It was 7:00 a.m. one morning in early October, and Captain America was out for his daily run. The air was crisp and clear, easy on Cap's lungs as his bright blue eyes roamed over the lush green landscape which was slowly turning to red and yellow. He arrived back at the Avenger's facility, but delayed going inside for a moment, simply letting his eyes wander over the peaceful countryside.

It was still early, so Steve didn't expect any of his teammates to be awake yet. Tony was sprawled over the couch in the living room, where he had crashed the late the night before or, more likely, early that morning. No one else was within sight, and Steve smiled to himself. He liked quiet mornings when he could simply relax and have some time to himself before a team of ravenous scientists and assassins descended upon the kitchen and all hell broke loose.

Surprisingly, out of the six assassins/mad scientists/super soldiers/gods that made up the Avengers, Steve Rogers was the only one who could cook a decent meal, or at least one that didn't involve a microwave. Accordingly, he was the appointed chef for basically all meals. But he didn't mind. It was a good way of making sure his teammates actually ate, and being the selfless leader he was, this was always very important to him. If left to their own devices, Tony and Bruce would probably forego eating in favor of their inventions and science experiments. Thor would most likely only eat ice cream and hamburgers, and goodness knows what Clint and Natasha would do. So Steve cooked, and all his teammates were better for it.

Steve was almost finished grilling a tower of pancakes, dyed the patriotic red, white, and blue to annoy the heck out of Tony, when a familiar scarlet-haired assassin jumped up onto the counter.

"Morning, Cap," Natasha said easily. Steve was one of the few people she felt she could be herself around.

"Good morning, Natasha," he smiled back, gently slapping her hand away from the bowl of freshly washed blueberries it was creeping towards. She put on a fake pout, and stole several as soon as his back was turned. Steve pretended not to notice.

"So how was your trip to Spain?" Natasha asked as she popped a few blueberries into her mouth. Steve shrugged.

"It was fine," he said. "You know I didn't have a chance to do much sight-seeing."

"Oh, that's too bad. Spain is gorgeous. You should go again sometime."

Steve smiled softly.

"Not for the same reason, hopefully. I don't know how many power-hungry mad scientists I can stand, especially once they start blowing up innocent people."

"Did I hear you talking about me again?" a voice came from the kitchen door, where Tony was lounging against the doorframe.

"Of course he was, Tony, because why would anyone ever talk about someone who's not you?" Natasha said sarcastically.

"Yeah, I actually didn't hear what you were talking about, I just always assume you guys are talking about me when I'm not there," Tony replied as he moved to pour a mug of the freshly made coffee. He motioned to the towering stack of pancakes and asked, "So Cap, are we gonna eat those star-spangled flap-jacks or what?"

"Dig in," Cap responded, placing the platter on the table beside the fresh bacon and sausage. Natasha and Tony needed no further urging, diving straight into the mound of deliciousness. A few moments later, they were joined by the blonde, six-foot Norse god, who looked like he could eat a horse, and Bruce and Clint followed soon after.

It was almost nine o'clock when Steve's old phone chirped, and the chaotic conversations quieted down a little bit. Steve looked at the message and frowned.

"Who is it?" Tony asked, his mouth full of pancakes.

"It's Fury," Steve replied. "He's got a mission for me." He sighed and stood up. "See you guys later," he waved. His friends looked at each other in silence as their leader and friend walked out and the door closed softly behind him.

"Okay, have you guys noticed how hard Steve has been working lately?" Bruce broke the silence.

"It's his job," Clint replied. "Besides, you know he's too nice to say no to anyone, especially Fury. That guy's a nightmare."

"And therein lies the problem," Natasha deadpanned.

"I must concur," Thor rumbled. "The good captain appears far too overworked for my liking. He is a great warrior, worthy of time to do with as he pleases."

"You're saying Cap needs a break?" Tony chimed in. "Please, he's a super soldier. Working too hard for shady government organizations is literally what he was made to do."

"Doesn't mean he shouldn't get some time off," Natasha stood and placed her dishes in the sink before turning to go to her room. The others followed her example, each heading off in their own direction.

"I'm telling you, Cap is absolutely fine," Tony called out after them.

Five hours later

Tony's phone chirped. He glanced at it briefly, then stopped to read it slowly. A solid weight suddenly seemed to press down on his heart, and he sat down heavily. Bruce looked up questioningly from across the lab, and was greeted by a haunted look in Tony's carefree eyes.

"Cap is absolutely not fine," he said.