Tony ... woke. Ish. Sort of. He blinked back into a hazy semblence of awareness, with a dull ringing in his head, and phantom aches running up and down his body. At least, he thought they were phantoms. They didn't seem to stay in the same places long enough to be real. He didn't move. Moving seemed like it would probably be a bad plan, right now. But he did need to know ... what, when, where and why.
Also who. Belatedly, he registered there was a 'who' involved. There was a dark hand, wrapped around his shoulder. He was curled half in someone's lap. That was ...
"Rh ... Rhodey?" he croaked, hoarsely. Hoping against hope.
"Not exactly," someone said wryly above him, and Tony stiffened. Attempted to stiffen. Except, ow, ow, okay, bad plan. Yup, fine, some of those pains? Definitely real. "Stay still, Stark."
"Fury?" Tony managed, levering his head up (out of Nick fucking Fury's lap, holy shit, why wasn't he dead yet?) with a grimace and managing to meet the gimlet stare of a vaguely amused cyclops eye. "Am I dead? No, seriously. Are we in hell?"
Fury raised an eyebrow in definite amusement. "Well, depending on how you define 'hell' ..." he mused, then shook his head. Pressing down on Tony's shoulder to keep him from moving. "Actually, we're currently in the wreckage of a stairwell. SHIELD Newfoundland base. Ringing any bells?"
Tony blinked. Ran a quick mental file search, came up ... "Prototypes. For the helicarrier jammers. Right? And then ..."
"A full-scale professional assault," Fury noted, repressively. "Agency unknown. No visible non-terrestrials, at least at last report. Some interesting tech, though. Quite a shockwave on those charges."
Right. Ow. Yes. Although ... "Not a shockwave. Directed energy pulse. No backwash, remember? Front and center, all the way." The footage in the lower levels as the enemy came in the top had been ... educational. Except, of course, for how it put Tony two levels away from the suit (note to self: it doesn't matter how damned heavy the suitcase suit is, or how supposedly safe SHIELD bases are, keep it on you at all times), and apparently, inside a collapsing stairwell. With Nick goddamn Fury.
Which only left one very, very important question. "And ... this led to us cuddling how, exactly?"
Fury looked down at him, with that particular blank expression of his that either meant he was laughing internally, or about to take a closer look at your innards from the inside out. Tony very carefully didn't twitch. Although he was starting to get a crick in the neck, over here.
"It led to us 'cuddling', as you so kindly put it, because we are currently surrounded by several tonnes of dislodged concrete, and the only reason we're not under said several tonnes is because you, Stark, saw it coming and rammed us into the most structurally sound corner you could find on ten seconds notice."
Oh. Right. Well, that would explain it, yes. Also? Go him! Totally.
"Ah. Then ... the reason I shouldn't be moving ...?" It shouldn't be too bad, he could feel everything, even if 'everything' also currently hurt, but point was, he should be okay, please tell him he was okay, if he had to rig the armour as an actual prosthesis ... Although, okay, no, he could do that. He could manage that.
Fury's mouth twisted, thankfully in amusement, something that looked ... almost soft, for a second, in that one baleful eye. "You're fine, Stark. Or as much as you ever are, some spectacular bruising and a possible wrenched shoulder aside. You shouldn't be moving because this is a very small space, and if you elbow me in the ribs again, I will have to shoot you. Understood?"
Tony digested that for a second. And then: "Awesome. Wake me up when rescue arrives then, will you?" He let his head drop back onto Fury's thigh, maybe harder than he should have (partly because Fury, partly because ow), and grinned as the hand tightened warningly on his good shoulder.
"Stark," Fury growled. Tony gleefully ignored him. Hey, he'd apparently saved the man's ass. The least he could do was provide Tony with a nice pillow in return, right?
And also ... "And Nick?" Silence, but Tony wasn't expecting an answer. "If it's not rescue that comes looking ..."
"Don't worry, son," Fury said quietly, somewhere over Tony's head, his free hand sliding a gun out from the big black bag of hardware he laughingly called a coat, his arm tightening slightly around Tony's shoulders. Understanding, maybe, the phantoms of a cave running through Tony's head. "I have us covered."
... yeah. Yeah, okay. Maybe Tony could run with that. Maybe that, he could believe.