p • r • e • s • s • u • r • e

nervosa

Tony shrugged.

"I think we have to accept the fact that with Natasha, secrets are nonexistent."

Tony retreated to his closet and returned in casual trousers and holding a pile of clothes. He threw an outfit in Bruce's general direction and stared at the rest, which he'd deposited on the foot of the bed.

He grunted, ground the heel of his hand into his eye and yawned. "Which one."

"Really?"

"What? I'm thinking navy."

"Go for it, you crazy kid" he deadpanned.

"Never mind." he thrust out a hand laden with a deep red cashmere guernsey. Of course it occurred to Bruce that red was a strategic choice, though black may have been a better one. 

"Do you mind, terribly?"

"Of course."

He helped him into the sweater, stretched the soft woven fabric over Tony's upper half.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

Tony headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

"Just leave your clothes in the bin, it'll be taken care of."

Bruce opened his mouth to protest but looked down and decided against it. His shirt was flecked with blood. It matched the sweater.

"Right...thanks."

Their arrival in the kitchen earned them a couple of funny looks.

"Bruce, where've you been?"

"I uh...I was just..."

"We were watching TV in my room, Bruce crashed on my sofa."

He let out a breath he didn't recall breathing in.

"Apparently, Green Giant here's never seen the new Doctor Who," said Tony, over the sharp rumble of the espresso machine.

Steve's pancakes were a little cold, wrapped in a kitchen towel in the middle of the counter. 

Bruce poured a cup from the french press and just sort of stared at them, like he'd deflated. 

"Say doc, you like oranges, right?"

"Yeah I love them," he mumbled.

"Thought so."

Tony pulled out a small saucepan to heat up some maple syrup. He took an orange from the fruit bowl and cut it in half, squeezing it into the pan. Bruce watched in moderate fascination as he buzzed around the kitchen, warming up the cakes in a separate pan. The result was stacked steaming onto a plate and drizzled with orangey maple syrup straight from the pan and garnished with orange zest. 

"Here. Gave 'em an upgrade."

"What?"

"It's the least I could do," he said meaningfully. An orange silk napkin bruce had never seen before was wrapped around a fork and knife and they slid across the counter into his elbow. 

"Thanks, Tony."

Bruce unravelled the silverware and took a bite.

"Mm...holy shit."

Tony grinned.

"I mean-what-where did you learn to do this?"

"Culinary school."

It wasn't terribly difficult, and while he had spent a year in culinary school it was not among the dishes they taught him. But he wasn't about to admit to that.