Tony had resumed working in his shop after Steve's visit, and had lost track of time as he tinkered away. His head perked up when he heard an unusual sound coming from the air vents. The metal groaned and Tony thought he heard an accompanying "oomph" with it.

"I thought spies were supposed to be sneaky." Tony called up to the archer in the air vent. "You'd better lay off the donuts or you'll be out of a job soon, Clint."

In the best retort Clint could offer, he kicked out the vent's screen, gracefully flipped out of the vent, and landed upright on his feet. It was impressive to say the least. "You we're saying?" he grinned devilishly at Tony.

Tony just rolled his eyes and resumed working, not wanting to feed the other man's ego. "Did you need something Legolas?"

Clint groaned at the nickname but replied, "I was roaming around and heard Steve talking to Nat about you and thought that it was only fair that I came down here to gossip about him with you."

"What a friend." Tony said sarcastically. In truth, he didn't know if he wanted to talk about Steve or not. He was such a confusing topic for Tony.

Clint seemed to recognize this and started off with an easy question: "Have you tried talking to each other?"

Tony just snorted. "Yeah; once." Clint wasn't impressed. "We've mainly tried punching each other in the face repeatedly." Tony reminisced on the events of Siberia and the airport. "What? You don't think that will solve the problem this time?"

Clint laughed darkly, "I didn't realize that solved the problem the first time." They both settled in to an easy silence, thoughts swirling around them.

Tony spoke first, a quiet admission: "I miss him," he whispered, unable to hold Clint's gaze. "I miss who I thought he was."

"He's still the same guy, Tony. Stubborn. Righteous. Brave. Sensitive. It's just that sometimes his best traits turn into his faults."

"So do I love him or hate him for it?" This was the only question that mattered to Tony. He was being torn in two separate ways—being ripped at the seams. His heart had already decided the answer, but his mind had other ideas.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive. Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side."

Tony let the answer soak in. "That might be a little too deep for me, buddy." Tony lightly joked to avoid a real reply.

Clint sensed that Tony was losing strength to carry on the conversation so he made for an exit—opting to use the door like a normal person. He turned over his shoulder and called to Tony: "We can't choose who we love, Tony."

The mechanic's eyes shot up and locked onto Clint's. "I know. But I wish, more than anything, that we could."

Steve had given up on sleep a while ago. He was replaying his conversation with Tony over and over again in his mind. Each time changing his responses and actions in the way that one does when looking back on an unfortunate conversation.

Yet he still couldn't figure out a way that would get Tony to open up to him. Steve sighed and made his way up to the common room, hoping he could get some relief with a change of scenery.

It seemed like he wasn't the only one plagued by another sleepless night: Natasha was sitting on the couch sharpening a set of knives ritually and methodically. She didn't say anything when Steve sat next to her, sensing that he needed to be the one to voice his troubles.

They sat in a comfortable silence, the only sound the soft scrape of metal on metal, a soothing cadence that seemed to lull Steve into a calmer state. He took a deep breath. "I went to talk to Tony today."

"I assume that didn't go well."

Steve chuckled darkly. "No." He paused for a long moment, trying to figure out a way to voice his thoughts. "I didn't want it to go the way it did."

"It's not intentions that matter. It's actions. We are what we do and say, not what we intend to." Steve had a feeling she was talking about more than just a talk with Tony.

"Bucky was the only thing I had left." Steve's voice was weak. It was a better excuse than most, but an excuse nonetheless.

"I know Steve. We all know. You both have had more than enough suffering." She set down her knife, and picked up another. Her eyes locked on Steve's. "But you have to admit you didn't exactly go about things the right way. Did you?"

Steve flinched. It was one thing to think those words to himself. It was another thing entirely to have someone tell it to him straight. Steve had screwed up.

"No. I didn't." His words were strong. But Tony had too. I wasn't the only one. Steve automatically felt ashamed of his thoughts. He needed to forgive himself, and he needed to forgive Tony. "So what do I do Nat?"

"Do you love him?" The question came out of the blue. Natasha was not one to avoid the elephant in the room.

His eyes widened, startled by her bluntness. Love? Steve was a man ripped out of time: girls never talked to him before the serum, and after he had been busy saving the world. Sure he had been kissed by Peggy, but that was the extent of his experience. Would he even know what love felt like?

"How would I know?" he responded feebly.

"You'd know."

Steve leaned back into the couch, closed his eyes and thought. "I love the way he is always moving, how he's always working on some project, or thinking up a new design. I love the way his jaw sets when faced with a problem. And the way he can brighten up an entire room with laughter. And so much more."

A light smile pulled at the corners of Steve's lips as he thought about all of the beautiful parts of Tony. But as he thought longer, it began to fade: "I don't love the way he thinks his way is always the best. Or the way that he treats everything as a joke. Or how—"

"You cannot pick and choose what parts of him to love, Steve." Her voice held a certain coldness to it. Her words were spoken with a force that implored Steve to listen, to understand.

Nat had stopped her sharpening, and the silence that overcame them was deafening. The silence shaming Steve along with Nat's words.

She's right, of course.I either love Tony, faults and all, or I don't. So which is it? His heart knew the answer but his mind did not like it.

"Why don't you view his stubbornness as bravery? Or his arrogance as confidence? Can't you see his jokes are a line of defense? That his show-off tendencies are his search for approval." Nat turned to face Steve. "Things are rarely black and white, Steve."

She gathered her knives and sharpening tools, and folded them into a leather bag, worn soft with years of use. Standing, she gave Steve one last piece of advice: "You left him, Steve. But you took something too. Whatever it was that made him the Tony Stark we know and love is gone."

Nat turned to leave, calling over her shoulder: "It's up to you to get it back."