Avengers 1. 1: The Missed Call

_**Unnecessarily long A/N:** OK, here we go, my second foray into posting the stories that constantly run through my head. I love the 5+1 fics, and thought I'd try my hand at one. The rest of it is almost written (and much longer than the first chapter, I promise!) so I'll be posting another chap either tonight or tomorrow. Please don't make me beg for reviews, cause I will. I have no shame._

**1: The missed call **

Pepper never picked up.

Tony knew that the call was most likely cruel; knew that it would hurt her more than it would help. The call was for his benefit; a bit of comfort as he flew to what he strongly suspected would be his death.

He only wanted to apologize; to speak to the woman he loved one last time and tell her how sorry he was for leaving. He wanted to explain that he was doing this _for_ her, that he couldn't let that nuke go off because she might get hurt.

To be honest, he just wanted to hear her voice one last time. He was selfish, and an asshole, and he wanted her voice to be the one that followed him through the portal.

_Maybe it's better this way_, he thought as his HUD fuzzed out in front of his eyes and he began falling through the incredible blackness of space. _She didn't have to hear me die_.


	2. 2: Pepper's Birthday

**A/N: **_Yay! I made it to chapter two! And this chapter, ugh. Dialogue I can do. Action I can kind of do. Putting the two together . . . not so much. ):_

_Thank you for your lovely review, Amy!_

_Oh yeah, forgot the disclaimer last time. They're not mine. That's probably a good thing, I don't share very well. ^-^_

**2: Pepper's Birthday**

Tony wandered into what had become the community living area, wiping grease absently on his pants. Natasha was curled up with a book in a chair in a position that would've had him calling in the nearest chiropractor. She looked up when he entered and gave him one of her I-know-something-you-don't smirks.

"What?"

Natasha simply raised her eyebrow a bit higher, smirk widening into something that definitely qualified as evil.

"I've been in the lab since yesterday. I swear whatever it was, Clint did it," Tony was not panicking. Not even a little bit.

Natasha's other eyebrow inched upward and Tony began backing slowly out of the room, hands held protectively in front of him.

"Well, I'm, um . . . I'm just going to go find Bruce and, um . . . do some scienc-y type stuff, in the lab. Downstairs. The one with the really good lock. Um . . . bye!" The last was said over his shoulder as he hurr—walked manfully and purposefully out of the room. Behind him, Natasha's evil smirk dissolved into a giggle. She put her book down and followed Tony at a discrete distance. This was one blowup she wasn't about to miss.

/*\_/*\_/*\

Tony knew Natasha was following him. That woman thrived on trouble and she had been looking at him like he was dinner. It honestly creeped him out. He'd lived with her for a few months now, known her for much longer than that, and all that time had taught him to be wary of the Russian spider. He'd seen her smile like that before when covered in blood and brains. Creepy didn't really begin to cover it.

He made a beeline for his lab, the only one with a lock that she couldn't get past—and, _really_, why didn't he have more of those? That needed to be fixed. He'd only gotten halfway there when Clint's arm shot out of a doorway and snagged him, pulling Tony into the room with him. Tony opened his mouth to demand an explanation, but Clint shoved him up against the wall and clapped a callused hand over his mouth.

"Shhhh! She'll find you!" he hissed into Tony's ear. He leaned into Tony, pinning him bodily against the wall. Tony licked his hand.

"Ewww! That's gross!" Clint stepped away, wiping his hand on his pants.

"You're telling me. When's the last time you washed that thing?" Tony grimaced. He wiped his own hand across his tongue and immediately regretted it: it was still covered with grease.

"Hey! I'm trying to help you out. She's on the warpath and you're about to be dead meat," Clint whispered. He closed the door and put his ear up against it.

"Natasha? What'd I ever do to her?" That was one woman he didn't want on his bad side. Tony put his ear to the door next to Clint. Not that they could hear much, Tony didn't skimp on building materials; the door was solid oak. "Shit! Did she find out about that youtube video?"

"No, not Nat. But yeah, you're in trouble for the video. Pepper. She's looking for you, man, and boy are you screwed."

"Pepper? What's she mad about?"

_Sir, might I call your attention to the date_? JARVIS's voice came softly from the ceiling.

"The date? What about it, it's Wednesday, right?" Now Tony was thoroughly confused.

"Wednesday? It's Friday, where have you been all week? No, wait, let me guess," Clint took in Tony's rumpled, grease stained clothes, red-rimmed eyes and wild hair. "The lab, right?"

"Did you say Friday?" Tony paled.

"Yeah. Hey, whoa, are you OK?" Clint grabbed Tony when he sagged against the door.

"No. No I'm not. I think I need to go update my will."

_Miss Potts' birthday was yesterday_, JARVIS helpfully supplied.

"Ouch," Clint clapped a hand heavily on Tony's shoulder, nearly knocking the dazed man down. "Tony, it's been nice knowing you, really. I'll send flowers to the funeral."

Tony stared into the distance for a moment with wide, unfocused eyes, contemplating his imminent demise. He snapped out of his daze suddenly and catapulted into desperate, almost manic energy. He grabbed Clint by the upper arms, pushed him to the middle of the room and pointed to the vent now over their heads. "You have to hide me, quick! You've got all kinds of nests in there; you have to hide me in one!"

Clint backed away with his hands raised. "Oh no, no way man. Pepper'd eat me alive and use my bow to pick her teeth."

"You owe me," Tony said, poking Clint in the chest.

"What? I do not!"

"Last week, when you puked in Natasha's shoes. She wanted to rip your head off until I bought her a new pair. I saved _your_ ass, now it's your turn."

"I had a concussion!"

"So? She was still pissed."

"A pissed-of Nat I can handle. A pissed-off Pepper scares the shit out of me. You're on your own with this one."

"What! Where'd you get your feathers from? A chicken?"

"A chicken!? Tony, I'm gonna—"

_Sir? Miss Potts is approaching the door._ JARVIS broke in urgently.

The two men looked at each other, only now realizing they'd abandoned stealth and had been yelling in each other's faces. Loudly. Like a scene out of a bad horror movie, both men turned in slow motion to see the door knob jiggle.

_"Tony_?_"_ Pepper could be heard faintly through the thick door. _"Tony, I know you're in there; open this door. Now!"_

"Don't worry, I locked it," Clint stage-whispered from behind Tony.

"The chicken thing? I take it back," Tony replied, still staring at the door. It was rattling in its frame now. "You're awesome."

_"Tony!"_ Pepper shouted.

"Quick, get the vent open!" Tony reached behind himself, batting at Clint without taking his eyes off of the door and the terrifying woman that was now beating on the other side.

"Chill out! Quit smacking me, I'm trying. Oh shit! It's stuck!"

"Stuck! What do you mean, stuck!" Tony was approaching full-on meltdown mode. He turned and began beating at Clint in earnest.

"Stuck as in it WON'T FUCKING OPEN!"

_"Tony, unlock this door right now! I can hear you in there." _Pepper banged on the door hard enough to shake the entire wall.

"Open it! Open it!" Tony's voice was approaching an octave that Clint was having trouble hearing.

"I'm trying, dammit!"

_"JARVIS. Override the door lock."_

"Fuck!" Both men froze and turned back to the door when they heard an ominous click.

"JARVIS, don't open that door!" Tony demanded.

_I am sorry, Sir. I, too, am more frightened of Miss Potts than of you._

"JARVIS," Tony began, but stopped when he heard a rattle behind him. He turned just in time to see Clint's feet disappear into the ceiling. "Clint! I thought it was stuck!"

"It was, now it's not," Clint smirked at him through the grating.

"The chicken thing? I take back my take-back, you coward!" Tony hissed, popping Clint the finger.

Clint gave a little finger wave and crawled back a few feet to where the vent widened, settling in beside Natasha. They listened, smiling and trying to stifle their laughter as Tony was dragged, sputtering, from the room. Pepper's yelling could be heard long after Tony's feeble protests faded into the distance.

"Thanks for holding that vent closed. That was hilarious," Clint bumped gently into Natasha's shoulder with his own.

"Not a problem," she smiled. "JARVIS?"

_I am recording the exchange, Ms. Romanov. I will inform you when it is ready to post._

"You putting this on youtube?" Clint asked.

"I have to teach him not to post videos of me singing karaoke somehow. This was far less bloody than anything else I could think of."


	3. 3: Thor Returns

_OK, I'm totally sorry for the massive delay in posting. I went on a crusade to kidnap the Avengers and make them mine. I don't recommend it; it didn't turn out well. Black Widow royally kicked my ass! Bones were broken, tears were shed, pants were wet, my muse fled for the hills . . . it was pretty ugly. Bad news: they're still not mine. Good news: now that the casts are off, I can use my hands again, and my muse has finally returned so you get more story!_

/*\_/*\_/*\

The tower was quiet for nearly two months after the Birthday Incident. Steve liked the quiet. Growing up in an orphanage, it had been hard to come by. There was a brief time after the orphanage, when he'd lived all alone in his tiny apartment in Brooklyn . . . but that hadn't lasted long before he'd finally succeeded in joining the Army. In the Army quiet was even more rare than privacy, especially for the "Golden Boy" Captain America. (He supposed it had been pretty quiet when he was frozen in the ice, but that didn't really count since he was unconscious, dead, whatever.) Now, with so many larger-than-life superheroes living together quiet was even more unusual than it had been in the Army.

Clint was scarily silent when he wanted to be. He would perch for hours, unmoving, in the darkest (and usually highest) corner of the room. Of course, Clint also got a perverse delight in scaring the living daylights out of Steve, as often as possible. He loved to use his scary ninja skills to hide in plain sight just so he could jump out at Steve and make him yell, drop whatever he was carrying, or—in one particularly embarrassing case—pee his pants. (It was just a little and, in Steve's defense, he had just finished an eight hour long battle with strange little flying jellyfish . . . _things_. He hadn't exactly had time for a bathroom break and was already getting desperate by the time he'd gotten back to the Tower. Clint apologized, but in Steve's mind the fact that he was giggling and being held in a rather painful-looking head lock by Natasha at the time negated the sincerity of the apology. As did the adult diapers that still mysteriously appeared on his night table from time to time.)

Natasha was just as creepily quiet as Clint; worse, actually. Steve had once spent an entire day lounging about the Tower (OK, lying injured on the couch, waiting for the serum to finish healing him: same thing, in his mind.) without realizing that she had been watching (babysitting) him the whole time. She might not be audibly noisy, but the woman could make herself noticed when she wanted to. She could carry on an entire conversation with just her eyebrows. It was actually rather impressive . . . and intimidating. Especially when she and Clint did it at the breakfast table.

Bruce was pretty good at being unobtrusive, but the Hulk gave the man a _presence_. Bruce could fill a room while he was trying to hide in the corner. Steve wondered if his habit of hunching in on himself was from a desire to appear inoffensive or if it was an instinctive reaction to the pressure that the Hunk exerted. Nobody else ever remarked on this presence, though, and Steve wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a figment of his own imagination. But, real or imaginary, Steve always knew when Bruce was in a room. And if someone got the man going on a scientific topic, well . . . Steve's eyes tried to cross themselves just thinking about it.

Tony was noise personified. His mouth never stayed closed for more than a few seconds at a time; Steve would lay odds that he talked in his sleep. Even when he wasn't speaking, he made plenty of noise. The man was a compulsive fidgeter. Pencils must be tapped, tablets must be poked at, machinery manipulated and _the music_. Good God, the man had to realize he was in danger of going deaf; Steve swore that bleeding from the ears was a distinct possibility if he stayed in Tony's lab for more than ten minutes while the inventor was in one of his frenzies. Even during a battle he couldn't keep quiet, throwing sarcastic comments and bad jokes around as freely as the Widow threw punches. Director Fury had tried sending him on a stealth assignment once . . . _once_. Needless to say, it hadn't turned out well. Clint still couldn't stand the sight or smell of oranges, for some reason.

And Thor: Thor was the god of thunder, in every sense of the word. He stormed into every room, bellowed when he spoke and shook the walls when he laughed. He was huge and imposing and took up more space than should be humanly possible. Of course, since he wasn't human, Steve supposed that made sense. Everything about Thor was noisy, from his speech to his behavior to his giant cape . . . even the very air around him crackled with enthusiasm. When Thor was happy, the sun shone with an almost audible exuberance; when he was upset the thunder rattled windows two cities away.

But right now, right now it was quiet. They'd had a rather disastrous mission nearly a week ago; terrorists had planted bombs around the city and they'd missed one near a park. A lot of innocent civilians had died, most of them children, and Fury thought it best that they all took some down time. Bruce had taken a temporary leave to do some mission work in some unnamed jungle in South America, Clint and Natasha were on some super-secret I-could-tell-you-but-I'd-have-to-kill-you assignment (and Steve thought he had a pretty good idea of where they were, so Fury could just take his precious secrecy and chew on it), Thor was doing his prince thing at home, and Tony . . . well, Tony was sulking. Not the noisy, I-didn't-get-my-way-and-am-a-giant-man-child-and-s o-will-make-everyone-around-me-miserable type of sulking that Tony often indulged in, but an almost scarily subdued brooding that Steve didn't even think the man capable of.

Pepper had cooled off a bit since the Birthday Incident, but Tony was still forbidden from entering his lab while she was home, aside from Avenger business, of course. Steve thought that would mean an irritated, bored Tony making everyone in the tower miserable, but he'd actually been on his best behavior. He was attending all of his board meetings, he'd even managed to stay awake for most of them and pay attention once or twice. Things between the two, and thus for the entire Tower, were finally starting to get back to normal.

And then Thor returned from Asgard.

Steve was reading in the common room when lightening split the clear blue sky and the thunder god landed on the roof hard enough to shake a few books from the shelves. He could hear Thor calling out greetings long before the god himself appeared, carrying . . . barrels? Yup. Two wooden barrels, roughly the size of small ponies, were slung over Thor's shoulders.

"Captain! It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of your company! How do you fare this fine evening?"

"Thor, it's been less than a week since you left. And it's barely seven in the morning. I'm fine. Can I, um, help you with those?" Steve put down his book and stood, gesturing to the barrels.

"Of course! I have excellent news from the Allfather. I bring two kegs of the best Asguardian ale to share with my friends in celebration!" Thor shrugged one barrel casually off of his shoulder and tossed it to Steve, who staggered and fell on his butt with a grunt under the weight.

"News?" he squeaked from under the sloshing barrel.

"Yes! News most excellent! Where are the rest of our brethren? I am anxious to begin the celebration!"

Steve slithered out from under the container. "Bruce is in South America, Clint and Natasha are on a mission, and Tony and Pepper are getting ready for an early board meeting, I think. What news?"

"Loki has made excellent progress in his rehabilitation. Our father is considering releasing him to my custody. If all goes well, I will be allowed to bring him to Midguard before the next moon so that he may begin making remuneration for his slights against the inhabitants of this realm. Is this not most marvelous news!"

Steve felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop. It had been barely six months since Loki had tried to enslave the entire population of the earth and Odin considered him to be already nearly rehabilitated? He was saved from having to come up with an answer when Tony sauntered into the room.

"Oh I think it's marvelous news all right, or at least it's a marvelous reason to drink. And look! You've brought something to drink. How remarkably thoughtful of you."

"Friend Stark! Have you been well during my absence?"

Tony merely grunted as he beelined past Thor for the wet bar in the corner. Steve thought he was right to be concerned; Tony looked like crap. Losing the civilians, the children, had hit them all hard, but Tony seemed to be taking it harder than the rest of the team. Steve didn't think he'd stopped drinking since returning from that mission. How he managed to stay upright with so much alcohol in his system was a mystery to Steve, but it was definitely starting to show: the red in his eyes was beginning to clash nicely with the growing black rings underneath them.

"Tony, it's seven in the morning. Don't you think it's a little too early to start drinking?" he asked, sharing a concerned look with Thor.

"Yeah, probably. But technically I never stopped drinking from last night, so I'm not really starting, am I?" Tony tossed back his tumbler of Scotch and eyed the barrel still over Thor's shoulder speculatively. "Asguardian ale, huh? I'm sure I've got something to tap that with lying around here somewhere. Toss it up on the bar."

"Friend Stark, you do not look well. Perhaps our Captain is correct. We should save the ale for a dinner feast."

"Yeah, whatever," Tony took a long pull from the bottle of alcohol still in his hand and slammed it down before stalking out of the room, mumbling something unrepeatable about meetings that made Steve regret his enhanced hearing.

"That was easy. I expected an argument," he said.

Thor absently stacked both barrels next to the bar, eyeing the door with an uncharacteristically thoughtful look in his eye. "The Man of Iron is still suffering from our last battle together, is he not?"

"Yeah, he seems really broken up about it. Bruce, Natasha, and Clint all pretty much disappeared right after and Pepper and I have tried to talk to him about it, but he's just not opening up to us. Every time we try it seems like he just drinks more and listens less."

"I fear my summons to Asguard was ill-timed as well. It appears that I have abandoned a friend in his time of need."

"No, Thor. Tony's just, being Tony. He'll come around. Eventually." Steve clapped a hand to the god's shoulder. "C'mon. I haven't had breakfast yet and I'm starving. Care to join me?" Steve led Thor from the room, but he couldn't stop himself from casting his own speculative glance at the door that Tony had just stormed through.

/*\_/*\_/*\

"Tony? Do you have your suit on? We need to get to the meeting early. I've got some paperwork I need you to sign first," Pepper's voice floated to Tony through the bathroom door and washed over him where he lay on the bed, arm over his eyes. He peeked out from under the edge of his elbow when he heard her heels clacking toward him.

"What paperwork? I thought I made you CEO, you get all the paperwork now," he wasn't whining, really. He was just . . . tired.

"Yes, Tony, I am the CEO. But your name is still on the letterhead, and the side of the building, and the bottoms of the paychecks, so you still have paperwork to sign." He could see Pepper's tight smile around the sleeve of his suit jacket. The one she used when he was being a whiny ass and she had to deal with him instead of doing the five thousand other things that her mornings demanded of her. The one she used when she was starting to lose her patience with him. He heaved a deep sigh and rolled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed . . . and kept right on rolling until he hit the floor.

"Tony!" Pepper shrieked and dropped to her knees beside him. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, head rush. Sorry."

"Head rush, right," Pepper snorted. "More like hangover." Tony offered her his best winsome smile. She put a hand on his cheek and smoothed the other through his hair. "Tony, are you OK? Really?"

"I'm fine, see? Not even a bruise."

"I'm not talking about falling off of the bed."

"I know," Tony pushed up from the floor and paced to the door, stopping with his back to Pepper. He knew what she was asking and he felt a sudden need to not be a part of this conversation.

"The footage was bad, Tony. I couldn't imagine having been there, having to watch-"

"Having to watch people get blown up, you mean?" he interrupted, suddenly angry. "Children? Yeah, it sucked, but it's done and over with and I'm tired of indulging you and Steve in this unhealthy obsession to talk about it. It's over. Drop it. I screwed up, kids died, end of story," he didn't realize he'd been yelling until he turned and saw the tears in her eyes. "Pep," Tony felt himself deflating, undone by a few drops of salt water. "Pep, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, Tony. Don't." This time it was Pepper who interrupted, holding up her hand as if to physically ward off his angry words. "Just don't. I'm going to the meeting; you just stay here and get some sleep. I'll have the paperwork messaged over later."

"Pepper, I-"

"No," she said gently, walking over to him and placing a finger against his lips. "I understand. I'll stop trying to get you to talk about it. But only if you promise to get some sleep and ingest something other than alcohol." The smile she used on him this time was her I'm-starting-to-unravel smile. The one he saw every time he left for a mission.

Tony hung his head and nodded. He couldn't bear to look at the pity he knew he would see in her eyes. He didn't deserve it. He kept his head down until he couldn't hear her heels any more, then headed resolutely for the kegs of ale waiting by his bar.

_. . . and, dammit. A plot snuck into this and went and made itself at home. Now it's going to take actual effort to write. . Bummer. Oh, well. C'est la vie._

_On a completely unrelated topic, I have no beta and thus nobody to help whip the muse into submission (hint, hint, hint)._


End file.

Avengers, Humor, Hurt-Comfort