Stacked with: Cluster; BAON; StL; MLG; FR; FaB A5 (Mashed Potatoes); Hunt (Fa Con, Turkey); Ministry of Magic

Individual Challenge(s): Mutant [Y]; Finders; Red Wave [Y]; Happy Birthday [Y]; Lovebirds; Gryffindor MC; Metahuman MC; Magical MC; Ship Sails; Zed Era; New Fandom Smell; Old Shoes [Y]; Marvelous Cinema; Short Jog

Representation(s): Set post-MCU Ultron, pre-MCU Civil War

Primary & Secondary Bonus Challenge(s): Jet Fuel; Second Verse (Found Family)

Word Count: 1183

The sky was the crisp sort of blue that only seemed to come during fall. Not a cloud was in the sky and there was only the gentlest breeze rustling the leaves of the trees far below Avengers tower, but rather than being stifling like in the summer, the effect was largely calming.

Clint was away with family, but Thor was watching an American football game and apparently texting him on a Stark-brand smartphone Hermione was sure he didn't buy for himself. "Yes!" the god would yell every now and then as one team scored. He reminded Hermione of Ron watching a Cannons game; she'd have to visit home soon. Her mind shifted to another of her favorite redheads: Natasha was visiting Clint's family with him. Apparently they spent most holidays together, which Hermione thought was very sweet. Nat deserved the best.

Bruce and Tony were in the kitchen, bent over the oven. Hopefully they weren't working on any more 'improvements' to it – the last time they'd played with kitchen appliances, a small fire had broken out. She could have sighed in relief when Tony carefully extracted a ceramic dish from the oven. It was unclear why that was a two-person job, but the green bean casserole smelled heavenly, so she was willing to turn her head the other way.

"I'll be right back," she told Pepper, who was deep in conversation with Phil. Pepper didn't seem to hear her, which wasn't surprising. She and Phil had chemistry, and Hermione hoped they'd each open their eyes sooner rather than later and figure out what they had sitting right in front of them.

A large bar cart was pressed against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and Hermione marveled again at the view as she poured another glass of wine (a 2003 Bordeaux, "not the best" according to Tony).

"How are you?" a warm voice asked from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder at Bruce. "Better now that you and Tony aren't scaring me, standing so close to kitchen appliances."

He rolled his eyes lightheartedly. "I told you that was the last time."

"And I still don't believe you," she teased. "Is there a point to this holiday besides sitting around and eating?"

They'd discussed it before. He took her into his arms from behind and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Nope."

"Ugh," Tony's voice rang out from across the room, "you two are disgusting." At that, Hermione turned to face Bruce fully and captured his lips in a kiss. "Neither of you are getting any tea if you keep that up."

"You make terrible tea anyways," Hermione said without looking.

"It really is awful," Bruce agreed before leaning in and pressing a quick peck to her lips. ("Did you see that? Disgusting!" Tony cried. He was certainly in a mood.) Bruce turned and went back towards the kitchen. "We've got mashed potatoes on deck," he called to Thor. "One tray for you, one for everyone else!"

"Wonderful!" Thor's voice boomed. Normally he was speaking over the din of the Avengers in general, but with fewer people in the tower, his voice echoed loudly around the room.

The elevator door dinged open. "Did I hear mashed potatoes?" asked a new voice.

Hermione beamed at Steve. "You're just in time!"

"You know damn well you heard right," Tony complained. He looked rather domestic with cozy red oven mitts on each hand and a glass bowl in hand. The potatoes had bits of bacon in them and Hermione was reminded vaguely of Hedwig. When was the last time Harry had written? She really was going to have to visit soon. "Stupid serum," he muttered.

Steve wandered over and took the bowl from Tony's hands, no oven mitts at all. "You wouldn't love me without the serum," he protested.

Tony pouted. "I'd love you if you were the skinniest brat in the world. I've seen the photos, you were adorable."

"Well, you never would have met me without the serum."

"Ugh," Bruce said, "you two are disgusting."

Tony pouted more while Steve blinked in confusion at the aggression.

Bruce just smiled broadly. "I'm putting on tea, who wants some?" Hermione raised a hand, as did Steve. "How do you want it?" Bruce asked, and she resisted the urge to laugh at the light blush that immediately decorated his face.

"Just sugar in mine, thanks," Steve interrupted, either not having caught the innuendo or ignoring it.

"Is simple syrup okay?" Tony had briefly gotten very into elaborate cocktails, so there was still a lot of simple left. Bruce opened the fridge door and brought his hand to his chin in thought. "We have regular, cinnamon, uhhh pine? And raspberry."

Steve grinned. "Regular is fine with me."

Bruce looked to Hermione for her preference. "I'll take cinnamon if it's black tea."

"Of course I'm making black tea," he said, like it was a personal affront to think otherwise.

"Sir," FRIDAY echoed through the room, "the turkey is ready."

"Shit!" Tony pushed Bruce away from the stovetop and slammed open the oven.

Was Thanksgiving this bustling in every household, or was this an Avengers problem? Hermione decided she may never know. She wondered what Thanksgiving would be like if run by Molly Weasley and shuddered. Bruce, mistaking it for fear of Tony's turkey-cooking ability and proximity to a hot oven, put an arm around her shoulders and guided her away from the kitchen and back towards the living room.

Phil and Pepper still sat in conversation, completely unaffected by the chaos and potential peril behind them. Bruce and Hermione exchanged a glance and a smirk. She knew he had the same thought: they probably hadn't taken their eyes off each other while she was gone.

She stood making small talk with Bruce until the kitchen seemed clear, at which point he murmured that she should go save him a seat at the table while he got the tea finished up and helped bring out the cooked goods. She tried to help but was told, "It's your first Thanksgiving, you stay put with Thor."

Sure enough, the god was sitting at one end of the table by himself, typing away on his phone, probably texting Jane. "Are you ready for the feast?" Hermione asked jokingly after settling into the chair across from him, and he nodded seriously.

"I am told Thanksgiving is one of the most important feasts of Midgard."

"Of American Midgard," Hermione had to point out. "And Canadian," she allowed.

When the turkey was laid on the table, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole set out, and sweet potato casserole covered in marshmallows squished in between so many other dishes, Hermione looked first at her beloved Bruce and then around the table at the rest of the men she now considered part of her family. He'd told her that Thanksgiving was for family, even when they were annoying, and they certainly could be sometimes. Today, though, she was thankful to have them in her life.

Especially when they managed to cook decent food for once.