pennysheets | New Avengers Tower

The press meeting takes way too long. Then they're all taken to a hospital, because most of them are injured in some way. Then Mel takes them back to that stupid tower. Avengers Tower. Watchtower. New Avengers Tower. Nobody knows what they're calling it.

They get a tour, even though they're exhausted and grouchy, and even though half the tower is clearly in some state of construction and clearly not ready to be shown off. The labs are complete, hastily so, but none of them are going to be going anywhere near those. The rooftop bar is still in shambles, and none of them want to linger there. The kitchen and restaurant-like eating areas spiraled out around it seem intact, and well-stocked, at least.

They each have their own floor. Stark had originally made a whole floor for each of his superhero buddies, which hadn't really been renovated at all even in the multiple years the Avengers had been toast, so now they're the cleanest and least disturbed of the whole tower.

Bucky gets Steve's, Walker gets Thor's, Ava gets Clint's.

Yelena gets the one meant for Natasha. Of course.

And Bob gets Banner's, with its combination of calming decor and Hulk-proof walls.

Then they're left alone to "rest" with the promise that Mel and Valentina will be in touch over the next few days, which sounds more like a threat than anything else.

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"She did," Yelena agrees. "I still can't believe she turned that vault into an incinerator. Who does that? But no, I don't think she has a whole private army in her pocket, and putting one together will not be easy."

"So we have a little while," Bob surmises from that, relieved. Even if she does put together a private army-- or convinces the one she had before to come back, because that was a lot of people with guns at the vault entrance-- it won't be for... at least a week. Surely at least that long. "At least until tomorrow night, right? So we can watch movies as late as we want."

Nobody to complain about the noise through thin walls, no landlord to threaten, no parents to come storming up the stairs. Maybe it's silly and adolescent, but he finds he's looking forward to it.

"At least that long," she assures with a little grin. "So we do not have to worry about staying up too late, and then having to get up at sunrise to deal with a crisis on our doorstep."

It will, she suspects, take far longer than that. While she hadn't given any details about what or who they found in the vault, she had slipped word of Valentina's murderous little doublecross, and she doubts she's the only one. It's the sort of gossip that spreads like wildfire, and while she would never go so far as to say mercenaries have scruples, they do tend to balk at working for someone who might try to have them executed rather than just cut them a check.

Not everyone. There's always someone desperate enough to take even the worst job, and it's possible some of O.X.E.'s people are still loyal. But they have some time to rest, and recover, and start making plans.

And watch movies late into the night, and even--

"What is your position on pizza?"

"Positive?" he guesses. "You really can't go wrong with cheese and bread and tomato sauce." Well aware why she would be asking that question, he adds hopefully, "Can we order some? Will anyone deliver here?" ... Is there anyone willing to drive through the mess of rubble outside to get here? How long does it take to clean up the streets of New York after... whatever that was?

"If we tip them well enough. You would not believe the sort of business some restaurants did after the Battle of New York."

She finishes off her tea, and sets the bowl back down on the tray. "What do you like on your pizza, Bob?"

"Um. Anything, really. E-except anchovies," he recalls. "Those made me sick once and I can't eat them anymore." It was honestly probably the drugs, not the fish, but now he's associated anchovies with barfing and that connection is not going to be undone easily. "But anything else is good."

He is really, really not a picky eater. You can't be when you're scavenging across Asia.

"Even pineapple?" Yelena asks, eyebrows lifting, though the expression and tone are both playful. "Because I am pretty sure wars have almost been started over that one."

"Pineapple's fine," Bob says easily. "It's not my favorite thing to put on pizza, but it's not bad. It adds an interesting sweetness?" He shrugs. "There aren't a lot of foods I won't eat."

Yelena pulls her phone out, popping a browser open to look for likely options.

"I am going to get two," she decides. "Then we can mix and match. And there will be extra if anyone tracks us down, so they can't complain."

"I feel like I could eat a whole pizza," Bob warns, which is an exaggeration, he could most likely just get through half of a large on his own, but still. He imagines the three large men in this building would eat even more than he will. "Maybe you should get three. And leave one of them out for everyone else and bring the other two in with us." There will be leftovers, but that's what breakfast is for.

She looks up at him with a grin. "Leave one out as bait. I like the way you think, Bob. Three it is."

She finishes tapping in the order, and tucks the phone away again. "It'll be about 45 minutes. Want to see if everything is hooked up in the media room, or if we're going to need to fiddle with the wires?"

His smile back is shy but pleased. He did good! He had a good idea! He picks himself up from the couch, taking the tray so she doesn't have to. "Yeah, let's see. And then get lots of blankets and pillows and things." A little bit bolder, and obviously trying to be so, he adds, "I'm holding you to that blanket fort idea of yours."

"Of course," she says, forcing her expression solemn, though there's warmth in the faint crinkle at the corners of her eyes. "It was a very serious idea. I would not joke about that."

She pushes herself up to her feet, a little bit stiffly, and rolls one shoulder. "All right. Let's see how many times we get lost in this place."

New Avengers Tower

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