Tony Stark was many things—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist—and more recently, Avenger. With that mantle came many responsibilities. How was one supposed to measure up to a hyper-enhanced Super Soldier, the actual god of thunder, and a man with some pretty destructive anger issues?

Practice, practice, practice.

That had been Tony's mantra when he created the Training Room. More recently, he had privately been referring to it as the Trauma Room, but that was between himself and JARVIS.

As the elevator made its silent descent, Tony leaned against the wall and absently picked at his fingernails. He checked his watch just before the elevator doors whooshed open, and cringed a little inwardly.

"Thirty minutes, Stark," Steve Roger's voice was laced with irritation. "You are thirty minutes late for our training session."

"Sorry about that, Cap," Tony drawled, "I have other responsibilities."

"Is that you call nursing a hangover these days?"

Tony snorted, noting the twinge in his head and making sure not to show any outward signs of discomfort.

"You know I run a company, right?" Tony felt his own irritation begin to rise. "Play fighting is great and all, but it doesn't have to be on such a tight schedule. I mean, where else do you have to be?"

Natasha spoke up from the corner, "Tony, we all know that Pepper does her fair share as well as your fair share when it comes to SI."

Tony tried to look affronted, but ended up shrugging. "Okay, so maybe you're right about that. But still—"

Steve cut him off by throwing a wooden training staff at his face.

"Hey!" Tony shouted, fumbling the staff but managing to hold onto it. "You could've hit me in the face—one of my many valuable assets."

Steve rolled his eyes as Tony smirked suggestively and gestured for the billionaire to join him on the mat. Tony signed and took a moment to survey the rest of the Training Room. Thor was lifting weights like they were nothing but air, Bruce was stretching near the window on a yoga mat, Clint was chugging water by a treadmill, and Steve and Natasha were waiting for Tony on the nearest mat.

Tony had gone all out when he built the Training Room.

Long, reinforced glass windows created a wall that overlooked the beauty of bustling Manhattan. Tony had designed and strength-tested the glass himself, so he was confident that it could handle anything—not Thor or Hulk-sized—that the Avengers could throw at it. He hadn't conducted any field test with the god of thunder or the quiet scientist, so he couldn't vouch for its performance against the heavy hitters.

When Tony had named it the Training Room, he was using the word "room" loosely. Four basketball courts could fit in the space, and there would still be room for some comfortable seating around the edges. Sleek, brushed-steel panels walled in the rest of the room, which had a direct entrance from the elevator. When sunlight wasn't streaming in from the glass windows, bright overhead lights did their best to emulate natural light. Along one edge of the room, there was a narrow horizontal window that showed off the firing range.

Clint, Natasha, and Cap spent a lot of time in there. Maybe a little more than was healthy, in Tony's opinion. But if their skilled marksmanship kept some baddie from blowing his head off during a mission, Tony was all for their dangerous obsession.

Exercise equipment filled up half of the room, ranging from ellipticals, treadmills, and weights to some truly high-tech equipment specifically designed—by Tony, of course—to fit the individual needs of each Avenger. On the other side of the room, soft mats and a lined boxing ring were available for sparring. There were even some severely beaten-up punching bags in the corner—courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue.

Steve tapped Tony's staff with his own, just hard enough to get the smaller man's attention. "You know, Stark," he said in his captain voice, "You only get better when you put in the work."

Tony smirked and adjusted his grip. "Is that how you got those muscles, Cap? Hard work?"

Steve's ears turned red, and Tony knew that he was succeeding at pushing his buttons.

"That's right," Tony taunted, "You get some super serum that juices you up, but we have to work for our skills. All high and mighty, looking down on us from your tower of pecs and glutes."

He knows what I'm trying to do, Tony thought. And it's going to work anyways.

"Let's just go through the sequences, Stark," Steve said, a slight bite in his tone.

"Let's just go through the sequences, Rogers," Tony mocked.

Tony could practically feel Natasha roll her eyes from her vantage point.

Alright, I've got this, Tony thought. Dodge, parry, block, block, dodge—Ow!

Tony shook his right hand sucked on his fingers as he glared at Steve.

"Your footwork is sloppy and you're projecting every movement," Steve said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"See, now you're just being an ass," Tony said. He launched himself forward and lost himself in the rhythm of the satisfying thunks and clacks as the staffs made contact.

They went on for twenty minutes, grunting as fingers received glancing blows and breathing hard.

Well, Tony thought, I'm breathing hard. That ridiculously perfect science experiment has barely broken a sweat. Time to take things up a notch.

In some part of his rational mind, Tony knew that further pissing off an enhanced Super Soldier was not the best idea.

"Just so you know," Tony panted, "You're cheating."

Steve was surprised enough by the statement that he staggered in his next motion and was rewarded with a sharp crack over his fingers. Steve winced as he spun the staff in his opposite hand.

"I have never cheated in my life, Stark," Steve said, his tone holding a hint of warning.

"Well you say that," Tony wheedled, "but you're going up against me, a regular—albeit shockingly handsome—guy while you've got fourteen tons of muscle and all kinds of enhancements."

Steve launched himself at Tony with a grunt. Tony spun his staff to protect himself from Steve's increasingly quick and powerful attacks.

Ha! It's working. I just need to get a little more under his skin and he'll make a mistake.

"Cheater, cheater," Tony taunted, sidestepping a downward swing.

Dodge, parry, attack, dodge, shit, shit

As Steve put more force behind each blow, Tony realized how out of his depth he was. When he fought hand-to-hand it was from within one of his suits. Tony wasn't wearing one of his suits, but Steve brought his advantage into the ring. Tony hated to admit it, but Steve was only getting stronger and more focused under Tony's practiced taunting.

Natasha's voice broke through the heated sparring. "I think it might be time you gentlemen take a break."

Tony felt sweat trickling down his back and could already taste the cold water. He lowered his guard right as Steve's training staff connected with the side of his head.

Crack.

Pain seared in his right temple and the lights went out.

.

Tony groaned as he slowly came back to his surroundings. He squinted through his eyelashes, trying to see what was going on while not assaulting his brain with light. A concerned Bruce was leaning over him, touching his face and head, while a guilty-looking Steve fidgeted a few steps away.

"Ouch," Tony whispered, careful not to speak too loudly.

"Oh, thank God!" Steve said, lowering his voice when Tony winced. "I am so sorry, Tony," he went on in a hushed tone. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I let myself get out of hand."

Steve kept his eyes on the mat as he made his apology, and Tony could tell that it was eating him up. Cap prided himself in protecting his team, and would never intentionally hurt any of them.

"Naw, don't worry about it, Cap," Tony said, voice still a little raspy. "I was trying to antagonize you to get an edge. It almost worked, too."

"No it didn't," Steve countered automatically.

Tony pouted as Bruce helped him into a sitting position. "You knocked me out, you could at least give me this."

Steve fought a smile as he slowly helped Tony stand.

Bruce's eyes roamed over the knot on Tony's temple and then studied his pupils. "You look like you're going to be just fine," he said to Tony. "Maybe next time you just go with the sparring and try not to turn it into a death match."

Tony grunted as his own fingers found the swelling on his head, and he grinned at Bruce through the discomfort. "You know that's not my style."

Bruce gestured at Cap and turned to give Tony his stern I-am-your-doctor-and-you-will-do-as-I-say look. "Steve is going to take you upstairs and get you some ice for your head. You're going to rest—" He held up a hand to ward off Tony's protests. "For a few hours at least. I will be up to check on you."

Steve guided Tony toward the elevator and hovered uncomfortably close.

"You can take a few steps back, Cap," Tony laughed, trying to relieve some of the guilt he could see on Steve's face. "I've had worse testing my gadgets in the lab."

"That doesn't make it right," Steve said earnestly. "We're supposed to protect our team members, and I didn't do a very good job of that today."

Steve absently smoothed the back of his hair.

He does that when he's upset with himself, Tony realized.

"Look," Tony said, tone surprisingly gentle, "you make me an ice pack and watch some mindless TV with me and we're even. I'll be up and ready to spar tomorrow, though, so you'd better watch your back."

Steve smiled and nodded, understanding that this was forgiveness. "Sounds like a plan, Iron Man."