REMY WOULDN'T GET BETTER UNTIL THE END OF THE WEEK.

It wasn't surprising to anyone, except maybe Tony, that it took the boy so long to get better. Ever since he was a baby, if he got sick the problem would linger longer than it would for most, leaving him bedridden and emotional. But it was because of the pattern that they were able to tell if he was getting better.

At first, he started out happy, a kind of incoherent, drugged kind of happy where he had so much energy, yet was unable to move at all. Over time, he would grow to be tired, dizzy, the kind of sick that most people experienced.

But towards the last leg of his sickness, he would get cranky.

"This is stupid!" he shouted, flinging the medicine cup out of Birdie's hands, sending it flying across his room, spilling the liquid everywhere.

It was Wednesday and Birdie instantly knew that the boy was going to be better by Friday. She had taken a tally of the days he had been sick and his moods on each day, he would be fine by the end of the week; she just had to brave through the last phase.

"You can't just throw things, what if it destroyed something? And this is expensive," Birdie shouted back, anger flaring for a brief moment at Remy's shout and the sight of the purple liquid covering his desk and floor.

"I don't want it!" he screamed, hitting his bed with his hand.

"You need it to get better, now I'm not gonna ask you again—" Birdie began, forcing herself to calm down, already too used to his moods.

"You're just like Mark!" he shouted, throwing his pillow at her, looking at her with nothing but hate in his eyes.

She hit the pillow away numbly, staring at him in a mixture of shock and disgust. Schooling her features, she left the room without another word, her ears ringing as she went to her room, slamming the door behind her.

She sighed as she fell against her bed, just staring up at the ceiling. She hadn't gone into work, having been convinced by everyone to just take a day and take care of her son. Of course, she had to choose the time when Remy wanted her around the least.

She sighed and grabbed her laptop, deciding to just do some work while she was alone; when Remy was cranky, he just wanted to be left alone, often heard shouting abuse to BUDDY who never took anything personally, also used to the boy's moods and deleting their conversation from his immediate memory.

Remy could be incredibly cruel if he put his mind to it.

A few hours later, the doorbell rang.

Sighing, she stood up, wiping away the stray tears as she made her way to the door, opening it to find Tony smiling tiredly at her, holding a bouquet of roses. She raised her eyebrows as she let him in, too shocked and emotionally drained to try and piece together everything on her own.

"Are you just gonna come by every day?" she asked, covering her mouth immediately after, "I am so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's fine, I don't blame you," he said, handing the bouquet towards her, "That's not really the plan, but BUDDY had alerted me that you and Remy got into a fight, so I dropped by to see if I could do something."

She tried to smile as she took it, feeling herself start to cry as his words echoed in her ear. "He said he was like Mark, that's just...that's just not fair."

Tony winced, glancing away. "I'll try talking to him."

"No," Birdie said immediately, grabbing his arm, "Don't. When he gets like this, he just talks without thinking, he doesn't mean anything by it, but he can be very cruel and very specific."

Tony carefully pried his arm out of her grip. "I've dealt with a lot worse, Birdie, don't worry. I'll just talk to him. I hear that talking helps some people."

She didn't even have time to ask him what he meant before he was making his way towards the hall, knocking on Remy's door and waiting. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, Birdie noticing vaguely that he was wearing a suit, waiting for a moment for some indication that he was welcome.

Finally, when he heard nothing, he tentatively opened the door, stepping inside and disappearing, closing the door behind him. Shaking her head, Birdie went to make some coffee, figuring that the man would use some kind of a drink once he got himself out of the mess he had just walked into.

As she sat on the couch, turning on a random true crime show, she got a call from Jayne, answering instantly.

"How's the little guy?" she asked on the other end, the sound of rustling papers in the background.

"He said I was just like Mark and Tony is in with him now, he's not doing well," Birdie sighed, leaning back on the couch and closing her eyes, "But his fever will break by Friday, he's on his last leg of the fever."

There was a long pause. "Birdie, you know he didn't mean it, he adores you."

She sobbed softly, unable to fight back the tears now that Jayne acknowledged it. "He hates him. What does he think of me?"

"He's just upset, you know how he gets, he doesn't mean anything by it," Jayne insisted, "You're a good mother and he's a good boy. He gets like this every time he's sick."

"But he's never said this before," she whispered, raising her head at the sound of the door opening, "I have to go."

"Hey," Jayne said quickly, "Hey, listen, you know he doesn't mean it."

Birdie just hung up the phone, letting it rest next to her leg, turning off to TV and watching as Tony walked stiffly towards her, clearing his throat and adjusting his sunglasses. She raised an eyebrow, trying to smile, gesturing towards the mug sitting on the table.

He sighed as he picked it up, raising it slightly in gratitude as he sat down, groaning softly. The two sat for a moment in silence, fiddling with the mugs in her hands.

"You know, if I wanted someone to point out my flaws, I would have just scrolled through some Tumblr blogs," Tony said, staring at the wall across from them, "And if I wanted someone to point out all of my deep-seated insecurities, I would have just gone to my psychologist. But I guess I don't have to pay him anymore, this kid just did his job for free."

Birdie sighed, turning to face him. "Tony, I am so sorry, whatever he said, he didn't mean it."

Tony laughed a bitter, spiteful laugh. "I have never seen a kid with that much rage before. I don't even know what I did to him."

"That's the thing, you did nothing," Birdie said, grasping his arm and shaking it, forcing him to look at her, "You did nothing wrong. He just says these things, he's an observant boy who knows too much for his own good and-and when he gets angry he can't control the things he says, so he ends up saying things that he doesn't mean."

"Why would he think them if he doesn't mean them?" Tony asked, and Birdie had to wonder that for herself.

"Because," she tried, searching for the right words, "Because he's the kind of boy who thinks of the most awful things people could think, just so he can shake his head and say 'no, you're wrong, things are better than that.' He's the sort of boy who looks at the other side just so he can argue his own side better. That's what he had to do so Mark would even listen to him."

Tony frowned. "He's eleven years old."

"You went to MIT at fifteen," Birdie immediately said, only realizing the implications of her statement when he smirked. Turning away she scoffed, cheeks pink. "So I googled you, everyone does."

Tony chuckled softly, taking a sip of his coffee before pulling away, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow, this is really good."

Birdie rolled her eyes. "I'm a lawyer, I live off of coffee. Might as well be the good kind."

Tony smiled into his mug, taking another sip. "Well, I see where the kid gets his smarts from."

The woman paused, turning to look at him. "You think he's smart?"

He frowned, glancing at her. "Don't you?"

She nodded quickly, before looking towards the hall. "Of course I do. But no one else does."

He shrugged, settling back into the couch. "Most people wouldn't know genius if it was tackling them on the street. I might not be the best candidate to give this speech, but test scores and advanced placement classes doesn't prove someone's smarter than someone else. Just because the kid can't focus on math homework doesn't mean he can't break into the Pentagon if he really wanted to."

Birdie laughed shortly, biting her lip. "Why is it whenever someone says he can do something, it's always something bad? Why-why is it that it's always 'he can sneak past parental controls to watch Game of Thrones' or 'he can sneak out of the house and stalk someone,' none of these things are all that good. Sure, they're smart, but my son is a good boy. He's not a criminal."

"I didn't say he was," Tony said, trying to placate her, "I'm just giving you the most extreme because that's what he's capable of. But he's a good kid, so much so that he'd never really do it."

She scoffed. "You don't believe that."

He pursed his lips. "No, I don't. He would break into the Pentagon in a heartbeat, but only if he had a good reason to. I haven't known him long, but even I know that."

Birdie sighed. "I do too. But I don't think I really know him."

Tony looked at her for a brief moment. He hadn't had the best relationship with his parents, not by a long shot, and it was interesting for him to see a woman who was almost just as distant. The only difference was that her son knew she loved him, whereas he wasn't so sure with his parents, his father especially. He'd hate to see something like that happen again.

"Well, don't give up trying," he finally said, "Don't do that to him."

She turned to look at him, frowning. "I would never."

It was then that Tony realized he had overstepped. He made a motion to set down his cup, ready to stand and leave, not coming back until he felt it was safe to, but she grabbed his arm again—something she almost did on instinct, which raised a few questions—keeping him in place.

"Please don't leave," she whispered, "He might be more upset if he finds out he drove you away."

Tony nodded, settling back on the couch, sighing softly to himself, continuing to drink the coffee, the silence deafening, forcing him to think back to the last mother he had spoken to; that conversation was one he wished he hadn't had.

"Would you mind if I turned on the TV, I don't work well in long periods of silence if it's not for negotiating," Birdie asked, trying to keep her tone lighthearted.

Tony tried to smile, hoping that his relief didn't show as he nodded, turning his attention towards the screen which opened to another true crime show from the same channel that she had been watching.

"It's weird," Tony hummed, "I've seen a lot of terrible things done by a lot of terrible people, some alien, some human, but...it's weird seeing that the guy you get coffee from could be just as bad. It's hard to see the good in people when all you see are the terrible ones."

"It's because the terrible ones are the loudest," Birdie said, "And everyone looks to the terrible stories because it's so much easier to hate than to love. Because loving means you look past the flaws, but hating means you can embrace them."

"I heard that you still have to love someone to hate them," Tony said, "Do you believe that?"

Birdie nodded. "For the longest time, Remy always talked about Mark and how much he hated him, and I knew that there was still a chance that he could love him again, because he thought about him constantly. He told me, recently, that Mark just doesn't matter in his life anymore. I don't think he can love him anymore, or, at least, it'll take more time."

Tony shifted, hoping she wouldn't kick him out for asking. "Do you really want him to love him, though?"

Birdie sighed, rubbing her face. "The last thing I want is for Mark to die thinking Remy hates him. That kind of weight never being resolved, it can kill a person, it consumes them."

Tony refused to even think over her words, over what they meant for her, and what they meant for him. He blocked it out of his mind and just focused on the mindless drone of the true crime show. Thankfully, Birdie didn't press the issue, instead just settling back and watching with him.

Remy didn't come out of his room the rest of the evening, Birdie ordering pizza and giving him one of the boxes. The boy didn't look at her, taking it and mumbling a short 'thanks, mom' before closing the door. As much as it pained her to say, his guilt made her happy; she hadn't lost her son just yet.

"I really need to stop feeding him junk," she sighed, wrinkling her nose at the grease on the pizza, dabbing it away with a paper towel, trying not to cringe at the sight of Tony just eating one, grease and all.

"We all die in the end," he shrugged, and she swatted his arm on impulse.

It wasn't a harsh slap by any means, more of a light flick one gave when another told a crude joke, but it had both of them stiffening. Tony glanced over at Birdie who was staring at her hand like it had had a mind of its own, mouth agape as she struggled to apologize, as well as trying to deny the more comfortable implications it had given; she hit him the way a wife hit her husband, a light tap to let him know that she still felt comfortable with him enough to joke like they were still young and just as in love as before.

Something she hadn't done with Mark in about two years.

"That didn't hurt," he finally said, motioning to her hand, I've dealt with a lot worse, sweetheart." The nickname rolled off his tongue without care, and his casual usage of it had her relaxing, chalking it up to his playboy persona that had never went away, though it was odd to hear it directed at her.

By the time Tony left, it was already dark and Remy hadn't come out once. She saw him out, the man just standing right outside of the doorway, putting on his sunglasses despite it being dark.

"Thank you for letting me stay, and for the dinner, again," he said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet, but she held out her hand to stop him, almost grabbing his arm again, but catching herself.

"You don't need to pay me, I was happy to have you," she said, slow and deliberate, "Thank you for helping me, today was one of the harder days."

Before Tony could speak, their attention was caught by the sound of a door opening. They turned to find Remy padding down the hallway, an empty pizza box in his hands. He tossed it onto the counter without so much as a glance, his eyes trained downwards when he realized the two adults were looking at him.

He came to stand by Birdie, but not close enough for her to reach him all too easily. "Sorry, Tony. Sorry, mom."

Tony gave him a small smile and reached out to ruffle his hair. "'s okay, kid."

"You still coming back?" Remy asked, his eyes darting to the side, as if bracing himself for the answer he was dreading. Birdie raised her head to look at Tony, pleading.

"Of course," he said, not even looking at Birdie until after he spoke again, "Be good to your mom."

Remy nodded, still not raising his head. "Okay."

With a smile, Tony reached out and squeezed Birdie's forearm, nodding in finality before turning and walking towards the sidewalk, disappearing as he turned away and pulled out his phone, calling his driver.

Birdie pursed her lips in a smile, closing the door and turning towards her son who was already heading back to his room. She just watched him go, unable to help herself from smiling as she watched his small form walk, drowning in his clothes.

No matter what, she loved her son. She just needed to convince herself that he loved her too.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I find it interesting that I haven't actually even started to try and get Tony and Birdie to even think of each other in any way other than "someone who cares for Remy" because I guess this is going to be one of those things where it's like "proximity leads to love" and I'm so ready for this because like their relationship is gonna be so fluid that they'll just fall into place and ah, I'm excited.

And as you can see, Birdie is really insecure about her relationship with Remy, something that has always been there since he was born. You'll see how this progresses throughout the story, she truly loves her son, though, remember that.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!