Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel.
Continuation to "No Sleep"
It had been a week and a half since Phil had stopped visiting Steve every day. It was 5:01 am and Phil was coming out of the shower when he saw one of his multiple cellphones ringing. It was Steve's number and he immediately knew something was wrong.
"Yes?" he answered hurriedly.
"Phil. I- I think the serum is fading…" Steve's voice was raspy and he sounded just terrible. "I'm sick."
Agent Coulson frowned and thought of the possibilities in a second, but if Steve was going to become that ill, fragile being that he used to be ages ago, then what would happen to Captain America? He could not tell Fury.
"I'm on my way."
He had to hurry things up and cancel some meetings to get some extra time to look after his beloved captain. Phil jumped in his car and on the way there he called Bruce, he was the only one he would trust.
Coulson opened the apartment rather easily for someone who doesn't have the key.
He came in but Steve wasn't there, nor he was in the bedroom but puking noises led him to the bathroom.
Phil bent down and rubbed Steve's back while he emptied his stomach with great effort.
"There..." the agent murmured when Steve finished and looked at him, Phil took out his handkerchief and wiped the other's corner of the lips.
"Thanks for coming, Phil." the blond stated sincerely and tried to smile at him.
"It is no trouble," Coulson placed a cool hand on Steve's warm forehead. "Bruce agreed to see you."
"Oh. Alright..." Steve leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. He wanted to ask Phil what would happen to him, he wanted to let him know he was scared, but it would all be pointless.
"Let's get you on the bed, shall we?" Phil helped him get up and walk to the mattress where Steve curled up in no time. "When did it start?"
"Couple hours ago with the fever and aching. Then the vomiting..." Steve was shaking, tightly embracing himself. Phil ran his fingers through Steve's blond, sweaty hair.
"I'll get you a glass of water," Steve looked up with slight agony before Phil pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. "I'll be right back."
The blond closed his eyes and tried to sleep, ignoring the storm in his mind and the awful pain in his head and stomach. He had started to drift off when a cold, wet cloth was placed on his forehead. Phil helped him sit up and offered the glass of water to him.
"Thank you," said Steve before he took a small sip and left the glass on the bedside table. "I'm sorry I'm always taking your time…"
"Don't." Phil smiled at him as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I am always happy to help, really."
Steve nodded slightly and looked down. At least, Phil would always be there with him, even when all that he thought made him special was gone. It truly pained him, that he had lost every single loved one and that he had to stand alone in the end.
Being sick for the first time in years made Steve remember when he was just a kid, a teenager after his mom had died, and the only person to look after was Bucky who in reality made a brilliant job to stitch up his friend and cure him from illness to illness.
But he had died, partly because Steve wasn't good enough. How unfair was that? After Bucky had done so many sacrifices for him, Steve just couldn't save him; and Steve did not know what to do with that wound.
Steve didn't notice the knocks on the door until Phil came back followed by Bruce who had a small transparent box with cotton balls, syringes, medicines and that kind of equipment.
"Bruce, hey…" the blond was almost happy to see him; it was nice to find out a friend would be helping him.
"Hey," Bruce looked peaceful as always with a small smile on his lips, though he was in reality concerned. "Okay, I will get a blood test and then give you something for the malaise."
"Sure. Thank you." Steve smiled weakly and looked at Phil for a short moment, standing near the door frame with a soft and confident expression.
A tourniquet was placed around Steve's upper arm and Bruce proceeded to clean the skin over the vein before inserting the needle and drawing out his blood. Bruce gave Steve another shot in his rear-end; he promised he would feel better soon.
It had gotten dark outside. Bruce had left the apartment several hours ago but Phil never parted Steve's side. The lights were off; an agent and a soldier were lying next to each other on bed, speaking quietly, softly. Sharing caresses, kissing from time to time.
"I visited you every single day."
"I bet you did…"
"I talked to you and I still wonder if you could hear me,"
"There was a voice."
"Yes, that was me."
"I liked that voice…"
"And do you know what else?"
"No, what else?"
"I brushed your hair for you."
A pair of soft chuckles noised in the warm air, and then Steve pressed a kiss on Phil's cheekbone; he didn't want to get him sick after all. This was the nicest feeling, and both were very aware of it. Maybe they didn't say it out loud, but it wasn't that necessary. They only needed to stay close.
They may have fallen asleep after that, the beeping sound of Phil's cellphone took them both back to consciousness. It was Bruce; Coulson felt his heart race as he sat up and turned his back on the blond. So this was it.
"Yes?"
"I have the results. Nothing has changed in Steve's blood; he's going to be just fine."
"Alright. Any thoughts of it?"
"Well, I have come to the conclusion that it is probably mental. Psychosomatic illness or depression…"
"Correct. Thank you very much, Dr. Banner."
"My pleasure."
Phil hung up and turned back at Steve, cupping his face with one hand. "No changes in your blood, you'll be fine."
Steve allowed himself to smile with satisfaction; it always came out as a sweet expression to Phil: how he slightly lowered his head and looked down. The blond had suddenly wrapped his arms tightly around Phil.
"Thank you…"
The agent returned the squeeze and grinned with gratification. They remained like that for a shirt moment.
"What about we take a shower now, Steve?"
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