"He left his phone." Tony's throat began to tighten.

"Tony," Steve spoke in a gentle tone that still managed to sound firm. Clint had called him when they realized Banner left. "He's going to come back."

"How do you know?" Tony's voice was edgy, desperate.

"He'll come back because he can."

"Oh, unlike you? A man out of his time?" He challenged.

Rogers nodded. "I didn't have a choice. He does."

Tony could feel the guilt settling in for being such an asshole. Steve was just trying to help. But his thoughts quickly shifted back to Bruce. "What if... he let the Other Guy out again and he's hurt somewhere and-"

"Come on." Steve gripped Tony's upper arm. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" He hoped it was to look for Bruce. "Out. If you keep working yourself up like this, you're going to have another attack." Tony's heart sank. "You hungry? 'Cause I'm starving. Let's go for lunch." Clint followed behind them.

It was nearly three in the afternoon when Bruce woke up. Shit, when did he even pass out last night? He turned off the TV and looked at the open bottle of rum on the nightstand. He had to get home. There was a just enough money in his wallet for a bus pass and maybe some food – definitely not enough for a cab. After he washed up and grabbed some McDonald's, Bruce took a bus back home.

He shuffled in the front door of the tower and took the elevator up. Once he reached the penthouse, someone grabbed him roughly from the side and pushed him back through the sliding doors. Natasha? Nope, Steve. What the hell? The Captain wordlessly pressed the button that would take them to Tony's workshop while Banner stood in shock.

"Do you know what you did?" Steve's voice was so... parental, so stern. His eyes were livid. Bruce had never seen him so angry, not even at Tony.

All Bruce could manage was a rather helpless, "What?"

"I know it may not seem like a lot to you, just escaping into the night to God knows where, but that really scared the hell out of Tony. Did you know you almost caused him to have another attack?" He pointed a large finger at Bruce.

"No, I didn't mean to..."

"Well, I highly doubt you would mean to do that, but it happened. And me and Clint had to take the punch. Not helpful, just so you know. He kept coming up with scenarios where you'd been hurt and he was afraid you wouldn't come back. I almost used a damn sedative on him, Banner!"

"Woah, woah, slow down. I'm still..." Bruce's head was pounding as a result of last night. "Okay, what happened after I left?"

"Well, Tony thought you were still sleeping – he told us what happened last night, so that seemed plausible – but then Jarvis said you'd left. You left your phone, too."

"Well, I don't know what Tony is and isn't tracking, and I kind of wanted to be left alone, alright?"

"You could have left a damn note."

"I didn't think about it."

"Well, try that next time, alright?" The two men stood in silence for a moment.

"Thanks."

"For?"

"For whatever you did when I was out. Keeping Tony in check."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you're okay, though. Tony's paranoia was starting to spread to the rest of us."

"Sorry." Bruce wrapped his arms around himself with a downcast glance.

Steve nodded, his arms also crossed. "I'm not the one who needs the apology."

The doors opened, and Steve all but shoved Bruce through them. As soon as Clint saw this, he hurried into the elevator, and the doors closed again. Bruce was left alone with Tony. He didn't know what to say.

Tony put on a fake smile. "Did you have a nice night?"

"Tony, I..." The words wouldn't come out.

Stark's smile fell as he looked away. "I thought we could go out or something today. You know, celebrate. But I guess you had different plans."

"Look, I just needed some alone time. I didn't mean to do that to you."

Tony waved his explanation away. "That's okay. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I told you I'm good at screwing up. You didn't listen."

Tony slammed his palms onto the counter. "Jesus, Banner, would you quit throwing yourself a pity party here?"

Bruce looked up, startled.

"We all have our issues. I'm a spaz, Thor's trying to keep the fucking planet in check because his brother went batshit on an entire city, you've got the Hulk, Nat and Clint have blood on their hands – not to mention Clint having his brain picked apart like a tofu salad-" Tony hardly stopped to take a breath. "Cap's out of his fucking mind because everyone he loved is dead and he's living in a different goddamn era, Fury lost an eye, some good men, and almost lost his job, Phil should be dead, and you know what? We're all just dealing with it." Tony actually breathed this time, treading into a more sentimental area. "You're dealing with it, and I'm proud of you, but don't keep up this fucking charade because I don't have time for it. I want to be with you, however you see fit, but that shouldn't include you disappearing in the middle of the night and coming back like nothing happened!"

Bruce just stood there a moment, too stunned to speak. Tony was right, and he knew it. He could see pain in Tony's eyes and recognized the feeling of abandonment and worry. He'd been through it before, someone just up and leaving in the night. Bruce could feel the guilt settling in his stomach. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Tony sighed and shook his head. "Same."

"If it helps any, I have a fucking awful hangover." Bruce furrowed his brow slightly in almost puppy dog eyes – well, as much as he could with his head throbbing like it was.

"You? Were drinking?"

"Yeah, I, ah, got a bottle of rum from a corner store and slept alone in a motel."

"Uh, gross?" Tony wrinkled his nose playfully. "Come on, you look like you could use some coffee." He clapped Bruce on the back – a bit roughly on purpose – as they walked toward the elevator.

That night, Bruce knocked on Tony's bedroom door. He had taken habit of sleeping in Tony's bed – even after a fight. The guest bedroom was seeing less and less use, and this pleased Tony. Every night he slept in there, Bruce would first stand by the door and ask, "Do you mind?" As if Tony was going to say, "Yes, please leave." He always said no, he didn't mind at all in the most convincing way possible, yet Bruce always asked, and it had become a bit of routine – at least for those nights.

Tonight, after that bit of play and a bit of intimacy, it was well into the night when Tony began having a nightmare, and Bruce woke up to the soft moans and twitching movements of his distraught boyfriend. He placed a quivering hand on Tony's back, rubbing circles in the array of muscles, and moving over to his arm, letting his thumb do the same until Tony's erratic breathing calmed down. Bruce realized just how simple that had been. Just a gentle touch. He had comforted someone. Amazing, wasn't it? He'd done it before, but each time still seemed remarkably foreign.

The habit Tony had developed was jerking off in the shower – but that habit had been going on longer than a few weeks. That was how he kept to himself most of the time because if Bruce wasn't ready for sex, Tony wasn't about to pressure him. When they would get so, so close, and Bruce would pull away at the very last second, Tony would have another hot "shower" and come out feeling pretty good. He had a feeling it wasn't a secret either. How many showers can one take in a day without reminding a man of his teenage years? Nevertheless, before they had gone to sleep, this had been one of those nights. Bruce had been touching him this time, running his hands over Tony's arm muscles, down to the curve of his hips, circling his nipples over and over, and letting his tongue grace Tony's mouth, then his neck, shoulders... Of course he'd managed to get Tony's shirt off; Tony would do anything to be close if Bruce would let him. Banner purposely avoided the arc reactor this night; Tony told him it was under construction, but they both knew what he really meant. Sensitive day. Nothing more to it than that.

Anyway, the more Bruce tempted Tony, the more forgiving the shower seemed. He'd think of Bruce's hands stumbling and sliding along his body, fingering his cock right through the fabric. It drove him absolutely wild. If he hadn't known any better, Tony could swear Bruce was doing it on purpose. He leaned his left forearm up against the tile wall while his right hand did the work. Tony grunted and groaned into the delicate strokes that eventually grew stronger. Bruce's tangled curls came to mind, those calloused fingers, Bruce's pink lips and cheeks that turned the same color when he was embarrassed, and Bruce's voice, choosing words so carefully, as if each sentence was a poem that had uneven meters – unless he was particularly excited and couldn't contain it. His dark eyes lit up so bright, and that reminded Tony that Bruce made him feel more special than anyone had ever made him feel. Crowds, expos, fans - they couldn't do that, whatever it was. Then Tony imagined what lay underneath Bruce's trousers and saw what was above that: his strong arms, occasional prickly stubble, the rug of chest hair. With one final stroke, Tony came, eyes closed and back arched as he panted each staggering breath.

Bruce knew that Tony was aching for him. He could even feel it in his own body. Every time he looked at Tony's pleading, wanting eyes, it was like a mirror. But the man on the other side was successful and heroic and gorgeous, and Bruce was just... well, Bruce. Tony made him feel like something else, though. Not a monster, not even just a regular guy. Tony made him feel like some kind of messed up hero that could also maybe even have a normal life like he'd wanted. Betty could never even give him that, and this was his chance. He couldn't let someone like this go. He loved Tony more than anything, and it was time to show him.