Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers.

Bruce actually sees the tail-end of the big fight, one day when he's going down to visit Tony in the workshop.

He's just had a sudden idea about using GFP in Clint's arrows, and he wants to talk it over with Tony, who's the only one who really gets these things. He's just turned the corner when the workshop door swings open, fast, and Steve strides out with his jaw very square and tight, and the Captain America forehead of thunderous doom.

'I'm not sticking around to hear this, Stark,' he's saying, rather loudly. 'If you won't listen to a reasonable suggestion, there's no point in trying to talk to you.'

Tony's harsh voice follows him out. 'Fine. Fine! Walk out, Mr Golden Boy, go on, it's not like I even invited you, I didn't ask you to just turn up, you just think you can arrive here and make assumptions, that's right, just go back to whatever super soldiers of shining perfection do in their spare time…'

Steve's jaw juts out even more. Oh dear, Bruce thinks, and stops where he is at the end of the passage, because angry voices and fights aren't good for his stress levels, and it really wouldn't be a very good thing if the other guy decided to show up near Tony's workshop.

He watches as Steve takes a deep breath, visibly bites down on whatever he's about to say, and closes the workshop door with slightly more force than is strictly needed. When he looks up and sees Bruce, he seems to deflate, his shoulders drooping and his neck flushing pink. He opens his mouth as though he's going to say something, then seems to change his mind and snaps it closed again, settling on giving an awkward sort of nod as he walks away, looking rather like a kicked puppy.

Odd.

Tony's hunched over the workbench when Bruce cautiously peers in. He's scowling darkly at the tiny piece of tech he's working on.

'Uh, hi, Tony,' Bruce ventures.

'Can you believe him,' Tony says morosely, 'he's such an asshole, I'm glad he's gone, I can't believe his suggestions, no, they're just incredible - like, what is this, am I some sort of child?' He gives a deep, dramatic sigh, his face miserable.

The question doesn't seem to require an answer, so Bruce just sort of edges into the room, hoping that Tony's not going to be in one of his impossible moods.

'Stupid Steve,' Tony says, and stares down at his hands, looking like he's about to burst into tears.

Bruce decides to come back later.

A few days later, Bruce comes down to the kitchen in the morning, hoping there's some of that curry from the other night left over in the fridge. He almost changes his mind when he sees who's already there, though.

Steve's sitting at the bar, digging viciously into the world's largest bowl of cornflakes and milk. His head's bowed down low, a wrinkle between his eyebrows, and you can almost hear the loudness of him Not Saying Anything.

Tony's facing the coffee machine, shoulders hunched. He seems to be drinking coffee on repeat, which is not something Bruce would judge him for; as he watches, Tony drains the cup and shoves it forward again for an instant refill. There's an unhappy little twist to the corner of his mouth.

'Hi,' Bruce tries. 'Uh. Steve, Tony.'

'Morning,' Steve says sadly.

'Hey Bruce.' Tony looks limply over his shoulder for a moment, then back at his refilling coffee mug. It's got a kitten on it and no-one but Tony is allowed to use it.

Bruce slides unobtrusively over to the fridge, trying not to wilt from the general aura of depression in the air. He scrounges around in its depths and comes up with the curry, glancing warily back at Steve, because Steve is the kind of person who might not think curry made a good breakfast or something.

But Steve isn't even looking in his direction, because he's too busy staring longingly at Tony's back, blue eyes miserable, mouth turned down at the corners and trembling a very little bit. He looks like a sad puppy. Bruce wants to pat him on the head.

Tony looks oddly like a puppy at the moment, too, a small, fluffy, tousled puppy wearing an ancient band T-shirt and baggy sweatpants. Bruce slides the curry container onto the counter along from Tony and the coffee machine, not so close as to be invasive, but also not so far as to be uncompanionable. Tony hardly seems to notice. He's gazing at the coffee machine with big, soft, wounded brown eyes, as though it's just done something terribly hurtful.

Bruce shakes his head and makes off with the curry, leaving them to their pining.

Bruce does mention it to Natasha, though. Natasha listens thoughtfully, only smirking a little bit at the corner of her mouth. 'Duraki,' she says. 'Idiots.'

'I can't even go into a room with the two of them,' Bruce moans. 'They just – gaze at each other, with those big sad eyes, when they don't think the other one's looking. The atmosphere around them is smogged up with mutual misery. It's bad for my health. The other guy doesn't like it.'

Natasha just pats him on the shoulder. 'Stay away from both of them for a bit,' she advises. 'It won't be long now.'

Bruce asks what won't be long, and how she knows, but Natasha just makes that little smirk again and shakes her head.

Clint and Bucky think it's hilarious, of course. When that pair aren't too busy doing the unconscious flirting thing with each other, they're cuddled up together in a corner, murmuring and snorting and casting evil scheming glances at Steve and Tony. It's very rude, really, but it's Clint and Bucky, and that's how they roll.

When the two of them start making pointed remarks when the whole team's together, however, Natasha takes them aside. Bruce doesn't want to know anything about what happens there. It's interesting, though, that Natasha seems to have a bit of a soft spot for star-crossed lovers, because after that, Bucky and Clint's flirting becomes a lot less unconscious, and much more deliberate. After a bit, it also includes heated public making-out sessions as well, and everyone groans but no-one is particularly surprised.

Steve flushes to the roots of his hair when he sees Clint and Bucky kiss, but he keeps darting little guilty glances back at them, biting his lower lip.

Bruce watches Tony watching Steve, who's watching Bucky and Clint. There's an odd expression on Tony's face, lonely and longing and very miserable, but with a tiny little bit of hope as well.

Bruce gives up, and goes to put in an hour of meditation. They're all insane.

Bruce is minding his own business, quietly scrounging around in the walk-in pantry for some dried cranberries. He's trying not to make too much noise, because there aren't many left, and Clint also has a fondness for dried cranberries, and if Clint hears him he'll arrive and Bruce won't get the spoils.

That's when he hears Steve's voice out in the kitchen, speaking to someone; and because Bruce (in hindsight) has no sense of self-preservation, he stops and listens to hear who Steve's talking to.

'... I shouldn't have presumed,' Steve's saying. 'I think we messed up. I – I don't like… all this. You know. Us not talking.'

Oh dear. There's only one person Steve could be talking to.

'I, yeah, I know – I mean. Me too.' Tony's voice sounds a little bit wobbly. There's a pause, and Bruce just knows they're doing the eye thing again, all big and adoring at each other. There's a little bit of shaky laughing.

'I'm sorry,' Steve blurts, as though he's trying to get the words out quickly.

'Yeah,' Tony says softly, 'me – me too.' He's looking shyly up at Steve through his eyelashes now, Bruce can picture it as clearly as though he was standing right there, and Steve's looking down at him with that little tender smile on his face. It's not as though it hasn't happened hundreds of times before, prior to the fight.

There's a long pause filled with uneven breathing. And then – Bruce goes cold – then, a frantic shuffling, followed by a little choked sound. Almost as though a supersoldier had suddenly swept someone up in their arms and was kissing the breath out of them.

And Bruce was not expecting that, he very much did not sign up for anything like this. He looks wildly around the pantry for an exit. Surely there's a trapdoor or escape hatch or something. Stay calm, stay calm, he chants silently, don't make any noise.

There's no escape hatch.

Now there's a tiny whimpering noise from the kitchen, and then Steve mumbling, 'Hey, hey, Tony, sweetheart, I've got you.' It's followed by more soft wet kissing sounds, getting more desperate, interspersed with little moans.

'Want you – wanted you so long – didn't know you wanted – Steve!' Tony's rambling, and okay, this, this is definitely way out all Bruce's comfort zones. There is no way anyone could be expected to stay there while Steve and Tony have sex on the counters or whatever they're about to do.

Bruce makes a clatter in the pantry and bursts out, his face burning, rushing past Steve and Tony, who seem to have fused into a writhing octopus creature. Steve's got Tony's head clamped in both his hands, tilting Tony's face back and forth so he can kiss him with great thoroughness from every angle. Tony seems to be liking this, because both of his hands are under Steve's shirt, rucking it up and roaming around frantically; he's making a series of obscene little moaning noises into Steve's mouth.

They don't even notice Bruce fleeing.

Bruce finds Natasha and Clint and Bucky cheating horribly at cards together, and collapses onto the nearest sofa.

'I have seen things no-one should see,' he informs them mildly. 'I am scarred. For life.'

When he tells them about it, Clint and Bucky grin like mad creatures, high fiving, because they're grown man-children. Bruce turns away when they start kissing, too, because he's done enough voyeurism for one day. Or one lifetime.

Natasha just does that little smirk again. Then she gets up and pours him something probably lethal, because Nat's a very good friend when it counts.

'I told you,' she says simply, handing the drink to Bruce and ruffling his hair. 'It was just a matter of time.'

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