Behold. Fury is pancake god.
Tony vaguely remembered stumbling up, swaying, head pounding and feeling sick to his stomach. He remembered deciding he'd rather be in his own bed than on a shabby couch, but he'd barely made it to the door of the workshop before Fury had arrived. He'd felt… A little out of it, he recalled, and hadn't been thinking too clearly, to the point that he didn't even feel surprised or ashamed or… Anything, really. But instead of yelling at him, Fury gripped his upper arm tightly and led him up the stairs, murmuring, "I had the corridors cleared," as he did so. He was relieved, now, that Fury had done that because he must have looked a sight. Instead of leading him to his rooms, Fury instead led him through a few twists and turns that his pounding head couldn't seem to navigate around, and into a small room. He recalled seeing Loki and feeling a surge of guilt and shame – the first thing he had felt for perhaps hours. He'd reacted badly. Really badly, he supposed. Fury had propelled him to the bed next to Loki and literally forced him to sit, then pushed him backwards until he was lying down. "M'fine…" he remembered muttering, even as the room began swirling around him. Fury didn't even bother to reply, drawing the thin cover over him and leaving with a swish of his black cloak. Tony wasn't conscious for long enough to hear the click of the door as it shut behind Fury.
Non-negotiable bed rest, Fury told him later, when he was fully conscious and aware enough of what had happened that his cheeks had heated a little when he'd seen Fury. Who still didn't berate him for anything that he had done, which was rather unusual for Fury. He'd prescribed 'bed rest' to both him and Loki and refused to let them get up beyond seeing to their needs and occasionally eating. Tony only complained a few times, but secretly he was glad he was being given the chance to rest and not need to worry about… anything, really. Loki had merely nodded when Fury had told him he was to rest, but the relief in his posture had been almost palpable. Tony often had time to himself and his own thoughts, as Loki was being given quite strong medication for his throat – which was healing slowly but surely – and was often asleep. Sometimes, Tony had to resist the urge to creep up to Loki and brush his hair from his eyes as he slept or check his pulse as he had done so often in Oriax's realm. He looked so… Frail. But every day he seemed stronger, and the smoothies were definitely helping. He still couldn't stomach solid foods, but at least he wasn't being starved any more. Tony was going to buy him a crate full of strawberries, he'd decided, when Loki was better. Between the times Loki was asleep, he often walked around the room. His knee had healed somewhat, but he was still limping. The nurse had said the damage was deep enough that he might have a permanent limp – but it would only be slight if he didn't strain it too much. He distinctly remembered the glare she'd gave a standing Loki, that had sent him packing to the bed, until she left. Sometimes they talked. Loki inquired after Pepper, and Tony told him everything that had happened. Then everything afterwards, the pills he'd found… Everything.
And Loki hadn't blamed him for anything, which was more than he could have hoped for. He'd gone quiet for a moment, two, three, then slid out of his bed and crept into Tony's, a hand brushing down his cheek softly before he'd curled up in the top corner of the bed. Where he slept now, Tony curled up beneath him, back warmed by Loki's legs. Loki often slept without a cover, in a foetal position against the wall. It was how he'd slept in their cell, if he had the time to make himself as comfortable as possible before falling unconscious. Tony hoped the habit would one day break – he hated seeing the reminder of their days in the cell and knowing that they had affected Loki deeply enough to make him sleep as if Oriax was standing over him. He listened to the god's steady breathing, and thanked the high heavens that Loki was recovering, and that he was alive… He'd come so close to death, and even worse, so close to breaking. Tony stretched himself out slightly, so his head was level with Loki's chest. Thank goodness he hated narrow beds and had made sure the only beds they had were wide enough to allow someone who tossed and turned in their sleep to sleep comfortably. Loki shifted slightly, a hand reaching down to rest on Tony's shoulder. Tony rolled onto his back as much as he could, leaning against Loki, and felt the rise and fall of his chest, and listened to the steady thrumming of his heart.
Fury was feeling rather like a mother hen, a feeling that made him somewhat surlier than normal, but he couldn't seem to stop himself fussing over Tony and Loki, making sure they were well cared for, and annoying the nurses for reports on their progress. He took it upon himself to make Loki's smoothies every day, doing his best to get Loki strawberry ones at least once a day, though the god seemed to enjoy other flavours, too. None as much as strawberry. To think that he would grow stupidly fond of someone whom he had once hated with a passion, he thought. But that hadn't been Loki, not really. And who he was now was entirely different from who he had been before. And Stark… He seemed humbled, almost. Matured. The same, but… Different. And they both, seemingly without realising it, seemed so… Fragile. Just the set of their faces, the way they flinched almost imperceptibly if someone touched them unexpectedly… Small things that Fury's keen eyes had noted. He entered the room quietly. It was quite early, and they would most likely be sleeping. Which they were, he noted with a slight raise of an eyebrow and a quirk of his lips, on the same bed. Stark was lying against Loki's chest, Loki curled around him almost protectively. Fury set down the smoothie and the plate he'd brought on Loki's empty bed, then studied them silently. He had barely any doubt that they had slept similarly in their time away – it showed in the complete comfort in which they curled up to each other, completely at ease in each other's presence. Loki was frowning at something in his sleep, and the hand on Stark's shoulder twitched slightly. A few seconds later his frown disappeared, and his form relaxed a little more. Fury wondered what had happened that had made Stark trust Loki so completely. Judging by the protectiveness in Loki's posture, Fury could guess. And he felt so grateful to Loki, because without him, Earth would have lost the man who had been prepared to give up his life for her.
He left silently, without waking either of them up, and made his way to the common room where he found Rogers and Romanoff discussing exactly how to make pancakes, with Clint and Bruce sitting at the table, the latter trying not to chuckle and the first calling for a fight. Steve seemed torn between telling Clint to shut up and whacking Romanoff over the head with his frying pan. Fury leaned on the doorframe and watched in mild amusement, until they noticed him. Steve, in the process of raising his frying pan, dropped it on the counter with a small clatter, going slightly red. Fury shrugged. "I'll be the judge," he said gruffly, and moved to sit next to Bruce at the table. Rogers and Romanoff had gone quiet, rushing from cupboard to cupboard in a mad scramble for ingredients, mixing bowls, and the lone spoon. Romanoff got the spoon – a disgruntled and dishevelled Rogers ended up stirring his mixture with a butter knife, and then a fork. "How are they?" murmured Bruce to him after some time. Fury leaned close to him. "You should have seen them this morning," he smiled, possibly smirking a little. Banner raised his eyebrows. "JARVIS?" Fury asked quietly. An image sprung up on the polished surface of the table they were sitting around, in front of Banner. He didn't say anything as he studied it, but he was definitely smiling faintly. The image disappeared and Fury leaned back. Not far enough that he missed Banner muttering to himself, "So cute…"
He watched the rest of the pancake competition in relative silence, occasionally sighing in mock-disapproval at the rather childish behaviour of his avengers. The aroma of pancakes that had crept into the air sent Barton and Banner into throes of ecstatic anticipation. He crossed his arms and waited, refusing to display any emotion as the two candidates looked at him occasionally, as if to see if they were winning his favour with their – often pretty spectacular – pancake flips. Banner and Barton whooped with every successful flip and booed at every unsuccessful one. And they finally, they oohed as first Steve, the Romanoff brought forth their creations. Fury crossed his arms on the table and leaned forwards, running a critical eye over the two plates of pancakes. Steve had gone for a more simplistic, home-made approach, drizzled with chocolate and strawberry sauce with a healthy dollop of cream on the side. Romanoff had made smaller, thicker pancakes that were in small, artistic piles spread around the plate, practically swimming in what he assumed to be maple syrup. On the top of each pile of mini-pancake pile was spread some whipped cream, with tiny piles of blueberries and cut strawberries on top. Fury very much looked forwards to sampling them. Romanoff presented him with a knife and fork, smiling what could only be a winning smile. Her plate was the closest, so he pulled it towards him and cut a careful piece from one of the pancake piles.
He was surprised – and not displeased – to find that there were layers of maple syrup and strawberry jam alternating between the layers of pancakes. He scooped a blueberry and plopped it onto the top of his small triangle of pancakes and ate it, savouring the truly delicious taste. He rewarded Romanoff with an approving nod. She sniffed and smiled at Steve. A double-edged smile, Fury thought to himself. He tugged Steve's plate towards him and looked the pancake pile over, before cutting away a neat triangle and pushing it into the dollop of whipped cream. Fury found a hidden layer of Nutella in the middle of the layers of pancake, that collided beautifully with the sauce and whipped cream. He'd always liked things with a more home-made touch to them – these pancakes were certainly no exception to that, in the best possible way. He swallowed, then said, "I'm afraid, Steve," he watched Romanoff's eyes brighten momentarily, "that you are about to suffer a huge beating at the hands of Romanoff, because your pancakes are quite possibly the best I've ever tasted." There was a brief silence, then Clint began howling in laughter, pointing at Romanoff's crestfallen face. Eventually she joined in with the laughter and sat down, grabbing Steve's pancakes. "I'm trying these. And then you and I, dear Stevey, are going to the gym to… Train." Rogers looked like he didn't know whether to be pleased he'd won or find the nearest rabbit burrow and fling himself into it. He settled for grabbing Natasha's pancakes and taking a pile of them, sliding it onto his plate, before shoving them over to Banner and Barton, who oohed in appreciation and got stuck in.
The pancakes were gone in minutes. Rogers stood, licking his fingers, and made as if to creep away in the direction of his room. Romanoff got up from her chair and fluidly strolled after him, grabbing his arm in a vice grip. Steve cringed, not looking at her. "Gym's this way!" she announced brightly, and frog marched him in that direction. Steve looked briefly, pleadingly back at them. Fury shrugged. Barton waved him goodbye, giggling like a small child with Banner. Even Steve's doe eyes couldn't save him from this, apparently. "I want to see this," Banner murmured, a half smile on his face as he stood. Barton nodded, agreeing, and together the two left after Romanoff and Rogers. Fury shook his head as they disappeared, then narrowed his eyes as he realized they'd just left him to clean everything up. He took one glance at the kitchen counter and all but ran from the room, deciding he'd ask JARVIS, "tell Romanoff that loser's consolation prize is tidying up, JARVIS, will you please?" JARVIS was silent a moment, two, then, "All done, sir." Fury smirked, imagining the beating Rogers was about to receive. He walked through the corridors at a more leisurely pace, stopping once he reached the small hospital room. Looking in, he found Loki and Tony sitting up, eating the strawberries he'd brought them. Both of them eating the strawberries. He knocked twice, briefly, before entering. He nodded towards Loki and then Tony, assessing them critically in much the same way he'd looked over the pancakes. Tony seemed a lot more at ease than he had since the… Incident. Loki still had something… Pent up behind his relaxed posture and the slight smile he was greeting Fury with. Fury guessed they'd talked – or Tony had. Loki looked like he still needed to do so. "How are you?" he asked them both, quietly. Tony shrugged. "Better," he said, and for once it seemed as if he wasn't just referring to their still-healing wounds, but to their broken minds.