Sequel to When Now Isn't Enough. If you didn't read it, some shit might not make sense. Sorry it took so long to get this new story up, for those of you who were waiting: the sound card on my laptop crashed... I know that doesn't sound like a good excuse, but for me, it really is. I need some sort of noise going on in the background, music, tv, anything, really, but tv gets distracting at times.

I just saw Iron Man 3... and I... enjoyed it, well enough. Not a fan of what they did to the Mandarin, but it was pretty good. That being said: this story will be before IM3, and will not really follow the same story-line. I might do Extremis and AIM, but not how they did it. And I will not do Rescue. Might even throw in the more comic-based Mandarin, actually.

Story name comes from a song in the book series Wheel of Time, in the 13th book, the Towers of Midnight. Such an amazingly sad part... Dammit, Noal, you awesome son of a bitch.

"I'm just the boy inside the man, not exactly who you think I am." Be Somebody~ Thousand Foot Krutch

Tony's head hurt.

Not the normal type that he was used to... he would have been perfectly fine with that. This was the type that as soon as he was able to lift a hand to his skull without passing out had his fingers searching, carefully probing for a gushing wound that would probably require stitches. He couldn't seem to find one, thankfully, and his hand only once ran through a thick sticky substance, and after carefully opening his eyes just slightly, it proved to come from a small pool of motor oil that he was half laying in. He bit down a groan of frustration.

"Useless hunk of failed technology. Dummy, you are supposed to be on top of spills. One of these days, you will be lucky if an old woman uses you as a cane." There was an insulted-sounding whir off to his side that made his eyes snap shut again to get the room to stop spinning.

'Have to remember why the hell I'm on the floor of my shop...' as soon as he could actually breath again without his head hurting, it rushed back to him. To his own surprise, he wasn't shocked at the recollection. He really should have been, he suspected, but it was just too real in his mind to pass off as a dream. Besides, this way he could blame the pain rushing through him on T'Chaka. It was better than having no reason for the pain, after all.

That and the aching throbbing that he was sure had to be psychological twisting in his heart and stomach pretty much screamed its need to see Steve. No dream could have brought that on. Taking a deep breath and trying not to inhale the oil coating half of his face, he forced himself onto his hands and knees... and started coughing, having completely failed the whole don't breath in motor oil part. Damn, nasty. Would it really be so damn difficult to make it taste better...or, you know, at least not poisonous? He might need to work on that.

"Ok. Time Travel. Hypothesis: it always fucking hurts. Hopefully I won't be testing that again any time soon... Hey, J. Next time I decide that I want to do something crazy, make sure I use Hawkass as a guinea pig first."

"Of course, Sir." Tony sighed and smiled lightly.

"You have no idea how damn good it is to be back. Tech in the 40's nearly gave me an aneurism."

"Shall I pretend to have any idea of what you're talking about, Sir?"

"Would probably be for the best."

"Very good. It is good to have you back then, Sir." Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair before hissing in pain. Right. No sudden movements for now...

"You are such a faker, Jarvis." The AI wisely didn't respond.

Forcing himself to stand, he concentrated on breathing as he stumbled over to his workbench and leaned on it heavily. Luckily he managed to not inhale anything other than air this time.

A few minutes later he stiffed a yawn as he made his way up his stairs, his pounding head thankfully proving to be dulled into a more tolerable levels with Advil. He'd had to restrain himself from washing the small pills down with the half empty bottle of bourbon that was still sitting on his work bench from his most recent binge... months ago for him, now, but if Jarvis's reaction was anything to go by, a days ago at most.

Until his arm was completely healed from the last time he'd been drinking, he decided it was probably best to avoid any alcohol.

Besides, he'd rather see Steve again without anything in his to cloud his mind... the man still did hate him right now, after all, and would probably be very confused and pissed off if a drunk teammate lost control of himself and tried to kiss him. That would almost definitely lead to another injury, and he doubted if his Captain would be as helpful as he had been last time he was injured. Not something he felt like testing right off the bat.

In hindsight, he really should have at least washed his face off.

Actually, it would probably have been a good idea to check the time. Thankfully, it was still day-time. Morning, actually, unless there was another reason why everyone was gathered around the table with coffee and pancakes.

And of course Steve was in the kitchen, doing something or another with the stove... It certainly didn't make it easier to fight down the urge to run over to him and bury his face in the taller mans shirt... The others noticing him standing at the top of the stairs that led to his workshop did, mostly.

At first, they just stared wide-eyed. He wasn't really sure why... was it really that odd to see him this early in the day? Or, for that matter, covered in oil? He was often enough. It didn't take long for it to occur to him that it was probably just because he'd never actually hung around them, hadn't even seen them much since they moved it. In his mind he'd adjusted quickly, and it had become natural for them to be there without having to get used to it. He was used to them. They obviously didn't have the same sort of mindset.

The only one that wasn't staring at him was Bruce. He simply nodded at Tony and went back to studying his newspaper. Which was ridiculous.

Every inch of this Tower had the most high-tech, advanced and well connected material in the modern world... and he was reading day old news. From a paper. The next to look away was Natasha...which was probably because she was more used to this type of thing-having been his (fake) assistant for a few months, and just shook her head as she turned back to a conversation she seemed to be having with Clint.

After slapping him upside the head to get his attention, Hawkeye shifted back to her, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was still being watched by both of the assassins. Thor wasn't presently in the Tower, which didn't really surprise him too much. Which left Steve's brilliant-slightly startled- blue eyes on him alone.

His face stretched into a small grin despite trying not to and he relaxed. Steve didn't smile back. If anything, he looked more confused and maybe a bit concerned. And instead of coming over to him to speak, to make sure he was alright-and he moved to, unless Tony misjudged his movements- his eyes hardened and he turned back to the stove, and the smile slipped off of his face. Wow, that really hurt more than he'd thought it would.

It made him pine for Wakanda, for some reason. Sure, it had been crazy, and he'd been miserable, even the plants all around him seemed to want him dead, but it had been insanely peaceful. At least there T'Chaka had accepted him. He tried to ignore the stab of pain when he remembered that the Panther was long dead now. He had been friends with T'Challa for long years, of course, and the two were rather alike in many things, so it didn't hurt as much as it could have.

He shook his head slightly and walked carefully into the edge of the kitchen and snatched a coffee mug from around Steve before the man had any chance to tense as he realized he was there. As much as he wanted to just stay and be close to him, he poured his coffee quickly and made his way out just as quickly, ignoring the burn of the steaming liquid as the heat soaked through the thick material.

He pulled a chair out and relaxed into it before glaring over at Bruce's paper. Completely nonsensical. He wasn't exactly sure why he was getting mad at a piece of paper... and he really didn't care. It probably deserved it.

A plate thudded down in front of him and he stared down at it curiously before glancing back at Steve. The blonde raised an eye brow at him, then gave a significant look at the pile of food in the center of the table.

"Oh...Uh...No. Just...no. Appreciate the thought and all, I just don't, you know...do breakfast." Caps mouth tightened and Tony almost thought he saw him start to roll his eyes.

"Well, since you're here, you do. It's healthy for you, Tony."

Bruce snorted. "Besides, who knows the last time you ate anything. You're far too forgetful for your own good, you know." Clint's eyes rolled to the back of his head, but he kept quiet. Maybe it was just too early for his nonsense. More likely he was just too preoccupied with his food to come up with anything.

Unfortunately, not everyone was willing to stay silent. He personally would have preferred Clint's input to the cool English voice of Jarvis as it answered Bruce's unasked question.

"87 hours, Doctor." He glared up at the ceiling.

"Traitor." Then back to Bruce with an innocent smile, ignoring the fact that Steve was still standing there. "See, I'm fine."

There was a sigh from behind him. "That's almost four days. You're eating." Tony winced. Due to the pain, clearly... not at all because of the disappointed tone of Steve's voice. Of course not. And really, when had Steve gotten that quick with math?

Before he got a chance to refuse-again- Bruce had forked two pancakes onto the white porcelain and he had to snatch the plate away before he added any more. Clint snickered at him while Natasha rolled her eyes and gave up trying to carry on their conversation. Steve didn't move. In fact, he seemed to just be standing there. Waiting. Dammit.

With a long suffering sigh, he set the plate back down and quickly cut off a piece before stabbing it with a fork. Uhg... Pancakes. Seriously, who the hell thought that eating sweet things was a good idea as soon as you woke up? Oh, and if that weren't enough, lets just drown that bitch in syrup. Absolutely no sense to it.

"Fine."

He glanced over his shoulder at Steve again as the others went back to their own food. The blonde stared back, his stance making it very clear that he wasn't about to go anywhere until he ate something. Damn. Still, this interest was hopeful... at the very least, concern over his eating habits was a better place to start from than absolute hatred, so he was prepared to count that as a win... and celebrate it by choking down his pride and overly sweet breakfast. Lovely.

S

It had began as just a normal day for Steve. He'd woken up, he'd eaten some dry cereal, drank a gallon of water, went for a run, then got back to the tower before any of the others had gotten up, and cooked breakfast just in time for a bleary eyed Clint to come stumbling into the room. Bleary eyes, perhaps, but he didn't miss a beat when Steve tossed a plate to him over his shoulder from across the kitchen. When he pulled away from the oven a second later with the last of the pancakes, the other mans plate was heaped with bacon and toast.

They'd lived together for a little over a week now, and it had really stunned them all how quickly they fell into it all. Well, it stunned him, at least. Bruce seemed more confused about it than anything when he thought no one was watching, and as far as he could tell, Clint and Natasha both had accepted it without batting an eye.

Only two weren't used to it, the way Steve saw things...Thor was still in Asgard, of course, so he couldn't be expected to be.

Tony, though, none of them were really sure what was going through his mind. Maybe if he hadn't spent the entire time down in his lab, avoiding the rest of them, they might have had a clearer idea of how he was adjusting. But, no. Bruce had his own lab and the house wouldn't let any of them into Tony's shop, and they'd all only seen him once a few days ago, almost too drunk to be standing. That had hurt Steve to see, for some reason, but he shrugged it off as seeing his friend's son wasting what little talent he might have had.

Pepper had stopped by a day or two after, and had clearly been surprised to see all of them there, but had accepted it readily enough. She hadn't been able to get into her bosses lab either and had left angry, though it was clear to all of them that it was mostly just to hide the worry. She's sharply asked Natasha to give her a call when "Tony stopped trying to drown himself in his brooding" and left.

Truthfully... Steve felt bad about it. It almost felt like this were his fault. But Pepper had accepted it as normal and the house...Jarvis, he reminded himself... was quick to try to ease his mind when he mentioned it to thin air after her visit. He desperately wanted to apologize to the man for his behavior during the attack and on the Heli-carrier. He wasn't sure what had set him off about the man...

Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew perfectly well what it was... it just made him more ashamed than anything was all. He was too much like Howard. Like some of the Commandos. Of Peggy. His smirk, his deep brown eyes, even the way he stood... he'd seen it all before. It made him remember what he'd lost, remember that now he was alone. But the man didn't deserve it being taken out on him... Not that he took it lying down. Oh, no. If he had, it would have been easier to stop doing it last week.

Instead he'd had to snap back, clever and harshly blunt. And even that was familiar.

And as odd as it might sound, as messed up as it was, that had helped. Sure, the words had hurt, but the familiarity of it was worth it. But the hurt in the mans eyes when he'd gone too far hadn't been. And when Stark had almost died going through that worm-hole, it hit him how lost he'd be if he had to watch the last piece of what made being in this time alright die.

He hadn't been able to apologize then, not after that fight. They were all tired, and he felt that Tony wouldn't handle his apology well when he was that exhausted. He'd probably just think it was meant as some kind of insult, and he did not need the man hating him more than he already did. He was very good at what he did, and despite what Steve had initially thought, he was a Hero to the core... well, as long as you watched his actions instead of listening to some of the nonsense he said. Or what you read of him in the papers from time to time.

He was just finishing up in the kitchen when everyone at the table suddenly went silent. Not that they were normally loud, or anything. Well, Clint was, but other than that, Natasha was distinctive more than anything and as quite as he was, even Bruce's paper made enough noise to calm him from the other-wise eerie silence of the Tower. This silence, as a matter of fact.

He glanced over his shoulder to find them all staring. Confused, he turned towards the stairs leading to Tony's lab... and froze.

There stood Tony... half his face coated in what looked like motor oil, soaking down his shirt and pushing his dark brown hair up into a black mess that made it look like he'd just been in the middle of some explosion. He had the urge to smile and laugh at the man until he noticed a half-healed wound encircling his wrist. something about that injury tugged at his memory, but his mind came up didn't seem to mind it, so it must have just been something that happened during the attack that they had overlooked. that made sense and he put it out of him mind. It was his chance to apologize... and he couldn't do it. The words stuck in his throat. Maybe if he could get him alone, he could manage it. Later.

Except... was Tony... smiling at him? No, that couldn't be right... why would he be smiling at him? Maybe he was still drunk. No, he didn't seem to be having any trouble standing or walking. Odd. The smile slipped, and Steve shook himself and turned back to the stove.

Not a second later, he felt someone else near him. That someone smelled like a garage. For a moment, he thought that Tony was about to prod at him with something, mock him, something that would undoubtedly make him snap back and he started to tense. But relaxed as the cupboard above him opened and the lean man moved around him carefully to fill his mug with steaming hot black coffee Natasha had made as soon as she'd arrived in the kitchen.

He glanced behind him to see Tony collapsing into one of the chairs and stare vacantly at Bruce's newspaper. With a sigh, Steve grabbed another plate and set it down loudly in from of the man, debating whether or not he should tell him to go wash before breakfast... but decided against it. Would probably be the last they saw of him today if he did, and he still really did need to talk to him.

Startled caramel eyes met his own momentarily before he jerked his towards the pancakes and then down to the clean plate. For some reason, his throat didn't feel like working. Tony seemed to understand what he was trying to convey, thankfully. Unfortunately, he wasn't about to just do what Steve wanted. Oh, no. that would be too easy. Honestly, who didn't eat breakfast? That was worrisome.

It took a little convincing-with the help of Jarvis, of all people...er, things- but finally Tony ate a bit...

And looked shocked before devouring the rest. Huh. Must not have realized that he was hungry. He stood there and just watched for a bit with what felt like...amusement? Couldn't be.

At least they weren't snapping at one another like he'd expected when Tony finally joined them... Maybe apologizing to his teammate wouldn't be as hard as he thought.

Alright, finally have this started... sorry for, well. This? Yeah, that's about right. At the moment, I have a basic idea as to where the story is going, but I have yet to write down chapter summaries for myself to go on, but I wanted this to go up before everyone and their mothers had seen the new movie to make it clear that this is pre-IM3 in cases anyone missed the first AN. Thank you all for reading, see you next week. Enjoy.