A/N: Exactly a week after posting the prologue, I am pleased to finally give you the first official chapter! I would just like to give a quick thanks to everyone who reviewed and added this story to their favorites/alerts and even to the people who added me to their favorites (why you would commit such act of insanity, I do not know). But, honestly, thank you all so much - it means the world to me that people are actually enjoying this! Hopefully, I won't disappoint you in the chapters to come!

It was a nice, calm Wednesday afternoon. There was not a single possible threat in the entirety of New York and Fury, by request of Captain America himself, even spared a jet to drop the Avengers off at the small shawarma restaurant where they first celebrated their victory after defeating Loki and his army.

It was a nice, calm Wednesday afternoon and Bruce Banner was getting pissed. They had just ordered shawarma again – that would make it the sixteenth time this week – and, in all honesty, Bruce was sick of it.

His fingers tapped against the table irritably as Steve happily helped himself to his third serving that evening, very similar to how an alcoholic would down their fifth wine glass at a gala. Natasha and Clint still eyed their food warily as if it would suddenly sprout hedgehog legs and scurry off, but they ate it nonetheless. Tony, of course, had to make an elaborate show about how he was enjoying it if only for the fact that it was his idea to eat at the restaurant in the first place – even though he always complained about a stomachache after every meal and Bruce would have to be the one to end up putting up with his unintelligible whines and groans in the lab for hours on end. And Thor…well, Thor was pleased as long as they served his dish with extra meat – it didn't matter whether it was beef or the liver of a new-born puppy. Meat was to Thor as, ironically, nectar was to the gods.

Bruce, however, couldn't even stand looking at lamb and pita bread and tomatoes and cucumbers and who-knows-what-else without the mixed sensations of wanting to gag and wanting to rip his hair out by the shreds arising.

The tapping of his fingers sped up drastically before, finally, ceasing abruptly. With a quick shove, he pushed his plate of uneaten shawarma to the side and coughed the moment all eyes landed on him.

"Am I, uh, honestly the only one who is really tired of, uh, this?" He nodded at his plate and smiled lamely, trying to hide the growing frustration building up within him. He was fairly certain, however, that his efforts were useless. He could already feel the vein in his neck pulse and he quickly started tapping his foot against the concrete floor in hopes of lowering his slowly-but-surely accelerating heart rate.

"Y'know," Clint mumbled on his left through a mouth-full of French-fries that accompanied the Arab dish, "you'd think we'd eat wherever Mr. Anger-Management-Issues wants rather than just please the Captain here."

Bruce instantly felt the back of his neck heat up. "I don't have-!" He stopped suddenly at Clint's large and satisfied smirk, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself and his racing heart. "I don't have anger management issues. I have it under control now."

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly at him from across the table. "You sure about that, doctor? I've noticed you've been getting a bit more riled up over little things than usual. Like now, for instance. Getting angry over shawarma?"

"I'm not-!" He clenched his jaw and gripped his knees under the table. He could practically feel his knuckles turning white. "I'm not angry. I just find it a bit ridiculous that we've already eaten here sixteen times this week – and, yes, it is sixteen, Clint, don't argue with me, I've been counting – and it's not even Thursday. And it's all because Captain America here managed to somehow get addicted to this stuff."

As if to make his point, all eyes turned to Steve, who froze like a deer caught in headlights in mid-bite as he was about to insert a severely over-stuffed shawarma into his mouth. His wide-eyes darted to each face before unceremoniously dropping the pita bread back onto his plate and coughing lamely into his hand. He sat up and squared his shoulders, as if to preserve the little dignity he had left.

"Yeah…well…" His cheeks turned a very light shade of pink. "The lamb is very…moist." He quickly averted everyone's gaze by dropping his eyes into his lap.

An awkward silence settled amongst the Avengers until Thor shrugged his massive shoulders.

"I do not care where we eat," he voiced as he took another bite of lamb. "So long as there is meat. Personally, I think the meat here is too thin for my tastes, anyways." He turned to Steve and pointed at his plate. "Will you be finishing that, patriotic one?" His face lit up when said plate was dumped in front of him and the god proceeded to pick apart the food, searching out the small pieces of lamb to devour.

When a loud groan was heard, everyone but Thor – who was now currently slurping and smacking his lips loudly as he ate his desired meat – looked up at Tony Stark. The multibillionaire paled and grasped his stomach as he clenched and unclenched his jaws. "I'm with Thor," he agreed in a pain-filled voice. "I don't care where we eat...so long as it's not here. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be in the bathroom." With his final words, Tony stood and sprinted off to the restrooms so quickly, his chair tipped over and only finished falling to the floor after the closing slam of the bathroom door was heard.

Natasha and Clint in turn faced one another and nodded simultaneously and it was then decided that there would be no more shawarma for the six superheroes.

Steve rubbed the back of his head lamely, the blush still on his face. "Gee, guys. I guess I just got so excited over the shawarma, I forgot to ask all of you if you wanted to eat here." He cracked an apologetic smile before turning to Bruce. "And especially you! I'm sorry, doc. I forgot that you must have had this all the time while you were in India. Of course you'd be sick of it."

Bruce furrowed his brows. "What do you mean 'especially you'?"

Steve's smile fell and he seemed to fidget in his seat a bit. "Oh. Well…you know…you have that whole…uh…'Other Guy' thing and…"

Before he could even stop himself, Bruce's hand found its way onto the table with a resounding SMACK!

"I told you I have it under control-!"

"There it is!" Clint cried out enthusiastically, pointing a finger at Bruce. "There's the anger management issue!"

Having realized what just happened and how close he was to losing control, Bruce began to take deep breaths and use different procedures – counting to one hundred in his head, picturing peaceful scenarios – to calm himself down. It took a bit longer than normal and, for a split second, he horrifyingly thought his skin was starting to turn green, but he was finally able to lower his heart rate after a minute or so. He looked up to see Natasha's judgmental gaze smoldering on him.

"You have to admit it, Banner," she said after taking a sip of her iced-tea. "That control you're so proud of? You're starting to lose it. Either you're calming methods are getting weaker or the Other Guy is getting stronger. If you don't do something about it soon, we're all-"

The ringing of a phone cut off her speech and the ex-spy let out a curse in Russian before checking the caller-ID. With an exasperated sigh, she excused herself and headed to the women's restroom.

Bruce's shoulders sagged at the severity of her words. Was he really losing control? After spending so much time in isolation, training himself and purposefully inserting himself into high-stress situations to test his limits…was it all for nothing?

After having watched Natasha leave, Clint turned his attention back to the physicist. "Hey," he punched Bruce's arm lightly in what he probably assumed was a comforting gesture. "Natasha's right. What's got you so worked up all of a sudden?"

You mean other than the fact that I'm a failed attempt at a recreation of the man idly sitting beside me who was happily munching on a wannabe gyro with too much curry a moment ago while I can't even go a day without making sure I keep a lid on my emotions and just when I finally thought I actually had them under control, turns out the Other Guy might be getting stronger so now I'm even more like Frankenstein's monster and more of a menace to society while Captain America here goes on being the poster-boy for liberty-and-justice-for-all? He thought bitterly. Turning to Clint, he swapped his scowl for a tight smile. "No. Can't think of anything."

Clint in turn frowned and opened his mouth as if to reply until Natasha strode back into the room and made her way over to their table.

"Fury called," she announced, taking her wallet out of one of her numerous pockets. "Says he wants us on the Helicarrier as soon as possible. Says it's urgent. Someone get Stark and let's go." She tossed a couple of bills onto the table before turning and walking out of the restaurant.

Clint leaned over and double-checked to see if she covered the entire bill. Satisfied, he nodded at everyone and followed his partner out the door, Steve not far behind.

With a loud belch, Thor stretched and lazily patted his stomach with a content grin. "I shall go retrieve Stark from the bathhouse. If it is intestinal problems he is suffering with, I know of an impressive elixir involving the testicles of a bull that will heal the Iron One forthwith!" He nodded at Bruce with a large, toothy grin – who in turn was able to only stare at the god in wide-eyed horror – and marched off to the bathrooms with MjoInir to seek out Tony.

After composing himself – though still very much scared for his friend – Bruce remained sitting at the table, a look of deep concentration etched onto his face. Was the Other Guy really getting stronger? That control that he was so sure he had…was it really slipping through his fingers like grains of sand?

The physicist shook his head suddenly as A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allan Poe started narrating itself in his head. The last thing he needed was depressing poetry on the mind.

With a sigh, Bruce Banner stood from his seat and left the restaurant, following his teammates.

Whatever it was that Fury deemed urgent, he hoped it was another alien attack because he really wanted to smash something.

A/N: So Bruce is kind of acting a bit like a brat, isn't he? I mean, poor Steve. All he wanted was some shawarma. But don't worry, we'll have our sweet and awkward and angst-y Bruce back before you know it. Also, is it obvious I love picking on Tony? How big of a bitch am I to give him stomach problems the same chapter he's introduced in?

Oh, and that "testicles of a bull" thing? Yeah. It's actually thought that they're the world's best natural aphrodisiac – providing with the best results, of course – so I assumed the Asgardians, being the ever-advanced race they are, would have discovered even more health benefits those lovely animal organs would provide, including a treatment to "intestinal problems". You learn something new every day, right?