RP log - Visit to Asgard - Part 5/?

[withmoreme]

What: RP log - Thor was nervous about going back to Asgard to speak at Loki's trial. Tony made the suggestion that the team go with him, for moral support. Their first team field trip ensues.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Part 5/?: In which drinks are had, stories are swapped, and the team gets ready for banquet.



Fandral moved to join them. "A drink, perhaps? Before the feast and assuming your friend is up to it." He nodded to Bruce, who was Bruce again, and looking more worn out than the Hulk had. "To take the edge off and in honor of a battle well fought."

Steve turned to look to the others. Clint had wandered back toward the center of the arena, picking up arrows and slotting them back into his quiver, and he shrugged at Steve.

"Sounds good to me," Tony put in, setting his helmet back on a moment before the suit seemed to begin to collapse, some of the panels bizarrely climbing up his body, a reverse of how he had donned the armor.

"I wouldn't say no," Natasha answered, idly drifting out to the middle of the arena to help Clint retrieve his arrows. She wouldn't have much, not really much of a drinker, despite the typical Russian stereotype, but it felt rude to refuse.

"I'll tag along, but uh ... " Bruce shrugged weakly and staggered to his feet. What he wanted was a sandwich and a nap, not a drink, but like Natasha, he felt like he'd be committing some kind of social faux pas if he refused.

"Then it is settled," Thor said, putting a hand on Bruce's shoulder to steady him.

"We're in," Steve agreed, turning back to the Warriors. "Lead the way."

Grinning, Volstagg turned to lead the way out, the rest of Warriors falling into step alongside him. Thor followed them, putting himself in between the Avengers and his Asgardian friends not to act as a buffer, but so he could talk to them both, or at very least listen to both sets of conversations. They all had to pause, however, when they reached the door, a crowd blocking their way. They dispersed easily enough, scattering to the sides to let them through, but even Natasha hadn't noticed them -- or those in the stands above them -- before now. They'd had an audience. Huh.

"We should've sold tickets," Clint said quietly, for the group's ears only, but also not sounding like he minded all that much.

"We would've made a killing," Natasha agreed just as lowly as they moved past the crowd.

Thor glanced back at them, seemingly amused. "You fought well and honorably. My people appreciate that."

"At least you guys don't have paparazzi," Tony added, fingering the bruise he could feel starting to bloom on one cheekbone.

"Those are your people with the -- the cameras, yes?" Thor asked, glancing back at them.

"He can be taught," Bruce mumbled. When Natasha raised an eyebrow, he shrugged. "I was trying to learn Portuguese. What's your excuse?"

"That'd be them," Tony returned. "Feel free to throw Mjolnir at them if they ever get in your way." He was only about half joking. As much as Tony was used to being in the public eye and having cameras on him, the paparazzi did, occasionally, manage to get on even his nerves.

"Nothing wrong with a good Disney movie." It was hard to tell whether or not Clint was joking. "Good way to kill some time."

"Clint's favorite is Robin Hood," Natasha said. Like Clint -- and Tony, judging by the way Thor turned around, walking backwards now, to consider him carefully -- it was hard to tell whether or not she was serious.

Tony shrugged at Thor, quirking a smile.

"Tasha's is the Little Mermaid," Clint shot back immediately.

"Can't argue that one," she replied, flashing Bruce a quick, tight smile.

"And you people think I'm scary," Bruce said, shaking his head.

"You are as fluffy as the rest of us, big guy," Tony returned brightly, shooting Bruce a grin, now.

Bruce had neither the chance to confirm nor deny that, the conversation falling into indefinite pause as they entered the Warriors' common room. It more open than theirs, windows between the doors to what was presumably their individual rooms letting in the sunlight, and far more lived in, weapons and clothing scattered around the room, but it was similar enough to the Avengers' that Natasha didn't spend too much time looking around beyond her customary, covert appraisal.

"And here we are," Fandral said as they entered, gesturing to the table in the center of the room and the chairs around it. "It would honor us if you made yourself comfortable."

"Thanks," Steve said for the group as he took the shield off his back and propped it against the wall inside the door, Tony setting the suitcase down next to it.

Clint moved farther into the room, doing his own survey of the room before he claimed a chair, setting his folded bow and quiver down beside the chair. "Nice place," he said again, sounding more sincere this time.

Sif unclasped her sword belt from her waist and set it, along with her shield, down next to a spear that had been propped in one corner of the room. Volstagg and Hogun did likewise, their practice weapons finding a home near their traditional ones, while Fandral, meanwhile, looked between them and the table, where Bruce and Natasha were settling, thoughtfully. After a moment, it became clear why. "Sif, are you still in possession of that wine Frey brought back from Alfheim for us, the last time he visited?"

"I had been saving it for a special occasion," she answered, throwing a glance over her shoulder. "I think this qualifies." That said, she moved away from her arms and armor and disappeared into her room, returning a moment later with a dark glass bottle. Volstagg had already started gathering up the mugs that had been haphazardly arranged on the table.

Thor, who had taken a seat at the head of the table, leaned in towards Clint and the others. "I would take care how much you drink," he said lowly, his expression almost apologetically. "The wines of Alfheim are more potent than anything I have encountered thus far on Midgard, and I do not think my father would be pleased if we came as a drunken rabble to the feast."

Steve took a chair himself. "Thanks for the warning." It had been a while since he'd had any alcohol that he felt any effects from, thanks to the serum, but knowing not to take that for granted was still appreciated.

"You worried about our delicate Midgardian constitutions, Thor?" Clint asked with a smirk.

"You think you can outdrink us?" Volstagg asked before Thor could answer.

"Do not encourage him, Volstagg," Thor said, jabbing a finger in his direction.

"Not if I want to be able to walk tomorrow," Clint returned anyway.

"It'd be funny to watch, though," Tony put in as he took one of the remaining chairs.

"Until you got stuck on carrying him around duty," Bruce said, leaning back in his chair.

Natasha shot Clint a sideways, amused look and stretched out a little herself, though it had less to do with being at ease and more to do with trying to keep from being in Volstagg's way as he passed out the cups, or Sif's as she moved in behind him to fill them up with a silvery, almost shimmering liquid.

Clint returned the look as Tony easily returned "Not it," settling back in his own chair and nodding to both Volstagg and Sif. "Thanks."

Sif nodded, allowing Tony a warm smile, and moved to take a seat on the opposite side of the table. She looked around, eyes lingering on each of them in turn, Midgardian and Asgardian alike, and then raised her drink. "To brothers and sisters, new and old."

Clint and Tony both sat up again, picking up their own drinks, and Steve raised his glass to the Asgardians. "To all of you. Thank you, for your hospitality."

Bruce, Natasha and the rest of the Warriors, Thor included, raised their own mugs, and Sif smiled again, clinking her own against the mass they'd made over the center of the table. "You are welcome," she said, before taking a mouthful of the drink.

Steve, Tony, and Clint all followed suit, Tony looking down into his mug after he took a drink, and then looking to Thor. "And this is why you're not impressed by anything I have in the Tower." Because yeah, "potent" was definitely a good word for it.

Bruce took a sip of his own drink, both not wanting to seem rude and curious as to just what Tony meant by that. " ... wow. That's ... "

"Got kind of a kick?" Natasha supplied.

"Yeah." And that in mind and his obligation to follow tradition fufilled, he set down his mug and resolved not to touch it again.

"Do not misunderstand me," Thor started, setting his own mug down once he'd taken a sip. "Your Midgardian drinks are good, but they do not affect me the way they would you." This would be the reason Thor didn't bother much with his liquor cabinet, though. Well, this and not wanting to impose.

Someday, Tony was going to convince... well, all of them that none of them were an imposition. Someday. "No, no, I see your point."

"That's right up there with what some of the guys used to make in the trenches," Steve agreed.

Volstagg looked to Thor wordlessly, as if he knew whether or not that was a good thing -- if their guests liked the drink -- and Thor shrugged, looking just as helpless. And hopeful.

"It's good, though," Natasha said, catching the looks on their faces.

"That was the other thing - I think it's better than anything I have," Tony agreed, taking another, smaller drink.

"If the Bifrost were not still in ruins, I would think to travel to Alfheim and bring some back with us when we return to Midgard." Both for his own sake and so, if the Warriors ever came to visit, they could have that drinking contest Volstagg had been interested in.

"We'll just enjoy it while it lasts," Tony returned, settling back in his chair, again.

Thor nodded and took another sip of his drink. Sif did the same, leaning forward as she set down her mug again. "Speaking of ... tell us of Midgard."

"Yes," Fandral agreed, "tell us of Midgard and the adventures you have had!"

There was a pause before Tony looked to the others - and then gestured to Steve, since someone had to start. "He punched one of the worst dictators in Midgardian history in the face."

Steve shot Tony a look - that Tony only grinned back at -, huffing out a sigh, and turned to face the others, mug in front of him. "Not really. We were putting on shows to build support."

"But he did go behind enemy lines to find a friend who went missing."

Natasha put a hand over her mouth casually, trying to supress a grin at the mention of what Steve used to do as a day job -- apparently Tony and Bruce weren't the only ones who'd seen the whol Star-Spangled Man act -- and looked to the Warriors, who looked satisfied, even if they missed the joke. "A noble cause," Sif said, finally.

If the entirety of the team hadn't seen the whole Star-Spangled Man act by now, Tony would consider himself a failure.

"And Natasha took down... at least a couple dozen heavily armed men by herself."

"Try most of a government," Clint put in over the lip of his mug as he took a sip.

"It's kind of my thing," Natasha picked up, neither bragging nor entirely humble. "Most people don't expect someone with my build to be able to hold her own in a fight or find ways around one, if I need to."

"It seems our cultures have something in common," Sif replied, he mouth setting into a thin, fierce line. "Many here did not believe a woman could be as fierce a warrior as a man, let alone a warrior at all."

"Sounds familiar."

"We all know differently," Steve offered, looking to both Sif and Natasha but thinking of Peggy.

"Especially after today, were there any doubts," Hogun said. He'd seen most of the fight, seen that Natasha and Sif had taken out the better part of each other's respective groups or made openings so that someone else could, and he'd been on the recieving end of both women's fighting styles when he'd been taken out himself.

Natasha just shrugged.

Clint set his mug down, though not before he gestured to Bruce. "He stopped another berzerker from taking out most of a major city." Yes, Harlem had been broken, but even S.H.I.E.L.D. had had to admit it could have been worse. Or at least Clint did. "And our resident magician made a crater of a terrorist's hideout."

Bruce hummed in response, almost dozing but not quite asleep, and therefore still able to recognize that he was being talked about, but that was about all the reaction anyone would get out of him. The Warriors still looked impressed, though -- and then baffled when Clint amended his statement to include Stark. "Terrorist?"

Of the parts of this conversation Clint hadn't been sure as to whether or not it would translate, that had been one of them. "Someone who... uses actual violence, or threatens to use violence against people that don't feel the same way about things as they do, to try to force them to change their minds. It's kind of a problem back home right now."

The Warriors seemed to consider this for a moment, some longer than others, before finally and slowly they all nodded. "Impressive," Sif said genuinely.

"Thanks," Tony returned. "It was kind of a them or me sort of thing."

"It often is," Fandral answered, taking another mouthful of his drink.

Tony nodded, taking another drink before he looked back to Clint. "Pretty sure you've made like a one man army yourself a few times." The Warriors already knew about Clint's skill with the bow, and most of what Tony knew otherwise had come out of the archer's file.

"He has," Natasha confirmed. "I'm not the only one into the whole goverment takedown thing."

Of course, the work Clint had done had, for the most part, been for the right reasons and under S.H.I.E.L.D. orders. She, on the other hand, had done most of what other people would consider her greatest work while on the wrong side of the law. She wouldn't agree with them -- not with how bloody it had left her hands, how red her ledger -- but she'd learned long ago that those "other people" were mostly sadistic pricks.

"It's a job," Clint returned lightly.

Clint had been lucky, though, and gotten a way to the other side of the law early on. Sometimes, it just didn't really matter that much who was signing the paycheck, though.

"Your turn," Steve said, now. "Thor's told us some about you, but we'd love to hear more."

"Well," Fandral started, his expression turning thoughtful, "you have heard that Sif, much like your woman warrior, had some trouble becoming a warrior. She eventually became so frustrated that she took it upon herself to travel to one of the other realms and retrieve an artifact most thought it impossible to get their hands on." He paused, looking suddenly sly. "She also struck the Allfather when she returned with it and still has use of her hands."

Sif colored considerably and looked away. Thor, on the other hand, couldn't help but snicker.

Clint raised an eyebrow and sat forward, tone eager, considering there had to be something else to the story. "You hit the king?"

"He did not seem terribly impressed that I accomplished what none of his other warriors managed to," Sif answered sheepishly. "I was furious. I hit him."

"And if I remember correctly, my father told you that act in itself took more courage than all you had done thus far," Thor said, still looking amused. "I thought it a true test of will when you did not hit him again."

There were chuckles from the other side of the table, and Clint sat back, grinning faintly. "Sometimes it's just deserved."

"Apparently, you aren't the only one who thinks so," Fandral agreed, grinning. A pause followed, that story coming to an end, and he glanced next to Hogun. "This one here took down an entire contingent of Dark Elves by himself when they crawled out of Svartalfheim to lay siege to Asgard." He glanced thoughtfully at Tony. "Perhaps I should have let him test his strength against you. He has far more experience fighting magicians than I do."

Tony grinned. "You did good. I do my better work from a distance. You guys are best in the thick of it." He looked to Sif, briefly, smile going more wry, considering her comment.

Sif flashed him a small smile in return and Fandral shrugged. "If we had had places to seek cover, it might have been easier, true. The arena doesn't particularly lend itself well to fighting someone with the ability to fly. Unless, of course, you are Thor."

"Even then, you would find yourself surprised, Fandral," Thor answered. "Stark fights well regardless."

"Thanks," Tony told Thor seriously, the smile staying in place. It wasn't like he doubted his own skills, but it did mean a lot to hear one of the team say it.

Fandral was silent for a moment, that said, only continuing the conversation when it seemed Thor and the master magician were done. "Volstagg could best anyone here in an eating contest. His appetite knows no bounds."

"It is so."

"But beyond that, do you remember the troll and his wife?"

Volstagg nodded, though he did not answer right away, trying to find a way to put what had happened into words. When he finally found them, he started slowly, occasionally looking to the other Warriors to back him up, if only with nods and gestures. "Asgard had no enemy more bitter in days past than the Frost Giants than Ulik troll. We traveled to Nornheim many times to engage him and he to Asgard to lay seige to us. His wife eventually grew tired of the back and forth, and sought refuge here, hoping that with our help, she could talk some sense into her husband. The king would not help her, nor would Thor or -- " He hesitated, glancing sideways at Thor, and tried not to frown. " -- or, ah, Loki."

Thor darkened marginally, but did not interrupt or make to get up from the table.

"I was the one that eventually helped her with her problem. Fandral and I went to Nornheim and spoke to him. He was ... not happy to see us, but he agreed not to attack us again, if we would leave the realm of the Rock Trolls to itself."

"And you haven't had any problems with them since then?" Steve asked, though it sounded more like he was confirming that than actually asking.

"Well, I doubt they would show up at our doors with racks of lamb for our tables on feast days, but so far?" Fandral shook his head. "Little more than a peep."

"Sometimes that's better," Clint put in a little knowingly.

"And sometimes their silence is worrying," Sif said. Beyond that, though, she didn't argue.

Fandral shot her a sideways look, then leaned back in his chair. "And I suppose that leaves me. I'm afraid I'm not nearly as interesting as my companions ... "

"Or falsely modest," Hogun put in, something near amusement in his voice despite the fact he did not smile. "Yet still you have yet to let us forget what you and Thor did with the sorcerer Ulagg."

"Restoring an entire realm, ravaged by wicked mortals, to its former glory is hardly that impressive."

Sif snorted.

Clint tilted his head a litle in acknowledgement of Sif's comment, then looking to Fandral as the man went on.

Tony snorted softly, as well. "Not at all," he returned dryly, smirking faintly.

"Maybe you and Fandral should have tried matching egos out there," Natasha said after a moment. "You both might've had better luck."

Tony shot her a look. "I'll have you know I resemble that remark."

Sif hid a smile behind her mug. "As does Fandral."

"All the best do," he told her, apparently perfectly seriously.

Fandral laughed. "Oh, I like him."

Tony let the grin break through at that, lifting his mug to Fandral again, aware of Steve shaking his head at them both.

Grinning himself, Fandral clinked his mug against Tony's eagerly, and downed the rest of its contents in a single swig.

Volstagg looked to Steve, trying to hide a grin of his own. "Would you believe us if we told you we had no idea who he was or how he gained entrance to this room?"

Steve chuckled. "I've been trying to figure out where we picked him up for a while."

"You wound me, Cap," Tony returned mournfully, hand over the reactor. "To the core."

Natasha rolled her eyes, though there was amusement in them. "I'm sure you'll survive." She paused, sliding a glance in Fandral's direction, who looked equally mock-hurt, and then added, "Both of you."

"Why do we put up with them?" Tony asked Fandrel, apparently ignoring Natasha.

Fandral was silent for a moment, his expression growing gravely thoughtful. "You know, I've wondered that myself for some time now ... "

"Question for the ages," Tony finished, over another sip, and this time, Steve rolled his eyes outright.

Fandral hummed in agreement, and Natasha, too, rolled her eyes. A moment of silence, unavoidable in a group this large after so long, followed, and then Hogun, who had turned his attentions on Bruce, dozing now in earnest, spoke up. "I think we tired your berserker."

"I was somewhat rough with Banner," Thor admitted, making a little face. Not as rough as he'd been with him the night at the Tower, when he'd been in fine, destructive form and understandably so, but he still hadn't been kind. Not like the Warriors likely had been, pulling their punches as not to do permanant damage. "Though, I do not think I quite realized how quickly he heals."

"It's pretty quick," Tony agreed, following the others' glance to Bruce, "and he'd been wanting to blow off some steam." The holodeck was still in progress, after all, which left Bruce at somewhat of a loss when it came to stress relief, compared to the rest of them.

"Then I am glad I could help." Even if he'd fried Bruce a couple of times with well placed lightning strikes and felt vaguely guilty for it, no matter how quickly he healed.

"Should we have someone come return him to your chambers?" Volstagg asked.

"We should all be heading back here soon, actually," Natasha answered. They needed to get ready for the feast, after all, and she wanted to spend more than her fair share of time in the bathroom, seeing if the bathtub -- basin? whatever -- could help with some the ache she was starting to feel from the fight.

Tony shrugged, starting to speak, though he looked to Natasha when she spoke up, instead.

Steve nodded. "Much as I hate to break this up, we should start getting ready for dinner soon."

The Warriors looked vaguely disappointed, but eventually Sif offered, "As should we. And we will see you there."

Steve pushed back from the table, nodding to them again. "We will. And thank you, again, for the practice and for the company."

"We should try to at least do this part again before we have to leave," Tony put in, standing as well and moving to Bruce's chair, to nudge him awake. He didn't know how much time they would actually have for it, but hopefully they could work it in.

"We will find the time," Fandral replied, flashing him a smile.

Bruce came to immediately, staring up at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes. He relaxed a moment later, when the disorientation faded and he realized it was Tony standing over him, and sighed, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face. " ... sorry. Guess the whole fight thing took more out of me than I realized."

"You're just lucky no one had a feather and some shaving cream," Tony returned. "We're heading back to get ready for dinner. You can nap while the rest of us hog the bathroom."

Snorting, he pushed up out of his seat and shook his head. "You realize I would've gotten you back, right?" A pause, and then to the Warriors, he offered, "Sorry for not really being the life of the party."

Volstagg shrugged. "It is to be expected."

"Obviously," Tony said easily into the pause, moving out of the way as he stood up and Clint pushed back from the table, picking up his bow and quiver from where he had left them.

"Just checking," Bruce mumbled, allowing him a brief, lopsided smile.

Natasha got to her feet as Clint did and glanced to Thor, who couldn't seem to decide whether or not he wanted to get up, too, or stay sitting. Eventually, it seemed he decided on the latter, and he settled back into his chair heavily. "I will send Kjetil and Aelif to you when it is time."

Steve nodded to him, moving to pick up his shield. "We'll see you there," he said again, partly for something to say, and partly to reassure. That part felt important.

Thor offered him a small smile. It was likely not as broad, not as easy as the few he had offered after the battle and during their conversation had been, but it was still genuine. "I look forward to it."

Steve returned the smile, and, once Tony had the briefcase back in hand, turned to lead the way out of the Warriors' common room.

"I'll take the bathroom last," Natasha said, as they headed back towards their room, one of the boys that had been their guides thus far appearing out of the woodworks. She wanted to spend time in the tub, yes, but she also didn't need a room full of men telling her to hurry it up.

"Anyone want to go first?" Steve asked over his shoulder, slightly amused that Natasha had called for last, considering that was the opposite of the usual problem when sharing a bathroom.

"I guess I could," Bruce answered. He could take a bath, get dressed and then sleep until they were ready to go to dinner. It didn't occur to him to think that would probably leave his suit a rumpled mess; he was used to sporting that look.

"I'll take second," Tony said. "It takes me a while, but I want to check something on the suit." He hadn't taken that much damage, really, but he did want to make sure it had reset itself like it should in case he needed it again while they were here, and he wanted to do it while he knew they had time.

"I can go after Stark," Clint added, and Steve nodded.

"Anyone else think it's kind of sad that we're figuring out a bathing order?" Natasha asked after a minute.

Tony looked over at her. "Says the one who started it. And better now than going 'who wants next, I don't care, go ahead' between every turn."

She had a retort on her lips -- something about not wanting to hear a hundred how long does it take a woman to get ready jokes -- but it died when Tony unfortunately made a point. She shrugged instead. "Less fuss."

Tony felt sure he probably took just as long as she did, really, when he was actually taking time to get ready and not shrugging into his suit on the way out the door because he'd lost track of time in the shop. "Exactly."

They reached their room a moment later, not all that far from the Warriors Three perhaps unsurprisingly, and Bruce ducked into his room briefly to grab his bag. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel vaguely awkward about being the first to use the bathroom -- he blamed that one on Natasha, who was, as seemed to be so often the case, watching him -- and cleared his throat, trying to dismiss the sensation as he closed the door behind him.

Tony set down the suitcase and picked up the small box where he'd left it on the table, holding a hand out to the others. "Comms. They can handle water, but no one wants to hear anyone else singing in the shower."

Steve handed his over, heading for the table to get a drink of something non-alcoholic.

"Not all of us are naturally talented, it's true, but no need to be jealous," Clint put in as he passed his back to Tony.

Natasha turned back to them, reaching up to unhook her comm, and pressed it into his hand. "Your loss."

"Well, there's always the surveillance tapes at home if I feel the need." He shot her a grin as he slotted the earpieces back into their places alongside the two that had gone unused before turning to duck back into his room. A moment later, he was back with a different box in hand, and he picked the suitcase up, taking it to the other table.

She rolled her eyes, a hint of amusement in them despite her apparent irritation, and cast Clint a brief look that was likely unreadable even by their standards before making for her room. She didn't come back out, though she did leave the door open, the sound of her shuffling things around audible, albeit faintly, from inside. Likely she was either stripping off some of her gear, laying out what she planned on wearing later that night, or some combination of the both.

Clint raised an eyebrow at her before following her lead and heading for his room. It was a few moments before he returned, lacking both his bow and quiver, now, arms bare of his bracers and gloves. Steve was gone from the common room when he returned, though his door was open now, too. Tony had his head down over a palm-sized device, which was likely the only reason he didn't comment when Clint headed for Natasha's room, leaning in the doorway for a moment.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder when he entered, her gloves and the Widow's Bite already off and laying on the bed, turning away once she saw it was him. It was not a dismissal, though, that much probably clear by the fact that she continued to strip off parts of her uniform, the holsters she kept her pistols in joining the rest of her equipment on the bed, let alone the fact that she put her back to him in the first place.

"Stark working on his suit?" she asked, figuring that was what had kept him from making some lewd comment.

"Looks like," Clint returned, moving farther into the room. "Or he's having a very serious conversation with a piece of plexiglass, one or the other."

She hummed, the corners of her mouth turning upwards into a small smile. "With him, it could be either." She paused just long enough to take the clips out of her pistols and set them down on the bed. "It's probably both, actually."

Clint smiled, too. "Probably. And I'd say something about it talking back, but it does that, so." It wasn't like he was any stranger to technology, but JARVIS had still taken some getting used to.

"Wonder if that makes him certifiable anyway," she murmured, looking mock thoughtful. Either way, she shrugged the idea away before Clint could weigh in on the matter, and turned, settling down on the bed so she could look up at him. "We did pretty well today, even if we lost."

Despite how innocent the statement probably would have seemed to anyone else, there was a depth to it few people would ever be able to follow. It was an expression of surprise that Banner had managed to back off at the end. A series of questions for Clint, ranging the gamut from how he was doing after what had happened with Sif to if he was embarrassed that he'd been the first man on their side out to whether or not she'd made him proud, as asked. And, perhaps, a little bit of frustration that they had lost, when they'd been doing so well, when they might have been able to claim victory if she and Steve hadn't backed off. Lucky for Clint he was one of the people would could generally keep up with what she wasn't saying.

"We did good," he returned, smiling again, bigger, though there was still something soft about it. She had made him proud - but then, she always did. There had been some hurt pride involved in the fact that he had been the first Avenger off the field; there had also been the fleeting thought that he had been outclassed - again - and by another Asgardian, but he had started out with enough confidence in his abilities combined with the knowledge that being primarily a ranged fighter left him at a disadvantage when things got as up close and personal as they had with Sif - especially when he couldn't use his knives - that it had been an easy enough thought to get rid of.

And enough time had passed since Manhattan that, despite the fact that he still sometimes dreamed of cold, blue light and woke up clawing at a hand around his neck that wasn't there, he could manage to separate Loki from Thor and his friends. It had just taken him the moment she had seen to bring himself back down from the combination.

He was equally frustrated that they had ended up losing, even if it had only been sparring. "And hey, we proved ourselves. Considering no one was actually out to kill each other, that's the important part of it."

She studied him briefly, seriously, reading between the lines. A smile followed, this one mirroring hers. "We did. And if we end up sparring with them again, we know how they fight now." Next time, they'd win.

They would. "We do," he agreed, smile sharpening a little. Both sides knew how the other fought, and both sides knew what the other could take. Another round would get interesting, but he knew how it would end.

Her own smile turned cold, if only for a second. She leaned back on the bed, planting both hands behind her to support her weight when the look passed. "So, do I get to see you in a suit tonight?"

"The whole nine yards, even." Clint was actually looking forward to this, considering how infrequently he went to formal events that he wasn't either trying to kill someone or keep someone from being killed. "How about you? Do I get to see you in a dress?"

"The whole nine yards," she echoed, nodding. Not that a dress was all that rare for her, her covers more often than not requiring her to look feminine, but those dresses were designed to make her look a part. Like a no nonsense personal assistant or an outdated femme fatale or whatever she needed to be. This dress, though, she had picked out on her own for no other purpose than to look her best.

Not that Clint was likely to ever do much complaining about seeing her all dressed up. "Am I going to have to challenge anyone to a duel for your honor before the night's over?" he asked apparently seriously, though he was smiling.

She was pretty sure she could duel for her own honor, if and when it came to that, but who was she to rain on his parade? That in mind, she popped her eyebrows in a sort of facial shrug. "You might. I'll let you know if my honor needs defending."

"Or your hand. I would totally duel for your hand," he added thoughtfully, smile going more crooked. Not that it was something he thought he needed to worry about, but hey.

She made a small, almost pleased noise at the back of her throat -- though, chances were she would deny ever doing such, if asked -- and allowed him a slow, warm smile. Beyond that, she didn't answer, instead glancing over his shoulder when she was willing to let the moment go. "Shouldn't you be laying your suit out so it's not wrinkled when you actually have to get into it?"

Clint returned the smile - and then made a face and sighed, pushing off the wall where he'd been leaning. "Probably. That's less fun than bugging you, though." Nevermind that he had actually wanted to check on her, too, after the sparring session.

She rolled her eyes and leaned forward, folding her arms over her chest. There was still a hint of a smile on her lips, however. "Get out of here, Barton."

"Going, going," he returned as he did turn to head back out of her room.

Tony was gone from the common room, now, his door open. Steve was back, sitting across the table from where Tony had been, the shield, a cloth, and a bottle of what was presumably polish or something like it in front of him. He looked up when Clint emerged but just offered him a knowing smile and a nod before returning his attention to the shield.

Bruce emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed in the suit he'd brought with hm, his hair damp and the pants he'd been wearing during the fight draped over one arm. He glanced to Steve, a small, almost nervous smile on his face. Whether his anxiousness had something to do with the suit and how nice it was compared to his usual or the dinner he'd donned it for, it was hard to tell, but either way, he looked away after a moment, his attentions drifting around the room before finally settling on Tony's door. He headed in that direction after a long, thoughtful pause, and knocked on the doorframe once he reached it.

"You're up."

Tony looked up at the knock, turning his attention to Bruce and away from the suit he had spread out across the bed. "Looking sharp," he said simply, turning to pick up a black shaving kit from the dresser.

"Thanks," Bruce replied, trying not to fidget with the bag slung over his shoulder as he stood there. Instead, he flashed Tony the same shaky smile he'd allowed Steve, and turned himself, heading back out across the common room to his own room. He set his bag down on the bed, debated the pros and cons of actually laying down and taking a nap as he thought he might earlier and, once he'd thought better of it, headed back out to the common room to take a seat somewhere near Steve. If he fell asleep while sitting there, he could at least be content in the knowledge that it wouldn't wrinkle his suit too badly.

Tony followed a few steps behind him, his own suit in hand, and headed for the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

Steve looked up again when Bruce took a seat, offering him a faint smile before he offered, "We'll come get you if you want to hit the sack for a little while."

Bruce shook his head and picked idly at one sleeve of the suit. "I think I'd mess up the outfit if I tried sleeping."

Steve set the shield on the table, sitting back in his chair. "Fair enough. These are comfortable enough, anyway," he added, referring to the chairs.

Bruce nodded in agreement. Rather than lean back in his own chair and try and actually try and get some desperately needed sleep, however, he leaned forward, hands coming to rest in his lap, and wet his lips with his tongue. A deep breath followed, and then with no small amount of hesitation, he asked, "So ... I gathered that we lost, but ... "

He was curious as to how they'd done otherwise, what small, sharp fragments of memory he'd managed to hold onto when he'd come back to himself largely centered around Thor, since that's where the Hulk's attention had been focused, and not very clear even then.

Steve nodded. "Hogun was out first, thanks to Clint and Natasha. Sif got Clint right after that, though. Natasha helped me with Volstagg, and then Fandral yielded. Sif also took Tony out at the same time Natasha got Sif. And then it came down to you and Thor." There was a gap there that he wasn't going to address unless Bruce asked. In a real battle, they likely could have made something work to get Thor to yield, but they had all been tired by that point, and it was just for fun, anyway. He was already thinking over what had happened, though, to improve their strategy for their next go with whatever presented itself.

Frowing, Bruce did the math in his head and realized that it didn't quite add up. "What happened to you and Agent Romanoff?"

He couldn't have done anything to hurt them, or else he likely would have come to sometime later, after being knocked unconscious by Thor, rather than at the end of the fight, after -- and he remembered this part, if only because he'd helped influence the decision -- the Hulk had bowed out. Well, that and he doubted Steve would be talking to him now if he had.

"We bowed out to let you and Thor finish things up," he said simply, as matter-of-factly as he'd greeted Bruce on the helicarrier.

Bruce relaxed with a sigh. "And then the Other Guy decided getting fried over and over again wasn't his idea of a good time. Right."

Steve cracked a smile, at that. "Pretty sure no one but Thor around here actually finds playing with lightning on a regular basis a fun way to spend an afternoon."

"Tony, maybe," Bruce shot back, the corners of his mouth twisting into something resembling a smile. He could imagine the other man pulling a Ben Franklin and going outside in the middle of a storm with some kind of high-tech version of a kite and key, in the name of science. Of course, he'd probably be right there with him, but ...

"Good point," Steve conceded with another smile. "You know magicians are always a little eccentric, though." He knew it made sense, but he was as amused by how Thor had introduced Tony as the others, it seemed.

Bruce snorted. "Like the man said ... " Good point.

Steve chuckled softly, though he went more serious a moment later. "How are you doing, by the way?" Since the sparring, since Manhattan, however Bruce wanted to take that was fine. Steve had been trying to keep tabs on everyone, considering he did feel like they were his in the same way the Commandos had been back in 1940, but he'd trusted that Tony could - and would - watch out for Bruce.

Absently, he touched his fingers to his chest where Thor had struck the Hulk with lightning, and shrugged. "As weird as it's going to sound? Better than I was a couple of hours ago, give or take some nerves about this dinner thing and feeling like I could sleep for a few days."

Tony had told them he had some stress to work out.

Steve nodded. Considering how many hours he logged in the gym and how many of the heavy bags he'd accidentally broken, he understood needing to blow off some steam. "Glad to hear it."

Bruce was almost relieved when Steve didn't ask what, exactly, Tony had meant by that and decided to change the subject -- or at least change its focus -- before it occurred to him to ask. "You?"

Steve figured they all had reasons for stress, really - and that they might not all want to talk about it. Though if they did, he'd be glad to listen. "I'm enjoying being here, even if I wish we didn't have to come here for this reason. I wasn't sure what to expect, even after talking to Thor, but the change of scenery is nice."

"It's ... different," he agreed, nodding. He paused briefly, then allowed Steve a small, wry smile. "You know, if you told me ten years ago this was going to be how my life turned out, I wouldn't have believed it." Oh, sure, he'd believed there had to be life on other planets -- it was a statistical impossibility for there not to be -- but to be on one himself? That was still a little hard to believe, even if he was, well, physically on another planet.

Steve chuckled again, the sound more wry, too. "This was nothing more than my wildest dreams, ten years ago." At least ten years as far as Steve was concerned, which had a slightly different meaning than the others.

Bruce understood what he meant, at least timeline wise -- ten years for him was back before the start of the second World War. "You wouldn't know, for the most part. You deal with all of this better than I could, if I was in your shoes."

Steve was still at something of a loss when it came to technology, but like he'd said, for the most part, he thought the other man was doing pretty well. Most people would have gone running for the hill by now.

"I didn't at first," Steve admitted. "Keeping busy makes it easier" - which he was pretty sure Fury had known, when he had come to him about the mission - "as does having company." And he meant that. The team really was making readjusting easier, even if he did still get some measure of culture shock every time he left the Tower.

"I think that's true in any case." Admittedly, he still wasn't sure how he, himself, felt about having company around, albeit more for their sake than for his, but keeping busy did help. It was at least part of the reason he spent so much time in the lab, working on one project or another with Tony.

"True," Steve returned, and a moment later, added, "We're a good team." He knew they had some issues, but that didn't change the fact that they did fight well together, and that, in the months since Manhattan, they all seemed to have settled in well enough with minimal threat of killing each other over the last cup of coffee.

"If you ignore the part where Agent Romanoff and I are still kind of ... " He might not have been able to remember the way Natasha had looked at him before she and Steve had bowed out, but he had noticed her keeping tabs on him any time they were in a room together, here on Asgard or otherwise. He couldn't really say he blamed her and she had to know that, for the most part, he'd been doing the same, part of him yet to come to trust her, despite the fact that most of what had happened between them wasn't her fault exactly.

Still, though, Steve had a point. They felt less like the time bomb he'd dubbed them during the argument on the helicarrier and more like an actual, functional team now.

Steve frowned. "I'd noticed that. Is there anything I can do to help? Talk to her, or..." he trailed off, gesturing by way of "whatever".

Bruce took the time to genuinely consider that. Unfortunately, however, all the thought in the world still would have left him shaking his head. "I'm not sure there's much you can do."

Steve nodded, expression sympathetic. "Let me know if there is. Or if things get worse." And he meant that from either side. They were all adults, and he figured they could all live together, especially when they had all the room available to them in Stark Tower. But he would still keep an eye on things, because they didn't need steps back when they had made progress since the mess on the helicarrier.

Nodding, Bruce looked away. "I'll let you know," he echoed obediently.

Steve offered him a smile, glancing back over his shoulder when the bathroom door swung open and Tony stepped out. He'd skipped the tie again but was otherwise dressed for dinner, hair fixed from where it had gotten mussed during their sparring, goatee trimmed. He offered them both a smile, heading to Clint's room to knock lightly on the frame and stick his head in. "You're up, Legolas."

"You weren't kidding about taking a while," Clint returned dryly, though Tony didn't respond, just heading for his room as Clint ducked out of his and into the bathroom, suit and his own shaving kit in hand.

Bruce watched him head back to his room, glancing back to Steve only once he'd disappeared, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, already tensing to get up. "I'm going to ... I mean, if you don't mind."

Not that he didn't appreciate Steve's company, but he was still more comfortable around Tony than any of the others.

Steve blinked at him, and then shook his head. "No, go ahead." He leaned forward, picking up the shield and the towel, again, returning his attention to it.

"Thanks," he murmured, pushing back to his feet. Silently, he padded over to Tony's door and knocked on the doorframe.

Tony glanced over at the door at the knock. "Hey, c'mon in." He turned to set the clothes he'd been wearing back into his suitcase.

Bruce stepped into the room and looked him over. "I think you pull off the whole suit thing better than I do," he said after a moment.

Tony grinned, turning a little, showing off said suit. "Lots of practice. I'm telling you, though, you're nothing to sneeze at in that one."

"Maybe not." He still felt vaguely ridiculous, though -- and yes, he realized how equally ridiculous that was, all things considered. "I think I'm going to pass on modeling it for our adoring fans, though."

Again with the more strutting, less tiptoeing. "They'd eat that shit up." And if Bruce argued with Tony again that he had fans, he would have JARVIS comb Google image search for pictures of said fans and then spam his e-mail.

Bruce looked suddenly, hysterical amused, though he tried to hide it. " ... wow. That's a mental image I'm never going to get out of my head."

Tony paused for a moment and then cracked up outright. After a moment, he trailed off laughing, though he still looked amused, pointing at him. "You are a sick man, Doctor Banner. Sick."

"You said it," he shot back, shrugging.

"True," Tony admitted, and then went thoughtful, dropping his hand. "You know, there are some people out there that get really into being fans of people.... Just sayin'."

The smile sliding off of his face, Bruce looked more than a little horrified. "When we get home, I'm moving back to Calcutta."

"No you're not," Tony returned easily. "The Tower does provide protection from the scary fanpeople, you know. My very bored receptionist also has security on speed-dial."

Because there was coming into the lobby to snap a quick picture, and there was coming into the lobby to be a genuine creeper.

Bruce couldn't help but look disgusted for a moment more, then finally shook his head. "Well, at least now I won't embarrass myself at dinner. I think I just lost my appetite."

Tony still looked amused. "And that is your own fault. I will not be blamed for your misunderstanding my perfectly innocent figure of speech."

"Hey," he started, holding up his hands defensively. "I might have taken that the wrong way, but I'm pretty sure you're the one that went a step further."

"And that's different from what you're used to with me how?" The outright grin was back, now. Because seriously. "Yes, and" was kind of part of Tony's SOP.

"Good point," Bruce conceeded, making a face at him. There was amusement in his eyes, however. "I'm still starting to think I should have stayed out in the common room with Steve, though."

"Cap's usually the safer bet if you're worried about keeping your mental health intact," Tony conceded, nodding sagely. "He's not nearly as fun, though."

"And by fun you mean disturbing." He nodded, feigning grim understanding.

"Like another great captain once said," Tony began, "it's remarkable how often those two traits coincide."

Huffing out a sigh of a laugh, the other man finally lowered his hands. "Alright. You win."

Tony laughed, too. "I accept your surrender."

Bruce rolled his eyes and shook his head again. After a moment of silence, his expression turning more serious, he asked, "So, how'd your suit hold up?"

Tony followed the change in mood, smile fading to a more neutral expression. "It's fine. A few dents I'll buff out once we get home, but nothing that'll compromise anything if I need to bust it out again while we're here." Whether they ended up sparring again or for anything unforeseen. "How're you?"

"The usual," Bruce answered casually. "Worn out and, in spite of previous conversation topics, kind of starving." He paused, touching his fingers to his chest again, as he had when he and Steve had talked about the fight. "I think I hurt Thor more than he hurt me."

Tony nodded, watching the gesture. "Pretty sure he put in as good as you gave, considering the whole lightning thing that kept happening over there." He hadn't actively been paying attention, but JARVIS had noted the atmospheric changes anyway.

"I'd believe it." Still, Thor had had more than a few cuts and bruises. He, on the other hand, hadn't walked away from the fight with a mark to show for it, despite the fact that he'd been struck by lightning more than once, apparently.

"You won't be able to tell by tomorrow, anyway. You know how fast those guys heal." They'd seen it on both Thor and Loki, after the fight in Manhattan.

"True."

From what few shards of memory he'd managed to hold onto after the fight with Loki and the Chitauri, broken and glittering and regardless of how much control he'd had over the Hulk during the fight, he remembered two things painfully clearly. The first, or at least the most obvious, was catching Tony as he fell. And the second, the more pertinent one here, was a sort of shimmering, molten rage at Loki and how quickly he'd crumbled when he'd grabbed ahold of him. He'd been sure, after the fact, that the Hulk had broken his back, if not every bone in the Asgardian's body. He was almost amazed when the guy had walked to the site Thor had beamed back up from, for lack of better working, and mostly under his own power.

Considering the state they had found Loki in, after everything else had calmed down - and especially considering the video, once Tony had gone back through JARVIS's recordings later -, Tony had been a little surprised, too - and grudgingly impressed.

"I," he began, turning to lean against the edge of the bed, "need to modify the helmet when we get home. Chicks might dig bruises, but my cheekbones are attractive enough without turning colors." He figured it had come from Sif's blow with her sword, this time, but it was also starting to be a common enough result of a fight that he needed to look into it.

"You never thought to do that before?" he asked, chin raising just a little bit in genuine curiosity. This wasn't the first time Tony had been beaten up in the Iron Man suit; why had he only decided now that something needed to change?

Tony shrugged easily, again. "It's never been a problem before. Or not that much of one. I take a lot more fire than blows to the head, and most of them just get absorbed by the alloy, or I can see them coming long before they actually connect." He smiled faintly, then. "Things've kinda gone up a notch here lately, though." As much as he had done as Iron Man in the last three years, dealing with alien armies and having demigods pounding on him and deciding jumpstarting a jet engine by hand was a good idea were definitely a step up the ladder from taking out terrorist cells in the Middle East.

"Could have fooled me," Bruce mumbled at the idea that Tony hadn't had much in the way of head trauma over the last few years. Judging by the look on his face, however -- and how quickly he sobered afterwards -- he was obviously kidding. "If you need a hand, when you get around to modifying the suit ... "

He shrugged. If Tony wanted an extra pair of hands, he'd be there -- if not, he could more than understand that.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony returned anyway, though he only looked amused, too.

He paused for a quick moment at Bruce's offer - though not for the reason Bruce likely would have thought - and then grinned. "Yeah, definitely."

Bruce smiled, the look tired but genuine, and nodded. He knew how big a show of trust it was for Tony to let him near anything even remotely related to the arc reactor. It was the same level of faith he'd shown, himself, when he'd asked the other man to help him take a blood sample. "I'm all yours, then."

Tony returned the smile for a moment, one of his real ones, that few people he didn't call friend ever got to see. After that moment, though, it shifted, becoming more of a smirk. "You'll probably regret that, you know. There's always a lot of burned fingers and having Dummy run over your toes when dealing with the suits."

"I'm pretty sure I'll survive," he answered. "Hate to break it to you, but demigods and aliens kind of beat out a couple of minor welding accidents."

"I don't know. There's days I'm pretty sure Dummy might actually be a supervillain, considering the number of times he's set me on fire. He could probably manage to take out half the city by running into a table if he put his mind to it." There was a fondness in his expression that seemed odd, considering the conversation, but Dummy had been with him longer than anyone else - including JARVIS, and including Pepper.

It might have seemed odd to anyone else, but Bruce was almost used to it. The way Tony looked when talking about or to JARVIS was not so dissimiliar, and if he hadn't found that strange, why would he think it weird he looked so fond when talking about another one of his "kids"? And so he took it in stride. "Like a Rube-Goldberg machine," he said, nodding.

And this was why they got along so well, really.

Tony nodded, too. "Exactly. He's a menace to society, I'm telling you." He was grinning again, though, the expression at odds with his tone.

Bruce fought back a grin of his own. "Well, when he takes over the world, we'll just have to hope he's a benevolent overlord."

Tony laughed outright, at that, though he apparently went serious a moment later. "Right. And that is also why it pays to be nice to JARVIS. I figure it's only a matter of time before the robot uprising, and he's a shoe-in to lead the whole thing."

"Why do you think we get along so well? I'm hoping to negotiate for the nicest room at the human farm, when it comes to that." Not really. In all honesty, he liked JARVIS pretty well and for no reason more concrete than the fact that the guy -- AI, whatever -- shared his sense of humor, could keep up with whatever he and Tony were working on, and occasionally managed to badger the other man into eating and sleeping like a sane person.

How people reacted to JARVIS had a lot to do with how Tony himself reacted to people new to the higher levels of the Tower, these days. It likely had something to do with the fact that JARVIS was a lot better at actually paying attention to people, even if he sometimes lacked the exact parameters to make more than clinical observations, and the fact that even Tony had to admit JARVIS had a lot more concern about Tony's well-being than Tony did himself, sometimes. Either way, though, if JARVIS trusted someone enough to stop playing the boring computer, Tony was a lot more likely to relax around someone new. So far, all the Avengers had passed with flying colors (even if Tony wasn't entirely sure Thor exactly understood what JARVIS was, sometimes), and that had been more than a relief.

"Good plan," Tony returned, nodding seriously, though the smile was still in his eyes.

"I thought so," he answered, flashing him another warm but worn smile.

Tony's smile faded slightly, concern taking it over. "Sure you don't want to grab some actual sleep? Pretty sure we've still got a while before dinner, and who knows how long it'll take Natasha to get ready." He was mostly kidding, considering how long it had taken him, but Bruce did look close to falling asleep again. "Take the chair if you want," he offered, nodding to the armchair in the corner. "Less damage on the suit." That seemed to be coming from personal experience.

Bruce considered that, his expression turning thoughtful as he glanced over his shoulder at the chair Tony had indicated. "You mind?" he asked, when he turned back. Never mind the fact that Tony likely wouldn't have offered if he did or, at very least, would have shooed him off to his own room or back out to the common room. "It -- the Other Guy -- he kind of takes a lot out of me."

Tony probably knew that, too. It was apparently a good day to ask stupid questions and make obvious statements.

"Nope," he returned immediately. "And yeah, he would do that." Tony paused, gesturing again to the chair. "Take a load off. I'm just going to be over here mourning the lack of wifi." By which he meant he had brought a couple of projects with him that didn't require him to have access to the internet, but it was the same thing, really.

Allowing him a tiny, almost embarrassed look, Bruce moved over to the chair to settle down on it. He took a moment, shifting, trying and somehow managing to get himself into a position that at least looked comfortable without wrinkling the suit too much, and when he settled, before he closed his eyes, he asked, "Wake me up when we're ready to go?"

Tony nodded and did settle down on the bed, taking the computer case with him as he got settled himself. "Will do. Have a nice nap."

"Thanks."

It was no great surprise that his breathing shifted almost automatically, once he'd closed his eyes -- it hadn't taken long while they'd been sitting with the Warriors around their table, either -- and, as Tony had said, it was some time before anyone came to get them.