Work Text:
Cheese
It starts with Clint giggling uncontrollably and then quickly darting off down the hall when Tony walks into the communal floor living room. Which, being that it’s Clint, doesn’t even register with Tony as anything unusual or out of the ordinary.
***
Bucky and Steve are next, standing huddled close together down in the gym, heads bent over a StarkPad as they snicker and whisper to each other, utterly failing at being inconspicuous by doing the most conspicuous thing in the history of everything by quickly hiding the screen behind Steve’s back the instant they spot Tony in the doorway.
“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Tony drawls, affecting nonchalance as he saunters over to them, brows raised in question and trying to sneak a peek.
Steve’s wearing that innocent look that means he’s anything but, eyes wide and blinking owlishly, somehow managing to make his bulky frame appear small and unthreatening as he says, very seriously, “Cat videos.”
“Funny cat videos,” Bucky adds helpfully, nodding overeagerly and way too fast.
Thank Bon Scott’s memory neither of these dorks is doing undercover missions, Tony thinks, or they’d all be doomed.
“You know, seein’ you reminded me,” Bucky hums thoughtfully, stretching out and flexing his prosthetic arm, “there’s somethin’ wrong with the wrist joint, feels all jammed. You got time for some tinkerin’?”
“Yeah, all right there, Wonder Twins,” Tony snorts, pointing a stern finger at the two of them. “I know deflection when I see it, I am the king of deflection, don’t try and beat me at my own game, that’s just rude.”
Bucky nods, concurring, then grabs the tablet out of Steve’s hand and flees with a victorious cry, a laughing Steve hot on his heels.
“Ah, yes, that’s very mature, guys,” Tony yells after them, scowling at their retreating forms. “This isn’t over!”
***
“I find your sleeping garments adorned with all our emblems most flattering and fetching!” Thor booms loudly, sounding genuinely pleased, and claps a hand that almost makes him spill his coffee on Tony’s back.
Confused, Tony sets down his cup and tips back his chair so he can inspect his legs, only to find slacks instead of the somewhat embarrassing but insanely comfortable Avengers PJs he got himself as a gag gift and then liked too much to not wear.
“What are you-“ Tony begins, frowning, but cuts himself off with a huff when all the evidence that’s left of Thor ever being in the kitchen is a crumpled Pop Tarts wrapper on the counter. “Huh.”
***
Sam, without saying a word but grinning all cryptically, hands him a pack of dried blueberries.
It’s a nice enough gesture and Tony’s finished his last bag just this morning, so he says “Thanks,” and Sam waves dismissively, snickering through his answering, “No problem, man.”
***
Tony is squinting at the TV, caught in an intense argument with middle age and the weakening vision that comes with it, when Johnny blazes, literally, in through the open balcony door.
He takes in Tony, the way he quickly rights himself on the couch, and grins. “Too proud to wear your glasses, old man?”
And with that the matchstick’s hit the nail square on the head. Although Tony’s vanity isn’t exactly a secret - there’s absolutely no reason to not look fabulous at all times, even if it’s in the armour’s under suit or a pair of old jeans and a dirty tank top, thank you very much - the fact that he, theoretically, if he wants to listen to his ophthalmologist, needs reading specs definitely is.
Pride has Tony sniff haughtily, all feigned ignorance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There’s really no shame in it,” Johnny continues, bouncing around in amusement, “we all understand if you have to take it a little slower and easier, now that you’re rapidly nearing fif-“
Tony hurls a cushion at him which Johnny dodges expertly, rushing through the room and into the elevator in a blur of red and heat, his laughter filling the air until the doors finally close on him.
***
“HULK LIKE LITTLE GIRL’S HULK SHEETS!” is the last thing Hulk declares before he starts shrinking and turning pink again.
All Tony is able to do in response to that completely random piece of information is blink down at the reappearing Bruce for a long moment before he snaps out of it and helps him over to one of the vans with an arm around his waist.
***
When they return to the tower after their run-in with Doctor Doom and his Doom Creatures of the month, Loki has already ordered for everyone at Tony’s favourite Italian place, plates and containers set out neatly, steaming and deliciously mouth-watering.
“You spoil me,” Tony groans as he practically collapses into Loki, face mashed into his chest. Loki winding his arms around him in return is probably the only thing keeping Tony’s battered body upright at the moment. “You’re the best.”
“Flatterer,” Loki accuses lightly and kisses the top of Tony’s head, then gently pushes him back despite Tony’s whines of protest. “Go wash your hands,” he orders but indulges Tony when he stands up on tiptoes to peck him on the lips again.
Tony does so reluctantly, muttering to himself the whole time. He gets beers from the fridge, too, and picks Ana up from the couch on his way back, settling in the chair next to Loki with the girl chattering happily in his lap.
Everyone’s gathered around the huge dining table, talking and laughing between bites, and for a while all Tony does is watch, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of warmth crashing over him at the picture of his friends, his family, all being here, with him, together, safe and whole.
He smiles to himself, picks up a piece of garlic bread and then nearly chokes on it as Natasha stretches to reach the salad bowl and he gets a good look at her.
“What the hell are you wearing?” he demands, incredulous, and promptly earns himself a smack to the back of the hand when he tries to snag her by the collar. “What the actual fuck, where did you even get this?”
“Language,” Loki chastises, disapproving expression completely ruined by his twitching lips.
The bastard totally knows something and that’s it, everyone’s being weird today and Tony’s had it, he’s done.
Before he can launch into a speech about all of their heartbreaking betrayal, however, there comes a ping from nine different pockets and everyone scrambles for their phones.
“Yes, I agree,” Thor hums, spearing another piece of penne arrabbiata with his fork and pointing at Ana with it, “a fine choice of dining establishment indeed.”
Tony’s eyes swivel helplessly from the thunderer to Ana and back, then land back on Natasha and the very un-sexy picture of his open-mouthed, dozing self wearing his Avengers pyjama pants and one of Loki’s hoodies she’s got printed across the chest of her shirt.
Loki takes pity on him then, plucks Tony’s phone out of Ana’s hands - wait, what? - and wriggles it in front of Tony’s face until Tony takes it, stunned and still not entirely following.
“Check your pictures,” Natasha suggests which finally snaps Tony out of his stupor.
“You took my phone?” he asks and Ana shrugs, unconcerned, stuffing her mouth with spaghetti instead of answering. Taking a turn to glare at each of the assembled people, Tony mutters a petulant, “I hate all of you.”
With a looming sense of dread, Tony thumbs at the screen and is greeted with a shot of their dinner which, considering, isn’t all that bad. He clicks back and groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back.
There are over two hundred pictures Ana must have taken during the course of the day because he’s sure he plugged the phone in to charge before bed last night.
And, as Natasha’s already proven, there is a lot of cringe-worthy material to be found.
Some of the pictures are random things such as Ana’s desk lamp and bed, something blurry that might be Fenrir, one of the potted plants out in the hall, the back of a bar chair, Ana’s bare feet or most of her stuffed animals having what looks like a tea party.
The dozens of selfies are sweet, Tony decides, scrolling through shot after shot of Ana grinning and making funny faces at the camera.
But then there’s the picture and it’s not the only one of its kind. There Tony is with a smear of blueberry in his goatee, with his glasses dangling precariously from one ear, putting on his socks, looking ridiculous biting into an energy bar, missing a button on his jacket, shouting at DUM-E with an unnoticed stain of oil smack on the middle of his ass.
It’s as if Ana’s made it her mission to capture and preserve every single embarrassing thing Tony did today.
He's about to flee the room in shame and go hide away in the workshop for possibly the rest of his life when another picture has him pause mid-motion. It shows Loki in his favourite chair with Tony perched on its arm, equally dopey smiles on both their faces as they’re leaning in for a kiss.
The next one is of Loki in the kitchen preparing waffles, hair hanging in a loose ponytail and hips canted against the counter, obviously deep in though and looking serene. Another one of Tony, eyes bright and face open as he laughs at something. Loki flat on his back after his daily yoga session, poking his tongue out at Ana who must have been standing over him. Tony wrapped up in Loki’s arms with Loki’s nose in his hair from just half an hour ago.
That last one has an odd, red tint to it and Tony brings up the menu. “Did you use a filter on this?” he quacks in surprise, going through the open apps and asking, bewildered and a little disbelieving, “You made yourself an Instagram account? And uploaded all of these? And sent the link to everyone we know?”
Ana frowns up at him with an expression clearly saying Tony’s a complete idiot. “What? Like it’s hard?”
JARVIS speaks up over Tony’s indignant spluttering. “I took the liberty of monitoring and supervising Miss Ana’s online activities. Only people on your list of approved persons were contacted and have access to the account in question.”
Tony narrows his eyes at the closest of the AI’s sensors. “And mentioning any of this to me didn’t seem necessary?”
“It did not, sir.”
A hand patting at his cheek makes Tony look down at Ana’s hopeful face. “Can I have my own phone?”
Tony’s horrified “No!” is drowned out by everyone else’s simultaneous and very enthusiastic, “YES!”