A/N: Hello~ I gave you guys a little bit longer of a chapter, you're welcome. Hopefully you'll forgive me though when I say it's because I haven't even started the next chapter of 'I am Iron Man.' Consider this a peace offering. Also, OH MY GOD THAT NEW CAPTAIN AMERICA CIVIL WAR TRAILER. Literally going to cry when I see the movie, but it looks like it's going to be great. Tony looked so genuinely sad and upset right before he practically backhanded Steve, so I'm super nervous that Rhodey might be dead Dx.

I'm Team Iron Man, in case you're wondering. And no, it's not just because I love Tony and RDJ. I have solid reasoning but this story isn't about Civil War, so I won't say much on the topic and waste your time, because you probably couldn't care less. I see both points of view, but ultimately I'm swayed towards Team Iron Man.

Enjoy~ 3

Iron Man; Hero or villain?

His ears are ringing, the words bouncing off the walls of his mind.

'You better stop pretending to be a hero.'

He knows he's not a hero; not like Steve. He'll never be a hero like Steve, because Steve is Captain America, and Captain America is perfect. He's everything that's good in the world, right? He's not like Steve, and he's not like Thor, or Bruce. He's not like Clint, and he's not like Natasha. He knows this; so why won't the noise just stop?

"Tony, come on. Идиот, it's not your fault," Natasha tries her best to reassure the genius, kneeling in front of him and squeezing his hand. His eyes are far away, as if he's trapped in a bad memory. Natasha is all too familiar with that look; she's seen it before, and has experienced it herself. "Hey," she tries again, her voice gentle and soothing as she cards her hand through his brown curls, "Tony, it's just the media. You know how they get better than any of us. We'll hold a press conference; no one thinks you're a villain."

Her words cut through the noise like knives, silencing his inner conflict. Tony can hear what she's saying, but he's not sure he believes it. Loki got the better of him because he wasn't ready, damn it, and because of it he almost killed his team and innocent civilians. Her touch is gentle, though, and something she says must get through to him because he can feel the tension starting to ease out of his shoulders, not completely, but just enough.

Natasha seems to notice that what she's saying is working, too, so she continues, "You are a hero, Tony. You need to realize that. Everyone else knows it; we know it. Okay?" She spares Steve a quick glance, as if trying to tell him that this isn't his fault, because she knows that's what he's thinking, before returning her attention to the billionaire.

Tony gives a slight nod, his mind finally agreeing to return to his body. He clears his throat, subtly returning the reassuring squeeze of her hand with his own; just to let her know that he's okay.

The room is silent for another moment, until Steve feels the need to voice his own assurances, "We'll clear this mess up. We'll get through it, just like we always do. For now, you should just get some rest." When he receives an exasperated look from the genius, he quickly adds with a grin, "And that includes no workshop."

Tony rolls his eyes and slumps further into the couch, Natasha having slid beside him, "But mommm-"

"Jarvis?" Natasha interrupts the billionaire's complaining, "Lock down the workshop. No one gets in there unless there's an emergency." She flashes Tony a stern look, her eyes never leaving his while addressing the AI.

"Of course, Agent Romanoff."

"Hey!" Tony whines, throwing Jarvis' camera a dirty look, "You're supposed to be on my side! I gave you life."

"My apologies, Sir, but your team is correct. You should refrain from any strenuous activity until you have properly healed."

Tony, obviously defeated, grumbles under his breath, "Traitor. I swear I'll dismantle your motherboard."

"I tremble in fear, Sir," was the smug reply, earning a snort of laughter from the archer in the room.

Natasha allows a satisfied smile, before gently jabbing the billionaire in the shoulder with her finger, purposefully avoiding contact with the arc reactor, "Rest."

"But all I've done is rest! I'm bored. Let's watch a movie. Or play a game." A light bulb seems to go off in the genius' mind because he sits up quickly, ignoring the pain that shoots through his side, his eyes twinkling with delight, "Yes, a game. Poker; I want to play poker."

"Really? You want to play poker?" Clint smirks from his position perched on the back of the other couch.

Tony sighs, shaking his head, "Agh, you're right. Strip poker is so much better-"

"No." Natasha shoots him a deadly look, one that could probably kill should she choose.

"Or regular poker. Regular poker is fine," He hastily corrects himself, being sure to add a nonchalant shrug as if he weren't internally trembling in fear of the fierce woman beside him.

"What is this game you speak of?" Thor booms, rising from his spot on the couch next to Clint.

"It's a card game," Bruce supplies, much to the gods confusion.

"I'll teach you, Hammer Time. Texas holdem, everyone?" He glances at the rest of the Avengers, receiving a round of nods.

"I've never played Texas Holdem, but I've played normal poker," Steve casts an unsure look at the billionaire, who dismissively flicks his wrist.

"No biggie. Gotta teach Thor anyway," he offers a small smile to the soldier, partly because he's just nice like that and partly because Steve somehow manages to make his confused face look slightly adorable.

Oh, he's so screwed.

The next thing they know, they're all gathered around Tony's very expensive poker table. He has mounds of poker chips stacked and evenly distributed amongst the 6 Avengers, all sitting around the table patiently.

He grabs the stack of cards from the center and expertly shuffles them; even with the restricting cast the cards flick easily between his fingers and intertwine with one another. He does this a few times before passing out 2 cards to each player.

"Alright, first off, each player gets 2 cards. Got it?" He glances at the soldier and the god, "Good. We'll do a practice round. Don't reveal your cards." He holds up his own cards to his chest, blocking out some of the light from the arc reactor, "We start with a round of betting. You can check, bet, or fold."

To Thor's nod of understanding he continues, "If you don't like your hand, which I will explain how you know if you should like it later, you can fold. It basically means you'll be taking no further part in the hand. Just done. If you do like your hand, you can call or raise. If you call, you'll be matching the amount already bet. If you raise, you're basically raising the stakes, and if the other player wants to continue in the hand he needs match your raise."

"I believe I can grasp this concept of raising quite well!" Thor exclaims, slamming his fist down on the table for good measure.

"Wonderful." Tony deadpans, shifting a little in his seat and concealing a wince of pain before he continues, "After the first round of betting, three cards are dealt face up in the center of the table, called the flop, if you're interested in terminology. There's another round of betting, and then a fourth card is added, called the turn. There's another round of betting, and a final fifth card is added to the middle, called the river. You bet again. Your goal is to create the best possible 5-card-hand using your own cards and the shared cards in the center."

Thor grins, the concept seeming to process with him, "Aye, I will defeat you all, for I shall have the best of these hands!"

"Slow down, Point Break. A few more things. Now, you may actually have a decent hand, and you can bet based on the belief that your hand is better than your opponents, but you can also bluff. You could have absolute shit cards, like complete bullshit, but if you can get everyone else to fold, you'll still win the hand. That's why you need to work on your poker face, because no offence buddy, but if you're grinning like an idiot because you know you're bluffing, you're gonna lose. Gotta sell it, big guy. You too, Rogers," He smirks, pointing a stern finger at the soldier, "Gonna lose if you blush, Spangles."

As if on cue, Steve's face turns nearly beat red, causing a round of laughter from the Avengers. Steve has no idea how Tony does it, but the man seems to know him almost too well.

"Anyway," the genius grins as he mentally pats himself on the back, doing his best to not examine Steve's bashful blushing too closely, "Hand rankings, and this is important so listen up," he holds up his good hand and begins counting on his fingers, "The order from best to worst is royal flush, straight flush, four of a kind, full house, flush, straight, three of a kind, two pairs, pair, and high card."

The team, save Natasha and Bruce, and stare at him as if he's talking jibberish, "You're not going to memorize them all right away, so don't worry about it. Jarvis?" He sighs and flicks his good wrist.

A holographic list of the poker hand rankings appears on the nearest wall, accompanied by the rules that apply to each hand.

"You can just refer to the list. No big deal," He says with a shrug, ignoring the way the movement tugs uncomfortably at the stitches in his side.

"Not bad, for an engineer," Natasha teases from beside him, "Did you write that down somewhere, or just one too many trips to Caesar's Palace?"

He makes a face at her, though there's no heat behind it. She knows exactly which nerves to pick, and she has a great poker face, but so does Tony, which is exactly why he wanted to play with her. He's always up for a good challenge.

Plus, how many people can say they've experienced the fun side of the famous Black Widow?

"Don't act all smug, Romanoff. I'm on to you." He turns back to face the others, "Everyone ready?"

They've been playing for about 30 minutes. Natasha and Tony are in the lead (no surprise there), with Bruce in second and Steve, surprisingly, in third. Thor is a close fourth and Clint is in last.

Which, of course, means there is a lot of complaining and accusations being thrown around.

"Oh, come on!" Clint groans as Tony wins yet another round, putting him in the lead as he pulls his earnings towards him, "There's no way! You're so cheating, probably counting cards!"

Tony just shakes his head as he neatly stacks up his chips, "No need to get so salty, Barton. It's just a game." He purposefully keeps his voice as calm as he can, keeping out any defensiveness from his tone, just to ruffle Clint's feathers. The man's not entirely wrong, though he's not entirely right either. The truth is, he probably is counting cards, but he can't exactly help it. That's what he does; he runs the numbers for just about everything. Why would it be any different with poker? He can't just ignore the steady stream of calculations and probabilities fluttering past his eyelids.

"You should be disqualified. All in favor, say I!" Clint raises his hand with determination, casting glances to his team mates to see just who's on board.

No one raises their hand.

"Sorry Bird Brain," Tony states with a smug grin and a shrug, and again, ow, "Can't just vote the guy who pays for your living arrangements off the island. This isn't Survivor."

Steve furrows his brow, "What's-"

"It's a reality show," Bruce supplies, "We can watch it sometime, if you really want to."

"That's it; I quit. You're full of shit, Stark!" Clint grumbles, though the playful glint in his eye is obvious to the billionaire. The archer slams his cards down on the table with a sense of finality, "I fold; FOR GOOD."

"Like you were ever in the game in the first place," Natasha comments with an amused smirk.

"I was so in the game!" Barton retorts, pointing a finger at the red head.

"You have like, 6 chips left, Katniss," Tony points out while proudly hovering over his mound of earnings and tossing back what was left of the scotch he'd acquired not ten minutes ago. Banner had tried to talk him out of it, saying that scotch didn't mix with medication (as if he doesn't know that), but despite the rest of the team's protests, he got his drink anyway, having promised to only have one. Besides, he salutes whoever decided that alcohol was the best medicine.

The billionaire allows himself a smug grin for having silenced the angry bird, the others trying to stifle their laughs. He glances around the table, raising his eyebrows at Thor who has the third most chips in front of him, just behind Natasha.

"Not bad, Point Break; I'm impressed. You catch on quick."

Thor grinned larger than he ever has, though it could also have something to do with the Asgardian alcohol he'd pulled out of nowhere when he'd seen Tony's drink. "Indeed! Though I must say, your Poker skills are far beyond the level mine will ever be, Man of Iron."

"Seriously," Steve agrees, also turning to smirk at the genius, "How can you play so well?"

Before Tony can respond, Natasha cuts in for him, "Steve, as much as I hate to feed the 'Tony Stark Ego,' Fury wasn't exaggerating when he said Shellhead over here was a genius." She turns to face Tony, who was currently basking in the complement as if it were a ray of sun. "You're probably doing the math without even realizing it, am I correct?"

He shrugs, "You're right. I can't exactly turn it off, Natashalie."

When she shoots him a deathly glare, one that promises he'll pay for that, Steve decides to cut in, raising an eyebrow at said genius, "Sounds exhausting."

Tony suddenly wears a very mischievous smirk, "Nah, it's not so bad, Spangles. It can't be anymore exhausting than that inner struggle you have every time you're trying to keep from blushing."

Again, Steve turns as red as the Iron Man armor, leaving the rest of the team in a fit of laughter. He hangs his head in embarrassment, but is sporting a smile nonetheless, and god if bashful Steve isn't just the most ador- god he needs to stop doing that.

So instead of risking revealing what he's actually thinking, he just keeps on smiling and laughing, even if the action is just killing his still healing ribs.

"Oh man," Clint breathes between laughter, nearly doubling over glee, "twice in one hour."

"Thanks for that, Stark, really, I appreciate it," the soldier states with an exasperated sigh as he stands from the table, though he can't help but grin. "You should rest now," he advises, gently clapping the billionaire on the shoulder, "and remind me to never play poker with you again."

"Awe, don't be such a Debbie Downer, Sour Patch," Tony declares as he stands somewhat shakily from his chair, having almost forgotten about his broken leg entirely.

Steve is quick to steady him, one hand at his waist and the other on the small of his back. He can feel Tony go a bit stiff under his touch, but quickly he snaps out of it in favor of reaching for his crutches. When Steve is sure he isn't going to topple over, he clears his throat a bit awkwardly before giving the engineer some room.

"Ah, thanks, Spangles," Tony nods, though he's a bit unsure of what to do. What are you supposed to say when Captain America just grabbed you by the waist? Granted, it was to stop him from falling on his ass, but still. He glances at the rest of the team, purposefully ignoring Natasha's all knowing smirk.

Damn that woman.

Steve isn't quite sure what to do with himself as he waits for Tony, who is now fumbling with his crutches and cursing them under his breath. He actually finds it kind of endearing, but he'd never admit it out loud.

"Come on, I'll make sure you don't collapse before you even make it to your room," he says once Tony is situated and making his way towards the lift. He follows close by, but not enough to make it seem like he's hovering or… mother-henning? Is that what Tony had said to him at the hospital?

"Yeah, whatever, Ice Pop," Tony grumbles with a hint of amusement in his tone. Hey, if it makes the man feel better to see him make it to bed, then fine.

Once they've said their goodnights to the team and have finally made it to the elevator, Tony finds himself heavily relying on the support of the elevator walls. He's a lot more drained than he had originally thought, though he supposes that pretending you're not in an immense amount of pain the whole night does that to a person. When Steve raises a questionable eyebrow at him, he flashes him the fakest smile he can muster.

Steve isn't buying it.

"You know, if you're in pain, all you have to do is say something."

Tony drops the smile, not wanting to waste the energy if Steve can see right through it anyway. He sighs, throwing his head back against the cool metal of the wall, listening to the barely audible hum of the elevator's machinery as he bites back a wince.

Steve is about to say more, but the doors ping open, and it's obvious to him that Tony is too tired to argue right now. He decides to cut him some slack; for now.

"Come on," he helps the billionaire out of the elevator, mentally thanking Jarvis for holding the doors open.

They make their way towards Tony's room, Steve holding the door open for him, like the gentleman he is, though Tony thinks it's more because opening doors would be quite difficult for him, what with the crutches and all. He flashes the soldier a thankful look as he hobbles inside, though instead of leaving like Tony thought he would, Steve follows.

"Uh," Tony fumbles for the right words, trying not to offend the Captain, "Cap, as much as any man would love to have you in their bed, I'm afraid I'm a bit incapable at the moment." He mentally facepalms, cursing his lack of interpersonal skills and brain to mouth filter.

Steve can feel the heat rising up his neck and over his cheeks, but thankfully Tony doesn't mention it. "Very funny, but something tells me you may want to shower, and if I'm recalling correctly, the last time you came home from the hospital you needed helping changing."

It takes all of Tony's willpower not to blush like Steve currently is, and thankfully he's much better at keeping it at bay. "Well, uh, I guess I probably should shower but um," he clears his throat, trying to avoid any and all eye contact, "I think I can manage, mostly."

"Right, well, I'll just… wait out here. In case you need something, I guess?"

"Yeah," Tony is so done with this conversation. He can feel the level of uncomfortable Steve is currently feeling, so he takes pity and starts for the bathroom. "I'll just… yeah," and he disappears into the room.

Steve lets out a sigh of relief, making his way over to the desk in Tony's room. He sits in the chair and waits patiently, listening to the sounds of running water and the mad ramblings of the genius beyond the door. 'Probably talking to Jarvis,' he thinks.

He takes the opportunity to study the room. It hasn't been too long since he's last been here, he knows that. It looks almost exactly the same; three grey walls, one red wall by the bed, huge windows. It's a nice room, but it looks as if no one lives in it. The only signs that maybe Tony Stark calls this his are the little projects strewn across the desk. Steve doesn't really know what they are, so he figures it best not to touch them, and opts for staring out the window instead.

The water is warm. It soothes the aches and pains over the expanse of his body just slightly, but at this point he'll take anything. He verbally curses the bags he has to use to cover his casts, knowing he probably looks like a fucking idiot, but whatever. The water is warm, he's tired, and he finally has a minute to just think.

He stays there for a minute, just letting the water run down his back and soak his hair, though he's careful to keep it away from his face. He still hates that, even if this water isn't rusty and cold. Eventually though, he decides it's probably just a little rude to keep Steve waiting. Tony isn't the only one who's had a long day, and he knows the others have had a long week. He just can't wait for it to be over, but he knows they've still got a bit to go before that happens. He still needs to debrief with Fury, and they need to figure out what to do with Loki, too.

Sighing, he reaches with his left hand for his shampoo, doing his best not to get frustrated when he struggles to pop the cap open. He takes solace in the familiar smell; it's masculine, but not too strong, and it smells clean. He washes his hair with his one good hand, before moving on to conditioner and eventually body wash. Cleaning himself actually hurts like a bitch, and it's a bit infuriating having to keep as much water from reaching his stitches as possible. Bruce said they could get a little bit wet, but that he shouldn't soak them.

Again, he knows that, Brucie Bear.

Once he's finished he hobbles out of the shower, holding himself up against the now closed shower door. He takes a minute to let the pain of having to move so damn much settle, before he finally snags a towel, drying himself the best he can before rapping it around his waist. He rolls his eyes as he stumbles over to the sink, leaning against the counter for support as he runs his good hand across the mirror, clearing the fog.

He stares at himself in the mirror, the word villain leaving a sour taste in his mouth as he stares at his reflection. The arc reactor shines brightly in his chest, droplets of water sliding down over the transparent covering. He grumbles and uses the hand towel on the counter to wipe the water from it.

He tears his eyes from the mirror, having decided that he just wants to sleep. He shifts his attention to figuring out how exactly he's supposed to make it out of the bathroom using crutches with a towel around his waist without flashing his junk to Captain America.

What the hell has his life come to?

He decides that crutches just aren't going to work, so he'll just have to hobble and hold his towel up with his left hand, because he's an idiot and he forgot to at least grab boxers, for God's sake.

Steve is busy staring out the window, gazing in wonder over the glistening lights of New York, when the bathroom door clicks open. He doesn't look straight away, just in case.

"I promise you that I'm modest," Tony informs him when he notices that the soldier is still pointedly not turning to face him, "at least for now."

Steve stands and finally tears his eyes from the window, and Jesus Christ hasn't this happened to him once before?

Tony's scowling over his need of assistance as he stands in the bathroom doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. His left hand is holding up the pristine white towel that he has thrown around his hips, and his weight is shifted to his left leg. His hair is dripping wet, though it's obvious the billionaire had run his hand through it once or twice, seeing as it's not plastered to his forehead. The arc reactor glows brightly in his chest, an expanse of scars stemming from its' rounded curves.

Steve is desperately willing himself not to blush. He's seen Tony like this once or twice before, but never because he had to. He realizes he's been staring at the glow in the genius' chest for a good ten seconds or so, attempting to ignore picturing the origin of the scars across his friend's chest. He clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, trying not to think much of the situation as he makes his way to Tony's closet. He picks out a simple black T-shirt and a pair of boxers, tossing them onto the bed.

When he looks back, Tony is obviously having a hard time moving towards the bed. He hesitates for a moment before going over to the engineer.

Tony switches his left hand out for his right hand to hold up the towel, silently thanking the universe for the use of his hand, even if his arm is useless. He loops his now free left arm over Steve's shoulder and allows the man to guide him over to the bed. He flops down, mumbling obscenities under his breath as he snatches the boxers beside him.

Steve takes that as his cue to turn away, and does so quickly, even if it is with a bit of reluctance. He waits a moment, listening to the genius' annoyed ranting about how he's not some damsel in distress, and how he'll be damned if he can't put on his own boxers. Steve waits patiently, trying not to chuckle at the billionaire.

"Alright, Captain Spangles, I'm officially no longer at risk of flashing you my genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist junk. You're welcome."

Steve admittedly turns a bit redder at that, but spins back around nevertheless. Tony tosses him the black shirt, which he helpfully slips over Tony's head, careful not to cause him any pain. He hears Tony wince once or twice, probably from the stitches or his broken ribs, but there's not much he can do about it.

Once Tony is dressed, Steve reaches for the nightstand, grabbing 2 pills and a glass of water, and holding them out for the billionaire, "Here; Bruce said this should help with the pain."

Tony stares at him thoughtfully for a moment, before taking the offered pills and tossing them back. He swallows them dry, but takes a sip of the water anyway. He clears his throat before he looks up again, doing his best to give Steve the most genuine look he can, "Uh, thanks, Rog- Steve. Really."

The soldier allows a small smile at that, glad that Tony is at least trying to call him by his first name. "That's what I'm here for," he states simply, helping the genius scoot over and slide under the covers, "Get some rest."