Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Phil flipped through his email as he made coffee in his own kitchen, enjoying the quiet Saturday morning. He couldn't keep his thoughts off the team, though. Steve and Bucky had headed outside for exercise. Clint and Natasha had gone downstairs to help Betty with some sort of weaponry analysis in the lab. Phil wasn't sure what Bruce and Tony might be up to at this hour. He fiddled with his Starkpad, fingers restless on the controls.

"Phil, are you all right? You seem worried," JARVIS said.

"I'm glad that Steve finally managed to coax Bucky out of the tower, but yes, I'm also a little concerned about safety. The modern world can be overwhelming to people who aren't used to it," Phil said. Steve hadn't reacted at all well to his first exposure. Although he had adapted since, it still made him twitchy on occasion. Phil blamed Fury for that. "This is the first time Bucky has been outside easy reach since we rescued him." Bucky had stepped outdoors a few times, but stayed within the tower's immediate footprint.

"Not outside my reach," JARVIS said. "Here, you can watch them run." A grainy image appeared on Phil's screen, showing the two super-soldiers as they loped easily down the sidewalk. After a few seconds it changed to a different angle and a much clearer image.

"Are you ... following them through security cameras?" Phil asked. "Do they know about this?" In his experience, people tended to object to that kind of surveillance. Phil himself never turned off the tower security feed, except for extreme clearance reasons or someone else's privacy request. It didn't feel right, after the way he hacked into JARVIS when they first met, and especially now that JARVIS and Tony had introduced him to the intimate code. Phil couldn't undo the original violation, but he could act to balance their respective access to each other, so Phil didn't hide from JARVIS. He had, however, thought that the only other person so open with JARVIS was Tony.

"Yes and yes," JARVIS said. "Watch, and I'll prove it."

The perspective changed again, this time a frontal view. It bobbed up and then down. Neither of the men changed their pace, but Steve's hand made the OK sign and then lifted in a cheery wave as he grinned at the camera.

"They don't seem to mind you watching them," Phil mused. He filled his coffee cup and sipped thoughtfully.

"Steve says he feels safer with friendly eyes on his back," JARVIS said. "I have telemetry too if you want it." Vital signs stacked neatly down the side of the screen.

"How can you get those readings outside the tower?" Phil asked.

"They're wearing monitors," JARVIS said. "Bruce shared his design for the wrist model. Tony upgraded it for him. Steve noticed the change and requested a copy for workout purposes."

Of course Steve would want that, Phil realized. He organizes most of the physical fitness routines for the team. This tells him more about how well those work.

It was more than just that, though. It was another example of Steve's innate gift for leadership and cooperation. He saw a need and asked his teammates to help address it -- Bruce for the initial design, Tony for the improvements, JARVIS for the data handling. Steve did things like this easily, gracefully, pulling along a bunch of touchy individualists and melding them into a real team. It was utterly beautiful in a handler's eyes.

"Speaking of Bruce, where is he?" Phil asked.

"Fairly close to Steve and Bucky, on their seven o'clock," JARVIS said.

"He's actually out running with them?" Phil said. Bruce strongly preferred not to raise his heart rate if he could avoid it. "When did this happen?"

"It's a new development as of this week," JARVIS said. "I'm sorry, it's hard to get a camera on him. He tends to avoid them, and he's so -- oh, here he comes!"

Bruce darted between Steve and Bucky, slapping Steve on the shoulder as he passed. Bucky swiped at him but missed. Bruce ran lightly up a low wall, scampered along the top, and then disappeared down the other side. The whole pass had taken less than three seconds.

A score popped up beneath the vital signs, showing how often Bruce had tagged Steve and Bucky, and how often they'd managed to connect with him. Bruce was two points ahead. Bucky had succeeded in tapping him several times, Steve less so. Interesting.

As Phil watched, Bruce pounced on them from behind two garbage cans, but failed to tag anyone this time. He was grinning anyway as he dodged between parked cars. All three men seemed to be keeping a careful eye on traffic and other potential hazards.

"Freerunning," Phil murmured. "I forgot about that." It was easy to forget, because Bruce made it easy. He presented the image of a dumpy scientist, and people overlooked just how fast and flexible he really was. Phil recalled the reports, now, from Bruce's escapes in various countries. The race through the favelas of Brazil was legendary. General Ross and his men had been so outclassed.

I wonder if we're underutilizing Bruce in the field, Phil mused. Then he added aloud, "Do Clint and Natasha know about this?" They would love it.

"No, and we're not allowed to tell them yet. Bruce isn't willing to run with them, and Steve promised him a week before sharing the idea," said JARVIS. Bruce and Natasha trusted each other far more now than when they first met, but there were limits. They still had trouble with some new activities. Fast or unexpected movements were an issue too. They worked around that as best they could.

"Because they'll probably wind up taking turns, and Steve wants Bruce to get as much exercise as possible," Phil guessed.

"That matches my conclusion, yes," said JARVIS.

"Well, I trust the team to work it out," said Phil. He went back to work reading his email, but from time to time he tabbed over to the screen showing the three (or two, usually) men as they made a long loop around the tower neighborhood. It felt good just to see Bruce so happy, so playful, for once. Even now he tended to be somber much of the time. The damage from his childhood and his fugitive years cast long shadows.

When they came home, Phil set his work aside so that he could go meet them. They trooped through the common floor into the kitchen. Bruce was panting for breath, soaked with sweat. Steve and Bucky just had a nice glow. Bucky paused for a moment, laying his head against Steve's chest.

What in the world ...? Phil wondered. Then he realized that Bucky was listening to the deep clear sound of Steve's breath, sharing in the joy of a healthy body. Bruce joined them. Bucky looped an arm around him without hesitation, pulling him into a little family hug.

Steve finally shooed them away so that he could root in the refrigerator. He came out with an armload of Gatorade bottles in rainbow colors. As Steve passed those around, Phil pushed away from the threshold and stepped into the kitchen.
Bruce startled. "Uh, Phil ... what're you, I mean, uh, good morning."

"Good morning, everyone," Phil said. "You look like you've been having fun."

"Yeah, it was great," Bucky said. "Steve invited us out for a morning run. I could get used to this." He laced his fingers together, sheathed metal against flesh. "I've missed being able to work out at full throttle."

Bruce tucked his chin against his chest, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Phil took that as a good sign. Usually Bruce was quick to include himself out of activities, especially physical exertion. Bucky's enjoyment of the excursion also boded well. Tony had trips planned with both of them. Phil suspected that Steve meant this venture as a discreet test of their comfort levels.

"I'm pleased to hear that," Phil said. He patted them as he passed on the way to the refrigerator. Heat rose off their bodies in waves. "Congratulations on your win, Bruce." Phil pulled out a bottle of orange juice and shut the door. It gave him an excuse for being in the kitchen.

"Uh, thanks, I guess," said Bruce.

"What were you playing for?" Phil asked.

"I get jelly beans, Bucky gets sour patch kids, and Bruce gets saltwater taffy," Steve explained as he dug into the divided candy jar that JARVIS had just unlocked. "We each get one piece per point we score."

Phil chuckled. "Well done."

Bucky finished his Gatorade and popped his prize into his mouth. Then he rummaged in a paper bag that they had evidently picked up while outside.

"Redline? Honestly, is that what you were doing while I was running the fire escape?" Bruce said. "You went shopping for energy drinks while I wasn't looking. Guys, this is not smart, that stuff isn't good for you --"

"Yeah, but it tastes great," Steve said. "I know, you told us all the fake-sugar-things are bad. Look, this is a new flavor, with real sugar. I checked."

"That's not actually good, it's just ... less bad," Bruce said. "Now you're getting Bucky into this stuff too? Not helping, Steve."

"I just want to try it," Bucky said. "Now that we're warmed up, we're going down to the gym for a real workout. Could use something with a little kick, you know?" He headed for the door, a cluster of colorful cans swinging from his fingers. Steve grabbed the other six-pack and followed him.

"Oh well ... at least they remembered the warning about artificial sweeteners," Bruce muttered. "Small steps."

Phil gave him a friendly nudge. "You know how Steve gets with sweet things. Just teaching him to read the labels first is an accomplishment," Phil said. "Be patient with them. They're trying to be good. Food is more complicated now than it used to be."

"Yeah, I know," Bruce said, bumping softly against Phil's shoulder.

"So what have you been up to, besides getting out in the world?" Phil asked.

Bruce burbled about yesterday's astrophysics experiments for a solid ten minutes. Phil listened fondly. Bruce might not be very comfortable with ordinary small talk, but it didn't take much to get him going on about science. "... and you probably haven't understood a word I've said," Bruce finished with a guilty twitch.

"I'm high-speed; if you keep talking about this stuff, eventually I'll pick up enough to follow you even if I couldn't do any of it myself," Phil said.

"Okay," Bruce said. Then he grimaced and raked a hand through his sweaty hair. "I should rinse off and then get back down to the lab. Betty's working on gamma weapons; she might need another pair of eyes on that. Plus Tony wants me to proofread the specs for Bucky's replacement arm. We're about ready to start building a prototype. Tony's been collecting spare parts all week, along with tooling some stuff from scratch; he wants to try some different options to see what works best."

"I'll leave you to it," Phil said. Then he headed back to work. It was enough to know that everyone came home safe, neither Bruce nor Bucky too rattled by the excursion outside the tower, and Steve not overwhelmed by the modern city. Slowly but surely they were adapting to their new life here.

Once in his office, Phil worked through the next lesson in quaternary code. He was learning the actual vocabulary now. The objects, actions, and other components were made up of smaller pieces that came together to express ideas. It was intricate, yet elegant, and he couldn't help admiring it.

That reminded Phil of a conversation he'd been meaning to broach for a while now.

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"Today is Saturday," Phil said. "JARVIS, do you ever think about joining us for game night? I know you still respond to requests, but you don't usually play with us."

"I regret that I do not have much imagination, Phil," said JARVIS.

"Baloney," Phil said firmly. "You have a splendid sense of irony and dry humor. That requires creativity. You make up your own lines; you don't copy them from anyone else. Besides, I've heard you call Tony 'young sir' instead of just 'sir' on occasion."

"I would not wish to intrude. Some people do not like it when I make myself too ... obtrusive," said JARVIS.

"You're not intruding," Phil said. "You live here. We live inside your body! I don't shut off the security feeds for sake of my own privacy. Steve feels safer when you follow him around town. If anyone was going to balk, they would have done it a long time ago. JARVIS, you've been a part of this group since the beginning -- it's not like adding a new person. I just want to know if you'd like to step up your participation. It's okay, either way."

"I will think about it. I enjoy assisting you and watching the 'children' play. Perhaps we may explore ... small ways," JARVIS said.

Phil remembered how JARVIS had once played hot-and-cold to help Tony find a lost game piece. It came as no surprise that JARVIS, a consummate caregiver, favored the adult role in ageplay. "Whatever makes you comfortable," Phil said.
"Thank you for thinking of me," JARVIS said. "It is nice to be invited."

Phil realized that while Tony included JARVIS in practically everything he did, and everyone asked JARVIS for help as needed, the other Avengers were just now learning to include him in activities or conversations as company rather than as a servant. Maybe if Phil modeled a more inclusive approach, it would catch on faster.

"I'd like to bring a new game tonight," Phil said. "Which one do you think we should pull out of the closet?"

The inventory of Phil's stash appeared on his screen. "The previous introduction was Bausack towers, a game requiring dexterity and strategy," said JARVIS. "I recommend Wi$e Money. Based on your earlier discussion with Clint, it meets several objectives for cooperation and personal growth. The numerical and social aspects also make it a nice contrast to the last new game."

"That sounds good to me too; please make a note," Phil said.

"Noted," JARVIS said. He'd remind Phil to fetch the game before the session started, if Phil forgot.

With that taken care of, Phil turned his attention to SHIELD matters. A whole heap of paperwork had arrived, almost all of it inter-organizational entanglement forms. From what Phil could make out, SHIELD had left MI5 in the lurch when a joint raid had gone awry. He was not pleased; he had friends in MI5, including Peggy Carter's niece Sharon. This mess left him worried about whether they might get hurt because some agents were a little too quick to write off allies. Doubtless the Queen would not be amused. Phil got the sinking sensation that some of this would land in Natasha's lap again.

As if that wasn't enough, Jóhanna Sigurðardóttir, Prime Minister of Iceland, was ranting about SHIELD finances. Apparently someone had furnished the Office of the Special Prosecutor with evidence of SHIELD's involvement in the economic crisis that had ruined several major banks and sent a number of bankers to prison. Technically SHIELD had not caused said crisis, just sought a quick profit and some ulterior influence, but it had sure contributed to the mayhem.

Phil never had liked the weasely little fellow in Accounting who had proposed the venture. It was easy to highlight a few violations of SHIELD regulations in the accountant's file and recommend feeding him to the Special Prosecutor as a way to mollify Prime Minister Sigurðardóttir.

After Phil found a stopping place in the endless flow of paperwork, he headed to the common kitchen. Bruce was already there, puttering around with things for lunch.

"I was thinking maybe grilled sandwiches?" Bruce said. "But the electric griddle is, um ..." He waved a hand at it.

"I believe the word you're looking for is cannibalized," Phil said, looking at the remains of the griddle. A pathetic bundle of loose wires trailed from one handle. In the process of testing components for Bucky's replacement arm, Tony was yanking bits of hardware out of random appliances. "I think the reason Tony collects kitchen gadgets is so that he has more things to take apart."

"Sadly, that explanation makes perfect sense," Bruce said.

"Can you fix it?" Phil asked. "I know that you worked as a factory repairman in Brazil."

"I worked any job I could get in Brazil," Bruce said. He poked tentatively at the innards of the griddle. "I could probably cobble this back together, but not in time for lunch. I make a better doctor than I do a mechanic. Biology and physics make more sense to me, because at least there I can rely on my instincts. Engineering, not as much; I have to go by the book mostly. It's ironic that even in my worst subjects, I'm good enough for basic professional work." Bruce sighed. "I suppose I should find a toolkit ..."

"We have a sandwich press," Phil said. He pulled it out of the cabinet.

"Day: saved," Bruce said happily.

Just then Bucky appeared, clinging to the side of the kitchen door. He looked awful, pale and damp with sweat.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked as he and Phil hurried over. They draped Bucky between them and settled him into a chair. Bruce took the next chair.

"I feel like crap," Bucky said as he wilted over the table.

Bruce's hands moved over his body with deft, confident touches. "You're running way too fast," he murmured, fingers curled around Bucky's wrist. "Now what could possibly -- oh for Pete's sake. Bucky, how much of that blasted Redline did you take?"

"Just the six-pack," Bucky said. His dark hair spilled over his face.

"No wonder you're such a mess," Bruce said. "You've had too much caffeine and sugar, not to mention all the other crud in that stuff. It's hard enough on an ordinary human body -- but your faster metabolism makes the spike narrower and the crash worse. Headache? Stomachache?"

"Yes, both," Bucky said. "Can you give me something to fix this? Steve mentioned a while back that you'd found a few drugs that would work for us."

"Drugs aren't a good idea right now," Bruce said. "You've already wrenched your body's rhythm out of balance. It needs to settle down on its own, not get yanked around again, unless you seem to be having serious trouble. You're not in danger; you're just uncomfortable. It will fade in a few minutes and you'll be fine."

Bucky whimpered.

"Shh, I'm not refusing to help, it's just that your request wasn't the best idea," Bruce said. Clearly he didn't want to discourage Bucky's willingness to ask for care when he needed it. "Phil, we need a bottle of water and a handful of saltines."

Phil went to get the necessary supplies, along with a plate for the crackers. He set them on the table.

Bruce was rubbing gentle circles over Bucky's back. "Focus on your breathing," Bruce said. "Try to slow it down a little. Take long, deep breaths."

Phil headed to the sink, where he held a dishcloth under the faucet. He came back and draped the wet cloth over the back of Bucky's neck. Then he sat down on the other side of Bucky.

"Thanks, Phil, that's a good idea," said Bruce. "Bucky, how are you feeling now?"

"Little better," Bucky said.

"Okay. Sit up," Bruce said. He lifted Bucky off the table and leaned him against the back of the chair. Then Bruce opened the bottle of water and offered it to him. "Take small sips and space them out. Start nibbling on the crackers when you feel ready. If your stomach doesn't like it, wait a little while and try again."

Bucky obeyed without question. That was interesting. The water and saltines gradually revived him. "Thanks, Doc," he said.

"You're welcome," Bruce said. "The next time I give you advice, will you listen?"

"Yes, sir," Bucky said. He looked glum but determined.

Steve came in then, glanced at Bucky, and hurried over to the table. "What happened to you?" he asked. "Did we overdo it in practice today?"

"Too much Redline," Bucky said. "Don't worry, runt, they're taking good care of me." He flipped a hand at Bruce and Phil.

"Of course we are," Bruce said, looking at Bucky. "Now, are you willing to go over what happened, so we can make sure it doesn't happen again?"

"I am never touching that stuff again," Bucky said. He munched his way steadily through the saltines. "You warned me, and I didn't listen, and I should have. I won't repeat that mistake. It was just ... I wanted to try it, and it tasted so good ..."

"You don't usually like things that sweet," Bruce said.

"No, it was too sweet, like cough syrup," Bucky said. He started to shake his head and then stopped. "I liked the metallic taste."

"I like that part too, although I like sweet things more," said Steve.

"Hmm ... sounds like you're picking up the trace minerals," Bruce said. "You know, we have all kinds of supplements in the smoothie cabinet. You don't have to settle for those lousy energy drinks. Me, I like fancy salts -- used to go for sea salt until Tony turned me on to the gourmet stuff with a different mineral kick for every color. Those are in the spice cabinet, but they work fine in smoothies."

"I don't know how to make smoothies," Bucky said.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, those are new to us."

"You don't have to do everything yourselves," Bruce said. "I'll give you a tour of the ingredients later. You can ask JARVIS for recipes if you're not sure where to start -- or just ask me or Tony to make a smoothie for you."

"Okay," Bucky said. He took one more cracker from the plate, then pushed the last couple toward Steve, who accepted them.

Bruce pulled out his Starkphone. His fingers danced across the smooth screen, calling up the security feed from the gym earlier and the readings for Bucky's body. "Wow, you really did a number on yourself," Bruce said. "Look at all this." He tilted the screen so Bucky could see.

Bucky shrugged. "Sorry, Doc, I can't read that."

"Okay, I'll unpack a little more," Bruce said. "Here, this is how your body normally behaves during a workout. Then you start on the Redline, and pretty soon the caffeine and sugar make your metabolism speed up. They don't last long, though, so you start to come down." His finger traced a line on the screen. "Then you take another hit of Redline, and it goes back up, farther this time."

"Huh," Bucky said, trying to follow along. A frown line appeared between his eyebrows. "Yeah, I see it now."

"What made this a problem is that you pushed your body too high, too fast. Then it wore off suddenly, and you felt miserable," Bruce said.

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"If energy drinks do this to people, why do they still buy the stuff?" Bucky said.

"Some try it once, hate it, and stop using it. Others like the effects," Bruce said. "Then again, most people only drink a little at a time. It's not meant for large doses."

"So basically I was stupid," Bucky said.

"No putting yourself down," Phil interrupted. "Nobody made this stuff when you were growing up. It takes a while to catch up when you've missed as much time as you have."

"Also, you're not ordinary, Bucky," said Bruce. "Your body burns through things faster than normal. Steve, that's even more true for you. Sometimes that's an advantage, other times it's a disadvantage. Look, here's how fast an average person burns through sugar, fat, and protein. See how narrow that peak is for sugar? For you guys it's even narrower, so you crash harder. That's why a healthy diet balances out the different sources of energy, to create a steadier burn without that sharp spike-and-drop effect."

"Doesn't look like it's good for anyone, really," said Steve.

"Well, I don't think so, but nobody asked me," Bruce said. "There have been some health problems associated with energy drinks, and a few fatalities that might be connected. No hard proof yet, but you don't see me putting that stuff in my mouth."

"And you can't even be poisoned," Bucky said.

Phil's eyebrows went up. "I did not know about the possible fatalities," he said. "Some agents have a taste for energy drinks. We do not need what happened to Bucky happening in the field." There were worse things that people could be abusing, but it still wasn't a reassuring thought.

"I wouldn't recommend energy drinks for field use," Bruce said. "That would make a bad combination with certain other drugs, or most injuries."

"Yeah, I would not want to crash like this in a combat situation," Bucky said.

"I'm glad you figured that out," Bruce said. "I just hope others do too."

"You're officially listed as a SHIELD medic. Do you want to file a stance?" Phil said.

"What, you think people would listen to me?" Bruce said with a grimace. "Kolkata. Helicarrier. Nobody ever fucking listens to me."

"They'll learn," Bucky said with a rueful chuckle. "Doc, don't underestimate your smarts just because some of us slowpokes take a while to catch on."

"I'll walk you through the paperwork," Phil offered.

"Steve and I can back up your report," Bucky said. Steve nodded agreement. "Like I said, we should've listened to you, so we owe you a favor. I don't want SHIELD seeing any more of my personal information, but you can summarize what happened and I'll sign off on it. Maybe that'll prevent a similar problem from happening to someone else. Phil's right; it could get bad in the field, not just for one person, but for their whole team."

"Yeah, okay," Bruce said.

Clint and Natasha arrived then. "Hey, what happened to lunch?" Clint asked, looking at the half-empty counter strewn with a few condiments.

"Prep work got delayed by a minor dietary mishap," Bruce said. "It's all taken care of now, I'll come --"

"Nah, I got this. You were setting up for sandwiches, yeah?" Clint said. Then he saw the eviscerated griddle. "Aww, jeez, Tony killed another gadget?"

"Temporarily," Bruce said. "Just use the sandwich press."

"Never mind, I'll work the press," Phil said as he stood up. "Clint, pull some meats and cheeses out of the refrigerator, please." Clint did so. Without being asked, Natasha procured a knife and began slicing fruits and vegetables. Phil started a grilled cheese sandwich for Clint.

"Doc, can I have a sandwich?" Bucky asked, eyeing the array of food.

"Sure. Start with something mild, and only eat one for now. How does turkey, gouda, and apple sound?" Bruce said.

"I have no idea. I'm not really used to fancy stuff yet," Bucky said.

"Will you trust me enough to try it?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," Bucky said instantly.

Bruce smiled at him, sweet and a little bashful, then got up to make the sandwich. Phil put Clint's grilled cheese on a plate and took it to him, leaving the press for Bruce. The moment Bucky's sandwich started to heat, it smelled delicious.

Tony and Betty showed up, still in their white lab coats, talking about something that involved as much Latin as English. Bucky flicked a glance at them and then looked away. Clint ducked under Tony's waving arms. Bruce brought Bucky's sandwich to the table.

"Pick mine too?" Steve said wistfully, looking at Bruce.

"Um ... okay," Bruce said. "How about ... honey-glazed chicken, edam, and pear? Do we have some of that chicken left?" He craned his neck at the jumble of ingredients.

"Yeah, it's under the maple ham," said Clint.

"Dibs on the ham," Tony said. "I want swiss cheese and mustard and a handful of the plain lettuce, not that spicy mixed crud that Bruce likes."

"Take a number and get in line," Phil said firmly as he assembled Steve's sandwich. Tony pouted a little. Phil ignored it.

"Bucky, is that sandwich working for you?" Bruce asked.

Bucky nodded emphatically, his mouth full.

"Okay, I'm going to go help Phil," said Bruce. He moved to the counter. "I pack, you grill?"

"Sure," Phil said.

"Assembly line!" Tony crowed as Bruce began making up his order.

Natasha sidled up to Bruce. "May I have a sandwich suggestion too?" she asked softly.

Phil startled a bit at that. Natasha almost never gave up control of her body or what went into it. This was an unusual display of trust for her, or perhaps just curiosity. Either way it was a good sign. She seemed to be watching Bucky enjoy his lunch.

"Well. Um." Bruce was bemused but still willing. His eyes looked almost hazel in the soft kitchen light. He turned thoughtful. "Dark rye bread." They'd been using a plain white loaf from the bakery, but they did have others. "Roast beef. Horseradish sauce. Handful of mesclun mix; you'll like the bitter leaves in that. Did you slice any of the chocolate tomatoes or just the red ones?"

Natasha pointed at the rows of brown and red vegetables splayed neatly along the cutting board. "Yes, both."

"Okay, the chocolate ones," Bruce said. "Then a sharp white cheddar -- oh, we'll need to grate it with something else like gouda so it'll glue everything together properly. Sorry, Phil, this is getting too complicated."

Natasha gave Phil a silent look, her eyes huge.

"Don't be silly, Bruce. It's just a sandwich. I'll make whatever people want," Phil said as he took Tony's off the press.

Tony grabbed it eagerly. "Thanks, Phil," he said.

"I've got this," Clint said as he started grating the white cheddar together with a chunk of gouda.

After that, everyone else wanted Bruce to design a sandwich for them, too. Phil savored his own. Even Tony said, "I'm tempted after this display of culinary brilliance, but I don't think I could eat a whole second sandwich."

Steve said, "Get what you want. I'll finish whatever you don't." So Bruce did one for Tony too.

"What about you, Bruce?" Phil asked.

Bruce shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I guess I'm out of ideas. Just throw together whatever's left."

"All right, I'll take care of it," Phil said, pushing his empty plate away to return to cooking. He chose the maple ham for its sweet-salt flavor, layered with swiss cheese, mesclun mix, and the last of the red tomatoes. Phil hoped it was half as good as Bruce's artful choices. Bruce certainly seemed pleased with the results.

After lunch, Tony and Betty cleared the table. Bucky washed the dishes while Steve put them away. Bruce poked at the remains of the griddle.

Bucky called out, "Just leave it, Bruce, I can fix that as soon as I dry off my hands."

Bruce gave him a startled look. "Okay ... I guess I'll head back down to my lab."

That's an excellent sign, Phil thought. Bucky needs to find more things to do so that he doesn't feel so useless. I'm glad to see Tony supporting that.

"Tony, it's kind of a pain when you disassemble things that other people want to use," Clint pointed out.

"Sorry about the mess, folks, I got a little distracted," Tony said. "JARVIS, send up somebody with whatever spare parts Bucky needs to fix the griddle."

Phil couldn't help wondering if Tony had gutted the appliance for precisely that purpose, in addition to whatever components he actually wanted from it.

"As you wish, sir," JARVIS replied.

"And JARVIS? The next time Tony yanks parts out of something, just get replacements and put whatever it is on a repair list for me," Bucky said. "I don't mind following him around to fix things as long as it's simple stuff like appliances. If he lobotomizes the entertainment center, though, he'll probably have to fix that himself."

"Parameters accepted," JARVIS said.

When Phil returned to his office, he started with SHIELD news but soon switched over to the Avengers. An email from Dr. Samson listed new services available to SHIELD personnel and consultants. Phil tabbed through descriptions of each option, including group therapy and private sessions designed to address the specific types of trouble that came from shadow work.

From the precision of the titles -- Mass Attack Trauma Recovery, Partner Loss Support, Mutant and Nonhuman Awareness -- Phil suspected that Dr. Samson had surveyed numerous agents and then designed offerings to address the most common or least serviced needs. There were different frameworks involved. Mass Attack had closed enrollment, intended to start a group after each relevant occasion, while Nonhuman Awareness had open enrollment. Phil spent a few minutes forwarding the information to the Avengers, with a customized note for each one highlighting what they might find worthy of consideration.

That reminded Phil of various self-care assignments in progress. First he checked on Bucky, who was supposed to be drafting a mental care plan for times when his memory or mood misfired badly enough that he couldn't make his own decisions. Bucky's level of PTSD and other impairment left him able to manage most everyday tasks, but on occasion stress overloaded his resilience or he couldn't muster enough recollection to function. JARVIS had compiled a stack of articles, instructions, samples, and blank forms for him. Bucky was making his way through them slowly but methodically, judging from the notes attached to the files in the "read" folder.

So far, Bucky logged one completed worksheet, an updated trigger list with the items sorted by severity. He marked several as "currently working on" including anger, feeling useless, being touched, and feeling out of control. Farther down the list were things like someone right behind me, cryonics, I hate my fucking hair, and forgetting things.

Phil was fascinated to discover that Bucky had also cross-referenced the checklist to another chart of PTSD symptoms, indicating how each trigger typically made him respond. That made it easy to see at a glance which were likely to cause a five-minute panic attack, which caused longer decompensation, and which could provoke physical retaliation. From there Phil could extrapolate what circumstances might activate the personal safety plan that Bucky managed himself, and which would require the mental care plan that other people applied. That was so useful that Phil flagged the cross-referencing idea for use by anyone else who kept a trigger list.

Bucky isn't far enough through the planning process to need another conversation on the topic, though, Phil decided.

Chapter Text

Phil turned to Tony's project on coping skills. The problem there was twofold: when upset, Tony felt uncomfortable around other people but tended to spiral out of control if left alone. That left him with no real "safe" option. Tony needs to work on both ends of that spectrum, learning to find comfort in company and discovering ways of soothing himself, Phil mused. According to the records, Tony had blazed through self-help articles and tip sheets, then psych journal articles, and finally a half-dozen college textbooks.

There were completed worksheets in the project folder. Some of them Phil could view, while others lay behind a privacy lock. Tony had finished worksheets sorting stressors by source and intensity, followed by one on signs of stress. Then he had stalled out partway through mapping arousal curves and strategies. The reading log indicated that Tony at least looked at lists of coping skills, and a few exercises, but his coverage of that area was patchy compared to other subtopics.

Tony knows exactly what bothers him and how much, but not what to do about it, Phil thought. That matches my observations. Maybe I can help him get unstuck.

"JARVIS, how busy is Tony right now?" Phil asked.

"Sir is in his lab, stress-testing various components for Bucky's replacement arm," JARVIS replied. Pause. "He is willing to take a break if you need him."

"Yes, please, invite him to join me after he reaches a good stopping place," Phil said.

"Done," JARVIS said.

Phil continued browsing Tony's folder. Some of the entries were humorous. A flow chart of coping skills vs. urges had been collaged into a diagram of Tony's more colorful escapades. Evidently he showed that one to Rhodey, who had added a few tart comments of his own. Two different bingo cards had been attempted. On the one with a mix of positive and negative behaviors, Tony had bingoed down the column of red flags. On the all-positive one, he had several random squares but nothing close to completion.

"I like this idea," Phil announced. "JARVIS, compile a nice long list of healthy techniques and randomize those onto some bingo cards. Add that to the shared games archive. Send an announcement to the whole team. Anyone who wants to play can claim a card. Are you willing to double-check the scoring? You see pretty much everything in the tower."

"Yes, of course," JARVIS replied. "Are we scoring for attempting a technique or actually succeeding with it?"

"Attempting, as long as they make an honest effort," Phil said. "I want to encourage people to try new approaches so that they can learn what works for them and what doesn't."

"Will there be prizes to encourage participation?" JARVIS asked.

"Pull up the reward list," Phil said. He had compiled things that people enjoyed which he could hand out as perks for accomplishments. It included options like pick which movie to watch together, skip a noncritical meeting, someone else does a chore for you, and choose a recipe for game night. Phil checked off an assortment of entries. "Completing a bingo earns the winner's choice of these."

"Noted and logged," JARVIS said.

Just then Tony arrived, looking energetic but a little frazzled. "Thanks for the excuse to do something else," he said. "I'm running into material problems where stuff that works for everyday use isn't durable enough for combat or mechanical work, but stuff that can stand up to hard use is clunky, heavy, or ugly. I may have to give up on versatility and make two specialized arms."

"It sounds like you need to discuss that with Bucky," Phil said. "He didn't get to pick the one he's wearing now, and that bothers him."

"Yeah, only Bucky's tolerance for talking about his gear isn't much higher than mine for talking about Howard," Tony said with a grimace. "He can go for a few minutes and then his mood usually tanks out. Plus he hardly knows what the options are so I have to explain from scratch. That undercuts my ability to customize according to his needs."

"I'm confident that the two of you can work it out," Phil said.

"We'll manage. So, you wanted to see me about something?" Tony said.

"Yes, I've been reading some mental maintenance materials," Phil said. He turned off the big screen on his desk and picked up his Starkpad. Then he moved to the couch. "You've made good progress on yours, though you seem to have gotten stuck recently."

"Is this where you tell me to go see a real shrink?" Tony guessed. He settled next to Phil, close enough to touch but not touching yet.

"Only if you feel like that would help. Speaking of which, Tony, Dr. Samson has started a Mad Science Torture support group at SHIELD," said Phil.

"And this is relevant to me exactly how?" Tony said, frowning. "Bucky and Natasha, sure, maybe Bruce. My experiences with torture have been perfectly plebian. Fist in face, waterboarding, a little electrical play, nothing to write home about."

"I've read the reports about what happened with Yinsen," Phil said quietly. "Start with the fact that you were awake at least part of the time he was digging shrapnel out of your chest and hooking you up to a car battery."

Tony looked away. "Yeah, no, that doesn't count," he said. "What the Ten Rings did to us, that was torture. Yinsen was just ... short on supplies, and not too fond of the name Stark, neither of which I can blame him for. So you don't talk about him like that, and fuck, I don't want to talk about Afghanistan at all. Much less with a bunch of spies I don't even know."

"All right, Tony, it's your call. I just wanted you to know there are options opening up, and this seemed like a possible match for your experiences," Phil said. "It's not like you could take some of your concerns to an ordinary counselor."

"Talk about collateral damage," Tony said darkly. "Normal people do not need to hear shit like this. It's bad enough for soldiers who come home with PTSD and try taking it to a civilian. One of Rhodey's friends made a shrink cry that way. Superhero problems? Don't even go there." He crossed his arms.

"Okay," Phil said. "Shall we look over your work instead? You really got a lot done. I'm impressed."

"What, with how fucked up I am?" Tony said.

"No, with the precision of your self-knowledge," Phil said. "I'm more used to working with people who can't see themselves this clearly."

"So I know what bugs the crap out of me. I don't see how that's helpful," Tony said.

"Suppose a car won't start. What do you do first?" Phil said.

"Pop the hood and figure out why not," Tony said, uncrossing his arms to mime poking at an engine. Then he gave a thoughtful hum. "Oh, I get it. The first step to solving any problem is to find out what the problem is."

"Exactly," Phil said. "So now we know some things that bother you, which ones have worse impact, and the signs of stress you might show. Next we can think about what might help."

"Yeah, that's where I got stuck. Most of the so-called 'coping skills' just sound stupid. I mean, candlemaking? Seriously, is this a thing?" Tony said.

"Some people find crafts relaxing," Phil said. "You build machines. They might sew or paint or, yes, make candles. Here, take this list and sort the suggestions into Stupid and Not So Stupid."

Tony laughed. "Really? Those are the categories?"

"I think they might work for you. Just give it a try," Phil said. He passed Tony his Starkpad.

Tony set to the task with a flick of his fingers. It only took him a few minutes to sort through the list. "Done. Now what?" he said.

"Take the Stupid list and mark things you absolutely won't try," Phil said.

Tony smiled as he crossed off options with vigorous strokes. Phil wasn't surprised to see Talk to strangers, Spirituality, Writing poetry, Making candles, and Oreos get the axe. "Usually people don't let me do this," Tony said.

"You're allowed to say no. Only you can determine what techniques make you feel better, or don't do anything, or make you feel worse. The list of possible options is huge; it makes sense to start by whittling down the choices to a more manageable subset," Phil said.

"Like ruling out unlikely explanations of malfunction because they don't quite fit the signs," Tony said. Intrigued, he leaned a little closer to Phil, the Starkpad balanced on his knees.

"Yes, exactly," said Phil. "Now, I'm going to start by picking one item from the Not So Stupid list. Where it says 'Tell a friend,' how do you feel about telling a teammate when you're upset about something?"

"It's usually obvious."

"Often, though not always. It would help for us to know how you feel and why," Phil said.

"Sometimes it's ... not so clear," Tony admitted. "Other times I can't even talk, it's all I can do to walk out of the room without hitting someone or throwing things." His thumbnail traced along the almost invisible seam of the Starkpad.

That explains why Tony described himself as a huge fan of the way Bruce loses control and turns into a giant green ragemonster, Phil realized. Aloud he said, "It doesn't have to be fancy. 'I'm upset.' 'I need some space.' Even that much would help."

"You'd really let me go off alone?" Tony cast a sidelong glance at Phil.

"Yes, as long as you don't seem like a danger to yourself or anyone else. It's okay to feel overwhelmed and want to get away from it all for a while," Phil said. He tapped the frame of the Starkpad. "Part of the point to this project is to find ways you can calm yourself when you feel bad. The other part is to explore how other people might be able to help you feel better."

"I guess," Tony said.

Phil reached over and changed the display on the Starkpad, bringing up the Not So Stupid list. "Look at these and see if any of them sound like things you already enjoy or might consider trying. Aim for at least one you could do alone and one you could do in company."

Tony's progress through this list took much longer. He picked out Laughter and Cooking fairly soon. More slowly, he added Hot bath and Curling up with a good book. He hesitated over Negative to positive self-talk.

"Go ahead and tick that one if you're considering it," Phil said. "Remember, this is just a set of things to explore. You don't have to keep anything that doesn't work for you."

"Test to destruction is okay?" Tony said, looking up from the screen.

"If a coping skill falls apart during the test phase, then it's no use to you. Cross off anything that does that. Then you can try something different," Phil said. He wondered who wasn't letting Tony say no when he needed to. That couldn't be helping Tony's awareness of boundaries or his work-life balance.

"Then yeah, I'll think about it," Tony said. He ticked the box.

"Last step with this part of the project: pick one of your trial skills and plan to do an exercise in it some time this week. There are instructions for learning most of these things so you don't have to guess," Phil said.

"I already know how to do four of them. Well, okay, cooking is still in the acquisition phase, but I don't think it counts as new," Tony said.

"That leaves self-talk or talking with a friend," Phil said. "Why don't you browse some exercises for both, and see if anything piques your interest. Take your time thinking it over."

"Okay," Tony said without enthusiasm. "I just don't know if this will really help. I still don't feel like talking to anyone when I'm upset."

Chapter Text

Well, at least Tony isn't stuck in the same place anymore, Phil thought. "What about not talking to someone when you're upset?" he asked aloud. "Would it still bother you to have company if the other person didn't say or do anything -- maybe wasn't even in your direct line of sight?"

"If they're not actively pestering me, it probably wouldn't be as bad," Tony said. "But what's the point?"

"You wouldn't be alone. Someone would be there to listen if you changed your mind, or to help if anything went wrong," Phil said.

Tony's face softened for a moment. Then he shook his head. "That's nutty, Phil. I mean who'd want to sit around and just watch me? Aside from JARVIS, that is."

"I would. Any of us would do that for you, if it would help," Phil said.

"Yeah, right."

Phil tapped a quick sequence on his Starkphone. "Clint, what would you say if I asked you to watch Tony silently from the air ducts to make sure nothing bad happened to him?" Phil asked.

"Now? Give me a minute to stow my gear, and tell me where to go," Clint said.  His voice carried clearly enough over the perfect Starktech for Tony to hear it and startle at the response.

"Not right now, I just wanted to confirm that it's something you'd be willing to do, thanks," Phil said.

"Sure. Hey, Phil, is Tony okay?" Clint said, his voice worried.

Phil handed the phone to Tony.

Tony stared at it dumbly for a moment, then said, "Uh ... yeah. I'm fine. Phil and I were just talking. About healthy coping skills, of which I actually have none."

Phil clicked his fingernail crisply against the screen of the Starkpad where Tony's "Will Try" list still showed.

"But I'm sort of trying to work on fixing that," Tony said.

"Great. Ping me if you ever want to talk, or better yet, not talk. I kinda suck at emotional conversations but I can not-talk-with-someone for hours," Clint said.

"That's ... good," Tony said, sounding more encouraged. "I'll let you know." He closed the call. Then he looked at Phil.

"Well done, Tony. I'm proud of you for discussing that with Clint," Phil said. He lifted the phone gently out of Tony's hand and pocketed it. "Now you have some more options for the next time something goes wrong."

Tony leaned against him. "Thanks."

Phil draped an arm over his shoulders. "Good boy," he whispered into Tony's hair.

Tony snuggled closer. They stayed that way for a few minutes, cuddling in companionable silence. The Starkpad dimmed itself, and Phil set it aside. Tony wrapped himself around Phil. It was becoming ever clearer that Tony had a voluble mode and a quiet mode. He could chatter about nothing indefinitely, or wax enthusiastic about feats of engineering. Tony had far less ability to verbalize his feelings, though, so moments of intimacy tended to turn silent for him.

Phil tucked his chin over Tony's dark head. That was fine. No comment was needed. There would be time later for Tony to explore new ways of expressing himself, with words or gestures or whatever he found. For now it was enough that he sat here and let Phil hold him.

Eventually Tony sat up and shook himself. He stretched, back popping like a string of firecrackers. Phil hugged him goodbye before Tony finally headed back to his lab.

Phil noted that Tony seemed markedly more relaxed when he left than when he had arrived, despite the personal work he had just done. It looks as if both talking with a teammate and not talking provide some benefit for Tony, along with the contact comfort, Phil mused. He picked up his Starkpad and made notes accordingly.

After that, Phil returned to catching up on SHIELD news. Morale was still running low, hardly a surprise given Director Fury's erratic behavior followed by the political and financial fallout of that. Black Widow had recommended a precise strike at a weak link to break the Ten Rings into warring factions. Reports of giant mutant goats in Norway made Phil suspect another incursion of bilgesnipe. Hopefully the Avengers wouldn't have to deal with those again.

When Phil reached a stopping point with his paperwork, he headed downstairs for supper. It was a little early, but he enjoyed the opportunity to socialize with the rest of the team. He found Bruce and Bucky on the couch in the common room. Bruce traced a fingertip along Bucky's left arm, highlighting the same path on a hologram of the replacement that Tony was developing. Bucky reached over with his right hand and nudged the line a little farther.

"Hey, Phil," Bucky said, looking up as Phil came in. "Bruce is helping me and Tony with the blueprints."

"Tony has some interesting thoughts about neural interfaces," Bruce said. "Apparently he's done some splice work before, shoring up damaged nerves. The technology is more advanced now, so he wants to try new things."

"I thought it was your turn to make supper tonight," Phil said to Bruce.

Bruce looked away. "Yeah, that ... kind of didn't happen," he said. "Tony had the brilliant idea of buying truffles because I like mushrooms and the Other Guy loves them. Which is nice of him, except they smell delicious and it was wrecking my control, so Tony kicked me out of the kitchen. He insists that he and Betty can make supper without me."

Steve and Natasha came in then, shower-damp and fresh from the gym. Steve still had a towel slung around his neck. "Supper smells good," he said.

"Yeah, it does," Bucky agreed. His stomach growled.

Steve's rumbled a reply. Both men laughed.

Bruce frowned. "It's going to be another ten, twenty minutes before the food hits the table. I don't want you two waiting that long; your metabolism runs too fast. At least have some kind of snack first."

"I got it!" Tony yelled from the kitchen. He trotted out with a large jar in one hand and a box of crackers in the other. A cloud of fragrance followed him, something earthy and creamy that made Phil's mouth water.

Bruce whimpered and flushed faintly green.

Tony chucked the snacks onto the coffee table and crouched in front of Bruce, catching his hands in a gentle grasp. "Shh, it's okay, you don't need to grab or smash anything," Tony said. He touched their foreheads together. "Supper will be ready real soon, and you can have all the truffle sauce you want. I promise."

Bruce leaned against him, skin fading back to normal. "Thanks, Tony. I'm sorry, my control is usually better than this."

"I'll take it as a compliment to my cooking."

"You know how to make truffle sauce?" Phil asked. "That's ambitious."

"I actually learned when I was younger," Tony said. "Mr. Jarvis taught me. It's mostly just egg and cream, plus the black truffles. Good for the guys who need the high-octane fuel, yeah?" Tony tipped his head at Steve and Bucky.

"Yes," Bruce agreed. He gathered the snacks off the coffee table. Bucky took the crackers from him and opened the box. Bruce looked at the jar. "Tony, this is caviar."

"Yeah, so? It's high in fat and protein. It's tangy, which Bucky likes, and salty, which you like, and I know Natasha loves caviar," said Tony. "If Steve hasn't tried it yet then it's time he does."

"Assuming it's an acceptable variety," Natasha said with a sniff.

"It's Caspian Beluga, you snob," Tony said. "You're not the only one who can stick her nose into other people's personnel files. I know what you like." Betty hollered at him to come stir his sauce before it burned. Tony scampered back into the kitchen.

Natasha plucked the jar out of Bruce's hands and quickly began scooping the contents onto a row of crackers. Bucky wolfed them down as fast as she set them up. It took her a few tries to save one for herself, and then she managed to pass another to Steve. Bruce was obviously torn between wanting to protest the expense, and not wanting to interrupt their eating.

"If you don't want any, that's fine," Natasha said to Bruce. "I will gladly finish this entire one-pound jar myself."

"Share," Phil reminded them. He took the jar from Natasha and filled another row of crackers. He passed them out one to each person, saving the last for himself. It really was world-class caviar, even if Tony handed it out like peanut butter.

Clint wandered in, saw the snacks, and dove for the coffee table. Phil handed him a couple of caviar-topped crackers. Natasha had given Clint a fondness for the stuff on a mission to Russia in which they impersonated caterers.

Steve and Bucky had taken the edge off their appetites, but still cast longing glances at the kitchen. Delicious aromas drifted through the open doorway.

Finally Tony announced that supper was ready. This caused a small stampede in the direction of the kitchen, with people piling up in the doorway. Everyone hastened to grab seats at the table.

"Okay folks, we have baby red potatoes, white asparagus, and everyone's choice of steak. The black truffle sauce goes well with all of that, so put it where you want it," Tony said.

Bucky poked dubiously at the asparagus with the serving tongs. "I thought asparagus was supposed to be green."

"It's the same plant, but if you block it away from sunlight, then it blanches like that instead of developing the chlorophyll that produces the green color," Bruce explained as he shoveled potatoes onto his own plate. "The flavor is milder and kind of nutty. Just try one. If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it."

Bucky nibbled at a single spear of white asparagus. "It's okay," he said. Then he tried it with the black truffle sauce. "Better this way, though."

Bruce had added white asparagus beside his potatoes. He also had a butt steak, because that was the only kind Tony would cook well done the way Bruce liked his steak. Bruce then proceeded to drown everything in sauce.

"You like?" Tony asked, watching Bruce.

Bruce had his mouth full, but replied by turning his thumb up.

Phil smiled. It's good to see Bruce enjoying himself so much, he thought. Phil himself had the same kind of New York strip that Bucky did. Tony and Natasha had filet mignon, because both of them would go for fine things when they had a chance. Clint favored the kind of bone-in ribeye called a cowboy steak, while Betty had sirloin. They preferred flavor to tenderness.

Steve had a porterhouse T-bone that covered his entire plate. "There's no room for anything else," he mourned.

"That's why you have a second plate," Tony said, pointing with his fork at the empty one ahead of Steve's steak.

"Oh. I wondered what that was for," Steve said. He started loading it with vegetables. Judging from his reaction, he liked the sweeter white asparagus more than the green kind with its bitter note.

Phil's steak was cooked medium-rare, the outside properly seared because Tony had an indoor flame grill. The black truffle sauce tasted creamy and rich. Something about the earthy flavor of the truffles hooked into the charred stripes on the steak, reminding Phil of a spring mission in Iowa -- the smell of freshly plowed fields and smoke where the farmers burned off piles of cornstalks left by a flood. They had stopped for celebratory steak on the way home.

From the way Clint was grinning, he remembered too. That was a good mission, Phil mused, a quick snatch-and-grab with no casualties.

Chapter Text

Once Bruce and Steve slowed down enough that they could talk, Betty coaxed them into conversation, starting with casual comments about the warming weather. Clint predicted a likelihood of rain later in the week. Then Tony chimed in with his activities from the day, centered on mechanical work.

"Bucky and I went over the schematics this afternoon," Bruce added.

"I don't need anything really delicate," Bucky said. "I mean, I need dexterity for sniping, but it's not like I'm planning to make microcircuits by hand." He twiddled his fork in his fingers. "I want something that will stand up to a little rough-and-tumble even in my everyday life. It's okay if the replacement comes out kind of heavy; so is my current model."

"Too much weight can pull your body off balance," Bruce pointed out. "That's managable for short-term use, but probably not a good idea for everyday wear."

"You guys still think a combo model is the way to go?" Tony said, cutting up the last of his steak.

"Maybe a compromise between strength and finesse for everyday," Bucky said. "I wouldn't say no to something heavy-duty for combat, if I ever get back in the field again. I miss it, I want to do my part, but I wouldn't blame you if -- well." His eyebrows pinched together, sign of growing strain with the conversation. "I don't need ... I've read some of the articles and people sound fussy about a lot of details that just don't matter to me. I want it to work, is all."

"We'll get you back in the field," Tony said, "and my tech always works."

Bucky just nodded.

"So, JARVIS said you fixed the electric griddle for us. Thanks for that," Tony said. "You want to come down to my workshop some time and pick out a proper toolkit? If you're going to be an in-house handyman, Bucky, you should have your own, not just the stash boxes we keep around for impromptu repair work."

Phil was grateful, and a little surprised, that Tony changed the topic. He is learning Bucky's tolerances for this.

"Really?" Bucky said, perking up. "The stuff I found is already better than anything I've used before." He seemed torn between his usual frugality and his passion for fine equipment.

"Yeah, but every mechanic has a favorite set of tools. You should mix and match your own based on what you like and need," Tony said. "Consider it payback for fixing the skillet I took apart today."

"I'd like that," Bucky said. He gave Tony a shy smile.

The conversation drifted back around to food. "I missed this in India," Bruce said, fondly chasing a few remnants of steak with his fork.

"Yeah, nothing beats all-American beef," Clint agreed.

"When I got back from Afghanistan, all I could think about was getting a cheeseburger," Tony said quietly.

The conversation paused as everyone gave him space to continue, but Tony said nothing more.

"I like these funny white asparagus," Steve said, putting the last few spears on his plate. "I think if we steamed them with the green kind, they'd look pretty together."

"That does sound nice," Bruce said. "Asparagus comes in purple, too, but the color tends to fade when it's cooked. It's tender enough to eat raw in salads, though, and it's even sweeter than the white kind."

"Now that I'd like to try some time," Steve said.

Natasha admired Tony's touch with the steaks. Tony basked under her praise. He turned out to be quite good at cooking things that were relatively simple. He liked to let quality ingredients stand up for themselves.

"I'm stuffed," Phil said finally as he pushed his empty plate away. Even Steve nodded agreement.

"Me too," said Bruce.

"Great," said Tony. "I'll pull Hulk's supper out of the warmer and you can let him out."

Bruce scoffed. "Don't be silly, Tony. I'm not letting him out just for that. He may be capable of holding something without breaking it, but that doesn't make him safe."

Chairs creaked and silverware clinked as the whole team stirred in response. "Hey, Hulk is my friend too," Clint protested. "He makes me feel safe. I don't like it when you're mean to him, Bruce."

"It's not fair of you to hog all of the truffle sauce or the supper time. You need to share," Steve said.

Bruce looked away.

Tony came back with a Hulk-sized supper tray, each food sealed separately. "Here. Remember that I got the truffles for both of you."

"Just let me --"

Tony put a firm hand on top of the containers. "Listen to me, Bruce," he said. "You've already had your portion. This is for Hulk. If you're really not comfortable letting him eat in the kitchen with the rest of the team, at least go downstairs to the Hulk-out room so he can have his damn supper already."

It's been a while since they have needed the Hulk-out room, Phil thought. Bruce's prime condition for moving into the tower was for Tony to build a secure place where he could go if he felt his control slipping. Most of the incidents had resulted from sudden accidents, though, so they hadn't used the room often. After the first time when Bruce dropped the blender on his foot and Hulk trashed half the common kitchen, the damage had been surprisingly minimal. It hadn't taken long for Hulk to recognize the tower as home, and eventually, as safe. That minimized both the number of unplanned appearances and the destruction.

"Hulk has been good," Phil pointed out. "He was pushing at you this evening until Tony asked him to stop. Since then, he's been waiting very politely."

"Fine. I'll go down to the basement," Bruce said.

"I'll come with you," Betty offered.

Bruce shook his head as he picked up the tray. "Better not."

They watched silently as he trudged out of the room. "JARVIS, I hate to ask this, but would you keep an eye out ...?" Tony said.

"Monitoring," JARVIS said.

"You don't trust Bruce?" Phil asked.

Tony sighed. "I want to, but Bruce isn't very nice to Hulk a lot of the time."

"Bruce is getting better," Steve said. "He's learning to take pictures and share them with Hulk, the way Hulk has us share snapshots of him with Bruce."

"Two steps forward, one step back," Phil observed.

"It bothers me how much Bruce is dragging his feet over tolerating Hulk," Tony said, sensitive as always to matters of acceptance and rejection. "It's starting to affect the team enough that even I can see it."

"Bruce has some bad tape," Betty said. "His father said a lot of cruel things. His mother tried to protect him but failed. Then his father murdered his mother in a fit of berserk rage. It's no wonder that Bruce sees anger as threatening, and Hulk may have a lot of fear but his rage is real too. Bruce just isn't ready to face that yet."

"Well, that's kind of a mood killer," Clint said. "And what about dessert?"

"The cupcakes will keep just fine," Betty said. "Tony wanted banana-nut with caramel frosting, so that's what I made."

"We're all full anyway. Why don't we take a short break before game night? We can reassemble after Hulk finishes his supper," Phil said. He stood up and began clearing the table. Clint moved to help him. Steve headed for the sink to start washing dishes, and after a moment, Natasha tagged after him.

"Hulk says thank you for the food," JARVIS announced.

Tony grinned. "Tell him he's welcome, and let us know when he's done."

The rest of the team dispersed then. Phil resisted the temptation to stay in the common room, because they really could use some breathing space. Instead he went back to his apartment. There he pulled Wi$e Money out of the game closet.
"JARVIS, how is Hulk doing?" Phil asked.

"Still enjoying the truffle sauce," JARVIS said. "He is currently licking the bowl."

Phil chuckled. "Maybe we should have truffles more often," he said. Then he shook his head. "No, that would probably make Bruce uncomfortable. He balked over the jar of caviar earlier."

"Although Bruce is hesitant about cost, he does appreciate fine ingredients that stretch a long way," JARVIS observed. "A number of common supplies may be infused with truffle flavor. Options include salt, cooking oil, butter, and even honey."

"Show me?" Phil said, picking up his Starkpad from the coffee table. The screen flickered and danced as JARVIS ran a search for suitable products, then settled into a display of several recommendations. "Hmm ... we could try adding these to the common pantry one at a time, as a discreet reward for some of Bruce's more significant accomplishments."

"Agreed," JARVIS said. "Based on what I've seen, Bruce-and-Hulk respond well to food rewards."

"Yes, Tony started with that on the helicarrier, feeding blueberries to Bruce. I think it helped Hulk to bond with Tony so quickly, without having met face-to-face," Phil said. "Given that, I'm surprised Tony waited this long to break out the caviar and truffles."

"Sir did not know about their fondness for mushrooms until recently. Regarding the caviar, he broached that idea earlier, and I pointed out Bruce's resistance to costly items," JARVIS explained.

"That was thoughtful of you, JARVIS, thanks," said Phil. He flipped idly through views of the Tower rooms, checking on the various Avengers. Tony was puttering with something in the garage, but it looked more playful than serious. Clint was firing rubberbands at a knob, trying to loop them over it.

Natasha had gone back to her apartment to feed her spider. Phil zoomed in to watch. The giant white knee tarantula stalked a cricket acros the terrarium. The spider still gave him occasional shivers, but not as much as before. Phil made a point of checking in on Natasha's pet periodically, and it was starting to feel like a normal part of the household. Dr. Samson's advice about anchoring worked well.

"Five-minute warning," JARVIS said then. "Bruce has left the Hulk-out room. I have notified the other Avengers to prepare for game night."

"I'll be there shortly," Phil said, and went to change into his bathrobe.

Chapter Text

Steve and Bucky were already in the common room when Uncle Phil arrived, Steve in his Dodgers pajamas and Bucky in fraying gray cotton. Tony showed up next, proceeding to clamber over the two super-soldiers as if they were playground equipment. Then Clint and Natka came in. Clint bounced on the furniture until Uncle Phil warned him to ease up. Natka wandered back to look at the goldfish swimming serenely in their large sphere.

Betty arrived with one arm supporting Bruce around the waist. As soon as they got inside the common room, Bruce plunked himself on the floor. "I'm tired," he said.

"Oops, sorry," said Tony. "I forgot how much of an energy drain it can be when you shift. I thought you'd be okay since it was just for a little while and no smashing."

So did I, Phil thought. Though the way Bruce was dragging his feet, maybe that wore him out. The emotional factors really do seem to weigh as much as the physical ones.

Bruce shrugged. "S'fine," he said. "Just tired." Then he stretched out on the carpet.

"If you want to take a nap, that's all right, but come up here on the couch," Phil said.

"Pretend I'm a rug," Bruce said without moving.

Bucky laughed and bent over to pick up Bruce. There was an unmistakable sound of ripping fabric as the worn pajama bottoms split down the seat. Bucky flushed scarlet. "Son of a ..." he muttered.

"It's okay. That happens," Bruce said.

Phil immediately got up, shrugged off his bathrobe, and draped it around Bucky. "I'll get something for you to change into," he said.

"I'm fine," Bucky snapped. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you to give me anything!"

"I know you can. The point is, you don't have to," Phil said.

"Kids don't buy things. Grownups buy things," Tony said. "It's a rule."

"Come on, Bucky, you had your turn. It's Phil's turn now. That was the agreement," Steve said. It had taken him a lot of work to get Bucky and Phil to compromise on the issue of jammies, because Bucky hated the idea of accepting charity while Uncle Phil liked to take care of his "kids".

Bucky glared at everyone but gave a sullen, grudging nod.

Uncle Phil went to the cabinet and brought out the package he had prepared in case of such an occasion. The flannel pajamas were almost plain, a deep midnight blue except for a narrow band around the cuffs and collar speckled with tiny white stars. They had started out new, but Phil ran them through the wash a few dozen times until the cloth came out soft as kitten paws.

"You can change clothes in the bathroom," Phil said as he handed the pajamas to Bucky.

Bucky slunk into the bathroom. The door closed behind him with a sharp clack of the latch.

Betty and Natasha brought out a card game and quietly occupied themselves with that. Both of them sometimes quelled minor drama just by ignoring it. Clint wandered over to join them.

Bruce crawled over to Uncle Phil and tugged on his sleep pants. "Am I bad?" he whispered.

"No, you're not bad," Phil said. "Bucky's jammies were old, that's all. It was sweet of you to remind him that everybody rips things sometimes and that it's okay. You want a snuggle?"

"Uh huh," Bruce said. He wrapped himself around Phil's leg.

Steve chuckled. "Come here, sprout," he said. He peeled Bruce off of Phil and carried him to the couch.

Phil sat down with them, and Bruce crawled halfway into his lap the way he often did with Steve and Bucky. Phil was smaller, but it was no hardship for him to hold Bruce's head and shoulders. At least this way Bruce got the physical reassurance that he needed. Soon he fell asleep.

Hopefully a short nap will revive Bruce enough to enjoy game night, Phil thought as he stroked the rumple of dark hair. Then again, feeling safe enough to sleep in a cuddle pile is good for him too. It's all good.

Bucky returned from the bathroom, now dressed in his new jammies. He took one look at the crowded couch and dumped himself on the floor instead.

"Awwwkward," Tony sang softly.

"Not helping, Tony," said Uncle Phil. "Let's think of something fun to do."

"I don't feel like playing," Bucky said.

"All right, if you want to sit out for a few minutes until your mood settles a bit, that's fine," said Phil. The energy source in Bucky's prosthetic arm made him more volatile, but sometimes lowering the stimulation would let him recover.

"Fine." Bucky hunkered down, hugging his knees to his chest.

Phil frowned. He hadn't seen Bucky take a posture like that before, and wondered what it meant. Steve was frowning too. "Problem?" Phil murmured.

"I don't know," Steve whispered back. "Sometimes people who gave us stuff ... weren't very nice. The nuns at the orphanage were careful about hand-me-downs, but that was different."

The other "kids" chattered quietly about which games they had and what they wanted to play. Phil let the conversation run while he watched Bucky. So far he showed no sign of improvement. Tony clambered onto the back of the couch, his legs trailing over Steve's shoulders, and played some kind of game on his StarkPhone that made faint peeping and popping noises.

Natka started a hand-clapping game with Clint. They held eye contact, instead of watching their hands, and yet managed to pat their palms together in perfect time. Natka sang,

Say, say, oh playmate,
Come out and play with me.
Bring out your dollies three.
Climb up my apple tree.

At the end, Clint glanced at Bucky, who still hadn't budged. The tension slowly began to ease, but Bucky showed no sign of rejoining activities.

Then Betty got involved. She scooted over so that the three of them sat in a triangle, their knees just touching. Each of them clapped hands with the other two as Betty sang,

Double double this this,
Double double that that,
Double this, double that,
Double double this that.

After that verse, she began substituting other words, "ice cream" and "jump rope" and more. Nakta took up the song in Russian, then Clint in Spanish. Finally Betty cracked them both up with "half-life."

Clint launched into a theatrical rendition of "Nobody Likes Me," with all the passion of a circus performer used to working a crowd.

Nobody likes me
Everybody hates me
Guess I'll eat some
worrrrrrmmsss!

Even Tony looked up from his video game to smirk at Clint's antics. Only Bucky remained unmoved. Finally Clint got fed up with that.

"Come on, quit sulking," Clint said. He grabbed a box of blocks and sat down next to Bucky.

Bucky snorted at him, but at least he lifted his chin from his knees.

Sometimes Clint can jolly Natasha out of a bad mood. I hope it works with Bucky too, Phil thought. He would intervene if he had to, if it looked like Clint was rubbing Bucky the wrong way.

"You can play Bausack towers with us. It's pretty fun. You need steady hands and good strategy to win," Clint said as he poured out the big bag of white pieces and then the smaller bag of red. Tony had learned from Phil, then introduced the game to Clint and Bruce, but not everyone had tried it yet. It was quickly becoming one of Clint's favorites.

"Clint, they're blocks. That's not a real game," Bucky said.

"It's a real game with real rules," Clint said, showing Bucky the instructions. Bucky glanced at them, but made no move to read them aloud.

"Several games, actually, we haven't even tried them all yet," Tony said. He started pulling out the base blocks. "You start with one of these."

"People give each other blocks and build towers, as high as possible," Clint said.

"These are the weirdest looking blocks I've ever seen. Is this a chess piece?" Bucky said dubiously. He let go of his knees to poke at the jumble of wooden toys.

"Yeah, that's a pawn," Tony said.

"This is what makes the game tricky. You have to fit the pieces together so they don't fall," Clint said. "It's like ... huh ... kind of like sniper sight? And you see where things should go, or which ones will move if you touch them wrong?" He sighed and shook his head. "I'm not explaining this well at all, am I?"

"Not really, no," said Bucky. "I still don't see how this is a game."

"You can build your own tower, or build them together. You can score by height or by points," Tony said. He shook the bag of tokens. "There are auction rules too, if you want to bid on the blocks."

"So then there's the strategy part," Clint said. "You think ahead about what pieces you want to use on your tower, and where, and when you want to feed your opponents the pieces that suck, like the Christmas trees."

"I like the Christmas trees," Tony said.

"That's because you're nuts," Clint said. He turned back to Bucky. "Tony's the only one who likes the Christmas trees, because the Christmas trees suck."

Tony stuck his tongue out at Clint.

"Clint, don't tease Tony about which blocks he likes. It's fine if players like different ones," Phil said. "Tony, don't make faces at Clint."

Bucky chuckled. "Okay, you two monkeys, show me your game of blocks."

Clint and Tony demonstrated a round of Bausack towers. They played fast, both of them adept at games of dexterity. The towers rose to considerable height before falling. Then Clint and Tony coaxed Bucky into playing.

Bucky picked up a white cube with his right hand. "These are nice. We didn't have such nice blocks growing up," he said. When he picked up the large red egg with his left hand, it squirted out of his grip. Bucky frowned. "Stupid ..."

"It's not you," Clint said at once. "The red blocks are just really slick. It's part of the challenge."

"Here, switch hands so you can feel the difference," Tony said. Bucky had some sensation in his left hand, but nowhere near as much as the right. Tony offered Bucky the red egg.

"Wow, that really is slippery," Bucky said as he rubbed his fingers over it. His left hand turned the white cube over, pressing the corners with his fingertips. "Okay. Let's try this."

Bucky put the white cube on the base block. Then Clint and Tony took their turns, each building his own tower. Bucky proved clever with the red blocks, now that he knew to handle them more carefully. Tony's stack of blocks rose with the ease of practiced skill.

As soon as Bucky tried placing a Christmas tree, though, his tower collapsed. "You were right," he said to Clint. "These things suck."

"No, they don't, you just have to know how to use them," Tony said. "They make great props. Watch this." He showed Bucky how to balance a long wedge across the tower with its far end resting on the tip of a Christmas tree.

They played another round. This time Bucky got farther before the tower toppled. Clint and Tony debated the finer points of strategy as they tried to teach him tricks for building a higher tower.

"If I may make a suggestion," JARVIS said, "you may wish to try a version from Gravity Blocks. Build a communal tower, with a blindfolded player attempting to place blocks based on another player's instructions."

"Sure, that sounds fun," Tony said. He turned out to be the best at giving directions -- likely carryover from working with the bots -- and pretty good at placing blocks while blindfolded. Bucky did even better at placing blocks, though not as well at giving directions.

Ironically Clint, who had the hardest time handling blocks, loved the game. "It's about aim," he explained. "I'm really sensitive about my eyes and my hands, because I'm all about hitting targets. If I can learn to aim with somebody else's guidance, though, I can still be useful even if I can't sight a target myself."

"That's an excellent point," Phil said. "You're useful for more than your aim, Clint, but expanding your skills is always a good thing." Besides, this game encourages them to follow each other's instructions, Phil added silently.

Chapter Text

Bruce stirred in Phil's lap, rolling onto his back. Phil reached down to rub a fond hand over Bruce's chest. Brown eyes blinked slowly open. "Back with us?" Phil asked.

"Uh huh," Bruce said. "Hungry."

"We have dessert waiting," Phil said. "Scoot over so I can get up." Bruce tucked himself entirely into Steve's lap. Phil went into the kitchen for the cupcakes.

Betty trotted after him. "We'll need some salt," she said, sorting through Bruce's gourmet collection to find the Himalayan pink salt. "Bruce, Bucky, and Tony all like salt with caramel." Betty dusted the pale rosy flakes over the caramel icing of the cupcakes.
"Hmm ... we should top some with sugar or sprinkles, and leave some plain," Phil decided.

"There is sanding sugar in the same cabinet," JARVIS said.

Phil found the shaker of large, sparkling crystals of white sugar and used that to top several of the cupcakes. Then he switched to chocolate sprinkles. "All right, this should make a nice assortment," he declared.

They carried the cupcakes into the common room. Betty handed out the salted cupcakes while Phil passed around the rest. The remainder went on the coffee table.

Bruce put his hand down on the top of his cupcake, sticking it to his palm, and then turned his hand over to eat the cupcake from the bottom. Clint took one of the plain ones, licking the icing off before eating the cake part. Steve picked one of each flavor, except for the salt, and then Bucky handed him a salted one so he could try that too.

The cupcakes themselves were banana-nut, which went equally well with the caramel, salt, and other flavors of topping. Phil took a chocolate-sprinkled cupcake for himself. Then he had to get a washcloth to remove the remnants of icing from Bruce's hand. And his face. And the front of his jammies.

"Yummy," Bruce said, his voice muffled through the washcloth.

"I'm glad you like the cupcakes," Phil said. He was trying very hard not to laugh. Bruce in toddler-mode was adorable, and frequently messy.

"May we play something different now?" Natasha asked. "I am tired of cards and blocks." She often had a short attention span for anything not work-related.

New things hold her focus better, Phil recalled. "I brought down a different game for us to try today," he said aloud. "It's called Wi$e Money. It uses teams, so everyone can play. Clint helped me pick it out."

"I wanted something we could do together, and I need to practice my math more," Clint said. Steve nodded at that. "Plus it has a town setting, and let's face it, we have a big impact on New York." Everyone nodded then. Just cleaning up after the various incursions had given them more understanding of the financial footprint left behind by villains and heroes.

"Okay, pass me the rulebook," Bucky said, holding out a hand. Phil did. Bruce promptly scrambled into Bucky's lap. "Not this time, squirt." Bucky scooped up Bruce and deposited him on Steve. "It is Tony's turn to sit on my lap while I read the instructions."

Tony wrapped himself around Bucky, who gently turned him around so they could both see the rules and the game board. "Hm. This says ages thirteen and up. Uncle Phil, does that count?" Bucky said.

"I got my first bank account when I was five," Tony said.

"I helped Mommy with coupons when I was this old," Bruce said.

"Yeah, I was doing odd jobs at seven," Clint said. "We had to eat."

Bucky's eyebrows lowered with every comment. "Sounds like I'm not the only one who had a hard time making ends meet."

"I think we've established everyone's experience and interest. We'll just pair younger players with older ones," Phil said. That would also split up Tony and Bruce, two of the smartest and probably money-wisest players.

"Yeah, that works out pretty well," Bucky said. "Two to twelve players in two to four teams -- we could have teams of two or four."

"Let's try it both ways," Steve suggested, poking through the stacks of question cards. "We can start with two teams of four so people can help each other more. Then once we know how the game goes, swap partners some, and play in pairs."

Bucky finished reading the rules, with Tony an alert presence in his lap. Clint and Natasha joined their team, leaving Phil and Betty to connect with Bruce and Steve. The first game took quite a while. The play wasn't all that complex -- it was basically a follow-the-path board game -- but the questions proved challenging.

Bruce and Bucky got so caught up in the mechanics of play that they didn't balk over the prices. Bucky and Steve found it difficult to account for the differences in the economy between their growing years and now. Bruce was somewhat thrown by the structure; he was used to being able to dicker and hunt for bargains, or just plain scrounge for what he needed. Tony was used to handling money, but not in family-sized amounts. They all had fun, though.

For the second game, they broke into pairs. That left Bucky and Bruce, Steve and Tony, Natasha and Betty, Clint and Phil as the teams. Phil was intrigued to see that Bucky and Bruce ran to frugality whereas Steve and Tony went for investment. Natasha and Betty focused on calculation. Clint seemed more interested in trying to memorize all the correct answers than in winning, so Phil just let him do that.

By then, Tony and Bruce were giving each other yearning looks. They didn't like being separated for too long. "It's not in the rules, but here's an idea," Phil said. "How about Tony and Bruce against the rest of us?"

Tony whooped and tackled Bruce off of Steve's lap into the corner of the couch. Steve and Bucky moved to the other side of the coffee table. Phil brought out blankets and floor cushions. The six of them made a nest on the floor so that everyone could see the game. They all snuggled together, Phil next to Clint and Natasha, Bucky and Steve, Betty on the far end.

This round of the game involved a lot more debate as Tony and Bruce tried to fit their very different playing styles together. They had their near arms wrapped around each other, and leaving their opposite hands free. Oddly enough they seemed to have no trouble coordinating to manipulate the game pieces that way.

The larger team pooled all their knowledge to make good decisions, which worked well because they had a great diversity of experience amongst them. The conversation also rambled over whether the game was right about certain points -- which fortunately never devolved into a fight -- and how to navigate the economy of New York without smashing it flat by sheer volume (Tony) or destruction (Hulk). They came up with some good ideas.

After that round wrapped up, it was getting late. Steve and Bucky gathered up the components of the game. Betty put away the cushions and blankets. Then people began to drift away.

Steve and Bucky still sat on the couch. Bucky traced a fingertip over the crisp carton of the Wi$e Money box. "You keep giving us things," he said, flicking a glance at Phil.

It was a good opening for a conversation Phil needed to broach anyway. "I enjoy taking care of people," he said. "That includes providing supplies for team exercises, and small gifts just to make someone happy."

"I guess," Bucky said. He didn't look very happy.

"How do you feel about giving and receiving?" Phil asked.

Bucky shrugged. "I'm supposed to be a good provider. I suppose ... I'm not much use at it right now. Just another charity case."

Steve made a noise of protest.

"That's not the first time you've said that," Phil observed. "Bucky, you're not a charity case. First, you were in the army; soldiers disabled in the line of duty are owed support, because they've earned it. Second, you're recovering from a lot of trauma, but we fully expect you to get back into the field eventually, if that's what you want. Don't think of the current situation as permanent. Third, you're doing some helpful things around the tower already. I think we should look for more ways you can make yourself useful, if you feel like you're not doing enough."

"Yeah, that might help," Bucky said. "I don't like just sitting around without a job. It makes me feel like a lazy bum."

Steve leaned against Bucky. "It took a while for Bruce to accept that his lab work is a valuable contribution, that's he not just a tiny wrapper for the Hulk and he's not mooching on Tony's generosity," Steve said. "It took a while for me, too, because I'm used to pulling my own weight and ... it's different here. We don't need to work for cash because Tony and SHIELD can cover that. But we take care of each other in different ways. I can cook, and Tony's just starting to learn that. We all chip in what we do best."

"It's hard. You know why," Bucky said.

"Yeah, I know," Steve replied, covering Bucky's hand with his own. "You got us through it, though. I wouldn't be here if not for you."

"I'd like to hear more about that, if you don't mind sharing," Phil said quietly. "I'm guessing it has something to do with the way you feel about gifts."

Bucky and Steve shared a look. Steve tilted his head slightly. Bucky gave a minute nod. "Sometimes people would come by the orphanage," said Bucky. "They'd give us stuff. If it was from a church, it was safe. Other times ... people would ask for things that kids shouldn't do. Some of it was dirty. Some of it was illegal, or just really dangerous."

"Times were hard," Steve said softly.

Bucky glanced at Steve, then down at their joined hands. "What we got from the orphanage wasn't always enough, as frail as Steve was back then. So I tried to get extra for him -- warmer clothes, more food, whatever medicines he needed that week," said Bucky. "There were things I wouldn't do for money, though, even for Steve's sake. Sometimes I felt guilty about that. Sometimes I felt like I needed to set him a good example."

"You did that," Steve assured him. "You were always my hero, Bucky. I don't think I'd be Captain America without you."

"Anyway, I did what I could," Bucky said. "I took odd jobs. It was fine if people told me what they wanted up front. I could say yes or no, and it was usually yes. The people who wanted skeevy things ... a lot of times, they'd start by giving us stuff to eat or wear. Then they'd want something back. So we learned not to take anything unless we knew what we'd have to do to earn it."

"Oh, Bucky," said Phil. "That's not giving. That's baiting. It was very wrong of people to do that. Gifts are different. The real ones don't come with strings attached." He leaned forward to brush his fingers over the sleeve of Bucky's new pajamas.

"It's not always easy to tell the difference," Bucky said.

"I think you do better than you realize with that," said Phil. "Think about how you feel when you give something to Steve."

Bucky smiled. "It makes me feel good. I like seeing Steve happy," said Bucky. "I used to bring home whatever I could find for him. Pencil stubs. A lost hat. Once somebody threw out half a can of blue paint -- that lasted a long time."

"Yeah, I made monochrome portraits on cardboard and sold them for a dime. That was really swell," said Steve. "Mostly sweethearts, you know, because of the war. People wanted something to have, just in case."

"That's a lovely memory, Steve, thank you for sharing," said Phil. "Bucky, try to remember that other people enjoy giving you things, the same way you enjoy giving things to Steve. We're a family. We like to surprise each other with little goodies. We share what we have. It's just that now we have more than you're used to. I imagine that contributes to your uneasiness."

Bucky nodded heavily. "Yeah, it does."

"You get used to it," Steve said. "Just give it a chance."

"I'll try," Bucky said. He tugged at the cuff of his pajamas, then made himself stop. "Sorry, Phil. I know I'm not being properly grateful. I just -- sorry."

"It's all right," Phil said. "Gratitude isn't an obligation. You feel what you feel, or not. I'm not worried about thanks. I only want you to have nice things, and not be too agitated to enjoy them." He sighed. "Is this a trigger you need to avoid for now, or one you can start working through?"

"I think ... I'll be okay," Bucky said. "I never got into a really bad situation, like I know some kids did. I was careful. It just left me a little leery of gifts. I'll get over it eventually. If you can be patient with me?"

"Of course, Bucky," said Phil. "We'll go slowly. I'll make sure Tony doesn't dump too much on you all at once."

"Yeah, he does that sometimes," Steve said. "You have to be kind of careful what you say around Tony, especially things that you like or want. Back when we first moved in, he made some of us really uncomfortable -- especially me and Bruce -- with extravagant gifts. But he's getting a lot better."

Chapter Text

As if summoned by the mention, Bruce padded into the common room from the kitchen. "Do you like sausage or ham?" he asked with absolutely no context.

"I'm easy," said Steve. "I'll eat whatever you put in front of me."

"That's not what I asked," Bruce said with a grimace. "I'm trying to learn people's preferences and it's harder when they won't say."

"I like sausage," Phil said.

"Sausage is good. So is ham. Steve and I really do like both," Bucky said. Then he smiled. "Steve loves any kind of candied ham. I usually go for the salty kind. I like sausage with a lot of sage in it, not so much pepper."

"Okay, thanks," Bruce said, heading back to the kitchen.

Phil listened to the quiet clink of dishes and rustle of boxes as Bruce made ... whatever it was. "So candied ham is a favorite?"

"Honey or maple," Steve said with a nod. "I like sweet things. What about you?"

"I'm flexible," Phil said. "I like salty or sweet ham. Pineapple on ham is a favorite, and baked ham with cloves."

"Not where Bruce is going tonight," said Bucky. "It sounds like he's putting something in the crockpot."

"Probably for breakfast, then," Phil guessed.

"That explains the meat options," Steve said with a nod. "Easier than trying to break up a bunch of bacon."

"Bacon is good. I remember Bucky liking that. Did you know it comes in a wide range of flavors now?" Phil said.

"Mmm," Bucky said. He was starting to lean against Steve where they sat on the couch.

"What kinds?" Steve asked.

"Maple, I'm sure you'd like that. Hickory smoked. Applewood is sweeter, though. You can get bacon rolled in cracked pepper too," said Phil. The conversation slowly rambled from favorite breakfast meats to recipes using them. Phil enjoyed the chance to sit and talk without any urgent business to cover.

Presently Bruce came back out of the kitchen. "The crockpot breakfast casserole is all set," he said. "It should be done by the time most people usually wake up."

"Thank you, Bruce, I'm sure we'll all enjoy that in the morning," said Phil.

Bruce was paying more attention to Bucky, though. He leaned over the end of the couch to rest a hand on Bucky's knee. "Hey, there," said Bruce.

Bucky stirred a little against Steve's side. "Huh?" he said. Then he focused on Bruce. "Oh. Time to put me to bed?"

"I think you're starting to fall asleep on your own. Let's try that tonight and see if it works," Bruce suggested.

Bucky frowned. "Can't sleep ..."

"I'm pretty sure you can. If it doesn't work after an hour, then call me and I'll come talk you down like usual," Bruce said. Yoga had turned out to be an effective way of getting Bucky to sleep, but he still depended on Bruce's guidance for it.

If Bucky can fall asleep on his own, that's one more step toward independence, Phil thought. It's certainly worth a try.

"All right, I'll give Steve a hand with Bucky. We'll call if we need you, Bruce," said Phil.

Next Phil helped Steve hoist Bucky up and keep him balanced between them. Bucky tended to get wobbly when tired. Together they made their way to the floor that Steve and Bucky shared. They got Bucky ready for bed and tucked him in.

Steve sat on the edge of the bed. It was so firm that the mattress barely gave under his weight. After his time in the army, it was difficult for him to sleep on a bed that was too soft. He said it felt like lying on a marshmallow.

Phil understood. His own was a little firmer than average. Bruce's bed, now that was a marshmallow. Some people came back from sleeping on the ground to seek out the deepest, softest cushioning they could find. Somehow Tony had sussed out which way Bruce swung, and decorated his apartment accordingly.

"Do you want me to stay, or shall I take the guest room tonight?" Steve asked. They usually wound up sharing his bed.

"Stay," Bucky said at once.

"Okay," Steve said. He picked up Bucky's hand, one thumb rubbing gently over the back.

Phil settled into a chair on the far side of the bed. "I don't mind sticking around until you fall asleep," he said.

"Thanks," Bucky whispered.

He looks scared, Phil realized. No: terrified.

Steve noticed too. "Bucky? Is something wrong?"

"I hate this," Bucky said, staring at the ceiling. "It feels like dying ... every time. Worse when I don't have anything to take my mind off it."

"I know the feeling," Phil said with heartfelt sympathy.

Bucky snorted.

"Ah well ... you won't have heard this story before. It's very classified, but it's my own story, so I'm entitled to share it as I see fit," Phil said. "Some years ago, I got captured in Brazil by a group of drugrunners. They took me up in a helicopter, blindfolded me, and pushed me out."

"How did you survive that?" Steve yelped.

"They had lowered the helicopter over a pond without my knowledge. It knocked the wind out of me, nothing worse. I knew enough breathing exercises to recover pretty fast. So I didn't tell them what they wanted to know," Phil said. "The next day, they did it again. And the next."

"Bastards," Bucky said.

"That must have been terrible," Steve said.

"It was for a while. I hated it. Every time, I thought was I going to die," Phil said. "Then one day ... I stopped being afraid. I don't even know why. It just happened. It was as if I'd used up all the fear of my own death that I had in me."

"Golly," Steve said. "That's amazing."

"It's actually listed in my SHIELD file as an official superpower," Phil said, trying not to blush. "It's not metahuman, but it lets me do things that most people can't or won't do."

"Like attacking a crazy alien with a gun that you don't even know what it does," Steve said. Phil nodded.

"Because you're not afraid of death anymore," Bucky said.

"Not of my own," Phil emphasized. "The idea of losing other people still terrifies me as much as ever."

Bucky reached out and clasped Phil's hand. "We'll try real hard not to get lost again," he said. "Right, runt?"

"Right," Steve said firmly, laying his huge warm hand over both of theirs. Then he shivered. "It's cold in here."

Phil raised his eyebrows. The room was comfortable and the environmental controls were voice-activated. Besides which, Steve usually didn't complain about anything.

"Crawl in bed with me, runt," Bucky said with a smile. "I'll keep you warm." The two brothers curled into each other like puppies in a basket.

Not a complaint, but a ritual, Phil realized. They probably say this every night. Bucky's skin felt cool; his temperature tended to drop as he got tired. The blankets would hold in the shared heat, though. Even with Steve to hold, Bucky tossed and turned. He seemed to have a hard time relaxing enough to drift off.

"Bucky, if you want something to occupy your mind while you fall asleep, I could read you a bedtime story," Phil offered.

"I'm a little too old for that," Bucky said.

"What about a grown-up story instead of a kid story?" Steve said.

"Fine." Bucky sighed, then said, "I miss the wilderness. We got to see a lot of Europe, and even with a war on it was still beautiful. Russia in winter looks like a fairyland, all silver and diamond dust."

Phil brought out his Starkphone and searched through Bucky's reading list. Bucky seemed to be working his way through a batch of Jack London stories. Phil liked adventure fiction himself, so he picked out a likely story and began to read, "When Clay Dilham left the tent to get a sled-load of fire-wood, he expected to be back in half an hour. So he told Swanson, who was cooking the dinner ..."

Steve fell asleep within minutes. It took longer for Bucky's restless shifting to slow, settle, and finally stop. Phil kept reading until the end of the story, just to make certain. Then he slipped silently out of the room.