Who needs Myspace when you&#39;ve punched Hitler?

"So you just left them there? And you're not going to feed them breakfast?" Steve was disappointed, Tony.

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"They're my age!" Which meant they were independent ages ago if they were anything like him. "And insulted all my tech."

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"Maybe your tech deserved it," Sarah suggested, so neutral it was impossible to tell if she was joking or not.

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"Sarah!" Steve scolded, and then he told Tony, "Being your age doesn't mean they don't need breakfast. Or to be abandoned by their father."

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Sarah, you just kicked a puppy. KICKED A PUPPY. "They had--other parents!"

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Well, maybe it did! "Are you sure they had other parents?" Sarah asked. "Some of us don't, you know." Then she looked vaguely embarrassed at having let that slip, and Steve shot her a concerned look.

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"Yes! They were there too." Being awkward about this as well. "I'm never going to prom again."

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"That won't help," Steve told him, with the voice of long experience. "They show up regardless. And one year it wasn't even after prom. Now, how do you want your eggs?" he asked, heading for the kitchen and relying on the teenagers to follow him. Sarah, he noted, had washed her bowl and spoon and put them in the drying rack.

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"I had coffee." And so had his kids. Because he was an excellent father.

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"Coffee isn't breakfast," Sarah pointed out. "He sounds like Mr. Stark," she told Steve.

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"...yes, well," Steve said. "But she's right, Tony. How do you want your eggs?" he asked, looking up from digging through the refrigerator. He pointed at Sarah with a package of bacon and said, "And you, too." He knew what his calorie requirements were, and in an adolescent? A bowl of cereal wasn't going to cut it.

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Tony cleared his throat at that. "Um. Cooked? I usually have something microwaved."

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Sarah rolled her eyes in disbelief--in some ways she was very much a teenager--and told Steve, "Scrambled is fine."

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"Okay, so we'll all have scrambled eggs and bacon," Steve said easily. "And you're sure there was someone to make sure your kids got breakfast?" Steve asked Tony.

Tony might want to give extra consideration to his kid with Topher before he made his reply.

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"There were donuts there too." Those counted, right?

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"Donuts are not a nutritionally balanced breakfast," Sarah informed him.

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"...they can be."

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"No, they can't."

Bagels were an entirely different story, but then, Sarah was from New York.

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"Don't fight, you two," Steve chided as he stirred the eggs in the pan. "Tony, tell me about these kids of yours. How many?" Lots? He bet there were lots.

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"Just two," he replied, looking down. "One with Stephanie, and one with Topher."

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"Who's Stephanie?" Sarah asked quickly, alarmed. Some people, who were rude and not funny, always insisted she should have been named Stephanie, since 'it's the female version of Steven.'

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Steve, meanwhile, was at the stove choking on nothing. "One with Topher?"

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"She looked like my mom." Weird. So, so weird. "Stephanie's my girlfriend."

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"Yes, but who is she?" Sarah asked. Wait. "Who looks like your mom? Your girlfriend?" That would be okay. Weird, but okay.

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