Steve is a little more mellow at this point, and while he's disappointed to have Tony move away and get up, he's not hurt or upset by it. He lets him go with only a regretful sigh, and takes the opportunity to stretch both arms over his head with a soft grunt. "Better rehydrate, then," he says. "With actual water. Scotch doesn't count."

Tony's not wrong; it's a good time to get moving, and Steve feels like enough of his psyche has been restored to get going at it. He can't see his friend's face well, with him standing between him and the city lights, and he has to assume Tony's still on the edge of physical exhaustion, but if sleep doesn't come easy to him--and he can't imagine why it would--there's satisfaction to be found in motion and routine. He wants to comfort Tony, reassure, care for him--but it doesn't seem to be the time for it, and too much affection too soon might just come across as weird and desperate.

Times like this, he falls back on banter. "Thanks a lot," he smirks and looks himself over as if trying to see the smell Tony's talking about. "You know, I showered less than ten hours ago. You're bound to be way smellier."

But there is no way he's going to turn down a shower with company. Tony has his number there, and he stands and circles around the bed to come closer to him, touching his hip lightly. "But I didn't get to paint your nails, so you may as well let me condition your hair."