A/N: THIS WILL BE RESOLVED! Just a quick mini story-arc.

Tony smacked his face into the table with a bang.

"I hate Mondays."

"It's Tuesday."

"I hate Tuesdays."

"Should I ask about Wednesday?"

A sharp keen came from the guy on the table. "Evidently not. What's wrong with the first half of the week?"

"It sucks."

"Explain?"

"No."

"Okay."

He looked up from his face-plant.

"What?"

"What?"

"You're just going to let it go?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Tony slowly put his face back onto the table. His nose was starting to hurt. "'Cause if I were you, I'd just ask away."

Steve shook his head.

"I'm not you, Tony. And you're not me. Even though we live together, sleep together, and kick ass together."

"But aren't you the slightest bit curious—"

"No."

"Fine, fine, be all defensive, I wasn't going to tell you anyway!"

"I never pushed it."

"Yeah, well, your tone implied otherwise. How am I supposed to read you when you're acting like the fucking Sphinx?"

"Yes, Tony, how are you supposed to read me, when all that you're staring at is the very interesting grain of this European—?"

"Middle Eastern."

"—Middle Eastern table?"

"I should tell you."

"Fine with me."

"Oh, dammit, man, make up your mind!"

"I don't really care, Tony, whether or not you really choose to tell me about your hatred of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I really don't! Here, let's make things easier. Tell me why you hate those days, tell me."

"No, I don't want to."

"Christ, you're telling me to make up my mind? Tony, grow up! I've humored you for long enough, and—"

"What do you mean, 'grow up?' I'm the one who makes most of the money here, and—"

"Oh, don't play the money card. It's always the money card. 'Hey look, I bought us a new helicopter', 'Hey look, Steve, I made dinner reservations in Paris tonight', 'Hey look, I'm so filthy rich that I'm just going to buy the Big Dipper and rechristen it as Steve's Ass', 'Hey look, I built yet another bloody tower with my name on it!'"

"'Bloody?'"

"Picked it up from Peggy."

"Ah."

"Look, Tony, I got a job, a well-paying one, too, and you wouldn't believe how many nights I just sat there, trying to think of ways to make it up to you, even though you always said that it was fine, don't worry about it, that if you had to spend money on anything, it'd be me. And I don't want to walk around with that on my shoulders, that I have to be reliant on my roommate and my boyfriend and my teammate for sustenance, I just don't want to have to do that anymore with a huge black cloud floating over my head. I don't want to be bought, okay?"

Tony massaged his temples.

"I know, I know, I—"

"Why'd you even bring that up? You know that I'll never be anywhere remotely close to a hundred thousandth of a percent of what you make—"

"Steve, I—"

"I seriously don't know what you want me to do."

"Look, I'm—I'm sorry, okay?"

Tony rested his forehead on his palm and palpated the throbbing along his left superficial temporal artery. Great, which meant that he's had so many headaches that he knows their names. Steve sighed.

"I know."

They both took deep long drags from their coffee. "It's, um, it's getting late."

"Yeah. Shower?"

"Mm."

Tony stood up and placed his still half-full mug by the sink. He didn't need anymore right now. "And uh, Tony?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks for apologizing."

"No problem, Cap."

Tony nodded to himself, and walked towards the bedroom.

"Goodnight, Vienna," Steve muttered into his coffee, smiling slightly at the same time.