idk if this is what you want but I wrote it so that's fine. Either gen or pre-slash, you choose, the ending isn't great but it isn't my worst one ever either. Great promp!! <3 :)
The sun dawned on a beautiful sunny morning, aggravating Tony Stark's hangover more than he'd like to admit. "Too much last night?"
Tony suppressed a manful scream, eyes shooting open to catch Natasha staring at him from a corner of his room. She tossed a shirt at him. "We're expected at SHIELD in half an hour. You'd better get ready quick, Cap wants to be there ten minutes early."
Ten minutes early? Tony preferred ten minutes late! Or at least on time. He scowled, putting on the shirt before realizing that it smelled foul. Irritably, he ventured into his closet for a nice, pin-striped suit. Sunglasses? Yes. God, yes, his head wasn't pounding too hard but it was still aggravating. "Jarvis?" he grumbled, putting on his bracelets- you could never be too safe around Nick Fury- and leaning against the wall of the elevator.
"Coffee is brewing, sir. Would you like to request that the team stop for breakfast on your way to SHIELD?"
Tony shrugged. "Might as well," he mumbled, slouching further when he saw that everyone was waiting for him already.
"Shake a leg, Tony, we're going to be late!" God, Steve Rogers was unbearable. Shake a leg? When was that even from?
"He has a hangover, Cap," Natasha informed their fearless leader.
"Looks like a bad one," added Clint. Why'd they have to ruin his fun? Now he was going to get- yep, there was the disapproving Cap look right there.
Tony held up one finger, holding his stomach as the elevator rocketed down. "Don't say a word, Cap, you're involuntarily sober. Don't tell me you wouldn't be getting drunk right now if you could."
He squinted against the full light of the airy lobby, thanking God and Thor for his sunglasses. He was forgetting something, though, wasn't he? "I wasn't saying anything, Tony."
Tony gave him a dirty look. "I could feel it in your eyes." Somehow, everything got worse the farther they walked outside. The headache was shifting from hangover headache to caffeine withdrawal headache, and yeah, that was what he forgot. Morning coffee.
"You shouldn't be so mean to the man who brought your coffee for you," Steve chided, a big grin on his face. Tony turned to him, hopeful.
"All is forgiven if you give up the goods, Steve-o." Steve rolled his eyes, but he gave the cute little thermos over. It had little Avenger heads on it, which was pretty adorable. "When did I buy this?"
"A while ago, when the first merch lines were coming out." Steve steered their fearsome foursome to a cute little bakery, perfectly American and perfectly sickening.
Tony frowned, face screwed up, when the smell of bread hit his nose. "Don't you just love the smell of fresh bread?" Steve had that look on his face, the one he didn't get often, when he got nostalgic.
"I like it," Clint said with a nod. God, he was so serious. Was Tony the only fun one around?
"You know, back in the day, no one really bought those little plastic bags of bread from the grocery store. You made it yourself, mostly on the weekends so you could have it fresh with Sunday supper, and the whole street would just be filled with the smell." Steve sighed wistfully.
Tony's eyes narrowed like beady pricks of light. The 40s were not that much cooler than his decade- the decade practically legally belonged to him, he'd been named man of the decade a couple years back- and fresh bread was not a valid reason to miss the past. He scoffed, loudly. "Sure, Mr. Baker. What's next, you're going to wax poetic on the days before vaccines? I could make bread a thousand times better than this."
Steve cocked his eyebrow up, hands on hips. "Really, Stark?" he drawled.
"Oh, God, not again," Natasha muttered. Clint rolled his eyes, moving up the counter to order some bagels.
"Yeah. Yeah, Steve, I'm sure your little Depression flour cakes were fine, but if I ever made bread, I'd rock your world."
Steve stepped closer, toe to toe. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah. Yeah, really, I'd blow your fucking mind!"
Steve stepped back, face satisfied. "Fine, then. A bake-off. Sunday. Winner gets-"
"Winner gets the other's movie night pick for two months." Steve glared.
"Fine. Since I'm a fair sport, I'll let you pick your team first."
Tony made a beeline for Natasha. "Natasha. I want Natasha."
"I can't cook," she muttered. Tony's eyes widened. There was something she wasn't competent at? Holy shit.
"Wait! Wait, no, I take it back!" he yelped.
Steve smiled smugly, grabbing Clint's elbow. "Too late. Sorry, Stark, no take backs."
Clint shook his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Christ, why is it always you two?"
Then, to add insult to injury, Steve grabbed the everything bagel- he knew everything bagels were Tony's favorite!- and took a big bite out of it. His eyes dared Tony. They were in public. If they weren't, Tony would be trying his absolute best to claw Steve Rogers' smug, handsome fucking face off.
Steve POV
Steve did not know how he got into this with Tony Stark. The man only liked three things: coffee, robots, and one-upping Steve. It was terrible! Sure, his challenges- like the obstacle course- had been fun, but it seemed to be getting a little old. Was he ever going to give it up? It almost made Steve feel bad for Buck, all those years ago, trying to rein in Steve's temper. It did seem like a good bonding experience to Steve.
Baking was sort of comforting, and Tony was also sort of comforting, in a roundabout way that made Steve confused. As a part of his team, Steve wanted to bond with Tony really badly. They were in different orbits, some days. He might have baited Tony just a little, but Lord, was it easy. "Can you not drag us into your arguments next time?" Clint grumbled.
Steve shrugged. "He was asking for a fight, and we'll give him one. You have the flour? Yeast? What else..." He tapped his chin, walking to the fridge. Over by Tony's side of the counter, it resembled a neat military operation. He had already finished making the dough and Natasha was kneading it.
"Get a move on, he'll be faster than us," Clint said, nudging him aside to dump the last of the flour in.
"No, we want to be faster than him! Then by the end, his will be cold and ours will be fresh out of the oven," Steve insisted. They agreed without speaking that he would knead the dough, even though Clint's arm were possibly stronger than his.
"Cheater, that's cheating," Tony told them, glaring from underneath his sunglasses. "Dickhole Steve Rogers can't win without cheating!" he yelled louder.
"Thanks for telling me, Tony," Bruce said dryly, reading his magazine on the couch- People, Steve thought. It looked like he and Tony were on the cover again. What inside source was it this time?
Tony snorted, smiling a little fondly at Bruce. He shared a look with Steve. "Stop turning the kids against me, Tony. We all know I'll get them in the divorce."
"I'll fight to the fucking death, Rogers, you can try me," Tony said playfully. Steve deliberately scooted closer to him, knowing it would provoke a reaction. And it did. Really, this was the best day for bonding, Tony was in an incredible mood. "Hey! That's my side!" he said, shoving Steve. "Stay off my side, I don't like you in my space."
"No, you're on my side." Steve maybe had a problem with baiting people. With baiting Tony, specifically. It was just hilarious to watch him get riled up.
"Fuck you!" Tony snatched a handful of flour, dumping it down Steve's shirt.
Steve didn't respond, instead just smiling and kneading some more. He flinched up when Tony dropped more flour in his hair, but he was responsible and he would not start a food fight in his own damn kitchen. It was just supposed to be a fun challenge, not the all out prank war Tony would start if he retaliated too much. "What kind of bread are you making?" he asked politely.
"Focaccia. I'm Italian and the recipe is from my grandmother. Where's your recipe from? Rachael Ray?" Tony asked rudely. "And all Italians like bread. Bread was literally invented in Italy,' he bragged.
"Actually, bread was invented in 8000 BC. In Egypt," Bruce said, wandering closer. "Wow, guys, those look really good. I'm going to have fun judging." He peered closely, smiling at the proud grins Steve and Tony sported.
"You know, Tony, it's really nice that you like bread so much. You see, I like bread too,' he began.
"You disgust me, we have nothing in common," Tony said flatly, jostling Steve's shoulder. He shot a grin behind him, catching Tony's eyes behind those yellow sunglasses.
"I'm done kneading!" Natasha announced.
With one last glare, Tony walked away. "We need to let it rest next," he told her, focusing in on his own project. Was it possible that Tony liked baking? He really liked robots, but Steve didn't know robots. He knew bread.
Steve was done kneading, too, so his would rest. They had a few hours, still, of letting it rise. "Bruce, turn on the cooking channel, I have a few hours." He enjoyed noting down recipes that he saw.
"I'm going to the workshop, don't disturb me. Nat, you guard the bread," he ordered. "I have my eye on you." Backing into the elevator and looking like a crazed bug with his huge sunglasses and arms that were somehow dwarfed in comparison to the rest of his stocky body, Tony pointed at them. "Counting on you, Widow!"
Steve chuckled, settling in for a nice afternoon of TV. Soon the whole Tower would smell like bread and Tony wouldn't be able to escape it, and maybe they'd finally become friends. Fat chance, but not as long of a shot as he thought when he first met him.
He was startled out of a nap by a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No need to flinch, Capsicle," Tony said, as Steve blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "I have to go into work for Pepper, I'm letting Nat take the lead on the rest of the project. Just thought you'd want to know."
It made sense when he looked closer at Tony. Impeccable suit, shiny gold watch, and suave smile all screamed consummate professional, not silly baker. "Have fun. If you can manage it between all the paperwork," he said drowsily, snuggling into the couch.
"Ha ha. No need to rub it in further. Bye," he said off-hand, grabbing his phone.
"Bye," Steve mumbled.
He was woken up again, by Clint. "Time to put the bread in the oven, how long do I do it for?"
They were using a recipe Steve had memorized a while ago- seventy years or so, he thought bitterly. He yawned, ambling over to the oven. Looked like Tony's focaccia was already cooking on the bottom one. "About twenty minutes." He slid the wooden baking board in, checking the temperature. "Looks good. We'll definitely win," he said confidently.
"Hey, Nat!" Clint shouted.
Steve eyed him. "What are you doing?"
Clint stopped him with a hand. "Just making sure. Hey, how much money to let Tony's bread burn?"
"Ten dollars," she said immediately. Steve looked at them in disappointment.
"Can I borrow ten dollars, Cap?" Clint asked immediately, grinning between the three of them.
"Clint..." he groaned.
"Fine. Can I borrow ten dollars, dad?" Steve threw his hands up.
"I obviously can't control you! My wallet's on the table."
Natasha smirked, moving over to the oven. "Let's turn this up to 700 degrees, shall we?" she asked, mischievous smile on her face.
"Great idea. And leave it in for an extra twenty minutes."
"Extra ten, Clint, I don't want to burn the whole Tower down," she countered.
He shrugged. "Fine by me. As long as you don't let Bruce know what's going on, we'll win and Steve will finally stop Tony from trying to watch all his damn foreign films."
"I like some of them," Steve reasoned. "As long as the subtitles were good."
"Whatever you say, Cap. I knew all those languages, and the films were truly horrible. I'm serious," Clint said. "Man, does Tony have bad taste."
"Don't be mean," Steve yawned. Maybe he could go back to sleep, he thought, landing on the couch with a thump.
But a distant whirring distracted him. It almost sounded like...
Iron Man landed, gauntlets facing out, after fully shattering the window. God, the structural integrity was fucked! Before Steve could say a word, the unibeam was blasting away the oven.
He, Clint, and Natasha stared in shock at the wreck of the kitchen. "What the fuck, Tony?" Steve finally shouted.
"If my bread is burnt, so is yours! Fuck you, Steve! Bruce, this was fully in the guidelines, by the way, cheaters get punished."
"But how did you know?" Steve asked dumbly, glaring at Clint.
"Man, I'm just done with this. Tony, I love you, dude, but I'm out. You can find me at the range. Natasha rushed after him, leaving just the two of them.
"I do have footage of everything!" Tony said, flashing a red and gold middle finger Steve's way. "Dick move, Rogers. As if Jarvis wouldn't help me.
"I just can't believe you burnt the oven!" Steve laughed. It was bad, but not that bad.
Tony began to laugh, too. "I guess I may have gone a bit overboard,' he chuckled, gazing at the burnt wreck in front of them.
Some ash skittered along the tiles. "You think?"
"Fine. I definitely went overboard," Tony admitted. "But you cheated!"
Steve snorted again, moving in closer to the armor. "Faceplate?" He looked Tony square in the eyes. "Stop it with all these challenges, can we just be friends?" he asked, laying all the cards on the table.
"Be warned, I have a temper," Tony said dryly.
"Don't we all?"
"Point. And yeah, I guess we can be friends as soon as I win our rematch."
"I doubt that Clint or Natasha are ever going to agree to anything again," Steve said, shaking his head at the mess.
"Eh. You know what, Steve, they can rot. As long as I have you and your chef skills by my side, we'll make a good team."
"If you say so. Shellhead." He knocked on the helmet's armored exterior.
"Hey, don't bang on my head!" Tony said, backing away.
"Just trying to see if it's full of air," Steve said innocently.
"Well, don't, that's rude, and my brain is very valuable, it's banned concussions and angry supersoldiers," Tony continued, walking back towards the elevator.
Steve took one last look at the wrecked kitchen, knowing it could wait for later. He walked after Tony, still bickering as they left their last real challenge behind.
Re: bread-baking shenanigans fill (MCU)
The sun dawned on a beautiful sunny morning, aggravating Tony Stark's hangover more than he'd like to admit. "Too much last night?"
Tony suppressed a manful scream, eyes shooting open to catch Natasha staring at him from a corner of his room. She tossed a shirt at him. "We're expected at SHIELD in half an hour. You'd better get ready quick, Cap wants to be there ten minutes early."
Ten minutes early? Tony preferred ten minutes late! Or at least on time. He scowled, putting on the shirt before realizing that it smelled foul. Irritably, he ventured into his closet for a nice, pin-striped suit. Sunglasses? Yes. God, yes, his head wasn't pounding too hard but it was still aggravating. "Jarvis?" he grumbled, putting on his bracelets- you could never be too safe around Nick Fury- and leaning against the wall of the elevator.
"Coffee is brewing, sir. Would you like to request that the team stop for breakfast on your way to SHIELD?"
Tony shrugged. "Might as well," he mumbled, slouching further when he saw that everyone was waiting for him already.
"Shake a leg, Tony, we're going to be late!" God, Steve Rogers was unbearable. Shake a leg? When was that even from?
"He has a hangover, Cap," Natasha informed their fearless leader.
"Looks like a bad one," added Clint. Why'd they have to ruin his fun? Now he was going to get- yep, there was the disapproving Cap look right there.
Tony held up one finger, holding his stomach as the elevator rocketed down. "Don't say a word, Cap, you're involuntarily sober. Don't tell me you wouldn't be getting drunk right now if you could."
He squinted against the full light of the airy lobby, thanking God and Thor for his sunglasses. He was forgetting something, though, wasn't he? "I wasn't saying anything, Tony."
Tony gave him a dirty look. "I could feel it in your eyes." Somehow, everything got worse the farther they walked outside. The headache was shifting from hangover headache to caffeine withdrawal headache, and yeah, that was what he forgot. Morning coffee.
"You shouldn't be so mean to the man who brought your coffee for you," Steve chided, a big grin on his face. Tony turned to him, hopeful.
"All is forgiven if you give up the goods, Steve-o." Steve rolled his eyes, but he gave the cute little thermos over. It had little Avenger heads on it, which was pretty adorable. "When did I buy this?"
"A while ago, when the first merch lines were coming out." Steve steered their fearsome foursome to a cute little bakery, perfectly American and perfectly sickening.
Tony frowned, face screwed up, when the smell of bread hit his nose. "Don't you just love the smell of fresh bread?" Steve had that look on his face, the one he didn't get often, when he got nostalgic.
"I like it," Clint said with a nod. God, he was so serious. Was Tony the only fun one around?
"You know, back in the day, no one really bought those little plastic bags of bread from the grocery store. You made it yourself, mostly on the weekends so you could have it fresh with Sunday supper, and the whole street would just be filled with the smell." Steve sighed wistfully.
Tony's eyes narrowed like beady pricks of light. The 40s were not that much cooler than his decade- the decade practically legally belonged to him, he'd been named man of the decade a couple years back- and fresh bread was not a valid reason to miss the past. He scoffed, loudly. "Sure, Mr. Baker. What's next, you're going to wax poetic on the days before vaccines? I could make bread a thousand times better than this."
Steve cocked his eyebrow up, hands on hips. "Really, Stark?" he drawled.
"Oh, God, not again," Natasha muttered. Clint rolled his eyes, moving up the counter to order some bagels.
"Yeah. Yeah, Steve, I'm sure your little Depression flour cakes were fine, but if I ever made bread, I'd rock your world."
Steve stepped closer, toe to toe. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah. Yeah, really, I'd blow your fucking mind!"
Steve stepped back, face satisfied. "Fine, then. A bake-off. Sunday. Winner gets-"
"Winner gets the other's movie night pick for two months." Steve glared.
"Fine. Since I'm a fair sport, I'll let you pick your team first."
Tony made a beeline for Natasha. "Natasha. I want Natasha."
"I can't cook," she muttered. Tony's eyes widened. There was something she wasn't competent at? Holy shit.
"Wait! Wait, no, I take it back!" he yelped.
Steve smiled smugly, grabbing Clint's elbow. "Too late. Sorry, Stark, no take backs."
Clint shook his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Christ, why is it always you two?"
Then, to add insult to injury, Steve grabbed the everything bagel- he knew everything bagels were Tony's favorite!- and took a big bite out of it. His eyes dared Tony. They were in public. If they weren't, Tony would be trying his absolute best to claw Steve Rogers' smug, handsome fucking face off.
Steve POV
Steve did not know how he got into this with Tony Stark. The man only liked three things: coffee, robots, and one-upping Steve. It was terrible! Sure, his challenges- like the obstacle course- had been fun, but it seemed to be getting a little old. Was he ever going to give it up? It almost made Steve feel bad for Buck, all those years ago, trying to rein in Steve's temper. It did seem like a good bonding experience to Steve.
Baking was sort of comforting, and Tony was also sort of comforting, in a roundabout way that made Steve confused. As a part of his team, Steve wanted to bond with Tony really badly. They were in different orbits, some days. He might have baited Tony just a little, but Lord, was it easy. "Can you not drag us into your arguments next time?" Clint grumbled.
Steve shrugged. "He was asking for a fight, and we'll give him one. You have the flour? Yeast? What else..." He tapped his chin, walking to the fridge. Over by Tony's side of the counter, it resembled a neat military operation. He had already finished making the dough and Natasha was kneading it.
"Get a move on, he'll be faster than us," Clint said, nudging him aside to dump the last of the flour in.
"No, we want to be faster than him! Then by the end, his will be cold and ours will be fresh out of the oven," Steve insisted. They agreed without speaking that he would knead the dough, even though Clint's arm were possibly stronger than his.
"Cheater, that's cheating," Tony told them, glaring from underneath his sunglasses. "Dickhole Steve Rogers can't win without cheating!" he yelled louder.
"Thanks for telling me, Tony," Bruce said dryly, reading his magazine on the couch- People, Steve thought. It looked like he and Tony were on the cover again. What inside source was it this time?
Tony snorted, smiling a little fondly at Bruce. He shared a look with Steve. "Stop turning the kids against me, Tony. We all know I'll get them in the divorce."
"I'll fight to the fucking death, Rogers, you can try me," Tony said playfully. Steve deliberately scooted closer to him, knowing it would provoke a reaction. And it did. Really, this was the best day for bonding, Tony was in an incredible mood. "Hey! That's my side!" he said, shoving Steve. "Stay off my side, I don't like you in my space."
"No, you're on my side." Steve maybe had a problem with baiting people. With baiting Tony, specifically. It was just hilarious to watch him get riled up.
"Fuck you!" Tony snatched a handful of flour, dumping it down Steve's shirt.
Steve didn't respond, instead just smiling and kneading some more. He flinched up when Tony dropped more flour in his hair, but he was responsible and he would not start a food fight in his own damn kitchen. It was just supposed to be a fun challenge, not the all out prank war Tony would start if he retaliated too much. "What kind of bread are you making?" he asked politely.
"Focaccia. I'm Italian and the recipe is from my grandmother. Where's your recipe from? Rachael Ray?" Tony asked rudely. "And all Italians like bread. Bread was literally invented in Italy,' he bragged.
"Actually, bread was invented in 8000 BC. In Egypt," Bruce said, wandering closer. "Wow, guys, those look really good. I'm going to have fun judging." He peered closely, smiling at the proud grins Steve and Tony sported.
"You know, Tony, it's really nice that you like bread so much. You see, I like bread too,' he began.
"You disgust me, we have nothing in common," Tony said flatly, jostling Steve's shoulder. He shot a grin behind him, catching Tony's eyes behind those yellow sunglasses.
"I'm done kneading!" Natasha announced.
With one last glare, Tony walked away. "We need to let it rest next," he told her, focusing in on his own project. Was it possible that Tony liked baking? He really liked robots, but Steve didn't know robots. He knew bread.
Steve was done kneading, too, so his would rest. They had a few hours, still, of letting it rise. "Bruce, turn on the cooking channel, I have a few hours." He enjoyed noting down recipes that he saw.
"I'm going to the workshop, don't disturb me. Nat, you guard the bread," he ordered. "I have my eye on you." Backing into the elevator and looking like a crazed bug with his huge sunglasses and arms that were somehow dwarfed in comparison to the rest of his stocky body, Tony pointed at them. "Counting on you, Widow!"
Steve chuckled, settling in for a nice afternoon of TV. Soon the whole Tower would smell like bread and Tony wouldn't be able to escape it, and maybe they'd finally become friends. Fat chance, but not as long of a shot as he thought when he first met him.
He was startled out of a nap by a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No need to flinch, Capsicle," Tony said, as Steve blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "I have to go into work for Pepper, I'm letting Nat take the lead on the rest of the project. Just thought you'd want to know."
It made sense when he looked closer at Tony. Impeccable suit, shiny gold watch, and suave smile all screamed consummate professional, not silly baker. "Have fun. If you can manage it between all the paperwork," he said drowsily, snuggling into the couch.
"Ha ha. No need to rub it in further. Bye," he said off-hand, grabbing his phone.
"Bye," Steve mumbled.
He was woken up again, by Clint. "Time to put the bread in the oven, how long do I do it for?"
They were using a recipe Steve had memorized a while ago- seventy years or so, he thought bitterly. He yawned, ambling over to the oven. Looked like Tony's focaccia was already cooking on the bottom one. "About twenty minutes." He slid the wooden baking board in, checking the temperature. "Looks good. We'll definitely win," he said confidently.
"Hey, Nat!" Clint shouted.
Steve eyed him. "What are you doing?"
Clint stopped him with a hand. "Just making sure. Hey, how much money to let Tony's bread burn?"
"Ten dollars," she said immediately. Steve looked at them in disappointment.
"Can I borrow ten dollars, Cap?" Clint asked immediately, grinning between the three of them.
"Clint..." he groaned.
"Fine. Can I borrow ten dollars, dad?" Steve threw his hands up.
"I obviously can't control you! My wallet's on the table."
Natasha smirked, moving over to the oven. "Let's turn this up to 700 degrees, shall we?" she asked, mischievous smile on her face.
"Great idea. And leave it in for an extra twenty minutes."
"Extra ten, Clint, I don't want to burn the whole Tower down," she countered.
He shrugged. "Fine by me. As long as you don't let Bruce know what's going on, we'll win and Steve will finally stop Tony from trying to watch all his damn foreign films."
"I like some of them," Steve reasoned. "As long as the subtitles were good."
"Whatever you say, Cap. I knew all those languages, and the films were truly horrible. I'm serious," Clint said. "Man, does Tony have bad taste."
"Don't be mean," Steve yawned. Maybe he could go back to sleep, he thought, landing on the couch with a thump.
But a distant whirring distracted him. It almost sounded like...
Iron Man landed, gauntlets facing out, after fully shattering the window. God, the structural integrity was fucked! Before Steve could say a word, the unibeam was blasting away the oven.
He, Clint, and Natasha stared in shock at the wreck of the kitchen. "What the fuck, Tony?" Steve finally shouted.
"If my bread is burnt, so is yours! Fuck you, Steve! Bruce, this was fully in the guidelines, by the way, cheaters get punished."
"But how did you know?" Steve asked dumbly, glaring at Clint.
"Man, I'm just done with this. Tony, I love you, dude, but I'm out. You can find me at the range. Natasha rushed after him, leaving just the two of them.
"I do have footage of everything!" Tony said, flashing a red and gold middle finger Steve's way. "Dick move, Rogers. As if Jarvis wouldn't help me.
"I just can't believe you burnt the oven!" Steve laughed. It was bad, but not that bad.
Tony began to laugh, too. "I guess I may have gone a bit overboard,' he chuckled, gazing at the burnt wreck in front of them.
Some ash skittered along the tiles. "You think?"
"Fine. I definitely went overboard," Tony admitted. "But you cheated!"
Steve snorted again, moving in closer to the armor. "Faceplate?" He looked Tony square in the eyes. "Stop it with all these challenges, can we just be friends?" he asked, laying all the cards on the table.
"Be warned, I have a temper," Tony said dryly.
"Don't we all?"
"Point. And yeah, I guess we can be friends as soon as I win our rematch."
"I doubt that Clint or Natasha are ever going to agree to anything again," Steve said, shaking his head at the mess.
"Eh. You know what, Steve, they can rot. As long as I have you and your chef skills by my side, we'll make a good team."
"If you say so. Shellhead." He knocked on the helmet's armored exterior.
"Hey, don't bang on my head!" Tony said, backing away.
"Just trying to see if it's full of air," Steve said innocently.
"Well, don't, that's rude, and my brain is very valuable, it's banned concussions and angry supersoldiers," Tony continued, walking back towards the elevator.
Steve took one last look at the wrecked kitchen, knowing it could wait for later. He walked after Tony, still bickering as they left their last real challenge behind.