When Tony is back an hour later Steve is still in the same seat just a slightly different position.

He would have come to bed, should have made himself get out of the chair and make the trek, but he got lost in the quiet of the kitchen, in the numb gaze that he focused on the ceiling at nothing.

It was thirst that shook him out of it, got him to sit up, assess the ache remaining in his wrist, and fetch a glass of water. But then he sat back down at the table to drink and lost himself all over again in the bottom of the glass.

It just seemed pointless, fighting off the invading thoughts. Better to sit still for a while and just let the bad feelings steamroll over him all at once when he had nothing better to do and nowhere better to be.

When Tony comes in Steve starts a bit, then unslouches himself, stretching the tension out of his shoulders. He doesn't say anything until Tony does, until his makes that crack that brings an unexpected laugh.

"That helps you sleep does it?" he asks, rubbing his good hand down the side of his face and finishing off his drink.