Title: Avengers Alliterative
Formerly Banner's Banner (which is now chapter two). I finally noticed that the title was entirely Bs. Good an excuse as any, in my opinion, to add another twenty odd chapters. Nothing better to do (start, rather, since I doubt this will be finished soon) in Lockdown. (Seriously. If I stick to just washing my hands a lá Pontius Pilate I'm going to run out of soap.)
A return, as much as I can, to the Avengers of 2012. Because recent developments have just gotten tedious.
Chapter Title: Avengers Assemble
Summary: Having made a team, the Avengers now make other things.
Lego is for children, or crafty Russian assassins looking to booby trap the common room. It's kind of odd how no one sees her do more than stick two pieces together, yet every other weekend there's a new elaborate structure in the living room. Tony knows who he's getting the Death Star for, for ... winter holiday of choice. Do Russians celebrate Christmas? Do spies? Is the Jack in the Box he made Fury going to be destroyed because he sent it anonymously in an unscannable box? ... In retrospect, that hadn't been the best idea he's every had.
Engineering, on the other hand, is for genius inventors who want a bit of downtime and playing with their hands (and still getting a little bit of work done, okay? Tony has quotas to fill. And Pepper is all for him having a new friend group, but she is also running a company.)
Thor ... Thor stacks things. On top of Mjolnir. Under Mjolnir. He comes in one day with a bag of stones and stacks them on the roof, to the side of Iron Man's (not Tony's. Tony can't fly. Even if Loki gave it the old college try) landing pad. They all give it a try, at some point or another.
Steve makes cookies. Steve doesn't stop making cookies, because J.A.R.V.I.S. is an enabling enabler who keeps ordering more ingredients, and Steve's running on a post-rationing high. The trays are starting to wind their way into the dinning room - it's separated from the kitchen by a counter which totally counts as a different room with the open plan the floor has going on - by the time the last of them make their way out of bed. He ices designs on half of them. They're very pretty, and they leave his finger tips stained with a rainbow of colours. No one bothers pointing it out. It matches the paint splatter on his cheek.
Bruce makes tea. Teas, rather. Tony assumes he must have been a proper caffeine chugging scientist at one point, but years of being on the run have turned him into the type of person who says things like 'brewing temperature' and sits about detecting notes of citrus. Pepper's in on it too.
Clint makes up a fake story of squirrels in the vents. It's only after the laser grids are installed that he confesses. Tony sends in a scanner anyway, because there is no way that it's physically possible for him to fit. Surely. Eventually, when Clint refuses to submit to another measurement, he has to concede that the evidence before them trumps science. Even if science is of course right. Still, he lets J.A.R.V.I.S. control the laser settings, and if they happen to hear a yelp or two from the walls, well ... squirrels.