The air in Tony's workshop practically crackled, the unearthly din of the music interrupted occasionally by a frustrated curse. Tony, a blur of motion, barely seemed to register the door opening. The man was clearly fueled by little more than caffeine.
Bruce, observing from the doorway, felt a familiar pang of worry. He'd seen this before: Tony would disappear into his work, neglecting his sleep and nutrition – his entire well-being, really – in the obsessive pursuit of some new technological marvel, and then he'd have the figurative hangover to show for it.
Not this time. This time, Bruce would intervene.
He slipped back into the elevator and made his way to the kitchen, one of his usual recipes in mind.
When the soup was ready, Bruce gingerly ladled it into a Stark Industries thermos and made his way down to the lab again. He found Tony bent over his workbench, muttering under his breath.
"Tony," Bruce said over the music.
Tony startled, his head snapping up in surprise. "JARV, cut the music." In the resulting silence, he blinked. "What are you doing here? It's…" he glanced at one of his monitors. "Four in the morning?"
"I know." Bruce held up the thermos. "I brought you soup."
Tony stared at him, a mixture of suspicion and exhaustion clouding his features. "Soup? Really?" He sighed. "Bruce, I'm in the middle of something here–"
"It can wait," Bruce insisted gently. "You need to eat something. Maybe take a break."
Tony's gaze flitted from the thermos to the pile of parts that was ostensibly his project. "Bruce, I appreciate it, but–"
Bruce – usually endless patience wearing thin – slammed the thermos down on the nearest surface. "Damn it, Tony, eat the soup!"
The clang rang clearly in the air, the sound of it seeming to surprise both of them. Tony stared at Bruce, his defiance melting into something like sheepishness. He had to know how rare it was for Bruce to even enter the realm of losing his temper (Bruce was embarrassed he'd done so over something as trivial as soup; perhaps he was even more worried about Tony than he'd thought).
"Alright, alright," Tony conceded, slowly raising his hands in surrender. "I'll eat the soup."
They settled on a nearby pair of lab stools in silence tinged with a hint of awkwardness. Tony took a tentative sip of the soup and his eyes widened in pleased surprise.
"This is fantastic. Have you considered a career as my personal chef?"
"Thanks." A warmth spread through Bruce's chest that had little to do with soup. "I figured you could use something comforting. My mom used to make it when… when I was a kid."
Tony seemed to sense she was a sensitive topic and steered the conversation away. "Well, if this superhero thing doesn't work out, you always have a backup gig."
Bruce laughed softly. "Tempting, but I think I'll stick to science for now."
"Thank you," Tony said earnestly, "for coming down here."
"Of course. What are friends for?"
Bruce sort of liked the way Tony eyed him. "Sure. Friends."