It was just easier to ignore that yesterday even happened, though Tony was well aware that most people couldn’t function like that. He was still half drooping, eyelids lowered, lips pressed together in a thin line as he nodded at Steve. Defensive blocks sounded right up his alley at the moment and he was in no position to argue right now anyway.

“Show me,” the older man grumbled, though that would require actually looking at Steve.

Sitting on the trilevel benches that made an L shape around the north and west wall, Natasha whispered something to Clint and money exchanged hands. They were being quiet and out of site in a shadow cast by one of Steve’s punching bags. They’d been there since the blond started warming up, though it was doubtful he’d noticed them. Tony certainly did not.

When Steve changed his position, Tony tried to mirror him before his arms went limp again.

“I’m not sober yet. Don’t look so disapproving.”