Serge was sipping coffee with his mother and grandmother in a small cabin deep in the woods of West Virginia. His grandmother was close to a century old, but still wove elaborate stories. Serge had made it a point to record as many of them as he could, sitting with her for hours with a tape recorder and notebook. His mother told stories, too, and when the two women created something together, time stopped, the words suspended between. Phrases in Russian and Welsh peppered their conversation.

"You see, Serge, this is why you need to settle down with a nice Russian girl," his mother said, "You speak the language beautifully and you know the stories so well!"

"Or perhaps a Welsh girl. Dear Serge, you could marry Welsh, like I did. Very hard working, my husband. You remember him, no?"

"Of course I do. We sat for many hours at his knee listening to his stories."

"In this very cabin."

"Yes, in this very cabin."

Serge's phone rang, "Is it a nice Russian girl?" his mother teased.

"Yes, it is." He clarified only after he had a moment to relish her reaction, "Sarah." She swatted his arm, his grandmother chuckling. "Sarah, darling sister, what brings your lovely voice to my ear on this beautiful winter morning?"

"Work. Do you have a minute?"

He excused himself from the living room and sat down at the window bench, "Of course. Are you in trouble?"

"Probably, but nothing too bad...though I might end up without a job."

"How did you manage to do something so terrible as a housekeeper? Did you set the house on fire?"

"No. My boss is usually pretty sweet. I mean, he's got an ego the size of a small country, but he's not a bad person. He's got a drinking problem though- a big one. And last night he threw up all over the family scrapbooks. I rescued them, but I had to go into a room he didn't want me in to do it."

"He was more angry than grateful? And you say he is not a bad person?"

"I know it sounds bad..."

"Sarah, I do not think it is a good idea to work for this man. He sounds far too much like I was. We are not rational when we trust such things to remove us from reality."

"And everything we've been through is why I think I can handle him, especially with what he pays me."

"I hear a 'but' in your voice."

"Yeah. A big one. I don't know if I want to go to work tomorrow or if I want to just let him see how much he's messed up."

"Sometimes the natural consequence of an act is also one that is a bit vindictive. It may do you both good to step back."

"Problem is that I really don't have much to go back to. The last gig is still there, but who wants to hostess ungrateful five star wallets their whole life? Not me."

"Have you savings?"

"Yeah. He pays really well."

"Then for the next few days, do not worry. And call me if you decide to go back so I might escort you. There is nothing quite so chilling as a burly, slightly mad, Russian-Welsh coal mining brother."

He could almost hear her smile, "Thanks, Serge. Love you."

He hung up and returned to the living room to find his mother and grandmother arguing playfully over their needlecraft.

Sarah did not go to work for three days and then called Serge, "He sent me flowers with an apology letter."

"And what does this mean?"

"I think I'm going to go back to work tomorrow."

"You give me very little time to get from West Virginia to New York."

"You don't have to fly in."

"Ah, but there you are wrong. I do. I have a duty to my delightful darling sister."

"He's not going to like having someone he doesn't know at his house."

"Then perhaps you ought to meet him in public."

"I think he'd hate that even more- he's a bit of a hermit."

"Tell him I will be coming with you and you will be arriving late. Or do not go back at all. If he cannot appreciate you, I do not see why you are going back."

"Flowers."

"Are simply the reproductive organs of plants."

"He's sent them for three days."

"And?"

"Look, I'm going back to work, whether you like it or not."

He sighed, "I will see you tomorrow morning."

"I said you don't have to come."

"And I said I do, sister dearest."

He hung up the phone and went to tell his mother and grandmother he would be gone for a day or two.

Sarah pulled up to the Stark house at noon. As they stepped out of the car, Serge said, "It is a small house for someone who pays you what he does."

"Just wait until you see the inside. It's bigger than it looks."

"What, is it built into the side of the moutain?"

"Actually, yeah."

She knocked and James answered, "Come on in, folks. Tony's down in the kitchen attempting to cook."

"And how's that going?"

"Nothing's on fire...yet. Dear god, Sarah, how he survived without you I have no idea."

"Past few days have been that bad?"

"He burned toast. The toaster melted. I have no idea how what I saw was even possible." He led them downstairs, "Tony! They made it."

Howard burst from the library and jumped into Sarah's hug, "You came back!"

"Yeah, I did. But your dad and I are going to have to have a little talk."

"You're not going to leave for good, are you?"

"That's not my plan, but it's really up to him."

"Good." He pointed at Tony as he came out of the kitchen, "Don't mess this up, Dad."

Tony looked supremely uncomfortable, "Rhodey, can you take over in the kitchen?" He nodded, and Tony gestured to the couches, "Let's sit."

As they did, James shouted in surprise, "How did you catch soup on fire?!"

Tony shrugged and then shrank into a couch, "I told him I didn't know how to cook."

"What did you eat when you were on your own?"

"A lot of takeout and things that were microwaveable."

"Ah. I should probably introduce you two. Serge, this is my boss, Tony. Tony, my brother Serge. Be nice." They shook hands.

"Sarah, I recognise your boss."

"Likely."

"You did not tell me you were working for Tony Stark."

"I didn't want you to make a big deal out of it."

"This explains why your apartment looks like a botanical garden."

"So you got the flowers. Look, I'm really sorry, Sarah. You're right. I was way out of line. Howard's made that clear the last few days. I'd like you to come back to work."

"Tony, if you ever treat me like that again, I'm done. I put up with a lot, and I can handle a lot, but I have my limits. Limits that even flowers can't sway."

"And I'm sure you know exactly where those are and you'll leave if I push you too far."

"Yes. I do. I adore Howard and I usually like working for you, but you pull that ungrateful crap again and I'm gone."

"I did enough to drive her crazy. I am her brother, I can get away with more," Serge added.

"If this is the protective brother speech, I assure you, I have no intention of a repeat."

"You may not intend to, but remember, I once let alcohol control me and I can say with some authority that your intentions mean precisely zilch."

"I don't need a lecture on my drinking habits."

"Well at least you know it is a habit."

"Huh?"

"Habits can be broken."

Tony just stared at him for a moment, "Yeah. I haven't done that yet."

"Then consider it a challenge. A gentleman's wager. If you can get sober and stay such for a month, I will come cook you some of the delicious Russian dishes our Babushka passed down. There will be no kitchen fires, I assure you."

"And if I can't?"

"You owe me nothing. You try again until I win and you savour the victory of delightful Russian cooking."

"I like this bet." They shook.

Sarah stood, "I guess I have a lot of work ahead of me."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I have to dump your stash."

Tony winced, "Oh. That's going to hurt."

"Serge's cooking."

He sighed, "Alright. But just let me have one more-"

"No. Today is going to be day one."

"Fine. But let's eat lunch first. I don't want to do this on an empty stomach."