-T-Plus Twelve Hours, Early Monday Morning-
Tony couldn’t breathe.
He wanted to. He needed to. But there was something in the way — something that filled his mouth and throat and held him fast. He felt his chest expand, painfully, as an unbearable pressure flooded his lungs. Then, a moment later, the tension released. In, out, in, out — at inhumanly regular intervals, the same sensation returned.
Tony was convinced he was suffocating. Determined to do something about this, he willed his hand to move. Slowly, clumsily, it fumbled towards his face — and curled around a plastic tube.
“Don’t touch that, Mr. Stark,” said an unfamiliar voice. Tony shifted his head a little and glared at the stern-looking Jamaican nurse as she carefully opened his fingers and pushed his arm down. “We’re going to remove it now, but we need to suction your airway first.”
Something feather light touched his windpipe, and Tony was struck with an overwhelming urge to gag — to forcefully expel the irritant. Alas, the vital - the fundamental - was now completely out of his control. At this realization, his adrenaline surged, his muscles jumped, and errant moisture trailed from the corners of his eyes.
It certainly wasn’t the first time Tony had confronted this sort of helplessness — but paradoxically, the familiarity did nothing to relieve his panic.On the contrary, it only brought up memories he’d rather not relive.
“Tony, look at me. Focus on me, okay?”
He did. During the torturous extubation, Tony took in every minute detail of Pepper’s face: first, her fiery hair, hanging limp and ungroomed; second, her freckles, which dusted the bridge of her nose unconcealed; and last, her red-rimmed, shadowed eyes. God, she looked like she’d just been put through the wringer. Was that his fault? Probably.
“Sorry.” This was the first thing Tony could bring himself to say once he was blessedly free and had finished choking — one hoarse little word that nonetheless contained multitudes.
“Shh. Don’t,” Pepper replied, tears dripping down her chin as she caressed Tony’s cheek. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”
-T-Plus Twenty-Two Hours-
“No, Mr. Stark. An emergency coronary bypass is not an outpatient procedure — especially not in your case. I’m afraid you’re gonna be with us for a few days yet.”
The cardiac surgeon was young, eager, and incredibly good at his job; he had to be if he was able to navigate Tony’s patched-together tissues, rerouted vessels, and extensive scars. But beyond all reason, Tony hated him a little. His usual fractiousness returning with a vengeance, he couldn’t help but see Dr. Craig as his warden — and the rest of the staff as his prison guards.
It was the word “no” in particular that set him off because he’d been hearing it all day. “No, not yet.” “No, you can’t eat that.” “No, that’s a bad idea.” Damn it, it was his body; only he knew what he could tolerate. The throbbing of his incisions barely registered on his personal scale of torment (which said something, he was sure), yet his ever-solicitous handlers still insisted on treating him like he was made of porcelain.
“But I think you are ready to sit up on the edge of your bed,” Craig continued, seemingly unperturbed that his patient was smoldering like an unstoked coal. “Which is good because the kitchen has sent up some chicken broth that is très magnifique.”
Tony’s abused vocal chords had yet to recover, but the acid in his next raspy utterance still came through loud and clear: “Yippee.”
“Tony — “ Pepper began. But before she could finish her mild admonition, the doctor stopped her with one upraised, placating hand.
“It’s all right, Ms. Potts. Your husband’s reputation precedes him — and my skin’s thick enough not to take his grumbling personally.”
“Still in the room here, doc,” Tony gritted. He knew he was being difficult, but fuck, he was still an adult — and not deaf.
“Indeed you are. And that’s a damned lucky thing.”
-
-Wednesday-
A couple afternoons after his transfer from the CICU to the cardiac telemetry unit, Tony was still itching like mad to escape — but overall, his mood was at least somewhat improved.
For one thing, they were finally letting him out of bed. A few times a day, in fact, a nurse or a physical therapist would come to collect him and shepherd him around the ward at a leisurely pace until pain or breathlessness would force him back to his own room. These laps enabled Tony to meet his fellow inmates and, as a result, added color to the monotony of his own recovery.
Also helpful? Tony was allowed to have more outside visitors. The speed at which his room filled with flowers and balloons was shocking even to a man accustomed to a life in the limelight (and what was once, pre-Thanos, a steady stream of fan mail) — especially since he knew this time around that every gift was offered out of sincere personal concern for his well-being.
If this had happened a decade ago, Tony wondered as he watched Pepper and Rhodey laugh over the absurd stuffed monkey Nebula had acquired at the hospital gift shop, how many people would’ve actually cared? Reflecting on that question highlighted how truly lonely his old playboy lifestyle had been — and how full his intimate world had become in the time since. All he’d had to do was recognize his agency, take responsibility, and choose an aim — and risk the disappointment and guilt and sorrow and grief that seemed inherent in the decision to reach for something better.
“Yo, Mr. Stank! Are you sleeping with your eyes open over there?”
“No, just thinking.” Opening his Starkpad, Tony started rearranging icons on his holographic display to keep his hands busy — and to camouflage exactly how moved he was that he’d found true friends after countless relationships that merely skimmed the surface. “Staring death in the face always makes me a little philosophical. I’m just not as good at playing things off as I used to be.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on you there, Tony. I’m still a little pissed you insisted on entertaining us in the middle of your Goddamn heart attack.”
Picking up on the very real injury in Rhodey’s eyes, Tony felt a twinge of guilt. But this time, he had a halfway decent excuse. “Don’t look at me like that, Sugar Daddy. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you. I honestly didn’t know it was happening.”
“He really didn’t,” Pepper said, coming to Tony’s defense. “He would’ve told me if he’d known.”
“But you should’ve told us you felt like crap at least. After what we’ve been through together, do you really think you still have something to prove?”
Tony sighed. “No. You’re right. I was being a proud asshole.”
“I wasn’t gonna put it that way, but — yeah.” Then Rhodey softened and clapped Tony’s shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, though. None of that compares to how relieved I am that you’re alive and kicking. Don’t know how I’d take it if you beat me to the Pearly Gates.”
Tony blinked. Cleared his throat. “Decided to make it weird, huh?” he finally managed after a long and pregnant pause.
“Figured this was my chance to beat you to the punch.”
“Not fair. Surgery always messes with my head. You know that.”
“Yeah, I do. But that’s not gonna stop me from doing this either.” Rhodey pulled Tony into a side hug, squeezing him tight until Tony, embarrassed, pulled back against the embrace. “Me before you, buddy. You got it?”
Tony felt something electric just under Rhodey’s skin — and it occurred to him that his powers of deflection were far from unique. Whatever had happened the other night — had definitely left its mark.
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