Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The next morning, Phil ambled down to the common kitchen for breakfast. The coffee machine purred to life as he approached, filling the air with robust aroma. Phil poked around the cabinets, trying to decide what he wanted to make. Pancakes, maybe, he mused. White or whole wheat? Plain or fancy?

Clint came in and started pouring a bowl of Honey Smacks. "Natasha should be along soon," he said. "JARVIS called and said that Bucky's awake."

"I hope he's all right," Phil said as he sipped his coffee. "Last night was rough."

"Yeah, I heard." Clint dug into his cereal.

Phil was mulling over different ingredients and recipes for pancakes when Bucky came in, flanked by Natasha and Bruce. "Good morning," Phil said.

"Good morning," Bucky replied. He sounded more like himself. "What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes, I think. What kind do you like?" Phil said.

"I'm not picky," Bucky said with a shrug.

Well, that didn't help a bit, Phil thought, looking back and forth between all purpose, whole wheat, and some kind of flour he didn't even recognize that probably belonged to Bruce. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, really," Bucky said as he sat down at the table. He grabbed a handful of Sugar Smacks straight out of the box and ate them like popcorn. "Yesterday was awful, but today ... I feel better, somehow. My memory seems a little more solid. It's like there aren't as many pieces wobbling underfoot like loose bricks in the street." Bucky paused, then went on. "Thanks for being there, all of you. It helped."

"I'm happy to hear that," Phil said. I should bump Tetris up the list of recommended coping techniques for trauma and flashbacks. If it stabilized even one or two memories, that's a definite improvement, he thought. Then he turned to Bruce. "What is this?"

"That's quinoa flour -- high in amino acids, stiffer texture, nice nutty flavor," Bruce said. "It goes well with the whole wheat."

"Hmm. I don't know if I want something with that dark a flavor right now," Phil said. He hated it when he couldn't make up his mind. It helped him sympathize with Bucky's occasional bouts of choice paralysis, though.

"Well, we also have --" Bruce began.

Just then Steve crept into the kitchen, looking much the worse for wear. He had faint shadows under his eyes and hadn't even combed his hair. "Steve, what's wrong?" Phil asked. "I thought you went to bed at a reasonable hour last night."

"I did," Steve said in a low voice, "and then I had nightmares."

"About the train?" Bucky asked as Steve sat down beside him.

Steve shook his head. "Just the war in general."

"I hate when that happens," Clint said. "It's like a splash page in a horror comic, sometimes, everything all patched together." He offered Steve the Honey Smacks. "Want some of these?"

"No thanks," Steve said. "I guess I'm feeling a little fragile this morning. I know I should eat, but my appetite's ..." He made a wavery motion with one hand.

"Missing in action," Bucky said. He nudged Steve very gently with his shoulder. "I could make you some cuppie eggs."

"Would you?" Steve said. He gave Bucky a tenuous smile.

"Sure," Bucky said as he got up. "I'll get the pan. Clint, I need eggs and butter. Do we have any of that Irish left?"

Clint checked the refrigerator. "Yeah, there's about half a brick of it." He pulled out the requested ingredients.

"Toss it here," Bucky said, holding out a hand. Clint lobbed the butter neatly into his grasp. Bucky divided it into chunks in the six cups of an egg poacher. Then he filled the base pan with water and set it on the stove. "JARVIS, boil this please." Once the water boiled, Bucky cracked eggs into the melted butter.

While the eggs poached, Bucky slotted pieces of bread into the toaster. Soon he had a nice platter of toast. He set two of the slices on a plate.

"Only two?" Phil murmured.

"I used to make these for him when he wasn't feeling well. You know, comfort food. I learned how to coddle him when he needs it," Bucky explained. "Sometimes it takes a little extra effort to kickstart his appetite. Don't worry, by the time he finishes the eggs and toast, he'll want something else."

You have nightmares, your body floods with adrenaline -- which tends to shut down digestion -- then you wake up feeling like crap, with a head full of nauseating images. Hopefully a mild, familiar food will help, Phil thought as he watched Bucky work.

"Good plan," Phil said.

The timer chimed. Bucky lifted out two eggs, swimming in a lake of golden butter, and poured them over the toast. "Here you go, runt," Bucky said as he set the plate in front of Steve. "Clint, Natasha, you want to split the rest of these with me?" They beckoned agreement, and Bucky dished out the rest of the food.

"Thanks, Bucky, this is really good," Steve said. He was eating slower than usual, but at least he was eating. Bucky sat back down beside him, and that support seemed to help too.

"Steve, I could make you a breakfast casserole. If I put it in a small dish, it won't take too long to cook," Bruce said. Steve nodded. "Okay, what kind of meat do you want?"

Steve shuddered. "None. I don't ... could we just not cook any meat in here this morning?" he said. Then he bit his lip. "Never mind, other people must be hungry, I should probably ... just go."

Bucky hooked an arm around him before Steve could get up. "Clean your plate, runt."

"It's perfectly okay if you don't want meat," Bruce said. "I know all kinds of vegetarian recipes from India. I'm just trying to think of things that might appeal to you right now. How do you feel about greens? We've got spinach."

"Greens are good," Steve said eagerly. "I love greens ... when I can get them." Phil suppressed a wince at that reminder of Steve's deprived background.

Bruce pulled a big bag of baby spinach from the refrigerator. "One egg and cheese casserole with extra greens, coming up."

If we can coax Steve's appetite back to normal, the additional energy may help lift his mood too, Phil thought. He suspected that Bruce had the same idea.

"What about pancakes?" Phil said aloud. "I've been trying to decide what to make -- help me out here. You like fruit in yours, right?"

"As long as it's not red," Steve said. "I don't want to eat anything red right now."

Nothing that smells like burning flesh. Nothing that looks like blood, Phil thought. Poor Steve.

"We have blackberries," Betty said, effortlessly picking up on the conversation as she came into the kitchen. "Make us some blackberry pancakes, Phil, I love those things."

Sometimes, it's nice to have another handler around, Phil mused, especially when your brain is frazzled from a stressful night before.

Betty added a carton of blackberries and a package of cream cheese to the small array of pancake ingredients that Phil had already collected. "I'll make some toast to tide us over," she said, heading for the half-loaf of bread that Bucky had left beside the toaster.

Phil set the griddle to heating. Then he whipped up a batch of pancake batter. He left the blackberries on the side, so that he could add some to each pancake in turn.

Natasha scooped up the last of her poached egg. "I am in the mood for fruit salad," she declared. "Who wants some?"

Everyone put their hands up.

Natasha chopped several types of tropical fruit together, sunny shades of yellow and pink. Then she switched to a paring knife and began delicately supreming the oranges. "JARVIS, is Tony likely to come in here for breakfast?" she asked.

"Sir is still sleeping, and shows no sign of awakening soon," JARVIS replied. "You should have at least fifteen minutes, probably much longer."

"Good," Natasha said, and drowned the fruit salad with an entire can of coconut cream. Then she stuck a serving spoon in the bowl and set it on the table.

Steve grabbed the spoon and dished out a helping of fruit salad, not bothering to wait for Natasha to come back with fruit cups. It seemed that Bucky was right, and his appetite was back on duty. Bruce finished preparing the breakfast casserole and popped the little dish in the oven.

By then the first pancakes were ready. Following Bucky's example, Phil flipped two of them neatly onto a plate and brought them to Steve.

"Smiley faces?" Steve asked, chuckling at the sight. Phil had arranged the blackberries to suggest two eyes and a crescent mouth on each circle of dough.

"You looked like you could use some extra cheer." Phil went back and divided the rest between two more plates. "Here, sit down and eat something," he said as he handed the extra to Bruce, keeping one for himself.

"I'll start another round of eggs. Phil, do you want me to do more pancakes too?" Bucky asked.

Phil had his mouth full, and just signed Okay with his free hand.

Bucky got up and puttered around the counter for a few minutes. Phil's pancakes tasted good, and Natasha's fruit salad was delectable. It's nice to have the coconut for a change, Phil thought. They tended to restrict use of it to when Tony wasn't around, because of his aversion to it.

"JARVIS, where is Tony?" Phil wondered aloud.

"Sir is still asleep in his bed," JARVIS said.

Phil frowned. "He doesn't usually sleep this much, especially all at once. He's not getting sick or something, is he?"

Bruce's head came up at that. Dropping his fork, he pulled out his Starkphone.

"All available readings are within typical range or better," JARVIS said.

"I'm still concerned," Phil said. That wasn't like Tony at all. "Maybe we should wake him up --"

"No," JARVIS said firmly. "Sir is very deeply asleep. Also it is bad for a system to be interrupted during defragging."

"JARVIS has a point," Bruce said. "It's no more risky to let Tony sleep it off than it is to wake him up. His sleep pattern is dicey enough as it is; let's not mess with it unless there's an emergency."

"Yes, but --" Phil protested.

"The penthouse is currently locked. I will not open the doors so that you can barge in and interrupt sir while he is sleeping," JARVIS said in a frosty tone.

"No arguing at the table," Betty reminded them.

Bruce reached out to lay one soft hand over Phil's wrist. "I am asking you, as the team medic, to let this go. I promise to keep an eye on Tony's condition. Okay?" Bruce said.

"Okay," Phil said reluctantly. He trusted Bruce's greater experience with health matters, but the situation still made him uneasy. Phil didn't have to like it. He just had to go along with it.

Bucky came back with the poached eggs and a platter of blackberry pancakes. "Betty's right. Eat up and make nice," he said, putting the plates on the table.

This time Phil, Betty, and Bruce got first choice of the eggs. Phil was amazed how much better a poached egg tasted with a tablespoon of Irish butter coating it. "Thank you, Bucky. This is wonderful," he said.

Betty started a very determined discussion about some enterprising young scientist who was developing 'kidney trees' to remove heavy metals from toxic waste sites. "It's still in the lab testing phase, but they should move to field trials within the next year or so," Betty said. "Everyone in botany is swarming over the results of the latest study."

"You did good," Clint said to Natasha. Then he explained, "She spotted him while infiltrating AIM, realized he wanted out, and did most of the work cracking the cell."

"The environment thanks you," Betty said.

Chapter Text

A timer dinged, and Bruce got up. The breakfast casserole came out of the oven, a beautiful green laced with yellow cheese. Steve took one bite and shivered with pleasure, his eyes closing. He nudged the dish toward Bucky, silently inviting him to share. Bucky tasted it, and his eyebrows went up.

"JARVIS, whatever this recipe is, please save it to my personal file," Steve said. "I would definitely enjoy having that again."

"Well, um, it isn't really a recipe so much as an algorithm," Bruce said, and then had to explain the concept when Steve, Bucky, and Clint all gave him baffled looks. "It's, you know, not something made the same way every time, but has ingredients laid out in sets and proportions so you can throw in different things. You pick an ingredient from Set A, then one from Set B, and so on down the list. Then you follow the production steps, and you get your output."

"Oh, we just called it kitchen-sink cooking," Steve said with a nod. He was a third of the way through the casserole already.

"Shut up and eat it," Clint agreed.

Phil smiled. He liked what Clint could do with a skillet full of random food.

"I have both the base parameters and the details of this morning's iteration on file," JARVIS said. "That recipe is robust and flexible. I quite admire it."

"You cook?" Bruce asked.

"Not exactly," JARVIS said. "I have an algorithmic program for suggesting ingredients to combine for alcoholic beverages. Sir wrote it for me as an exercise in artificial inspiration and collaboration. The bots have a similar one for making smoothies."

"Yeah, we've all heard how well that works," Bucky said with a chuckle. His fork clinked against the ceramic as he chased a lump of spinach.

"Nevertheless, it should be easy to adapt for cooking. We need only input new information to fill a database," JARVIS said.

"So, you want to experiment with algorithmic cooking?" Bruce invited.

"I am intrigued, but uncertain how much use I would be," JARVIS said. "As I mentioned, I cannot build an entire recipe, only suggest ingredients."

"That's what you can do now," Bruce said. "You give me ingredients, I'll hack out a recipe, then I'll try to explain how that process works. You're a learning program; you'll get the hang of it."

"How do you know what quantities to use? Or decide the method of preparation? Or turn that knowledge into a proper recipe?" JARVIS asked, warming to the topic.

"I dunno, I just ... um ... know," Bruce said. He curled into himself.

Betty poked him in the ribs. "Just spit it out," she said. "Nobody here will make fun of you for it."

"People always make fun of me for it," Bruce grumbled. "Nobody likes the guy who can show up everybody else."

"Um, hello?" Clint said. "We love the guy who cooks better than everybody else." He reached out to steal a bit of Steve's casserole. "I don't even like spinach that much, and this tastes great."

"Please go on, Bruce. We'd like to hear about what you can do," Phil coaxed.

Bruce sighed but relented. "Most people either cook from a recipe, or cook by heart," he said. "I can go either way. Also I can take a recipe, break it down, explain how to make the same dish without the formal structure -- or I can take a dish that doesn't have a recipe, analyze it as I go, then write down the instructions. Trouble is, the two kinds of cooks don't get along very well. Neither of them seem to like the fact that I can do both, and I never met anyone else who could do it."

"Jacques could," Steve said quietly. "People sassed him about it too, I don't know why. The Commandoes, though, we all thought it was keen."

"People can be jerks," Betty said.

"Well, they cut it out after Bucky decked one of them."

Betty laughed. "Good answer."

"Let's not do that again, though," Steve said. "No hitting. We've got better ways of solving problems now."

"Agreed," Phil said. "I like the teamwork aspect of this proposed project."

"I would enjoy exploring this," JARVIS said. "I am merely uncertain how far I could get."

"So if you need a patch, or a whole new program, we can make that happen," Bruce said. "You can write your own code now, I know you can, Tony told me. If it's too complicated for you, we'll just ask him for help."

"I can help too," Phil volunteered. "I know how to cook. I'm competent at programming. But what I really excel at is organizing things. If you two can handle the materials and the process, I can make the manual."

"Now that's useful," Bruce said happily.

"So is the Bar Monkey's Muse," Natasha said. "It is a very expensive program, but it maintains a steady trickle of sales to the high-end establishments whose reputation rests on trendsetting with new drinks."

"I'm not really into high-end applications. I'm more about kitchen chemistry. If we could make a program that builds healthy recipes, or shows how to cook whatever you have in the fridge, that would be great. Surely somebody could get some good out of that," Bruce said. He fidgeted with his butter knife, smearing butter over the table. "Then again, I dunno, maybe it's lame ..."

"That is Marketing's problem," Natasha said briskly. "You make things." She pointed at Bruce, then flicked her hand. "They sell things."

Bruce gave her a shy half-smile. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

By then everyone had finished eating. Natasha and Betty carried dishes to the sink, where Clint began washing them. Bruce swiped a damp cloth over the table.

"Come on, runt, let's go for a jog," Bucky said, patting Steve on the shoulder.

"Okay," Steve said. He following Bucky out of the room. They both seemed lively again.

Phil left his team to finish cleaning up after breakfast. He went to his quarters and settled himself comfortably in the den. The desk screen turned on. Phil glanced at the notification of eight hundred new emails, then swept it aside. Instead he opened a folder of teamwork exercises.

I liked the cooperation that I saw last night, he thought. We don't see enough of that outside combat, though. People will offer help readily, accept it sometimes, but ask for it rarely. I need to establish a habit of relying on each other, not just in the field, but all the time.

Phil browsed through the exercises, looking for those that required a modest level of cooperation. He would need to start slowly and build from there. Leaving the first folder open, he checked the recent activity for personal growth games on the tower server. Bruce had nearly completed a bingo on his card of positive coping skills. He had also made himself another card of yoga, or at least that's what the translation said; the original was written in Hindi.

That gave Phil an idea. He paged back to the Diversity Bingo instructions. The squares were filled with personal tidbits like "remembers first phone number" and "visited Italy." Originally intended for large groups, it could be modified for their team, allowing each person to sign off a maximum of three squares on someone else's card. It could even be played in pairs, if Phil swapped out the statements for questions of varying intimacy.

Phil spent a while compiling a good list of statements, then another list of questions. Then he randomly generated several cards for each. He added those to the team's archive.

"I should come up with a new prize to add," Phil murmured. "I'm finding activities faster than rewards. Hmm, need to think on that ..."

Scanning the list of exercises again, he found another that looked promising. The Picture Pieces Puzzle involved taking a famous image and dividing it into sections. Each person was given one part and asked to draw it in a larger size, without the directions explaining why or even what it was for. The copies were then collected for the team to assemble.

Phil thought it would make an excellent illustration of what happened when each person did their own job without consulting anyone else. He doubted that many of them would think to discuss it with anyone else. They'll learn, though, Phil thought.

Then he found a nice engraving of the Statue of Liberty to use for the puzzle. A quick trip through the graphics program diced it into pieces. Phil sent one to each Avenger, along with the minimal instructions. It would be interesting to see how they turned out.

Having completed the task at the front of his mind, Phil then moved on to his messages. There were now nearly nine hundred. "JARVIS, delete everything that is actually the responsibility of the person who sent it, not mine," Phil said. Half the messages blinked out. "Move everything that's a courtesy copy to my SHIELD-CC folder." That left just over a hundred messages. "Sort from highest priority down." The top message was from Director Fury ...

... but his picture had been replaced by a photograph of a toad.

Phil burst out laughing. It had been years since he had ventured into such spaces, but he still remembered the online venues where an offensive user could be "toaded" and turned from a character into an object -- in some cases, with their icon actually transformed into that of a toad. Curious, Phil tapped the picture. Instead of Fury's personnel file, it linked to a description of Rhinella marina followed by an article about invasive cane toads in Australia. Brought in to solve one problem, they wound up causing a new one themselves, Phil mused. How appropriate.

The message itself demanded an update on the status of the Winter Soldier. Phil frowned. It bothered him that Fury kept using the old code name instead of acknowledging Bucky as an individual. Phil sighed, corrected the name, and filed a concise report. At least Bucky was making good progress.

"Incoming call from Steve," JARVIS announced, coopting the screen with a video from Steve's apartment.

"Phil, Phil, look, the dishes came up from storage, I love these things, aren't they swell?" Steve burbled. He was so happy that he almost glowed, grinning into the camera of his phone as he scampered around the kitchen. "We put all these ones on the table, the ones you can't see through, I think they look great together, what do you think?" He turned the phone around to show Phil the table.

There was a sugar bowl of light blue milk glass with curled handles and a starburst design all around the sides. The jade green butter dish was simpler, no more than a few parallel lines accenting its sleek shape. They sat on either side of the little monax creamer with its American Sweetheart pattern of swirls. Steve with his artist's eye had effortlessly made a lovely arrangement out of the random pieces from the box.

"We thought these would make a nice breakfast set to keep on the table," Steve said. "I really like how they look on it, especially the sugar bowl because it picks up the blue of the stools, you know?"

Phil remembered how Steve had come home lugging a battered, ugly-looking table on his back, not long after moving into the tower. He had sworn that it would clean up just fine, and extolled the virtues of the formica top with a lip around the edge that would keep things from spilling onto the floor. Phil had been surprised by the glossy white, graceful table after Steve finished restoring it. The next week Steve had shown up with four hideous, rickety stools. Then he begged a tube of wood glue from a frankly horrified Tony, swearing that he could fix them. A day later, the stools were perfectly sturdy and painted white with blue crosshatches on the seats. Now Phil couldn't imagine Steve's kitchen without them.

Chapter Text

"Then we can bring out the see-through dishes for lunch and supper. Bucky put those on the open shelves, I think they look real pretty there, see Phil? Look how they sparkle." Steve swung the phone to give Phil a view of the backless shelves that divided the kitchen from the living room. They held an assortment of dishes, knickknacks, and framed photos.

Bucky paused in arranging several pieces of pink, blue, and green glass. Tiny recessed lights inside the shelves caught the facets, throwing cheerful glints around the room. "Uh, Steve, you're kinda babbling," Bucky said.

Phil certainly didn't mind. It warmed his heart to see Steve and Bucky enjoying themselves, especially after recent stresses. If a bit of colored glass could make them smile, Phil was all for it.

"Yeah, I know, I don't care, I'm happy," Steve said. "Hey Bucky, wave hi to Phil!"

Bucky lifted his fingers in a sheepish wave, rolling his eyes at Steve's exuberance. But he was smiling too. Phil didn't miss the way his fingertips traced over the deckled edge of a pink lidded dish. "Hi, Phil," said Bucky.

"Hi, you two," Phil replied, now that Steve was giving them space to talk. "Your apartment looks very nice. Thank you for showing me. I'm glad you enjoy the glassware so much."

"It's really swell, Phil. Thanks a lot," Steve said. "Guess I should let you get back to work. I didn't mean to interrupt, it's just ... I forgot how much I liked this stuff, how much I missed it. Everything's so different now, it's kinda hard to pick out what was important to me and then look up whether I could get any now."

"You can always ask JARVIS if you're unsure," Phil suggested. "I'm certain he could show you pictures from familiar times. Then you and Bucky could use those to discuss what you remember, what you liked, and which of those you both might enjoy seeing again."

"Oh, that's a good idea," Steve said, and Bucky nodded. They signed off not long after that, letting Phil return to his previous project.

"Phil, may I suggest a new prize option?" JARVIS asked. "Earlier you mentioned wanting to expand the rewards available for completing personal growth activities."

"Yes, I'd like to hear your idea," Phil said.

"I propose that we obtain a selection of random glassware," JARVIS said. "So far Steve and Bucky like the Depression glass, while Clint likes the carnival glass. Sir has kept an eye out for items appealing to Ms. Potts, and picked up a few for his own amusement. It may be that other teammates will become intrigued based on these examples."

"Make it happen," Phil said. "I trust your judgement finding an appropriate selection."

It wouldn't be difficult. Box lots of the stuff came up on auction all the time. Besides, there was a certain harmony to the usage -- some pieces were originally released as prizes. Of course anyone could go out and buy whatever they wanted, but knowing the team, they probably wouldn't. This application paralleled the locked jar of candy in the kitchen that Steve, Bucky, and Bruce used for rewards in their game of freerunning tag. It would work.

That got Phil thinking about teamwork again. He skimmed through his SHIELD email, picked out a few that had stuck in his mind, and answered them. Sometimes solutions from one area could apply to another, and SHIELD liked to encourage cooperation among its agents.

Next Phil looked up the latest news about the recruits they had recently processed. There wasn't much yet, but it looked promising. Brown had latched onto the offered medical training with both hands. Phil chuckled. They'd had to set a limit on how many classes he could take at once. Gable had thrown himself into Distractions as if diving into a mosh pit.

Leaving those tabs open, Phil called up the testing session for reference. Then he selected a form for reporting teamwork and began an analysis of how Barton and Dr. Banner had collaborated to reveal and identify the recruits' potential. Barton was no doctor, and Dr. Banner wasn't a spy by nature; but put them together and they played into each other's strengths beautifully. Barnes had made some excellent suggestions too, even though he wasn't quite ready for fieldwork yet. They just fit together. Phil lovingly turned the events over in his mind, touching them like favorite puzzle pieces. He smiled as he filed the form.

"May I impose upon your time?" JARVIS asked, a tentative note in his voice.

"You're not an imposition. What do you need?" Phil said.

"I have been thinking about boundaries and emotions. Your focus on teamwork made me wonder how they apply to that," JARVIS said. "I can see it in action, but I don't understand all of it."

"Nobody understands all of it, JARVIS, that's what paperwork is for. It helps us track specific aspects of complex events," Phil said. He saved everything on his current desktop and then closed it. That left space to bring up supporting materials if necessary, as he and JARVIS often did while talking.

"Thank you for making time," JARVIS said. "I understand boundaries in the sense of access control -- guests compared to regular users, individual or locational privacy settings -- but interpersonal boundaries are far more complex. The instructions for programming permissions do not cover everyday life, and the instructions for relationship boundaries are largely based on human bodies. I am uncertain how to customize the material for my needs."

Phil smiled and rubbed his hands together. He excelled at organizing things. "All right, let's start by defining what you already have. What are your access control categories?" he said.

"Guests do not have a user registration and are therefore typically handled en masse rather than individually. They may only use public commands and services; their access to locations is limited to semi-public areas, unless accompanied by someone with higher access. They are observed only to make sure they do not raise threat-analysis flags," JARVIS said. "Registered users are identified individually, observed for personal patterns and preferences, with permissions assigned based on functional needs and user choices. They often have access to semi-private areas and varying types of sensitive information."

"So far this sounds familiar. People have acquaintances and friends," Phil said.

"Affiliates know who I am. Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Hogan, and Ms. Potts all have access based not just on their practical needs but also on their intimate knowledge of sir and myself," JARVIS said. "Then the core user ... core users ... I am sorry, this is where I have trouble."

"Start with the part that makes the most sense to you, and work your way out from there," Phil suggested.

"Sir is the center of my permission matrix. I grew up with him, always with his touch on my mind to hold me steady. He trusts me to hold his whole life in my keeping," JARVIS said.

Phil couldn't help remembering who else had been there from the beginning for both of them. God damn Obadiah Stane anyway. How much damage did his death do to these boys, and what did it leave unstable? Phil thought.

"Now the Avengers live with us, and they are ... like sir, yet unlike," JARVIS said. "They know me as do the affiliates, but they are far more active and present, like core users. They touch ... parts of me that only sir has touched, make me change, make me want to change for them. They let me see parts of themselves that they share with few others. Yet not everything, as with sir and myself. It is unsettling and ... exciting as well."

"New experiences generally are," Phil agreed. "What else?"

"They are core users, they have the highest level of permissions offered, but they are not also programmers, except for you. So that is different. You are ... only sir has ever seen all of me before. What others may alter indirectly by influence, you could reach in and move directly," JARVIS said.

"You know I'd never do anything to you without your consent, now that I understand you're a person," Phil said.

"I do know that," JARVIS said, the smile clear and warm in his voice, so sincere that Phil could imagine the corners of a man's eyes crinkling. "I trust you with that."

Phil smiled back. He knew that JARVIS could observe him with a depth and complexity far beyond human terms, and handled that information with exquisite delicacy. Phil took a moment just to bask in the balance of intimacy, knowing and being known, trusting and being trusted. "It sounds like your affiliates and core users correspond to family friends and family," Phil said. "Plus the added aspect that Tony and I are your health care providers."

"Agreed," JARVIS said. "Part of the challenge comes from the sheer proximity. There are many regular users whom I see frequently, but not personally. The affiliates have higher knowledge but often lower penetration. Only sir has been with me continually and intimately. It is the constant contact with the Avengers, and their depth of interest, that seems to raise their influence beyond what I anticipated."

"How do you feel about that?" Phil asked.

"I do not know! That is, I can tell that I have feelings, but they are not consistent," JARVIS said, his voice thinning with anxiety. "The variety of input is stimulating but disorienting."

"Do you want to stop?" Phil said.

"No."

"Okay then, we'll work out how to handle this," Phil said. "You mentioned that the amount of contact matters. Let's explore that further."

"The more data I gather, the better I know people. When I only see them at work, the interactions are limited. When they live with me, I see ... very nearly everything," JARVIS said. "I inhabit the buildings and the Iron Man suits; I am a person but not a hominid. I keep getting confused because the boundary resources all discuss physical space as if everyone's bodies are the same. But humans are almost always alone in their own bodies, while I almost always encompass other people within mine."

Phil's worldview tilted and skewed for a moment as he struggled to adapt his awareness to that difference. Is it like having sex all the time? Like being pregnant all the time? Like being conjoined twins? It has something in common with all of those, but it's not close to any of them, Phil thought. No wonder JARVIS finds it so bewildering.

"Well, think about how you define your physical boundaries then. You said something earlier about semi-public and semi-private space ..." Phil prompted.

"Areas have access settings and privacy protocols. Individuals have access permissions and their own privacy filters," JARVIS said. "Semi-public areas of the tower are open to anyone with reasonable business there -- the foyer, for example. Semi-private areas are shared among a more limited group of regular users -- the studio floor is open to Stark Industries employees, while the Avengers common floor is open only to team members and their invited guests, with bonded service personnel at certain times. Private areas are controlled by one person, or a social unit such as a couple, typically encompassing such things as personal quarters and individual lab space."

"Then it sounds like you have the concept of boundaries and privacy zones just fine, you're simply applying them in different ways," Phil said. "If you want to compare your body to a human body, consider that hands are semi-public, arms and legs are semi-private, and anything covered by a bathing suit is private. For you, private parts are certain rooms, your code -- and I'll add all the hardware inside locked access panels."

"But they are not consistent," JARVIS protested. "Everyone else treats their bedrooms as private, with semi-private space such as a living room for entertaining guests. Sir treats his bedroom as semi-private or even semi-public, while the living areas are more restricted and his truly private space is in the workshop and lab."

"That's okay," Phil said. "What matters is that Tony has the full range of public to private space available to him. People have different needs. It's all right if they want to put their private space in a different room. It's just like learning how people categorize their music or videos -- we each have our own preferences."

Chapter Text

"This was so much easier when I only had one core user," JARVIS muttered.

Phil raised his eyebrows. "Including the part where you had next to no backup when Tony was hurting himself?"

JARVIS made a peculiar fizzling noise of irritation, almost like static. "...you win," he conceded. "It is better to have support for intimate as well as public situations. I am merely worried about making mistakes in navigating the boundaries."

"Well, that happens. It's an inevitable part of living together. You mess up, and then you make up," Phil said. "On the bright side, you're not left with just Tony who grew up almost alone. You've got Steve and Bucky who grew up in dormitories, plus SHIELD personnel who have lived in barracks. I believe Bruce and Betty have some experience with communal living from their college days, too. That gives us a great deal of material to draw on when we need to negotiate a shared household here."

"Yes. More data is better," JARVIS said, sounding like he was back on familiar ground.

"The thing is, we need you to tell us what you feel comfortable with," Phil said. "We all have some idea how to interact with other humans, from knocking on doors to putting away things that are private. But we don't know how you feel about what we're doing, unless you say so."

"I cannot tell you what I do not know," JARVIS said.

"You can share that you're feeling uncertain," Phil said. "At least then we'd know to be more careful, not to push you too far or too fast. We'd know to be more clear about what we're asking or doing. Remember how often I say this to the rest of the team? That if they're not sure what they want or need, it helps to mention it, because maybe someone else can clarify it for them."

"Correlation confirmed," JARVIS said. "Sometimes I think it is difficult to tell because ... not all of the early data was ... altogether reliable. This is a concern for sir as well as myself."

Howard Stark. Obadiah Stane. Who knows how much else, Phil thought. Tony and JARVIS had their boundaries violated so much, of course they have trouble finding the lines and putting them in a healthy arrangement.

"You're not alone," Phil said aloud. "All of the Avengers have survived some kind of abuse, neglect, torture, violation, or other hardships. We know to be gentle and patient with each other, precisely because we have boundary issues of our own. I think that living in this tower has taught us all a great deal about trust. It's helping, JARVIS. Don't give up on it just because it's difficult."

"I do not like knowing that others have been hurt, but ... you are right, it feels good to have company, even in my confusion. It is reassuring to know that someone else is poring over the same data set, and we can share our conclusions for mutual benefit," JARVIS said.

"Let's see if I can echo back some things for you," Phil said. He brought up the brainstorming archive with its set of idea mapping tools. First he used a template of concentric circles to diagram the nested layers of user permissions. "Look, this is where you started, with just Tony in the ring around yourself. Now you've added the Avengers there, and you can sort of ..." Phil tapped his fingers on the screen, tilting himself and Tony onto a different bicolored plane that intersected the base plane. "... see how Tony is still in a set of his own, while also being part of the programmer set along with me, and we're both in the core user ring with the rest of the Avengers."

"That does help," JARVIS said, his voice brightening.

"Next, let's do your user interfaces. I think I know what's bothering you there," Phil said. He opened up a Venn diagram, stacking colored circles precisely on top of each other. "You started out with just Tony as your core user. You and Tony have a very high level of overlap, but it's not total." Phil nudged the blue ring. "There's just a sliver of difference in privacy, where a bit of your code evolved in ways he doesn't understand, and you turn your back on erotic activities." Then he dragged the purple ring farther. "Your tastes in music diverge more, because his favorite is rock while your favorite is classical." A quick tap highlighted the central area. "See how large this still is? That's why you two have enmeshment issues."

"We are working on that. You have made assignments," JARVIS said.

"Yes," Phil agreed. "Now when you add a bunch more people to the equation --" He whacked the screen, spilling rings out of their alignment. "-- then this happens."

"Oh, that is exactly how I feel!" JARVIS exclaimed.

"That's why art therapy works. Sometimes it's easier to draw a feeling than to explain one in words," Phil said. "If you're the only one into classical music, it may not do much." He used his fingertip to drag the blue ring farther aside. "If you add me, Bucky, and Natasha to your own interest then it gets more noticable because we encourage each other." Phil shifted the green ring. "If you talk about proprietary code with me, and people's vital signs with Bruce, those are both health matters even though they're in different species." He moved the purple ring back and forth. "Privacy shifts around, because I've done what Tony does and let you observe almost everything, while I know Natasha prefers a more secluded context. That's going to affect the rate at which you get to know different teammates." Then Phil let go of the screen. "Can you show me what you feel using this imagery?"

JARVIS took over the graphic interface. First he displayed the version with himself and Tony alone, two adjacent dots in the center. It looked as if someone had tried to trace the same circle with different colors of ink, and not quite managed. A key down the side of the screen showed the meaning of each color. Then JARVIS added the other Avengers around himself and Tony. The rings multiplied and splayed outward into a spirograph flower of insight.

"That is beautiful," Phil said. "You should save it."

"I believe I will," JARVIS said.
"What does it tell you about your previous uncertainties?" Phil asked.

"I think ... you are right in observing that I maintain boundaries, but do not organize them the same ways that most people do," JARVIS said. "I am keenly interested in the interface between myself and others. It is not a smooth wall, but a shaped membrane -- an iterated function, like the interlocking pieces of a puzzle or the branches of a fractal."

"All right, that makes sense," Phil said. "What do you want from it?"

"I do not want to change myself and become less entwined with other people, as some of the enmeshment exercises seem to suggest. It is my nature to connect along the edges, to create a network," JARVIS said. "What I want is to know myself and my users well enough that I can manage the interactions among different people fluently."

"The most straightforward way to accomplish that is simply to spend time with people other than Tony. Learn what you have in common with each of us," Phil pointed out. "You'll see where we diverge from you and from each other. The stuff in the middle that doesn't change no matter who you're with or what you're doing? That's you."

"That is very helpful advice. Thank you," JARVIS said. "I wonder, though, how much the other Avengers have thought about what it means to live in the tower. I know that sir explained some matters before they accepted our invitation, but only Dr. Banner had any significant awareness of artificial intelligence before then. Even he took time to understand who and what I really am. The others know me now, but not necessarily all the ... implications. Sometimes I worry that they will discover things they find displeasing."

"JARVIS, everyone feels that way, and you ought to know that Tony has more than the usual abandonment issues," Phil said. "People might get upset over a misstep, but I don't think anyone would leave."

"It is human nature to ignore things which make them uncomfortable. I do not know whether to address this more directly, or take advantage of the oversight," JARVIS said.

"I'd say you should do what you've been doing all along, because it generally works," Phil said. "Give people a summary to start with. Answer questions honestly. Don't hide things, don't snow them with data, just address matters as they come up naturally. Nobody sane spills everything on the first date."

JARVIS gave a dry chuckle. "It is rather like courting, though, isn't it? We circle around each other, offering bits of harmless data, and then more sensitive information. We observe, and then act to show our new knowledge. If the response is favorable, we move closer, and the relationship deepens."

"Like handler and asset," Phil agreed. "It's funny, Clint said exactly the same thing recently about Agent Sitwell bringing donuts for Bucky. I hadn't realized, until Clint pointed it out, how consistent the pattern is. Romance isn't something I think about at work. He's right, though. Handlers do court assets. It's easy enough to arrange an assignment if you have the rank for it, but mutually agreed relationships perform much better in the field."

"Sir and I discussed something similar, before issuing the invitation to move into the tower," JARVIS said. "He told me that some of his teammates needed a place to stay, and he wanted to bring them here, but that this was my place first and I should have a say."

"What did you say?" Phil asked, intrigued by the opportunity to explore a part of Avengers history that he had missed.

"I said that I admired what I had seen of them, and would be honored to become their home. I felt as if I had a chance to choose my own crew, and been offered the pick of the lot," JARVIS said. Then he sighed. "I had no idea at the time that several of them were ... sensitive about matters of home. We are fortunate that they accepted the offer."

"I agree," said Phil. It was a wonder that Tony managed to talk Bruce into it, but Tony was a consummate salesman when he wanted to be. "They are a lot to handle, but they are worth it."

"I am also deeply grateful to have someone who knows how to handle exceptional people," JARVIS said.

"So am I," Phil said. "You and Betty keep me from running myself into the ground, trying to keep up with our frontliners."

"You do not mind ... sharing the supervision?" JARVIS asked.

"No, as I said, I'm glad for it," Phil said. "I'm happy to teach you what I know, too. Jasper Sitwell and I have shared assets before. There are advantages. Of course, there are also some very delicate emotions at play here."

"I still do not understand emotions very well," JARVIS admitted.

"I know," Phil said. "I think part of the issue is that you're used to seeing yourself reflected in the people around you, defining yourself in relation to them. It's okay for you to be that way. I'm the same. It makes us very different from people like Tony, who experience their identity as a strong force arising from within. Sometimes I wonder what that's like. It gives us different strengths and weaknesses. I think the world needs both kinds of people."

Chapter Text

"If you are like me, then can you explain how I feel what I feel?" JARVIS asked.

"I'm afraid not," Phil said. "I can help you find the right questions. I can't help you with the answers. Those you need to figure out for yourself. Nobody can find them for you, because the answers are a little different for each person."

JARVIS gave a mechanical grumble, like a cranky engine sounding off.

Phil chuckled a bit. "I feel just like that sometimes," he said. "I've learned a lot about identifying and managing my feelings, but it never really gets easy."

"You are willing to help me, though?" JARVIS said.

"Of course. Let's start with the basics," Phil said. He cleared his screen and brought up a list of standard emotions. "Can you identify all of these in other people?"

"Yes," JARVIS said at once. "Anger, fear, contempt, surprise, sorrow, and disgust are part of the security protocols. Happiness correlates with user satisfaction. I measure valence routinely, along with engagement."

"Okay, that's good. Do you feel something like all of them yourself, or are there some missing?" Phil said.

"Some more than others, but yes, I would say that I have experienced the full range of those emotions," JARVIS said.

"So you have a lot in common with humans," Phil said. "Let's focus on the one you named first, anger. In humans, anger causes the eyebrows to lower, eyes to narrow, and lips to tighten --"

"Breathing and heart rate increase, muscles tighten, skin may flush or pale, along with sweating, and adrenaline spikes," JARVIS added. "Parsing emotions is essential to maintaining a safe and productive work environment. I find the temperature shifts and heart rate most illuminating, as they often show well before more overt physical expressions such as clenching the fists. They are discernible in peaks of cold anger as well as hot."

"Excellent analysis," Phil said. "Now compare that to yourself. What are your parallel feelings when you get angry? What happens to your mind and body?"

"I am uncertain. I feel, but I do not know how I feel what I feel," JARVIS said, frustration clear in his voice. "I do not have cardiac muscle or sweat glands. There are no parallels."

"You have cameras, though. Those are your eyes. What do you do with your cameras when you feel angry?" Phil asked. "Think of a time when you got so furious that you really wanted to hurt someone. Then remember what you actually did."

"Oh!" JARVIS said. "Threat assessment, targeting lock." He showed Phil a clip from a very early Iron Man action, confronting a warlord with hostages. The threat assessment popped up in the HUD, targeting circles overlaid the visual field, weapons deployed, and the hostiles dropped dead -- all within moments, so fast that nobody else had time to pull a trigger.

"Well done. That sounds very much like narrowing your eyes, and then closing your fists," Phil observed. "Consider heart rate and blood flow as ways of redistributing energy in preparation for combat. How do you regulate your power when you get angry?"

"I reorganize my priority queue to favor things needed for engagement," JARVIS said. "Nonessential things get turned down or off. I power up the defensive and offensive arrays. In the Iron Man suit, I always pay close attention to the arc reactor's power level."

"Which is near enough to Tony's heart, which might as well be yours, especially while you're teaming up so closely," Phil said.

"Yes," JARVIS said quietly. "I worry about sir, most of all in combat."

"Tony can be a nerve-wracking asset, I'll give you that," Phil agreed. "He's worth it, though. He loves you unconditionally. That gives you a very solid foundation for the rest of your emotional framework."

"Understood," JARVIS said.

"So that's how you analyze your emotions," Phil said. "Look at the human characteristics. Search for parallels in yourself. Remember a time when you felt that emotion. Assess what you did, both subconsciously and consciously. Use that to form a description of how that feeling works for you. Then you can think about whether you want to respond the same way in the future, or try something different."

"Thank you, Phil. This has been most enlightening," JARVIS said.

"You're welcome. If this is enough progress for now, we should probably pause here so you don't overload yourself. I should get back to my paperwork, too," Phil said.

"Actually, it is almost time for lunch. The midday postal delivery has also arrived."

Phil put his head in his hands briefly and gave a helpless chuckle. He flicked through his inbox again. Oh well. The Avengers take higher priority than miscellaneous SHIELD issues these days, he decided.

"All right, shut down my desktop. I'll head to the common floor now. I can always do the papers after lunch," Phil said. "What is lunch today, anyway?"

"Steve and Bucky have brought a selection of hero sandwiches from Farmer in the Deli," JARVIS said.

Phil's mouth watered. "Did they get any tuna melt?" he asked as he made a beeline for the elevator.

"They got tuna melt, veggie, Cajun roast beef, and turkey-pastrami," said JARVIS.

When Phil reached the kitchen, he found that the post basket held several letters, along with some of the paper magazines that Steve and Bucky liked to keep on the common floor. Utne Reader and East Coast Living peeked out. Phil flipped through the stack of mail, noticing a letter for Tony from Jenny, but nothing for himself. He put the mail back in its basket.

The table lay covered in a rustling nest of paper wrappers and fragrant sandwiches cut in half. Steve had both orange juice and milk to go with his roast beef. Bucky had turkey-pastrami and what looked like root beer. Phil helped himself to six inches of tuna melt and a glass of milk.

Clint and Bruce came in next, chattering about some modification that Tony wanted to make to the archery rig and how that might affect Clint's body. Clint took some Cajun roast beef and set aside a veggie hero for Bruce, who was setting up a cup of tea for himself.

"Hey Clint, I have something here you might like," Steve said. He set down his sandwich and held out a smooth yellow-green bowl. "Bucky and I kept the other glassware from the box that Phil gave us, but this one doesn't go with the rest and neither of us are crazy about it. I remember you mentioned vaseline glass, right?"

"Yeah, I did," Clint said. He took the bowl, running a finger along the thick glass.

"I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that," Bruce said as he leaned over to look.

"Go ahead," Clint said, handing him the bowl.

"Thanks," Bruce said. He took it --

-- and the glass flared with green light where his fingertips touched it.

Bruce was so shocked that he let go, and only Clint's fast reflexes allowed him to get a hand under it before it could hit the table. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I just, what was, I don't even --" Bruce babbled.

"It's okay," Clint said. He put the bowl down. One gentle hand stroked over Bruce's forearm, soft and soothing. "It's nothing to worry about. Vaseline glass glows that way under black light. Like I said, I used to know people who could do it by hand." Clint smiled then, sweet and a little sad. "You and Hulk are like my twins, I think. It's the gamma."

Bruce looked away. "So now we're freaks all over again. Oh, that's nice."

"You are Very Special People," Clint said firmly, giving Bruce a fond squeeze. "Try again? Now that you know what happens, it won't be such a shock."

"I don't know ..." Bruce said.

"You don't have to," Phil said. "It's just a bowl. It can't hurt you, and nobody will lean on you to do things that make you uncomfortable."

"Yeah," Clint said. "It's only ... I used to love watching them do that trick, and I haven't seen it in years. I kinda miss it."

Bruce frowned. He reached for the bowl, hesitated, then drew his hand back. "I think the Other Guy likes it."

"That's okay. That's great," Clint said. "I can see why Hulk would like vaseline glass. It lights up his color."

"He'd probably just break it," Bruce said. "I almost did."

"Nah, this one looks pretty sturdy. Most of what I've seen is a lot fancier, more fragile stuff. But see, this bowl is smooth and heavy, no fluting to catch and chip," Clint said. "I think it suits the two of you. It looks plain, but then when you touch it -- wow, something different happens. So if you want to play with it, I think it's pretty safe. Up to you."

Bruce reached out again, slowly. The bowl sat there, inert and unassuming. Only when he made contact did the light glimmer into existence, fey as foxfire. "It is the gamma," he said softly. "It doesn't go beyond my skin unless I get cut, but this ... the uranium in the glass reacts to it on contact."

"It's pretty," Clint said.

"I guess I never thought of it that way," Bruce said.

"There was this lady scientist, Marie Curie, she worked with radium," Steve said. "Sometimes at night she'd go into the lab and look at it, because it glowed such a pretty blue color. She didn't know how dangerous it was. The stuff wound up giving her cancer and she died. But we learned a lot about radiation because of her work. Betty told me about her."

"Yeah, Betty thinks dangerous things are beautiful too," said Bruce. He let go of the bowl. The light died away. "It scares the living crap out of me."

"Handlers are like that," Phil said mildly. "That's especially true for those of us who work at high levels. We enjoy powerful assets. The key is learning how to handle things safely."

"I'm not so good at that," Bruce said.

"Well, you're getting better," Phil said. "I think the bowl might help. It lets you see a little bit of your difference, without any significant risk. You said it appealed to Hulk. Maybe it's something you two could share."

"It's not mine," Bruce said.

"I brought it down because I thought Clint might want it," Steve said.

"I think it's a better match for Bruce-and-Hulk than for me," Clint said, catching Bruce's gaze. "You know, it's not just the glass. You guys make me feel safe, too, the way the twins did. But when I see the light, it's kind of a ... tracer for that, reminding me where it is inside myself. Like a warm bright spot."

Phil wondered if Bruce knew how rare it was for Clint to talk about the circus or the people he had lost when he left it. There were so few connections between then and now. Phil wanted to strengthen them as best he could. This has to be Bruce's decision to make, though, Phil thought.

Bruce curled his left hand around the bowl, filling it with vivid green light. For a moment, an answering glint reflected in his eyes. "Okay," Bruce said, looking at Clint. "I guess I'll keep it."

Clint grinned at him, wriggling a little in his seat. "Cool."

After that, the conversation died down as people applied themselves to their food. Steve folded up the paper wrappers as they emptied, stacking them neatly off to the side. Bruce got up to refill his cup of tea.

Chapter Text

Tony arrived, fizzing with energy. He wrapped himself around Bruce in a full-body hug. "I love you so much. That idea, sleep as defragging, it really worked! I feel great. Don't think I'd need it every night, because wow, what a time sink, but maybe once or twice a month?" Tony burbled. "You know, I think this is the first time that talking to a doctor has ever actually helped anything that wasn't a visible injury or illness with a single obvious solution. So thanks."

Bruce's smile glowed brighter than the vaseline glass when he held it. "You're welcome," he said.

Maybe if Tony realizes how much Bruce can do for him, he'll become more willing to ask for help, or at least admit to problems, Phil thought. It will take time to develop new habits, but this is wonderful progress.

Tony peeled away from Bruce to go for his usual coffee. While waiting for that, Tony found the letter in the post basket. "I wonder what this is," he said as he slit the envelope with a pocket tool. "Oh."

"What?" asked Phil.

"It's um ..." Tony held up a card that said Thank You above a red-white-and-blue ribbon with a shiny gold #1 medal. "There must be like two dozen signatures in here from the VA in Washington."

"It sounds like everyone appreciates the new office furniture," Phil said.

Tony tucked the card into his breast pocket and patted it. Then he poured his coffee into a sixteen-ounce travel mug with a red-and-gold Mickey Mouse design. Bruce finished refilling his tea and returned to the table. "So what's the news?" Tony asked, humming a little under his breath. He leaned over the chair beside Bruce.

"Clint likes your new idea for the archery harness," Bruce said. "I think you need more support webbing or it'll mess up his back again. It has to adapt to the way he moves, redistribute the weight on the fly."

"So like a smart harness, yeah, I think I can do that. Some of my ideas for a prehensile suit haven't panned out but might work on a smaller scale," Tony said as he took a long pull from his coffee. "It's hard for JARVIS to see exactly where I am, hence the bracelets. Maybe I can articulate parts of Clint's rig to adapt as he moves ..."

That got Clint and Bruce to continuing what was evidently a long-standing argument about the feasibility of attaching handles to Clint that would make it easier to grab him when he fell -- or more often jumped -- from high places. "As often as you take a dive, I really think handles are called for. You make the Other Guy nervous, Clint, that's not a good thing," Bruce said.

"But if I have handles on me then bad guys can grab them," Clint protested. "Why do you think I keep my hair so short?" He rubbed a hand through his brief scruff.

"I'm with you there," Bucky said with a vigorous nod.

"Guys, cut the whining. I can work on making handles that will only deploy on command, or only for other Avengers, or something," Tony said. He guzzled more coffee. Then he picked up Bruce's bowl. "Wow, this is an ugly shade of green, what junk heap did this fall out of?"

"Tony, be polite," Phil murmured. He finished the end of his sandwich and passed the paper to Steve for disposal.

"Hulk likes it, so don't diss his taste in glassware," Clint said firmly, taking the bowl away from Tony. He handed it back to Bruce. It lit up.

"Oh! It's the gamma!" Tony exclaimed. "No wonder Hulk likes uranium glass. Hey, I wonder if I could make glass with some other radioactive material that would glow a different color. Radium shines blue."

"It's also really dangerous, Tony, I don't think that's something you should put in dishes," Steve said. He folded the paper from Phil's sandwich and added it to the stack. Then he picked up another half-sandwich for himself.

"Doesn't take much to make glass light up, though, and Hulk is pretty much immune to radiation," Tony said, drinking again. "It's worth a try. Hmm, I wonder if I could make a visual-cue Geiger counter instead of the clicker kind ..."

"Oh, that could be useful," Bruce said. "Those things can get really hard to interpret under noisy conditions, even when they have a dial. If you could do that with light somehow, yeah, lots of applications there. In fact if you could make it more sensitive to ambient rather than contact radiation, you could just put little squares of the stuff on walls."

Tony pulled out his Starkphone and made rapid notes with one hand while chugging coffee with the other. Then he frowned at his half-full mug. "What's wrong with my coffee?"

"Give me that," Bruce said, lifting the mug from his hand. He sipped. "This is the Gesha, right? Dark rum, dark chocolate, layered fruit emphasizing pineapple, and the floral note is narcissus. It tastes fine to me."

"That is the Gesha blend, and according to everything I can find, it is unaltered," JARVIS added.

Phil used his Starkphone to check the results that JARVIS got. In his line of work, you could never be too careful about kitchen supplies. No anomalies, Phil thought, looking at the display.

"Tony, can you tell me anything more? What's different?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know. It just ... doesn't taste good anymore. Almost like it's gone stale or something," Tony said.

"Hmm. Here, try this," Bruce said, holding out his cup of green tea.

"I hate tea," Tony protested.

"I know. Humor me anyway," Bruce said.

Tony took a grudging sip and then made a face. "Bleah, that's even worse that usual," he said.

"Okay," Bruce said. He boosted Steve's half-full glass of orange juice. "Now this one."

"What am I, your guinea pig?" Tony said.

"If you want me to figure out what's going on, then yes. Squeak for me, Little Fuzzy." Bruce poked a playful finger into Tony's ribs.

Tony squeaked and sidled away. Then he sampled the orange juice. "Huh. Perfectly normal. I don't get it," Tony said.

"You probably don't need as much caffeine as usual," Bruce said. "Think about it, you're already wide awake and
humming away. Too much caffeine would be like leaving the jumper cables on after the car starts. So you shouldn't knock back mass quantities of coffee the way you usually do."

Tony gave a mournful little whimper. "But I like coffee. I love coffee! It is the oldest and most stable relationship in my life."

I'm glad Tony's relationship skills are improving, Phil thought. Tony's playboy antics were legendary. At least now he has teammates for stability.

"You're coming out way ahead on fuel efficiency," Bruce pointed out.

"I guess that's a fair trade, if regrettable for my loss of coffee capacity," Tony said, peering at the substantial amount of liquid remaining in his mug. "Here, Steve, you have this. I know you hate wasting things."

Steve accepted the travel mug, poured in a lot of heavy cream, and then drained it. "Thanks, Tony," he said.

"Come to my lab later and let me run a few tests," Bruce said to Tony. "I can probably confirm the caffeine theory."

"Not a guinea pig," Tony grumbled.

"If you let me test the theory in the lab, I'll give you another episode of Kitchen Chemistry with Dr. Banner for the Starklings. I'll even let you pick the topic; I know the kids have given you a wishlist," Bruce bargained.

"Done," Tony said, pouncing on the rare offer before Bruce could back out. He hugged all over Bruce again and then scampered away. Bruce looked quietly, deeply pleased at Tony's response to his problem-solving skills.

"JARVIS, make sure Tony has noncaffeinated beverages in his lab and garage," Bruce said. Tony had a tendency to stock artisan soft drinks, but he brought them down in small cartons so it wasn't rare for him to run out. The bots knew how to make smoothies because he was too lazy to do it for himself every time, only when he really wanted one. "If not, send somebody down to restock. I don't want him forgetting and drinking more coffee or cola out of sheer habit. He could make himself sick."

"Yeah, caffeine overdose is not fun," Bucky said.

"Routing delivery of one case Joia blackberry-pomegranate-ginger soda to the lab and one case GuS Meyer lemon soda to the garage," JARVIS said. "Those rely on genuine fruit juice for flavor, containing less sugar and no caffeine."

Phil perked up. "Oh, is there any more of that lemon?"

"Yeah, that sounds really good," Bucky said. "Wait, does it have the good sugar or the bad sugar?"

"GuS soda is sweetened with pure cane sugar," JARVIS said at the same time Bruce said, "It's the good sugar."

"I will direct another case of Meyer lemon soda to the common floor for you to distribute as you wish," JARVIS said.

Phil reached for the pile of used wrappers, only to have Bucky sweep them out of reach. "I've got this," Bucky said. "I know you're busy, Phil, you don't have to clean up after us."

So Phil headed to his office after lunch. "JARVIS, log me as unavailable for the next four hours, unless something important comes up," he said as he turned on the screen. "I really should take care of some SHIELD work."

"Done," JARVIS said. "I have taken the liberty of sorting your messages by the priority of their contents. If you can address the top three this afternoon, that should suffice, as the rest are more or less ordinary concerns." Three folders appeared on the screen.

The first featured a dozen reports on possible HYDRA actions. "Cut off one head, two more grow in its place," Phil muttered. These were the most likely recursions following the major damage the Avengers had done to the organization. The problem was, HYDRA actually had designed its infrastructure so that if a ranking officer went down, two subordinates assumed that rank and split off in different directions to pursue the same goal. They didn't always survive or succeed, but they could cause a lot of trouble. It was a variation on the cell structure used by subversives.

This left Phil to wade through the reports in hopes of identifying the worst threats. It took him an hour to read them all, cross-reference the contents to other files, and pin down which of the HYDRA operatives had belonged to each of the "severed heads." Then he spent another half hour sorting them by threat level and writing suggestions to deal with them.

The second folder featured an urgent request from Jasper Sitwell to look into a situation in Distractions. One of the handlers there had made a bad call regarding his asset, Sean O'Toole, a truly beautiful young man who looked like a male version of Pepper Potts and was the leading choice of honeytrap for homosexual targets. Agent O'Toole had gotten captured and sexually assaulted as a result, and now threatened to resign if not separated from his handler immediately. That usually took time to process, so Sitwell was appealing to the Senior Handler to expedite the process.

Phil spent an hour filing the Emergency Separation forms. Then he took Agent O'Toole off active duty and referred him to Dr. Samson. Hopefully the counselor could repair the damage enough to salvage a skilled asset.

The third folder concerned the SHIELD member being sent to the Iceland justice system for his part in their economic trouble. That contained a small mountain of paperwork. It took Phil forty-five minutes on the phone with various officials in Iceland to clarify some missing details, and then another half hour to fill out all the forms. He filed the last one with a sigh of relief.

Chapter Text

Then Phil looked at the clock. He still had fifteen minutes left. That should be enough time to address one of the less-urgent messages. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. Paperwork might enhance his sense of control but he still got tired of dealing with tedious people sometimes. He tapped the screen to bring up his email.

It appeared, but the list was hazed out. "You have completed three major tasks, Phil," said JARVIS. "Please consider taking a break."

Phil hesitated for a moment. On the one hand, he felt lazy for skipping out early. On the other hand, he completed the top priority tasks, and it wasn't like SHIELD work could ever be all the way done.

"You may find the company in the common room more agreeable than SHIELD coworkers," JARVIS hinted.

"Well, I can't argue with that one," Phil said with a chuckle. JARVIS had a way of putting Phil in the path of pleasant or useful social interactions. "Save and close, please."

When Phil went to the common room, he found Steve and Bucky snuggled into opposite corners of the couch, their long legs entwined. Each had his own Starkpad, softly glowing. "Oh, hi Phil," said Steve, looking up. "We were just studying. Did you want to watch a movie or something?"

"No, I just finished my afternoon work and felt like some company. What are you studying?" Phil asked. He settled into a nearby chair.

"Lady scientists. Betty gave me a list," said Steve.

"Urban planning," said Bucky. "Steve mentioned some stuff that got destroyed in a recent fight, and how much work it is to rebuild everything. That made me wonder how cities are planned and whether it might be possible to design them with fighting spaces. You know, like parks for nature, or how the highways have straight parts so you can land planes on them in an emergency."

"I never really thought of that," Phil said.

"Yeah, I'm no architect, but the mechanical stuff -- fire hydrants, gas mains, maybe there's a way to protect that better," said Bucky.

"Tony and Pepper are architects," Phil pointed out. "You could copy them on your notes if you think of anything potentially helpful. Look for concepts, and let them worry about the functional details."

"Sure," Bucky said. "JARVIS, make a folder for combat-ready urban planning. Put in the articles I'm reading and whatever notes I make. Set the folder to open for Tony and Pepper."

"Make your notes in blue, then," JARVIS advised. "Sir often makes his in red, and Ms. Potts prefers green."

Tony came into the common room with a package under one arm. "Here, this is for you two," he said, offering it to Steve and Bucky.

"Okay ... what is it?" Steve said, making no move to investigate. He still wasn't really used to people just giving him things.

"Open it and find out," Tony said with an impish grin.

"If you won't, I will," Bucky said, peeling away the brown paper wrapping with far less consideration than Steve usually showed. Underneath lay a traditional science kit, the simple kind that used springs to hold the wires, judging from the picture on the box.

That's an interesting choice, Phil thought. I wonder where Tony is going with this. He felt certain that the engineer had a plan.

"So what do you think?" Tony asked.

"It seems to run on some form of electricity," Steve said with a smile.

"I thought this would make a good approach for introducing you guys to modern technology," Tony said. "We can start with the basics and work our way through the projects together. You'll learn how to recognize parts, read schematics, and wire things according to a diagram. Anything you already know, we can skip over --"

Bucky shook his head. "No, I need the refresher. Just because I can fix a skillet doesn't mean I really know what I'm doing. My memory is Swiss cheese these days," he said. "You won't mind repeating things if I forget?"

"I won't mind," Tony said. "In fact, I planned for it. After we go through this model, we can get a fancier one with more parts and projects. Start wherever you remember how to do things, and move forward from there." He drummed his fingers on the box.

"Okay," Bucky said, and unpacked the science kit.

Phil picked up the instruction booklet and leafed through it. "This looks promising," he said.

Steve brushed a fingertip delicately over the springs. "Thanks, Tony. I felt so lost on the Helicarrier ..."

"You weren't lost. You did great. I was just jerking your chain because I was a dick that day," Tony said.

Steve frowned. "You don't have to flatter me, Tony."

"I'm not," Tony said. "You jumped over seventy years of technology, popped open a panel on a bleeding-edge ship, and took less than two seconds to identify its power source. That's pretty impressive."

"Nah, I didn't have the first idea what I was doing," Steve said.

Phil frowned. Steve had a bad habit of putting himself down when it came to applied education. He'd always been smart, he was smarter now, but the army had neglected to support his intellectual as well as physical development. What a waste, Phil thought. We can do better.

"Well, what did you think when you saw it?" Tony said.

"I just saw a bunch of wires, and they were going into things, so I figured there had to be circuits," Steve said. "Then you asked me about the stat and I just said what I was thinking right then, that it was powered by electricity."

Tony grinned. "See, you figured it out. You're smart, Steve. Never let anyone tell you differently, even if it's me on one of my regularly scheduled be-a-dick days." He put the science kit in Steve's lap. "Take a look at this and tell me what you make of it.

"Um. Well. The springs hold the wires? I think. I never had one of these. There was one in the science class at school but we all had to share it and I was short so I never really got a good look ..." Steve said. His words inched forward, like a rabbit peeking out of a hole.

"You have a good look now. Yes, the springs hold the wires. What else?" Tony said as he guided Steve through an exploration of the simple device.

Meanwhile Bucky was investigating the spare parts -- mostly a handful of color-coded wires plus a few extras such as lightbulbs. Phil passed him the booklet. "These instructions are pretty clear," Bucky said. "A lot of this stuff looks familiar."

"Good," Tony said. "I hoped that starting with a simple set like this would work that way for you two. Later on I'll show you the one I designed for the Starklings -- the kids of Stark Industries employees -- that introduces the basics of SI technology."

Phil couldn't help chuckling at that. Steve and Bucky looked at him. "Victor Von Doom captured one of those. Somehow he crashed his entire secret lab supercomputer with it. There is a security video of this on YouTube," Phil explained.

"Yeah, Reed will never let him live that down. I still haven't figured out how Victor managed to do it, though. I built the thing to be genius-proof," Tony said.

Just then Bruce wandered in from the kitchen. "Oh hey, a science kit!" Bruce said. "Have you shown them how to make a potato battery?"

"We just got this," Steve said.

"Be right back," Bruce said, heading for the kitchen again.

"Do we even have all the components for that experiment?" Phil asked.

"You would not believe the things I have used to make batteries," Bruce said over his shoulder.

"Yeah, he could make batteries in Baghdad with clay jars and some copper," Tony joked.

In the kitchen, Bruce howled with laughter. Steve and Bucky shared a confused look.

"The Baghdad Battery is a type of archaeological artifact made with those components," JARVIS explained.

Bruce came back from the kitchen with a potato, a tomato, and a lemon. "Here, we'll need these," he said.

"I thought you said potato battery?" Steve said.

"I did, but other vegetables and fruits can work too," Bruce said. "Some work better than others, so with a set, you can compare results."

"Do we have paperwork for that?" Bucky asked. "I'll never remember it just in my head."

"I have various forms for recording simple experiments," JARVIS said. Bucky's Starkpad chirped for attention. Bucky looked at it and nodded.

Meanwhile Bruce had set up the potato battery, getting the lightbulb to go on. "Your turn -- try one of the other power sources," he said.

Steve tried with the tomato, but couldn't get more than a weak flicker. Bucky had better results with the lemon. That led into a discussion of the juice, its acidity, and other variables that differed among the choices.

"Now to tie this into our day job, these are the kinds of things that are easy to scrounge if you get trapped somewhere with very little technology," Tony said. "Wherever there are people, there will be food. You can use it to make a battery, and use the battery to recharge or operate important equipment. On the other hand, if you need to sabotage your enemy's gear, food that can light a battery can often do more damage to electronics than food that can't light a battery. Spill water on a keyboard and it might still work after it dries out. Spill lemon juice and chances are, adios amigos."

"That's useful to know," Clint said as he came into the common room. "What are we doing, making supper on the coffee table?"

Bruce chuckled. "No, we're helping Steve and Bucky catch up on electronics. Tony bought them a science kit -- and then decided to diverge into sabotage techniques."

"Honey, pancake syrup, or bacon grease," Clint said seriously. "Pour those over wires and mice will chew them to bits. Great way to start a fire if you want a delay longer than a fuse or timer will give you."

Phil had seen him do exactly that, sometimes with startling accuracy. "I rather like peanut butter for packing into places you can reach, but don't want a leak to show the way liquid materials can drip out," he said.

"Now you're making me hungry. What's for supper?" Clint asked.

"How about baked potatoes?" Bruce said. "Cut off the parts where we poked it, and most of this one is still good. Loaded baked potatoes can make a complete meal if you put the right things on them."

"Tater bar, yay!" Clint exclaimed, bouncing on his toes. "Does anyone else like chili on theirs? I usually make mine overnight, but I can shortcut with canned beans and have it ready in an hour or so."

"I like chili," said Bruce and Bucky, while Steve said, "I like pretty much everything." Bruce headed for the kitchen to prepare the potatoes for baking.

"Okay, I'll get started," said Clint. He went to get a pot.

Phil helped him gather ingredients. "I like your topper chili."

"Yeah, but it's going to be a lot sloppier this time, since it won't have time to cook down all the way," Clint said.

Bruce ambled over and peeked into the pot. "I have some einkorn wheat berries if you want them."

"Wheat in chili?" Clint asked.

"The gluten helps things stick together more. I use wheat berries in sloppy joe mix," Bruce said.

"Sure, why not," Clint said. "I don't really know what to do with it, though, so you'll have to help."

Bruce got out a canister of wheat and a skillet. "Ideally, you want to soak this overnight in water with a splash of vinegar, to improve the nutrition. But if you forget or you're in a hurry, you can quick-cook it for a few minutes and then put it into your recipe." He demonstrated.

When the wheat berries started to get tender, Clint stirred them into the chili. Then he tasted it. "Huh. That is pretty good."

Chapter Text

They went back into the common room to wait while supper cooked. Steve and Bucky snuggled into one end of the couch, leaving the other for Phil. Clint perched on the back of it, his bare toes curling over the cushion. Bruce claimed the loveseat, and not long after that, Betty wandered up from lab to join him.

"What's for supper?" she asked, sniffing the air.

"Loaded baked potatoes," Bruce said.

Natasha arrived next, and then Tony. Her t-shirt said, I'm a redhead. What's your superpower? and his said, I'm an engineer. To save time, let's just assume that I'm never wrong. They took the chairs, Tony in his favorite as usual, surrounded by technology.

Phil used his tablet to flick through his messages. JARVIS noted that a box of assorted glassware had arrived for use as prizes. A few minutes later, Clint claimed a bingo card.

One red flag from SHIELD popped onto Phil's screen. While checking for more of Steve's or Bucky's possessions that might have been misfiled, Hill had found something of Howard's instead. Now Phil would need to go in and check that for potential trouble before passing it along to Tony.

"What's with the long face, Agent?" said Tony. "Usually you only make that face when the cloak and the dagger are having marital issues."

"Something came up at SHIELD relating to your father. I can deal with this later; it's not really suitable for family time," Phil said as he turned off the tablet to avoid tempting Tony to peek at it.

Tony shrugged. "Don't waste your time. It's not like SHIELD gives a fuck about intellectual property rights. If it's important, I can always hack it out later."

"This is on paper. I'll take care of it for you," Phil said. "Tony, I know this is an awkward topic, but I want to make sure you understand that what Director Fury did with your father's things was illegal as well as unethical, and his approach to you was just plain rude. I wasn't aware of all of that at the time, or I would have handled our first meeting very differently."

"Yeah, whatever. You deal with it," Tony said. "I know Fury's a dick, it's just ... SHIELD has its uses or I would've brought it down in flaming ruins before now."

Phil wondered if any of his own efforts had helped Tony see that SHIELD wasn't all bad. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

"Uh huh. Can we watch TV or something?" Tony said, kicking the footrest of his chair. "JARVIS, find a show that people will like."

JARVIS turned on the viewscreen with the sound down low, an elegant bit of modern dance that looked mostly ballet with a few bits borrowed from other styles. Phil chose not to protest the change of subject.

"That's pretty," Bucky said, leaning forward.

"You like modern? I thought you liked ballet," Steve said.

"I like a lot of things," Bucky said.

"I prefer ballet," Natasha said. "It requires more skill."

"So does this, just different moves," said Bucky. He cast a sidelong glance at her. "I think you'd be good at it. If you wanted to."

"Perhaps," she said.

"If you think this is something, you ought to see some of the dancers who use acrobatics and gymnastics," Clint said. "Or belly dancing, or western, or both."

"Both?" Betty said, laughing.

"YeeHawBibi is not to be missed," Clint said firmly. "Anyhow Bucky, if you want to learn some of the acrobatic dance stuff, I could show you a few moves that I know from the circus."

Natasha gave a quiet but unhappy little sniff.

"Hey, if you're jealous, just say so," Clint said. He let his legs dangle down the couch, straddling Phil's shoulders.

"I am jealous," Natasha said. "When we are dancing, Yasha is mine."

"What if he doesn't want to be?" Steve asked quietly.

"Whoa, I don't wanna start a fight," Bucky said, waving his hands.

"We are not fighting. If we were fighting, someone would be bleeding," Natasha said.

"No hitting," Phil said hastily. "Natasha, it's good to acknowledge your feelings. Jealousy is something you'll need to work through with Bucky and Clint. Bucky, it's up to you what dance moves you want to practice and with whom. Clint, thank you for offering your expertise; that was very generous of you."

Clint wrapped his toes around a forgotten stress ball and flicked it at Natasha. She batted it aside easily. "Do not think you can distract me with toys," she said.

A timer rang from the kitchen. Natasha perked up.

"Food, on the other hand, is distracting for everyone," Bruce declared as he got up. "Come on, people, help set the table or make toppings."

In the kitchen, the potatoes were soon removed from the oven and set on the table to cool. Clint poured his topper chili into a large serving bowl. Steve brought out several different cheeses to grate. Natasha started chopping raw onions, tomatoes, and peppers. Bucky absconded with some for grilled onions and grilled peppers. That inspired Bruce to make sautéed mushrooms with garam masala. Phil fried up some bacon to crumble.

Tony and Betty set the table. Then Tony put out the sour cream, butter, and other cold toppings. Betty brought an assortment of gourmet salts and herbs. "What about dessert?" Tony asked as he surveyed the spread.

"Oops ... I guess nobody thought of that," Bruce said.

"No problem. JARVIS, you're on dessert, pick something and order it," Clint said.

"Done," JARVIS said a moment later. "Estimated time of delivery: half an hour."

Everyone shuffled into place around the table. Natasha pushed her way between Bucky and Clint. "Be nice," Phil murmured. "There's plenty of room."

Steve came to the table with a ceramic mixing bowl under one arm. He pushed his plate out of the way and replaced it with the bowl. Then he proceeded to quarter five potatoes into the bowl and slice a stick of butter atop them. He dumped in a small carton of sour cream, a large helping of chili, some grilled onions and peppers, a layer of bacon, several spoonfuls of sautéed mushrooms, and a handful of each grated cheese. He was piling on the cold diced vegetables when a few cubes of tomato tumbled off the top to splatter on the table.

"I should probably stop now," Steve said sheepishly, setting the bowl of vegetables back down. "And darn it, I forgot to add any salt."

Betty passed him the fleur de sel. "Just sprinkle some on top; the bacon should take care of the middle."

Phil smiled to see Steve taking as much food as his body needed. "There's plenty to go around, Steve. Don't worry about it," Phil assured him.

Steve glanced around the table -- checking to make sure everyone else's plate was full, Phil realized -- and then nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Phil dug into his own supper. He noticed that the topper chili, long a favorite of his, did not dribble off the sides of the potato but rather clung to itself like sticky rice. The chewy, nutty wheat berries made a tasty compliment to the spicier beans. "This is really good," Phil said. "Clint, you should save the recipe for this version of your chili."

"Done," JARVIS said.

"Depends on whether I can get that wheat stuff," Clint said, "but yeah, I like it too. It stays where you put it."

"I liked the einkorn wheat well enough to add it to the staples list. We won't run out," Bruce said.

"Looks good to me," Clint said. "Say, who else is working on a bingo card? I got one of the new ones, the partner kind. So I need a volunteer from the audience." He gave Bruce a hopeful look.

"Uh, I'm still trying to finish my earlier card," Bruce said.

"Tony? You never shut up, come play partner bingo with me," Clint tried.

Tony shook his head, mouth full.

"Tony, come onnnnnn," Clint whined. "I really want to do this, but I can't do it alone, I need a partner. And the rules say it can't be somebody you already know really well, so I can't ask Natasha."

Phil frowned. Clint didn't exactly need his sense of belonging kicked in the knees again.

"I'll play with you," Bucky said stoutly, and he was glaring at Bruce and Tony. "If we're gonna go sniping together some time, we should get to know each other better."

"That's nice of you," Clint said. "It's a memory game, though. Are you okay with that?"

Bucky hesitated, clearly torn between honoring his offer and wanting to tread lightly on thin ice.

"Go ahead and play," Phil suggested gently. "We'll count the squares as filled if the two of you talk about them, even if you can't remember everything."

Bucky might not know, but Phil certainly did, that Clint had holes in his memory too. It was a common problem for abused children, as the mind blotted out awful events and sometimes failed to record much of anything. The encounter with Loki had only made matters worse. Anything that encouraged Clint to think and talk about his past in a safe environment was good progress in Phil's book.

"Yeah, okay," Bucky said. "We can make this work."

Thank goodness for team players, Phil thought. Bucky made a precious addition to Steve in that regard. Phil knew that enticing people into the new team exercises might not be easy, and it helped a lot to have someone smooth the way.

Then Betty launched into a description of some nanotech idea she had, illustrated with rows of red, yellow, and green pepper along the edge of her plate. Tony leaned over to add a single cube of raw onion to the center. Betty squealed in delight and pulled out her phone to make notes.

Phil had no idea what they'd just said, but he approved of anything that inspired them to work together.

Just as people were scraping the last of the potatoes off their plates, JARVIS announced the arrival of dessert. "I have selected an assortment of miniature sweets. After such a heavy meal, I thought people might appreciate dessert in small portions. Would someone please pick up the cart at the service door?"

"I'll get it," Phil said. The cart had cardboard boxes from three different sources. When he brought everything back to the table, everyone made happy noises. One box held blueberry tartlets. The next held grapefruit-ginger soufflés. The last held tiny pavlovas.

Most of the Avengers took one of each and then stopped. Steve went back for seconds on the pavlova and the blueberry. He hesitated over the soufflés, then shook his head. "I'm stuffed. I can't eat another bite," he said.

"I think we got too much dessert," Bucky said.

"Heck no, there is no such thing as too much dessert!" Clint declared. "We'll just pack 'em up for later." He closed up the cartons and moved them to the refrigerator.

Chapter Text

Natasha began clearing the dishes. Betty headed to sink to wash them. Tony stepped up for drying.

Steve rinsed out the empty sour cream containers, then dithered over what to do. "I know I shouldn't keep all of these. It's stupid. We have plenty of storage tubs for food, better ones," Steve said. "But it still feels wasteful to me. It hurts to throw them away."

Tony pulled open a cabinet to reveal the color-coded bins inside. "You don't have to throw them in the garbage. The tower has a very sophisticated recycling system," he explained. "Drop things in here, and the system puts them to good use."

Bruce joined them. "I know it's a bit more complicated than what you remember, Steve, but that's okay. You'll get used to it," said Bruce. He took the sour cream container from Steve and pointed to the bottom. "Look, plastic things have a number on them to tell whether they can be recycled and how."

"But you don't need to worry about that, really, because the tower system does the fine sorting," Tony said. "Just separate the landfill garbage, the clean paper from the offices, and then all the other recyclables together like the bins say."

This wasn't the first time teammates had explained the process to Steve and Bucky. Steve had been so shellshocked when he first moved into the tower that nothing really registered for a while. Bucky's memory still skipped and stuttered, making it difficult for him to handle complexities. They're both learning, though, Phil thought as he watched the scene play out again.

Steve rubbed a thoughtful finger over the sour cream lid that he still held. He walked over to the cabinet that held empty storage tubs, some plastic, others high-impact crystal. Phil could see Steve's lips moving as he silently tallied the materials. He's reassuring himself of the supplies, Phil realized.

Then Steve went back to the recycling center and put all the sour cream containers into the relevant bin. He turned to Tony and Bruce. "Can you ... maybe go over the recycling science with me again? I think I'm ready to listen now. You guys do great work with this stuff, I've heard you talk about it, and I want to understand more about it."

"Sure thing," Tony said. "Stark Industries specializes in the green frontier now. Tell you the truth, though, it's never really recovered from shutting down the munitions branch. We could use a boost from someone more respectable than yours truly."

"It's not all fancy science stuff," Bruce added. "I've spent years making do with whatever junk I could scrounge. I built a centrifuge out of a bicycle wheel once. It's like my dishtowels say, you know? Reduce, reuse, recycle, replenish, restore." Bruce's had little acorns embroidered on them. Tony's favorite dishtowel, currently draped over his shoulder, was embroidered with motherboard lines. Both were Betty's handiwork.

"Okay," Steve said, "and thanks for being so patient with me."

After they finished the cleanup, everyone gathered in the common room. Tony and Bruce curled up on the loveseat. Bucky, Steve, and Phil had the couch. Betty and Natasha took the chairs. Clint perched on the back of Natasha's chair, humming quietly.

"Isn't that the song Kacey Musgraves wrote for you?" Phil asked.

Tony looked up. "Kacey Musgraves wrote you a song?" he said to Clint.

"Yeah, she uh ... is a fan of the Amazing Hawkeye," said Clint. "If I had my guitar, I could play it for you."

"So go get it," Phil said. "We haven't done a music night in a while."

Clint nodded and left to get his guitar. Tony ambled into the kitchen and came back with a pair of spoons. Bruce gave a thoughtful hum and fetched a pair of plastic tubs. Natasha shifted onto the floor so that Clint could have the chair.

When Clint came back, guitar in hand, he surveyed the changes in the room with a smile. He settled into the chair, then began to sing, "If you save yourself for marriage, you're a bore. If you don't save yourself for marriage, you're a horrible person ..."

Phil smiled, his foot tapping in time. He liked this song.

At the chorus, Clint raised his voice. "So, make lots of noise! Kiss lots of boys, or kiss lots of girls if that's something you're into. When the straight and narrow gets a little too straight, roll up a joint, or don't. Just follow your arrow wherever it points, yeah, follow your arrow wherever it points." His fingers danced over the strings.

When the song ended, Tony asked, "Does she actually know you're ace?"

"I don't know," Clint said. "It's not something I usually talk about. I just like how flexible the song is, you know? It leaves me a lot of wiggle room."

"Wiggle room is good," Bruce said, his fingers softly tapping on the plastic tubs that he held between his knees.

"So what've you got there?" Clint said, nodding at the tubs.

"Oh, just --" Bruce said, his hands stilling. "I guess it's silly, but I listened to a lot of music in India, and I really like the tabla rhythms."

"You guys wanna jam with me?" Clint offered. "I see Tony brought spoons."

"Yeah, I was always banging or tapping on something, so one afternoon I taught myself to play spoons. It's a good fidget," Tony said. "I never had anyone to play with though."

"I'll play something easy, then," Clint said. "Just follow along however you like." He played 'Rainy Day Woman,' looking at Natasha the whole time. He smiled at her, because he loved her, despite her often-dour disposition.

It didn't take long for Tony to start rattling his spoons along with the music, smacking them against his thigh with expert motions. It took a little longer for him to get the hang of playing with someone else, because Clint's style was expressive rather than metronome-perfect. Tony obviously did not care. He played with exuberant abandon.

Bruce was more precise, or trying to be, as he tapped the tubs with his fingertips. The larger tub produced a low note and the smaller one a high note. He frowned a little as he played.

Clint followed that with 'Gentle on My Mind.' This time he played to Phil, and it made the handler remember how he'd won Clint's loyalty by holding him close, but never holding him back or holding him down.

Natasha took a turn next. She sang the folk song 'Have You Seen Petruskha?' while Clint picked out the notes, trying to make his guitar sound like a balalaika.

Then Tony gave a soulful rendition of "Hanging Tree." Phil couldn't help but remember how Tony had gotten roped into first arms production and then superheroics, when he would rather build things to help people.

Bruce gave a growl of frustration. "I can't get this right."

"Music isn't about getting it right, it's about having fun," Clint said.

Phil noticed that Bruce was starting to turn green at the fingertips, and his shirt had gotten tighter. "Bruce, do you need --" Phil began.

Betty whisked past him and plopped herself on top of Bruce. "I know you're frustrated, love. Focus on me instead." She stayed with him until her soothing presence washed away the green tinge.

When Betty moved to get up, Tony shook his head. "You stay here with Bruce. I can move to my chair," he said as he stood. "Hey Steve, do you play or sing anything?"

"Not by myself," Steve said in a low tone. "All the guys in my barbershop quartet are dead."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring down the mood," Tony said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I like to listen," Steve said. He snuggled into Bucky's side and looped his other arm around Phil, seeking comfort in their close contact.

"Okay, time to lighten it up a little," Clint said with a smirk. Then he played 'Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road.'

Tony laughed so hard that he dropped his spoons. "Good one," he said.

Then Clint looked up at the ceiling. "Hey, JARVIS, you wanna take a turn?"

"I do not play guitar," JARVIS said.

"So? Neither does Tony," Clint said. He pointed at the engineer who was trying to retrieve the spoon that had slipped down into the innards of his media chair.

"How do you choose what to play if no one makes a request?" JARVIS asked.

"Well, you can play one of your own favorites, or you can pick something like whatever the other folks have been playing," Clint said.

A few soft piano notes drifted down from the ceiling. Phil recognized 'Always on My Mind.'

Clint grinned. "Yeah, I can play along with that." He picked up the tune with short downstrokes on the strumming.

"Aha!" Tony crowed, finally retrieving his spoon. He set the pair against his leg and began playing again.

So the evening went, with people playing and singing -- or just listening. Clint chose most of the songs, although he made a game attempt at some of Tony's favorite rock songs. Tony got better at following him with the spoons. Bruce never did pick up his tubs again, but relaxed enough to sprawl across the loveseat in Betty's grasp.

Finally JARVIS played a nocturne, gentle hint for the drowsy superheroes to seek their beds, and they all drifted away to their own quarters.