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A ten year old Tony tries not to quiver or hide behind Ana’s skirt as Howard glares down at them both from the kitchen doorway. Ana is standing steady and brave beside him, and Tony tries to mimic her defiance. He’s too old to be letting his father get to him.
“Tony,” Howard says, and the disappointment in his tone is familiar. “What is this nonsense?”
Tony forces his voice to be steady. “Ana was just… teaching me…”
“Advanced algebra? The formulas behind digital electronics? Anything that might not be a complete waste of time?”
Tony looks down at his shoes. He keeps his hands still and resists the urge to fidget. “…how to make quiche,” he finally whispers, his cheeks burning.
Howard huffs and turns to Ana. “You should know better than to encourage this behaviour. He should be focusing on his studies.” Ana opens her mouth to respond but Howard talks right over her; “I understand you’re fond of the boy but that’s no excuse to allow him to be lazy.”
Tony doesn’t see the frustration on Ana’s face. He’s still staring at his shoes. Howard continues, “I don’t want to find you in this kitchen again, Tony. Do you understand me?”
Tony nods stiffly. “Yes, sir.”
The sound of Howard’s polished shoes fade away and Tony finally looks up, his chest feeling tight. Ana’s staring after his father. She looks angry. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, Ana.”
Ana looks down at him and the anger melts away. Tony doesn’t understand the expression that replaces it. “It’s not your fault, Tony.”
He bites his lip to try and stop himself from speaking but it still comes out; “I don’t want to stop cooking with you.”
Ana runs a hand through his hair comfortingly. He loves it when she does that. His mother used to do the same thing. “I know, hon.” She kneels down to look him in the eye and grins mischievously. “Tell you what. Next time your father goes away we’ll have a secret cooking session, okay? No one will even know.”
Tony will never realise this, but it is from Ana that he first learned rebellion. He giggles slightly, nervous and excited about the idea of doing something he’s not allowed to. “Okay.”
“Great,” Ana stands back up and nudges his shoulder. “You’d better get going before he comes back.”
Tony gives her a quick hug – he’s supposed to be too old for hugs now but Ana always lets him – and scampers away, saying a quiet “thank you!” over his shoulder.
Tony and Ana continue to cook and bake on occasion. But it becomes a secret for Tony, something shameful to hide when anyone but Ana is around.
Nine times out ten, Bruce is confident in saying that his life has changed for the better since the Avengers Initiative. He has a stable roof over his head, he has teammates he’s gradually beginning to trust, and he hasn’t been able to play with this many shiny toys since before the Other Guy made his first appearance. There are, of course, times when he gets an itch under his skin, a prickle on the back of his neck, symptoms of having been on the run too long to ever be truly settled staying in the one place. He suddenly finds himself in the media’s eye on a regular basis, and he feels the pressure of doing well, of being good, more than he ever has before. But he can generally agree it’s a good kind of pressure, something to work towards, a purpose the likes of which he’s never had before. And seriously, the lab Tony designed just for him is everything a science geek like Bruce could ever dream of.
But it’s not just the lab that Tony has given to Bruce since their first meeting. There are things Tony has done for Bruce on a deeper level, and at times, perhaps even a subconscious level. He believes there’s a reason the Other Guy grabbed Tony from the sky in the Battle of New York. Why the Other Guy always seems to look to Tony first for orders, why Tony is the first person the Other Guy checks on after a fight. Because Tony has given Bruce his trust, gave it to him from day one when they were all but strangers, and has never tried to take it back. Bruce feels normal around Tony – or, perhaps not normal, but in familiar company. Tony pokes and prods at Bruce without fear, he talks to Bruce without wariness. All such small things but for Bruce, they are probably what have made the biggest difference for him since living in the back streets of Calcutta. And Bruce has never found a way to thank him.
Which is what has him entering Tony’s workshop on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, the apple torte from a few weeks ago in the back of his mind. Like the others, he’d never had any inclination that Tony liked to cook, but he had observed the peace on Tony’s face, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way his body, for once, seemed comfortable in staying still. It got Bruce wondering.
And when he’d been informed by a worried-but-trying-not-to-look-like-it Steve that Tony hadn’t left his workshop in roughly twenty eight hours, it had seemed like as good a time as any to try and gift Tony with the one small thing he felt he could offer.
“Do you know how to make curry?”
Tony startles away from his workbench, where he appears to have been poking at bits of metal with a screwdriver ineffectually for some time. “Oh, Brucie Bear! Hey! What was that?”
“Curry. You ever made it?”
Tony looks nonplussed. “Ah, can’t say that I have. Why?”
“I thought I could teach you.”
For a moment, silence. Then, “… and again, why?”
Bruce shrugs. “I’m hungry. You’ve definitely been down here long enough that you’ve run out of protein bars, so it’s safe to assume you’re hungry too.” When Tony continues to look at him blankly, he adds, “I figured you might want to learn, after that cake you made for us.” He smiles. “Didn’t know you were a closet chef.”
The look on Tony’s face can only be described as constipated. “Well… I’m not, really. Bit of a one hit wonder.” He slaps on a grin. “Really, we’re all lucky I didn’t burn the place down.”
Bruce has long learned when Tony’s deflecting. He also knows better than to call him on it. “Then this’ll be good for you. Come on, JARVIS already confirmed we have all the right ingredients.”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “We have all the ingredients for a start-from-scratch curry?”
“I may have had to order a few. Been thinking about making one for a while now.”
“Um, thanks Bruce, but… I really have other things I should be doing…” And Bruce would believe him if he hadn’t been poking at scraps when he’d come in and if Tony wasn’t frowning at his workbench now.
“They can wait,” he says firmly, and isn’t that an example of what Tony’s given him right there. The fact that he feels comfortable enough to get stern without either of them becoming nervous is, to him, a small miracle. He walks forwards and nudges Tony’s shoulder, knowing he doesn’t like to be grabbed outright. “Come on, curry awaits.”
Tony lets out a put upon sigh belied by the speed with which he jumps off his stool and follows Bruce back out of the workshop. “Fine. MasterChef: Avengers edition. Should be fun.”
“Gutty van – what?”
“Gutti vankaya kura,” Bruce repeats patiently. “I didn’t make it often – it needs more ingredients than I generally had on hand – but it’s one of my favourites.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” says Tony before rubbing his hands together. “Okay, Big and Green, what do we need?”
Bruce lists off the ingredients from memory as Tony scrambles about the kitchen, his eyes getting wider as the list gets longer. By the time they have everything out and Bruce has explained what brinjals are (to which Tony rolls his eyes and accuses Bruce of using this whole thing as an excuse to mess with him) there isn’t any space left on the table and the peanuts are close to falling to the floor. They both take a moment to stare at the pile.
“You know I do actually have to get work done at some point today?”
Bruce gallantly chooses not to mention the screwdriver and instead explains “it shouldn’t actually take that long.” He waves his hand up and down. “An hour, hour and a half, at most.”
Tony sighs but doesn’t make any kind of attempt to escape. “Alright Christina Tosi, what’s first?”
Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Really? Of all the celebrities you could go with it’s the thirty-three year old pastry chef?”
“And the fact that you know that proves what I have been trying to tell you for months now.”
“I do not – “
“You absolutely watch too much day time TV.”
Unfortunately, though Bruce will never admit it, Tony might have a point. He really has been catching himself glued to the TV at two in the afternoon a bit too often lately. Ironically, it’s all the cooking shows that keep reeling him in.
“Besides,” Tony continues with a grin. “Of course I chose Christina Tosi. You’d look great in a frilly apron.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not the one you want to see in a frilly apron,” Bruce mutters before he can stop himself, but coughs and quickly moves on when Tony’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Okay, so, let’s start with the tamarind pulp…”
Tony claims to have never made curry before, but he picks it up as naturally as he does everything else. Bruce can understand why; it’s easy to see the recipe as a formula. For science geeks like them, there’s really nothing easier. Tony does manage to burn the cumin and cilantro seeds and it makes his mouth thin and his brow furrow but Bruce points out that they have plenty more. Tony doesn’t fully relax again until the second batch comes out better.
And that’s the thing; aside from when he makes a mistake, Tony becomes truly relaxed as they cook. He moves fluidly and confidently like he does when in the workshop or the lab, with a look on his face that says he’s already thinking six steps ahead and getting excited for the finished product. But it’s more than that. He doesn’t hold that same manic energy, the apparent desperation to get his latest project finished and up and running. Here, in the kitchen, surrounded by the aroma of onion and herbs, Tony seems content to… slow down. He moves carefully, he talks quietly, the lines in his face all but disappear. It’s quite the transformation.
Bruce takes a moment while the eggplant is soaking to study Tony’s expression out of the corner of his eye. He smiles privately at what he sees.
The eggplants are stuffed and cooking in the gravy when Natasha enters the kitchen. Tony is watching the pressure cooker with his arms crossed, apparently apprehensive something will explode and ruin all their hard work, so he doesn’t notice her at first, but Bruce does.
She sits down at the table, her arms resting in front of her. “Hungry?” Bruce asks her dryly.
Tony frowns and looks up, then jumps as he realises they’re no longer alone. Natasha smiles. “I’d recognise the smell of gutti vankaya anywhere, Doc.” Her smile turns thoughtful. “I think I’d honestly consider compromising a mission for it if it was cooked well enough.”
“We’ll make sure not to tell the bad guys,” Bruce says. He and Natasha had started off with justifiable wariness of each other and it hasn’t all gone away. Sometimes it’s still hard for the two of them to comfortably be alone in the same room. Bur for the most part, and especially when others are around, they get along well enough, and are improving still. Bruce is thankful for that.
Tony shifts, grabbing their attention as he rubs the back of his head, his eyes glued to the floor. Bruce frowns. All the relaxation in Tony is gone; he's suddenly tense and twitchy all over again and he moves to wring his hands together like a kid getting caught throwing rocks at passing cars. “Well, I’ve wasted enough time,” he announces out of nowhere. “Thanks for the lesson, Bruce. Hope it doesn’t taste too bad. I’d hate to see the Other Guy’s reaction to me ruining his favourite dish.” With a quick smirk and a complete lack of subtlety, Tony flees.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Natasha says pointlessly, looking at the open doorway Tony had disappeared through.
“That’s… odd,” Bruce comments. Natasha and Tony have their own set of trust issues, but they get along well enough. Tony’s certainly never felt the need to run from her before. He glances at the curry happily bubbling away and sighs. He hadn’t even gotten Tony to eat anything.
Tony actually is working when Bruce comes back down to the workshop some time later, a bowl of the curry in his hands. There isn’t much of it left; it had been a huge hit with the rest of the Avengers and Natasha had threatened Clint with a fork when he tried for seconds before her.
Bruce puts the bowl down on the closest flat surface and looks over to where Tony is fidgeting with the glowing blueprints in front of him. He’s pretty sure they’re of Black Widow’s gauntlets. As Bruce watches, Tony seems to come out of his daze and notice he’s no longer alone. He smiles at Bruce, but he looks tired.
“Everyone loved it,” Bruce says, gesturing to the bowl. “Thought you might actually want to taste it before Natasha licked the pot clean.”
“Thanks Bruce,” says Tony. He doesn’t move. “I’ll try it later.”
Bruce rolls his eyes and brings the bowl over, all but dropping it in Tony’s lap. Tony makes an indignant noise and grabs it before it can spill. “It’ll be cold later. Just eat, Tony.”
And maybe a little of his concern bleeds into his voice because Tony looks at him with a wary expression before finally conceding and spooning some of the gravy into his mouth. His eyes widen, just slightly, and he begins eating with the urgency of a starving man. Probably not all that far off the truth.
His mission finally complete, Bruce smiles. Tony mumbles something that is possibly “thank you” and more likely “I have work to do, stop distracting me and go away” and goes back to fiddling with the hologram-gauntlets. By the looks of things he’s trying to increase their power without overloading the power cells. But Bruce isn’t the expert.
He hangs around for a little bit longer, because being a fellow insomniac science geek, he knows how this goes. With a hot meal finally in Tony’s stomach and going on over thirty hours without proper rest, it isn’t long before Tony’s eyes are beginning to droop. JARVIS dutifully takes down the schematics and turns off the Metallica playing in the background as Tony’s head rests on his arms over the desk. Soon, the only thing filling the air is soft snoring.
Bruce drags the ratty old blanket from the couch – seriously considering finding Tony a new one as he does so because it can’t possibly be healthy to sleep in a blanket stained with oil – and drops it over his shoulders. He sighs, knowing he’ll be seeing the signs of back pain tomorrow, but he’s not strong enough to move Tony to an actual bed without waking him.
Maybe he’ll ask Steve to help. He’s fairly certain Steve would jump at the chance to carry Tony bridal-style.