DAY 1

"I hate that we have to do this on a cruise ship. I hate that we have to use a vessel I do not own. I hate that we have to do this at all."

"Tony Stark would like to enlighten us all with a list of the Things He Hates." Clint waved a hand in the air, his feet perched on the railing as they watched the New York skyline fade away. He had a frozen drink in his other hand, it had an umbrella in it; Tony hated both of those things.

Instead of vocalizing his hate yet again, he smacked Clint's feet off the railing and walked away from the Avengers. Steve and his bonding, Steve leading them all above deck to say bon voy-fucking-age, to talk and giggle and braid each others hair.

Tony hated how much he actually wanted them to become a team because, eventually, everyone left and the Avengers would do just the same.

He wanted to add Steve to the list of things he hated, but the sun bent its light off his abs and Tony couldn't hate anything that pretty. But he could hate the tourists, the seventh freaking tourist of the afternoon, that bumped into him. They all smelled like sunscreen and Tony hated it.

"What's bothering him?" Steve watched as Tony pushed past a family in swimsuits and floaters. He had to shove away his own prickle of disappointment. Sure, none of them wanted to spend the next seven days on a cruise ship. Some of them wondered if this harebrained idea of Fury's was even safe - mostly Bruce, who opted to stay in their suite instead of witnessing their departure. But there had been anger in Tony's eyes and Steve did not understand it.

"Tony Stark cannot sit still," Natasha told her magazine. Already clad in a sharp black one-piece, she soaked in the late afternoon sun. "And we just put him in a glorified cage. Without his suits."

Next to them, an olympic sized swimming pool connected a running track with what appeared to be a wall for recreational climbing. Steve heard the sounds of children laughing below and a woman had already come by, twice, to ask if they'd like any food or drink. "This is not a cage."

Clint snorted. "This is definitely a cage."

The wood bent under Steve's grip, replaying the conversation with Fury in his mind. This was about team morale. They were the Avengers. And since the Battle of New York -well, that meant something now. "This is team bonding."

"Of course-" Clint placed his feet back onto the railing, lowering his sunglasses so Steve could see the amusement in his eyes. "-Captain America would buy the company line."

###

Fury had booked them a single suite that contained three rooms. The only way Bruce even agreed to join was if Thor bunked with him, to reign in the big guy if things turned sour. Natasha claimed the room with the double bed and left the room with bunk beds and a separate twin for Steve, Tony, and Clint.

For a suite with that many people, it seemed odd to be sitting in the common room alone. He had opened the sliding door that led to the balcony, let the sounds of the ocean crashing along the lower decks lull him into a nap.

The front door slamming open startled him awake.

He checked his blind spots and noted that the sun had hardly moved from the last time he looked its way - he hadn't slept long. Which was why it was impressive how drunk Tony appeared to be.

He stumbled against the door before kicking it shut behind him. The amber liquid in his cup sloshed over the rim. Steve stood, reaching out to help the man but he shot his hand out, pushing Steve away.

"Oh, trust me, Cap, I know how to handle this situation way better than you," Tony emphasized his words with another stumble, crossing the room to throw himself onto the couch Steve had just vacated. "What I need is the complimentary two liter of water, a washcloth, maybe a bucket. You, you,-" He pointed towards Steve's direction, not quite landing his mark. "Lower the lights."

"I'm sorry, have you confused me with JARVIS?" He asked as Thor and Bruce's bedroom burst open. The sound surprised Steve but it was much worse for Tony who yelped and almost fell off the couch. Steve hid his laugh behind a cough.

Thor stood in the doorway, proud in his three-piece suit. The blond strands of his hair were tied back and secured by, what looked to be, one of Natasha's hair ties. He'd shaven for the occasion and his shoes looked recently shined. "Friends, soon we feast!" The words were a bellow like always and, outside of battle, they never failed to put a smile on Steve's face.

Tony groaned.

"Are you ill, my friend?" Thor's face dropped with concern and he was by the sofa in one short step.

"Why are you yelling?" Tony asked, forearm thrown over his eyes.

"He's hungover," Steve said and Tony moved his arm an inch to glare at him. Steve laughed at the man's pathetic attempt at threatening through a pout but he still crossed over to the kitchenette and grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge. He tossed it at Tony's feet.

Tony kicked until the bottle rolled up his body, close enough for him to grab. "Thanks for making me work for it."

"Are you joking right now?" Steve asked, arms crossing over his chest. "We're supposed to be bonding as a team and you storm off to get drunk midday instead."

"We have our opening meal with the Captain," Thor reminded, breaking the intense stare off between Steve and Tony. He sounded disappointed. Tony hated disappointing Thor and he added it to the long list of things he hated about this cruise.

"Already? I thought that was at seven," Steve asked, already moving towards the bedroom.

As he left the room he heard Tony murmuring to Thor while he navigated around the twin beds to the closet in the corner. "Ugh, fine, I'll go." Then, louder, Tony yelled, "I call first shower!"

Steve counted to ten, using the words, "team bonding" as a mantra. He would not punch an intoxicated Tony Stark.

###

Clint did not have time for a shower and everybody noticed. He had spent the day in the gym of all places, claimed that a punching bag in a room full of windows in the middle of the ocean was his form of relaxation.

Whatever, he smelled, and it was starting to make Tony nauseous.

They sat in a round table near the window, a great view of the engine's wake. Thankfully, for Tony, the waves were calm. The only thing causing him to be sick was the sour, sweaty smell of Hawkeye seated next to him.

"How can you stand to be in a suit when you're that filthy?"

Clint raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me right now? I've seen you covered in grease, and you weren't even building anything, just playing with DUM-E and Butterfingers."

"Not in Armani." Tony hunched away from Clint, into the organic, clean scent that was Steve Rogers.

Steve patted his head and Tony flinched away from the contact, shocked less by the man's patronising smile than by his action. "Are you petting me?"

"You just look so….pathetic?"

"Are you judging me, America?"

Steve couldn't help it, Tony looked so ridiculously helpless. He was almost falling into himself in the fancy dining chair and every time the waiter came over, which was a lot, he would turn further into the space between them. The waiter returned to pour some water into their glasses and Tony groaned. "You've done this to yourself." Steve patted his head again.

Tony wanted to smack his hand away but instead leaned into the touch. Steve Rogers had the ability to block out most ambient noise, a side effect of the serum he assumed. Fingers trailed into the strands of his hair, completely undermining Steve's hard words. "Alcohol did this to me," he groaned, but it faded away underneath the table's conversation.

"You know the suite has three showers." Natasha reached over the table for the basket of bread, using a piece to soak up the oil from her escargot appetizer. "And any one of them would have turned you into a human being fit to eat on fine linen."

Thor held up his cloth napkin. "Is this considered fine?"

Tony snorted. Natasha reached up for the napkin and put it back in Thor's lap. She shook her head, red curls brushing against her bare shoulders. The beading of her black floor length gown flickered in the setting sunlight as she moved. "This is considered fine for Clint. "

Bruce reached over to pick up his napkin and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "I don't know, this is pretty nice."

"And you're an expert?" Tony snapped, angry for no other reason than the fact that they all existed and continued to talk in his presence. "Lots of fine linen in Calcutta?"

Steve's hand fell away from his head and he immediately regretted his outburst. He hated his headache, and the way the sun kept catching his eye during its descent and he hated the way none of them cared that he was drunk and pouting - hated that this is what they expected of him, that this had been his state of mind more often than not, since flying headfirst into space with a nuclear weapon.

Tony reached for his tumbler of whiskey. Steve's hand reappeared, only to move the glass out of his reach and replace it with water.

###

Then the baked Alaska arrived and everything went to shit. Bruce moved his sleeve a little too close to the torch and he jumped back, pushing away from the table, face whitening then turning green. Bruce did not like fires it seemed. Steve filed the information into his mental notes for Hulk.

Wild eyes met Steve's across the table and he only had to nod towards Thor for the God's solid hand to press around Bruce's shoulder, pulling him from his seat. The two were out the door.

The table shook as Clint kicked Natasha under the table.

"Whoa!" Steve reached out as the two started bickering in Russian. Tony hated when they bickered in Russian; he added it to his list.

Clint's forehead crinkled as he gestured violently with his arms, thrusting them out in front of him, yelling something at Natasha.

Tony was surprised to see how abashed she appeared, glancing towards the door before nodding. She said something else in Russian, almost whispered and affectionate, a speech long enough to turn Barton from angry and defensive to withdrawn and guilt-ridden right in front of them. Natasha shook her head, asked him a question, which he ignored, before she stood and followed Bruce and Thor out the door.

Barton sat for all of two seconds before pushing from the table and leaving through a different exit.

"Well," Tony said, lifting his hand to reach for his whiskey. "We made it to dessert?"

Steve unclenched his teeth and looked towards Tony, his eyes falling first to the drink and then forcing their eyes to meet. "You haven't had enough?"

"I took a break and was forced to sit through Introduction to Russian. I think I deserve this."

"They were talking about Clint."

Tony sat back, impressed. "You know Russian?"

"Not fluent by any means. But I picked up a bit."

"About guilt?" Tony asked.

"About war."

Tony looked to where Clint had left, a side door that took him towards the outdoor deck. He hadn't gone far, staring at the sunset, unmoving. "He not over Loki's possession, I'm guessing."

Steve shrugged, broad shoulders rising and falling under his well-fitted suit. Concern creased his forehead and he still looked like the ideal specimen of Man. He cared so damn much. Cared about the Avengers, about his teammates, about Tony. He wanted to add it to the list of things he hated but knew it'd be a lie. Instead he finished his drink, then stood and left the man alone at their table.