Tom Kha Gai for a Cold (Avengers, Science Bros) (Part 2 added 5/1/13)

[fufufufu]

I finally managed to complete one of the drabbles I had lying around. It blew up a little bit beyond a drabble though! Hope you enjoy.

----

Tony had expected to find Bruce fast asleep in bed. Maybe, at the absolute most, to find him curled up in a chair with a hot cup of tea and a science journal. But as Tony searched Bruce’s floor of Stark Tower, a succulently spicy scent drew him toward the kitchen.

He discovered Bruce at the stove, with a wooden spoon in hand, concentrating intensely on keeping a bubbling pot from boiling over. Surveying the kitchen, Tony noted an empty carton of chicken stock sticking out of the trash, remnants of chilies and garlic on a chopping board, and a collection of used measuring cups and spoons soaking in the sink. Whatever other ingredients Bruce was heating up in the pot, the combination smelled amazing. Tony’s stomach growled, even as his better judgment reminded him just how nuclear-spicy Bruce liked to make his meals.

His better judgment also reminded him of the state of the chef.

Bruce hunched over the stove, swaddled in a thick bathrobe, which he kept pulling tighter around himself. Underneath that, he wore a thermal long-sleeved shirt and flannel pajama pants, and his feet were mummified in socks. His black curls were a rat’s nest, sticking up haphazardly in every direction; his face pallid except for dark circles at his eyes, and a blossom of red across his nose.

Pausing in his stirring, Bruce set the spoon against the rim of the pot. A Kleenex box, now familiar as it had been his constant companion for half a week now, sat on the counter near the stove. Bruce snatched out a tissue and buried his face in it. Not a moment later, he jerked forward.

“Hfff’schiew!”

Bruce still had not noticed Tony watching him from the doorway. He unselfconsciously took a deep snuffle and wiped along the bottom of his nostrils, slow and fierce. The red blossom across his nose had gotten redder, brighter. All at once, Bruce clutched the soggy tissue tighter around his nose.

“HUHF’ttschew!”

That one nearly bent him double. As he came up, looking almost dizzy as he recovered, Bruce leaned back against the kitchen counter. He rubbed the palm of his hand up his cheek and against his eye, then swiped it down his nose with a fierce sniffle.

It was an odd sight. Bruce almost never got sick, thanks to his gamma-fortified immune system. It was usually a blessing, but Tony supposed the drawback was that any illness that got past his defenses tended to pack a wallop. Certainly, this was true of the cold Bruce had come down with. He’d been fuzzy-headed, feverish and miserably congested for the last three days, his voice dwindled down to something wrecked and hoarse.

“Hhh’eettschoo!”

He pulled another Kleenex from his trusty box, which Tony noticed with some concern was already two-thirds empty. (No wonder his nose looked so red and abused.) Bruce turned away from the stove and hunched over with a wet, full-throated noseblow. The gurgly, tortured noise reverberated around the kitchen for a seemingly endless moment, and Tony wondered how much relief he could possibly need. A lot, apparently, because when Bruce finally pulled the tissue away from his nose it was a soggy mess.

Bruce grunted a noise of distaste at the sight, and threw the wrecked tissue away before washing his hands. Barely had the faucet stopped running when Bruce sniffled loudly again, his nose reddening and wrinkling up as fresh irritation set in. After that came a sigh, hoarse and frustrated.

“You look worse than you did three days ago,” Tony finally greeted him. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting better?”

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Bruce answered stuffily, too sick and preoccupied to register much surprise at Tony’s presence. His eyes fluttered. Unable to get to his tissue box in time, he hurriedly lifted his forearm and pressed it to the bottom half of his face. “Hfff-fschhew! …ugh, sorry.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow. “Because I know it’s totally your choice to be disgustingly sick.”

Bruce tried to lift his head from his forearm to glare at Tony, but an urgent expression took him again, and he clamped back down. “HFFF-usssschew!”

“Gesundheit. I’m voting that you just go Hulk at this point,” Tony said. “He’s invulnerable to everything, right? That’s got to include whatever’s infecting you.”

“At this poit, I’b sorely tebpted,” Bruce grumbled, hurrying back to his Kleenex box and fishing out another tissue to clamp over his nose.

“I honestly will not stop you,” Tony said in mild astonishment. “You look horrible.”

“I’ll keep your perbission in bind,” Bruce said, and uttered a rough snrrrrk into the tissue. “Ugh, god. You really shouldn’t be here, Tony.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. You hate germs.”

“Okay, but I’m still allowed to visit with the unfortunate victims of germs,” Tony answered.

“Ehh—ahh-” Bruce gasps. “HzzIISSH’oo!”

“And, you know, the uncontrollable spewers of germs,” he added, edging back.

“I appreciate it, but.” Bruce drew a mighty sniffle, the edge of the Kleenex fluttering. “I’d appreciate it bore if you did’t catch this from be.”

“We’re in agreement there,” Tony said. “Thing is, big guy, nobody’s seen you in three days.”

“Well, yeah,” Bruce said. “I thought you would have… Haf’schhiew! – appreciated that I’b dot spreading gerbs all over the tower.”

“Okay, well, yes, that’s appreciated,” Tony said.

Bruce blew his nose again. “…But?”

Tony considered for a moment, tapping his foot. Impatience finally got the better of him. “But I’ve got a gamma field differential messing with my latest arc reactor prototypes, and it’s seriously killing me that my resident nuclear physicist is too busy getting his ass kicked by the common cold to come look at it. I mean I’ve got a couple of workarounds, of course, but…”

In spite of his general misery, and the fact that half of his face was hidden behind a used Kleenex, Bruce smiled a little. “I’m your resident nuclear physicist now?”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been ever since you moved in,” Tony countered.

“Fair enough,” Bruce said, and promptly bent double with another “Hss’schiew!”

“Bless you.”

“…Thanks.” Bruce sank back, fussing at the bottom of his nose with the tissue. “Okay. Send me the preliminaries on that gamma field, if you want to. I’ll see if I can take a look. But next time, you should probably have… snfff! … JARVIS check on me. You really do’t want to catch this.”

Tony looked him over, watching in concern as Bruce sank back against the kitchen counter, closed his eyes, and sighed in exhaustion. He looked utterly wrecked, and Tony had the oddest urge to walk over and press his hand against Bruce’s forehead. It was probably better not to mention how many times he’d already had JARVIS check, and how many times the AI had reported on his persistently miserable symptoms. Figured Bruce would assume he was actually here for some preliminary calculations.

“Tony?” Bruce cracked open an eye after a long moment of quiet.

“Yeah?” Tony answered casually. “Sure, yeah, I’ll send you those preliminaries. In the meantime, I’m trying to figure out what you’re cooking. It smells awesome.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, brightening as if just remembering the pot were there. He picked up the spoon and began to stir the bubbling soup again. “It’s tom gha kai. Sort of a Thai version of chicken soup. Lots of chilies and ginger.”

Tony chuckled. “Because god forbid you have chicken soup that isn’t somehow off the Scoville scale.”

Bruce, his expression suddenly urgent, pressed his hand flat against his nose. “Hngh--!”

“Bless you,” Tony said.

It turned out to be premature. Bruce sucked in a loud breath, bringing a wadded Kleenex up to his nose; and then promptly his throat hitched, and he let the same breath out in a frustrated rush.

“You okay over there?”

Bruce nodded. He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose, slow and forceful, taking in a breathless and extremely wet-sounding sniffle.

Tony watched him in concern. “Are you sure?”

“Nnnnngh—” Bruce moaned lightly, fingers still kneading at the bridge of his nose. “I have to deeze.”

“...And you can’t,” Tony said, watching Bruce’s expression crumple slightly. He chuckled. “Okay, yeah, that sucks.”

“Ehh, hihh,” Bruce gasped, eyes going to half-mast and fluttering there. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, drawing a quick breath. It didn’t help. “…fuck.”

Tony blinked, surprised at the rare flash of open irritability. Bruce usually not only took care to stay calm, he took care to avoid even the appearance of not being calm, as he knew how easily he made other people nervous. Which Tony thought was entirely, ridiculously self-abnegating. But that perpetual argument could wait for another day.

“In the meantime,” Tony said conversationally, “what’s in the soup?”

Bruce threw him a weary look, fully aware Tony was just attempting to distract him. But he smiled faintly and went along with it. “Hih… Chicked, of course. Cocodut bilk, lemodgrass, thai chilies, ginger…” Bruce hitched, and sniffled fiercely. “…Hopefully, it will clear by siduses a little bit.”

“They make medicine for that, you know,” Tony said.

Bruce closed his eyes, wrinkling his nose faintly. “Yeah, the bedicine’s dot really workig.”

Tony winced in sympathy. “I have some of the best doctors in New York on speed dial,” he said. “And by best I mean, willing to write you a prescription for something harder.”

“Only if they’re, hahhh… hohhh, god.” Bruce drew in a bitterly itchy sniffle, and rubbed the back of his hand across his nose frantically. “If they’re willing to dever look at addy of by blood.”

“Right. Radiation.” Tony grimaced. “Well, if you’re not ready to eat the soup yet, you could try smelling it. I think it’s opening up my sinuses just standing here.”

“Smell something. That’s a good one,” Bruce grumbled.

But he tried it, leaning obediently over the bubbling pot. In the stove’s harsh light, Tony could see painfully well how red and chapped Bruce’s nose was. His nostrils flared and seemed to grow pinker as he inhaled the sharp, chili-enhanced steam.

An instant later, Bruce’s nose twitched up violently. Too overwhelmed to find a Kleenex in time, he slammed bare fingers over his face.

“HAEESSSCHhewww!”

Bruce snapped forward, hair flying with the force of it. Tony tried not to notice the splutter of moisture that flew out from behind Bruce’s hand.

“There you go,” Tony said. “Ble—”

“Haaesscheww!” Bruce barely heard him. “Hah-isschew!”

Bruce stumbled back from the stove, nearly blinded by the oncoming volley of sneezes, and managed to find a stool at the kitchen island. Seated, he clamped both hands over his nose and mouth and gave in to the fit.

“HEHsschew, ESSchew, EH’pshew!” Bruce’s head ducked, jerky and uncontrollable, with each sneeze. “Issshew! Hisshoo! Hehhchhew!”

“Gesundheit,” Tony said, a little guiltily.

Bruce collapsed forward, burying his face in his arms, and groaned. “Why did I listen to you?”

“’Cause my ideas rock,” Tony said. “I mean technically, you wanted your sinuses cleared, right?”

“HSSCHmmmph!” came a muffled sneeze in reply. Bruce’s shoulders jerked, his head otherwise buried in his arms. “…My head hurts.”

Bruce remained there, slightly dazed, for several moments. He only startled up to attention upon hearing the clink of Tony setting down a full bowl of soup, and a spoon beside it. Bruce stared at the soup for a moment in hazy incomprehension.

“The soup was done cooking, right?” Tony said. “It looked done.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, kind of weak and hoarse. “…uh, thaks. You did’t have to.”

“Least I can do,” Tony said. And then, as if to cover for the note of affection that had crept into his voice, he added: “Actually it’s kind of all I can do, when you get down to it. Pretty much the only thing I managed not to screw up with Pepper’s omelette was getting it on the serving dish. Did I ever tell you that story? Funny one.”

Bruce smiled down at the soup, in spite of himself. “Was she sick?”

I was, Tony nearly said, but the palladium incident seemed too intense to bring up right now. “Nah. Just felt like it. Need anything else?”

“Oh, uhb,” Bruce said, sniffling. He glanced over at the counter tiredly. “Cad I hab by tissues?”

“Sure thing.” With his fingertips, Tony picked up the nearly empty box where it had been abandoned by the side of the stove. He set it beside Bruce, who promptly plucked one out and blew his nose.

With that having brought a few moments of relief, Bruce tasted a little spoonful of soup. A moment later he smiled in approval, and began to take fuller gulps. As he ate, the spicy soup made his nose run badly and his sniffles more or less constant. His face grew terribly flushed, the heat of the soup combining with his fever. But he seemed more relaxed, and certainly far improved from the severe pallor he'd been sporting before.

“Thak you,” Bruce mumbled sort of pathetically between mouthfuls.

“You did all the cooking, you know,” Tony said.

Bruce gave him a long look, a certain fondness apparent even buried under exhaustion and his usual quiet demeanor. “I know.”

Tony chuckled. And then, because avoiding contact with germy surfaces was kind of a lost cause, Tony reached over and ruffled Bruce’s hair. “Now, would you take it personally if I went and boiled myself in antiseptics?”

Bruce laughed hoarsely. “Not at all.”

=end=

[Spoo]

Bruuuuuuuce~ This was adorable and perfect! I loved the dialogue so much. Well done!

[fufufufu]

Ahhh thank you I couldn't resist torturing poor Bruce!

[Meala]

SCIENCE BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOS <3

[Bruyere]

That was adorable. I will never tire of Science Bros.

[hails]

AAAAHHHHHHH I LOVE IT

[OCC]

AHHH GOD I LOVE SCIENCE BROS. (especially with allergies. hint, hint) BUT THIS WAS AMAZING. SUPER GREAT JOB.

[fufufufu]

Thanks you guys

(especially with allergies. hint, hint)

Ha! Slightly my preference too, to be honest. But when I was writing on the Avengers drabble thread I felt like I was always writing allergies and wanted to challenge myself to do something different. I guess if it ain't broke...

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Awwww! I love Science Bros (and Tom Kha Gai)!

[Naraya]

Absolutely wonderful. LOVE IT!!

You know what (and I am sure I am only saying what everybody else is thinking) Technically Tony is just destined to catch that cold... (Hint Hint Hint) Am I right? You know I am.....

[Always-a-Ginger]

Oh I LOVE this!

[Illiana]

omg super duper cute!! loved it~

[fufufufu]

Absolutely wonderful. LOVE IT!!

You know what (and I am sure I am only saying what everybody else is thinking) Technically Tony is just destined to catch that cold... (Hint Hint Hint) Am I right? You know I am.....

You know, you may indeed be right! We'll just have to see what happens...

Glad you enjoyed!

[Spoo]

You know, you may indeed be right! We'll just have to see what happens...

. . . . . . !!

[Dusty15]

Oh delicious! I love the little descriptions of Bruce's curls and nose and nghhhhhhh soooo good! *melts*

[telltale]

This was delightful!

[Naraya]

ok well I'll just sit here and wait patiently then shall I...?

[fufufufu]

Hey!! Glad you guys liked the first part I’ve been trying to write a part 2 since it was suggested, but real life can get kind of sucky sometimes!

Bruce’s cold was definitely contagious, and now it’s Tony’s turn…

******

Bruce hibernates another two days as he recovers from his cold. He spends most of that time sleeping, and all of it alone. Tony checks in a few times, but only by videoscreen. Impulse-driven though he may be, he seems to have actually heeded the warnings about staying away while Bruce sneezed and nose-blew the rest of the way through his illness.

By the third day, Bruce’s symptoms have mostly abated. He’s still got mild sniffles and his voice remains gravelly, but he doesn’t feel so sick anymore. After a strong cup of morning tea, accompanied by a real breakfast and followed by a hot shower, Bruce actually feels ready to rejoin the world.

Naturally, that would be the day Fury demands their presence on the Helicarrier for some top-secret emergency briefing.

“You got better just in time for the fun, doc,” Clint greets Bruce as they clamber aboard the QuinJet that will take them to SHIELD’s flying fortress.

“Figures, with my luck,” Bruce answers, clearing his throat in an effort to get rid of the remaining hoarseness. “Where’s Tony?”

Clint chuckles, nodding toward the Iron Man armor shooting over the New York City skyline. “Riding in style. Like usual.”

====

Except that once they’re all sitting in the conference room aboard the Helicarrier, Bruce realizes he’s never seen Tony look less well styled.

He has lived at Stark Tower long enough to learn that Tony normally grooms himself immaculately – a habit the corporate world had long ago forced him to master – even when he’s dressed in jeans and a casual shirt. But today Tony’s hair looks as if he’s barely finger-brushed it, and his goatee bristles coarse and overgrown. Combined with the sallow cast of his skin and uncharacteristic dullness in his eyes, he looks unwell enough that Bruce sits up in worry.

Director Fury is far less compassionate. “You’re late, Stark.”

Tony may be tired, but not so tired that he can’t muster a blithe eyeroll.

“Sorry, peg leg, jet stream wasn’t cooperating today.” Tony palms over the top of his nose briskly, sucking in a quick sniff, as he settles into the chair beside Bruce. “Of course, it usually helps to have more than ten minutes’ advance notice. Just saying.”

“Well, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies that Victor von Doom couldn’t get his cache of super-intelligent robots together on a schedule that’s more convenient for you,” Fury answers.

“As if I’m supposed to believe you just found out,” Tony mutters.

Fury draws himself up, squaring his shoulders as if readying for further argument.

Bruce decides to interrupt. “Is an attack imminent, Director?”

He says it calmly, but everyone stares at him anyway. Well. Apparently he wasn’t as subtle about distracting attention away from Tony as he’d thought. Fury favors them both with a distasteful look, as if they’re twin troublemakers in grade school, before calling up the specs on the holoscreen.

“Your uncharacteristic interest in SHIELD’s mission objectives is appreciated, Doctor Banner,” he says, and turns to the holoscreen where a magnified circuitry spec is laid out. “Perhaps you can tell us something of what we’re looking at.”

Bruce studies the image with a frown, trying to ignore the wet, heavy sniffle he hears from Tony next to him.

“I assume you took basic energy readings of the area,” Bruce says.

“We’re not completely helpless here, so yes, you assume correctly,” Fury answers, and calls up the corresponding data.

Tony barks out a hoarse laugh. “Okay. Please tell me you didn’t get me out of bed to look at Doom’s amateur hour engineering. That circuitry taking that energy expenditure…? I was programming more efficent toasters in college.”

“It could be a trap, Stark,” Steve cautions. “We don’t know that we’re looking at his most advanced tech.”

Natasha nods. “We need more,” she says. “We need somebody to get in, get our hands on as many of the specs as possible, and let Tony and Bruce tell us how to take them apart.”

“This would be a stealth job if there were only one depot,” Fury says. “But where it gets tricky is that we’re detecting the same distinct energy readout within spitting distance of New York, Riyadh, Beijing, and several other heavily populated areas.”

Bruce sucks in a breath. “If he succeeds in unleashing even one of those…”

“Yeah, but here’s where it gets less tricky.” Tony palms at his nose again, his moustache distorting as he sniffles. “If the AI is as stupid as the… hnnh!... the circuitry, I could hack ‘em while spinning plates.”

“Mine grasp of Midgardian instruments is not the same as yours,” Thor says, “but will not a computer incursion be regarded in the same light as a physical one?”

“He’s right,” Natasha says. “If you trip even one system alarm, Doom will retaliate.”

“Infiltrating physically carries the same risk,” Steve points out.

“Hnh!” Tony grunts again, fingers going back and forth underneath his nose.

Bruce, attempting not to eye him worriedly, puts in: “Hacking’s not exactly my wheelhouse, but I think it’s a safer bet.”

“We still need contingency plans,” Clint says, “in the event that—”

“Hihh-EEAATTcchhh!” The sneeze, which is more full-throated and shrill than any of them would have expected from him, makes Tony fly forward in his seat. When he falls back afterward, sniffling and sighing, his nose is decidedly more pink. His goatee wriggles with every insistent snuffle.

“Bless you. Stark,” Fury says, sounding out each syllable in a tone that sounds more like, shut the fuck up.

Tony grunts acknowledgement, palming over the top of his nose again. He sniffles. The noise is sloppy-wet, and followed by a groan under his breath.

“Tha’k you, Director,” Tony says, sarcastic despite the raspy thickness of his voice. “A’d as for idfiltration… snff! … It’s so cute how you all assume this would be my first crack at Doom’s systems. When I say I could do it while spiddig plates, I’m not co’pletely kidding.”

“That’s… actually good to know,” Clint remarks.

Fury purses his lips, but doesn’t disagree. As he and the others begin discussing contingency plans, Bruce’s attention drifts away from the group to focus on Tony. (The exact plans don’t really interest him; if Hulk is required, the only plan he’ll follow is smash.)

With a careful eye, he catalogues Tony’s symptoms. Badly running nose, which he’s attempting to alleviate with slow, quiet sniffles (a rare attempt not to call attention to himself). Nasal irritation, evidenced by the occasional flare of his nostrils, and the way Tony sometimes rubs a knuckle up into it more vigorously. Fever and fatigue, if the glassy haze of Tony’s eyes is anything to go by.

Dammit, Bruce realizes, a pit of guilt in his stomach. He knows these symptoms, having fought them off all last week, and knows how much worse they’re going to get. What a pair they make; with Bruce just getting over his cold and Tony starting up, they’ve got matching red, sniffly noses and scratchy voices.

All at once Tony leans forward, his head angled down over the table. It’s an uncharacteristic posture for him, considering that he usually has his head up and his chest thrown out while he verbally dominates the room. The reason for it becomes clear when Tony closes his eyes tight, and cups fingers over his nose.

“Hehh’ENNGxttt!” Tony’s head bobs quickly with the force of it. Despite his best efforts, he’s only half-stifled himself.

Steve glances over in sharp concern, and some of the others mirror him, but no one interrupts Fury’s spiel about the most strategic locations for their operatives.

Tony groans faintly under his breath and slips fingers into his jeans pocket. He pulls out a handkerchief – black and of course edged with elegant Stark Industries monogramming – and softly, wetly blows his nose.

“—think we should assume Doom’s familiar with civilian evacuation plans,” Steve is saying.

“Civilians are only a means to an end for him,” Natasha points out.

“Hnnn,” Tony breathes, his eyes fluttering again.

“That will matter little should harm come to them,” Thor says.

“Has anyone considered a preliminary evacuation?” Bruce asks, though out of the corner of his eye, he watches Tony make another one of those desperate little grunts. “The, um, Other Guy might not do so much damage…”

“Sorry, doc,” Clint says. “That’ll tip Doom off more than if—”

“Heh-INN’KGXT!” Tony interrupts. “Hehhh-RRNNGHXTOO!”

The attempts to stifle himself leave Tony looking more flustered than Bruce has ever seen him. He bunches the black handkerchief at his nose and snuffles in an effort to get his nose under control. His face reddens, and his eyelashes flutter with telltale distressed, rapid blinks.

“Tony, are you feeling all right?” Steve pipes up.

“Hehhh… HE’AIIISCHH!” A quick, but no less vociferous, sneeze rattles the black hankie Tony has bunched around his nose. “Okay, yeah, I’b dohne. Snnfff. Keep talking, Spangles.”

Steve rolls his eyes mildly, though it does not chase the concern from his face.

“As we were saying,” Fury goes on in clear annoyance, “preliminary evacs are out of the question.”

“That leaves us with close to a hundred million people who are just sitting ducks,” Steve protests.

“That’s why this isn’t a smash job,” Natasha says. “It’s a stealth job.”

“AAESSSCHHH!”

“Gesundheit,” Clint mutters.

“Nnnn,” Tony manages in reply. Kind of whimpers it, actually, but no one’s mean enough to point that out.

More soft nose-blowing follows this. Bruce nudges him, lets his knee fall against Tony’s leg lightly, and when Tony looks up Bruce throws him a concerned look. Tony scowls.

“Nat’s right,” Clint says. “Trap or not, we’ve got to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Then I’m going as well,” Steve says stubbornly. “I’ve broken into military bases before. It’s not—”

“Rogers, with all due respect, that didn’t go so well for you,” Fury points out.

Steve bristles. “We accomplished the mission, sir.”

“aii’ssSSCHHHEWW!”

“For God’s sake, Stark! If you do that one more time—” Fury says.

“I told you you should’t have – nkt! – gotted be up for this… abateur stuff,” Tony says stuffily. “Hhh… nnnh…”

“Bless you,” Steve says.

“HIIAUUUGH’HOO!” Tony doubles over nearly flat against the conference table. “ohhh, fuck me…”

“Don’t tell me you’re literally allergic to team collaboration,” Clint says.

Tony’s shoving the handkerchief up against his nose, which is dripping so badly it makes a squelching noise. “Is that what you call what we’re doig?”

“Stark, get your ass to medical,” Fury says. “Someone will be by to let you know what we’ve decided.”

“No way am I going to that shop of horrors you call a medbay,” Tony protests.

“Well, you’re sure as hell not staying here and getting everybody else sick,” Fury says.

“I… I’b dot…” Tony trails. “…HEEAATTSSHOO!”

“I’ll take him,” Bruce volunteers, rising from his seat.

Fury looks at him sourly. “Fine, Banner, but I expect you on the field when we need you.”

Bruce refrains from rolling his eyes and suggesting Fury take it up with the half of him that will actually be on the field. Instead, he tugs at Tony’s shoulder, encouraging the other man to get up. Whether because he trusts Bruce, or because he’s too unwell to mount much of an argument, Tony acquiesces. He rises slowly, evidence that the fatigue and aching muscles have set in as well. Bruce winces in sympathy.

Tony allows himself to be guided out of the conference room and down one of the many military corridors of the SHIELD vessel. Hunched over, with Bruce’s arm around his shoulders to steer him along, Tony practically sleepwalks.

Bruce can feel it, in the twitch of the other man’s shoulders, when Tony’s breath quickens. “Hhh… hhh…” Tony brings the wadded handkerchief to his nose. “HEEIATCHH!”

The force of it makes Tony stumble forward a bit, out of Bruce’s grasp. But they right themselves quickly, and Bruce continues guiding him along.

“You’re dot… snnnfff… actually baki’g be go to the SHIELD doctors, are you?” Tony says.

“Yeah, you know how much I love SHIELD,” Bruce answers dryly.

He’s pleased when Tony actually laughs, albeit not so much at what a croaked noise it is.

“Of course I’m not taking you to them,” Bruce says. “But I am taking you somewhere that I can look at you, and you’d better not even try to argue with me.”

“Oooh. I love it when you’re in doctor mode,” Tony says.

Bruce harrumphs. “See if you still feel that way by the end of this week.”

“…The week?”

“That’s how long I had this cold, just about,” Bruce says. “I mean, that’s obviously what happened. You caught it from me. God, Tony, I’m so sorry—”

Tony waves a dismissive hand, accompanied by a sniffle that sounds almost equally so. “I’ve had colds before. Dot the eh’d of the… hnn! world.” He leers. “What, are you afraid people will talk about how we’re sharing germs?”

“More afraid of how miserable you, and by extension everyone else within a five-mile radius, is going to be soon.” Bruce pulls him to a stop in front of one of the sleeping quarters. “You need to get into bed, now.”

“Oooh. Keep ordering me into bed, and people will definitely… hnnh! …talk.” Tony gasps.

Bruce rolls his eyes and chuckles. “You say that as if it’s not an upgrade from the things people usually say about me.”

Tony’s face falls. And then it flat-out crumples. “HeeiITTSCHHH!”

The SHIELD sleeping quarters are military all the way: a steel bunk bed with basic sheets and blankets pulled across top and bottom mattresses, and no decorations to speak of. It’s hilariously downmarket compared to the accommodations at Stark Tower, but Tony flops down onto the bottom bunk anyway. He toes off his shoes and removes his belt, both of which get dropped unceremoniously off the side of the bed, and lifts the blanket to curl up under it.

Tony tucks it tightly around himself, all the way up to his neck. Alarmed to notice Tony’s shivering slightly, Bruce pulls the blanket from the top bunk and places that over him as well.

“Thanks, b-big guy…” There’s a rippling under the covers, and Tony’s hand comes snaking up to press the black kerchief to his nose just in time for a tired-sounding “HI-ETTSCHHhh!…”

“Bless you,” Bruce says gently. He perches on the side of the bed, and after a moment of looking the other man over, can’t help putting a hand to Tony’s forehead. “Your fever doesn’t feel too bad, for now, but you still need to rest. I’m going to call Pepper and arrange for a jet to come pick you up.”

Tony stares at him. “Bruce, did you miss the whole Doombots-threatening-the-free-world part of the meeting? I can’t sit out that kind of fight just because of a little cold.”

“It’s not a little cold, and we don’t even know if there’s going to be a fight.”

“Bruce.” Tony looks at him flatly. “It’s Doom. There’s going to be a fight.”

“Then that’s all the reason you should get rest now, while you can.” Bruce’s mouth tightens. “Take it from someone who spent the last week dealing with this. Being sick could distract you at a critical moment.”

“I did manage a fight while I was dyi’g of palladiub poisoding, if you must know,” Tony protests.

“I know,” Bruce says. “But that…”

Wasn’t my fault.

Tony, for all that he’s fever-hazed and preoccupied with brutally rubbing up and down his nose, isn’t stupid. He looks at Bruce for a moment before flopping back and rolling his eyes.

“Oh, here we go,” he says. “Can’t even get a case of the sniffles without Bruce Banner’s guilt complex going into overdrive. For the record, I am the one who barged in on you when you were sick, and didn’t take adequate preh… hnh!... preca-precautions.”

“It doesn’t matter…” Bruce trails off.

“—hnnh- HEEAAACHH!!””

“…whose fault it is.”

“Except when you decide it’s yours,” Tony answers.

Bruce looks away, not having much answer for that. “Either way, I’ll worry if you try to fight in this condition.” He slides a sly look over toward Tony. “The Other Guy will definitely worry.”

Tony looks up from his handkerchief mid-sniffle. “You are not seriously playing the Hulk card with me right now.”

“Of course not,” Bruce says. “I would never suggest the Other Guy might find some way to bench you, for your own safety.”

“Holy shit, Banner.” With a hoarse chuckle, Tony flops his head back against the pillow. “This is what I get for telling you to strut, isn’t it?”

“You’re a very encouraging presence in my life.”

Tony actually laughs again. “And you’re the first person in history to utter that sentence about me,” he answers. “All right, look. I’ll make you a deal. You get to be all – worrywart doctor over there—”

Bruce smothers a laugh.

“—but only if I get some of that soup in return.” Tony snuffles sharply, as if to punctuate his point.

“That soup?” Bruce says.

“You know,” Tony says. “The soup you were making when I visited you, and you totally infected me with this.”

“Oh,” Bruce frowns, “the tom gha kai—”

“Hehhh! AEIITCCHH!” Tony expels suddenly.

It catches him by surprise, giving him no chance to muffle it. Bruce, still perched at the side of the bed and looking over Tony in concern, gets a gust of spray across his shirt.

“Oh, gross,” Tony groans.

Bruce shrugs. “I’ve already had this cold. You can’t get me sick with it.”

“Yeah, that’s dot really the – snnnk – poi’t.” Tony holds up his black handkerchief, which is wet and wrecked. “Gross.”

Bruce chuckles. “Here.”

He reaches into his breast pocket, and pulls out his own handkerchief. Bruce had brought it along in case any of his residual symptoms acted up, but thankfully they hadn’t. His kerchief is clean and dry – even if it’s mere cotton rather than the silk Tony’s been using – and Bruce places it over Tony’s nose.

Gratefully, Tony clamps a hand over it. He blows a little more vigorously than he’d done in the meeting, with a few moist honks. “Ugh… tha’ks, big guy.”

“I’ll take your deal,” Bruce says.

“Just remember that not all of us have killed our tastebuds eating the most insanely hot things we can find,” Tony adds.

“I’ll put in more garlic and fewer chilies.” Bruce chuckles. “You could’ve just asked for the soup, Tony.”

Tony, settling back against the pillow with a moan, mumbles something that sounds distinctively like no fun. But his eyes are falling shut, and his fingers are going limp where they’d been clutching at the handkerchief. Bruce says nothing, letting him drift off, and soon the only symptom of Tony’s congestion area the loud, heavy snores.

=end=

[VividBubbles!]

*giggles maniacally*

Mmmmmmmmmmm..... sick!Tony and worried!Bruce

*melts*

[Spoo]

“Holy shit, Banner.” With a hoarse chuckle, Tony flops his head back against the pillow. “This is what I get for telling you to strut, isn’t it?”

“You’re a very encouraging presence in my life.”

I DON'T KNOW, MAN. That got me all FEELS-y. Bahhh, IjustloveScienceBrossomuuuch.

I'm really happy you continued, Fufu! This was all sorts of lovely. Poor Tony! Also, I loved the SHIELD set-up. I found the dialogue between the Avengers (and Fury) super realistic and just plain awesome. Props for knowing your stuff!

[Lexi]

That was amazing! So sexy, THE WRITING! I JUST NNNNGGGGGGG.

[MyOwnPrivateSFC]

Sick!Tony! And awesome!Bruce, and annoying!Fury, and feels, and Doombots, and more soup...oh, my!

I'm still loving this.

[Dye]

Aaaaauuuuuuaaaaahhhh!!! Science Bros aahh

so adORABLE AND HOT AND WOW YES

[SpookyScarySkeleton]

Oh my god :3 so good

[Meala]

That. was. just. AMAZING.

My Tony feels are off the charts right now!!! >///< i love you! <3 <3 <3

Gaaaaaaaah! pls more! i beg of you!!!! *crawls on knees*