Chapter 7

"C'mon, Bucky," Steve muttered, staring at his unconscious friend. Glancing up, he saw that Sam was doing no better, though his ankle was wrapped in bandages. The slow, constant beeps coming from the machines were Steve's only comfort while he desperately waited for his friends to wake up.

"You need to relax, Steve," Natasha said, walking up behind him. Steve made a grunting noise that could've been an agreement or an argument, and then went back to staring at his friends.

Natasha gave her teammate a slightly sympathetic look and pulled up a chair next to him, sitting down gracefully. Her red hair pooled around her face, much as it had when she and Steve had been running from SHIELD.

"Look," she said quietly, "I know you're worried. I can understand why. But you have your own needs, Rogers, and you've been sitting like this for two days. They will wake up. You don't need to worry them, but I think they'll be worried when they see a sleepless you sitting over them."

There was still no response from Steve. Natasha sighed, absently playing with a few stands of her hair.

"I know what it's like." Her voice was distant as she spoke. "I can understand why you want to watch them day and night - I really do. But it's not going to get you anywhere. If you keep this up, Steve, you're going to break before they are, and then the Avengers are going to have a pretty big problem." She took a deep breath. "Tony said that Avengers tower has the best medical equipment in the city and probably the world. You don't have to worry."

"But I want to worry," Steve replied softly, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. "If I don't, who will?"

"All of us," Natasha responded, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder. "The Avengers are more than just a team, Steve. We're friends. And there's no way we're going to let any of us do anything stupid without everyone else doing it too."

That finally pulled a small smile out of Steve. Natasha smiled in turn, glad that she could at least partially pull Steve out of his worry.

"We do do a lot of dumb things," Steve eventually sighed, leaning back in his chair.

I've really been here for two days? He wondered absently, hearing his stomach grumble and his whole body ache. His shield was still leaned against the side of the chair where Steve had originally left it when he first sat down.

"You need to change," Natasha said, eyeing Steve who was still wearing his uniform. "When they wake up, you're just going to knock them out again with the smell."

Steve chuckled slightly and stood up, his whole body groaning in protest.

I guess the super-soldier serum doesn't cover everything, he thought wryly.


Now that Steve had washed up and changed, he felt the urge to go back to the medical floor and watch his fiends.

"Sir," Jarvis said, startling Steve who had been walking in the hallway lost in thought, "Tony has told me that it would be best if you stayed out of the medical wing for now. They are conducting surgery on Sam's ankle and figure it would be best without someone sitting in a chair and watching."

"Got it, Jarvis," Steve replied, his tone not matching the slight frown on his face.

I guess that gets rid of that option.

As Steve was wondering what to do, his stomach growled.

Well, that gives me something to do.

Stepping into the elevator, Steve pressed the button for the kitchen floor. The elevator descended smoothly and rapidly, and the doors thankfully opened quickly, allowing Steve to escape the terrible elevator music.

Tony probably does that on purpose. Knowing him, it's probably an entirely different soundtrack when he's in the elevator.

The kitsch was easy to find and Steve took one step in and froze, filled with shock.

Tony was standing in the middle of the kitchen, covered in glitter from head to toe while the kitchen was covered in various scorch marks. Clint was messing with his bow and arrows, Bruce was drinking tea and reading a newspaper like nothing was happening, and Natasha just looked completely done with the whole affair. Tony turned and saw Steve, immediately paling.

"I can explain," he said, putting his hands up in the gesture that universally - in sports - said that he did something wrong.

"Honestly, Tony," Steve replied, "I don't think I want to know."

Tony let out an audible sigh of relief.

Clint coughed, slipping a suspiciously glittery arrow back into his quiver.

"I'd better put my gear back," he said, his gaze flicking from Tony to Steve and back again.

"Yeah," Tony replied, "do that. I'm going to clean up."

"Yeah," Bruce muttered from the table, "do that."

Steve smiled as Tony started walking out. However, as he passed Steve, he gave him a giant clap on the back. Before Steve could say anything, Tony made his escape.

"You have a little something on your back," Bruce commented, lowering his newspaper.

"I know," Steve muttered, twisting to see the glittery handprint that Tony had left. Steve sighed, giving up. "Well, as long as it doesn't get into my foot it'll be fine."

Bruce grinned slightly and went back to reading the news.

After ten minutes, Steve had made himself an omelette after significant help from Bruce, who claimed that he "didn't want to have an 'episode' because someone set the tower on fire while making food".

I have no idea what time of day it is, Steve thought, sitting down, but I really want an omelette.

"You'd better appreciate my breakfast-making skills," Bruce said conversationally.

"I do," Steve replied, taking a large bit of his breakfast. After a few chews, he swallowed. "They're pretty impressive."

Bruce smiled and then drained the last of his tea.

"I have some research I need to get back to," he explained. Steve nodded and Bruce walked out, whistling quietly.

Steve finished his omelette in relative peace and then went back to his room, intent on sleeping. His whole body felt dragged down, weighted. His bed, on the other hand, seemed perfect. With a groan, Steve collapsed onto it, almost missing the one pillow. The mattress, too, was fairly hard, "uncomfortable" by most people's standards.

Well, Steve thought, your beds are too comfortable.

With that last thought, his eyes drifted shut and he fell asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, his fingertips just brushing the shield that was lying on the floor.

Hey sorry about the wait and the fact that there's very little going on in this chapter (but there is time when the Avengers aren't kicking butt, unfortunately).

If you guys have any questions, feel free to PM me or ask it in a review. I will answer any questions as best I can!

(Also, please review if you're able!)

Until next time,

-RoR

P.S. it's probably best not to ask what happened between Clint and Tony in the kitchen. Some stories are better left unsaid.