The Proposal

The common room of Avengers Tower hummed with the low-level chaos of a team that had spent too much time cooped up together. Steve Rogers was sketching in a corner, his pencil scratching against paper. Natasha Romanoff was polishing a knife, her movements fluid and precise. Clint Barton had his feet up on the coffee table, tossing a ping-pong ball from hand to hand. Bruce Banner was reading a book on theoretical physics, the heavy tome making his chair groan. Thor stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the city lights flicker. And Tony Stark strode into the center of the room, clapping his hands with the theatrical energy of a man who had just discovered a new way to annoy his teammates. "Avengers, assemble!" Tony announced, his voice echoing off the sleek metal walls. No one moved. "That was a command. Or a suggestion. It's casual Friday. But seriously, come here." Steve looked up, his pencil pausing. "What is it, Tony?" "I'm glad you asked, Capsicle," Tony said, aiming a finger gun at him. "I've been thinking. Team morale is low. We've had four alien invasions, one interdimensional hiccup, and that unfortunate incident with the shawarma machine. We need bonding. We need collaboration. We need competition." Natasha stopped polishing her knife. "Competition?" "Exactly!" Tony snapped his fingers. "I'm instituting a mandatory team-building bake-off." Silence. Then Clint snorted. "Bake-off? You? Tony, you once tried to make toast and the toaster auto-updated and started playing ads." "That was a test of the AI's hospitality protocols," Tony defended. "Besides, I have a forty-thousand-dollar oven that's never been used. It's practically begging for flour-based sacrifices." Bruce closed his book. "I don't bake." "You hulk out when you get stressed," Tony countered. "Imagine what happens when you over-whisk. Think of the meringue possibilities." Steve set down his sketchpad, a thoughtful look on his face. "I could make apple pie. My ma had a recipe from before the war." "Ooh, Depression-era pastry," Tony said, grinning. "Raspberry-cotton-candy puffs? "No, just pie." Thor turned from the window, his cape billowing dramatically. "This sounds like a noble contest! I shall bring the Asgardian yeast. It is fermented in the heart of a dying star and will make your Earth dough rise to glorious heights! Or possibly explode. It is uncertain." "Exploding dough?" Clint sat up, suddenly interested. "Sign me up. I'm doing funnel cakes. With explosive arrows of flavor." "No real arrows, Barton," Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Natasha sheathed her knife. "I make a very good black forest cake. The cherries are the key." "So it's on," Tony declared. He spun around, pointing at each of them. "JARVIS will be the sole judge. Perfectly impartial, no bias toward the guy who built him." "You built him to think you're amazing," Bruce pointed out mildly. "He thinks everyone's amazing. That's called being British." Tony pulled up a holographic calendar from his watch. "One week from today. Kitchen gets a full overhaul so it can survive this weekend. JARVIS will prepare ingredients based on your chosen recipes. Trash-talking starts now." "Your stove will melt, Stark," Clint said, leaning forward. "I'll deep-fry a turkey in your espresso machine." "I will ensure my cake reaches the necessary height by the use of Mjolnir-spun beaters," Thor added gravely. "That's a terrible idea," Steve said, but he was smiling. Tony raised his hands. "This is exactly the energy we need. Bonding through competition. Let's see who rises to the occasion. Pun intended." Bruce sighed. "I'll bring a fire extinguisher." And the room buzzed with the sound of Avengers arguing about recipes, ovens, and the proper physics of frosting.