A/N: Ironfamily ftw. They're bonding. Really! I swear. Also; platonic relationships. You gotta love 'em.

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Guy Time

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"In my experience, there are very few personal problems that can't be solved by suitable application of lots and lots of explosives."

Jim Rhodes glares frigidly down at his friend. Down into the dregs of a glass said friend stares; the friend who had not so much as responded to his candid statement. Tony hadn't touched the glass to his lips, simply choosing to ponder the amber liquid, swirling it around the good crystal gently. Rhodey himself regards the scotch as if it were corrosive or poison. He is not equipped to deal with such situations, this he knows far too well for his own comfort.

"Don't turn this into a crusade, Rhodes," Tony warns with not even the bare twinge of threat or malice. If he had been smiling, Jim would have simply brushed it off as a joke, a chance to poke fun at good old platypus.

But no one is laughing.

"Get off your ass Stark, you're no good to anyone this way-"

"It just sort of hit me, you know?" the paler of the two iron soldiers interrupts the beginning of what had been sure to be an intense and quite convincing tirade. "Everything I've worked for my whole life is pretty much gone at this point."

Rhodes raises his eyebrow, wishing he wasn't one of two extremes. He could really use Pepper and her passive aggressive haranguing. Or even Maria with her reverse psychological bullshit, intentional or otherwise.

He finds it funny that women deal with him best.

Once Rhodes could have dealt with anything Tony Stark could have dished out. But he's getting too old and too tired for this and he's been in the superhero game too long now to really have the energy to deal with all of the baggage that comes with the cowl of Ironman.

"Would you stop being such an angsty little idiot? There's shit to be dealt with."

"The shit's already hit the fa-"

"-No," he stresses, as if speaking to a particularly slow three year old. "It hasn't. And we're not going to let it."

"Says you." Petulant. Horribly obstinate and remarkably ridiculous Tony Stark.

"Says me," he confirms, slapping the glass of un-drunk scotch out of his friend's hand and yanking his flaccid body to his feet. "This is how it's going go down Stark. You're gonna boot up your brain, you aren't going to fall off the wagon on my watch, you're gonna use your damn brain and come up with a plan to kick Osborn to the curb once and for all. Because you're Tony-fucking-Stark. And that's the type of shit you do for fun." He drags him over to the work bench and all but straps him to the stool, "And once this is all done with you're actually going to your AA meetings."

He doesn't do passive aggressive. Clearly.

Tony grumbles as he screws something into something else and to be honest Rhodey doesn't really care what, as long as he's doing something. "Who the hell do you think you are?" the jackass is smirking and Jim just wants to hit him hard enough that his grandkids feel it, assuming he lives long enough to actually produce progeny.

"I'm Colonel-fucking-Rhodes. And you are my bitch for the day."

More grumbling. Something along the lines of "Of course…fucking….ex-…asshole…" but he's tinkering, which is generally a good sign.

This is really rather impressive, Rhodes thought with a satisfied smirk.

Especially considering that he doesn't even have a pair of breasts or anything.