re: no holes in the wall where Clint had been testing the newly invented armour piercing arrows; no doorway which Natasha likes to slink through unannounced, scaring him half to death when he turns around and spots her; no cabs that he＊s caught both Thor and Bruce delving through, albeit for very different reasons; no place on the workbench where Steve likes to lean when he＊s standing drinking coffee, no spots that he＊s stood in and laughed or rolled his eyes or shouted.

God, Tony hadn＊t realised how much that bunch of broken things and misfits hase to mean to him.

He＊ll add that to the list of things he didn＊t realise until now.

※J, record changes and shut it all down,§ he says into the silence of the workshop. He＊s barely spoken five sentences since he arrived a few hours ago; he＊s not even bothered to check the rest of the house, just headed straight down to the workshop. He guesses he might as well just stay here until Pepper arrives in a few days.

He hopes he doesn＊tpletely lose the plot before then.

※Of course,§ Jarvis says, and even he sounds more subdued than usual, but Tony＊s pretty sure he＊s imagining it.

He aches for a drink, but is so far resisting. He＊se here to work, to allow Steve space to work through their issues, not to wallow in self-pity and get drunk. He＊s determinedly holding onto what he remembers from his last conversation with Steve; the way Steve had asked him not to go, how he＊d reached for his hand, the way Steve had turned his face towards Tony＊s when he＊d kissed him goodbye, his hand reaching up helplessly like he＊d wanted to hold on.

They＊re good signs, and they＊re making him feel both hopeful and guilty. Not guilty enough to regret his choice to leave though; he＊s still determined to wait it out, to see what Steve decides with a clear head.

God, after spending weeks at his side, he misses him like he＊s missing a limb.

Breathing out heavily, he props his elbows on the edge of the workbench and presses his palms to his face. He sits perfectly still for a moment, debating what he＊s going to able to focus on for the next few hours. It＊s bizarre; he used to thrive on being left alone for days at a time 每 he still does, in all honesty. It＊s just disconcerting that he＊s sopletely alone here; there＊s not even the possibility or option of being interrupted, of finding someone to interact with, no-one to talk science with or share coffee with. So much for his insistence that he＊d never be a team player.

He＊s just about to say ＆fuck it＊ and let himself take a nosedive into feeling sorry for himself when he hears an achingly familiar sound. The sound of stilettos on the metal stairs that lead down into the workshop.

※If you＊re sitting here in the dark, drinking and feeling sorry for yourself, I＊m calling Steve!§

Tony shuts his eyes, and he smiles.

※Knock, knock,ing in.§

Looking up from his almost-finished sketch, Steve is about to make ament about Clint actually knocking but decides against it when he sees Clint＊s hands are full of boxes and bags that smell exactly like Steve＊s favourite Cantonese takeout. He doesn＊t usually eat in his quarters, but supposes he can make an exception every now and again.

※Bon appetit,§ Clint says as he carefully lowers the cartons and bags onto the coffee table, Steve hastily moving his sketchbook out of the way and setting it on the couch cushions next to his hip. ※I feel like my sole job at the moment is keeping you fed.§

※It＊s an important job,§ Steve says seriously, leaning forwards and pulling cutlery and cans of coke out of one of the bags. He nods to the other couch. ※Take a seat.§

Clint happilyplies, grabbing a fork and picking up one of the cartons and deftly pulling it open. ※How＊re you feeling?§ he asks as he digs in. ※Did you sleep okay?§

Steve nods, reaching for a fork and a carton of his own, stomach rumbling in anticipation. ※Slept eleven and a bit hours,§ he says with a grimace. ※Still not used to sleeping that long.§

Clint shrugs, balancing his carton between his knees as he reaches for a can of coke, snapping it open. ※Doc says you need it,§ he says, no sympathy at all evident in his tone. ※Though you probably feel you＊ve slept enough, right?§

※Right,§ Steve laughs, lifting a brow and nodding. ※Pretty sure I＊ve got the world record.§

Clint shakes his head, taking several large gulps of coke and then belching into the crook of his elbow before putting the can aside, picking up his carton again. ※You＊re technically superhuman, you＊re not allowed to be considered for official records. Tony looked it up when he found out how much you could bench.§

Steve looks at him, forkful of noodles suspended in front of his mouth. ※He actually looked it up?§

※I think he found the idea of you effortlessly breaking around a hundred people＊s hard-earned records hilarious.§

※He would,§ Steve says, slight smile hitching the corner of his mouth.

※He＊s a jerk for leaving,§ Clint says suddenly. Steve looks up but Clint is looking down at the carton of chow mein in his hand, jabbing his fork into it with more force than strictly necessary.

※No, he was right,§ Steve says, reaching and Clint looks up, frowning. ※We needed some space.§

The look Clint sends his way is pained. ※You＊re not even dating and you＊re talking about needing space, ugh.§

Steve laughs, soft and self-depreciating. ※Yeah, it＊s a hell of a mess,§ he says honestly. ※And that＊s on top of the fact I＊m still trying to work out what the hell happened to me.§

※Yeah, about that,§ Clint says through a mouthful of food, swallowing noisily. ※Reed Richards has already called four times. He wants to ask more questions and possibly wire things into your brain.§

※Great,§ Steve says flatly, already mentally vetoing having anything physically wired into him, no matter if Richards insists it's necessary. ※Not my first choice of doctor.§

Clint pulls a face. ※Hate to say it, but he＊s the expert of all things multiversy.§

※Is that a word?§

※Possibly not,§ Clint concedes, reaching for another carton and wresting it open one handed, pulling out a spring roll with a noise of triumph. ※Talk and eat.e on, multitask, Rogers.§

Steve obediently shovels another forkful of food into his mouth, and as Clint goes back to his own food withoutment, Steve is suddenly and forcibly reminded of Bucky. Clint＊s a lot like him in some ways, he thinks, not least the way he＊s currently sort of looking out for Steve with abination of tough love and food. He doesn＊t feel the desperate need to fight against it the way he used to with Bucky though; he＊s got nothing to prove to Clint, who has only ever known him as he is now, as the Captain.

※So, what＊s the stage of play at the moment? Is Richards still trying to get hold of me?§

※Natasha is fencing,§ Clint says. ※Which is one part threatening him with violence, one part threatening to tell his wife that he＊s harassing Captain America, one part threatening to call Tony and tell him he＊s harassing Captain America.§

※Can＊t hold him off forever,§ Steve says ruefully, not entirely sure if Clint is joking or not and choosing not to ask. ※And I guess he＊s the guy to talk to.§

Clint nods. ※You＊re not doing it until you＊re fully fit,§ he says frankly, and again, Steve can＊t help but hear a little bit of Bucky in the＆so don＊t even try it, Rogers,' tone of voice. ※By official order of Nick Fury, and unofficially by the rest of us. Don＊t look at me like that, I＊ll call Thor and get him to pin you down again. I＊m serious, he＊ll lay you out and put that damn hammer on your chest.§

※Okay, okay,§ Steve concedes, smiling quietly. ※You know, you remind me a lot of someone sometimes.§

※Not a super-villain, I hope.§

※No,§ Steve says, cocking his head to look at Clint. ※Bucky.§

Clint draws back a little, sitting up a little straighter and looking genuinely taken aback. ※Wow,§ he says. ※That＊s like, I don＊t know. Thepliment of my life? I might quit now, while I＊m ahead.§

※Wouldn＊t get too hung up on it, he was a jerk.§

※I can live with that,§ Clint says cheerfully, sinking back into the couch cushions. ※Now eat your goddamn take out. I gave up a whole four seconds of my life asking Jarvis to order it in.§

Jarvis cuts in at that moment, perfectly deadpan. ※I wouldn＊t want you to et the hundred and twenty-eight seconds dedicated to collecting the takeout from the lobby and carrying it up to Captain Rogers＊ quarters.§

※Carrying and collecting,§ Clint says earnestly as Steve laughs. ※I＊ve had a tough day.§

※I feel like I＊ve had a tough day,§ Steve admits, reaching over for a spring roll and demolishing it in two bites. ※Even though all I＊ve done is sit, read, watch TV and draw.§

※Back with the drawing? Still playing with your felt pens?§

※Yes, still playing with the felt pens,§ Steve says, and then on a whim, shoves his fork into the carton and reaches over and picks up his sketch book from the seat next to him. He hands it over to Clint wordlessly, and Clint raises an eyebrow but takes it withoutment about Steve＊s new willingness to share.

※That＊s a whole lot of you,§ he finally says as his eyes skirt over the page. It＊s a drawing from this morning; a medley of all the versions of Steve, spread all over the page. ※Who＊s the kid?§

※He was called SJ,§ Steve tells him, heart aching with how much he misses SJ's small trusting presence at his side. ※He was eight, died of a chest infection I think, he had this god-awful cough. He was pretty much glued to my side the whole time I was there, liked the fact I was warm.§

※The others weren＊t?§ Clint asks.

※No,§ Steve says. ※Possibly because they were actually dead.§

※You miss them?§

Steve nods without pause, thinking especially of SJ. ※Yeah,§ he says. ※It＊s hard, seeing everything about yourself laid out in front of you. All your faults, all the things you do that you hate. But at the same time, you learn a lot about yourself too, and you see the good as well. Things you wouldn＊t notice about yourself unless you were standing

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