He told her he would make her an omelette, and that was the first thing he did. She stood and looked out at the ocean and thought about how she couldn't see all the things that would have to be taken care of at the ruined Stark Expo pavilion tomorrow. He made the omelette strikingly badly, the eggs all rubbery, and also bland because he didn't know where the spice cabinet was. But he made them with his Iron Man gloves and gauntlets on, cooking over a Bunsen burner flame. She could hear the rock music that he needed to help him work from a room away. And not too much time later he came and stood beside her and unclamped one glove from around his wrist to hand her the plate.

"Oww, oww, wait—" he juggled the plate, leaned his hip against a very expensive piece of modern art that looked sortof like a table, and put his hand back in his glove. He clamped both hands around the stainless steel plate. "The bottom. Is hot. Just, here."

He produced a fork and handed it to her.

He held the plate while she ate. A little later, Happy brought them wine.