Steve could sense the chill when he walked in the room. Bringing his head up from where it had been focused on his precariously balanced art supplies. Every eye in the room shifted to him as his lack of focus meant that his art supplies took a noisy tumble to the ground. What they saw was a ruffled, embarrassed looking Steve Rogers, blonde hair ruffled, a smudge of charcoal stretching across one cheek, blue eyes staring curiously from behind the same spectacles he'd worn with Natasha in the mall. (He'd noted that he got headaches if he focused on sketching too long.) Natasha, who'd been eyeing Bucky and Tony warily, felt herself melt a little at the adorable picture Steve made, ruffled, worn jeans slung low on his hips, faded blue sweatshirt with the sleeves rucked up to his elbows, pencil sticking out from behind his ear. He looked every bit the 26-year old young man he was. She watched his brow furrow as he began to catch wind of the argument going on behind her. Natasha felt her heart sink a little when she realized that this relaxed, youthful Steve would soon be chased away. Since Bucky's return, she'd noticed that he'd been more relaxed, more open with them. Steve was moving before Natasha knew that something was going on, something she found herself surprised by. She spun around to find Bucky taking an angry step towards a Tony who, very intelligently took a step back. She was poised to move, but remained where she was, watching as Steve placed himself in front of Bucky, resting a hand on his chest to halt his forward progress. It was a testament to how far Bucky had come that, though he was clearly still angry at Tony, he stopped and his tense shoulders softened as he looked at Steve.

"You had no right, Tony. No right." Bucky spat, his eyes glaring at Stark, who stood stiffly, arms crossed, his usual smug expression just tenuously in place.

"What's going on, Buck?" Steve asked, maintaining his place between Bucky and Tony.

"He shouldn't…how could he…when you…and just…" By the end of his attempts he was breathing hard, his face contorted in frustration and despair.

None of the Avengers had seen Bucky like this, upset, almost verbose. And Steve hadn't seen him like this since that time, with the landmine.

"Hey," Steve said, gently, calmly, keeping his eyes focused on Bucky's, "It's OK. Whatever it is, we'll work it out. OK?"

When Steve staring at him imploringly, refusing to relent, Bucky heaved a deep sigh, before blinking, his shoulders slumping, all of the tension draining from his body.

His responsible, adult persona back in place, Steve turned back to the remaining Avengers.

"Why don't we have a family meeting." It wasn't a question.

Natasha couldn't help the slightly fuzzy feeling she got when Steve referred to their ragtag group as a family. Steve met her gaze, eyes crinkling as if he knew what she was thinking. His face went from grinning schoolboy to stern taskmaster at the scoff they heard from the direction of one Tony Stark, who was attempting to edge out of the room.

"That was a statement. Not a question, Tony."

Tony did the smart thing when he trudged over to settle on the couch between Bruce and Thor, a strategically good spot for him, as it placed him far away from Bucky, who was settled next to Clint on the other couch. Natasha sauntered over and settled herself on the arm on Bucky's other side. Steve grabbed a kitchen chair, flipped it around and settled on it backwards.

"So, who wants to tell me what's going on?" Steve asked.

Tony and Bucky both started talking at the same time. Steve held his hand up in a silent request for them to stop.

"Nat?" Steve asked.

So Natasha gave Steve a brief report – Bucky was upset because Tony had said, when they'd first met, that the only thing special about Steve came from a bottle.

Steve shrugged.

"Well, Tony's right," he stated, as if that settled the matter.

Needless to say, he was surprised at the sudden outburst his statement garnered. Even Tony opposed Steve's nonchalant disregard of his own strengths.

Steve looked confused by their reactions.

"Guys, of course Tony's right. I was a skinny little asthmatic kid, destined to die before thirty. Then I got this opportunity and Erskine made me into someone that could make a difference."

The silence that followed was full of shocked incredulity.

"Dude," Clint began, "You can't really think that…Can you?"

Steve merely shrugged. He did, genuinely believe that. He'd never begrudged Tony for the words he'd said. Never really even given them a second thought. The billionaire had simply put into words what Steve had always believed.

"Man, Cap –" Tony hesitated, looking surprisingly concerned. "I-I never really meant that. I mean, you know better than most that I'm a hot-head and never mean more than half of what I say."

Steve was absolutely flummoxed that this was such a contentious point.

"But, you were right, Tony. There was absolutely nothing special about me before Erskine's serum…" he trailed off. "Unless it was number of illnesses in one tiny body. Or number of times one person could be beat up by people larger than him…which was everyone." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "But really, this isn't a big deal. Buck, I appreciate you looking out for me. But out of all the things that Tony's said, that's not the one to get upset over."

Tony started to make an indignant noise, then stopped, realizing that Steve was right.

"Steve." This was Natasha. Her tone brooked no argument. Steve's blue eyes met green as she held his gaze. She conveyed several thoughts in that gaze, informing him without words that he was wrong, that she thought he was an idiot, and that he was a remarkable person.

"You're wrong, ya know." Bucky spoke for the first time since his initial remarks upon Steve entering the room. "You were special before the serum. And would be even if that was all gone." His tone was soft, quiet. And all the more intense because of it. "Like I told you once before, it's that kid from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. He's who I follow. Who I've always followed."

Steve opened his mouth, poised to respond…and was interrupted by the blaring of the security alarm.