The nights when Steve can't sleep, he goes into the kitchen to cook. The tower doesn't feel like home, so drawing is out of the question. And no matter what he gets up to, he'll end up drawing a crowd. All of these damaged people with whom he lives have equally screwed up circadian rhythms.
He's not hungry when he starts a batch of Ma's meatloaf. JARVIS-who he's half sure is merely a voice over an intercom-keeps the assorted fridges full of a varied bunch of materials that could easily become a tasty meal or an exploding science experiment. There have been enough "Science Bros" incidents already.
Neither of them truly notices when Thor comes through, intent on the contents of the fridge with an American flag magnet on it, indicative of its contents. Steve assumes whatever he's after isn't in there when the door slams shut to a grunt of displeasure. Then Thor turns his attention to the counter where Steve is mixing the hamburger and everything.
If he offers to help, Steve will graciously give way and teach the god, but he doesn't want that. He wants the physical activity and the act of creation.
Thor finds a stool and settles in to watch. Unobtrusive, for him. Steve refocuses on kneading thirty pounds of meat in three mixing bowls in equal portions.
His nose announces the next arrival. The smell of alcohol wafts ahead of Tony like a perfume. His footfalls are still purposeful, so Steve figures he's a tiny bit past tipsy. Not morose, either. He drags out a stool next to Thor and plonks into it as noisily as he can without his armor.
Steve ignores this. He's on a mission.
Tony changes targets. "He say what he's making?"
Thor doesn't say anything. Steve figures he shook his head.
Tony snaps his fingers at Steve. "Am I in time for the 'Bam!' ?"
"The bam?" Thor repeats.
"Philistines," Tony mutters. "Yeah, Emeril, 'Bam!' On TV."
"This Emeril, he is a conjurer?" Thor asks.
"No, he's a chef."
Steve rolls his eyes. Tony and his pop culture references. Maybe he does it to test Steve's knowledge of the twenty-first century, out of a twisted desire to help.
" 'Bam!' " Tony repeats. " 'Let's kick it up a notch!' We'll get the Ironettes to help in the kitchen, have Rhodey blow up some stuff, and we'll call it 'Cookin' with Cap.' No, 'Cap in the Kitchen.' What'cha think?"
Steve smiles slightly, changing to another mixing bowl.
"If we get you a hot assistant-she can set things up for you-I can even get someone ex-military to help with your OCD setup there-and she can be co-host."
"I think I've had enough time in the spotlight," Steve says quietly.
"Don't decide yet, I'll have my people look into it."
"Do we have cause for so great a feast?" Thor rumbles.
Before Steve can reply, Tony adds, "Yeah, Stars-and-Bars. You gotta tell the audience at home so they can follow along and make their own. And give it a good name, like 'Grandma Bubba's Upside-down Rum Cake.' "
Steve shakes his head. "It's nothing too special, just one of Ma's recipes. Eggs, breadcrumbs, spices...stuff we could get for cheap." He divides the mixture, pressing carefully eyeballed amounts into loaf pans. The ready ones go in a precise line there until he's ready to stick them in the oven. That puts them clearly within Tony's line of sight.
He quietly repeats the ingredient list to himself. "...and twenty pounds of meat? You got me. Must be a meatcake."
"I would taste of this meatcake," Thor declares.
They've had plenty of fun-and trouble-teaching Thor about modern-day earth terminology, though usually it's Clint purposely telling him the wrong terms. Trolling, as he calls it. Steve tries to referee some of it since it amounts very nearly to bullying in his eyes. What seems cute and harmless to his comrades could turn into an international incident.
"After it cooks, everyone can have a taste."
"That's real generous of you, Capsicle. You gonna be the one making classic Sunday dinner for us from now on?"
"We can take turns." Steve's voice is mild. It could be a taunt. He's not entirely sure of Tony's sense of humor.
"Yes! I will make you the delicacies of Asgard-you'll think you'd died and gone to Valhalla," Thor crows. Steve can't help the huge grin that breaks out as he arranges the first set of pans in the oven and sets the timer.
"And you, Tony? Does this mean you'll stop ordering in and try your hand at something other than burnt offerings?" Steve finally joins them at the island, hopping onto a stool of his own. "Or is JARVIS going to have backup food ready on speed dial?"
Tony waves a dismissive hand in Steve's general direction. "Contrary to popular opinion, I have an array of humble household skills that include classic grub." Tony may have multiple science degrees but his chemistry knowledge seems rather stunted in the kitchen. Steve wants to set up a bet or a dare; something that would get Tony's competitive senses going. He still thinks he has so much to prove to everyone.
Instead of needling Tony, Steve settles in to wait. He has company and his creation is nearly complete.
When the smells of home cooking permeate the apartments designated for the Avengers, the rest of the team isn't long in coming to investigate. It's precisely what Steve wanted: a means to bond with this group of misfits who opened their hearts-and a home-to him in the first place. And if the way to his teammates' hearts is through their stomachs, well, Tony can't claim that he's fighting dirty. It'll be his turn soon enough.