"Good God, they were serious."

Steve frowned and checked over his shoulder, then eased into the next lane. Tony covered his face with his hand and huffed out a breath.

"Serious about what?" Steve said.

Tony blinked and looked at him, then said, "What?"

"You said they were serious," Steve said. "Who was serious about what?"

"I did?" Tony said, then stared blankly for a long moment. Steve could practically see him going back through his memories to pick up the thread of conversation.

"That was like ten minutes ago."

"It was not ten minutes ago," Steve said, rolling his eyes, but his protest was in vain. Tony didn't even pause.

"Are you actually going twenty-five? I am going to die of old age, the arc reactor is going to run out of power, before we even get across the island, let alone through Brooklyn at this rate. This is heavy traffic speed, Steve. This is what you do when it's stop-and-go rush hour, but do you know what it is now? It's four in the morning. Look around you. The streets are empty."

"They're not empty, Tony," Steve said. "There are plenty of people out right now. I don't know why, there's no reason for them to be out, but they are."

"Because it's a free country, Steve, that's why. You want to talk about reasons though? There is no reason to be going less than, like, fifty. Maybe fifty-five, if you're feeling impatient. The road is straight and it's clear enough that you could have a drag race right now and nobody would notice. Why are you still going twenty-five?"

Steve reminded himself that Tony was a good man and far less annoying than his father, if they were being honest about things, and if he could make it through three years of war and almost every country in Europe without killing Howard Stark he could certainly cross Manhattan Island without killing his son.

Tony was also sick, which was why Steve was even here in this car right now. That worked to cool his temper where the rest did not. His ma would make him sit in the corner without his pencils and paper for an afternoon for being less than understanding of how sickness could make a person difficult. That didn't mean they didn't deserve the extra patience and Lord knows he'd been given more patience than he probably deserved as a kid with every health problem under the sun.

"I shouldn't even be here," Tony muttered.

"Here on this Earth or here in this car?" Maybe if he got Tony talking it would help distract him from watching Steve's driving.

Tony snorted. "Both, if my record of almost dying is any indication."

Steve frowned.

"But I was referring to here in this car. I saved the world with a grade three concussion. I built a robot that was decades ahead of anything the world had while I drunk and in the hormonal throes of puberty. And it wasn't a sex-bot. I would like the record to reflect that. I built a robot for something other than sex at an age when most guys would have probably sold national secrets to Russia for a reliable source of sex. If I can do all that—and I can, since I, you know, did —I can damn well take care of myself when I'm sick with a summer cold."

His face screwed up. "What does that even mean? Summer cold? That's an oxymoron and it's just… it's stupid. I'm not calling it that. Done. I'm cured. No more summer cold for me. Pull over so I can drive."

"Tony."

"And another thing I'm done with? Bruce. Why would he call you at three am to tell you I have an unspecified but definitely not lethal or in any way impairing illness? What did he even say to get you out of bed?"

Steve didn't bother to repress the sigh. He just silently thanked his ma for not smothering him with a blanket if he had been half this annoying. "He said that he was going to get angry if he had to listen to JARVIS tattle on you one more time. He also said that you should thank him because if someone had to pick you up to get you out of the lab you'd much prefer me to him and the likely broken bones from being Hulk-slammed into bed or thrown out the window."

"That's ridiculous. Bruce is ridiculous."

"It seemed like a pretty valid concern to me," Steve countered. He hadn't been as scrupulous in following the traffic laws on the way over because he'd been a little bit worried about arriving at the Tower to find Tony in a crater in the pavement outside surrounded by shattered glass.

"Those windows are reinforced. You can't throw someone out of them anymore."

Steve opened his mouth to say that being thrown at an unbreakable window wouldn't have ended much better for him, but Tony just bulldozed on through the conversation.

"And anyway if he'd just undone the lockdown and let me into my lab, the problem could have been solved without getting you involved. A few keystrokes, a line of code or two, maybe a sharp word, and JARVIS would have let him sleep through the night like the big goddamn baby that he is while I changed the world."

"Tony."

"Why do you even have an apartment still?" Tony asked. "You have an entire floor in the Tower you can do anything with, rent-free. I'm not an awful landlord, I swear. I mean, how can I be? You cannot possibly be a worse tenant than I am and I'm not about to kick myself out.

"Think about it, Rogers," he said, twisting in his seat. "You could be home already if you lived there. And you'd be close by if I blew something up so there wouldn't be a need to kidnap me and drag me out of bed to stop me from working. Which, by the way? Was a completely pointless gesture anyway."

He dug into his pocket and produced his phone which he flicked awake and started tapping at. "As long as I have my phone I can— Hey!" he protested when Steve snatched it right out of his hands.

His gaze followed it until it disappeared into the interior pocket of Steve's jacket and the zipper was pulled up to his neck. Tony scowled, then looked up to Steve's face and ground out, "Give me back my phone."

"No."

"I mean it. Give it back or I'll—"

Steve snorted and said, "You'll what? Glare me to death?"

Tony's eyes narrowed. "You're taking a big chance on pissing off the guy who fixes your gear."

"Nah," Steve said. "I happen to know the guy who fixes my gear pretty well, and he wouldn't sabotage anything that my life might depend on."

Tony glared at him in silent fury.

Steve put the car back into gear, signaled, and checked over his shoulder for traffic. When it was clear he pulled away from the curb and resumed driving. Tony blinked and looked around in confusion.

"Are you—"he started to ask. "Are you kidding me?! You pulled over? Can you really not concentrate on, like, two things at once? Driving and talking? Really? That's too complicated for your supersoldier brain?"

"I pulled over because I thought for a minute there you were gonna jump out and try running back to the Tower. Although driving a car requires you to concentrate on far more than two things, Tony. Driving a motorcycle even more, and I do okay on that as well."

He shook his head. "I can drive and talk just fine, but there's no reason to distract myself unnecessarily by talking when I need to focus more on the road because I'm changing lanes. Or preparing to stop my passenger from doing a barrel roll out the door and probably into the river knowing my luck."

Tony blinked and then said, "Good God, they were serious."

Steve actually took his eyes off the road to glance over with a wry grin. "Yeah, you said that already. I still don't know who 'they' are or what they're so serious about."

"You sound like a safe driving PSA."

Steve frowned. "A what?"

"PSA—public service announcement. Like, don't do drugs, kids, and stay in school. Alcohol and pregnancy don't mix well. And, apparently, don't talk to your passengers while changing lanes because your car might spontaneously lose control and careen into a building. How are you even real?" he asked, hitting his stride. "I mean did my dad know what he was unleashing on the world when he helped create you? Or were you like this before the..." He gestured. "Muscles and hair and... whatever."

Steve chuckled at that. "The muscles I got from the serum, the hair I've always had."

Tony squinted in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes, Tony. Really."

"Huh. And the rest? The—"He propped his chin on two fingers as he considered. "If it didn't come from the serum, then it's like you were born to be a model of good behavior, the antithesis of me, if we're being honest. Did he choose you specifically to be a pain in my ass with your always following the rules and responsible choices and all?"

Now Steve blinked. "Ah, no? I mean... Kind of?"

Tony's eyes widened. "He did?! My dad chose you just to be a walking talking example of all of my many character faults? That's... surprisingly self-aware of him. And a little creepy, to be honest. How did he know you'd still be here—"

A hand was covering Tony's mouth, and Steve said, "Tony, stop."

He was amused again as he took his hand back and coasted for the yellow light. He shook his head.

When they'd rolled to a complete stop, he looked over and said, "Tony, your dad didn't choose me. I meant Dr. Erskine. And he said he chose me for what I had inside, for the kind of person I was, but I don't think he was looking for the antithesis of you. Anyway, if that were the case, he'd have had to find someone more like Schmidt."

His head bobbed to the side thoughtfully. "More humble, perhaps, but no less evil, because you are a good man. I think Dr. Erskine would have liked you, to be honest. He wouldn't have given you the serum, because the serum enhances everything and no one needs more ego than you have right now, but you don't need it anyway, so that's all right."

Tony scowled at that. Then he pressed the heel of his hand to his right eye socket. It looked like the headache was getting worse. Steve pressed the gas pedal softly, almost just letting it idle into motion.

Silence fell and Steve watched Tony from the corner of his eye as he checked his mirrors. Along with the apparent sinus pain, Tony had one hand sort of kneading his stomach and he was an almost unending series of sniffles now. Not that it seemed to be helping.

At the next light Steve dug into the glovebox for a packet of tissues and handed them off. Tony stared for a second, but accepted them, wiping at his nose.

"The others. The, uh..." He grimaced and scrunched up his face against the pain. "The team. They were serious."

"About what?" Steve said. His voice was laced with concern for Tony's current condition, but he couldn't help feeling the trepidation over whatever Tony had to say about the team's opinion of him.

"About you. Driving. I know you're technically, like, ninety, but do you have to drive like it?" He peeked at Steve with one eye, the other still covered by his hand.

Steve frowned. "I'm not trying to drive like a ninety-year-old."

Tony snorted. "Could have fooled me."

"Yes, well, I've seen you drive. I don't think you have room to cast stones from that glass house of yours."

"What are you talking about? I have a perfect driving record. Well, for accidents anyway. And I'm pretty sure most of my tickets have to do with my name, not my driving. And my house isn't glass, it's lexite composite polymer and it can withstand the Hulk at his angriest, so I will cast all the stones I want, thank you very much."

Steve burst out laughing at that. "That explains… so much more than it doesn't."

Tony gave an indignant noise, but he was still massaging his forehead. "That doesn't even make sense," he grumbled.

It fell silent again as Steve changed lanes, turned and maneuvered some more, while Tony gave up on pressing the headache out and just covered his eyes to shield from the probably nauseating bands of light as they went from streetlight to streetlight.

When they again hit a straightaway in the form of the bridge out of Manhattan, Steve started humming softly, hoping not to wake Tony with the noise if he kept it low and gentle enough.

"You know they have, like, a hundred stations on satellite radio that play music from the—"

Steve jerked the wheel to the right in surprise and Tony finished his sentence with a yelped, "HOLY SHIT!" while grabbing the door and pressing a hand to the dashboard.

Steve straightened out into the proper lane and then took a deep breath.

"What the fucking hell was that?" Tony demanded.

Steve chuckled, his cheeks flushing hot. Hopefully Tony couldn't see that, though. "Sorry. You startled me is all. I thought you'd fallen asleep."

Tony just stared at him while Steve glanced at the mirror out his window and then flicked his gaze back to his face on the way back to the road.

"What?" Steve asked when the pressure at the back of his neck got to be too much and it was either ask or hunch forward.

"You… I startled you? Oh my god, I take it back, drive like a grandpa, Jesus. If that's what it takes to keep from dying in a fiery wreck, by all means, act your age."

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, but said nothing. Tony's sick, he reminded himself, though the reality was that Tony was just… Tony.

Who cleared his throat with exaggeration and said, slowly, "I'm going to speak now, is that okay?"

"Don't be an ass," Steve said, all of his nice polished manners gone out the window—something Tony seemed to be particularly skilled at causing. "Just don't pretend to fall asleep and then start a conversation out of nowhere and we'll be fine."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked out the window.

Steve wondered what he'd been about to say, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Trying to discern the mental processes of a guy like Tony was great way to give yourself a migraine and that was about it.

"Tony?" Steve said after they exited the bridge and made a couple of turns. "Did you pass out again? Because if so, I think it might be time to admit you need a hospital—"

"I'm awake!" Tony said, sitting up and turning back. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."

"God help us all," Steve said, but it was as fond as it was wry. He considered, then gave up. Conversation was better than worrying about Tony's health. "About what?"

Tony hesitated—or just got lost in thought again, it was hard to tell which—then shrugged. "Nothing."

He wiggled his way back into a more comfortable slouch and said, "How much longer? I'd ask how far, but I know how far and how long it should take, if a normal person were driving. I'm assuming you know how long it will take at your preferred speeds."

"About fifteen more minutes," Steve said, resigned.

"Mmkay, I'm going to nap then. Wake me when we arrive."

"Okay. Good night, Tony."

Tony huffed a laugh, probably because Steve had wished him a good night when he was so obviously not feeling well.

He cracked an eye after only a second. "I mean it, wake me up. Don't you dare carry me inside asleep, I'm not a toddler."

Steve's voice was dry as the desert when he said, "No, of course not, where would I ever get an idea like that?"

Tony squinted. "You can be an asshole too, you know that?"

Steve laughed softly. "I never said I couldn't. Sleep, Tony. I'll wake you up when we arrive."

"You better," Tony muttered, then leaned his head against the cool glass of the window and let his eyes close.