After the coffee was finished and the dishes were washed, Tony removed his rubber gloves and rejoined Martha in bed. He plopped down dramatically on top of the covers and stretched out. "Well that was an ordeal."

"Not used to manual labor?" Martha questioned as she fluffed her pillow and leaned against the headboard.

"Building stuff is manual labor," Tony pointed out. "But housekeeping is different matter entirely."

"I'll do the cooking next time," Martha promised.

Tony put his arms behind his head. "So is breakfast in bed going to be the norm?"

"Could do," she answered with a casual shrug. "Assuming we have the time."

"Just because it's a quickie doesn't mean it can't be satisfying," he quipped as he closed his eyes.

He heard her huffing above him and even without seeing her face he knew that she had rolled her eyes as well. "Can we include a provision about you making dirty jokes?"

"First of all, it takes a perv to know a perv," Tony accused playfully, opening one eye. "Secondly, the joke's on you, Sigmund, because I wasn't actual being sexual." He closed his eye again. "I think I've shown excellent restraint."

"As opposed to other night?" she countered.

"Being sober tends to make that easier."

"That's another thing," Martha began in a tentative voice. "Maybe you should think about showing a bit more restraint in that regard as well." Tony opened both eyes and looked at her without speaking. "I mean I get it. I saw the bottom of more than my fair share of bottles in the beginning," she admitted while casting her eyes downward. "And I did know better. I'm a physician so of course know that alcohol doesn't solve anything. In fact, I could probably list all the ways in which it makes matters worse. I reckon just…" She exhaled sharply. "I didn't really care."

Tony turned his gaze toward the ceiling. He wished he could say his drinking was a result of the Battle of New York, but the truth of the matter was that his problems began a long time ago.

Tony had been young the first time he took a drink. He must have been 13 or 14 because he vaguely recalled it being around the time he started at MIT. Even now, he was hard pressed to remember why he had done it. 'You probably wondered what it was about scotch that held your old man's attention better than you ever could,' a dark part of him suggested.

It definitely wasn't the taste, Tony quickly learned. He gave it a try off and on over the years, sampling his father's supply. If Howard ever noticed he never showed any indication. The same couldn't be said for his mother Maria or the family butler Edwin Jarvis, for whom Tony later named his AI. Neither one of them ever missed a beat. And despite the odd lecture or scolding, Tony's happy memories about his childhood usually involved one or both of them.

Tony finally cracked the code about drinking when he was 21. Camera flashes and the reoccurring image of twisted metal became a little more tolerable after enough alcohol. The night of his parents' death Tony learned that he preferred the flavor of whiskey to the bitter taste of reality. Within the same year, he had inherited the role of CEO of Stark Industries, following Obadiah's brief tenure, and lost Jarvis. He and scotch were old buddies by then.

"I'll cool it with the scotch," Tony told Martha with eyes still fixed on the ceiling. If push came to shove, he could always switch it up and drink bourbon or rye whiskey. Hell, corn whiskey was thing and he did always wonder what moonshine was like.

"Don't think you can fool with semantics either," Martha said, as if reading his mind.

Tony exhaled sharply. Either she was really good or he was too damn predictable. "Am I supposed to just go cold turkey?" he questioned. He had tried clean living on more than one occasion and needless to say it didn't take, much to Rhodey and Pepper's shared dismay.

"Well I'm not a sobriety counselor," Martha replied. "And I think it would be hypocritical of me to tell you to give up drinking full stop when I've still be known to drown my sorrows with a full bottle of Moscato. But I do think you could benefit from diverting your energy to something else," she insisted. "I told you I'd support you and I meant it." She placed a hand on his arm, spurring him to turn his eyes from the ceiling to her. "If you ever feel yourself losing control in any way, ring me up. I can go to you or you can come over here again or we can just have a chat over the phone."

Tony stared at her for a long while before speaking again. Martha hadn't given him any reason to doubt her, but he couldn't help questioning why someone would be so accommodating to a person they barely knew. "I hope you have a good phone plan."

Martha shrugged and retracted her hand. "If not, I reckon you could always buy me my very own telecommunications company or something," she quipped.

Tony laughed. "You know, I can't tell if you've always been a smartass or if I'm starting to rub off on you."

Martha scrunched her nose. "Well considering that hearing the words 'arse' and 'rub off' used in the same sentence has suddenly caused my mind to fall into the gutter, I'd say there is a definitely negative influence."

"If you want to get dirty, we could always slip under the sheets."

"See now I was thinking more along the lines of a shower," Martha countered with a slight smirk.

"Sounds nice but I don't have anything to wear. Unless that's the goal."

"It might've been the goal if you were invited."

Tony scoffed playfully. "Maybe we should include a provision about you, Doc. You're a worse flirt than I am," he accused with a grin.

"Trust me. This isn't me flirting," Martha assured him.

"Well now I'm just curious," Tony said, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with one hand. "Can I get a little demonstration?"

"Seems like a conflict of interests, if you ask me," Martha reasoned. She rolled onto her side and mirrored his position. "Sure it starts off innocent enough. First, there's a little flirting. Then, there's snogging. Shagging. Next thing you know it ends with tears." She sighed dramatically. "And I just couldn't bear the thought of breaking your heart," she teased.

Tony's smile grew wider. "Well you'd have to find it first," he countered with another laugh.

Martha's eyes locked onto his and his laughter died down into a comfortable silence. She slowly lifted a hand and gently traced the outline of a heart where his arc reactor had once been. "It's right here," she answered.

"Lucky guess."

"I am a doctor," she reminded him.

"If we're being technical about it, so am I," he pointed out.

It was Martha's turn to laugh. "Tony Stark, Ph.D., is it?"

He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled it away from his chest, turning it over to look at her palm. "Just two doctors using their hands to change the world in different ways."

"I reckon so."

"Still…" He let go of her hand. "I could do a lot worse than getting my heart broken by you. I'm pretty sure I have done worse."

Martha shook her head. "You don't even know me. Not really."

It was true. They had only had three encounters in total, which spanned merely a few days. Still, for whatever reason, he felt as though he could trust her. Then again, trusting people had bitten him in the ass on more than one occasion. "You're right. You could be a spy."

Martha quirked a brow. "Do I look like a spy to you?"

"If you did, you wouldn't be a very good one," he pointed out.

"Fair point," Martha conceded with a shrug. "So…in the spirit of transparency, I'll answer anything you ask."

"Anything?"

"Sure," Martha promised. "Of course, if you ask the wrong thing it might get answered with a slap," she warned.

Tony rolled onto his back once more as he thought about what he wanted to know. The short answer was everything, but he supposed he ought to start simple. "Who's your favorite Avenger?" he asked as if it were some profound inquiry.

Martha cracked a smile. "Captain America," she answered automatically.

"Seriously?" Tony scoffed. "You're not even American."

Martha stifled a laugh. "No, but my grandfather was," she informed him. "Gabriel Jones. He was born and raised in Macon, Georgia and he served as a member of the 92nd Infantry Division during World War II. Steve Rogers saved his life and I literally would not be here if it wasn't for him."

"Remind me to send him a muffin basket. He could use the bran at his age."

"I don't know. He seems to be fairly fit to me."

Tony scoffed. "He's old enough to be your grandfather."

Martha matched his scoff with one of her own. "And you're practically old enough to be my dad."

"First of all, I could be a young uncle at best," he insisted, feigning offense. "Secondly, I was under the impression that you weren't interested."

"I'm not," Martha reiterated. "Just because you're hard on the nerves it doesn't mean you aren't easy on the eyes."

Tony smirked. "You sure you still want to hang out with me?"

"I'll keep you around for now," she answered with a shrug and a hint of a smile.

"No take backs!" Tony said quickly as he sat up in bed. "Anything else we need to cover before I go?"

Martha considered the question as she pulled the covers back and swung her legs over the edge to stand and stretch her limbs. "I think we've hit the highlights, but we can address any other issues as they come."

Tony nodded while moving towards the door. "We'll go with the flow." He took his jacket from the hook by the door and slipped it on. "I'll upgrade your security clearance at the Tower so you can come and go as you please," he informed her as he reached for his phone in order to set J.A.R.V.I.S. to work on the task.

"I reckon I could get you a key to my flat as well," Martha offered.

"Yea. Have seen my phone?" he asked, patting his pockets.

"Did you lose it in the bed?"

"Maybe." Tony walked back over to the bed to search the bedding.

Martha retrieved her own phone from the nightstand. "I'll give it a ring." A few seconds later the chorus of Mötley Crüe's Dr. Feelgood could be heard from underneath one of the pillows. "Seriously?" she questioned with one of signature amused huffs.

"Don't judge me," Tony retorted with a grin. "Do I want to know what your ringtone for me is?" Martha gave a noncommittal shrug, prompting him to call her phone back to see for himself. When the main guitar riff of Black Sabbath's Iron Man began to play, his smile grew wider. "I knew I liked you for a reason," he told her heading for the door once more.

"Metal's a way of life, yea, Tin Man?" she retorted as she held the door open from him.

"That's Dr. Tin Man to you," Tony shot back as he stepped over the threshold, turning back to say goodbye. "See you soon, Dr. Feelgood?"

Martha nodded. "I'm just one call away."