The freezing bitter chill crashed over him in a great wave, chunks of ice nicked his skin, the biting, frigid salt water searing into the tiny lacerations. The metal of the cockpit roof was already so cold it made his fingers burn and he clawed at it desperately, seeking out a hand hold. His throat constricted against the pressure in his lungs as the ship pushed him down into the briny black. Cold, so cold his blood felt as if it were freezing in his veins. He realized to his horror that he couldn't feel his hands any more, and then he realized he couldn't feel his legs. He'd stopped kicking toward the surface and now he sank down into the darkness, unable to do more than twist and writhe in protest. His lungs screamed for air and his vision blurred around the edges, a midnight fog of icy sea water closing in on him.

And then he saw it, a hand reaching out for him. The last of his air rushed out of his lungs in a burbling scream as he forced his fingers to reach out, barely touching. A face loomed into his vision and he gasped, freezing salt water filling his lungs.

"Don't let me fall!" Bucky screamed at him desperately, clawing at the air as he tumbled into an abyss of blackness. "Steve!"

Steve Rogers shot up in bed, gasping and coughing, his entire body shaking violently, his covers twisted around him. He stared at his hands in shock, curling fingers he couldn't feel, and he tore the bedclothes away with numb hands, stumbling out of bed and onto the thickly carpeted floor.

Cold. So cold.

He nearly collapsed on the floor, his feet like blocks of ice as he crashed into his bureau, wrenching one of the drawers open.

"JARVIS, what's the temperature in the room?" Steve ground out against the chattering of his teeth as he struggled into a sweatshirt.

"It is currently seventy eight degrees Fahrenheit, Captain." The AI answered. "Ms. Potts asked me to inform you that the arc reactor insures that we can maintain the entire tower at a comfortable temperature without any appreciable waste of resources. Also that your personal quarters are, in her words, an oven."

"I'll keep that in mind, JARVIS," Steve nodded, rummaging in the bottom of the drawer until he found a thick pair of wool socks, pulling them on his feet.

So very cold.

"Your heart rate is at an unhealthy level even for you, Captain," JARVIS observed. "Do you require medical assistance?"

"No, JARVIS," Steve gasped out in exasperation, rubbing his hands together as if he could force heat and feeling to return to his fingers.

"My readings would suggest that you are experiencing a mild panic attack accompanied by hyperventilation," JARVIS remarked, an easy cadence in his voice. "I'd recommend putting your head between your knees and breathing slowly."

"That almost never works, JARVIS," Steve stated, still he pulled his knees to his chest, rubbing desperately at his feet with shaking hands.

I haven't any paper bags, sir," The AI answered blandly. Steve let out a snort of laughter that almost immediately turned to tears stinging his eyes. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think or feel his fingers and toes. Cold, freezing, bitter cold seeped into his bones like the points of needles.

"Captain," JARVIS offered hesitantly. "I feel compelled to inform you that if you lose consciousness I'll be obliged to call for assistance."

"I'm not going to pass out," Steve insisted through gritted teeth, still chattering from the cold. "I'm fine, really."

"You would appear to have the same dubious opinion of the definition of "fine" as Mr. Stark, sir." JARVIS intoned. The corners of Steve's mouth twitched up in a slight smile, his breathing growing more even.

"You're not bad at the whole keeping the subject calm thing," Steve observed.

"Occupational hazard, Captain," the AI answered.

"I'll bet," Steve muttered, clambering to his feet.

"Shall I start a hot shower?" JARVIS suggested. Steve paused a moment, sighing as he rubbed at his freezing fingers. He glanced at the clock; 2:23 a.m.

"No," he shook his head, shuffling toward the door on leadened feet. "I'm just going to head down to the kitchen.

"Very well, sir," the AI answered. "Do let me know if you require anything." Steve nodded sharply, stepping out into the hall. He clenched his jaw against the cold, the corridor outside his room felt like a walk-in freezer. In reality if couldn't be any lower than seventy three, Tony's preferred room temperature. He walked past the lift and down the corridor to the winding staircase that came out in the rec room. The elevator was closer to the kitchen but he felt like an idiot waiting for a lift to go one floor down. It was one of the harder things to get used to since coming here. His tiny flat growing up in Brooklyn hadn't even had a service elevator. So much of his new home felt like excess.

He winced as his frozen feet descended the steps. The lack of sensation in his toes made him feel as if he were losing his footing. It had been several weeks since his last nightmare, before the invasion, before he'd moved into Stark Tower, and he had begun to delude himself into thinking they were over. The cold was the worst part, so pervasive that he almost believed his feet were frostbitten. He rubbed his arms absently as he crossed the rec room and headed toward the kitchen, his breathing still unsteady.

He pushed the door open, coming up short.

"Oh," he murmured softly. Bruce Banner looked up from his place at the breakfast table, an eerily placid smile on his face and a tablet in his hands.

"Couldn't sleep?" Bruce asked casually. Steve hesitated a moment. It wasn't as if he disliked Banner. Truthfully, he had a hard time disliking anyone so soft spoken and unassuming. Bullies, those he had no difficulty disliking, and Banner was no bully. That didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. If Steve were completely honest with himself he'd have to admit to being a little afraid of him.

"I don't really sleep that much any more," Steve answered, crossing the kitchen to the coffee pot. He pulled a mug down from the cabinet, filling it with the last dregs of coffee. He wrapped his fingers around the half warmed ceramic mug, taking an experimental sip.

"I think the coffee's almost as old as you," Banner remarked. Steve must have pulled a face because there was an amused expression dancing in Bruce's eyes. Steve felt his face coloring and he edged cautiously closer before awkwardly settling in the chair across from Banner.

"It's pretty awful," Steve agreed. "And mostly cold."

"There's tea in the cupboard," Bruce suggested with a smile, glancing back at his tablet and taking a sip from his own mug.

"Of course there is," Steve let out a long sigh. He'd never starved growing up. Things had always been tight but they'd kept food on the table. Steve had taken on a paper route when he was eight and swept floors at the barber shop down the street to make ends meet. They'd never had everything they needed, even coffee had been a luxury for most of his childhood and he'd never grown used to drinking it until the army. In Stark Tower the pantry was never empty, Pepper Potts wouldn't allow it.

"It's all right that I make you nervous," Bruce stated hesitantly. Steve tensed reflexively but Banner only looked up at him with a warm smile, soft around the edges. "I'm not offended by it, so you know. I'm not the easiest person to relax around. It's... nice that you put in an effort to be friendly." Bruce's attention had returned to his tablet and Steve felt a nameless feeling twist up in his chest. He stared into his stale coffee for at least a minute.

"So you couldn't sleep?" Steve asked fumbling.

"It doesn't really agree with me," Bruce answered, making a few notations on his tablet.

"Howard never slept," Steve observed. "Is that a thing with you... science guys?"

"I find it's a thing with overactive minds, yes," Bruce replied with a nod. "Sometimes ideas come and you can't put them aside until you get them down on paper. You're an artist, you must know something of what that's like." Steve blinked at him a moment.

"Yeah, a little," he admitted, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. Bruce glanced up at him with a curious expression and he smiled awkwardly. "I guess I just never thought of myself as an artist."

"I saw your exhibit while it was on display at at National Gallery a few years back," Bruce answered offhandedly. "I was just out of college, it was very impressive." Steve stared at him owlishly.

"My exhibit?" Steve asked in bafflement.

"I was particularly taken with your charcoal drawings of New York and Normandy," Bruce nodded as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He looked up when Steve didn't answer to find Rogers staring at him mutely. "No one told you about the exhibit?"

"Are you telling me they put my pencil sketches in the National Gallery?" Steve demanded in horror.

"It was sponsored by the Maria Stark Foundation," Bruce nodded, struggling to suppress a smirk as Steve let out a groan. "Tony probably has them in storage if you want them back. I don't think the military brass appreciated the tightrope monkey as much as I did."

"Oh, that is so embarrassing," Steve winced, burying his face in his hands as Bruce tried to drown his laughter in his tea.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Steve looked up to find Tony in the kitchen doorway, his phone in one hand and a confused expression on his face.

"You said you'd build a satellite with a Tessala Coil that only responded to Gamma radiation if I didn't agree to become your roommate," Bruce answered easily, sipping his tea as he stared at his tablet.

"Oh right," Tony blinked a few moments before turning to Steve. "Did I threaten you too?"

"Kind of, yeah," Steve nodded hesitantly, glancing over his shoulder as Tony made his way toward the coffee pot.

"Good," Stark declared in satisfaction. He passed the coffee maker and opened the cupboard directly over the k-cup machine, spinning the carousel on the shelf once before looking back at the table. "Do I need to get you a blanket or something, Cap?" Rogers stiffened in surprise, glancing down at his hands with the dawning realization that he'd been rubbing them together in an attempt to warm them.

"I just get chill easily," he offered lamely, wrapping his fingers around his nearly cold mug. "Air conditioning wasn't exactly commonplace in the forties."

"Yeah, right," Tony nodded disbelievingly. "You're not drinking that sludge Barton makes, are you? That stuff's barely coffee."

"What about my coffee?" Clint had appeared in the other doorway, his hair rumpled and his shirt decidedly un-slept in.

"I could use it for axel grease," Tony reiterated with a frown. "Seriously, what is wrong with you?"

"Cap drinks it," Clint declared with a smug smile, crossing the kitchen to rummage in the cupboard near the coffee maker. There were dark circles under his eyes and the slightest tremor in his hands as he scoured the shelves. Steve's brow screwed up in a wince. If anything he knew what a restless night looked like, he'd seen it in the mirror enough times.

"Cap's afraid of the k-cup machine," Tony observed. Steve's ears flushed slightly as Banner's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Maybe a little," Steve conceded in embarrassment. Bruce bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Where's the Folgers?" Barton demanded in irritation.

"Not in my cupboard," Tony rolled his eyes. "You want that ash, you buy it."

"You're a smartass, Stark," Barton yawned, twisting his arm back to scratch his shoulder blades as he shuffled back across the kitchen and collapsed in the chair beside Banner.

"Couldn't sleep?" Steve asked, trying to keep his tone light. He failed badly and Clint froze in his chair, his entire body coiling as if he were a serpent about to strike.

"You can check the plausible deniability at the door," Tony advised drolly as he snapped the k-cup machine closed and jammed the button. "Because no one in this room is going to believe it. You've got Cap over there doing a really good impression of an eskimo." Steve turned to shoot him a withering look.

"And you've got me," Tony ignored him, rolling his eyes. "and I haven't had a decent nights sleep since Afghanistan. And... Bruce Banner." He waved his arm at Bruce as if this were explanation enough.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted," Bruce mused, never looking up from his tablet.

"Probably both," Steve muttered half under his breath.

"Probably," Bruce nodded in equable agreement.

"I think what Tony is trying to say in his own insulting way," Steve began in resignation.

"Hey!" Tony snapped.

"Is that if you're expecting harsh judgement this isn't the crowd," Steve stared down uncomfortably into his stone cold coffee. "There isn't anyone here with room to talk."

"Welcome to PTSD," Tony declared sardonically, setting one steaming mug in front of Clint and another in front of Steve. The rich scent of chocolate and vanilla wafted into the air. Steve blinked down at it in surprise as Tony swept up his coffee mug and dumped it in the sink.

"Hot chocolate?" Clint scoffed lightly.

"It's some Belgian thing Pepper has shipped in," Tony shrugged, plucking up a third mug from the counter. "She says it helps her relax. You want one Bruce?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Banner shook his head, sipping his tea. Tony crossed the kitchen, settling into the chair beside Steve with a tired groan. They glanced at each other awkwardly out of the corners of their eyes, all but Banner who'd continued working.

"You don't need to talk about anything you don't want to," Bruce stated when the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortable point. "It's probably not the most relaxing thing to do at three in the morning anyway."

"Is it that late already?" Tony asked with a frown, running his fingers though his hair and taking a swallow of his hot chocolate.

"Almost," Bruce nodded, smiling slightly. His statement seemed to have let the tension out like the slow release of air from a balloon and Steve watched in fascination as Clint eased into the chair by millimeters. "Have you been in the lab all this time?"

"I have a harder time sleeping when Pepper's not in town," Tony admitted grudgingly, giving an indifferent shrug. He turned to frown at Rogers. "You going to drink that, or hug it?" Clint let out a snort of laughter as Steve blushed lightly. Rogers looked down at his hands wrapped possessively around the steaming mug as if trying to leech the warmth from the cup. With a sigh he raised it to his lips, taking an experimental swallow. The rich chocolate glided over his tongue like velvet, its warmth filling his insides and stealing some of the chill from his bones.

"Pepper has good taste," Steve admitted with a smile.

"Not that good," Tony snorted. "She's in a relationship with me."

"Well, we won't judge her harshly for her only lapse in judgement," Bruce stated. Clint let out a bark of a laugh as Steve bit his lip, his shoulders shaking. Tony shot him a glare before nearly breaking down in laughter himself. Steve drew in a sigh staring into his mug.

"You're lucky, Stark," Steve said softly. "She's a good woman."

"Yeah," Tony nodded in agreement with a fond smile. "God only knows what she sees in me. I've put her through hell."

"You made the right call, Tony," Bruce reminded gently. "Pepper's plane was in the blast range too."

"So were we," Clint added. "Not to be selfish, or anything. You're the only one who could have made it out in time. I don't think even Thor could have managed it. The rest of us would be dead if you hadn't disabled that nuke."

"It's not that," Tony shook his head. "I thought she'd be mad. After the invasion, you know? I was prepared for her to shout at me or hit me, tell me I was an idiot. I just hoped she wouldn't cry. In the end she cried because the last thing I did was call her and she didn't pick up." Steve winced pinching the bridge of his nose, a sick expression forming on his face. Bruce frowned, his tablet all but forgotten.

"Damn," Tony shook his head. "I shouldn't have said that." There was an apologetic expression on his face that looked a bit uncomfortable as if it didn't know it's way around that particular visage having not been there too many times before.

"It's all right," Steve answered, trying to shake it off with a sigh. "I wonder sometimes if I did the right thing, calling Peggy. Making her listen to me die."

"We all have regrets," Bruce pointed out. "I'm not sure there's anything you regret more than hurting the ones you love."

"Except maybe the ones you shouldn't have killed," Clint declared. His eyes widened as if he were surprised he had actually said the words out loud.

"That isn't on you, Barton," Tony said quickly before Steve could respond. "If any of us believed for a second..."

"Tony's right," Steve insisted but before he could say more Clint's face screwed up in an angry expression, his shoulders setting back as if something were trying to climb out of his chest.

"I was there the whole time!" he choked out, his eyes watering as his face contorted though a half dozen expressions of pain and anguish. "Watching my hands do things I couldn't stop, screaming inside my own head! I blew a damn hole in the side of the hellicarrier! I did! I almost killed my best friend. Thirteen people died, people I knew, people I worked with. People who had my back. And Coulson..." here he choked up as if unable to breathe. Steve said nothing as Hawkeye drew in a handful of shaky breaths.

"You don't have any idea what it's like," Clint whispered. "So you don't get to say if it's on me or not."

"Clint, it's not on you."

Banner's voice was so soft in the tension that filled the kitchen that it seemed out of place and it was a moment before the words even registered. Clint slumped forward, resting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.

"It's not about what you did," Bruce continued, his tone firm but not harsh. "It's about what was done to you. You didn't have any choice. But it's over now it's all over. Just keep telling yourself that. It's over, and no one blames you."

"So don't make us look like damn idiots by blaming yourself," Tony added. Steve shot him a disgusted look but Clint actually laughed, dragging his fingers down his face.

"Can I ask you something Banner?" Clint voiced hesitantly, glancing at Bruce out of the corner of his eye as the scientist nodded. "How do you... when you know it's never going to be over? Not for you."

"I have to live in the moment and remind myself that it's over for now," Bruce stated. Seven cringed, the words were almost painful to hear and he chanced a look at Stark who was trying to hide an expression of pity he knew wouldn't be welcome.

"It helps, being here," Bruce added, the faintest smile curling his lips. "I mean, some days it's hell, worrying about what could go wrong, realizing how bad things could get if it actually does. But most of the time it just feels good to have something to call home, knowing that even if the worst does happen there'll be someone there to stop me before it can get too far out of hand. Feeling just that small measure of safety."

"Don't think about leaving then," Tony stated sharply. Bruce turned to look at him in surprise but Stark blew it off. "I know about the bag you keep packed so you can bolt, This is my tower and you can't hide stuff like that from me. And I'm telling you, unpack it. Because it doesn't matter what happens, I'll call in the contractors and have it repaired and I'll get Pepper to convince Fury to cover it up if I have to. Just don't run."

"I might not have that choice," Bruce said softly, pretending to return his attention to his Tablet.

"You always have that choice," Steve insisted and Bruce looked up at him in surprise. "Because we've got your back, right Tony?"

"And that's Captain, goddamned, America, folks," Tony declared as if that were the final word in the topic. "National treasure. He'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waiter." Bruce let out a laugh.

"I thought I made you nervous, Cap," he stated, shaking his head.

"You do," Rogers admitted, the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. "but it has more to do with me not wanting to think about what might have gone wrong seventy years ago than anything you've done."

"Damn we're a bunch of head cases," Clint snickered, shaking his head.

"Speak for yourself," Tony scoffed. "I'm perfectly well adjusted."

"You're a damn liar," Bruce insisted firmly.

"That too," Tony nodded in agreement. "You feeling better?" he turned to Steve, giving him a droll look as Rogers shed his sweatshirt, hanging it over the back of his chair.

"Yeah, actually," Steve admitted. "Thank Pepper for me, would you? It usually takes a couple of hours before I'm warm again."

"Does this mean you're going to learn to use the K-cup machine?" Clint teased. Steve cringed. "Fear is the path to the Dark Side."

"He didn't get that reference," Tony grinned evilly. "besides I'm trying to recruit him, we have cookies."

"I could just sit here in the kitchen until one of you turns up," Steve suggested.

"Oh good grief," Clint rolled his eyes.

"I like his mathematical odds," Bruce admitted grudgingly as both Tony and Steve let out rather undignified snorts of laughter.

"What the hell," Clint leaned over Banner's shoulder with a dumbfounded expression. "Did you just write an equation for the likelihood of Avengers in the kitchen at three A.M.?"

"It's a work in progress," Bruce shrugged.

"Gimmie!" Clint snapped, plucking the tablet from his hands and holding it just out of reach.

"If he Hulks out and the Big Guy breaks your arm I'm so totally waking Natasha to set it," Tony insisted, throwing an amused look at Steve as Banner and Barton tussled.

"It'd be worth it!" Clint insisted despite the fact that he looked a little worried as he tried to fend off Banner "Dude, there's no x's or y's, aren't you supposed to solve for y?"

"Is there really an average of 2.3 Avengers in the kitchen at any given moment between one and six AM?" Steve asked, taking the tablet from Clint and staring at the screen. A smug smile played at his lips. "I like my odds too." Tony let out a rather long and colorful string of profanity.

Natasha leaned against the door frame, her ams folded over her chest as she watched the figures huddled around the kitchen table together. It was still early and she'd planned on a few moment's solitude with a cup of coffee before heading down to the gym. She hadn't expected anyone to be in the kitchen this early. She certainly hadn't expected all four of her current roommates to be there. Clint was engaged in the animated telling of some story that was probably classified and would likely age Coulson at least ten years if he ever found out. She knew this because Steve and Tony were laughing so hard they could barely sit up. Any story that funny had to be at least level seven. Clint gestured wildly with an empty coffee mug, his other arm wrapped around the back of Bruce Banner's chair. For his part Bruce was slumped into Clint's shoulder, snoring softly, his whole expression the most relaxed she could ever remember seeing it.

"What's all this then?" she asked in amusement. Clint looked up at her owlishly as if he'd just been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Definitely level seven.

"We started a club," Tony declared, his eyes twinkling. "no girls allowed."

"A club for emotionally traumatized, socially stunted super heroes?" she asked. "Is this part of Banner's hazing ritual or something."

"No, he just hasn't slept in two days," Tony shrugged as Natasha made her way to the K-cup machine. "He has to completely wear himself out before he sleeps or Big and Green can sneak up on him while he's horizontal. He conked out somewhere around Clint's story about Budapest." Hawkeye winced.

"What did I tell you about Budapest?" She demanded with a sour expression, clicking the k-cup machine shut.

"I left out the really good bits," Clint assured. Tony and Steve turned on him with predatory expressions.

"We are definitely getting you drunk and making you spill your guts on what you left off," Tony declared.

"Definitely," Steve nodded in smug agreement. "Any way, we didn't want to wake him. We all kind of felt bad for him." he added, jerking his head in Banner's direction.

"Well he can't use Clint for a pillow forever," Natasha pointed out.

"Aww, come on, he's cute," Clint pouted as Steve and Tony struggled not to laugh. "He likes me, can I keep him Nat?"

"You're an asshole of the lowest order, Barton," Natasha insisted drily. "Send the poor man to bed so he can get some rest and stop treating him like a labrador."

"Do you think he'd panic if I carried him to his room?" Steve asked cautiously.

"Panic, freak out, Hulk out and toss you straight through the nearest window onto Park Avenue," Tony answered with a firm nod. Clint laughed as Steve sighed. "Mind you it would be totally worth the broken window just to see that... do you want me to put on the suit? I can catch you before you hit the pavement."

"Wake him now," Natasha ordered in a tone that declared that she brokered no argument.

"Bruce?" Clint jostled his shoulder with a grin. "Wakey wakey sunshine!" Banner let out a groan, wincing as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"Did I nod off?" he mumbled. He turned his face into Clint's chest with a sigh. Almost immediately he stiffened, jerking away.

"Take it easy, Big Guy," Clint laughed, clapping a reassuring hand in the middle of Banner's back.

"Sorry," Bruce offered, ducking his head uneasily.

"Shit, Bruce, you have a little anger management issue," Tony barked at him. "You're not a damn leper."

"Yeah, I'm not going to swell up and turn green because you drooled on my shoulder," Clint laughed, his eyes widened in mock horror and he turned to Tony. "I'm not going to turn green, am I?"

"Clint!" Steve gave him an appalled look as Bruce tried not to laugh.

"Clint, don't be an asshole," Natasha scolded, sipping her coffee. "You're scandalizing a national icon."

"You're Russian," Clint pointed out.

"You're not," she stated, hiding her smile.

"It's ok," Steve sighed. "I'm starting to get used to them."

"How long was I out?" Banner asked, ruffling his unkept hair.

"It's almost seven," Steve observed with a yawn. "so, about three hours maybe."

"Have you boys been sitting here all night?" Natasha queried, her lips curled in a dubious expression.

"Most of the night, yeah," Clint nodded, rubbing his neck. "Don't judge us."

"Yeah, we're emotionally traumatized, remember?" Tony added, throwing her a mocking look.

"Well you all look like hell," Natasha stated practically. "Normally I wouldn't take issue but this is Coulson's first day back on the job."

"I thought he wasn't supposed to be in until afternoon," Steve winced, rubbing his eyes.

"He's not scheduled until after noon," Clint sighed. "They discharged him last evening or he'd have probably turned up last night."

"They discharged him yesterday and he's back on the job already?" Bruce asked, horrified. "Shouldn't he have been on leave? Bed rest? A couple of sick days?"

"Coulson's never taken a sick day in his life," Natasha stated firmly. "Medical keeps him in as long as they dare because the second they let him out he's back at his desk."

"We'll go easy on him, Natasha," Steve promised, turning a scrutinizing eye on Tony. "All of us."

"Why are you making this about me?" Tony demanded irritably.

"Fury is screaming like a nine year old girl because you haven't scheduled any of the recommended psych appointments," Natasha declared eying Clint with a stony expression. He stiffened visibly, sucking in a sharp breath.

"I passed my psych eval," Clint protested, his brow knitting.

"You lied on your psyche eval," Natasha pointed out firmly.

"I always lie on my psyche eval," Clint declared defensively. "So do you! That's how we have jobs!"

"You're missing the point," Natasha scowled at him in frustration. "No one is buying that you're dealing with it this time. What do you think Coulson's going to think when he comes in here and sees you haven't slept or eaten properly in a week?" Clint didn't say anything.

"He can tell?" Steve asked, clearly impressed.

"He could tell I fractured my clavicle from the way I tilted my head," Natasha answered. "Don't ask me how."

"He's not going to throw me under the bus," Clint insisted. "He'd never do that."

"No he wouldn't," Natasha agreed. "Coulson has always had our backs, always. He'll sign off your paperwork and then make up some string of lies to tell Fury. And then the director's going to grill him for half an hour."

"He wouldn't dare," Clint shook his head but he didn't look at all convinced.

"Clint, have Phil schedule the damn appointment," Natasha pleaded. "All you have to do is go in and lie to psych a few times."

"I... Nat... You know I can't talk about it," Hawkeye's face was ashen gray as he looked up at her pleadingly. "I can't."

"He shouldn't even be out of medical yet, Clint," Natasha looked torn, her expression pinched as if she were trying to decide whom to save out of a burning building. Clint closed his eyes, shaking his head. He looked as if he might be ill. An uncomfortable stillness filled the room, chilling like hoarfrost. Steve shivered slightly.

"That reminds me," Bruce stated thoughtfully, stretching his shoulders. "I need to ask Coulson for the shield protocols for psychiatric documentation. We've had over a months worth of sessions that haven't been filed. I should be getting back pay, or something." And he turned to look at Clint with the most easy expression imaginable. Clint blinked at him twice, the only indication that he hadn't dropped dead of shock.

"You've been in private therapy since you got back from R&R," Steve nodded in agreement, the lie rolling off his tongue so easily that Clint looked as if he half believed it himself. "That should certainly count for something. Not that we'd pry, but it's sort of hard to live in the same house with someone and not realize he's seeking psychiatric help."

"I should go lay on your couch a while, Bruce," Tony added cheekily. "maybe I'd get some sleep. Clint seems pretty well adjusted, all things considered." Banner struggled not to laugh as Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Don't oversell it," she said with a scowl.

"Coulson's not going to buy that," Clint shook his head, smiling in spite of himself.

"He doesn't need to," Tony shrugged. "He just needs something to pacify Fury." Clint opened his mouth to reply but just as quickly snapped it shut.

"Fury's going to have kittens," he said finally, letting out a miserable sigh. "He's not stupid, he's going to know. He knows a snow job when he sees one."

"I could always sign off on your paperwork," Steve declared. Everyone turned to stare at him with varying degrees of perplexed expression.

"What?" Tony asked finally.

"Well, I'm signing my contract today, right?" Steve asked, turning to Natasha with serious eyes. "So, technically, I'm your team leader and that makes me your senior officer, right?" Natasha stared at him mutely.

"Yes," she stated finally.

"Then if I approve Clint's therapy sessions and sign off on his fitness evaluation it's out of Coulson's hands, isn't it? I mean, there's no sense in Fury interrogating him if he's not the one who signed off on the paperwork." Steve took a swallow from his coffee mug, eyeing the others as if challenging them to prove him wrong. He paused a moment, meeting Natasha's gaze. "Unless, of course, you think I shouldn't. I mean, you've known Clint longer than any of us. If you tell me he's fit, I'll take your word for it."

"He's as fit as he's ever been," Natasha declared evenly, staring at Rogers as if she weren't quite certain what to make of him. "Clint needs to be in the field."

"Then I'll sign off," Steve nodded once more, turning back to the table.

"Cap," Clint was well and truly gaping at him. "If I screw up, even a little bit."

"It's on me," Rogers finished, sipping his coffee. "Yeah, I know. But you're not going to screw up. So I don't have anything to worry about."

"Cap," Clint looked stunned and not entirely comfortable.

"I can handle Fury, don't worry," Steve leveled a firm look at him. "We're a team, we have to have each other's backs, that always has to be first or how do we trust each other?"

"And Coulson's as much a part of the team as anyone," Tony agreed nodding. Steve turned to look at him with the faintest smirk.

"Getting used to the whole team thing?" he asked, his tone just on the verge of teasing.

"I'm working on it," Tony answered, masking a defensive look.

"Maybe you should lay on Banner's couch," Rogers shot back. Bruce laughed as Tony let out a groan.

"Tried that already," Tony rolled his eyes. "Off the record, Barton, you have a crappy therapist." Bruce and Clint were both giggling as Natasha rolled her eyes.

"So that's it then?" She asked with a sigh, leaning on the counter. "You just expect everyone to go along with whatever you say because you're Captain America and this is the Avengers?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Tony nodded. "He's a dick like that." Steve gave him a perturbed look.

"Thanks," Clint said softly, staring down into his empty coffee mug. "Really guys, thank you."

"Hey, you let me drool on you," Bruce shrugged, the faintest hint of color in his cheeks. "Least I could do."

"If you ever do want to talk about it," Steve began hesitantly.

"There's a whole kitchen full of neurotic misfits here a three in the morning," Natasha cut in. Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing as Tony pointed at Natasha with an expression that fairly shouted "nailed it."

"We're a piece of work," Steve shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. "Come on, guys, lets get cleaned up before Coulson gets here."

"Assemble and shit," Tony nodded in agreement. "I need a shower. JARVIS, get something catered in for lunch, whatever Coulson's favorite is."

"There's a deli down on 38th," Clint suggested.

"I shall make the necessary arrangements, sir," JARVIS intoned. "Shall I inform you when he's headed up?"

"Yeah, nagging commentary all around," Tony nodded, following Steve and Bruce out of the kitchen.

"How did this happen?" Clint asked, looking a bit uneasy.

"You got your head screwed with, I tried to shoot a physicist," Natasha gave an elegant shrug. "Aliens invaded, Phil died and just like that, we're super heroes."

"Thanks for the clarification," Clint stated, watching her sashay out the door. He stared at it in confusion for a long moment, unable to get traction over the feeling that his reality was spiraling out of control.

"You okay?" Steve was leaning back in at the doorway, awkward, hesitant, his movements and body language that of someone much smaller and far less strong. Clint stared back at him a moment.

"No," he admitted finally, shaking his head.

"Yeah, me either," Steve's face flushed and he glanced at his feet. Clint smiled at that.

"It's an unrealistic expectation, isn't it?" He asked uneasily.

"I think so," Steve nodded, in agreement. He jerked his head toward the hall and Clint sighed, falling into step beside him.

"It's been two months," Clint offered hesitantly. "Pretty soon the dust is going to clear enough that people are going to want answers, want someone held accountable. And when that happens they're going to come after me."

"Not going to happen," Steve shook his head assuringly.

"Because you're Captain America?" Barton asked, the faintest note of bitterness in his tone. Steve grinned brightly at him.

"No," he stated. "Because last week I caught Tony installing repulsers in all the major corridors between here and the lobby." Clint choked on a laugh, his shoulders shaking as they ambled down the corridor.

Author's Note:

This story is part of a series called "Coulson Lives but the Avengers Might be the Death of him." The full list of stories and their chronological order can be found on my profile page