Alright. Watched IM3 again, and the Avengers with my buddy... who had never seen it. In that order. Absolutely ridiculous. And he was so confused... honestly, who sees all of the Phase 1 movies skips the Avengers, but goes and sees Phase 2 movies anyway? Well, fixed that right quick.

Well, on with the story... Sorry about what I came up with here... it just, fit, somehow, in my mind. I'd like to just thank everyone who favorites, followed and commented on this story already. Definitely keeps me writing daily! Anyway, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own... Obvious, but needs to be said, I suppose.

"Don't be afraid, it's the price we pay: The only easy day was yesterday" We Are One~ 12 stones

Ok, so maybe breakfast wasn't all bad. It was still ridiculously sweet for the time of day, but after that first bite, that pretty much stopped mattering. It was filling, and while he had eaten a bit more recently than Jarvis had estimated, it had probably taken a lot of his body's energy to power T'Chaka's device. Had to be that... it just wasn't like him to get hungry like this.

Honestly, it just felt better having an excuse to be eating in the morning... as a child, he'd stopped doing so when he was four, when his father had suddenly decided that his work was much more important than the few hours a day he'd used to put aside to spend with his son.

Halfway through the meal, that was the thought that popped into his head and he wasn't so hungry any more... in fact, he felt completely sick to his stomach and he considered stopping. A single glance over his shoulder dissuaded him.

Steve was still standing there, just watching him with those bright blue eyes, relaxed. There was even what could have been a hint of amusement in his face... if he hadn't spent so much time with the man, he'd probably have missed it... for a second, it seemed like the better option not to have noticed.

He kept eating, just to keep Steve happy. It would be worth being uncomfortable and feeling awful for a few hours.

Soon after, Steve left: headed down to the gym on the third floor, according to a very subtle check through Jarvis's mainframe he accessed via a tablet cleverly hidden under the table when he finally set his fork down. Not a moment after, Natasha was gone, out the front door... probably doing something for Fury, and Clint bounded after her, the syrup seeming to do wonders in bringing him up to full sassy asshole mode that made being anywhere near him both amusing and potentially dangerous, if any of the others were around.

He sighed as he remembered one of the reasons he usually put off eating: doing the dishes. Such a waste of time, but Pepper would always yell at him when he tried to get one of his bots to do it, and he didn't exactly like to waste his time wrist deep in dirty, soapy water when there were obvious ways around it.

He stood with another sigh and reached for his plate... which disappeared under his finger-tips. He glanced up to see a small smile on Bruce's face as he moved to the kitchen with two plates.

"Go shower, Tony. I'll do this, I don't mind. You look like a cross between a kitten who got into a messy garage and a robot that sat through an explosion."

"...That would be a frightening creature, Brucy. Don't joke about that kind of shit... you'll give people nightmares." Bruce just laughed and turned to the sink. Well, at least he didn't have to do that... which was nice. His head was pounding and his stomach was churning.

"Shower...right. Sounds like a good idea."

Sounded like a good idea: In theory, it probably was. In execution, not so much.

He strode to the elevator perfectly well, got in, and punched in his floor of the Tower... and stumbled out when it reached it's destination. Movement: not a good idea. Uhg, had he swallowed more motor oil than he thought? It was possible, who knows how long he'd been passed out in that puddle.

He fell to his hands and knees upon reaching his bathroom and he had to pull himself to the toilet as he became violently sick.

Breakfast was an awful invention, and whoever came up with it should be ashamed.

It didn't take long for him to run out of anything to actually heave up, not that his stomach noticed, as it kept insisting he keep going until ran out of energy and was finally able to let his face rest on the edge of the porcelain. He forced his hand up enough to flick the switch that let a flush of water wash his breakfast away, but otherwise just lay there.

Today was not going well. Really, what an awful way to start a day: To wake up hating pancakes, stop hating pancakes after being all but force-fed by a guy you just so happened to be in love with but didn't remember feeling the same way about you, then before the hour was up, hate pancakes again. Worth it, though, even now as the back of his throat burned and he was a dizzy, miserable mess. Steve was happy...or at least happier, he supposed.

This whole throwing up thing was so much less fun when you weren't shit-face drunk. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been sick without the help of alcohol...

He let his eyes slide closed to ease the spinning and pounding...

And jumped awake twenty minutes later at a soft rapping at the edge of the open bathroom door. He groaned as he tilted his head to get a better angle on whoever was standing there... and took a few seconds before he was able to make out the frames of Bruce's glasses. He concentrated on them until the rest of the man slowly came into focus.

Their eyes met, and Tony still couldn't bring himself to lift his head. Fuck, it was hurting as bad as when he'd first woken up again.

"...Are you puking?"

"I'd prefer to think of it as an involuntarily rejection of half digested nutrition." Bruce leaned against the door-frame and smiled.

"Call it whatever you want, Tony. It doesn't change what it is."

"Uhgg... new rule: Breakfast foods: perfectly fine, so long as I've been up for at least five hours." Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"What, not just cutting it out altogether?" he snorted.

"Fuck no. Those pancakes weren't bad... and who could say no to a doughnut?" Bruce shook his head with a sigh.

"I don't know... I could live without donuts. So, you want help to bed, or just want to hang out in there until you can stand on your own?" Tony snorted a laugh and let his eyes slide closed again.

"Stay here, of course. This bathroom is already practically a garage for the amount of oil I've managed to smuggle in here this morning, I'd prefer to keep it out of my bed. That shit stains." Bruce's footsteps faded away momentarily then got louder as a heavy blanket was draped over him. His eyes stayed closed, but the smile on his face grew by a fraction.

"Thanks, buddy."

"Just feel better. We're all watching a movie tonight."

He nodded a bit. He vaguely remembered Jarvis informing him that they group had been watching a movie together every night since they moved in. Could be fun. "No worries. I'm never down long. Too much to do to put up with being sick."

After a few moments he heard his bedroom door close and cracked one eye open. A full water bottle was sitting on the counter. That would be nice in a bit. He pulled the blanket closer and shivered into it, trying to move his head as little as possible and drifted off again.

S

Steve sighed and leaned heavily against the punching bag, steadying it as it tried to swing away from his weight. Why had he almost gone to Tony when he smiled at him? The man probably had just been smiling at the coffee. But it had felt aimed at him, and it was driving him crazy. All while watching his teammate eat, he'd tried to puzzle it out. After that, he'd come to the gym, still trying to figure it out, and just couldn't.

Tony wasn't the type to just like people for the hell of it, especially after last week, he was sure: Otherwise, they probably would have gotten along better right off the bat.

He was still biting back the smile that had been threatening him since Tony's eyes filled with shock and what could have been called delight in any other person as he'd eaten. It had been captivating to watch, as awkward as that realization made him feel. He looked to the ceiling... it had taken a few days before someone had explained who...what... Jarvis was to him, and they all expected him to be terrified or something. In actuality, he constantly talked to the A.I.

Not really about anything important, of course, just discussion to fill the air without fear of judgment, simple as that. It felt... well, not normal, not much in this time was what he would call normal... but expected. This was what many people of his generation had seen when they looked in their own minds when asked about what the future held in store. It was the one thing about this time that he absolutely loved: He was in the childhood fantasies of just about every kid from him neighborhood.

"He did enjoy the pancakes... didn't he, Jarvis?" Why that was what he asked was as much of a mystery to him as the breakfast one that plagued him, but it felt right to ask... for a few seconds, at least. Not so much after Jarvis hesitated before answering, calm as ever.

"I... believe that he did, Captain." He gave an expectant look towards nothing in particular, knowing from experience that Jarvis would pick up from his facial signals to continue. "... I believe it was a bit much for him, however. He is not used to eating so soon after he gets up, nor that much in a sitting and is, to put it delicately... entering a digestion interruption sequence." His brows knitted together.

"Pardon?"

"He's throwing up, Captain." There was almost a hint of exasperation under the smooth voice.

"...It was two pancakes, how the hell does that come even close to 'eating too much in one sitting!?"

"I hope you do not expect a response, seeing as I do not have a digestive system and would not know. Would you like me to look it up for you?" Well, he'd hoped for one, but he shook his head. "Very good."

"Is... uh, Is he Ok?" It only felt polite to ask, he rationalized.

"Sir will be fine. Dr. Banner has seen to him, and he is sleeping at the moment."

"Oh." A flash of heat burst in his stomach at that, but he dismissed it. Good. It was good that Bruce was keeping an eye on him... maybe he should go check, just in case. He was the leader of the team, after all. It was his responsibility to make sure, after all... it wasn't weird.

He sighed again and shook his head. Maybe Tony had only been acting strangely this morning because he was sick? It didn't make much sense, of course. Who the hell got more friendly and actually potentially nice when they were sick? He ran a hand through his damp hair... he might as well check. He had to go shower, anyways.

He snuck into Tony's room with a sense of disembodiment... there really was no point in sneaking, He knew absently... Jarvis would see anyway and no one would be going to see Tony, especially not in his room. He was really only sneaking at the moment because it felt right.

The bedroom itself was rather empty and so impersonal that it verged on painful. The bed was clean and completely unruffled... as if it hadn't been touched in weeks... which wasn't surprising. Not really, given it was Tony's room he was looking into. He was at a loss for a few moments on where to actually look for the man. But only a few. Then he wandered into the bathroom, and there lay Tony.

He was laying sprawled on the floor, looking completely ruffled in a thick navy blue blanket, skill soaked in oil... which was now smeared on the cool white of the bathroom, floor, sink, toilet, everywhere. Must have been a bit restless in his sleep. Steve smirked, glad that no one is around to see him watching the man. Why hadn't he just gone to his bed? It certainly seemed he could use it.

Still, the man looked a lot more relaxed -even pale, dirty and looking all too tired- as he lay on the granite floor, asleep. It didn't make him look younger, really, or even more peaceful. He still looked ready to fight at a moments notice, there was no doubt about that, it was just that he just looked less guarded. More natural. More vulnerable to the world around him that he so easily dismissed awake.

Given that it was Tony Stark that he was talking about, that change should mean a great deal, but suddenly, it didn't. This man, sleeping miserably on the floor in a bathroom, was really the same man that had in the past week risked his life not once, but twice in order to save people who couldn't care less for him. They weren't distinct from one another, there was no major change. He was simply who he was, not what everyone saw, to be sure. But no different than he had ever been.

Steve couldn't remember ever needing just being near someone, to help them because they were who they were. He wanted to lift the dark man up and tuck him into the hug empty bed as carefully as he could and just make him feel better. To lay next to him and be there for him when he woke.

He all but ran from the room, yelling at his own mind.

What was wrong with him? Seriously? He should have never gone to see Tony. He should have punched everything in the gym until it was a completely unrecognizable pulp of its former self, he should have drawn, gone for a run, anything. Now he was stuck thinking about his teammate, the one person he would prefer to pretend didn't exist. He was stuck wondering about him. He thought that he'd gotten over all of this, especially towards other men,, when he'd met Peggy.

For not the first time since the serum, he wished that he could get drunk and just forget everything. And this time, there was no Peggy there to offer reassurance and a kind word, no one to just hold him until he was ready to face the world. There was nothing for him here, but he couldn't just abandon everything... they needed him. The need wasn't as desperate as it could have been, seeing as there were others to share the load with him, but he was still needed. He had never been once to leave someone in need behind.

He couldn't think properly. He needed something to take his mind off of things... talking to Jarvis was out of the question, of course... he felt he'd already made a fool of himself to intimate objects today. It was helpful at times, but it made him feel just a bit past crazy at times.

Natasha and Clint were still both out doing something for Shield, so sparring was out of the question. Not that he would have been too up for that. He had worked out most of his frustration and energy already. He didn't trust himself to draw at the moment... he wasn't sure what his muse would be. He was definitely looking forward to the movie that night.

He raced to his room and practically threw himself into the shower, allowing the cool of the water wash his confusion away for a moment, and let himself relax.

He stayed in the shower probably longer than he should have, but the hot water in the Tower never seemed to run out, and he just loved it. It gave him time to straighten out his mind, and push whatever it was he was feeling away, deep down with his lost and broken memories where it belonged, where he could deal with it later.

By the time he got himself dry and dressed and wandered into the main kitchen for something to eat, the Natasha and Clint had gotten back and were relaxing there. Clint sprawled over on the chairs, eyes shut tight and obviously exhausted, Natasha across from him with a small smirk that was easy to miss, reading forms spread out before her. Her eyes darted to him for a fraction of a second when he came in, but otherwise, neither moved. As much as he was looking forward to it, he wasn't really sure if they were up to a movie tonight... they both did look pretty worn out. He said as much.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and Clint snorted out a laugh and mumbled something about how "only quitters quit," too lost in exhaustion for him to make out most of it. The red-head shook her head.

"No... actually I was thinking that we could start after you eat. I'm sure there's a marathon you should be part of." a grin split his face and he nodded, suddenly not very hungry... Movies with the others were always fun.

He made a quick sandwich and stared at Natasha with his eyes wide until she finally sighed with a roll of her eyes and stood up, nudging Clint's shoulder to wake him up. "Alright, lets go. Jarvis, could you get Bruce?"

"Already taken care of, ma'am." she nodded and grabbed Clint's arms, physically dragging him into the living room with ease. Clint didn't seem to care. They were all settled in and trying to decide what to watch when Bruce showed up with a small smile... Tony was by his side, a bowl of popcorn balanced in one hand.

It looked like he had showered, his damp hair sticking up at crazy angles and his skin was no longer stained black with grease and oil. He certainly looked more well rested than before... he definitely didn't look like he'd been sleeping on the floor of a bathroom for most of the day.

Fury raced through him and he couldn't help it. He wasn't completely sure what it was that did it... it could have been how the other man was walking, for gods sake. Or it could have been the fact that he should be in bed, resting.

"What do you think you're doing?" It came out just as viciously as it had sounded in his mind, and he let himself feel the shock at how much pleasure he got at the surprised look Tony gave him... it didn't last long. Actually, as soon as he saw the very real hurt in the others eyes, he wanted to hit himself.

What the hell was wrong with him? He'd never been a cruel person... even people he hated, he was polite to. He had to find some way to get over this... it would cause problems on the field. What was worse: Stark was actually the one who kept his temper, this time. He didn't snap back at Steve, didn't even vocally convey his hurt like Steve had expected... but those eyes... they made him feel like a part of him had just died.

Before he could say or do anything in apology, Stark had a small smirk on his face, shoved the bowl of popcorn at Clint, and turned on his heel and started for the elevator.

"Nothing, don't worry. Just know how pissy some people get when they don't have their snack. Enjoy the movie." His voice was controlled: practiced. Fake. That sent another stab of hurt deep into Steve's gut, but he stayed quiet. He'd caused this... and at this point, he was probably just going to make it worse if he said anything else.

The others gave looks that ranged from confused to vaguely insulted, but they stayed silent... Clint started to say something, but Natasha smacked the back of his head. He shot a glare over his shoulder at the red-head, but she just shook her head at him. Steve couldn't watch.

Suddenly, watching a movie with his team didn't seem nearly as good as it had only a few minutes ago.

Sorry about that ending, I know it kind of switched really quickly into... that, but Steve's troubled. Can't just have them be immediately friendly because Tony flashes a (admittedly) charming smile or two at him. It'll be worked out next chapter.

Also, sorry for the sick Tony here. I was... rather stuck on how to get to this end, and this seemed like it was a good way to make it work. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy.