Eight
When he first meets Rhodey, Tony’s pretty sure he’s about to die. His chest hurts and his eyes burn and throb in time to his heartbeat. His throat feels like he swallowed sandpaper and chased it with battery acid, and his joints ache and burn whenever he so much as breathes, which is a problem because he is sitting on the floor outside his dorm, less than a minute away from his bed, and yet completely unable to stand and let himself in to get into it.
It’s probably safe to say that what he assured Jarvis and Sandy was “just allergies” is definitely not fucking allergies.
“Hey, you good? The hallway ain't the best place for a nap,” comes a voice Tony can’t be assed to open his eyes and put a face to. Tony also can’t be assed to respond, which is probably why Mr. Mystery shakes his shoulder lightly before pressing a beautifully cold palm against his forehead.
“Oh shit, you’re burning up,” says the voice, and Tony is pretty sure he blacks out.
One minute he’s dying outside his dorm and the next he’s in his bed, someone attempting to shove NyQuil down his throat. Tony almost spits it out, because ew. Who the fuck is giving him the liquid shit? Jarvis definitely knows better, and Tony can’t think of anyone else who’d be taking care of him-
“C’mon man, you need the meds. Here, I got you water.”
Definitely not Jarvis. Who the actual fuck is that?
“James Rhodes,” comes the voice again, almost laughing. “Damn, you’re out of it. I’ve lived next door to you for weeks.”
Tony still has no idea who that is, but he doesn’t think he cares.
(Someone is taking care of him and he feels safe. He blacks out again.)