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Tony's closed eyelids began to blink as he slowly reemerged from sleep. Still closed, his eyes squinted and his head turned involuntarily so that he could smell whatever it was that was wafting through his personal suite at Stark Tower (thankfully nothing more than the penthouse lounge had taken a hard hit). Finally unable to sustain his curiosity, which admittedly was part and parcel for his lack of self-preservation skills, Tony opened his eyes and pushed up in his bed.
"Good morning, sir. The time is 9:14 a.m. and the temperature is 65 degrees Fahrenheit, overcast with a 43 percent chance for showers later in the afternoon."
"Thank you, J," Tony replied back groggily, blinking his eyes several times and trying to find the rest of the motivation to pull back his covers and investigate... Investigate? Oh right, the intoxicating smell still emanating from somewhere in his apartment. He breathed in deeply. Was that cinnamon?
Rolling out of bed, Tony found a pair of pajama pants to throw on, not bothering to put on a shirt over the thin tank he typically slept in (since he no longer felt comfortable sleeping with his arc reactor exposed). He shuffled wearily out of his room, his muscles aching harder from the Battle of New York than they had the day before - like some kind of delayed reaction now that the adrenaline had worn off entirely. He continued this sore trudge until he reached the open living area and froze in place.
Dr. Bruce Banner was buzzing around his kitchen preparing what looked like eggs, bacon - and was that a waffle maker? he didn't even know he had one of those - with the same kind of meticulous skill Tony had seen him use in the lab on board the Helicarrier. Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure what astonished him more. The sight of Bruce in general, as he had actually forgotten some time during the night that Bruce had agreed to stay as his house guest the previous day, or the sight of Bruce cooking. No wait, Bruce was also absentmindedly humming to himself as he set about placing down plates and cups and pouring orange juice and coffee and... That did it. Broken brain before 10 a.m. and not even a hangover to justify it. All of it was too much to compute.
The man, the one with breathtaking anger-management skills who sometimes turned into a rage monster, was a picture of domestic bliss. He didn't look like a man who had just spent who-even-knows-how-long in India, and who knows where else before (although Tony meant to find out). In his faded khakis, the black tshirt Tony had given him and bare feet, he looked every bit the cliché part of a father on a Saturday morning, letting his wife stay in bed while he prepared breakfast for them and the three or four kids that Tony was almost certain were going to come bounding down the hallway past him from some alternate dimension portal Bruce must have built in the second bedroom overnight.
It was almost ridiculous. Who was this man and how was he so skilled in the domestic arts? And why did it feel so, well, right to see him like this? It was almost like waking up on Christmas morning, that's how good it felt seeing the poor, angst-ridden scientist so carefree and... domestic. His slightly neurotic mind suddenly wondered at how different this picture would be if he had walked in on the Hulk cooking breakfast and the chuckle that followed was unavoidable.
Bruce turned around quickly, a brief moment of uncertainty on his face, before it eased into something warm. "Oh, hey, you're already up," he said. "I was going to ask JARVIS to tell you I made some breakfast, but since you're already here I guess you can dig in."
Tony, drawing on his manic energy, strolled over to the breakfast bar where most of the finished food items, minus a last batch of waffles that Bruce turned back to pour into the waffle maker, were placed at the ready. Seriously. Who was this man?
"Um, this isn't breakfast. Breakfast is two bowls of cereal and three cups of coffee. Maybe an Eggo every now and then. This is a feast," Tony gabbled as his senses practically overloaded at the sight and smell of it all. He wasted no time in grabbing a plate and piling on some eggs and bacon.
Bruce gave a small, breathy laugh as he closed the lid of the waffle maker and turned back around. "Well, they're no Eggos, but I did make plenty of gluten free cinnamon waffles if you're interested."
"Gluten free?" Tony quirked an eyebrow at this as he stuck a fork into two of the waffles and held them closely for inspection before plopping them onto a second, smaller plate (because he did not enjoy syrupy eggs, frankly). Again, who was this man? Not just homemade waffles, but healthy homemade waffles. The domesticity of it all was intriguing. Was gluten free even a thing in third-world countries?
Bruce shrugged a shoulder, almost as if hearing all of Tony's unspoken questions, as he took a small drink of orange juice. "That's just..." He set down the cup and then turned to the waffle maker to carefully pull out the final four waffles. "That's just how I always made them before," he finished while his back was still turned.
Tony poured some syrup, not wanting to waste any more time giving these mystery waffles - that clearly had some special history Bruce wasn't sharing - an honest try. He gingerly cut a large enough bite to savor and popped it into his mouth. The saliva that pooled instantaneously and the hallelujah chorus from the taste buds on his tongue was like sensory overload and he actually mmm'd like some overly perky television chef trying to convince the audience that every single thing they've just made is the best tasting thing they've ever eaten.
"Damn," he said once he finally swallowed. He noticed the thin, appreciative smile on the face of the scientist standing there watching him practically orgasm over a bite of waffle and briefly wondered if that had been at all totally hot for him to witness, being the chef and all. "Actual damn. These are delicious." Tony then wasted no time taking several more bites. He planned on adding more to his plate as quickly as possible.
"Thanks," Bruce said simply and then began preparing his own plate of food.
After a few minutes, they re-situated to the small dining table that divided the space between the kitchen and the lounge. They ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Mostly because Tony was far too busy letting Bruce's waffles do wicked things to his mouth to manage any kind of coherent chatter. Finally, he knew he needed to take a breather before he gorged himself, though he wasn't sure it wouldn't be a great way to go, and worked on devouring the rest of the eggs, bacon and coffee instead.
"So, I have to admit, when I invited you stay yesterday and you agreed, I was not expecting to wake up to food porn."
Bruce laughed, a short but actually audible belly laugh that startled Tony just a little - but in a good way. "I'm pretty sure this doesn't qualify as food porn."
"Well, I'd ask you how you would know, but a man who cooks a meal like this is probably an expert in that field. And while we're on the subject, you know, your file said nothing about you being this, this, I don't know what to call it - sexy domestic kitchen god?"
Bruce had been in the middle of taking another drink of orange juice and the result was comical as his cheeks puffed up in a desperate attempt not to expel the juice with a hearty gasp of a laugh. Tony's face lit up, still like Christmas morning, at the physicist's joviality. It was such a pleasant change from Mr. Tiptoe Through The Tulips (Hulk tiptoeing through tulips was another glorious image that suddenly came to mind).
Right as Bruce managed to swallow, Tony added with a smirk, "But, hey, not on record means we can keep this our dirty little secret."
Then the laughter came in full force like a glorious tsunami. "Oh, god... Tony, stop... please..." He spluttered. "They're just... waffles!" He continued, shaking his head and trying to reel in his outburst.
Once Bruce had managed to regain his composure, Tony ventured to ask more seriously about the matter since he was still curious. "But, in all honesty, I am a little shocked. You are a fantastic cook if this is anything to go by. Where'd you learn? Self-taught? Family member? Did you take home-ec in middle school?"
"You do know cooking is a science, right?" Bruce deflected with his own question.
"Mm, in theory." Tony tilted his head slightly. "But it's also an art."
"Not much unlike engineering," Bruce countered with a slight raise of the hand that held his fork.
"Fair point. So you picked up on it then? Because it's a science?" Tony guessed.
Bruce nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. It was relatively easy. The art aspect came... Well, a little later. But I was able to do simple cooking at a fairly young age. It was like chemistry or a puzzle. And, it's come in handy since then," he then added with a sad sort of shrug and Tony furrowed his brow, trying to deduce the doctor's line of reasoning. "Being able to prepare food has been pretty beneficial in my, uh, nomadic lifestyle. Can't always find a nice diner to pop into, you know?"
Tony's face fell slightly and he quickly brought his cup of coffee up to his lips to hide his frown. "Well, that aside, you seem to enjoy it from what I could tell when I first came in."
Bruce ducked his head in slight embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, I do," he responded, clearing his throat slightly. "It's science, but it's art so it's something that helps me unwind I guess. It's just something to do with my hands; something I can create for the purpose of enjoyment and sustenance both. It's temporary, but satisfying. It's nicer of course when I have someone else to enjoy it too. And I have to say, using an actual kitchen again was nice. Sorry I just kinda helped myself to it."
"Oh, I'm definitely enjoying it," Tony said with a hearty grin as he took another bite of waffles as if to prove his point. "And hm-mm. Don't be sorry. You can use my kitchen to make me food any time at all, big guy," he said, not the height of manners by any means, as he chewed and then swallowed. "In fact, in a week you'll probably regret you ever made this breakfast for me because I'm pretty much a wreck for these waffles. Like I might even have to leave Pepper and ask you to marry me or something because if there's more where this came from, I'm in love."
Bruce rolled his eyes, a look of amusement settling at the corners of his lips. "I think that might be taking the adage of the stomach being the way to a man's heart a little too far."
"I don't know. I've got an arc reactor covering mine and my stomach is still managing to make a pretty solid argument right now. Where should we go on our honeymoon?"
"Ireland, but, you know, I'm pretty sure we can arrange something less drastic than matrimony," Bruce teased before taking another swig of orange juice.
"Ireland, noted. Hey, I know," Tony said, snapping his fingers. "I'll hire you as my personal chef. Problem solved." He began gesturing animatedly with his fork. "And then you can get famous as my chef and become one of those like celebrity chef people. You know, the ones that have those ridiculous shows on television where they expect us to believe they're cooking in their homes with their kids that just so happen to come home from school right then and there to help. I guess we could hire some kids, or better - get the rest of the Avengers to make guest appearances and like bake cookies with you. It'll be great. I'll have legal start drawing up the contracts now. Should we call it Baking With Banner or Hulk In The Kitchen?"
Throughout this entire spiel, Tony had noticed with great interest Bruce becoming more and more amused. Now at last, the man burst forth with another fit of laughter as he pushed his plate forward and dropped his forehead dramatically to the table where it had been. "If you call it... Hulk... In The Kitchen... I will put arsenic in the next batch," he practically wheezed as his laughter continued.
It was in this moment that Tony was one hundred percent certain that he had made the right call in his extensive efforts to convince Bruce Banner to stick around. This man was a gift that he was not about to give back (without a fight) to India, Ross, SHIELD, or anybody else who didn't deserve to see him like this - or worse, who would squash out the light and laughter the physicist already barely clung to and was so hesitant to exude.
Besides, he'd never be able to eat another Eggo again which was kind of a damn shame so he had to at least keep the man around to feed his new addiction.