"Wait, wait, let me get that!"

"I can open my own damn door, McGee!" Tony growls, but even as the words leave his mouth he fumbles the keys. They're so far down, and the pain killers are making every movement awkward, so after only a moment of thinking about bending down while trying to keep his hold on his crutches he begrudgingly allows Tim to pick up the keys and reach around him to open the door.

He knocks Tim's arm out of the way and hobbles quickly inside. He's tired and despite the massive amounts of pain killers they've got him on there's still a really distracting throbbing in his calf. He can hear Tim behind him grabbing something out of the kitchen and rummaging through the bag of meds so he just keeps moving while he's got the momentum and heads straight for the bedroom.

His shirt is easy to get off, and the sweatpants stretch around the cast easily enough because they're old and Tim's and hung off his hips even before he lost a few pounds, but the legs on his boxer briefs are just not stretching wide enough. The sound of seams ripping makes Tony cry out in frustration just as Tim walks in with a glass of water and some pills.

"I hate this!"

Tim hands him the pills then the water and watches patiently as he swallows. He's feeling morose so he keeps wining, "why does it always seem like I'm the one hurt on the job? Remind me to let someone else get clipped by a car next time."

Tim's sympathetic face morphs into something like stricken as he takes a step back, "I'm sorry, I-"

But he's already turned defensive, poking a finger into Tony's space, "you didn't have to, getting hurt is part of my job, too, and I never asked you to-"

His mind and heart working, as always, at lightning speed, Tim is changing tactics again, backing away, "maybe I should- Do you want me to- I can go."

Tony looks at Tim's nervous, guilty face and hates the way his mouth runs away from him sometimes, like when he's high on vicodin.

"No! Stop it, Tim."

Tony tries to get up off the edge of the bed, putting all his weight on one foot and reaching out for Tim, "I didn't mean it like that. Come here, please."

Tim is still watching him warily, torn with insecurity worrying about what Tony really wants from him in this moment.

"Please, Timmy."

And Tim moves, inching closer until Tony can grab him and hold on, "You know I didn't mean it like that."

Tim tucks his head into the crook of Tony's neck and says, "I didn't mean it either, I don't want you to do that ever again."

"I know. That's just it, Timmy, you don't have to want it. I'll always jump in front of a bullet for you."

There's a shiver through the body he's holding and Tim says, forcefully, "don't say that. It was a car."

"Sorry. It was a figure of speech."

They stand there, holding each other up and re-absorbing the knowledge of what they already knew they had.