It was pouring down rain; it beat a steady tempo on the tempered glass. The Wakandans said it was out of season. The Wakandans weren't accustomed to pissed-off Asgardians whose moods impacted the weather. Rhodes was talking; he was trying to pay attention, but he was struggling. He was so damn tired.
"What's left of the DOD wants what's left of the Avengers in D.C., yesterday. 'Get your asses back on the right continent,' was the secretary's exact wording," he was interrupted by Nat snorting before continuing. "Steve, you're pardoned; no excuses."
"I don't remember making any," Steve quipped.
"I am not of Midgard; I will not bow to this... secretary," Thor snarled.
Rhodes worked his temples between his thumb and forefinger and sighed.
"Last I checked, you're an Asgardian refugee on 'Midgard,' dude. You're not king of anywhere. Somewhere, you're gonna be 'bowing' to somebody. Might as well do it with your friends."
Thor scowled and shoved his chair back from the table before storming out of the room. Thunder rumbled outside.
Typical.
Nat let out an explosive sigh and stood up.
"I'll get him."
"Rhodey look, I know where you're coming from—really, I do—but the worst of the fighting was here, there are still packs of rabid alien-dogs loose, and Wakanda is completely politically unstable right now..."
Rhodes shut him up with a look. He raised his hands in surrender.
"Fine. I can run reports just easily from D.C.," he paused. "I can, can't I? Communications are back up?"
"Yes and no. It's patchy, but serviceable most of the time. A few major centers took big hits, and just like every other goddamned thing, there aren't enough people left to get things fully functional. Probably won't be for awhile. It'd be better to hand off what you're doing to somebody here; you're going to be up to your eyeballs back home. Your green eyeballs."
Bruce rolled his eyes.
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks for the rundown, Rhodes. It's deeply appreciated," Steve said soberly, resting his elbows on the table. "Any word on the others?"
"Pepper hasn't heard anything from Tony; radio silence. She's holding it together, barely. Apparently the spider kid's aunt showed up at the Tower hysterical the other day; Pepper didn't know what to tell her—seemed to shake her up a lot. No contact from Fury, Hill, or Barton. We just have to assume..." Rhodes trailed off. "Well, you know."
They were silent for some time before Rhodes cleared his throat.
"Well, I'm going to try to get some transport arranged, hopefully for tomorrow morning, early. So try to get some sleep."
"You too, Rhodey," Bruce tried to put some force behind the suggestion, but ended up yawning.
He sat with Steve in companionable silence for some time; it wasn't exactly as though they had any packing to do. Steve looked haggard; super soldier serum or no, he needed sleep. And food. Bruce dragged himself to his feet.
"I'm going to make a sandwich; want something?"
"Not hungry," Steve said; however, his growling stomach betrayed him immediately.
"That's a lie," he chuckled. "Come on; anything?"
Steve hesitated a beat too long; Bruce studied his expression.
"Still having episodes?"
"I'm not used to being sick; I'm not supposed to get sick," the soldier groused.
"You don't have the stomach flu, Steve. You're having panic attacks. I'm sure we could get you some meds; Zofran at least, for the nausea. Ambien, help you sleep." He stopped just short of suggesting psychiatric meds; that had not gone well, last time.
"Will they even work?" Steve raised an eyebrow; the man did burn through medication.
"I mean, we'd probably have to triple the dosage or something but..." he sighed. "At least let me get you on an IV, if you're not going to eat?"
"Just make the damn sandwich, Banner," Steve snapped.
