Authors Note: Trigger Warning - Panic attacks will be highlighted in this chapter.

"Look, the last few year-"

Of course Steve would try to start talking right away. But Tony had been living off coffee, scotch and whatever 'take out' Rhodey had left him on the colonels last failed visit a few days ago. "Okay, no word more word vomiting before food, Rogers."

It bought Tony time to clear and arrange his thoughts with the added handicap of having the object of a lot of pain and relief, Rogers, hovering around.

Grabbing the loaded plate of carbs and protein, Tony didn't even bother with a thank you and dug into the food that smelled more heavenly than it probably was. He'd been feeling lightheaded since Steve arrived, probably due to lack of nourishment and it reminded him too much of Space. He liked to think as little about being in Space as possible these days. What it felt like when the air started to run out in Space…

A crash and strong hands on his upper arms brought Tony back to the present. Tony's eyes found the issues quickly. His plate smashed on the floor when it fell from his shaky fingers, to Steve's concerned face unusually close and the soldiers hands on his arms to keep Tony from falling as well. The fact that Steve was saying his name came on a ten second delay as Tony latched onto the man's forearms to keep his balance.

"-ony! Tony!" Steve said urgently. "Hey, stay with me, okay?"

Jesus, Tony must have gone completely unfocused for that response. The panic attack started to creep up then, putting a vice grip around his heart and making his breath short. Of all the people to do this in front of. That thought only made the panic leap another story higher and he more felt than was completely aware of Steve moving him to a chair and grabbing his wrist to check Tony's pulse which was no doubt racing against the soldiers fingers.

"Tony, what's-"

"Pills. Water." Tony grit out. Waving his hands towards the cabinet above the coffee maker. He heard Steve get on with it. So Tony braced his elbows on the table and focused on breathing.

Breathing is the enemy of anxiety. Breath fucker, breath!

The moment the pill bottle and glass of water appeared on the table, Tony quickly and efficiently snapped off the cap and popped two before chugging the glass of water. It was already a mental relief to know he took the pills, now he just had to hold on long enough for them to kick in. He just needed to breath.

That's when he felt a broad hand on his back. It made Tony tense, waiting for more to follow.

But Steve didn't speak, didn't try to enfold him in a binding hug or tell him to calm down. God if Steve would have told him to breath, Tony would have smashed the empty glass into his newly bearded face. Tony knew how to fucking breath!

But none of that happened. Instead Steve just kept the weight of his hand on Tony's back, just reassuring pressure. It gave Tony something to focus on instead of the panic attack itself. And while he focused on how good and solid that hand felt, Tony managed to find a healthy rhythm to his breathing. The cage loosened around his heart and as the minutes of blessed silence passed, the pills did the rest to bring the panic down and drop Tony slowly into languid, exhausted calm. His muscles ached and his chest stung. A nap sounded absolutely fucking amazing. But he'd have to hold off on all that.

"Passed," Tony muttered hoarsely.

Steve's hand moved off Tony's back and the genius had to bite down on his tongue to stop from asking the man to keep touching him. Wrong place and definitely the wrong time for that.

A few seconds later Steve pushed his untouched plate of food in front of Tony and a fresh glass of water.

Tony shook his head. "I think you need that more than I do." He tried for teasing but it came out flat. "Super soldier metabolism and all."

Steve sat down near Tony and tapped the pill bottles' top. "It says you need to eat with these."

Which meant Steve also read what they were for and probably how often Tony was 'supposed' to be taking them. Tony grudgingly pulled the plate closer and started to eat, hoping he could put a lot of uncomfortable questions off that way.

"How long have you needed these?"

Or not.

Tony drained half the glass of water before he answered, without looking at Steve.

"Since the attack on New York," he said with a shrug.

Steve was silent for a moment. "Which one?"

Tony didn't like his tone, but there was no use lying. "Loki."

He chanced a look then and Steve looked more than concerned, he looked perplexed.

"Tony, why didn't you say anything about this? Would you have said anything about this?"

Tony cleared his plate and emptied the water glass before standing abruptly, dumping the dishes in the sink loudly. "It's not really anyone's business. It wasn't getting in the way of the team. I had it handled."

Steve stood and narrowed his eyes. "Tony, that didn't look handled. That looked far from it and you know that," the chastising tone raised Tony's hackles instantly. "Why didn't you reach out to any of us?"

"Maybe because there was no one to reach out to!" He barked, seething suddenly. The step back that Steve took was viciously gratifying and spurred Tony on.

"Maybe because I thought everyone I knew and cared about was dead while I was slowly dying in space, or because before that everyone was looking at me to keep the team together, to keep everyone safe while you and the rest of the defectors who didn't want to play ball just disappeared! Maybe I didn't have a choice but to be 'fine', Rogers." Tony growled.

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