as though he isn’t paying rent for nothing.

And with every week that passes, more pictures are put up. A string of lights with photos and polaroid’s clipped to them are strung up in the living room. Frames line the bookshelf, the little tables, cabinets and shelves, until, in every direction, multiple memories are in view, captured and printed for all to see.

Rhodey can never pick a favorite. Each one makes him feel happy, just looking.

But April turns to May, and with that is Tony’s birthday, and, suddenly, Rhodey doesn’t find it all that hard to choose a favorite memory anymore.

“Are you sure you don’t need help? I can—”

Harley sends Rhodey a glare that’s so sharp, it’s honestly a surprise that those daggers don’t draw blood. It would be concerning if it wasn’t absolutely hilarious, and Rhodey has to hide a smile when Harley gripes, “No, I do not need help, James. I’m making this cake by myself if it’s the last thing I do.”

The cake, while it’ll definitely taste great, looks… questionable. As in, decoration wise, and structurally, it’s kind of lopsided, and rushed, but the fact that Harley insists on making it by himself is more than enough to ensure that Tony will love it when he sees it. Rhodey’s smile twitches just the slightest bit wider, and he nods, chuckling. “Alright, Harls. Just let me know if—”

“I won’t need help,” Harley cuts in firmly. “But thanks.”

Raising his hands in surrender, Rhodey turns away to focus on assessing the rest of the penthouse—balloons are scattered, some on the floor, some with helium up on the ceiling. There are streamers strung up all over the place, and a Happy Birthday banner, and even cheap cheesy party hats lining the kitchen table for people to put on as they arrive. A glittery red one is on Rhodey’s head.

It’s so simple and stupid and absolutely wonderful, all at the same time.

“Jarvis,” Rhodey says, satisfied that there’s nothing else left other than the cake. “How much longer until Tony’s out of his last meeting?”

“Thirty minutes, Mr. Rhodes,” Jarvis tells him. “And, if I may, it appears as though the Parker’s are struggling to wrap the last of the presents. I recommend bringing a few band-aid and spare tape. Quickly.”

Rhodey sighs, but there’s a laugh mixed in with it, too. “Alright. Thanks, Jar.”

It was Harley who brought it up—initiated conversation one day, when Tony had a meeting and missed out on their tutoring time, and Rhodey looked over in curiosity when Harley had been quiet for too long and found the kid staring over at the big calendar on the wall with a little frown on his face. “Tony,” he had said, after a few moments of silence. “His birthday is in two weeks.”

“It is,” Rhodey had responded—not wanting to assume where Harley was going with it, or wanting to steer the conversation any which way. Just seeing what would happen, what would be said next,

And Harley had then told him, “I kind of want to do something for him. Like, a… a party, I guess?”

From there, the two planned, talked to Pepper and May and Happy and Peter, invited Ned and Michelle because they come over so much that they’re essentially family as well, and now it’s the day. Pepper made sure that Tony had two meetings today—back to back, in order to keep him occupied for a solid three hours, while Rhodey, Harley, and Happy set up the decorations. May and Peter were put on present wrapping duty, but Rhodey should have known they’d end up needing help with Parker’s being prone to injuring themselves while doing the simplest of tasks. Pepper gets there a half hour before Tony’s last meeting is scheduled to end, while Ned and Michelle get there fifteen minutes in advance, but, by that point, all that’s left is double checking to make sure everything is in place and looks nice.

By the time the elevator doors slide open and Tony steps out, it’s perfect.

There’s a second or two, when Tony looks up, where it’s clear that he isn’t sure of what he sees. At first, he appears normal—that post-meeting annoyance still evident on his features, before it vanishes, quite quickly, behind a cloud of confusion, which melts a moment later into something akin to shock and awe.

“What the fu—”

“Surprise!” Harley and Peter shout at the top of their lungs—before immediately turning to everyone else in bewilderment, Peter blatantly betrayed, Harley throwing out his hands in frustration.

Happy frowns at them. “No one said anything about saying surprise when he walked in.”

Scoffing, Harley glares at him. “It’s a surprise party! It’s literally in the name!”

“Honey,” Pepper tells him, reaching out to lightly pat his cheek. “I think we’re ruining the moment.”

While the moment is amusing, Rhodey can’t really focus on it—gaze trained, almost entirely (or, if he’s being honest with himself, absolutely entirely) on Tony, who is looking around at all the decorations with a shine over his eyes, blinking harshly every few seconds as he roughly swallows. “Wow,” he croaks out, not all that loud—almost under his break, but Rhodey is paying close attention to his reaction and hears it with incredible clarity, a warmth blooming in his chest that spreads throughout all of his limbs, makes even the tips of his fingers tingle, the tiniest bit. “Wow. I… I don’t know—I don’t know what to say.”

Giving the guy something to go off of, Rhodey says, “Happy birthday, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes are torn away from the decorations then—settling, instead, on Rhodey, flickering over to Harley, and then falling to Rhodey once more. When he smiles, it’s wobbly, sure, but it’s full.

Pictures have become somewhat of a thing.

It’s not just the two of them—there’s a group chat, now, with every single one of them. Well, there are two of them, really; one is for actual talking, while the other is for sending any pictures that anyone takes while any gatherings are happening, or any time throughout the day, or even particularly well loved selfies, if someone feels like sending it—but, for Rhodey and Tony, pictures are a bit special.

Maybe it’s because Rhodey is the one who gifted Tony the first pictures he put up. Maybe it has nothing to do that and entirely to do with the fact that they both just love having pictures of important memories, or nonimportant ones, or any at all, just for the sake of having them. Whatever the reason is, it’s clear that, with their thing about pictures, it’s clear that everyone is expecting Rhodey to get Tony a present related to this, which is why everyone seems a bit surprised when Tony unwraps Rhodey’s present and pulls out a simplistic WORLD’S BEST DAD mug, instead.

“This feels like a Father’s Day kind of gift,” Tony muses. “To get from a kid.”

Rhodey casually tells him, “Put some hot water in it.”

At Tony’s curious look, he merely shrugs and waits.

The mug, of course, is the gift—because Rhodey feels like, while Tony is his closest companion, and makes him happy, simply just being around him, it’s impossible to deny that their entire bond started because Tony didn’t know how to be a dad yet and Rhodey happened to be here and happened to be able to help—but pictures, of course, are still a part of it. Because, when Tony trots back to the kitchen table with a steaming mug of hot water, it doesn’t take more than fifteen seconds for the heat activated collection of pictures to start to show. Pictures that specifically all feature Tony and Harley.

And Rhodey. Because most pictures of Tony and Harley have Rhodey in them, anyway, and since the present is from him, he thought it was fitting. (If he were completely honest with himself, he would admit that it makes him happy, satisfied, even, seeing himself with the two. Makes him feel at home.)

Tony isn’t able to blink away all of his tears when he sees what the mug really is. Harley, though there’s an embarrassed sort of flush to his features, nods his head once when he sees it, as if in agreement. Of course, that doesn’t help Tony’s case and makes the man blubber even more.

(If Rhodey were completely honest with himself, he would admit that he wants to reach out at the look that Tony gives him right then. To grab him hand, maybe. Maybe something more. Maybe not.)

“You know,” Rhodey comments off-handedly. “I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to be part of the clean up crew when it’s your birthday. Like, I think that’s illegal, Tones. You’re breaking the law.”

He’s wrist deep in soap suds, side eyeing Tony with the ends up of his lips turning up in the slightest of smiles while the man grabs a dish towel a shrugs. Despite his words, he doesn’t hesitate to hand Tony a plate, which he, in turn, doesn’t hesitate to start drying. “Well,” he replies. “I’ve never been one for following rules. Just look at my track record. I don’t know how I haven’t been arrested in the past.”

Rhodey raises a brow at him. “You haven’t?”

“Oh, have a little faith in me, Rhodes,” Tony gripes at him, rolling his eyes. His sleeves are rolled up and his hip is cocked out as he dries off the next plate Rhodey hands him. “I follow the law!”

“I have faith in your ability to not get caught,” Rhodey tells him.

Tony side eyes him. “You know what? I’ll take it. That means more to me, anyway.”

For a few minutes, there’s a quiet that settles over them—one that is comfortable, not heavy or harsh. It’s like a well run machine, the two of them, with Rhodey doing the hand washing and Tony drying and putting away with ease. Something about the whole thing is monotonous in a oddly pleasant sort of way. He could put it into better words, perhaps, but he’d rather just enjoy it for what it is while it lasts.

And it lasts, until Tony, eventually, speaks up. “Have you ever thought about having kids?” he asks. Then, after a pause: “Your own, I mean. Not students.”

In the living room, there’s a burst of laughter. The kids are cleaning up the decorations while May and Pepper pick up garbage and left out food. Rhodey doesn’t look up, or even so much as blink—though the question catches him off guard, he doesn’t let it show, instead thinks it over as he scrubs at the cake pan. “I’ve thought about it,” he answers after a moment, slow and precise.

“And…?”

“And,” Rhodey goes on, “I think it’s kind of clear that I’d love to have kids. I wouldn’t be a teacher if I didn’t love kids in the first place, and I know that I’m good with them, and I think—I hope, anyway—that I’d make a good dad.”

Another thoughtful pause. Rhodey hands over a cup that Tony readily accepts. “Well,” Tony says in a way that makes it hard not to chuckle at—in a way that sounds as though he’s trying far too hard to sound casual rather than intently interested in the response he gets. “What are you waiting for, then?”

The full answer? A lot of things. But a lot of those things are uncertainties that he knows he’s left up to fate to decide, and the main one is, “The right person.”

“Ah.” Tony has been drying the same cup this whole time. There’s not a drop of water on it left—but, then again, Rhodey’s been scrubbing at an ice cream bowl the whole time, too, and if Tony doesn’t plan to point it out, than neither will he. Common courtesy, or something like that. “What does that look like to you? The, uh—the right person, whoever—whoever that ends up being.”

See, here’s the thing.

James Rhodes is not an idiot. Matter of fact, he’s pretty damn smart—and, believe it or not, but he’s also fairly well in touch with his emotions and tends to have a decent understanding of how he’s feeling and why he’s feeling it. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that it took him longer than it probably should have to connect these particular dots. As in, there’s a reason, really, that he feels as though there’s a nice little space here for him—by Tony, and Harley. There’s a reason why he’s never felt out of place despite not actually having a spot here. There’s a reason why, with each passing month, then each passing week, and, eventually, every single passing day, Rhodey found himself becoming more and more comfortable, and cozy, and happy and warm, standing besides Tony.

It takes a few seconds, but Rhodey sets the bowl back in the soapy suds filling the sinks, takes in a long, slow breath, and somehow manages to steel his nerves in time to lift his gaze, eyes landing on a Tony who is not doing as good at hiding how nervous he is—though he’s trying to, and, usually, he does, judging by how well put together he is in press conferences and the occasional interview that Rhodey’s seen on TV. Now, however, he can’t seem to get a grip on his expression, the twitch of his brow and ends of his lips a betrayal to his own nerves. Rhodey partially wants to smile—and he does, just the slightest bit.

Tony, after another few moments, glances up, as well. Only to look back down, of course—but he looks, and Rhodey takes another breath, and it’s what it is.

“I think,” Rhodey starts, “the right kind of person—for me, obviously—would have to be…” He trails off, and considers, and then decides on, “Genuine, and loving, and—and passionate about the things they care about, you know? Someone who has flaws—because everyone does, but—but they wouldn’t be afraid to admit them, and work on them, and put in the effort to better themselves.” He doesn’t think he’s being too specific, but, at the same time, he feels as though there’s only one person he’s describing right now. “Someone,” he goes on, unknowingly going softer in tone, in his words, “who loves the people around them, and cares so much for the world, and all of the people in it. Someone who isn’t superficial or materialistic, even if they might seem like it at first.” Maybe he’s staring. He could be. He isn’t quiet sure. Tony is still drying the glass, eyes downcast. “Someone with sentiment,” Rhodey concludes. “Heart, you know? Enough to be willing to put the work in, ‘cause that’s what love really is, in the end. The start is all happenstance, but once you’re in it, it isn’t… love’s a choice, in the end. It’s commitment. I want someone who can do that, and who I can have fun with, even when things aren’t all that easy.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs faintly. He hasn’t looked up, but he finally gets the glass on the counter and sets the dish towel to the side. “Do you think… I mean, I don’t—I’m not, uh—I guess I’m just curious, if you—if you might, maybe, know someone already, or might have met somebody, that could… fit all that?”

It’s endearingly stupid, and idiotically heartwarming, and a million other combinations that properly express how odd and how wonderful of a moment this really is. Rhodey just smiles, wide and cheesy. “Yeah, I think I might.”

Finally, Tony properly looks up at him, their gazes meeting and holding, his eyes swimming with a swirling concoction of uncertainty and hope and various other emotions that are too mixed together to properly get a read on. “Oh,” he says, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer, as if he still isn’t aware of where this conversation is going. “What do you think you’ll do? If you think you know the right kind of someone, then what… I mean, do you have a plan?”

Rhodey shrugs. “I’ll try to see if it’s something I can make work, I guess.”

“Hm.” Tony picks up the dish towel once more, pushes aside the glass and grabs the bowl that Rhodey had been scrubbing at for a solid three or four minutes. Then, with a lilt of sheepish wariness, he says, “Well, if—if it’s me, then… I think we could do it. We could make it work. If you wanted to.”

Maybe it isn’t the best way to say it, to reveal those feelings, to bring it up and put it on the table—but it’s perfect, all the same. “I think we could, too.”

“Do, uh—” Tony is squinting down at the bowl as if he’s trying to read a script off of it, like he’s struggling to find what it is he wants to say and is hoping to find the answers scribbled across the ceramic. “Do you want to try, then?”

There are a million ways that Rhodey could answer that—but he doesn’t get the chance to use a single one of them, as, from the entrance to the kitchen, Harley makes his presence known with a loud, dramatic groan. “Oh my god,” he complains, glaring at them. “You guys sound so old and boring. Just go on a stupid date. Jesus, I hate this so much. Here’s a plate that you forgot to grab.”

A surprised laugh bubbles up from Rhodey’s chest, shattering the soft tension that had been brewing in the room. Tony looks at Harley for a moment, bewildered, before looking at Rhodey once more with a smile.

Rhodey, of course, is already smiling back.

And that, really, is all that needs to be said.

The video call freezes, for just a second, before fixing itself just in time for Peter to say, “I think it’s only, like—like, maybe ten percent old looking.”

“Oh, good.” Rhodey straightens out his tie. “My goal was fifteen or less.”

“Like Geico?” For some reason, Peter has his phone incredibly close to his face, forehead taking up a majority of the camera lens. The most expressive thing that Rhodey can make out is the furrow to his brows. “Like, for car insurance? Also, you need different shoes. It looks dumb with those shoes. Trust me.”

Rhodey laughs. “You’re fifteen.”

The camera pulls back far enough to show Peter’s scowl. “Look in the mirror for about thirty more seconds and tell me you think the shoes should stay.”

“I don’t know why I willingly deal with you,” Rhodey muses, but, because he’s quite an idiot and adores this dumb kid, he examines his suit in the mirror, counting down in his head as he takes it all in. With a sigh, he eventually says, “Okay, fine, I see your point. But I don’t like it. Birthday shoes, then?”

“Birthday shoes,” Peter decisively nods. “You have ten minutes.”

“Wonderful.” He toes off his shoes and pulls on the ones that Pepper got him as a late birthday present shortly after hearing about the movie night that he had with Tony and Harley. Looking in the mirror, he can’t help but roll his eyes, not willing to comment on how much nicer these ones look with his outfit, though the smug look on Peter’s face makes it obvious that he already knows. “I still don’t know what the plan is. Has Harley said anything about it?”

A twisted up frown tugs at Peter’s mouth. “First of all, I think it would be weird if he did. But, second of all, why would I say anything? Mr. Stark literally said he wanted it to be a surprise. Just go with it, dumb-dumb. You already know he’s into you, and if everything goes right, you’ll never worry about money again. Like, ever. You could buy an island. Oh my god, you should—”

The ridiculousness that he deals with because of this kid. “We’re going on a first date,” Rhodey cuts in as a simple reminder. “And I don’t need or island. Or want one, for that matter. Money has nothing to do with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” There’s a grumble to Peter’s words that’s equal parts sarcastic and aggravated. “My plan is to find an old gay man that’s almost on his death bed and convince him to marry me so that I can inherit his wealth.”

In the background, Rhodey can hear as May lets out a loud, clearly unprepared laugh, not expecting her nephew to say something like that. Peter grins with a sense of pride. Rhodey puffs out a sigh and pretends he isn’t smiling. “How do you plan on convincing some random old gay guy to marry you, Peter?”

Peter looks offended by the lack of faith, yet still goes on to explain, “Well, for one, it won’t be a random old gay guy—it’ll be a really rich one, that spent his whole life in the closet and married his female best friend who agreed to be his beard and who didn’t come out at all until after his wife died. Secondly, I don’t think that’s the kind of information you really want to hear. I’ll have my ways.”

“Your—?” Rhodey shakes his head. “Actually, you’re right. I don’t want to hear it. I have a feeling I’d regret asking. Any last critiques on my suit, Parker?”

He holds out his arms, takes a step back, and spins around to make sure that his camera is able to take in his full outfit—birthday shoes included. It feels a bit ridiculous, allowing a fifteen year old to analyze his outfit and give him pointers, but May is busy, Pepper is out of the state for meetings, Harley is helping Tony, and Happy resolutely refused when asked. But his life has been a bit ridiculous ever since losing his job at Midtown, anyway—and, odd as it may be, Rhodey wouldn’t wish for it to be any different. Even though Peter crinkles his nose at him, looking disgruntled, before smiling wide and saying, “Perfect!”

“That face didn’t look like someone who was looking at a perfect outfit.” Rhodey looks down at himself, frowning. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing!” There’s an urgency in Peter’s voice, like he’s genuinely distressed about Rhodey thinking otherwise. “It is perfect, Mr. Rhodes. It’s just… really fancy, you know? Do you think you need to be so fancy for this?”

It’s a fair point, really. This is Rhodey’s nicest suit, that he only busts out for the most special of occasions. He feels like this counts as one of those occasions, but, at the same time, he has a feeling that there’s another layer to it, another hidden uncertainty to Peter’s question. Because, while this is a special occasion, that doesn’t necessarily mean it has to be so… dressed up?

When it comes to Tony, Rhodey thinks fanciness is perfectly expected. But, for a first date with Tony, he thinks he might prefer a bit more… comfortable.

“Maybe,” Rhodey concedes.

He puts comfortable clothes into his backpack—and then puts another set, too. Something tells him he’ll need them, but not quite yet.

It turns out, he does need them, about an hour later.

“This steak costs sixty seven dollars,” Rhodey states, staring down at the menu of the restaurant that Tony picked out with a blank sort of incredulousness. There’s another main course that’s listed for nearly a full hundred bucks. He’s fairly certain it’s some kind of glorified chicken noodle soup.

Tony, of course, doesn’t really see the problem here. “I’m a billionaire,” he says. “I have—literally more money than I could possibly spend. And I try to spend it. I have made it a goal of mine to try and go broke for a day and regularly donate billions of dollars to different charities, and it didn’t work.”

Rhodey puffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, fair, but I think you’re missing the point here. This is a date, right?”

“Yeah?” Tony sounds unsure, like he’s afraid he’ll answer wrong. “I mean, yeah. Yes. It’s a date. Which is why I picked the nicest restaurant in New York. Nice restaurants are for dates and business deals.”

“And which one is this?”

Tony parts his mouth, and promptly splutters.

Not wanting to come across as harsh, or ungrateful, Rhodey offers the man a smile as he sets his menu aside. “This is a lovely restaurant, Tony,” he tells him softly. “But I’m not going on a date with your money, or your business, or your professional side. I’m going on a date with the single dad I’ve been friends with since September, and a place like this—” he gestures around them with a one of his hands, “—wearing suits like that—” he lowers his hand, now, to gestures between them, indicating not only his suit, but Tony’s, as well, “—isn’t the kind of first date that I would have pictured having with that single dad.”

A thoughtful expression crosses over Tony’s features.

“Plus,” Rhodey adds. “You’re rich, but I’m not. A place like this is kind of uncomfortable to me, especially with hundred dollar soup on the menu.”

“What’s wrong with hundred dollar soup?” Tony grumbles, but the ends of his lips twitch, and he looks at Rhodey with a small nod and something sheepish in his eyes. “Sorry. I just—I was always taught that, to impress someone, you pull out all the stops, you know? Then again, my dad taught me that one. I should have realized it was shitty advice the second he gave it to me.”

Chuckling, Rhodey reaches over, plucks the menu from Tony’s hands and sets it aside, then says, “I have some better advice, then. First dates should be fun.”

Before Tony can do more than quirk a curious brow, Rhodey is already standing, grabbing him by the wrist, and leading him out of the restaurant—and away from their horrendously priced chicken noodle soup.

Tony steps out of the McDonald’s bathroom in the second pair of comfortable clothes that Rhodey brought, and instantly says, “I’m keeping these.”

It’s not much—an old hoodie from when Rhodey was in high school, the logo long faded but the material worn down and soft in one of the best ways, and some simple grey sweat pants with a couple holes around the knees—but Tony looks elated at he looks down at himself. Rhodey, in his own new outfit that consists of a zip up hoodie that Peter and May got for him, and sweatpants that practically mirror the ones Tony has on, only being a shade or two darker and a red drawstring, can’t help but to grin at him. “Go ahead. They’re all yours.”

“Really?” There’s a little skip in his step as Tony approaches him, smile widening even further, a bit of joyful mirth in his eyes. “Good. I was gonna sneak in and steal them if you didn’t let me. Now, what’s next, Mr. Romance?”

“Food,” Rhodey states. “We’re already here, if you want McDonalds. Or somewhere else, I don’t care, but—nothing fancy. The goal is to chill out a bit, so this doesn’t turn into some big, scary thing, and it can just be good.”

With a light hum, Tony nods along, gaze slipping over to the glowing menu. He brightens, suddenly, and says, “You know what? I’d love some cheeseburgers.”

This is how it happens:

After some slight debate, they get some cheeseburgers, and a lot of fries, and a couple of smoothies to wash it all down. They sit at the corner booth and act as if there’s no one else in the room, talking back and forth—swapping tales from childhoods they haven’t shared with one another, taking out their phones to show one another pictures that haven’t been shown yet, making conversation about whatever it is that comes to mind—until they’re done with their food. Only then, do they realize that there isn’t a plan for what to do next, which leads to two hot fudge sundae’s and a list of first date ideas.

A list that, by the looks of it, is aimed towards teenagers (one of the ideas includes an extra step to ask parents for extra cash), but neither of them attest it. If anything, they find the humor an added bonus, and settle on a movie.

Which turns out to be a bad movie.

As in, horrible. Awful. One of the worst movies ever made.

“What was the goal?” Tony asks, as they trail down the sidewalk, heading towards Rhodey’s apartment. “I mean, the good guy was an idiot that acted more like the bad guy than the actual bad guy, and there was a whole subplot about a—a disease? An infection? Whatever it was, it was stupid.”

“I think it had something to do with the rats,” Rhodey muses, failing to keep the grin off his face as Tony snaps his fingers and points at him.

“The rats!” he exclaims. “Why were there rats? There didn’t need to be rats!”

The laugh that pulls itself up from the center of Rhodey’s chest is loud, and echoes off the buildings surrounding them. It makes a warm feeling bubble up in his stomach and spread across his body, reaching the ends of his limbs and keeping out the chill of the night. Tony splutters, as if having more that he wants to say, but winds up laughing along.

Through his own laughter, he insists, “I’m serious!

“No, no, I know you’re serious.” There’s an ache in his gut that makes him grin wider. “I get it—the rats were weird. It was a shitty Stranger Things 3 rip off.”

“Yes!” Tony jumps—actually jumps, his feet coming off the ground, just a bit, in an energetic burst. “That’s exactly what it was! Harley made me watch that whole show, and it’s incredible, but this movie? Awful. The absolute worst.”

“Peter had me watch it,” Rhodey says. “I mean, I watched the first season when it came out, because all of my students were watching it, but when Peter found out I hadn’t watched the second or third season, he insisted on having a marathon. I gotta say, the rats in Stranger Things were also awful, but that’s just because it was nasty, not because it was bad writing. The movie was just—”

“Bad writing!” Tony finishes, nodding emphatically. He pauses, after a moment, and then frowns. “How much caffeine was in the jumbo cola, do you think? I’m pretty sure my body isn’t processing it properly. I can’t stand still.”

Another burst of laughter fills the air. “Oh my god,” Rhodey says. “Did you get a sugar rush? You, Tony Stark, getting a sugar rush from some off brand Coke? I can’t believe it.” He can, really—it isn’t the first time he’s seen the man get a bit hyper from too much sugar intake, but it is the first time he’s seeing it in this context, with these eyes. They’re on a date, after all. The end of one, anyway, acting more like dumb kids than fully grown adults, and it’s funny, really, how Tony, who can candle coffee like a pro but can’t seem to do the same with soda, acts so similarly to his son when he’s like this. Or, rather, how much Harley takes after his dad without even realizing. It’s adorable, actually.

It’s not too far of a walk, and, before long, they’re stepping out of the streetlight illuminated sidewalks and into Rhodey’s apartment building, taking the stairs by silent agreement (maybe it won’t end so soon if they do), and then stopping outside of his door. There, a silence—not heavy, not light—settles.

A silence that is broken, of course, only moments later. “Is this what they always talk about in those romcoms? I feel like a teenager right now.”

“Fitting,” Rhodey says. “Since we followed the advice of a teen magazine’s website to pick where we went. And we’re always around the four horsemen.”

Tony snorts. “Is that what you call them?”

“To their faces,” Rhodey confirms, nodding. “Proudly. It suits them, I think.”

“You know, it really does.” Another lapse of quiet, and then Tony, glancing away, then glancing back, then away once more. “Since we followed the cheesy teen magazine,” he says after a moment. “And we went to see a movie, I think we should… keep to the script, you know? The final step on their list.”

Rhodey knows it. “Kissing at their doorstep,” he recites. “How high school.”

“I wouldn’t know, I never went,” Tony shrugs. “But, if you want, I mean—”

Before he can keep talking—before Rhodey can enjoy the way he fumbles over his words trying to ask—his apartment door swings open, and Peter, standing on the other side, calmly says, “Please don’t do that. I’m here. I don’t want to hear it. Or see it. Like, I’m happy for you, and all, but that’s still gross to me.”

Tony looks beyond embarrassed, and Peter won’t look either of them in the eye. Rhodey, on the other hand, is enjoying this far too much, having to bite back a bellowing laugh as he looks between the two. Between Peter, the kid who’s family to him, a nephew by everything other than blood—and Tony, the guy he’s been steadily gaining some fairly strong feelings for since September.

“Close the door, then,” he tells Peter, who looks at him suddenly, eyes going wide with shock and an amused disgust, before slamming the door shut just in time to avoid watching as Rhodey turns to Tony and leans forward.

Hilarious, really, that their first date ends like this. Because, of course it does.

(They’ve only been officially dating for about two weeks when Father’s Day comes around—though they had a few dates beforehand, so Rhodey thinks it’s been longer, but Tony, who is, apparently, a strict kind of romantic, insists that it only counts once they both agreed on what labels they were happy with.

But, that’s besides the point.

It’s Father’s Day, and Tony has spent the whole week trying to make it clear to Harley that he isn’t expecting anything, that he knows Harley and him are in a good place but it’s okay if he doesn’t feel comfortable celebrating it. Rhodey thinks it’s wonderful, how much he prioritizes Harley, but it’s also pointless, considering the fact that it isn’t even seven thirty in the morning when Harley marches into the kitchen with a card in one hand and something else in the other that Rhodey can’t quite see. He stops in front of them, jaw clenched, head held high, and he says, “I’m still figuring it out, and I don’t think it’s anything I could say out loud yet, but it’s Father’s Day, and you’re my—you’re my dad. And I’m okay with that. I’m happy about that. So I got you a card, where I wrote down what I wanted to say in a way that actually makes sense.”

He puts the card on the table and pushes it towards Tony, who stares down at the damn thing as if it’s a prized item too valuable to merely touch. “Wow,” he murmurs, cautious as he picks it up and opens it. Rhodey catches the word love before he averts his eyes, not wanting to invade on their moment.

“You,” Harley then says—apparently sensing Rhodey’s hesitance, or maybe not knowing at all and happening to address him at just the right time. “I don’t know what to call you, or how I feel about it, but I know I’m happy about whatever that is, too. So, I got you a button. Or, I asked the kids who make stuff for senior class president campaign runners to help me make a button. Here.”

When his other hand unfurls, he reveals what he has hidden—and, just as he was saying, it’s a button, not all too big, not all too small. And written across, in Harley’s handwriting, it simply states DADS COOL BOYFRIEND on it.

Rhodey chokes on a mixture of a laugh and barely held back emotion. He takes the button, attaches it to his shirt, and keeps it on the rest of the day.

Odd, perhaps—all of it is—but he loves it. Loves every second.

He wouldn’t change a god damn thing.)