A/N: So I might have forgotten about Thor until this chapter...oops.
Disclaimer: So, I don't own anything. I don't even own any soup recipes. Sad. So sad.
Within two days, Tony had gone from feverish and delirious to almost his old self.
Bruce sat at the kitchen counter, smiling into his cup of tea as Tony and Natasha bickered good-naturedly over lunch.
"Soup, soup, soup," Tony said. "What is it with you Russians and soup? Gruel for breakfast and borscht for lunch. Bleagh."
"I had oatmeal with dried cranberries," Natasha said mildly. "I wouldn't call that gruel."
"Fancy gruel, then."
"And still, not a soup. Come now, the only soup you can think of is borscht? We need to broaden your horizons. There's okroshka, botvinya-"
Tony made a strangled sound. "Do you hear that, Bruce? She's trying to kill me with some rotten fish soup."
Natasha arched an eyebrow. "I can arrange a fish soup, if you'd prefer. We Russians do like our fish. As rotten as possible, of course."
"See?" Tony said. "Definitely trying to kill me."
Bruce just chuckled. "If she wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already."
"Aye," said Thor. "And I would think she would dignify you with a more violent death than soup. But if you are really worried about your safety, I will gamely eat your share. It would be a shame to let such fine food go to waste." He reached for the soup pot.
Natasha swatted his hand away. "No more soup for you. You've already had six bowls."
"Your cooking is incomparable," Thor said. "I just can't get enough of it." He looked at her hopefully.
She pointed to the door with the soup ladle. "Out, Thor."
Thor went, his shoulders hunched dejectedly.
Natasha rolled her eyes. "You'd think that man never gets a decent meal around here. Now where were we? Ah, yes. In deference to your limited palate, I'll make beef stroganoff for dinner."
Tony grinned. "My favorite."
"I know. It's in your file."
"Of course it is. Oh, speaking of files, I've been meaning to fix up those nail file daggers of yours. I should really get on that." Tony's eyes were distant, probably already working on the upgrades in his mind. "I'll be down in the lab. Try not to miss me too much."
Natasha smiled. "Have fun. And don't forget about dinner."
"I won't," Tony said with a wave over his shoulder. He halted in the doorway. "Oh, uh, hi, Steve. I was just leaving."
Natasha stiffened, all traces of the smile gone from her face.
Steve took Tony's arm. "Stark, a word." He tugged Tony into the living room.
They were too far away for Bruce to make out the conversation, but from Steve's pointed finger and Tony's slumped shoulders, it didn't look like anything good. Especially since Tony left in the opposite direction of his lab.
"I can't believe him," Natasha said under her breath.
Steve padded into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the fruit basket. "Hi, guys. It's a great day for-" He trailed off, his brow furrowed as he stared at Natasha. "What's that look for?"
"I think you're being too hard on him," she said.
Steve sighed. "I just told him to stop pulling all-nighters in the lab. He's going to get sick again and then he's going to be of no use to anybody."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "So," she said, "Tony needs to keep healthy for the good of the team."
Steve frowned at her. "Isn't that what I said?"
She shook her head. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"Never mind. I'm not wasting my breath. See you at dinner, Steve." And Natasha stalked off towards the gym.
Steve blinked, staring after her. "What was that all about?"
"It probably wasn't a good idea to ban Tony from the lab."
"Oh, so you're on his side, too?"
"We're a team, so we should all be on the same side, right?"
That was apparently the wrong thing to say because now Steve was looking at him like he suggested committing treason.
Bruce cleared his throat. "I don't want to get into this with you, Steve. Confrontation is bad for my blood pressure." He patted Steve's shoulder as he passed by. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."
He found Tony sitting in the den, absently flipping through the channels on the flat-screen TV.
"Hey," Bruce said. "I was looking for you down in the lab."
"I'm not supposed to hide away down in the lab anymore," Tony muttered, sinking down further into the couch. "Captain's orders."
"What if I had a project I needed your help with?"
Tony finally tore his glance away from the TV and leveled Bruce with a weary look. "I'm sure good old Cap would be much better with the heavy lifting."
"No, Tony. I don't need manual labor. I need a research assistant. And you're the only one qualified for the job."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "Keep talking."
"Remember when we fought Mystery Man last week?"
"The fungus guy, right?"
"Right. I've been trying to isolate the particular strain of fungus he used to paralyze-"
Tony sat up a little straighter. "I could make arrows for Clint out of that stuff."
"Sure," Bruce agreed. "Clint could probably use-"
Tony jumped up from the couch. "No time to waste, Bruce. To the lab!"
Bruce smiled as Tony took his hand and half-dragged him to the elevator.
It was easier working with Tony than Bruce had thought. He had seen Tony in some of his inventing moods, running around the workshop in a flurry of motion and loud rock music. But Tony was remarkably calm, humming to himself as he worked through a catalogue of known fungus strains with Jarvis' help. Bruce peered down through a microscope, analyzing a slide of fungus spores.
He felt a surge of pride when Tony pushed his chair back from the desk and announced, "We're probably going to be at this for awhile. Let me go grab us some dinner and then we can get right back to it."
It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
