Clint’s voice really carries. Apparently, it carries right into Bruce’s hand, as evidenced by the jar of maraschino cherries now falling, bumping, no, wait, elbow, no, palm, palm, oh god, knee, shinFOOT—now on the floor of the team’s kitchen. Bruce stares mournfully at the splash of syrup soaking his pant leg and the floppy red fruit scattered over the linoleum, and then looks back at his cherry-less sundae sitting pretty on the countertop.
“Oh my god, Natasha!” Clint bellows from his rooms down the hall.
“What?” Natasha yells back from the living room on the other side of the kitchen, where five minutes ago, she was parked with a pile of colored thread hooked around her toes as she wove it rapidly into bracelets, and not in the mood for a sundae, alas. She sounds a lot less like an elephant with a bullhorn, somehow.
“Get on your phone!” Clint shouts down the hall.
“I can hear you just fine!”
Bruce gets a spoon from the drawer and sits down to enjoy his sundae.
“No, get on your phone. Turn it on, right now!”
“Natasha, yes, now, right now!”
Silence. Bruce takes a glorious spoonful of fluffy whipped cream, smoothing it across his tongue so it coats, oily and sweet, and shuts his eyes to savor it properly.
A moment later, he hears the long drawn out, “Hoooooooo boy,” from the living room. Then, louder. “Clint.”
“Right?” Clint shouts back gleefully.
“Ri—Thor! Thor, c’mere, watch this.”
Another moment. Then Thor barks out the world’s loudest, “HA!”
“That’s what I said,” Natasha calls from the living room.
“No, you said, ‘hoo boy,’” Clint yells.
“You couldn’t even hear me!”
“I can read your mind.”
“Guess what I’m doing now, Clint.”
“Shouldn’t stick your finger up like that, Tash, crow might come along and bite it off.”
“It seems our friend Tony has at last achieved his goal,” Thor muses in his normal voice. Bruce can still hear him, because it’s Thor. “I am most pleased for—Oh. Is this what you have just texted me?”
Bruce spoons another bite (ice cream this time, and some caramel sauce with the first of the crushed peanuts) and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He turns it on, scrolls to his brand new text, and opens a video. He sees Tony and he sees Steve, he sees the best tortas in NYC, and some other people, and then he sees—
“Whoa.” Bruce smiles slowly as the video plays.
The tower goes blessedly quiet. Thor passes by in the hallway with a nod and a smile, and Bruce settles back into his chair, in a warm kitchen that feels quite a bit brighter now. He wriggles his toes in the pool of sunlight. Definitely a sundae kind of day. He lifts his spoon again, takes a big—
And inhales a peanut.