Beating myself up so you wont find out

Chapter 2: cucumber sucks

Author's note

Heyo
Finished another chapter <3
To literally the one friend of mine who's reading this, love you
To anyone who will inevitably find this story in the distant future while it collects dust... hi. Do you have flying cars??
Anyways enjoy
- Your favorite stranger

Bruce was probably the only Avenger who genuinely liked Tony Stark. Or, at least, he tolerated him. Tony had no idea how to tell the difference. But at least he didn't talk loud like Steve, pity him like Nat, or genuinely hate him like Clint.

They'd been bonding over their shared passion for science throughout the past week while Tony hid in the workshop to avoid embarrassing himself in front of the team. Again. It seemed Dr Banner hadn't yet figured out exactly why Tony was spending all his time in the workshop, or at least he didn't talk about it. He liked that.

They fooled around together, making up particle theory-themed one-liners, or thermonuclear physics-inspired knock-knock jokes. Passing the time so Tony didn't have to think about being normal every day of the week.

On the fourth day, Bruce bolted out of the elevator waving a piece of equation paper in his hand, screaming "I cracked it! Tony, I cracked it!".

"Let me see!" Tony said excitedly.

Bruce held out the paper which had equations scrawled all over it, and Tony grabbed it, studying the sheet with a sparkle in his eyes. And then he froze.

Bruce was staring at his now empty hands, also frozen.

Tony Stark didn't like to be handed things. Unfamiliar objects could have a weird texture or a gross feeling, they could be sticky or hot. Then why had he let Bruce hand him the piece of paper so casually?

Perhaps he trusted him. Trusted him not to hand Tony gross textures. Trusted him to judge their feel before he offered them over.

That was plausible, as during the past four days Tony had dropped four pencils, three sheets of iron, and one beaker full of acid because of their texture. He grinned. Bruce was learning quickly.

"Science bros?" Tony eventually asked.

"Science bros," Bruce confirmed. He went to pull the billionaire into one of those initiatory bro hugs but Tony pulled away, instead offering a fist bump. The scientist shrugged. "Good enough."

"Now let me see those equations!"

......................................................

It was no secret Banner was an excellent cook. In fact, he was assigned to make dinner every Friday for that exact reason, each time concocting some new delicious creation sent from the heavens above. The week earlier he'd made the most amazing pizza (which Tony surprisingly ate even though he didn't really like bread-y foods), and this week Tony had a request.

"Tacos?" Bruce asked, clarifying.

"Yeah, if that's alright?" Tony was already regretting the decision. His mind ran through every possibility. Every answer he might have to deflect. Every way he could stop Bruce from getting mad. Every-

"Sure."

"I'm sorry, what?" Tony's words came out sharper - more hostile - than he'd anticipated. He cringed at his tone.

"Uh, sure? I can make tacos if that's what you'd like." Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was he mad? Disappointed? Annoyed? Tony had no idea what he was thinking. "Are you feeling ok?"

The question struck a nerve. "Yes, yes! I'm ok! Tip top shape, right Jarvis?"

"Actually, Sir..." came a voice from the speakers which Tony promptly cut off.

"Don't need your input, Jarvis!" Tony lifted a hand to silence the AI.

Nat's voice called from the communal lounge. "Could you please stop yelling, Stark? Trying to watch a film here!"

He paused briefly. He hadn't been aware his volume had reached and surpassed the socially acceptable limit.

"Put the subtitles on!" He called back.

"I would but Clint'll kill me."

"Damn right I will," remarked the man in question, also in the communal lounge.

..............................

That Friday, Tony was filled with uncontrollable excitement in anticipation for his second favourite meal ever (aside from cheeseburgers). He'd already planned all the toppings he would add, he made sure to come early to the table so he'd be able to claim 'his' seat (second from the right, the only chair without the squeaky legs). His outfit was decided on days in advance (old jeans in case he spilled fillings, a fairly decent band shirt for comfort).

Today was the day.

Everything was going to plan. Tony was seated with the team, Bruce probably setting out the toppings in the kitchen. The smell of spicy taco mince flooded the room, one of the only sensory experiences Tony actually enjoyed.

Bruce carried the tray of toppings over to the table and set it down in the middle, everyone oohing and ahhing.

Tony - sweet, naive Tony - was caught off guard. The tacos had been pre-filled. He wasn't able to assemble them to his liking.

No matter, Tony told himself. I can deal with that.

And he could. He was a grown-ass adult. So he lifted a taco off the tray, raising it like a glass in a toast.

"To Bruce's magnificent cooking skills!" he cheered and the others followed suit.

Biting down, the crunch of the shell contrasted with the softer mince, spices activating Tony's senses and playing a merry little tune on his tongue. It was just... the way... he liked it...

What was that? That squishy, slimy substance his teeth had made contact with. What was it?

Tony froze and his eyes widened. For a few seconds, he stayed still, trying to hold back the inevitable reaction. Maybe if he drank some water he would get the taste out of his mouth. Maybe if he clawed his palms hard enough his mind would focus on something else. Maybe...

Nope. Too much yuck.

Tony gagged, standing up abruptly and scrambling away from the table. He left little red drops on the back of Steve's chair as his slightly bloodied hands made contact with it briefly. Steve didn't notice, evidently too wrapped up in the fact that Tony had just abandoned the meal with a disgusted look on his face.

Tony didn't even want to know what he'd just done. How badly the team probably now hated him.

Lucky for him, the bathroom was close by. He rinsed his mouth out, the water barely washing away the disgusting stain left on his tongue.

Cucumber.

Gosh, he should have told Bruce. He could've. Truly. But he couldn't go back now - they'd be annoyed, angry even, and rightfully so. But they'd also be confused and confusion meant questions and questions meant... answers he didn't want to think about.

Like why the hell he'd just abandoned group dinner night over a cucumber?

And no doubt single-handedly ruined his friendship with Bruce. Hooray, great going Tony. He put his hands over his head and drew in a sharp breath, slowly dropping until he was sitting with his back against the wall.