Breakfast At Tony's
Title: Breakfast At Tony's
Fandom: Avengers!
Pairing: Steve Centric! Steve/Everyone is you really squint!
Warnings: This will make you want to cook. Seriously.
Prompt: From the Avengers Kink meme! "Steve cooks everyone breakfast"
Notes: Dedicated to my beautiful friend Jazy, whom I love very much and who has ALLOFTHESTEVEFEELS
He goes through five punching bags before he stops. And even then he only stops because there aren't any left to destroy.
Steve takes his time, gathering the ripped cloth and searching the house for a broom before slowly, slowly sweeping up every grain of sand off the gymnasium floor.
By the time he's finished there's sweat dripping off his brow and his body feels stiff, joints hardened from the lethargic movements, but the floor shines as if it's brand new, and all that was left of the punching bags has been properly bagged and hauled down the three flights of stairs to the dumpster outside.
Steve breathes out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow, eyes falling on the large plexiglass door leading to one of the many balconies. It reflects only darkness, a few slivers of moonlight between the clouds streaming onto the quiet Hudson River, making the murky water look almost pure, almost...beautiful.
But the beauty is lost to Steve, all he can do is focus on the darkened sky and sigh to himself when he realizes that dawn is still a long ways from coming.
Steve doesn't sleep very much anymore and as such tries his very best not to wander the mansion at night, not wanting to alert the others, having quickly learned the hard way that even the gentlest of steps past either Natasha's or Clint's rooms would result in the door flinging open and a gun, (or an arrow) pointed directly between his eyes.
However tonight, he doesn't want to simply return to his room so he takes the safest route he can, quietly sliding past Thor's, hearing great heavings of breath through the thick wooden door. Not snores, he's learned, just large inhales of air to fill large lungs and the sound is almost soothing, almost...comforting, knowing that there were others still here among the silence and that soon, once the dawn broke over the horizon he wouldn't be alone anymore.
He finds the living room easily enough, glancing momentarily at the couch, at the impossibly thin screen of Tony's unnecessarily large television and for a split second considers watching, or rather, attempting to watch something. But then he recalls the immense confusion, and eventually painful frustration that he felt the last time he attempted to watch alone and decides against it.
“Unable to sleep, sir?” Steve jumps without intending to, still not quite yet used to Jarvis's voice, which seemed to him to come from everywhere, still not quite used to the concept of him, but he forces himself to take it in stride along with everything else. After all, what other choice does he have?
Steve manages a smile, but he isn't sure where to direct it, and it makes him feel awkward, as if he was being watched from all angles, by eyes all around him, analyzing his every movement. He tries very hard not to let his discomfort show to those hidden eyes.
“Yeah...how could you tell?”
“It’s quite simple, sir. You are awake.”
A breath of amusement leaves Steve then, his body slowly beginning to relax, silently grateful that Tony gave Jarvis such a personality. ...Still, he finds it difficult to wrap his head around it, the idea that one can simply type a few keys and give something that wasn't actually alive a personality.
He tries not to linger on the thoughts, desperately forcing himself to push it all aside and converse with the man...robot...voice. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”
“Shall I set up the television for you, sir?” Steve grimaces when the screen turns on by itself, bright white light seeping into the darkness, making him blink hard and turn his head away. “No, thanks. I...don't really feel like watching TV, thanks again though. I'll just make myself some breakfast or...something.”
Sensitive floor panels activate the bright overhead lights in the kitchen the second he steps foot in it, but this time he doesn't wince, though the urge to do so is almost overwhelming. The kitchen is huge, ridiculously so, huge and steel and desolate. The sterility nearly suffocates him and he's quick to open the door of the large chrome plated fridge searching for something, anything, with color. With life.
Steve's hands begin moving on their own accord, pulling various ingredients out of the fridge, placing them on the equally chrome looking counter. The greens of the scallions, the bright reds of the tomatoes, all of the colors he sets upon the surface seem to violently contrast against the bleak steel and somehow, in this way, he begins to feel better.
It's only when half the content of the overly stocked refrigerator is splayed out in front of him in neat lines does he realize he has no idea what he wants to do with it all. It's too much food for one person, and the idea of putting it back, unused, just feels wrong to him.
He glances at the stoves, at the food, at the normally unused kitchen table adorned with enough chairs for all of them...
He's never been much of a cook...and yet, “Jarvis?” He almost feels silly, talking to the empty chrome plated room but he shoves the feeling away when a familiar voice speaks to him, “Yes sir?”
“What time is it?”
“4:20am, sir. Exactly two hours and fourteen minutes before sunrise. Will you be attempting to make breakfast for the household this morning?”
Steve doesn't even bother fighting back the small smile that comes to his lips, “Attempt is the right word for it… I've never really cooked before.” He looks down at the foods before him, then blinks when a small panel in the counter opens, a knife block and cutting board rising from underneath.
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
“I...Sure, if you'd like.” He doesn't point out that he has no idea just how Jarvis will be able to assist him, momentarily entertaining the idea of a pair of robotic hands reaching down from the ceiling and chopping vegetables for him as he beats the eggs. The image is still playing in his head when Jarvis asks him simply;
“What would you like to make?” Steve blanks at that, having not quite thought of anything, “Uh,” “Might I suggest,” Jarvis's voice interjects, and above the counter Steve hears the unmistakable sound of gears shifting.
At this point he really is expecting a robotic arm to reach down from the ceiling, only to cock his head to the side in confusion when instead of a hand or anything like it, he sees a television.
The screen comes to life and the picture before him is paused on a woman with a pan in her hands and a smile on her face. Bright red letters in the corner of the picture say, “YOUTUBE” and the title of the video in bold caps reads, “HOW TO MAKE STEAK AND EGGS FOR 5 OR MORE - PERFECT BREAKFAST RECIPE!!!”
The video begins playing and Jarvis's voice seems to come directly from the television speakers this time, and somehow being able to pinpoint that voice made Steve feel more at ease. “Simply tell me if you'd like to pause or rewind the video, sir. I shall guide you to the best of my ability.”
Steve feels a smile prickling at the corners of his mouth, and when he speaks his voice sounds warm and sincere, even to his own ears. “Thank you, Jarvis.”
--
Eventually, after a slow and slightly shaky start, Steve manages to loosen up, to let himself to be comfortable with the idea of telling Jarvis to pause and rewind almost constantly, a bit embarrassed that he had to have the directions repeated so much, slightly guilty that he was, in a way, ordering Jarvis around.
But with a little bit of time, he does become comfortable, and eventually be begins to move at a steady pace, the repetitive motions are relaxing in their own right. At least it pulls his mind away from his lamenting on solitude and endless sleep and he can simply focus all of his energy on this, on creating something from the ingredients in front of him.
Painfully white plates seem to bloom to life with each finished product he lays upon them, the colors bright, beautiful, the air smelling so sweet that it made his mouth wet and drew forth the type of appetite he didn't think he'd ever truly have again.
He arranges the dining room table with far too much care, managing to find utensils with colored glass grips somewhere hidden in the back of Tony's drawers, behind all the sterile greys and chromes.
Dawn breaks over the horizon, and Jarvis, as if he somehow sensed his will, opens the large panels that cover the glass, letting the beginnings of sunlight seep into the room, hues of gold and red bathing the kitchen, pouring warm colors over the chrome surfaces and Steve closes his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun caress his skin.
-
Steve tries not to smile too proudly when he sees the mirrored expressions of surprise on Natasha and Bruce’s faces, both of them slowly, slowly making their way into the dining room, staring at the table in quiet awe, as if breaking the silence would somehow shatter the illusion in front of them.
Of course, it's Tony who is the first one to speak, and the last one to notice what's been done. He stumbles into the dining room, still half asleep, rubbing at his closed eyelids with his index finger and his thumb, his voice heavy and tired, “Kay, I'll make a McDonalds run, what'd you all want?”
Natasha rolls her eyes and Bruce laughs breathlessly, “That wont be necessary Tony, Steve made us all breakfast.” Tony blinks his eyes open at that, “Wait, what?” He looks around at the dining room, at the artfully arranged plates and blinks, a few times, as if letting the image sink in. “....Kay....Wasn't expecting that.”
Steve can't help but chuckle as Tony sits at the table beside Bruce, looking at the food and cocking his head to the side, “Huh, this looks-” “Incredible,” Bruce supplies for him with a smile, looking up at Steve. “Thanks, Steve.”
He can feel a flush rise to his cheeks at the praise, and just as he opens his mouth to reply, he is cut off by Thor's booming voice, calling out a 'good morrow!' as he, almost ceremoniously, makes his way into the dining room, walking with all the grace and gusto of a true king, even sitting at the head of the table as though this was his own royal feasting chamber and not Tony's dining room.
“I see breakfast is quite different than what we are normally subjected to. Tell me, what has prompted such a change?”
Steve feels the beginnings of that flush returning and he rubs the back of his neck, half shying away from the attention, half enjoying it, silently proud of himself. “I just woke up early and decided to make us breakfast, that's all.”
Thor's attention turns to him, his eyes bright, “This feast was made by you alone Steven? I must say, I am impressed!” “That makes two of us,” Clint mumbles as he walks by, heading straight for the coffee machine where a fresh pot was waiting, but not before ruffling Steve's hair on the way and muttering a, “Thanks, Cap.”
His face becomes hotter then, and he's sure there's a steady flush settling on his cheeks and he shakes his head lightly, smoothing his hair out. “No, it wasn't all on my own; I had a lot of help from Jarvis. If anything, you should be thanking him.”
Thor laughs jovially, not noticing the incredulous look some of the other Avengers give him, still not used to just how awake he always seemed to be in the mornings. “Then I shall thank the both of you! Come, let us enjoy this worthy feast.” He pats down on the chair to his left so hard it nearly breaks, gesturing for Steve to join him.
“Worthy, Thor?” Natasha asks, her amusement clearly betrayed in her tone, but the blond merely replies, “Yes! A feast worthy of Asgard!” Steve is sure his entire face is completely red at this point, and he tries his very best not to squirm in his seat or look away. “I doubt it's that good Thor, really.”
Thor laughs warmly at that, placing a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder, squeezing affectionately. “It is worthy of me, my friend, and therefore worthy of Asgard.”
Natasha pats the back of Steve's hand lightly, a slight smirk on her lips. “I'm pretty sure that was a compliment.” And Steve lets himself laugh, looking down at his lap for a moment before glancing up again, watching as the Avengers eat the breakfast he worked so hard to make them.
They all begin to look more awake as coffee passes between them, coffee and smiles and light conversation as well with the occasional, and yet somehow frequent thanks, and praise on his cooking skills.
The table is bright with sunlight, bright and utterly alive with hands reaching out and passing plates around, handing off salt shakers and rolls of bread, alive with sounds and whispers, with laughter and the rare, yet brilliant smiles of the people around him.
He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on his face, feeling the warmth of the life all around him.
Steve opens his eyes, exhales, smiles, and eats.
-END-