"Homeless outreach" was what the Masjid called it. To Kamala Khan, it was "look what we have the most of in the pantry, cook it up and serve to whoever wanders in the door."
It was only a problem when Sheik Abdullah oh so gently reminded her that this weekend was her turn to serve. As well, a server of food.
Her mother was thrilled, her father proud - all of that, and it was good but not for the reasons Kamala wanted. Okay, being a passable, even a pretty good cook was a useful skill, and it reassured her parents that she could indeed move ahead into the adulthood expected of her someday, regardless of the future she saw for herself. She wouldn't starve, and wasn't that a good skill to have? Make the best of it, right?
And the dining room was well chaperoned, none of the women left alone or without a brother, a husband, a father or heaven forbid, the Iman himself keeping watch.
As if I needed that, she inwardly moaned. Someone save me from burning the dal...please.
A specific request had come down when she and the other women had begun preparing the food for the day - the meal had to be halal, that was a given - but the twist had also asked them to make it vegetarian, entirely vegan if possible.
Well, that made it cheaper - meat and milk were expensive and spoiled quickly. But when she asked, Kamala discovered there was another reason.
"It also makes following the rules of keeping kosher possible, marginally. At least in spirit, if not practice." Shayma, a woman of her mother's stature, spoke matter-of-factly as she kept pulling ingredients from the pantry to put into Kamala's waiting arms. Lentils, beans, dried vegetables, bay leaves and other jars of spices went into the growing pile. "There are places our practices overlap. It's best to know where they are."
Sighing as she closed the doors, Shayma turned to look Kamala in the eye. "While our priority is looking after our own, these service days are for giving to our community at large...all of the members of our community. Making common ground to come together to share a meal. We make it as simple as possible for anyone to feel welcome here. Do you understand?"
Smiling, Kamala nodded, sighing in relief. "I really like that idea, Sister."
The older woman only clasped her hands together, a gentle smile overtaking her features, her eyes becoming merry. "I truly appreciate your help, Sister Kamala. No offense, but so many of your friends find this task such a burden!"
"You're welcome, Sister Shayma. Thank you for asking me."
Basmati rice. Dal made with red and golden lentils. Naan bread, stacked into towers, loaves of crusty bread just coming out of the oven. Huge pots of coffee made and put out with cream, sugar to the side of the room, along with water coolers and stacks of cups. On each of the tables, salt & pepper, a dish with butter and a jar of jam that the Masjid had put up on another service day during the summer. Plum, or strawberry - it hard to tell. Perhaps some of both.
Noting both the time, and when the food was ready, Shayma nodded to the two men covering the doors with lips pressed together and a faraway look in her eyes. "Let them come."
And lunch began.
Kamala knew most of the men who walked in the door, known members of her Masjid who had 'fallen on hard times,' or 'had trouble at home,' or needed propping up while they found their feet again. Abuse, addiction, jail time...nobody would allow anyone actually dangerous near the women (Kamala silently rolled her eyes at that last) but to a man, they were rough around the edges while looking scrubbed clean at the same time.
Entire families came in for the meal, there was no doubt they needed it as sorely as the single men but the vast majority of them were those men in ones and twos, from just gaining their adulthood through middle age with a few elderly souls creeping in on the arm of a son or daughter.
Humble, their eyes downcast as they queued through the serving line to receive their meals before seating themselves at the mismatched card tables and chairs set around the room. Other days, they would have seated themselves on prized rugs laid on the floor, but today was for common ground and in America, that meant chairs.
Shadowed by the other men of the Masjid, Kamala was never aware of being alone or unwatched except by the clients who accepted the food with quiet, murmured thanks. Some placed their meals at their table before getting the coffee or water, others went to fetch beverages for everyone at their table at once.
Two men came into the hall, made a beeline for the coffee urns and then seated themselves together at a table next to them, their backs to the wall. They caught Kamala's attention for two reasons, she later realized. One, they had not come through the line for food. Two, while one of them had gotten a cup of coffee before seating himself, his companion had grabbed four of them for himself and methodically began drinking them, one after another without paying much attention to the other man seated next to him.
Both were wearing dark hooded sweatshirts, but the coffee drinker had not pushed his hood back as his companion had and Kamala only had the briefest impression of the brim of a ballcap under it as the cup came to his mouth over and over. Methodically, over and over again until all four were emptied, as his companion sat back, shaking his head at him, smiling as more he slowly enjoyed his one cup of coffee.
But his eyes never left the other man while Kamala was certain he only had eyes for the inside of those cups.
Frowning, Kamala lost track of the lunch queue until someone nudged her and she came back to herself with a start to see Sheik Abdullah holding out two trays of food to her, motioning towards the two men with his head. Clearly wanting her to take the trays, Kamala took them from the Iman, noting that he followed her closely as she navigated her way to their table.
Her heart skipped a beat, though as the Iman pulled out a chair for her as she placed the two meals on the table in front of the strangers, then took up a position standing behind her, hands resting on the back of her chair. Sheik Abdullah wouldn't leave her along with two strange men...but somehow, he'd wanted her to bring them food. And then be seated. Why?
"That stuff is going to eat a hole through your stomach, dude. But it looks like someone's going to come to your rescue."
The last of the cups emptied, Kamala saw that the men were not of the same race, even as they shared a build and size as the coffee drinker put the cup down.
And then she was looking into the eyes of Tony Stark. Her mouth went dry, her vision went into a tunnel that only had enough room for two bright, dark eyes that looked at her as stunned as she felt. Sitting next to him was Falcon - Sam Wilson, her memory blithered at her. But he remained a side note, of no concern. Sam Wilson was smiling, bringing the bowl of lentils and basmati rice to his face to inhale deeply in anticipation of taking the first bite. Tony Stark was not.
He was just as scared of her as she was of him, she realized - until it registered on her face and she watched the public mask fall into place over his own, just like Kamala had watched the Iron Man visor fall over it time and again on television. The eyes calmed, sure but it was such a thin veneer she found herself thinking less of who had just sat down to lunch, and more of what had brought him there.
"Sister Khan is someone who enjoys helping others," she heard the Iman say over the top of her head as she felt the flush of what had to be a massive blush spread across her face. "And I have seen the proof of it, many times. What brings you to our humble home? If there is anything we can do to help, please ask her. I am sure she will find a way."
It was embarrassing. Pressing her lips tightly together, Kamala looked away, wanting to hiss a warning, a denial. Leave him alone almost crossed her tongue, but she managed in time to hold it. This was Sheik Abdullah, not Baba. Not her brother. She didn't have a place or an opening to speak yet without being rude.
"Give me a rating, Sparks. Where're you sitting?" Taking a piece of naan, Wilson tore a piece off of it but didn't put it in his mouth as he looked over at the man sitting next to him. "My friend is having a bad day," he added, almost matter of factly as he looked up at both of them. "Bubba here can be gruff, but he doesn't mean it."
"Then I think your friend can speak for himself, if he wants to or not." It didn't come out harsh, no. Soft and mild as warm milk. But come out, it had. Feeling her jaw clench after the words had escaped, she found herself lifting her chin to look the two men in the eye. Wilson had only raised his eyebrows, his smile growing as the other man - that's Tony Stark holy crap - narrowed his eyes in appraisal, the barest hint of a smiling quirking his lips upward as he nodded. Just a little.
"And so should you, little mouse that can roar. So I hear." He didn't speak very loudly, and as quiet as he was, it wasn't the voice Kamala had heard speaking to huge crowds, or giving orders during battles, or discussing testimony before Congress. Wilson's voice had been clean, warm and clear. Stark's - was like a bass string hardly moving, sounds absent between syllables, sandy and hushed. A humble voice, gentle and kind. "Nine plus, but you knew that. Getting better. It smells - reminds me of - what is that?"
The Iman rose, patting Kamala on the shoulder as he did so. "Stay here while I become a better host." Kamala found herself nonplussed and not a little surprised. She watched as he found Shayma, who in turn found a coffee carafe and a loaf of the more familiar raised white bread, sliced in a basket.
"Hang on a sec, I'll go get that. She's way too busy to wait on us like this." Rising from her seat, she stopped halfway up as Stark raised a hand to get her attention.
"Where's yours? You're allowed to eat with us, aren't you? Get your lunch, I'm not eating unless you do. You're just a kid."
Right. Avenger. Overprotective comes with the territory. Kid?! "Okay. Sure. Yeah. Thanks. I think."
It gave her a moment to catch her breath and get centered, and for that she was grateful. When she returned with the carafe, bread and a plate of food on a tray to reseat herself, Kamala found the two men poking around in their own meals, curious enough but not actually eating any of it yet. "I helped make that this morning, if that's okay with you two," she said as she held out a slice of the still warm-from-the-oven bread to Stark. "Here, this might smell more familiar."
"Thank you," he said, taking it with a wry expression and a hesitant sniff. "You make this too?"
"Helped," she answered. "Can I answer any questions? I don't think you eat dal and chawal very often, if you don't mind me saying so."
Wilson had the sense to duck his head, his smile flashing in his dark face. "Eeyeah, we're not from around here, are we? But I liked dal just fine, from when I served. A little Tabasco, maybe some sour cream or yogurt? Sticked to your ribs, kept you warm."
"He didn't - I don't think. It wasn't this he made for me. Back then, I mean." Blowing air, Stark put his bowl down and sat back in his chair as he stared at it. "But the smell - it's like it, somehow. Reminds me." Absently, he began to lightly tap a pattern on his chest, circling an area right over the breastbone.
"Try bringing the bread up to your nose for a moment," Wilson urged. "And don't forget me, man. I'm sitting right next to you."
"Yeah, I can smell that aftershave Rogers lent you."
"Atta boy."
But the lost look didn't leave his face, and he kept staring off into the distance, nostrils flaring wide as he strained to capture the memory through scent. Then it hit her - Stark had been held captive in Afghanistan. Wilson had served - both there, and Iraq - in the military. What was he trying to remember? It was like looking at someone being chased, and chasing after something at the same time.
He dropped the slice of bread into his bowl of lentils and rice. And then he stopped looking at Sam sitting next to him. Oh, that's not good. Do something, stupid!
So Kamala poured a cup of coffee, and waved it under his nose. "Wakey, wakey...uh, Bubba. Where did you think you were going? Million miles away?"
He took the coffee from her with a slow blink, nose wrinkling as his eyes reopened and focused on her again. "Someplace not very nice, " he murmured, hand firming around the cup as he took it from her. "I had a friend, once. Cooked for me when I was sick, think it smelled a lot like this. No offense, but it probably was only some beans and water boiled over a fire until they got mushy. Light was so bad, I think he mistook little rocks sometimes. He wore glasses, don't think he saw all that well through them. Gritty. Sometimes moldy. But, hungry - and he wouldn't eat if I didn't. So."
Wilson was going through his serving with every indication he liked the taste, breaking down the naan bread and using it to scoop portions into his mouth. He did it without looking, his eyes and full attention were on Stark. "Had a buddy back at the VA tell me about your service days here, Miss," he said slowly, washing down a bite with some coffee of his own. "Said it reminded him of some of the food he'd tried in Afghanistan...except here, it was good, mind you. And folks were nice, understanding about...things."
Kamala sighed, looking around the room. The men, in ones and twos. Many of them Afghani, or Pakistani like she was. Some refugees, some veterans. It didn't matter much, they all shared the same careworn look if not some of the nervous frisson Stark was showing around the edges. Watching, she saw him try again to pick up the spoon and try a bite, only to let it fall back into the bowl.
What are you doing here, she wondered. It's so hard. Everybody knows what happened to Tony Stark in Afghanistan.
What are you doing here, trying so hard to eat dal and chawal with me?
You can't even get it past your nose. "We see a lot of veterans here," she said as gently as she could. "Thank your friend for me, that's very nice of him. Not all of them are as...understanding."
A minor upset got her attention, someone rushing through the doorway from outside, tall and slender with a bearing that screamed 'military!' - an older man, dressed in Air Force casual, windbreaker over shirt and tie, scanning the room fast, concern writ on his face, lips pressed tightly together. Clearly, he wasn't there for lunch, and when he sighted the men sitting at the table with her, Kamala watched him find the straightest path to them, catching a spare chair along the way. But still, he barely disturbed anyone else in the room, murmuring excuses and pardons as he went. If Wilson was a little less than a perfect gentleman, this man was grace, poise and command in every fiber. And he was heading straight for them.
Flipping the chair around, he neatly angled it in so he was sitting next to Stark on one side, while Wilson remained on the other - and now, she was facing all three of them. She looked over her shoulder to find the Iman watching the little group, just keeping an eye on her and as she watched, he shrugged minutely. Be a good host. Serve.
Help them.
So first, she listened.
"Hey, man. Pepper told me I'd find you here. You okay?"
Stark didn't immediately answer, and when the newcomer threw an arm around his shoulders and brought him close, he didn't object. Leaning into him with deep sigh, he was bussed on the top of the head, didn't pull away as the airman rested his forehead there. As she watched, the older man lifted his eyes, looked over Stark's head at Wilson. He didn't look angry, per ce. But Kamala sensed that here was someone with feelings more in her camp - this was almost painful, why was he doing this?
"Found me again, huh Rhodey? Be nice to Sam, this was my idea."
"You had an idea? Tell me more about this idea of yours. This looks like trying to talk yourself into swallowing knives or something." That almost made Kamala laugh in spite of herself. Oh, I like him. I like this one a lot!
"Now, now," Stark said, extricating himself. "Don't insult the cook, she's sitting right here with us. Who hasn't touched her food either. You look worried."
Rhodey, to his credit, only blew air. "I feel worried, it's a matching set," he grumbled, albeit good-naturedly.
"I'm not going to eat unless you do," she heard herself say firmly. "Let me get some for your friend, yours is cold by now too." It was a simple thing to go get more, grateful the room was nearly full and too busy to pay much attention to her - and them. Rhodey. Rhodes. James Rhodes. That's Iron Patriot - um - War Machine. Another friend, wow - one little two little three little 'vengers....
She'd feel luckier if there were bombs dropping around them. This edgy grief and nervy feeling was harder to navigate.
Placing the dishes of hot food in front of them, taking the cooling plates away and then sitting down again, Kamala tried to drink some of the coffee and winced at the bitter taste. "Maybe instead of eating, you should talk. I'll eat - and then when you're finished, I'll talk. Sound like a plan?"
Sandwiched inbetween two dark faces, intent with concern, Stark looked even paler by comparison. But a lopsided smile, another slow blink of those dark eyes later and he agreed with a huffed "Sure."
Rhodey pulled his dish closer with his left hand, the right arm still loosely slung across Stark's shoulders. He looked at his dish of food curiously, checking the reactions of the other people at the table and took a bite. Eyebrows raised, he chewed thoughtfully before putting the spoon down for the pepper shaker. "Not bad," he said. "Pretty good, actually."
"Dal's a lot like bread, " she answered, and yes - a little flattered. "Kind of plain by itself. Makes a good base for other things." Taking a bite herself, Kamala was able to reassure herself that yes - this was good. Tender, but not soupy, just enough heft but not too thick. Garlic - present, but not overpowering, the other spices a strong supporting cast in the background. Good dal, with tender, fragrant basmati rice.
"Bruce made dal," Stark added, abruptly. "Guy swore by lentils. All kinds of colors going into the pot, they all came out the same kinda brown. So spicy it would take the top layer of your tongue off. Would never have thought him a fire-eater, but I only had to learn that lesson once. Said it would warm me up from the inside out. Told him yeah - heartburn, the jerk. Then Rogers came along, cleaned out the pot, rubbed his tummy and asked for more."
The spoon went into the dish, brought food to his mouth and it was eaten. "Vegetarian, that guy. Told him I didn't know how he could stay fed that way. He showed me. Showed me real good." More food, then bread and coffee.
Hastily catching up with him, Kamala watched Wilson smirk, share a look with Rhodey as he blew air in relief. If Stark noticed, he gave no sign. A bite or two later, he was humming over every mouthful. "Now this, this is worthy. Wonder if ol' Thunderbum would like this? Huh Rhodey?"
"He'd eat it," Wilson quipped. "He'd clean them all out, declare his satisfaction and then apologize when he asked for another and the paper plate didn't bust up on the floor. You know him."
"Yes. Yes, I do." Slurped the coffee, then nodded gratefully when Kamala refilled the cup and he repeated the process. But when the bowl was empty, and the bread - spread with both butter and jam - was done, Stark only pushed the empty dishes away a little, a token gesture to indicate he was finished and then folded his hands on the table and looked up at her. "Now. You talk."
"More, first?" Wilson, and was she grateful for him? Water was wet and could still drown you. Definitely.
"More, yes. Hang on." Oh man, what am I going to say?
She returned with three more servings, shrugged nervously and sat down to watch them eat. Resting her chin on hands interlaced with her elbows resting on the table, Kamala looked down into their plates with a casualness she didn't really feel. "You miss your friends," she said quietly. "The ones who cooked for you."
To a man, they all flinched. Wilson looked away, Rhodes froze in place and Stark closed his eyes. "Yes," he said. "And I can't - Tried making this at home and passed out just from the smell, didn't know how long I'd been there. Someone - found me, called him," a thumb jerked in Wilson's direction, "and it's in my way, and I want it gone. Maddening. It's just not me. And - all that."
"We talked," Wilson said quietly, giving a one-shoulder shrug as if in apology. "We decided visiting here would be a good opportunity for a good memory, instead of layering on another bad one."
Stark remained bracketed by two concerned faces, but as they resumed eating their meal - so did Stark, poking around the empty dishes with a plastic spoon. Everybody knows about Afghanistan, Mr. Stark. And I am so sorry.
She chose her words with care, thinking hard before speaking. "My folks tell stories of when they still lived in Pakistan, before here. People come in here, look around and walk right back out again. It happens. We - I - don't think much of it." Calm, steady on Kamala - "That doesn't help, I know - but. I think I'd be upset, too."
Taking a piece of naan, Kamala idly played with it as she tried to gather her thoughts. "People who feed you, love you. There isn't a more direct route to the heart than through the stomach. We serve a meal here on service days because if you want people to come together on common ground, there isn't a more common denominator than being hungry. Nobody stops getting hungry, right?"
Breaking the naan into bite-sized pieces, she took her time eating it, looking at each piece before it went in her mouth. "We call this velvet food. Comfort food. Like a warm blanket on a cold night, or remembering when you woke from a bad dream and Baba was there to chase the ghosts away. Good for you food. Something everyone can eat. It's not scary, it's just lunch. Just - someone cooked for you, right? You made food for them back, no? You would have, right?"
"To the heart," Stark murmured, clearly turning the thought over in his head. "Ironic. The first guy just opened my chest first. But then - he made himself my friend, even when I didn't deserve it. Saw something in me he liked, I guess. Was terrible to him, but he never even raised his voice to me. Just to keep me alive, that's when he got tough. I'd like to remember him, y'know? But he was gone so quick - "
Rhodey shook him a little, hand firm on his shoulder. Wilson put his spoon down and covered Stark's hand with his own for a moment. "People make themselves your friends, man. You don't get to chose, sometimes. They just do it because for them, it's right."
"I give him what I can. I don't waste my life." Putting another bite of naan into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, Stark shrugged a little and gestured with the empty spoon. "Talk more."
"Ooohkay. Um. The other guy you mentioned - "
That got her a cocked eyebrow and a wry look from Stark. "Other guy? How appropriate," he said, pushing his now empty plate around. "The fire eater? I tried to make myself his friend. Worth it, he's a good man. He just doesn't think so. He's gone now, too."
Yeah, I read the news. Oh boy.
"You want to go after him," she said slowly.
Turning to look Rhodes in the eye, Stark said with another fleeting grin. "People came after me. My friends. They found me."
Rhodes, to his credit, didn't look away. "You wanted to be found, man. Not the same thing."
Stark responded by resting his forehead against Rhodes' and blowing air, closing his eyes. Wilson, giving a weather eye to the two men, looked interested but kept quiet and watched, looking at Kamala out of the corner of his eye.
"I am tired of missing my friends, Rhodey. Tired, man."
"You wanna go?"
"Yeah. Time and past time."
"Then we'll go. Okay? We'll go. Simple, okay?"
She kept resting her chin on her hands, and waited. "I can pack you a lunch to go, guys."
Wilson looked at the now cold remains in front of him. "This stuff? I think I could spackle the outside of the plane with it. Might make a good sandwich - if you're into that sort of thing." But he grinned, and suddenly it was all a joke.
"There's some peanut butter in the back," she answered, smiling back. Then sobering, she hesitantly reached out - oh, so hesitant, this wasn't allowed! - to lay a light fingertip on Stark's shoulder. "I think you should," she said softly. "Can I help?"
Stark craned his head to look at the touch, then back up at her. Rhodes did much the same, that grim expression crossing his face again. "Little mouse that roars wants an adventure, does she?"
She pulled the hand back, but waited. "Little mouse...I know who you are. Mizzie," he murmured in that soft, gentle voice he'd begun with. "You stay right where you are."
If she blanched and went entirely to stone at that, Kamala wasn't going to let the rest of the room know it. He's going to tell me I'm too young. Wait. He knew all along?
Maybe she managed to look back at Wilson. She did, and he gave her a nod. They all did. Great!
She was not crossing Rhodes. Oh no. That one glared at her until she gave a little shake of her head - and then, it was all good again and he smiled back, sighing. Note to self. I never want to get on the bad side of War Machine. Good thing to know.
"This isn't your normal gig, we knew that. Just our dumb luck today, huh?" Wilson extended a hand, which Kamala took. "Thank you. For not ratting us out and stuff."
Stifling a laugh, Kamala covered her mouth with her other hand. "Thank you," she muttered back. "You're going after Dr. Banner."
The three men shared a look, and then shrugged and nodded. "I guess we are," Stark conceded.
"Bring him back here. I want to feed him."
Stark took that as his signal to leave, and got to his feet, his friends following suit. "It's a date." But it was both Rhodes and Wilson who came around to shake hands with her before moving to the doorway. Stark hung back, folding his hands in front of him, pulling the ballcap under the hood down, looking at the floor.
Just another guy. "Hey," she said, trying to get his attention.
Looking up, he must have seen something on her face because he stepped forward to take her hand with a quizzical look on his face. "Thank you. Your friends are lucky to have you."
And in front of the Iman, the whole masjid - Tony Stark pulled Kamala into a hug. "Be seeing you, little mouse." he said into her ear.
"Count on it," she managed to get out. "Just say the word, and I'm there."
"I'm sure you would. If you won't be careful, be good."
Somehow, the whole world didn't fall down around her ears after that.
It was much later that year that Sheik Abdullah pulled Kamala aside, after Ramadan, after Eid and told her that the Masjid had been gifted with a large donation by the Maria Stark Foundation, the first of its kind. He didn't do much more than mention it, not even to her parents - it wouldn't be appropriate, even for him.
He just mentioned it had been donated in honor of the many strong daughters of the masjid, in the hope they could serve in whatever capacity they saw fit.
Some day, she thought. We'll meet again, I'm sure of it.
Count on it.