Sorry it's so late in the day again! Basically, this chapter is a more lighthearted scene after what you just saw at the trial. The goal was to make it a little outrageous and fun, so just roll with it for now. :-)
Steve had come in from his morning run covered in a light sheen of sweat, tired, and ravenous. He had fully expected to just fix himself a quick bowl of cereal as had become his custom since he had taken up residence in Stark Tower, but, as he kicked off his sneakers at the door – a courtesy meant to make Pepper's life easier – he was nearly stunned by the heavenly smell wafting its way out of the kitchen.
The aroma had puzzled him at first, as he knew as well as anyone that Tony didn't cook, Pepper was most likely buried in work, and Clint and Natasha – well, who could really say for them?
He had poked his head into the sorely underused kitchen, not really having a clue as to what he should expect. But, when he found Natasha in her pajamas, standing by the counter, he grew curious. A closer look revealed the guest – Elizabeth – leaning easily in the corner, her head cocking occasionally as she checked on something in the oven.
"Hey," he greeted, pulled into the kitchen by a combination of his empty stomach and the scent of peppers and onions steeping in the air.
"Morning," Natasha said, something close to a smile touching her lips in greeting. "Elizabeth was just telling a story."
The darker woman just snorted quietly. "I have far better stories than this, believe me." Still, the shine in her eyes told Steve that she enjoyed this one very much despite her claim.
"Yeah? What were you telling about?" he asked.
"The origin of this recipe." Elizabeth nodded toward the oven, an amused grin toying with her face. When Steve crossed his arms, shifting into a more natural position to listen, Elizabeth explained, "Many years ago, when I was just a child, I was out playing in the woods with my brother and his friends – all boys, mind," she clarified. "We were running – well, I was running and they were chasing – through the forest."
"Your brother's friends chased you for fun?" Steve asked, halting the story with his disbelief.
Elizabeth just gave a shrug. "Boys will be boys, I suppose," she said. "I almost always outran them, in any case. But this day, we had gone deeper into the trees than we had ever done before, and, after the sun had set, we finally acknowledged that we were hopelessly lost without even a clue as to our location. Shortly thereafter, it grew dark, leaving us stranded in the heart of the forest – a bunch of children, stuck there overnight. Once I had succeeded in enticing the boys to calm themselves, we ended up seeking out shelter, for we were not the only frightened beings in the woods; the others mightn't be as friendly as we were, though." She cracked the oven door just a sliver, peering in at the dish; Steve almost saw what it was, but she closed the door before he could get a good enough look.
"We wound up in a small outcropping in the face of a mountain," she continued, "similar to a cave but much more compact and shallow; however, as we were children, it suited us fine. I stayed awake until each one of the others had dropped off into sleep. My brother – bless the lump – was the first. Once everybody else had followed, I allowed myself a brief time to rest, although true sleep was out of the question. My falling asleep would have left everyone vulnerable and without a guard."
Steve shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Your brother and his friends clearly don't know a thing about how to treat a lady – even a little one." Natasha shot him a vaguely approving look at his comment, and he made a mental note to remember that, as it would probably never happen again.
"Not so much a lack of chivalry, Captain," Elizabeth drawled, "but a lack of cognition. They were idiots as children, truthfully. Sometimes I wonder if they only ever invited me along so that I could do the thinking on their behalf. I quickly learned to take responsibility for them all, letting my own brain toil itself into an exhausted ball of mush. Still, I find that it's a useful skill to have. Anyway, the boys had all fallen asleep, and, during my resting period, my subconscious graced me with the strangest image. I couldn't even describe it now if I tried, though I seem to remember an elf standing over me, looking as regal and passive as elves have been known to do."
Natasha snorted, exchanging a glance with Steve. "Elves?" she eventually asked.
Raising her eyebrow in mild assertion, Elizabeth glanced at Natasha. "Yes, elves," she said simply, but with enough certainty in her voice to deter any further questions. "When I awoke, I felt absolutely normal. Nothing had changed, save for the fact that, once we had been discovered and brought back home, I was suddenly able to prepare this particular soufflé with extreme ease and no thought whatsoever."
As if to emphasize the point, she nudged Steve out of the way and opened the oven door, extracting a baking pan with a perfect, golden crust pinching up at the edges, fluffy egg with cheese and vegetables in the middle. The sight of it was enough to make Steve's mouth water; the smell was enough to make his stomach growl.
Elizabeth pulled a long knife from the knifeboard beside the stove, using it to delicately slice the pastry into sections, lifting out one chunk for each of them with practiced grace. "I make this for everybody when I meet them for the first time, when I want to make a good impression. Very few people actually know the story, though. My brother, even though he was present for the entire incident, knows nothing of it."
Once Steve and Natasha both had pieces of the soufflé on plates, forks in hand, Elizabeth looked around, knife hovering over her creation. "Where's Stark?" she asked. "And Pepper? Or anybody else, for that matter?"
Steve just shrugged, and Natasha said, "I haven't seen anybody all morning."
Elizabeth plated a piece for herself. "Their loss."
As Steve took his first bite of the quiche, he understood why she routinely made it for people. It was decidedly impressive – so much so that he fell silent as he tried to think of a suitable compliment to express the way it melted in his mouth, the crust flaking like a croissant, the middle still steaming, puffy from the heat.
Luckily, Natasha saved him by beating him to it. Her mouth still partially full, she mumbled, "This is the best thing I've ever eaten in my entire life."
Steve could only hum in agreement, but the sentiment was just as true from his perspective. When he had swallowed, he said, "Yeah. I suddenly don't find it so hard to believe that a mythical creature gave you the recipe." He quickly forked another piece, trying to take small bites to make it last longer, though his stomach protested loudly.
Elizabeth ate hers nonchalantly, examining a portion balanced on her fork closely. "Good, because the story was entirely true," she said before eating the forkful with all the indifference of one who had tasted a thousand variations of the dish and had little astonishment left within her. "Are you sure it's not too salty?" she asked critically, eyeing the remaining soufflé as though it seemed suspicious.
"No."
Steve glanced at Natasha, as they had spoken at exactly the same time. Elizabeth's thoughtful face didn't register this, however, and she plucked a bit of the crust out of the pan with her fingers, popping it into her mouth and rolling it over her tongue pensively. She offered no response, but Steve didn't care; his plate was empty, and there was more soufflé up for grabs.
He and Natasha were both about halfway through their second slice of breakfast when they heard Tony pass through the hallway.
"Tony!" Steve called, planning to offer him a piece of Elfin Quiche. His friend appeared not to have heard, though, so Steve stepped out of the kitchen, watching Tony's back as the man walked away. "Hey, Tony!" he tried once more.
Tony whirled around, and, in the split second before he noticed him, Steve caught a glimpse of his face.
He hadn't seen Tony looking so disturbed in a long time.
"Hey, Cap," Tony muttered distractedly, waving briefly before turning away once more.
"Tony, I was just –"
The rest of Steve's supplication was lost, however, as Tony had already resumed his path, walking like a zombie in a concert tee. Steve was almost surprised that Tony didn't run smack into the wall when the hall turned a right-angle corner about twenty feet from Steve's current vantage point.
When he returned to the kitchen, he turned to the women. "What's wrong with Tony?" he asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the kitchen door, the hallway beyond, and the man who had just walked right past him as if he wasn't even there.
It told more than words could have said when Natasha's face just fell blank, the woman instead looking at Elizabeth, whose expression appeared as guiltless as could be. When Steve shot her a beseeching glance, though, she shrugged, crossing her arms. "Tony and I had a little row this morning," she said calmly.
"Over what?" Steve asked.
Elizabeth heaved a sigh, a trifle too overdone for the occasion. "Books," she conceded. "I likened him to a Neanderthal because he cares so little for books."
Her words hung in the air for a moment as Steve checked and double-checked to be certain that he hadn't misheard her. "Books?" he repeated. She nodded. He looked to Natasha for clarification, but she simply returned his attention to Elizabeth, indicating silently that she knew no more of the scenario than he did.
Elizabeth offered no more, instead just meeting Steve's gaze with wide, innocent eyes. He finally crossed his arms, saying, "Tony's conceited, but really?"
"Oh, I don't know," Natasha put in. "I've seen him get upset over less."
Steve lowered his voice, causing both women to lean in when he said, "Not this upset." They all three exchanged a serious glance before Steve looked back toward the door as if he could see Tony wandering the halls right then. "He was out of it. Whatever did this to him sure spooked him."
"And we all know how Tony gets when he's spooked," Natasha added darkly. When Elizabeth's brow knitted, she told her, "You're gonna want to step lightly for a while."
"Have you ever considered," Elizabeth interjected, "that perhaps something more fearsome than me is to blame?" Her keen eyes flicked back and forth between Steve and Natasha. "Captain, you said yourself that it must be the case. I told him to call Director Fury; maybe that is at the root of it."
"Call Fury? Why?" Natasha asked.
Elizabeth angled herself more toward the other woman, though she took care to keep Steve close as well so as to allow him to hear the quiet conversation. "Fury wanted plans for the restoration of the city," she said, voice hushed. "I was trying to help, so I drew them up for Tony, and, after the bit with the books and Neanderthals, I sent him immediately to explain them to Director Fury so that I would have time to redo them if necessary. When I checked on him, he seemed quite agitated, like he had just seen a ghost."
Natasha scowled. "Tony doesn't even believe in God, much less ghosts. Nothing freaks him out."
"Except, one time," Steve was quick to continue, "I caught him pacing the tower in the middle of the night, muttering things about –" His voice died off as sudden realization dawned. "Oh," he said.
"What?" Natasha demanded. Elizabeth demanded too, but her expression alone outweighed any words she could have spoken.
He hesitated, the name feeling like slime on his tongue – difficult to gather and even harder to hold onto. It kept slipping from his lips, as though they themselves disapproved of its usage. Finally, though, he managed to say it:
"Loki."