Author Notes: Thanks so much, ClawR, holliswrites, and forest_rose, for your awesome and very thorough betadom! Also a million thanks to Chaoslyene, everfaraway, Jackie Ryans, LupinandHarry, Khashana, Tangalata, rainbowlollipops15, Doni, Sandy-wmd, xXFrostKittenXx, Kathryn Merlin, BrittanyBatgirl, Lieutenant Winter, and potterwatch97 for your wonderful reviews :)


1.

January 1

"I don't like it, Tasha," said Clint in a low voice, munching on the last of the chips and trying to ignore his residual queasiness. Funny, he hadn't drunk all that much last night. Fancy champagne hit him different from his regular poison, apparently.

"I don't either," said Natasha, who looked a lot fresher than Clint felt despite having consumed her weight in vodka less than twenty-four hours ago. "Although, on the surface, you have to admit not that much has changed."

Clint shot her a dark look. "Yet. Say that again after tomorrow's meeting."

"Why, what do you think Hill's going to do?" Natasha poured Clint an orange juice in an oversized green drinking glass and handed it over.

Clint slurped it down gratefully. "Order us back to the barracks, for one thing."

"The barracks were always optional," Natasha pointed out. "Why would they suddenly become mandatory?"

"Because she's Hill and she has a bug up her ass?"

Natasha poured more chips into the red, white and blue bowl Clint had just emptied. "That was Sorensen's bug."

"Because she wants to do things differently from Fury?"

Natasha gestured to Clint to put salsa into a smaller red and gold bowl. "That's a possibility. She hasn't yet, though."

"I bet she's gonna tell us we're gonna be called in for a lot more SHIELD missions." Clint finished pouring in the salsa, scraping the last of it out of the jar.

"And if we are, what's wrong with that?"

"That we won't be here for Avengers stuff."

Natasha sliced up a lime and started to squeeze juice onto the salsa. "We resented it when we had nothing else to do."

"Yeah, but it's a balancing act, and I don't think she'll care. And it won't just be skill-specific stuff, either. We're gonna be called in for more regular shit that any junior could do. I bet the team will be, too. Bank robberies and drug lords and kittens in trees."

"Supervillain bank robberies, maybe," said Natasha. "Alien kittens."

Clint nabbed a couple of chips from under Natasha's fingers, her automatic slap stinging the back of his hand. "You know Tony's talked about breaking with SHIELD, don't you?" he said, popping the chips into his mouth. "Especially with Sorensen still being around? And Hill liking him a lot more than Fury ever did?"

Natasha gave Clint a level stare as she arranged the chips, salsa and green drinking glasses onto a thunderbolt-and-hammer-patterned tray, and Clint vaguely wondered if allowing Marketing to dump all their overstock at the Tower was really such a good idea after all. "Tell me how Tony's shoulder would be doing right now if it wasn't for SHIELD Medical's anti-venom foam."

"I'm not saying there's no benefit," Clint protested. "You know how I feel about SHIELD." Natasha nodded. "But you also know it's fucked up in a lot of ways. Especially now."

Natasha nodded again.

Clint stepped closer to the tray and lowered his voice. "Tasha... what if the rest of the team knew the truth about the nuclear strike?"

"That wasn't really SHIELD," Natasha shot back, and nobody but Clint and possibly Phil could've caught any hint of hesitation in her voice. "That was the WSC."

"Technically, it was SHIELD. It was a SHIELD pilot using SHIELD equipment, following the commands of the WSC after they'd fired Fury. Which they can do at the drop of a hat, and they've just done it again." Clint glared at her. "The only reason it didn't work was that Fury went against them, but he's gone now. And Hill went along with the cover-up."

"So did Fury," Natasha pointed out. She paused. "So did we."

Clint didn't drop his gaze. "That strike nearly killed our team-mate."

"Clint, it nearly killed all of us. We were all in Manhattan."

"And maybe we owe it to them to let them know it wasn't just sent out by some rogue pilot."

Natasha sighed, then opened her mouth to respond.

"Friends!" Thor boomed cheerfully, entering the kitchen. "Everyone is back; we are awaiting your return to continue the musical!"

Natasha gave Clint a significant 'We're not done here' look, shoved the tray at him, then turned to Thor. "Thor, it's not a musical."

"It is a movie about music," said Thor, confused, as they headed back to the movie room. "And there are frequent breaks in the narrative for music."

"Yes, but Mozart never suddenly bursts into song that's related to the plot."

"The songs are often related," Thor protested.

"The words aren't even in English," said Clint.

"This is confusing," said Thor. "Nonetheless, it is a glorious movie. Though the female singing is remarkably high and often akin to shrieking in pain."

Clint sat back down and looked over at Tony, whose shoulder was still sore, but who was looking remarkably chipper, especially for a post-party day. Probably because Steve was sitting next to him, and God the two of them were ridiculous. No nauseating displays of affection, no tonsil hockey or even hand-holding in public, but the way they were constantly on each other's radar was pretty funny to watch. Especially since they both knew that everyone knew about them now, and often blushed - or, at least Steve did - when caught staring.

It had been particularly amusing to watch them yesterday at the Maria Stark Foundation New Year's Eve party, Tony schmoozing as only he could - though, oddly, not getting drunk - and automatically flirting with every woman around, and Steve determinedly not looking in Tony's direction as he politely entertained the long line of people falling over themselves to tell him how much they admired him. And, for about half of them, how much they supported him for coming out.

He'd done the Captain America thing flawlessly, as only a veteran of endless USO tours could, accepting compliments and support with a serious, humble air that charmed everyone. Clint doubted anybody but the team could tell that he was terrifically uncomfortable - at the fawning, at being out in public, at Tony's parade of precariously covered women. The only time his calm demeanor had faltered had been when he'd realized that one particularly admiring, handsome young naval officer was in fact making a pass at him. Clint had nearly pissed himself laughing when the penny had dropped and Steve had turned brick red.

Even funnier had been Tony's barely-disguised irritation. Clint had noticed a quick succession of different drinks in his hand the whole time the poor guy was trying to pick up Steve - and really, if Clint had had that much over an entire evening, he would've been passed out cold. Tony had to have a liver made of titanium. Happily, Natasha had taken pity on Steve and, after digging a stiletto heel into Clint's toes for his lack of sympathy, had sailed in to rescue Steve from the increasingly frustrated young officer, much to Steve - and Tony's - very obvious relief.

Clint had briefly wondered what would've happened if she hadn't. If Tony would've come across Steve and the young officer getting it on, and done a replay of what Phil had referred to as the Peggy Carter Shooting Incident.

Clint had had no idea superheroes could be so lame. He tried to imagine Phil witnessing Tony Stark, suave, cocky thorn in his side, and Captain America, his childhood idol, turn into awkward eighth-graders near each other. He wasn't sure if Phil would've been mortified on their behalf, or found it all hysterical.

"I feel quite badly for this Salieri character," said Thor quietly. "It can twist a good man, to live in the shadow of another in such a manner."

"Actually, I heard there's no real proof that Salieri felt that way about Mozart," said Bruce.

"No?"

"No. Except for a few rumors, there's a lot of evidence that Mozart and Salieri were friends, and that Mozart respected Salieri as a musician."

"They besmirched the name of a real person for the sake of entertainment?" Thor asked, faintly scandalized.

"Oh, don't even get me started on that," said Bruce. "The movie industry does that all the time."

"Mel Gibson's especially good at it," said Clint. " calls it 'Gibson Takes Another Dump on History.' And from what I've heard of some of this year's movies..."

"There are some very good candidates for Mel Gibson Awards this year," Bruce agreed. "We'll see once the nominees are announced."

Thor frowned. "Jane's assistant, Darcy, told me I would enjoy this movie. I wonder if she knew it was filled with untruths."

"How is Darcy doing, anyway?" asked Clint.

"She is doing well. Although Jane does not approve of the young man she is currently bedding. She has termed him 'creepy.'"

Clint laughed. "I don't think Jane needs to worry about her. If she can defend herself against you, big guy, she can defend herself against any nerd out there."

"Defend herself against Thor?" Steve asked, puzzled.

"When I first met my Jane, there were a few... misunderstandings. I did not fare well."

"Darcy tazed him," said Clint.

"Aye, she did," said Thor fondly.

"There's not a lot of guys who'd smile at a memory like that," Bruce chuckled.

Steve gave a short laugh.

"What?" asked Natasha.

Steve hesitated, glancing at Tony, then shrugged. "Peggy shot me once."

"Seriously?" asked Bruce.

"So that was true," said Tony, chuckling. "Dad told me the story, but I always wondered. Did she really catch you kissing another girl?"

"Actually, it was the other girl kissing me," Steve pointed out. "And I was holding the shield when she shot me."

"Dad said it was one of the funniest things he'd ever seen." He gazed at Steve, whose smile had turned thoughtful. "What is it?" he asked, his voice low. Steve shook his head. "Steve."

Steve shrugged. "Got a late Christmas card from Peggy's niece in the mail this morning," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Had a picture of her whole family." He turned back to the screen. Tony's eyebrows went up and he opened his mouth, then closed it.

Bruce leaned over slightly and gave Tony a small shove. Tony blinked at him. Bruce made a subtle movement towards Steve, and Tony reddened. He reached out hesitantly and touched Steve's hand. Steve gave him a small smile, covered Tony's hand with his own briefly, and they both turned back to the screen.

Had Clint thought they were awkward eighth-graders? Make that fifth-graders. Clint rolled his eyes and turned back to the movie.

2.

January 4

Steve didn't exactly have the flair of an interior decorator, thought Tony, but he had an artist's eye. His place was lightly furnished, mostly in pale woods, with plenty of bookshelves, a few comfortable couches, a large-screen TV, an old-fashioned radio. Tony had been here a few times, and was always struck by how simultaneously old-fashioned and modern it looked. Kind of like Steve himself.

"Steve?" he called out.

"Studio," Steve's voice came back, and Tony made his way through the apartment, surprised that Steve had allowed JARVIS to just let him in instead of greeting him at the door, as he usually did when people came to visit him. Now he glanced around the studio curiously. Funny, he thought of Steve as primarily a pencil and occasional pen-and-ink sketchbook guy, but there were also plenty of charcoals, oils, and even a few watercolors. A few items were in frames - landscapes, a sketch of grease-stained, strong-looking hands - the rest haphazardly strewn around the room in various states of completion, on easels and table surfaces. In sharp contrast, the paints, brushes, inks and pencils themselves were neatly stored.

Steve was at a chair by the window, a sketchbook on his lap, a stone bridge arching over a river taking shape on the cream-colored page in stark black lines.

"You OK? Didn't see you at the gym today."

"Went for a run instead," said Steve.

"Hey, are you coming to the common floor? Clint and Natasha are away, and Bruce said he wasn't sure about movie night. We're supposed to be starting Out of Africa."

"Not really in the mood for a movie tonight," said Steve, dipping his pen in the inkwell and scratching out a few more lines. Tony approached and glanced over his shoulder. A series of perspective drawings of a train graced the page, all unfinished.

"You OK?" Tony repeated.

"Yeah, just tired. Didn't sleep well last night."

Tony looked him over. His eyes were slightly reddened, his face unshaven. He wondered if Steve had slept at all.

"New Year's Blues?"

"What?"

"A lot of people feel a bit let down after the holidays are over," he said. "Especially if they're welcomed back to work the way we were a couple of days ago."

Steve shrugged. "You can't say it was a surprise. Hill's always made it clear she's more of a stickler-"

"Happy New Year, let me bitch at you over paperwork and comms protocol for an hour? You're OK with that?"

"I expected worse. And it was forty-five minutes."

Tony frowned. Count on Steve to minimize anything negative. "You have to admit, after Fury, Hill is... OK, was it just me, or did she remind you of the line, 'I speak for all the mediocrities in the world' to a disturbing degree?"

Steve frowned at him reprovingly. "She's not that bad. And I thought you didn't like Fury anyway."

"No, but I respected him." Steve snorted cynically. "Steve. She put a stop to your training program."

"She said it was temporary."

"You believe that?"

Steve shrugged again. Tony looked around, glancing at the pen-and-ink sketches strewn on the drawing table. Movie scenes Tony vaguely recognized, still life drawings from inside Steve's apartment, his old radio - nothing from the modern outside world.

"I've been rethinking Analysis and Strategy anyway," Steve said.

Tony turned. "Really? Why? I thought you liked it."

Steve shrugged, the light scratches of his pen sounding loud in the quiet studio. "I do, just... I've been rethinking some stuff."

Tony carefully picked up one of the pen-and-ink pages. A young woman's face, familiar somehow; dark eyes shining, hair falling in waves.

Steve glanced over and saw what Tony was looking at. "She's ninety-three now," he said softly. "Her birthday's April 9th." Tony examined the picture more closely, noting delicate lines drawn on the corners of the eyes, faint tracery over her forehead. An attempt at softening the jawline.

"Peggy?"

Steve nodded. "Bucky's birthday's September 7th. He would've been ninety-four." He put down his pen and paper and put his elbows on the windowsill, leaning his forehead against the window.

Tony waited for a long moment. "Steve?"

Steve stared sightlessly at the snow-covered city below. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing new, anyway."

"Then why do you look like 'didn't sleep well' is Stevese for 'didn't sleep at all'?"

Steve chewed on his lip. "Am I ever gonna stop missing them?" he finally asked, his voice low. "Am I ever gonna stop wishing I was back home, where things make sense?"

"I don't know," said Tony helplessly, briefly wishing he could check out of this and call someone who knew what they were doing. But the first time Steve had come to him in serious trouble, he'd panicked and handed him off to other people - for Steve's own good, he'd thought - and it had been a disaster. That wasn't going to happen again. Whether whatever was going on right now was big or small, Tony wasn't going to flake out again. He came closer and put a hand on Steve's shoulder, startled as Steve relaxed against him.

Steve closed his eyes. "It hurts, damn it. Hurts all the time. Some days I can almost forget, and then something happens and it hits me, again..." He breathed deeply. "They're never coming back. Nobody I knew is ever going to come back, none of them. I'm never gonna go home. God, I wish I could get drunk."

"I'm sorry," said Tony.

"It's been over a year," Steve pointed out bleakly. "Shouldn't I be over this?"

"'Over' losing everyone you ever knew? I'm not sure it works that way."

Steve opened his eyes and stared out the window. "I miss Bucky."

"I know, babe."

"Miss all of them. Feels like a hole in my chest sometimes."

"I know." Tony stepped closer, bending slightly to wrap his arms around Steve and resting his chin on Steve's shoulder. He gazed out the window. "I wish... I wish I could help."

Steve shook his head. "Unless there's something you can do to make me stop thinking about them, I don't think you can. There's nothing that can just turn off my brain." He paused. "This is where other people turn to booze or drugs, I think."

Tony gave him a sideways glance. "Turning off higher brain function? I have some pretty inappropriate ideas."

"Like what?"

Tony lifted an eyebrow. Steve's mouth quirked slightly. "I don't think it works that way."

"No way to know if you don't give it a try," said Tony. Steve huffed a small laugh. "And I... probably sound like I'm not taking this seriously enough. I do, don't I. You can shut me up any time."

"What, so I can keep brooding? No thanks."

Tony let go of him and moved beside him, bending down to press their lips together gently. Steve returned the kiss with a small sigh, and Tony put a hand to his cheek, stroking the lightly stubbled surface, feeling Steve start to relax.

He tugged Steve's chair away from the window a bit and waited as Steve covered his inkwell and pushed the small art table out of the way. Tony joined him on the chair, straddling him, gently nibbling at his lips, drawing on everything he'd ever learned about how to please a partner, all the things he'd tried on Steve and catalogued as successful. All the touches to Steve's body that made him tremble and gasp: soft bites on the side of his neck, a tongue in the hollow of his throat, a flick of a thumb against his nipples. And now Steve wasn't just passively going along with it any more - he was starting to breathe faster, his eyes growing dark with desire instead of sorrow, and Tony's own pulse was quickening. Steve hesitated, and Tony's heart skipped a beat as Steve's hand slipped down and cupped him through his pants. He groaned and pushed into Steve's warm palm, itching to have him slip a hand inside his clothes, because God, frotting against him the day he'd been injured had been amazing, but they'd shared nothing but occasional kisses since then and he wanted, needed, Steve's hand on his bare skin - and then Steve squeezed tentatively and Tony groaned.

"There, see?" he whispered into Steve's neck, moving his own hands down to Steve's waist. "Told you I could help you out."

Steve went still, then let out his breath and dropped his hand.

Tony nearly whimpered at the loss. "What? Why-"

"I... I'm sorry," Steve said quietly, kissing him gently before shifting back a bit.

"What? Why?" asked Tony, totally lost.

"This... isn't right. I shouldn't-"

"Wait, hang on, hang on." Tony made himself logic it out, never mind that his pants were about to catch on fire and Steve's chest was still heaving and his lips were parted and this wasn't what Tony wanted to be doing at all. "You... you're feeling bad about this? What we're doing?"

"You don't have to-"

Tony shook his head, mouth rattling ahead of himself. "Right, so you think that because I've just pointed out that this is going to help you feel better, it must be bad somehow. God, spare me Catholic guilt."

"Not Catholic."

Tony waved that off. "First off, sex is supposed to stop your brain, genius. Second, listen, compared to drugs and alcohol, which you can't have, the idea of you using sex - more to the point, sex with me - to deal with your demons is the most awesome thing in the world, and I can't tell you what kind of powerful sex god I feel like, knowing that me and my dick help you actually enjoy the twenty-first century. I haven't felt this proud since I finally got Dum-E to make a perfect sloe gin fizz and that sounds less impressive than I mean it to so I'll go for my second-proudest moment, the first time I got JARVIS to recite a dirty limerick, I can tell this is not reaching you so let's just say I'm thrilled, OK? I'm thrilled. I want this. You were really getting into this, a few minutes ago, before I ran off at the mouth, and I'd really like us to get back to that."

Dude, your cock heals Captain America's psychological wounds, he could just hear Clint saying in his mind, and it was a measure of how bizarre his life was that apparently now he had an internal Clint Barton narrator. Particularly at a moment like this.

"Steve. Just go with it," he said. Steve shifted closer hesitantly, and Tony took his hand and brought it to the front of his pants again. "Now. Where were we?" Steve paused and Tony gulped as he tentatively moved his hand and all of Tony's blood went rushing downward. "Oh good," he said faintly, closing his eyes. "I was really enjoying this part. I promise, no more talking. I'll put my mouth to much better use."

Steve gave a short laugh and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to the side of Tony's neck before tugging his shirt out of his pants and Tony sure as hell didn't need any convincing as he drew the shirt up and over his head, and then tugged off Steve's, and damn, if he hadn't gone stupid and talked, they might have reached the pants-off stage by now, but it was probably going to take Steve a while to-

"Oh wow," he said, feeling a little light-headed as Steve tugged on Tony's belt. "I am so very much in favor of that," he murmured. Steve snickered. He started to work on Steve's belt and fly, reaching inside as soon as they were loose.

"Oh, fuck," Steve gasped, throwing his head back as Tony wrapped a hand around him. "Jesus, oh, fuck." He bucked into Tony's hand, once, twice, then grasped Tony's hand and held him still. "Tony?"

"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse.

"I - I want..." Steve suddenly shifted forward, standing and lifting Tony with him, and Tony grabbed his shoulders to steady himself and then put his feet on the floor. Steve gave him a hard kiss and pulled his pants up slightly, then started to move them to the bedroom.

Oh, fucking awesome. Tony stumbled in his haste, thanking his own foresight for putting the studio right next to the bedroom, and then they were tumbling onto the bed and Steve was starting to draw his pants down, and Tony didn't remember the last time he'd moved so fast, getting rid of all of their remaining clothing in record time, and then they were both gloriously naked and in bed together. And somehow Tony hadn't imagined this before, just how much incredible, smooth, muscled skin there would be at his fingertips, how Steve's chest would heave and his neck arch back as Tony mouthed along it. How Steve would rock into his grip, eyes squeezing shut, and then take a deep breath and shyly grasp Tony's length.

"Just do whatever you do to yourself," Tony murmured reassuringly. Steve's hand was warm and large, his grip quickly growing firmer and more confident, and Tony could feel himself coming undone, both of them giving each other everything they had, hands stroking, mouths melting together, Steve's panting breaths coming faster and faster as he tangled his legs with Tony's and held him close, small cries dropping from their lips-

This wasn't just about sex for Steve, Tony knew. This was about oblivion, this was about satiating hunger and turning off the voices that cried grief, and loss, and homesickness and loneliness, drowning them in sensation and desire and heat. He pressed against Steve and gave back as good as he got, determined to not allow a single moment of doubt or shame, determined to overwhelm Steve with everything he had.

"Oh God, God, Tony-" Steve whispered, and suddenly tensed, burying his head in Tony's shoulder, shudders passing through him. Tony felt wet warmth cover his hand and stomach, and his own climax rushed through him in a wave, spilling over Steve's fingers as shivers of intense pleasure broke over him.

He slowly wiped his hand on the bed and drew Steve close. They lay together quietly, coming down from the high, until Steve stirred himself slightly as if to move off the bed. Tony stilled him with a touch, grabbed a corner of the sheet, and wiped them both off, tugging him back down.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

Steve thought for a moment. "No."

"Good."

"I... thanks," Steve said quietly.

"For what? Staying? Or... this?"

Steve gave him a small smile. "What are friends for, right?"

Tony smiled back. "Any time," he said. Steve snorted. "OK, not any time. Might get awkward if you're feeling down during a movie, or a meeting with Hill." Tony paused, then pushed ahead. "Steve, was this really just a bad day?"

Steve gave him a wry smile.

"Bruce mentioned you had a bit of a panic attack the other day," Tony said cautiously. "Said it was over pretty quick, but..."

Steve rolled onto his back and sighed. "I'm... feeling better. Mostly. It's just been a rough few days. Haven't been sleeping too well." He drew up one leg, clasping his hands around his knee. "Dr. Sanjay said I should try again, with SHIELD Medical - not constant testing like before, but maybe go back on some of the things they tried that helped."

Tony turned onto his side. "And you said?"

"They almost all had pretty bad side effects."

"Yeah, but I don't think you stayed on anything long enough to figure out how to deal with them. It was almost like they were just throwing anything at you to see what stuck."

Steve ran a hand down to his anklet, fiddling with it absently. "There's one that really helped with the panic attacks. I've thought of trying it again."

Tony idly ran a hand down Steve's chest. "Why don't you?"

"Um. It." Steve cleared his throat. "It made things a little rough." He cleared his throat again. "Sexually."

"What?"

"I told you there was one medication that made me want to have sex all the time."

"This is bad?" He circled Steve's nipple.

Steve squirmed. "My libido's already high enough, thanks."

"And I appreciate that intensely, you really need to know that," said Tony earnestly. Steve snickered. "Although... just how high - I mean, you said your metabolism burns four times a normal person's, but-"

Steve chuckled. "It's not really that my sex drive's four times yours - or anybody else's. It's more like I've got the drive of a... teenager. Kinda. Except I'm not actually fifteen. The mind is a little more advanced."

Tony was silent for a moment. "Add to that the fact that you are in your twenties and pretty new to sex in general," he said with a grimace, "and I'm feeling a little skeevy right now." He picked his hand off of Steve's chest with exaggerated care. "I've entered dirty old man territory. Which makes you my boy toy. Ew."

There was another silence. "Would it help at all if I pointed out that I'm actually ninety-four years old?" Steve said, clearly trying to suppress laughter.

"Yeah, no, that just reminds me that you were also a friend of my dad's. I hear Reed Richard's doing some work on memory alteration these days. Think I'm gonna go look him up, so I never have to remember any of this conversation ever again."

Steve laughed and tugged on his hand and Tony leaned over him to kiss him, gratefully considering the subject dropped. They shared a few slow kisses before Tony drew back. "Seriously, Steve, if Dr. Sanjay says you should try those meds again, I say go for it. And I just realized that sounds pretty self-serving considering I might benefit from the side effects."

Steve shook his head, amused.

"Hey, you know I'm up for it, any time you want."

Steve sighed.

Tony gazed at him, running his hand lightly down Steve's bent leg. "You still think there's something wrong with this, don't you?"

Steve looked away. "I can't explain it to you, Tony."

"Try."

"Just because you want something, doesn't mean you should have it." He paused. "You want alcohol a lot. And you know that's not always a good thing."

"Alcohol can be destructive."

"So can sex," Steve pointed out.

"Not between two consenting adults," Tony shot back.

"The Bible says otherwise. A lot of people say otherwise."

"A lot of people say birth control is harmful, and blacks and whites shouldn't get married. They're wrong too."

"It's not just the guy thing," said Steve patiently. "Being intimate is supposed to be something you do with the person you're going to spend the rest of your life with."

"I'm guessing friends-with-benefits isn't in the Bible?"

"Not really, no."

"So if it's not a man and a woman in their marital bed, it's wrong, is that what you're saying?"

Steve gazed at him fondly, a small smile on his face. "Tony, don't worry about it. I'm not asking you to believe what I believe. It's not your problem."

Tony glanced around the neat, sparsely-furnished, bedroom, frustrated. He stopped on a pen-and-ink drawing - it didn't look like it was Steve's work, but he'd had it framed. A cracked brick wall, with a broken-down grocery cart, somehow made beautiful in clean, spare lines of black and white.

"You're an artist, right?" he said, turning back to Steve, not knowing where this was going to go but going with it anyway. "You can find beauty in the most amazing places. Let me tell you what I see right now." He studied Steve for a moment. "Your eyes are all dark, unfocussed, like you're somewhere else right now. You don't even know how out of it you look, just totally peaceful. Not sad, or tense, or scared, just peaceful. Your eyebrows are relaxed, your hair's sticking to your forehead, your cheeks are flushed, your mouth," Tony paused, feeling his throat dry a bit from the sight of Steve's reddened lips, the bow falling gently open, the way Steve's eyes focussed on Tony's own lips, not hungry and wanting any more, but serene and still a bit dazed. "You were kissing me with that mouth just minutes ago. I can still feel you, I can still taste you." He ran his eyes down the curve of Steve's throat. "I can see marks that I made on your neck with my mouth. Your chest is still flushed from coming," he murmured. "You're just all sex and exhaustion, I can still see where the sweat made tracks on you." He gazed downwards, to where Steve's cock lay spent, nestled in sand-colored pubic hair. "Close your eyes," Tony whispered, and Steve obediently closed them. Tony drew closer and nuzzled the side of Steve's neck. "You smell like... like you and me, and sweat, and come," he said, breathing deeply. "If I wasn't so totally fucked out, I'd be so turned on." He paused, running his fingers lightly down Steve's chest. "I can still feel your heart beating a little fast, and I know how you're feeling, it's just like after you've exercised and your body's feeling tired but good, except instead of feeling like you worked past the pain, you've also got endorphins zipping around from coming. There's nothing like it in the world. And even better when it's shared." He carded a hand through Steve's hair, and Steve tilted his head back slightly. "You made me come too. You made me feel so fucking good..." He paused.

"Steve. I don't pretend to understand anything about your God. But back when I used to believe, I always thought God was supposed to be pretty cool. Why would he make all of this, and make it feel so amazing, make you look like this, for Christ's sake, like you could get some real sleep without worrying - without missing anyone or anything... why would he invent something like this if it wasn't good? Why would he make it so two people can make each other feel so incredible, without hurting anybody else, and then tell them they're not allowed?"

Steve gazed at him, eyes still calm, still peaceful. "I don't know."

"Think about it?"

Steve nodded.

"Go to sleep, Steve," said Tony, and Steve nodded again and closed his eyes. Tony settled down next to him and ran his fingers down Steve's leg, to the knee and past, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

He stopped at the anklet. "I've been wondering..." he said, idly running his fingers under the silvery metal, making Steve twitch. "Does Dr. Sanjay think you still need this?"

Steve hummed thoughtfully. "Dunno." He thought for a moment. "I'm OK with it." He took Tony's hand in his and put his leg down, turning onto his side and facing Tony. "I'll let you know when I don't need it any more."

Tony nodded, lacing their fingers together, and closed his eyes.

3.

January 7

Serious eyes and a distracted air. Morning therapy hadn't gone well today, guessed Clint.

"You all right?" he asked Steve casually, seating himself at the common room table and surprised at how good it felt to be back, even after only a couple of days away. He tried to recall ever feeling this kind of... homecoming feeling upon returning to the barracks. He couldn't.

Steve nodded, drying some dishes and putting them away.

"How's the training program? Still on hold?"

"Yeah."

Damn it. Hill was a bitch. Steve didn't do well with idleness, with feeling useless. He'd taken to cooking in the common kitchen a lot, simple old-timey meat and potatoes with occasional experiments in Middle Eastern cuisine, of all things. Which Clint certainly appreciated, but knew wasn't nearly enough for Steve.

"What's for lunch?"

Steve shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "Just macaroni and cheese."

"Hey, don't knock the classics," said Clint. "Love that shit."

Steve nodded, getting out a bow-and-arrow-themed bowl and spooning Clint's lunch into it.

"Damn, that's good after days of field rations," said Clint, aware that he was probably gobbling but unable to make himself care.

"Did you just get in?"

"Yeah, about an hour ago. Nat's in Medical - nothing serious - so we're debriefing later today. Should be back by movie time."

Steve nodded, spooned some macaroni and cheese into a bowl and covered it, presumably for Natasha.

Clint slowed down a little, his hunger pangs feeling more manageable, savoring the comforting cheesy pasta. "What's on tonight, anyway?"

"Just finished Out of Africa, on to Platoon."

Clint nodded, figuring they'd probably already had the discussion of whether watching Platoon would be triggering for anybody or not.

"How was the mission?"

Clint shrugged. "Ninety-eight percent mind-numbing boredom, two percent deadly panic. Same old. Sniping a couple AIM-wannabes." Steve nodded and put away some glasses and a mug with lurid black and pink spiders all over it. Clint made a mental note to get rid of that one before Nat saw it. Damned Marketing. "You all right?" Clint asked again.

Steve ducked his head and put away the last of the cutlery.

"Therapy?" guessed Clint.

Steve sighed and leaned his elbows on the table, gazing out the window.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Steve's mouth quirked slightly. "You mean, do I want to talk about much I hate being forced to talk about things I don't wanna talk about?"

Clint winced. "I take it that's a no?"

"That's a no," said Steve.

"Sorry, dude," said Clint, filling his mouth to avoid talking.

Steve gazed out the window, absently pushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Damn, I need a haircut," he muttered.

"And a shave," said Clint, reflecting that it was odd how for the first few months they'd lived together, he'd never seen Steve anything but militarily tidy and well-groomed, unless they were immediately post-battle.

"Forgot to get new safety razor blades the other day." Steve gave him a humorless smile. "I have my old straight razor, but I think JARVIS still gets nervous whenever I pick up anything sharp."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You've never heard of electric-"

"No way in hell."

"Shit, Cap, watch your language," said Clint.

"Screw you," said Steve with a small smile, and Clint laughed.

He scraped up the last spoonful of mac and cheese and resisted the urge to lick the bowl clean. "That's not bad," he said, handing Steve his bowl.

"Yeah, I can always get a job as a short order cook if this Avengers gig doesn't work out," Steve sighed, taking the bowl to the sink and rinsing it.

Clint chuckled. So, a rough morning, but not a devastating one.

"Clint?" said Steve, back to him, standing at the sink.

"Yeah?" Clint waited a beat. "What?"

"About the Avengers gig."

Clint tensed. Oh shit. Just how bad had therapy gone this morning?

Steve turned around, drying his hands on his jeans and then rubbing one across his face. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah?"

Steve took a deep breath. "I... something came up yesterday, and I, uh, wanted to talk to the team about it."

"Yesterday? This isn't about this morning?"

"This morning was more useless 'I never had a proper childhood,' with a side order of 'twenty-first century sexuality is hard to get used to,'" Steve dismissed it.

"Yeah? What came up yesterday?"

Steve cleared his throat again.

"It's not about quitting the team again, is it?" Clint asked, his stomach sinking. "Because we've gone over this shit and-"

"No, it's not that." Clint waited as Steve visibly gathered his courage. He swallowed, then blurted out, "We talked about it might be good for me to, uh, be there next time we get called out."

Clint's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious? Like, come out and - I thought you didn't want to - seriously?" He felt a grin stretching across his face.

Steve hesitated. "You'd be all right with that?"

"Are you kidding?" Steve's worried eyes brought Clint up short. "You - of course we'd be OK. If you think you're ready, Christ, I don't know how many times we've said we want you back when you're feeling up to it, but-"

"You wouldn't be worried about my whole... death wish... thing?" Clint frowned. Steve shrugged uncomfortably. "I mean-"

"OK, hang on, who said you should come back?"

"The shrink. I - I'm feeling better, sometimes, and it's getting kind of stifling in here. I wouldn't be in command, and I'd have to bow out if I wasn't feeling stable because it wouldn't be fair for you guys to be worried about me on top of whatever's going on, but... yeah. He said it might be OK." Steve looked down. "I'm feeling pretty useless over here, lunch duties aside. And with training suspended..."

Clint nodded. "Hey, I'm all for it. If you think you're up to it, I'll fight next to you any time."

Steve gazed at him. "Even though I was suicidal for months and didn't tell anybody-"

"You never put any of us in danger, I don't care what Fury said," Clint interrupted him. "And you told us eventually. If you say you can go out, I trust you."

Steve looked down. "OK. Thanks."

"Seriously, dude, any time," said Clint. He glanced at the kitchen clock. "I gotta get back and see how Nat's doing. Mind if I tell her?"

Steve shrugged. "If it comes up, sure."

Clint gave him a reassuring smile and headed out. 'If it comes up,' Steve said, like coming back to the team after all he'd been through wasn't a huge deal. Like that wouldn't be the first thing he'd talk to Nat about.

Like it wouldn't mean the two of them had to really get off their asses and decide what to do about SHIELD.


Author Notes: The movies watched/mentioned are
Amadeus, 1984
Out of Africa, 1985
Platoon, 1986