There may be some minor spoilers for those of you that haven't seen Iron Man 3 yet, so read at your own risk.

Summary: Tony struggles adjusting to being part of a team, hardly thrilled when Steve announces his plan for the Avengers to take part in a series of team building exercises. Through the seclusion, the insomnia, and the haunting nightmares, can Stark finally learn how to play well with others?

Note: Since I'm English, there may be some variations in spelling- the spell check on my computer automatically corrects my writing to the American English, so there may be a bit of a blend- that was unintentional.

Authors Note: Depending on how well this is received will depend on whether I continue or not- I have many more chapters planned. This is the first time I've written anything based on the Avengers, so I hope I did it some justice.

It was amidst the early hours of a Thursday morning that Tony Stark found himself sifting through a tangle of wires and various coloured cables, cursing occasionally and prodding at the dismantled pieces of the iron man suit that lay sprawled across the sturdy bench in the cluttered workshop.

Beneath its painted exterior of flamboyant red and shimmering gold, the suit was a series of so many components and materials, a far cry from the Mark I, which had been produced by nothing more than a cave full of second hand scraps. Stark could still remember the feeling of accomplishment and pride that had surged through his system after building the first model of the suit, no matter how unfinished and so shamelessly flawed that it was- had been. A large impractical metallic exterior, several flamethrowers and brief flight capabilities, it had been just enough to get the job done, enough to free him from the cluttered confines of that dingy cave and its depressing aura.

A distinctive weight remained heavy upon his chest, and it had never quite vanished entirely, even now his days with Yinsen were long behind him.

A few years later and numerous nights of abandoned attempts at succumbing to sleep, Stark had managed to improve the suit model after model; it was a constant cycle of fixing, adjusting, removing, modifying and recreating. He was always looking for the flaws and ways to remove them, and once he'd solved one problem, he'd immediately look for the next, seeking to improve each and every piece until he was satisfied.

That was the problem with Tony Stark.

He wouldn't be satisfied until he'd reached perfection- absolute perfection.

During his latest bout of insomnia riddled nights, Stark was attempting to find a solution to what he called the deep space problem; the suit was unable to sustain any form of function when it was exposed to the atmosphere in space, rendering it useless beyond planet earth, and he'd found out the hard way, traveling through an open portal to a foreign dimension. Of course, when Tony had been preoccupied hauling a nuke through space, he'd been all too aware of the potential consequences. He'd known that the suit couldn't function on the other side of the portal, even as he'd made his way through the gaping hole in the sky, his thrusters carrying him higher and higher until eventually he had lost sight of the familiar city below.

He still remembered watching the missile destroy the Chitauri ship, exploding in a fiery array of angry flames, feeling the unpleasant heat radiating from the explosion even through the barrier of the suit.

He remembers how his heart almost seemed to still in his chest the very moment that the power had cut.

He remembers closing his eyes, preparing to slip into the best night's sleep that he'd ever had in his entire life; and then- then he'd found himself being thrust back into consciousness by the audible roar of Hulk.

He remembers thinking that it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in his life.

He prepared to dissemble the hip mounted flare launchers, clearing a space upon the bench to make room for the delicate process of exposing what lay beneath the suits lovely paint job.

"Dummy, pass me that screwdriver," he commanded, and the machine chirped in response, returning only seconds later, prodding Stark gently in the back with a large tool, almost like a canine anticipating a game of a fetch with its owner. The brunette reached blindly behind him with a wondering hand, only to pause when he grasped an item with his fingers that was cold, heavy, and almost certainly not a screwdriver. "That is in fact a wrench," he declared bluntly, handing it to Butterfingers who tossed it aside recklessly, where it landed with a heavy clang on the floor. The bot lowered its robotic arm almost instinctively with an audible whirr, almost as if in embarrassment before returning to the tool box in search of the correct piece of equipment.

"Sir, it appears that Miss Potts is on her way down-"

"Little busy here Jarvis-"

"I thought it would be best to warn you Sir that she appears to be in a rather irritable mood, which may have something to do with your absence from the board meeting this afternoon."

"Knew I'd forgotten something," he muttered, fumbling with the safety glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, adjusting them so they rested on the top of his head of tousled brown hair.

A familiar figure descended the stairs towards the shop, approaching the clear glass in a dignified manner, raising her right hand and fumbling with the keypad which caused the doors to open immediately. Heeled footsteps approached the bench and its occupant, a pair of sharp eyes scanning the various innards of the suit that lay across the surface of the bench, like an engineer's jigsaw.

Tony averted his attention back to the bot chirping from across the room, which was rummaging noisily through the tool box whilst You and Dummy weaved in and out of the various hazards located across the workshop, which happened to consist of various canisters, dangerous machinery, benches bolted with vices, and a cluttered table top that was concealed by a large blue print, the large paper kept spread eagled across the surface by an empty Stark mug and several items from the open tool box.

"I said screwdriver dammit!"

"Tony-"

"Hey sweetie, how was your day- no, the other one Dummy. I said the other one-"

"It was wonderful, thank you for asking. I spent the entire afternoon trying to explain to the board why you missed yet another meeting, and then when I finally got off the phone after almost an hour, I had to move forward the deadline for the paperwork that you was supposed to complete five days ago."

"Must have missed the memo for that one," he said, mumbling around the pencil perched between his teeth. "And those papers, yeah, I'm totally on it. I was actually going to do them this morning, but then I found this problem with the drone-slicing super laser, so I had to postpone it for later…"

"And I suppose that you'll finish them when you finally get around to submitting those plans for the expo-" Before she could continue, there was another clang that sounded from across the shop, where Dummy was apparently busy causing chaos, knocking into the shelves that were fixed to the wall on large brackets, causing several things to fall and shatter clumsily.

Stark frowned at the sight of a familiar tool in the bot's claw, and the machine 'stared' back at its creator, quirking its mechanical arm inquisitively. "Isn't that the same one you're holding? There's only two in there, how hard can it be-"

"TONY!"

Tony visibly flinched, releasing the pencil grasped in his right hand and allowing it to fall to the floor with a faint clatter, rolling away and disappearing beneath the bench. He recognised that tone, sharp enough to make his toes curl in nervous anticipation. If there was one thing that the philanthropist knew about Pepper Potts, it was the fact that she wasn't afraid to give him a piece of her mind, even if he was Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

Not even the suit could protect him from those eyes, those brilliant blue eyes that were currently narrowed in disapproval.

The CEO kept her distance, lingering like a shadow in the darkness. She stood with her arms folded in a stern manner, looking beautifully magnificent in her smart working attire, which that day happened to be a white shirt and a complimenting skirt, copper hair tied into a neat pony tail to reveal a crystal stud in each ear lobe. He watched and he stared, acknowledging the fact that as always his gorgeous girlfriend had managed to leave a remarkable impression upon him once more. There were not many things that could reduce an eccentric man like Stark into complete silence- one of those things happened to be Pepper Potts.

Whenever she entered the room, suddenly he felt like a giddy teenager all over again, unable to form a coherent sentence, struggling with words that seemed to tangle in his mouth like thread, as if he were beginning to malfunction.

All it took was a single glance into those mesmerising blue eyes to make him feel weak at the knees…

When he looked at gorgeous and wonderful Pepper, he felt an array of emotions stir within his shrapnel embedded heart; love, respect, infatuation, and guilt.

Pepper gazed into those large brown eyes, trying desperately not to feel deterred by the apologetic expression marring that handsome face. Sometimes, it felt as if she were scolding a child. Despite his intriguingly mixed reputation, there was still a questionable innocence about him when he was getting carried away in the workshop, like a little boy playing happily with his toys.

Sometimes she truly wondered if this was what it felt like to be a mother, watching over her child and teaching him to learn from his mistakes, reminding him to eat properly and attend school (or in Tony's case, his meetings).

"You have responsibilities Tony," she reminded him abruptly, maintaining direct eye contact somewhat forcefully. "I can't run this company on my own, I need your contribution. This is supposed to be Stark Industries. You don't like it when I remind you that you have commitments, I get that, I really do, but -"

"I got carried away," he confessed, "I'll admit that, but since when was this company suddenly unable to function without me? I thought it didn't matter what I wanted anyway."

"Don't be ridiculous," Pepper responded quickly, brows furrowed slightly in frustration.

"Remember that time that I suggested we stop killing people with our weapons? The board made it very clear that they didn't care what I wanted. I don't see why now it should be any different; we both know that they didn't want me at any stupid meeting anyway!"

"We all have to do things that we don't like Tony, although there always seems to be an exception with you. Whether I like it or not I have to run this company, while you're busy playing with your toys or out saving the world-"

"They're not toys," he insisted, "and this isn't playtime Pepper, this is my life, trying to do the right thing for once. Yet no matter what I do or how hard I try, it's never good enough, not for anyone! You know what, why don't we just go back to blowing things up? I'm sure that will satisfy everyone, everything going back to the way it used to be."

"You know what? Forget it. We'll have this conversation another time, when you feel like accepting some responsibility."

Stark gazed once more into those tantalising eyes, feeling his heart sink at the wounded expression upon her face. He recognised this feeling; it was like someone sinking a fist into his chest and squeezing his heart.

It felt like an open wound that stung tenderly, or an old scar that ached and throbbed in the cold.

It was guilt.

He realised in distress that once again he'd been selfish as always, utterly incapable of saying the right thing. He seemed to only be capable of screwing things up, like the reckless idiot that he was.

He knew what he was; a billionaire with an inflated ego and more money than sense. He was nothing like Iron Man, the courageous superhero that was strong and respected.

Everyone loved Iron Man, but no one liked Tony Stark.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly, knowing that it was going to take more than measly words to bail him out of this one. His heart wrenched as he watched her linger in the doorway, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the staircase in front of her, unable to conceal the disappointment that remained all too visible in her tense posture. This woman was the best thing that had ever happened to him; he loved her dearly, although he knew that he had a funny way of showing it. He wondered if she knew just how much that he loved her- with all of his heart, or at least what was left of it, shrapnel and all.

"I know," she replied sadly, "you always are."

The billionaire ran a hand through his tousled hair, ignoring the irritating blur that began to tinge his usually pristine vision. He sincerely hoped that it was weariness haunting him and not tears.

A fortnight later, Stark found himself in the usual haven of his workshop, sat at his large desk and staring blankly at the three screens situated in front of him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to distinguish one word from another, the various diagrams and statistics merging together with a hideous blur, illiterate to his hazel eyes.

He clutched a warm mug in his right hand, a steaming coffee that had been concocted by You, who always enjoyed making a mess in the kitchen. He raised it to his lips and took a mouthful of the fragrant substance, acknowledging almost instantly that it just wasn't strong enough to rouse his sluggish senses. After a few more sips, he drained the remaining contents, placing the empty white mug on the desk with an audible thud; he rested his head in his hands and released an audible groan, cursing his body's apparent and sudden inability to function.

He was tired, yet as always he just couldn't sleep, didn't want to surrender to it, fighting it with everything he had until his efforts became a lost cause.

It was always the same story.

Like an abused vehicle, Tony kept on going until he ran out of juice, literally unable to function like a ratty old car abandoned on the road side that was ready to be towed away to the scrap yard.

In the end, he always preferred the exhaustion to the nightmares.

Sometimes he'd dream of Afghanistan, reliving the very worst days as if he was experiencing them for the first time. He could still feel the heat drain the energy from his body, rendering him sluggish and struggling to function in the sultry climate; he could still feel his abused body ache in protest against the constant demand to work, pleading for the respite that it so desperately needed to function.

It was almost alarming how his senses could be deceived by a mere dream, convincing his brain that he was still there, stranded in the dingy cave with only Yinsen for company. He could still feel the rough walls beneath his fingertips, the hard floor beneath his feet and perspiration caused by the challenging heat, his shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. On the worst nights he could still feel the tender aftermath of the surgery, the nausea lurking in the pit of his stomach that seemed to churn uncontrollably as he became aware of the foreign object in his chest- this alien thing that just didn't belong there at all.

If he wasn't being tortured and yelled at in a foreign language, he was going head first through the portal again, watching the missile explode in the distance and light up the dark sky like an enormous firework whilst he prepared to close his eyes for the final time.

Occasionally he'd dream of his childhood and his absent father, stirring up memories of the past that he thought he'd euthanized a long time ago.

Tony Stark wished that there was something that could erase the memories, wished that he could wipe the slate clean as easily as he could delete a file from the database on his computer. He wished it could be that easy. He wished that there was something that could make it all disappear, but in reality he knew that there was not a pill on the planet that could help him forget. The drink did little to soothe anything at all; if he was lucky, it took the edge off of things slightly, but never anything more. Talking about it was out of the question because it would only make him remember more, making him relive everything all over again, and he didn't want that at all.

Stark gazed distantly at the Iron Man suits that were lined neatly against the wall, wondering what everyone would say if they knew that he could be so easily stirred by some silly dreams, like a child afraid of the invisible monster lurking at the back of the closet.

He wished that the suit could protect him from more than just physical threats.

Suddenly, a familiar British accented voice interjected the brunette from his unnerving thoughts, causing him to startle slightly in his seat. "You have an incoming call from a withheld number Sir," Jarvis announced obediently.

"Trace it," Stark replied, supressing an exhausted yawn and lounging back in his chair lazily, tapping his fingers in a repetitive fashion on the hard wood of his desk.

"As you wish Sir."

Within a few moments, a map appeared on one of the broad screens and the AI began to display a series of coordinates and a detailed satellite image, causing Tony to elevate a brow in question. "The call has been traced Manhattan, New York City, the Stark Tower Complex, precisely the thirty sixth floor on the eastern side of the building, which I believe is the floor belonging to Mr Rogers Sir-"

"What do you want Cap?" Tony asked bluntly as he answered the call, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the blonde's surprised tone of response. "And more importantly, why are you calling me on a withheld number?"

"A what?"

"It's- never mind."

"I don't know anything about any numbers; this phone was issued to me by S.H.I.E.L.D."

"There are phones on every floor Cap-"

"I'm aware of that Stark," Rogers replied in his usual well-spoken telephone manner, "but that's hardly relevant-"

"Ah, I get it," Tony said, lips curling into an amused smile, "they're probably a bit too high tech for you. Did they issue you one of those old ones with the enormous keypad? I mean, who uses those anymore anyway? Everything's all touch screen now-"

"Stark-"

"Don't worry grandpa, there's no need to be embarrassed about it."

"Stark-"

"We all have weaknesses-"

Tony managed a small smile when the line was severed with an audible click, knowing almost instinctively that the man was probably heading straight to the gym to beat the living daylights out of another poor and defenceless punching bag. He wondered dryly what Captain America thought of when he was pounding the bag with his bare fists- probably selfish assholes like him, Tony Stark.

It was no secret that he and Rogers hadn't gotten off on a good start, and as usual, Tony and his big mouth was responsible for widening the apparent rift between them, because he could never seem to engage his filter when he was talking to other people. At times it truly seemed like his mouth was beyond his control, as if it belonged to somebody else entirely.

The truth was, despite being a philanthropist in nature, the brunette was never good with words beyond the technicality uttered between the four walls of his lab. He used his big mouth to try and protect himself without the suit, like a big façade; truthfully Tony was quite sensitive and embarrassingly insecure. His sharp tongue made him appear cocky and confident, a man that didn't care a single ounce what people thought of him; he cared what people thought, he really did, he just didn't allow himself to be dominated by it.

He contemplated apologising, quickly deciding against it and surrendering to his stubborn nature, wanting to avoid significantly eroding a fraction of his pride.

There it was again, that same feeling he had when Pepper gazed at him with those eyes. Guilt- he was riddled with it, like a rotten floorboard with woodworm.

Tony claimed that he didn't play well with others, and perhaps this assumption was partially true; when he wasn't collecting awards, shocking the media or out saving the world, Stark was busy in the personal haven that was his workshop, isolated from the rest of humanity and exposed only to the company of Jarvis and the bot's- just the way he liked it. Unlike the rest of society, his unconventional AI family were unfazed by his eccentric behaviour, because for them it was normality, just a normal day in the shop with the genius insomniac.

Perhaps he'd grown too accustomed to allowing his big mouth to take full reign without attempting to intervene.

For a man who was applauded for his intelligence, Tony knew that he could be an idiot sometimes.

He made mistakes and sometimes hurt people in the process, but he was only human. People made mistakes and then they learned from them, with the exception of Stark it seemed.

No matter how many times he said the wrong thing, he never managed to restrain his 'inner jerk', which tended to surface when he was in the company of other people, nice people that didn't deserve to deal with his narcissistic personality.

It didn't take long for another call to come through, only this time it was accompanied by a familiar caller ID which never failed to make the billionaire's skin crawl eerily at the sight of those piercing blue eyes. Tony always vowed that the Black Widow terrified him more than any creepy spider ever could.

"What did you do to Steve?"

"What makes you think that I did anything?"

"Stark."

"It's hardly my fault that he's sensitive."

"He was trying to remind you about the meeting that begins in thirty minutes, the one which you are supposed to attend-"

"Meeting? I mean- yes, the meeting! How could I forget? In fact, I was just about to-"

"Goodbye Stark."

Barely supressing a drowsy yawn, Tony released a weary groan, rubbing his eyes irritably and delving a hand through his tousled brown hair. Glancing at the digital clock displayed on one of his numerous computer monitors, the philanthropist noted that he had just twenty eight minutes to spare. Briefly he wondered if he could invent some sort of excuse, perhaps claiming that he just couldn't make any space in his 'bustling' schedule…

Meetings were boring, pointless, and most excruciatingly of all, so damn tedious.

Whilst he was forced to hear Rogers drawl on and on about the necessity of team work, he could be modifying the suit and inventing wonderful things in the shop, marvellous creations that could benefit the rest of mankind….

Perhaps on any other day, Stark wouldn't have minded too much about Steve and his ridiculous meetings. Perhaps he would have been looking forward to gracing the team with his magnificent presence and uncontrollable sarcasm.

He wouldn't have minded much at all about a silly meeting, if only he wasn't feeling so utterly exhausted.

"I feel like shit," Stark stated simply, already feeling a nasty headache beginning to brew in his head, causing his temples to throb with a dull ache, "and I think my head's going to explode."

"Duly noted Sir," the AI responded promptly in his usual British accent, "would you like an aspirin to alleviate your symptoms?"

"Just kill me Jarvis- get it over with. I can't take it anymore."

"And how would you like the deed to be done Sir?"

"Just don't make a mess, or Pepper will be pissed- even more pissed than what she is already."

There was a familiar whirr that sounded from beside him, followed by the appearance of a mysterious glass of liquid that was thrust into his face by You; Stark felt his heart warm marginally at the gesture, plucking the drink from the bot and downing its contents in a swift gulp before placing the empty glass on his desk with a loud thud, releasing a spluttering cough as his throat began to burn in the aftermath.

"Jesus," he began with a wheeze, pointing an accusing finger at You, "what's in that, Cyanide?!"

"Sir," Jarvis interjected, "may I remind you that you have twenty two minutes remaining until the meeting begins- would you like me to prepare a flight plan?"

"Prepare the MRK3 V02," Tony commanded, hauling himself from his chair and stretching, wincing as his back sounded with a grimacing click. "Daddy's going out for a while. Be good, and no house parties while I'm gone. Understood?"

As usual, Tony arrived in true Stark style in the bulk of the Iron Man suit, landing on the high rooftop with a metallic clang, heavy footsteps sounding against the floor as he strolled into the building, allowing the bots to remove his suit piece by piece as he attempted to make himself look slightly more presentable. It was only when he reached the restrictive confines of the elevator that he finally got to scrutinise his eyesore of a reflection in the mirrored panels; dressed in a pair of worn denim jeans and a flimsy white vest that revealed the radiant glow of the arc reactor, he felt unusually underdressed without the polished red and gold of the Iron Man suit.

During the brief journey down he attempted to tame his hair, raking his fingers through the wild brown strands before surrendering with a huff of irritation, deciding that his efforts were frustratingly futile.

He narrowed his eyes slightly in an attempt to eradicate the weary haze that distorted his vision, the descent of the elevator causing him to sway slightly on his feet.

Staring intensely through a pair of cloudy hazel eyes, Tony tried hard to ignore the suspicious looking oil stain on his shirt and the ugly circles that hung like crescent moons beneath his eyes. He briefly thought about changing his attire, quickly dismissing the idea. 'I own this building, and I'll dress how I want,' he mused, stumbling slightly on his feet as the elevator came to a halt, the doors parting in a mechanical fashion.

It felt like an eternity as Stark strolled languidly through the hallway, feet scuffing the carpet as he approached his destination, the spacious meeting room which he had designed specifically for Rogers and his dull meetings. The décor was equally as draining.

"Remind me why I'm here again," he muttered in a low voice, interlocking his fingers and raising his arms above his head with a rewarding stretch, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Jarvis interjected in a suspiciously amiable manner.

"Would you like me to announce your presence Sir?"

"You know we were discussing that killing thing earlier? You better get a move on, because I can't promise that I'll make it through another one of these meetings," he said finally, the door opening in anticipation as he approached.

Almost immediately all eyes were upon him, studying his casually dressed figure that lingered briefly in the doorway for a moment before greeting the occupants with a flashy smile and a slight wave of the hand, taking several paces before settling into a hard chair, observing the unusual silence that engulfed the room upon his entry, conversations dying immediately.

"Did someone die in here?" Stark enquired, "What's with the weird atmosphere in here?"

"Wow, you look like shit," Clint stated bluntly, head resting in one hand and drumming his fingers on the table top in an idle fashion, absorbing the sight of the dishevelled looking engineer.

"You know for a minute there, I almost cared."

"I've seen road kill looking healthier."

"Hey now, don't make me come over there! There's a new flamethrower I just installed in the suit which I have been just itching to test on something-"

Rogers cleared his throat, causing the room to fall into silence once more, which didn't last for too long as usual. A brown leather jacket hung on the back of his chair, and Rogers was dressed in a white shirt that remained open at the collar, revealing a tantalising expanse of bronzed collarbone, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame impressively. The handsome solider gazed sternly at the billionaire with a pair of striking blue eyes, arms folded across his broad chest and displaying a taut expression of absolute seriousness. "If you're both quite finished-"

"He started it," Tony interjected, pointing in the Hawk's direction with an accusing finger, "I'm the victim here!"

"Friends," Thor began, piercing the room with his usual prominent voice, "it seems that you humans have an odd way of showing your concern."

"Aw, Clint's worried about me? That's real cute!"

"I think I'm starting to feel nauseous," Natasha interjected in a barely audible voice, watching the scene unfold with an unimpressed glare.

"Guys," Banner said, raking a hand through his dishevelled hair with a sigh, "inside voices please."

"The next person to interrupt will be a substitute for my next punching bag," Steve warned, his patience quickly beginning to fray, "and that's a promise."

"Well," he began with an air of professionalism, sat forward in his seat, back military straight and elbows propped on the table top, fingers laced together and pen in hand, "there are a few things on the agenda today which I'd like to discuss."

Stark responded with a discontented groan, ignoring the stern gaze being emitted in his direction.

"It would be in everyone's best interest if we could just get through this as quickly as possible, with minimal interruptions or distractions," the blond said, ever so subtly averting his gaze to the billionaire. He glanced down at the paper that rested on the desk directly in front of him, skim reading the list with a pair of focused blue eyes. "Firstly, I'd like to remind you all that during the course of missions, the removal of your ear pieces is strictly unauthorized."

"Come on, that was one time," Clint insisted, "I already apologized for that!"

"Secondly," Steve continued, "Fury would like to remind you all about the press conference next Wednesday, requesting that we all attend in uniform-"

"Uniform?" Stark repeated, elevating a brow inquisitively "Is that what we're calling it now? I thought that they were more like costumes…"

"My armor is no costume, man of iron," Thor said in mild offence, folding his arms across his broad chest solemnly, "it is greatly admired by the people of Asgard-"

"This request excludes me I hope," Banner said lightly, a small smile tugging at his lips "because I'd hate to wake up in front of a camera without any pants on. I think that's something that the worlds not ready for yet…"

"Nonsense," Tony declared with a broad grin. "In fact, I'd be more than happy to offer you some moral support-"

"It would be most refreshing to see you in a video with your clothes on Sir," Jarvis stated in a distinguished British accent, causing Tony to waggle his finger in disapproval.

"Jarvis, how many times have I told you not to interrupt Daddy when he's talking," the philanthropist scolded.

"Approximately one hundred and seventeen times since my records began Sir."

"It was a rhetorical question. That's r-h-e-t-o-r-i-c-a-l-"

"Moving swiftly on," Steve said, patience quickly beginning to diminish as the meeting progressed tediously slow, "during the attack on New York, we were all thrown head first into the deep end, and it was all very new for us- still is in fact. I believe that there are a lot of adjustments and improvements still to be made-"

"Just spit it out Cap," Clint said bluntly, "I'm starting to get cramp over here."

"Barton," Natasha warned, kicking him in the shin beneath the table with a heeled boot, causing him to recoil with a pained hiss.

"What?! He's making that face," the archer accused, ignoring Romanoff's blue eyed glare that seemed to linger upon him with such intensity that he could almost feel his skin begin to burn. The face he was referring to was the expression that Rogers tended to use when he wanted to avoid bringing up a particular topic, when the Captain started to unintentionally digress; unaware, the blond would begin to avoid making direct eye contact, often beginning to toy with the cuff of his shirt or fiddle with the pen in his hand, a false confidence dripping from his tense figure.

"Face? What face?" Steve questioned impatiently.

"Now that you mention it, I think he is," Bruce confirmed, "the same one he used when he was trying to break the news to us about that physical S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted us to do…."

"No, I think that was a different face," Tony stated, trying to suppress the urge to fall asleep, "this one makes him look a bit more constipated."

"Stark-"

"You humans are strange," Thor declared bluntly, "and also very confusing, however it is apparent to me that you have little respect for the Captain when he trying to speak. Is Asgard, we respect our elders-"

"Thank you Thor," Steve replied, trying hard to ignore the various smirks appearing on the faces of his team mates, trying to reassure himself that he really wasn't that old… "What I was trying to say, is that it has become very evident to me that our ability to function as a team is much to be desired, therefore we will beginning some team building exercises."

"I have a better idea," Tony announced, folding his arms across his chest, partially obscuring the blue glow of his arc reactor, "let's not and say that we did. Who's with me?"

"You can't be serious," Clint said, clearly unimpressed by Rogers unexpected announcement.

"I do not understand," Thor said, brows furrowed in confusion and a troubled expression dominating his features.

"Team building is a range of activities designed to improve team performance," Natasha replied, "activities designed for children."

"You know, it's really not such a bad idea," Bruce confessed honestly. "I mean, look at us- we're practically the definition of dysfunctional. How are we supposed to save the world when we can't even hold a proper meeting?"

"Thank you Doctor Banner," Steve replied, looking slightly defeated, "I appreciate it."

"Traitor," Stark accused, pouting childishly at Bruce. "I thought that we were friends."

"This is ridiculous," Romanoff said, "and I refuse to be a part of it."

"We're a lost cause," Barton professed honestly. "I understand what you're trying to do Steve, but I really must insist that you're wasting your time."

"Yeah, what he said," Tony pronounced idly. "Is this going to take long? Because I think I left the stove on…."

Suddenly Rogers came to a stand, causing the room to fall silent as a result, a serious countenance upon his face. "I might be a little old fashioned," Steve admitted, glancing at his team mates in disapproval with a pair of sharp blue eyes, "but I know a bad team when I see one. How are we supposed to trust each other out on the field if we can't even be civilized with each other?"

The more Tony was exposed to the Captain and his selfless personality, the more the man seemed to grow on him. Currently the muscular blonde reminded him of a kicked puppy the way he was gazing with those large, watery blue eyes; it was almost as if Rogers knew exactly how to pull the right strings.

The world had changed since the forties; everything had become more flash, more technical, and undeniably more selfish. Steve had been hauled back into service by S.H.I.E.L.D., exposed to a new era that was a foreign place to him that made him feel like a constant tourist.

The truth was, Steve was from the past, a place where all that remained were distant memories. Back in the war it had all been about selflessness and sacrifice, fighting for freedom and peace.

When Stark had met Captain America for the first time, he'd found it difficult to comprehend the reality of events. There was a man who had been presumed dead, suddenly discovered trapped in a cocoon of frozen ice like a fossil, a fine specimen from the forties that hadn't aged a single day since he'd gone down in that plane. This was the man his Father had never stopped talking about, the man who Howard had never stopped looking for; Tony wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He was ashamed of the bitterness that still lingered within his heart.

It had only been a matter of time before their personalities finally clashed; that moment had come aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, when Roger's words had been like rubbing salt into the wound. Mere words weren't supposed to faze him at all, because he was Tony Stark, the impenetrable celebrity that didn't care a dime what anyone thought of him.

Steve's words had wounded Tony more than he cared to admit, like a nasty slap to the cheek. Still as always Stark had taken it in his stride, seemingly unfazed and retorting in an equally sharp tongue, eyes narrowed dangerously like a provoked animal prowling in a cage anxiously.

Things had changed after New York, everything it seemed accept the relationship between Tony and the other members of the team. Despite the Avengers residing together in Stark towers, the brunette wasn't completely oblivious to the tension that materialized whenever he entered the room, haunting every floor of the tower wherever he ventured like a lingering spirit, heavy in the air and making it difficult to breathe…

Although perhaps he thought, it was just a figment of his imagination.

Perhaps he was just being ridiculous and insecure.

He was probably just being stupid again, always the pessimist when it came to working with others, as a team. The word itself left a nasty aftertaste in the mouth that he was still trying to grow accustomed to.

"Does anyone have anything planned for tomorrow?" Rogers asked, met with several resounding and reluctant 'no's' that came from various points across the table.

"Actually-" Stark began, "I'm pretty busy, so-"

"We'll start with something simple," Rogers said, interrupting the billionaire.

"So what do you want us to do?" Stark asked with a familiar air sarcasm, "Make daisy chains and hold hands? Or is that after the slumber party?"

"Why I am not surprised that you are so enthralled by the idea," Romanoff said languidly.

"Why don't you just stay at home," Clint said in irritation, "since I'm sure that you have much better things to do like play with your robots."

"At least I know I'd be in good company," Tony retorted brusquely, feeling a parental protectiveness for the bots, "and they're not just robots! I'm sure that even Dummy has a bigger IQ than you Robin Hood-"

"Guys," Bruce began, "can we please just be civil about this?"

"I don't think it's in his vocabulary," Clint countered resentfully.

"Whatever," Tony replied, dismissing the archers comment with a careless shrug. "Are we finished here? I was in the middle of something."

"Meeting dismissed," Rogers announced dejectedly, releasing an audible sigh.

The following morning, the brunette found himself wandering around the large workshop once more, sluggish, sleep deprived and terribly irritable as it seemed, and as usual the bot's were on the receiving end of his irritation. In his caffeine induced consciousness the philanthropist was barely able to function, his limbs responding lazily to his requests.

Exhaustion wasn't usually a problem for Tony, who had learned how to remain substantially efficient after just a few measly hours of sleep; however after a close shave with a smoldering iron just a few hours earlier, he began to question his ability to perform productively in such an embarrassing state. He counted himself lucky that he hadn't managed to amputate any limbs trying to install the new flight stabilizers in the suit. It had seemed like such an appropriate idea at the time, that was until he'd managed to zone out, suddenly snapped back into reality by a persistent Jarvis, who had managed to catch his attention before he'd managed to do some serious damage to several of his fingers.

He was a liability, this much he knew, yet he was also frustratingly stubborn.

Tony's foul mood didn't remain unnoticed by the bots, who travelled almost nervously around the workshop trying desperately not to do anything that could fray his drastically dwindling patience.

Suddenly there was a smash, causing the brunette to jump in surprise, his brown eyes widening in alarm as he sprung from his seat, only to find that once again Butterfingers had made an expressive mess in his kitchen. The bot began to retreat cautiously from the scene of the crime, shards of broken glass crunching beneath his wheels, leaving a trail of fragrant coffee tracks behind him on the smooth floor.

"Dammit Butterfingers," the engineer scolded, "how many times have I told you to stay out of the kitchen?" Butterfingers flinched slightly at Starks tone, lowering his claw guiltily and responding with a timid and mechanical whirr. "I swear I'll rip out your motherboard with my bare hands and turn you into a wine rack… Dummy, clean that up."

The billionaire took a deep breath in a feeble attempt to calm himself, unable to ignore the erratic beating of his heart which pounded vigorously in his chest, ringing noisily in his ears. He collapsed weakly into the chair, placing a palm over the glowing reactor embedded deep into his chest, trying hard not to acknowledge the fact that such a measly accident had managed to cause his heart to race as if he were being attacked.

"Sir, do you require some assistance?" Jarvis asked promptly. "I have detected a perceptible increase in your heart rate and elevated breathing. Perhaps it would be best if I informed-"

"No-" Stark said quickly, "I'm fine," he insisted, rather for his own assurance rather than the AI's. "I'm just… just a little jumpy. That's all."

He gazed down at the familiar glow of the reactor, its blue light protruding through the dark fabric of his black shirt, a blurry haze before his tired eyes. He traced its smooth surface with his fingertips in reassurance, assuring himself that it was still there, were it always was, and that he was just fine.

Taking another steady breath, he ran a hand through his disheveled looking hair, only to discover that the limb was shaking ever so slightly.

'Just look at the state of me,' he thought dismally, 'I'm supposed to be Iron Man!'

For a while, Tony remained sat back quietly in his chair, analyzing a projection of the suit, taking it apart piece by piece and discarding things into the virtual trash, rotating the image with a simple spinning gesture with his finger. He listened to the mechanical whirrs and hums of his bots, the familiarity a comfort to his ears. He found himself working automatically, his hands moving of their own accord whilst he wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing. It was just a distraction, something to occupy his mind so he didn't have to think- didn't have to think about anything that made him fidget uncomfortably in his seat, like the fact he hadn't spent any quality time with Pepper in a while…

Thinking was risky because it made him experience things, feelings like remorse, guilt, and fear.

There was a light tap on his back, causing him to glance casually over his shoulder to discover a hesitant looking Butterfingers fidgeting nervously on his wheels.

The bot gestured to the mug of freshly brewed coffee that was situated helpfully on his desk, the pleasant aroma arousing his sluggish senses. He lingered for a short moment, anxiously anticipating a response as if he were expecting to be praised.

Tony couldn't suppress the soft smile that tugged at his lips, and he rewarded Butterfingers with an affectionate pat, causing the bot to whirr in an appreciative manner.

"Thanks Butterfingers. I'm sorry I yelled. Daddy's feeling a little grouchy today."

"Sir, you have a message from Captain Rogers. He'd like to remind you about the social gathering in the lounge on the tenth floor of the tower at approximately five thirty this evening."

"This day just gets better," Tony replied, smile quickly fading to a frown. "You know Jarvis, you always know how to improve my mood."

"I try my best Sir," the AI responded cheekily, "would you like me to send a response?"

"Yeah. Tell him I can't make it because I've been kidnapped by Martians and they're holding me for ransom. Think he'd buy that?"

"I wouldn't hold your breath Sir."

"Don't bother. It'd take him like six hours to figure out how to read it anyway. Prepare a flight plan. Wouldn't want Cap to get his spandex in a twist…"

"Sir, I must protest. With your current level of sleep deficiency I would strongly advise you not to engage in flight while in the suit. It could have severe consequences-"

"I didn't program you to argue Jarvis."

"No Sir, but you did provide me with some common sense. Sleep deprivation can drastically affect your concentration-"

"Are you offering to drive then mother hen?"

"Well that was interesting," Tony announced to nobody in particular as the bots began to dismantle his suit once more.

On his journey down to the lounge, the brunette reflected on the intriguing flight, still trying to recover from the bizarre experience of letting his AI drive for once. It had been interesting to say the least; although far from feeling eager to repeat the experience, the philanthropist couldn't deny the fact that the idea had some potential.

"How was my driving Sir?" Jarvis asked as Stark strolled languidly into the lounge, the engineer slightly surprised to discover that he was in fact the first to arrive.

"Fantastic. Remind me to take some notes later, and tell Rhodey that he'd due for an MOT this month. I'd hate for him to fall out of the sky because there was a screw loose or something."

Unexpectedly, Agent Barton landed with an audible thud on the thick carpet just a few feet in front of him, emerging from the vent coolly as if it were the most common habit in the world. Stark tried with difficulty to dissolve the look of surprise from his features, failing miserably as he collapsed onto the long sofa, gazing blankly at the archer with a brow elevated in question.

"Can't you use the door like a normal person?" Tony asked, trying hard not to feel offended when the Agent choose to sit several spaces away, as if he were emitting some kind of offensive odor.

"Now where would be the fun in that?"

The next to arrive was Thor, followed by Steve and then Natasha.

Tony tried not to notice the way in which she'd gravitated towards Clint, settling in the seat beside him as if she were his shadow. When he and Pepper had been busy redesigning the tower, they had of course most unintentionally located Agent Bartons floor directly above Romanoff's, because they were simply thoughtful like that. The billionaire could still remember the day the team had moved in, especially the very moment he'd announced who would be occupying each floor and he'd decided to award Natasha with a not so inconspicuous wink.

Watching the pair sat comfortably side by side, he was sorely tempted to make some kind of comment in usual Stark fashion, however he'd certainly learned his lesson the first time. He didn't desire to gain another dead arm again, but there again, he was Tony Stark.

After a few moments of contemplation, he decided the he just couldn't help himself.

"You two look awfully cozy," he declared with an amused smirk, ignoring the icy glares being emitted in his direction as he vacated his seat, heading for the bar and fumbling wearily for an empty glass as he eyed the contents of the liquor cabinet with great interest.

"Keep talking," Natasha replied, "I dare you."

"You've got a feisty one there Barton."

"Tony," Steve warned, "could you please behave yourself?"

"Sorry," the brunette replied, "I can't control it. You know, sometimes I think I might have Tourette's or something-"

"Would you like me to give you a diagnosis?"

Finally there was the arrival of Doctor Banner, who looked as if he'd just emerged from his lab, sleeves of his purple shirt rolled to the elbow and glasses in hand, hair looking impressively disheveled as always.

"Good evening Dr Jekyll," the engineer said in good humour as he poured himself a stiff drink, a feeble attempt to alleviate his exhaustion. "How's Mr Hyde?"

"Not so good," Bruce replied, "he's looking a little green today."

Stark approached the physicist and cheerfully thrust a glass into his hand with a warm smile; settling back onto the sofa with an audible thud, the philanthropist began to pat the unoccupied space beside him, gesturing for Bruce to join him.

"You know, a decent host is supposed to offer everyone a drink," Clint muttered.

"Bar's that way," Tony replied, pointing lazily with his hand, "and I'm not the host, Steve is. This was his idea."

"Well," Steve began, "I thought we'd start with something simple today. I've always been a firm believer that human interaction breeds manners-"

Barton released a cough, which sounded suspiciously like 'Stark'.

"You mean we have to talk to each other?" Natasha asked, and Steve merely nodded in confirmation. "Well Stark," she said with a detectable smile, "this should be right up your street."

"That sounded like a challenge," Bruce stated, to which Romanoff replied, "Don't encourage him."

"So," Rogers began rather stiffly, pausing briefly in thought, "How was everyone's day? Let's start with you Thor." The blonde resisted the urge to cringe as soon as the words passed his lips, suddenly reminding himself that he was simply just awful at making conversation. Although the team currently had blank faces, he just knew that internally, they were laughing at him.

"The voice in the ceiling taught me how to use one of your Midgardian inventions," Thor replied proudly, "the…."

"Telephone Mr Odinson," Jarvis interjected helpfully, causing the Aesir to immediately crane his neck to glance towards the ceiling with a pair of curious blue eyes.

"Yes. I have been informed that this is how you humans communicate with each other. It is most intriguing. I thought that perhaps I could talk to Jane."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tony said unapologetically, "but there's nothing in the ceiling, just Barton crawling around in the vents, which is totally fine," he added with emphasis in response to Clint's narrowed eyes. "His names Jarvis, and he's-"

"Just A Very Intelligent System Sir," Jarvis responded in a distinguished British accent.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," the billionaire said finally, taking a swig of his drink.

"That's a very thoughtful idea Thor," Steve said, feeling more and more like a preschool teacher as the evening went on. 'This,' he thought, 'is probably how it feels to be a parent, although I'd like to think that children are better behaved.' "How was your day Doctor Banner?"

"Well, after breakfast I went down to the lab to do some research, and things got a little strange after that," Bruce said, glancing at Stark in suspicion. "There was a note on the desk telling me to look in the draw, and when I touched the handle it gave me an electric shock."

There was an audible splutter as the philanthropist choked on his drink, eyes glistening in amusement. Although he didn't spend much time in the lab at Stark towers these days, when he had a hole in his busy schedule, he always enjoyed paying a visit when he was passing by. More recently, he'd taken to leaving his mark in the form of pranks and post-it notes, which were entirely for his own amusement to relieve the boredom, as well as brighten the Doctor's day during his absence.

"Thanks for the gift," Bruce said to Tony with a small smile, "it was very thoughtful of you. I've always wanted six canisters of Helium."

"You're welcome," Tony replied. "I thought we could have some fun with that later-" Bruce elevated a brow inquisitively, "for experimental purposes only of course…. I was thinking that we could give some to the big guy next time he decides to make an appearance."

"Hulk, on Helium," Rogers stared blankly, trying to process the potential scenario in his head.

"This I have to see," Barton said, thoroughly enthralled by the idea.

"And just how are you going to accomplish that exactly?" Natasha asked, clearly unimpressed.

"I'm Tony Stark," the engineer replied, as if the answer were entirely obvious.

"Friends, what is this 'Helium' you speak of?" Thor asked, a puzzled expression marring his defined features.

"It's is a colorless, odorless, tasteless, non-toxic, inert, monatomic gas-" Bruce began, interrupted by Stark who added-

"And it's the second lightest and abundant element in the observable universe."

"When helium is inhaled," Bruce continued, "there is a corresponding increase in the pitches of the resonant frequencies of the vocal tract."

Thor continued to stare blankly, utterly confused by the duo and their scientific explanation of the Midgardian element.

Natasha released an audible sigh and added simply, "It gives you a funny voice."

"Midgard is truly a strange place," the blonde said honestly. "It amuses me greatly. Of all of the realm's I have seen nothing quite like it."

"What's it like is Asgard?" Steve asked curiously, rather pleased at the apparent progression of the conversation.

"It is truly magnificent," Thor declared proudly. "Everything is golden and beautiful- I only wish that you could see it for yourselves. I have never seen anything more astonishing than the view from the bi-frost. It always managed to take my breath away."

"Bifrost?" Barton questioned.

"A link to all of nine realms. It was once the only portal leading to Midgard, guarded by Heimdall. It has long been destroyed."

"So how did you get here then?" Natasha pressed inquisitively.

"The All-Father-"

"You know, now's the perfect time to brush up on my Norse mythology," Stark interrupted keenly, "mind if I ask a few questions?"

"I would be most honoured man if iron."

"Great!" Tony exclaimed, draining the remaining contents of his glass and getting to his feet, heading to the bar with the intention of pouring another. "So, if you don't mind me asking, just how old are you exactly? Myth says that you're 3091, but that can't possibly be true-"

"That is most preposterous," the blond replied with a frown, "I am barely half of that!"

"Well, that makes me feel slightly better I suppose," Rogers added, piercing the amazed silence that had suddenly shrouded the room. If the Captain was completely honest, he doubted that many things could surprise him anymore- apart from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier of course.

After being told that he'd been frozen in the ice for almost seventy years, the blonde has immediately assumed that the world must have altered significantly; after all, seventy years was just a few decades short of a century. So he'd discovered that everyone had colour television, most people owned a 'portable telephone', and military technology had evolved impressively (including the development of the terrifying atomic bomb), and best if all, the war had ended in 1945. Steve could absorb these things, however he was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that Mankind was not entirely alone in the universe, yet the evidence was sat right in front of him, in the form of a blonde haired and blue eyed demi-god.

Upon meeting Thor for the first time, the team had all mutually agreed that the guy looked as if he'd appeared straight out of a book, particularly the way he went into battle wearing his impressive armour and red cape- everything about him appeared to be Godly, from his striking physique to that booming and monotonous voice. Unlike his brother, he was every inch the alpha male.

"Guess you can't tease Steve for being old anymore," Clint uttered to Stark, who was busy enjoying his alcoholic beverage.

"Just watch me," the brunette replied coolly, placing his glass on the table with an audible thud.

For a while, the minutes passed by in an indistinguishable blur for Stark, who found himself struggling increasingly to keep up with the conversation. Occasionally he interjected with some sort of remark in the sharp witted, cocky and sarcastic manner that had long become associated with him- he wondered if they ever expected anything else. It had become apparent to the engineer that they were always just waiting for the eccentric personality to emerge, as if it were inevitable, and perhaps they were correct to a certain extent.

Pepper had once joked that is was surprising that he'd managed to invent an array of impressive gadgets and devices, yet not a filter for his large mouth.

Aside from engineering, talking had always been a fond skill that Tony had excelled in. In fact, he was sure that if it had been a degree, he would have passed with flying colours.

It had always been just another element of the confident engineer that everyone wanted to see, that he wanted to be; however he found that these days, during life post-cave and the Chitauri invasion, he said things loosely without much thought, the words passing his lips automatically in a mechanical fashion, lacking any real meaning or passion. On the rare occasion that he restrained himself verbally, suspicions were immediately aroused.

Shifting slightly, Stark could feel his body sink snuggly into the soft couch, molding into the cushions comfortably as he proceeded to observe his team mates with a pair of dark eyes.

After a shaky start to the evening, things were progressing rather smoothly and the conversation flowed consistently in a way which they hadn't thought was possible- hell, even Barton, the deadly assassin was smiling.

The Avengers looked fairly content, complete with open body language and maintained eye contact- even Doctor Banner had partially emerged from his shell, however his reserve was still detectable.

Stark wasn't blind. He knew how difficult it had to be for the physicist learning to trust and find faith in humanity all over again, much like himself. As he glanced languidly to the scientist's figure that remained seated beside him, he knew that it must be strange for him resisting the urge to run anymore. It had taken an exhausting amount of persuasion to convince Bruce to stay at the tower, trying to convince the man that everything was going to be fine and he wasn't a threat to the residents of New York.

After much hounding and bribery from the billionaire, Bruce had finally agreed to stay, much to Tony's delight. Although he wasn't particularly accustomed to having company in the lab besides Artificial Intelligence, Banner was fun to have around. The man was intelligent and an expert in his field, more than what people gave him credit for, or at least Stark thought so. Even without the addition of the Hulk, Banner was an extraordinary man.

Eventually, the philanthropist realized that he wasn't listening anymore but simply gazing absently at the surveying scene of his spacious lounge, as if he were watching the television on mute.

With the persistent threat of exhaustion lingering heavily in the air, he knew with great certainty that it had been a bad idea to come; with his brain struggling to function sufficiently, it was only a matter of time before he did something undeniably stupid.

"Sir, Colonel Rhodes is on the line," Jarvis announced in a familiar British accented tone, causing the conversation to cease rather suddenly.

"Tell him I'm busy," the engineer replied, waving his hand languidly in dismissal.

"Sir, I'm afraid he's insisting."

The familiar hum of the mobile in his pocket seized his attention, causing him to reach languidly into his jean pocket. Glancing at the screen, the philanthropist was greeted by the sight of a familiar figure displayed on the caller ID, accompanied by a message that read 'Incoming Call- James Rhodes.'

"Well, if it isn't my favourite Colonel," Stark declared cheerfully, holding the device loosely to his ear. "What can I do for you this fine evening?"

"Are you busy?"

"God, this line is awful. Where are you, on top of Everest?"

"Can't you take this outside?" Steve interjected with a frown of disapproval, drumming his fingertips on the arm of the chair in a repetitive fashion.

"Do you mind? I'm on the phone here," the mechanic said flippantly, averting his attention back to the phone call.

"Tony, I-"

"Oh my god, are you driving? Because if you are, I'm totally hanging up now."

"Just answer the question Tony! Are you busy?"

"No-"

"Good, because I could really do with some help here. It's the suit-"

"If this is about that missing screw I forgot to put in, I can assure you that I had absolutely no idea until after you'd left."

"What?!"

"Relax, I was just kidding."

"Listen Tony, I'm going to keep this brief- I'm trying to fly here, and you're disturbing my concentration."

"Yes Mom. Now what appears to be the problem?"

After much reluctance, the Colonel finally uttered, perhaps in slight embarrassment, "the suit. It… It won't come off."

Almost immediately, Tony broke into a surge of laughter, unable to control himself as he blatantly laughed in Rhodey's face. The team began to stare rather inquisitively, undoubtedly beginning to question his sanity.

"This," he began with a wheeze, the giggling beginning to subside, "really is priceless!"

"Are you going to laugh all night or are you going to help me?"

"What do you mean it won't come off? Of course it comes off! What are you wearing underneath, superglue?"

"Very funny Tony. You're such a comedian."

"I'm at the tower. Meet me on the roof," the engineer declared promptly, abandoning his seat on the couch and grasping the glass of amber coloured liquid that rested half full on the smooth surface of the glass coffee table.

"Thanks Tony- much appreciated."

"Just get over here already would you? There'll be plenty of time for you to kiss my ass later. Oh, and one last thing-"

"Yes Tony?"

"I didn't install a filtration system in the War Machine, so try not to pee yourself-"

"Goodbye Tony."

The line grew silent, and Stark proceeded to drain the contents of his glass before displaying a smirk of thorough amusement, trying desperately not to laugh and spray the other Avengers with expensive alcohol.

"Well I'd love to stay for the party, however it looks like I've got a date on the roof with the Colonel."

Placing the empty tumbler back onto the table with an audible thud, Stark strolled across the plush carpet with languid footsteps, suddenly feeling rather thankful for an excuse to stretch his legs and leave the idle chatter behind him. How he loved bonding with his teammates….

"Don't wait up for me," he called cheerfully as he disappeared through the doorway and into the hall, intending on taking the elevator to the highest floor.

The philanthropist wanted to feel bad about missing one of Steve's 'greatly anticipated' team building activities, however he just wasn't capable of lying to himself.

For the past hour his concentration had begun to dwindle, the conversation drifting through his ears barely registering at all. He was certain that his lack of intrigue hadn't remained unnoticed by the rest of the team, however apparently they'd decided not to say anything, allowing him to sit there, consumed by the thick fog that shrouded and diverted his attention.

Just a few minutes later Tony was standing on the roof, gazing up at the star spangled sky and raking a hand through his hair with a drained sigh, rubbing his bleary eyes and tapping himself lightly on the cheek in a feeble attempt to revitalize his weary form. It had been a few days since he'd last succumbed to the necessity of sleep; he'd fallen asleep at his desk in the workshop, awaking just a few hours later after being plagued by hideous nightmares, clutching a palm firmly over the arc reactor with a shaking hand, attempting to calm his erratic breathing before heading to the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink.

He was just waiting for Jarvis to try and bribe him to go to bed, just like the AI always did after he exceeded the forty eight hour limit.

Unfortunately, Tony was a stubborn man, often spending days upon end locked away in the haven of his workshop, mind too busy occupied to think of minor things like taking a tedious nap. When the engineer thought he was on to something nothing could distract him, not even exhaustion.

Through the haze of fatigue, Stark's brain managed to register the familiar hum of thrusters that rang through his ears, and the War Machine landed on the roof with a metallic thud; he approached the iron clad Colonel with a teasing grin, struggling to suppress the urge to greet the man with an inappropriate comment riddled with sarcasm and mockery, as was his usual fashion.

The brunette strolled across the rooftop and headed back inside, addressing Rhodey with a teasing salute before beckoning him with a single finger, gesturing for him to follow.

"So Rhodey, how did you break my beautifully crafted War Machine suit?"

"Faulty engineering," the Colonel replied simply.

"You know, I designed these things to come off. The only thing I can think of is that maybe you've gained a few pounds…"

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"You know me. I never like to waste an opportunity. Now, can you fit in the elevator?"

"I'm sure I could make some room with my new missile launcher."

"You know what, I think you'll be just fine, I'll just have to breath in a little. Now, time to get you out of that thing- Jarvis, where did I leave that crow bar?"

"Very funny," Rhodes added, unable to suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips beneath the visor of his suit. "Perhaps you'd be able to find it if your ego wasn't taking up so much space."

"Jesus- you're using humour, this must be more serious that I initially thought; take it away Jarvis."

"Preparing to begin diagnostics. Estimated completion time of full scan, precisely two hours, forty minutes and thirty five seconds."

Eventually, Tony had managed to free a relieved Rhodey from the confines of the War Machine suit. After rebooting the system and re-calibrating the virtual environment, Stark had managed to convince the Colonel to leave the suit behind for further modifications and testing, just to ease his conscience. He wanted to ensure that the suit was fully functional before allowing him to use it again; if something happened to Rhodey because he'd missed something, he'd never forgive himself for it.

"Jarvis, are the others still up?"

"Yes Sir, with the exception of Dr Banner who has now retired to his room."

Reclining comfortably in his chair, Stark propped his feet beside several large monitors that resided on his desk, uncaring as his feet caused an array of papers to fall to the floor with a chaotic flutter, landing in a jumbled mess. "Call him," the brunette commanded languorously, raising his arms above him as he stretched in a feline manner, arching his back with a satisfied groan before placing his hands behind his head in a lazy fashion.

"Hey Tony. What can I do for you at- one fifteen in the morning? "

"Well would you look at that," he replied casually, confirming the physicist's statement by observing the digital clock displayed in the right hand corner of the wide screen. Tony couldn't help but smile upon hearing Banners weary tone. "The night is still young Bruce! Don't tell me that you're turning into an old man already. You're just one step away from electric blankets and afternoon naps."

"Things were getting a little too wild for me," Bruce confessed, "and Thor was giving me a headache. When he's drunk everything he does seems to be amplified- I swear my ears are ringing. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of Teetotalism."

"Sounds like you had fun."

"Things got a little too much for me when Clint started dancing on the table."

"I might have to look for that on the video feed later," the engineer admitted with a small smile of amusement at the thought. "Perhaps I could send it to fox news or something; the media's been a little dismal this week."

Bruce was unable to suppress an audible yawn, to which Stark responded with, "I'm sorry, am I keeping you up? How about I tuck you in and read you a bed time story?"

"Another night perhaps, preferably when I'm wearing undergarments."

"Oh please, you're making me blush," Tony teased. "I promise I won't peak. I'll be on my best behavior, scouts honor- or something…"

"Goodnight Tony."

"Goodnight darling. Sweet dreams."

A short while later, Tony found himself rummaging through the mess of tools and blueprints scattered across the surface of his bench that resided at the back of the lab. After several minutes of sifting through a tangle of wires, he paused, rubbing his eyes wearily as he realized he'd long forgotten what he was looking for.

"Sir," Jarvis began, the philanthropist already anticipating the probable lecture, "I must insist that you get some sleep. Sleep deprivation can cause serious health problems, including stroke or heart failure-"

"Well that's going to help me drift off tonight," Stark concluded, rolling his eyes.

"Sir-"

"Ok, I'm going already, don't get your panties in a twist."

"Since you have complied with my request, would you like to know a secret Sir?"

"I'm all ears," he replied as he descended the stairs to civilization, feeling far from ecstatic at the thought of his dreams being riddled with nightmares.

"I'm not wearing any underwear Sir."

"You know, I don't remember programming you to have a sense of humour Jarvis," the brunette replied in amusement, legs beginning to protest as he clambered to the top, reaching the long landing of the tenth floor. "Is it full moon or something? Because everyone seems to be taking off their pants tonight."

"Perhaps there is something in the air Sir. Would you like me to take a reading? "

Stark chose to ignore the AI's comment, entering his trusty elevator once more, declaring "take me up baby."

"Sir, it seems that Agent Barton, Mr Odinson, Agent Romanoff, and Captain Rogers have congregated in the lounge beside the master bedroom. Would you like me to initiate soundproofing?"

"No need, since they won't be staying."

The doors opened and Tony exited the elevator, feet scuffing lazily across the cream coloured carpet as he approached the noisy lounge with the intention of evicting its residence. The revelation had left him feeling slightly irritated, which was considerably heightened by the fact that he was already beginning to feel grouchy from the effects of sleep deprivation. Although there were no measures preventing team members from accessing each other's floors, there had always been a mutual understanding that they wouldn't invade each other's privacy unless they were granted permission first. After a long day of missions and bland meetings, sometimes it was necessary for them to have their open space to unwind; they all had reclusive tendencies, even social butterflies like Stark.

When he finally peered around the doorway, he stood there for several moments, completely confounded by the surveying scene that was situated before his hazel eyes.

It seemed that his presence had remained undetected, and while Steve was beginning to look slightly out of place being the only sober inhabitant of the room, Thor and Barton were obviously fairly intoxicated, looking cheerful and contented as they continued to devour alcohol like fish in water, while Romanoff looked on at the peculiar scene as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Guys," Steve interjected, trying hard to retain his tranquil composure, "I think you've both had enough."

"Captain, I insist you join us for another drink!" Thor insisted enthusiastically, clasping the blond Captain by the shoulder and patting him firmly on the back in a friendly gesture, largely unaware of his own brute force. Tony almost winced in sympathy, watching as Thor's pats vibrated through Steve's body, almost pushing him off of his chair and sending him to the floor.

"For the last time Thor, I can't get drunk."

"Nonsense my friend!" Thor exclaimed with immense enthusiasm, a broad grin tugging at his lips as he reached for another bottle, removing the cap with his teeth and spitting it aside. "In Asgard, it is often the custom to drink until one loses consciousness!"

"I'm not paid enough for this," Rogers decided with a sigh, raking a hand through his hair and wondering just when he'd been demoted from Captain and reassigned as a baby sitter. "Clint, go to bed, before I ask Natasha to escort you there with a gun to your head."

"She wouldn't," Clint retorted confidently, gazing into the mirror that was mounted on the wall, a pen in hand and holding the cap between his teeth, busy fussing with his reflection in great secrecy.

"Try me," the red head coolly replied, seemingly unfazed by the chaos and sipping contently on a glass of white wine. "The Captains right, its time you went to bed, before you do something stupid."

"But Mom," Barton whined. "What are you going to do? Ground me?"

"Don't give me ideas," Natasha retorted sharply. "You have ten seconds before I'm obliged to use force."

"But-"

"Ten."

"Wait a second," the archer protested, "I'm almost done-"

"Nine."

"Come on, I promise it will be worth the wait-"

"Eight."

"This was a ridiculous idea," Steve said, looking very much drained and perhaps even slightly defeated. "I think next time we're going to incorporate a no drinking rule." He turned to Natasha, who had just drained the remaining contents of her glass. "You seem…. Unperturbed," he commented, wishing that the serum could have at least strengthened his patience as well as his physical attributes.

"Liquid courage Captain," she replied simply, settling her empty glass upon the table. "Barton, you have five seconds before I unleash the taser."

Before Natasha could finish, Clint spun keenly on his heel and announced with a proud grin, "finished!" The archer put his hands on his hips and puffed out his chest confidently, sporting a hastily drawn mass of inky facial hair that had an uncanny resemblance to Starks.

Tony cleared his throat loudly, leaning languidly against the doorframe with his shoulder, arms folded sternly across his chest and a discontented glare marring his features, clearly unimpressed.

"Having fun?"

"Listen Stark," Steve began apologetically, "I'm really sorry about the mess. We'll have it cleaned up in no time-"

"Man of Iron," Thor boomed in a monotonous voice, "you must join us!"

"Does anyone want to explain what you're all doing on my floor, without my permission?"

"I can explain," Clint said quickly, resembling a deer caught in the headlights. "I-"

"You know what, I don't even care," the philanthropist said, too exhausted to unleash his fuming temper. "Enjoy your party," he added, disappearing from view and stomping down the hallway in immense irritation, entering his room and slamming the door loudly behind him.

A few minutes later, Stark found himself perched on the foot of the bed, legs dangling lazily off of the edge while he raked a single hand through his hair, suppressing the urge to head downstairs and go a few rounds on one of Steve's punching bags.

Craning his neck, he gazed at the framed photograph that rested upon his bedside table; it was of a familiar handsome looking billionaire, his arm slung casually around the shoulders of a gorgeous woman, pulling her close for a picture. Both wore genuine smiles, content and consumed in complete bliss- it made his heart tug.

Only a few more days remained until she returned from D.C., and Tony was counting down the days.

Reclining back onto the luxurious mattress, Tony knew that in the cold, empty bed, he wasn't going to be doing much sleeping.

He wondered how long his slumber would remain undisturbed until the nightmares resurfaced again.

"Jarvis, you awake?"

"For you Sir, always."

"I need you to do Daddy a favour. Is the lounge still occupied?"

"Yes Sir."

"We have a fire sprinkler system installed in that room, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Good," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You know what to do."