So I did not get hw done last night…hell, I didn't even get it done this morning, haha BUT I got all of one class done and part of another and now time is up so I free to write and try to put school out of my head for a bit, XD

Ok, so for me this was like…the irresistible prompt to end all irresistible prompts, lmao And I wanna keep the A/N from being like a novel(I'm so bad at rambling, lol), so the super quick version is that I grew up from an earlier age than I can even remember listening to my dad read me X-Men comics and Wolverine was my first love/first favorite character/first person I wanted to be ever. But despite that love that's endured all my life, other than reading some fanfiction about 10 years ago I've never been in Marvel fandom till now, when I've been thoroughly sucked in by the Avengers.

And then I see this prompt which reminds me that, hello, Logan is part of this world too and omfg must play with him, *grabby hands* hehehe [/things no one needed to know but that I couldn't resist spazzing about]

Aaaaanyway, OP, I hope you like this! I decided to go with Clint for Logan because…reasons. lol Also, I'm doing some major shameless timeline fucking to make this work the way I want, haha So, this is located at some vague point after the formation of the Avengers but far enough post X3 that Logan's past those events(at least as past them as he's going to get, pretty much). Where this starts, he's been staying with the Avengers for about three months, though they haven't asked him to be a member…he got roped in to fighting a villain with them and just has yet to leave. Good Lord, actual fic now, promise, X.X

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It was really was too true that old habits died hard. Steve had had enough time and enough occasion to know good and well that he could no longer count alcohol as even a temporary solution to any of this problems, but on some stubborn level it apparently hadn't quite sunk in. He'd set out walking because he hadn't had the presence of mind for trivialities like destination, and after about an hour his steps had finally started to slow. Neon blinked at him from the window, Jim Beam and Jack and Captain Morgan. He licked his lips, hunching his shoulders as he shoved his hands farther down in his pockets. He liked the Captain Morgan he'd had with Natasha, but Tony swore by Johnnie Walker.

Tony.

The sharp stab of pain that came with just the name was enough to push his decision over the edge. To hell with it. Maybe before he just hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe if he wanted it bad enough, he could make himself forget. The heavy oak door pulled out easily in his hands, leaves skittering across the sidewalk as they were swept up in the draft. Outside everything was saturated with the cold of New York City in November, a time when the sky was still some days beautiful and blue but with a hint in the air of everything to come. At the moment it was already dark, and the heat of the bar seemed just a little more welcoming for it.

The place was small and his eyes went to the bar right away, and he jolted a little in surprise as he recognized a familiar leather jacket. Over the past months he'd gotten to know Logan a little, though he had to admit most of his interaction had been with Wolverine the hero in the midst of a mission, with relatively little time spent after hours with Logan the man. Now, he supposed, was as good a time as any to try. After all, they'd both ended up here and he was searching hard for distraction, anything at all almost to put new images in his head.

He kept seeing them, Tony and that stupid girl, her legs around his waist, her hand in his hair, ruffled the same way it always was when Steve tugged on it, pulled his head back to moan Tony's name against his neck…

Steve jerked the bar stool out with just a little more force than necessary, his tight grip the only thing keeping it from sailing across the room. Beside him he thought he could catch a hint of bemusement on Logan's face, but it was gone quickly and he didn't turn around. His attention was taken with tapping on the bar, calling the bartender over.

"Can I get a double of Jack?" He didn't really care about the particulars just then, just wanted the burn of whiskey as quick as possible, but Tony had taught him that if you didn't specify, you got crappy whiskey. God, everything he thought just made him want it faster.

When the man sat it down he barely murmured his thanks before taking the glass and knocking the whole thing speedily back. It burned, but not the way it used to, the way it felt when he and Bucky would sit side by side and share a flask. He misses him always, every day, but just then the intensity of it was almost blinding, spurred on by the ache in his chest and the realization that not only can he not drown his pain, but he has no best friend to share it with. It's not the kind of thing he could talk about with Thor, and while he's grateful to have Natasha and Clint, he's just not that kind of close with them. They're each other's best friend. It's probably funny that the one he usually tells absolutely everything to is the reason he's there, the reason he wishes he had someone else to tell.

Steve rubbed the glass between his fingers, jaw clenched painfully tight for a moment before he calls out for another. He'll take another, and another, and another…however many it takes. If he does it fast enough, maybe-

He cut his own thoughts off and took the double shot with quick swallows, his attention drawn away in the midst of returning the glass to the bar by the way Logan pointedly cleared his throat. He hadn't really turned on his bar stool, was instead peering sideways at him, as if his attention was still mostly somewhere else and Steve was vaguely interesting, or perhaps just encroaching.

"Wouldn't have expected to see you here."

Steve shrugged, tapped the shot glass on the counter and contemplated calling for another one already. How fast would it need to be? Could he manage it without drawing the bartender's suspicion?

"Went for a walk. Just kind of ended up here." He looked up, met Logan's eyes. The man was working on his own glass of whiskey, drinking deeply when he raised it to his lips. "I thought you were on a mission with Fury?"

Logan finished draining his glass. "Got in this afternoon." He summoned the bartender over to refill his own drink with just a look, nodding as he reached out to slip a bill into the man's tip jar. When Steve called for a fresh drink of his own, Logan finally shifted to properly face him. "Alright, what's your angle?"

"My…what?"

"I'm having more than a little trouble believing America's golden boy would just 'happen' to show up in the one bar I find my way to, so you wanna cut the story and tell me who sent you? You talk to Clint? Or is Fury talking behind my back to you too, Captain?"

Well, baffled was at least an improvement. Gave him something else to think about. "Logan, I have no idea what you're talking about. Honestly. No one else sent me, ok? I just needed a drink." Or 15 dozen, you know. Whatever worked.

"Right." By his tone it wasn't really clear at all if he actually believed him or not. From what he'd seen so far since he'd known him, about half of what Logan said came out as a challenge; his ultimate response depended entirely on how other people responded to it.

For now, going for lightening the mood seemed as good as he could do. Steve took his other double shot, shifted around on his own stool to turn just a little more left. "Is it that hard to believe I could've just wandered in here for a drink?"

"This coming from the government's new poster child of the clean cut American, not to mention the same guy I saw tear into Stark not so long ago over a few drinks, yeah, I'd say it's a bit of a shock."

Something sharp twisted in his chest, and he clenched his hand to keep from closing it too tight around his glass. "That's different." Logan started to laugh, sharp and low, and Steve's voice rose, talking over him. "It's true! It's not the alcohol I have a problem with, it's the fact that I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill himself with it." It was a thought that had snuck into his mind gradually, accumulated from Tony's drunk ramblings and the sheer amount of times he'd drunk himself into oblivion, and ever since he'd considered it the thought hadn't stopped plaguing him. It was maddening, standing in front of the man he loved and watching him sink farther away even as he reached for him in every way he could. Not that he'd told Tony he loved him, God forbid. He'd tried, but Tony had never let him finish the words, always kissed them off his lips instead. He'd assumed it was only Tony's allergy to letting anyone in, not anything deeper, but now he was no longer sure. Maybe it was more likely that all of this didn't mean a damn thing to Tony, maybe…fuck, it shouldn't have still felt hard to believe.

Logan tipped his head, accepting. "Fair enough."

"I just saw the bar and realized how much I needed a drink but that's mostly kind of worthless these days since the healing factor the serum gave me, I-" His brain caught up with his mouth, and he looked down studiously at the bar as he realized just who he was talking to. Jesus, if he was already that out of it, he probably didn't need alcohol anyway. "But you'd know all about that."

The noise that came from his throat was one of assent but close enough to a growl to remind Steve of combat, of the way he sounded as his claws ripped through armor and skin and bone. It had never been hard for Steve to imagine why they called him the Wolverine. Still, he couldn't help but push his luck a little. He had wanted to get to know the man, after all, and clearly, something was going on here. For him, drinking was clearly the same kind of exercise in futility, but here he was going at it full force. If something was wrong, maybe…hell, maybe he could help; at least he could listen. It was a hard job they had, all of them. If they didn't look out for each other, they'd all go crazy.

"Did something happen on the mission? I didn't hear what you guys went after but with Fury going I know it couldn't have been good."

Logan didn't even look interested in answering until he'd taken another swallow of whiskey. "Mission went fine."

"Are you-"

"I'm fine, kid."

"Oh, so you're downing all that whiskey for your health?" Their eyes locked, and for a second Steve though he might've pushed too far. Something animal flashed in them, rough and elemental, and Wolverine's fist tightened around the glass. From what Steve had heard, several years ago he'd have likely followed through with it, drawn his claws on him whether they were in a crowded bar or not but for better or worse, he'd changed so much since then. One day, if he ever knew the man well enough, he'd love to hear more about Charles Xavier; there had to be something incredible about a man that could inspire so much in so many people.

Instead, Logan backed down a little, let the tension in his hand ease up, claws still sheathed. "Look who's talkin'. If you're tellin' the truth about not bein' sent here, then I'm betting you're not here for the atmosphere. The fact that you know your body's gonna burn this right up means you know you're pushing right up against the same odds, and you've gotta have a reason, so you don't get to lecture me, bub. Obviously you've got some problems of your own; I suggest you worry about that."

"I wasn't…Logan, I wasn't trying to lecture you. I just thought…" They they might could, you know, talk. That was probably stupid, considering. Things had been going so well with the other Avengers that it was really easy to forget how much he didn't fit in here, how much he'd missed. To Logan especially he was an outsider, not just from the X-Men but from the life as he knew it altogether.

Logan grunted something that might have been acceptance. In the silence Steve got himself another drink, and by the time Wolverine finished draining his he was pretty sure any chance they'd had at talking was gone. Of course it was then that Logan spoke up.

"What are you doin' here anyway? Stark's got more liquor than he knows what to do with; he'd give you anything you want."

"Yeah, well I don't actually want anything from him right now." The words tumbled out all over each other, a quick mutter that he was pretty sure he could feel made his cheeks burn just a little. He felt stupid, childish, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't sure if it was just residual anger or a little bit of shame at the stubborn streak that would drive him to come out to drink when he could've easily done it at home. It was wasteful, the kind of thing he'd tried to gentle chide Tony about before. He'd grown up with the conviction that you didn't waste anything, certainly not things that cost good money to get, but rather than tone Tony down it seemed like the billionare might be rubbing off on him. Just then, he couldn't really think how he felt about that.

"So it's Stark, then, huh? What'd he do?"

Steve could've snapped back at him, pointed out that he didn't have to answer to him either, but it just wasn't him. He didn't want a fight, and more than he'd probably even admit he did want to talk, and even if it was to someone that didn't really know much about him and Tony, there might be something good in getting it off his chest.

All of that implied, though, that he could actually spit it out, and saying it…

God ,he wished he was drunk.

"He was with a girl." He couldn't look up, he just couldn't, but Logan wasn't saying anything. Hell, was he gonna have to spell it out for him? "She was…they were…" No, he couldn't actually say it. Tony would've, he knew. He had no hang-ups about such things. If he'd been the one talking he'd have told every detail of what it was like to walk through the bedroom door and see a woman naked on top of his man, with him obviously buried inside her, sheets down past their waists. Except that Tony would've never had the occasion to know how that felt, at least not with him, because Steve would've never done it. Not for anything. Everything in him hurt. "I wasn't supposed to be home today, you know. I thought I'd be getting back next week but I got home early and I thought, hey, I can surprise Tony, but then I go upstairs and there he is, with her." In their bed. Jesus.

"Hey. Can I get another over here?" The bartender nodded, pulled the bottle of Crown Royal down to pour Logan more, though he froze when Logan's fingers closed around his wrist. "Just leave the bottle, will ya? And we need somethin' for my friend over here, bottle of…?" He looked to Steve for to fill it in, eyebrows raised in question.

"Johnnie Walker. Please." If he was going to be miserable regardless, he might as well do it thoroughly.

"Johnnie Walker Black. On my tab."

"Logan, no, you don't have to-"

"What'd you say to him?" Clearly, listening to Steve talk was one thing, being thanked was another. He tipped enough whiskey in his glass to fill it nearly to the brim before he cut his eyes over at Steve, something about the look more than a little incredulous. "You didn't say anything to him, did you?"

In his defense, at the time he hadn't had any words. It was all just pain and shock and the door was shut and he was hallways away before he even knew it. At that point, the only thing he'd been able to think was how much he didn't want to talk to Tony, so he'd tossed his phone onto an end table and disappeared out the door.

The bartender sat the bottle down in front of him with a soft thunk, and Steve thanked him as he filled his doubleshot and tossed it back. It tore at him the way he'd known it would, full of the same taste he'd spent so many nights licking out of Tony's mouth. Even now, it sparked a flash of arousal low in his belly, desperate for the familiar heat of Tony's tongue on his, but it vanished almost as soon as he felt it. The pain was stronger, but maybe in this case just a little bit desired. If every drink hurt that much, it could only push him that much quicker toward taking another, and maybe the key here was speed. In a race against his own liver, maybe this would hurt enough to help him win.

He took in another before he shook his head, as ready as he was going to be to answer. "No, I didn't. I couldn't. I couldn't even look at him; I just left. I'm pretty sure he'd try to follow me but he'd have no reason to think I came here. Left the phone back at the mansion, so I'm pretty well out of even his reach for awhile at least." Unless Tony'd found some other way of tracking him, and really, he probably wouldn't be too surprised.

"That's a hard thing to see." He said it like he knew, like he remembered. "Someone that mean that much to you…" He distracted himself with his drink. "I thought you two were pretty much the inseparable duo these days."

He probably hadn't meant it to come across like that, like barbed wire constricting around his throat. Forget speaking, it even hurt to swallow. "Guess not."

"Hey, I didn't mean-"

"It's ok." Except that none of it was, not a damn thing. It was amazing, really, how steadily it kept hurting, like a vise around his ribs that just wouldn't quit twisting tighter. "I just…I thought he was serious about something for once in his life. I mean, he knew it was for me and I thought that meant something to him. But I guess that was stupid."

"The minute anyone else has power over you, pretty sure you forfeit your right to claim sanity." Steve laughed, hollow and tired. The man probably had a point, but it wasn't one Steve had ever wanted to believe. He was a man of faith, in God, sure, but in people almost more than that. He had to believe in trust, in the possibility of love being something real because if he didn't, then what the hell was the point?

The soft sound of metal slicing through flesh caught his attention, and he looked over to see Logan with one claw only partially extended, scratching scribbles into the wood of the bar. Down at the other end serving a woman and her boyfriend, the bartender hadn't noticed. "Has Fury told you he's gonna ask me to join the Avengers?"

Considering how well things had been going the past few months with him as part of the time, the idea wasn't really all that shocking, and it certainly wasn't unwelcome. Still, Logan had said it with all the thrill of someone saying they'd been invited to a funeral. "No, I hadn't heard, but I can see why he would. But you don't sound too thrilled."

"What, you think everybody's gonna fall all over themselves to join your little dream team?" He snorted, yanked his claw back in and smoothed his thumb over the wood, shavings falling away to rest on his jeans. "I shoulda been back at the school weeks ago."

"Then why didn't you go?" As soon as he said it Steve was already kicking himself, wishing he could pull the words right back. He knew the answer, would've been able to piece it together anyway even if Logan hadn't handed it to him when he'd first walked in. "It's Clint." He had seen the way they'd been with each other on the last two missions, keeping each other in something like orbit the way he and Tony sometimes did, but still, he hadn't quite known this. Though he probably should have, really. Tony had told him they were fucking, had said it with the kind of easy certainty that he used for every scientific fact that he knew, but Steve had told him he was assuming way too much. As usual, it looked like Tony was right. "I guess I should've known, but I thought-"

"It's not, it's not like that, but he thinks it is." Logan made a face that was almost a wince, as if he didn't quite approve of his own words. "I'm not sayin' nothing's happened, I'm just saying he knew I couldn't stay. Don't see why it should be news to him now."

Hesitant, unsure of how far Logan would let him in, Steve wasn't sure quite how to speak his mind. "Maybe he thought being here had changed your mind. I mean, like you said, you could've gone back, but you didn't. You've stayed."

"I don't belong here." There was a growl in the words, heavy with a kind of tension that remained even when reached over to slap a hand to Steve's shoulder. "No offense, Captain."

"None taken." For a moment, Steve basked in the almost warmth of his scotch before he finished answering. "But you're wrong, you know. I mean, I'm not saying you shouldn't go back up to the school, just that you could belong here too, with us. It doesn't have to be one way or the other."

He'd reached the point he could push to, it seemed, because Logan didn't say any more. He just drank, tried to drown himself in the whiskey and the silence though he kept watching Steve do the same. Once he reached out to knock their glasses together, a toast to everything unspoken and a look that they both understood. Circumstances might be different, but pain, that was universal. Misery loved company mostly because it had a way of picking it out of the crowd.

As he drained the last of his bottle, Wolverine's claws flashed out, a flurry of metallic glint the only warning before they passed through the bottle, shattering it. That the bartender couldn't miss, but it was over as quickly as it'd begun and Wolverine was already standing up, tugging his wallet out of his back pocket.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I was just leavin' anyway." He jerked his chin in the direction of Steve's own nearly empty bottle. "That doing anything for you?"

"Honestly? No." He'd kept defiantly trying to feel something, anything, struggling through recall of his early years to think that maybe he was getting a tiny bit of a buzz, but there was nothing at all. The little warmth he had came from the jacket he was wearing. His mind was still as infuriatingly clear as it had been when he'd walked through the door. The people all around them didn't know how lucky they were, really. The solace of drink wasn't a universal human right, it was just a privilege.

Wolverine threw a wad of bills down on the counter without even counting them, spoke before Steve could even ask where he'd gotten that kind of money.

"C'mon, Cap. I'll give you a ride back."

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Out in front of headquarters Logan let the truck idle. He shifted his half smoked cigar easily from his lips to his fingertips, brushing ash off on the edge of partially rolled down window. It was time for him to leave, to get out and go in to face Tony, but Steve wasn't sure he was ready for it. Maybe if he walked in the other direction…

"Look…" Logan's hand fell to the gears, shifted the old truck into park. "I hate to stick up for the guy if he's just a dick; I don't know him well enough to say. But I do know that a few people who do know him have reason to say Tony's been better, with you. Different. You don't know what happened yet, if he was drunk, or just made a mistake or-"

"What, you think he tripped and fell into bed with her?" He'd heard enough stories about Tony's women to know that before, he'd never needed much persuading. Wasn't the most reasonable explanation just to think that maybe that had never really changed? That maybe he was just a stupid, blind fool?

"Look, you can take it or leave it, but I think in his own twisted way he loves you. That's hard for some people to admit. Just don't write him off and assume you know how he feels; that's all I'm sayin'."

It was probably wrong, really, how much part of him wanted just that. To go inside and have Tony give him some sort of perfect explanation that didn't involve everything he'd spent the past few months believing in never having existed at all.

Steve's fingers closed tight around the door handle, not quite yet able to pull it.

"Are you coming in?"

"Might go for a drive."

Hell, what was pushing his luck a little farther? They'd clearly made some progress, at least.

"I meant what I said, you know. You've got a place here with us."

The truck shifted back into drive. "See ya around, Rogers."

Well, so much for trying. "Goodnight, Logan. Thanks for the drinks."

Steve waited before he went in, watch the taillights of the truck as it drove away. When he reached the end of the drive, it only sat there half a minute before he could see it go into reverse, turning around to head back toward the outside garage Tony kept for the other members. As soon as the last glimpse of red lights disappeared, Steve turned around to enter his passcode and open the door.

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