Bruce Banner pulled a test tube from the rank and filled a clear pipette with version 4337 of the serum. He picked up a second pipette that contained Steve's blood and was about to dispense it into the test tube when something collided with his shoulder, causing his hand to shake ever so slightly. Fortunately, he was able to pull his thumb away from the plunger before any of the blood had spilled.

"Stark," Bruce warned without looking away from the instruments in front of him. He knew Tony was hovering right over his shoulder, so close that the inventor's spiky, unwashed hair would practically be in Banner's face. He also knew that Tony's goggles were hanging carelessly around his neck, instead of being secured around his face, and suspected they were the object that kept swinging into his shoulder.

The genius glanced left and scooted backwards a few inches.

"This month would be good," he quipped, motioning furiously with his hands.

Bruce slowly rolled his eyes which only seemed to further aggravate his impatient teammate. He realigned the pipette and dropped a few milliliters of a blue liquid into a sample of Steve's serumless cells, twisted on a cap and slipped the test tube back onto the rack.

"Now we wait." He pushed his own goggles onto his forehead and leaned back in his chair. He heard the squeak of a rolling chair being set in motion and saw Tony flying across the room until he slammed into his workspace.

Barely resisting the effort to chide his teammate, he looked out onto the now empty hallway and allowed his thoughts to wander. A few hours ago, he had seen Steve being escorted out of the building by a slew of guards. As he passed, the soldier had lifted his hand in a semblance of a wave but Bruce had been too shocked at the Captain's haggard appearance to do more than raise his own hand in response. He had been expecting the physical changes considering the soldier's metabolism was no longer running at four times its usual rate but something else was…off, for lack of a better term…with the young soldier and that unknown had been troubling the scientist for a great while now.

As his formula began to bubble quietly, Bruce massaged his aching temples. He was tired of the half-answers he had been getting from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rest of the Avengers regarding Steve's condition. He wanted a complete analysis and knew only one man who had the ability to do that.

"What are they not telling us?" he asked his teammate.

"A whole lot of nothing," Stark laughed humorlessly, knowing exactly to whom Banner was referring. He pulled his StarkPhone from his pocket and held it up to a nearby screen, allowing JARVIS to temporarily commandeer it.

"Let's see," he drawled, pulling up a picture of Steve sitting morosely in bed, staring unblinkingly at the far wall, followed by a video of a cautiously optimistic Steve picking up his colored pencils and beginning a sketch before he threw the book across the room, his shoulders heaving painfully and his face tightly contorted.

"Oh Steve," Bruce muttered under his breath as videos continued to slide onscreen: Coulson stopping by with an old-fashioned board game, Clint suggesting Steve's other options under S.H.I.E.L.D., Thor wanting to discuss how training an Asgardian warrior differed from a Midgardian. Rogers politely refused each attempt to distract him and returned to his room—not that he found any peace there; through a time lapse, Banner could see Steve was only spending a few hours asleep a night until he would sit bolt upright, panting and scrubbing at his face, feeling his bicep, his quadriceps, his ribs… Reassuring himself that this isn't just a dream, the doctor realized with a start.

Onscreen, Steve practically leapt out of bed, pulled on a white V-neck and all but sprinted for the closest gymnasium where he punched and lifted and ran himself into exhaustion. In the wee hours of the morning, he dragged his now fatigued body into bed only to wake a few hours later and return to S.H.I.E.L.D.

"There you have it," Stark said as the footage faded to black. "A Week in the Life of Steve Rogers. Think it will be nominated for any awards?"

"He's surviving, Tony. Cut him some slack."

"We need him to do more than that," Stark snapped.

Banner shook his head and slid an older test tube into an agitator. "Just give him some time. Right now, he's going through his own personal hell—he's not thinking clearly."

"Well then he needs to Dante his ass back to reality. And soon." Stark glanced over at Bruce's surprised expression. "Yeah, I read. From time to time. When I can't think of anything better to do."

The two were interrupted by the catchy guitar riffs and the rough vocals of Brian Johnson.

"Shocker," Banner muttered as he recognized the song.

"Would you expect anything less?" Tony grinned cockily, thumbing the accept button. "What Natasha?"

Stark's grin dropped off his face, replaced by a frown. "When?"

Bruce stood up, walking over towards Tony. "What's going on?"

"Uh huh," Stark held up his hand, stopping Bruce from leaning in. He listened for a moment more before tilting the phone away from his ear so the doctor could hear the muttered Russian.

"Don't worry about it, I'll handle it," Stark informed the Widow when she stopped cursing long enough to catch her breath.

Banner could literally see Natasha's shocked face through the phone. "You'll what?" she managed after a long pause.

"I've. Got. It."

"Stark are you sure…"

"When have I ever—"

"Stark!"

"I can handle it Nat," Stark grinned evilly, knowing she hated that nickname. "You and Legolas go back to whatever yoga positions you were trying and we'll be home for dinner."

"I so swear Stark—"

"Gotta go!" he quickly disconnected the call.

"Steve's gone," he told Bruce evenly.

"What?" the scientist questioned, already reaching for his jacket.

Stark reached out and grabbed his friend's shoulder. "I know where he is."

"How?" the doctor responded, the news that Steve had disappeared reducing his normally eloquent speech to one-word questions.

"If you just found out you were completely human, where would you go to drown your sorrows?"

Understanding flitted across the doctor's face.

"I'm still coming with."

"Nope. Gotta handle this one by myself."

Banner still wasn't sure that was such a great idea, but he understood the logic in not overwhelming Steve. Plus, the soldier and Tony had a lot more in common than they would care to believe. "Just…be sensitive."

"You know me," Stark whirled around at the door, his arms spread wide. "I'm the epitome of sensitivity."

"That's what we're all afraid of," Banner mumbled under his breath, turning back to his research as the door whooshed closed.

There were only a handful of bars in the greater New York area that had been around since the 1930s. Of these, there were only a few that kept the vintage atmosphere of that era, but there was only one Tony Stark had heard his father mention repeatedly.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective glass and paused to run a hand through his hair before entering.

"Hey," he drawled at the stunning bartender. "You seen a guy come in here about an hour ago? Blond? Sitting by himself?"

"He's back there," she pointed to a small table hidden from the front door by the left ridge of the bar. "Ordered a bottle the minute he got here. Haven't heard much from him since."

Stark pulled out a twenty and slapped it into her hand. "Thanks."

He stepped around the bar and was surprised by the sight that greeted him. Rogers was hunched over the table, his normally coiffed hair standing up in every direction and a week-old beard lining his jaw. He held a tumbler loosely in one hand and was scrubbing at his face with the other. The soldier didn't even look up as the billionaire approached.

"Stark," he crooned, raising his glass woozily. "Not the man I wanted to see."

Tony sat down across the table, moving the mostly-empty bottle that was standing between them. "I never thought I'd see you drunk," he commented without really thinking.

Steve winced. "Never thought…you'd see me drunk neither. But…shit happens," he clumsily reached out, barely managing to wrap his hand around the neck of the bottle.

Stark reached out and grabbed the bottom, keeping Rogers from bringing it closer. "I think you've had enough," he cautioned.

"Says you," Steve scoffed, tugging hard on the glass neck. "C'mon Stark!" he whined when the genius refused to let go.

Tony easily pulled the bottle out of Steve's loose grip and placed it beside him on the seat. "We need to talk, Captain."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Captain—is'o formal." He downed the rest of his drink and held out his empty glass to Stark. "Please?" he begged.

Tony shook his head. "Not until we've talked."

Scowling, Rogers reluctantly placed the glass on the table. "What could you…possibly…want…to talk about?"

"You," Stark replied, eyeing the drunken man. It was a very unusual situation for him. Usually Rhodey was the one cutting off his alcohol supply and it felt downright strange to be doing it for someone else.

"Wha' 'bout me?" Steve slurred.

"How are you doing?" Stark asked, wincing internally as the words left his lips.

"I'm…'m just…peachy," Rogers paused. "People still say that, right?"

"Those bags under your eyes say otherwise."

"Drop't, Stark," Steve muttered, staring intently at the bottom of his glass.

"Nope," Tony scrunched up his face in exaggerated thought, "can't."

Steve turned his head, his eyes deadly serious. "Drop. It. Stark," he repeated.

"Can't do that."

"Fine." Steve rose up from his seat, bracing himself against the table to remain upright. "Bartender," he unintentionally shouted, his inebriated state keeping him from realizing how loud he was. "My tab please."

Stark shook his head and waving a hundred dollar bill in the air behind Steve. The bartender nodded in agreement to Tony's unspoken deal and turned away to pour another drink.

Steve looked back, his entire body twitching as he did so. "Why…"

"Sit down Cap," Tony pointed at the empty chair. Steve looked at the bartender again, then back at Stark. Seeing no other option, he dropped into the seat.

"Whaddya want, Stark?"

"Let's talk about what happened."

"'M not Cap'n America anymore," Steve said sadly. "What's more…to tell?"

"There's a lot more," Tony began, trying to remember the crap Pepper and Rhodey had bombarded him with after he had escaped from Afghanistan. "Like you so eloquently said, shit happens. And yeah, we sit around and mope for a while, but then we get back up and move on. Somewhere along the line, you never got around to part two."

Steve scowled again. "When did you become so…wordy?"

"Listen to me Rogers!" Stark slammed his hand against the table, startling the wasted soldier. "I've spent most of my the last week trying to recreate your serum and for what? So you can sit around all day and feel sorry for yourself?"

Steve's expression hardened and he pointed a finger off to Tony's left. "I don'…"

"Hell yeah you do. I'm not stupid Rogers: I've been checking in. You almost kill yourself at the gym trying to lift the weights you did before; you're not eating properly." Stark reached over and plucked the loose fabric from Steve's frame, "and you've subconsciously managed to annoy the hell out of Natasha, which I'd congratulate you for, by the way, if it wasn't under these circumstances."

"You don't…"

"Yes. I. Do." Stark interrupted, knowing exactly what Rogers was going to say: that he didn't know what it felt like, that he had no idea what he was going through. Well the good Captain was wrong.

Steve was silent, his jaw working furiously and his eyes flashing. After a long moment, they softened and he went from angry to so utterly sad it was heartbreaking in less than a second.

"I don' know…what I'm doing anymore," he admitted so quietly, Stark could barely hear it over the ambient bar scene. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s not gonna…keep me 'round if I'm not...if I'm not—"

Tony easily heard the unspoken words: if I'm not Captain America.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

Steve shook his head so vigorously he almost knocked himself out of his chair. "In the war, those stupid songs, selling bonds, that's all they had me do, not fighting, not savin' lives. I—I just…can't…do…that again."

"You don't have to. There are plenty of jobs at S.H.I.E.L.D. for normal people…" he hesitated as Steve pulled away from the word 'normal' but didn't stop. "Look at Clint and Natasha."

"But I…was Cap'n 'merica," Steve's muttering was getting progressively worse as he became more agitated. "They're not just gonna…let me go 'n missions 'nymore. Too val'uable or som'in'…"

"You don't know that."

And the tiniest glimmer of hope sparkled in Steve's eyes. "Ya think?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," Tony quickly continued when he saw Steve's face fall just as fast. "But I know that Fury isn't going to even think about it until you get your act together."

"Just…can't take those looks…they—"

"The ones where they don't understand what happened or how you're feeling and they really don't want to know but feel obliged to feel bad all the same because they know you and want you to feel like you can come to them with anything, but really, under it all, they don't want to know? Those the looks you're talking about?"

Steve nodded. "You do know."

Tony shoved away the memories that were bubbling up from his subconscious. "Yeah."

Making one of his infamous lightning-fast decisions—the kind he usually regretting within the hour—Stark grabbed a glass off a nearby table and held it up to the light, checking its relative cleanliness. "This conversation is far too serious to have sober," he lifted the bottle and poured himself a healthy amount before reaching over and pouring Steve considerably less.

"The day after your head isn't threatening to separate itself from your body, you start acting like Fury should be lost without you." Tony paused for a split second. "And maybe shave that beard, make yourself look presentable."

Steve scowled. "You 'ave…a beard."

"It takes a lot of energy to maintain this perfection," Stark motioned to his goatee. "You look like Heidi's grandfather."

He waited for a sharp retort from the soldier, having purposely picked a film from the man's era, but received none. After a long moment, he downed a healthy amount of his drink and quietly said, "Somewhere in your alcohol-induced haze, you know Banner and I won't quit until we've found a solution."

"Yeah," Steve whispered. "I do."

He looked up, his face shockingly clear after the amount of alcohol he had just consumed. "E'ryone have to know 'bout this?"

Stark threw back the rest of his drink and shook his head. "Nah but Barton's gonna lose it if he ever finds out I didn't invite him to see you drunk."

Steve took a long swallow of his drink before muttering something under his breath that Tony didn't quite catch.

"Wanna say that again?" Stark leaned forward to hear his teammate as dishes crashed in the background.

"I said," Rogers cleared his throat uncomfortably, "thanks."

The inventor reached out and divided the last of the alcohol between the two of them.

"You're welcome," he replied as he clinked his glass against the soldier's. They tilted their heads back and finished their drinks.

"C'mon, Steve," Stark reached over and hauled the soldier to his feet, leaving a sizeable tip on the table, despite the Captain's protests he should pay.

"Let's go home."

The Star-Spangled Man once again has a plan.

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