Sick!fic written for ProfessorSpork.
"Okay, when I said my nose was Niagra Falls, I was totally kidding."
Peter shifts the mountain, the actual mountain, of Kleenex boxes in his arms. "I just… wanted to be prepared," he says, dumping them haphazardly onto the coffee table, and Gwen flinches away from the boxes that tumble off the pile. "And they were having a sale."
Gwen nods, trying to stifle her amused smile. "A frugal man."
He shrugs off his backpack and starts to unzip it. "And I got you, um… Don't—okay," he mumbles, like he's trying to make up his mind about something.
She sneezes, grabs one of the Kleenex boxes, and blows her nose. "Don't what?" she asks around the tissue.
"I just, uh… I know you don't—"
"Peter, for the love of God, what are you—NO," she blurts, shaking her head at the box he pulls out. "Nope. Uh-uh. That's not gonna happen."
"I mean, I figured it would be more convenient. Y'know, 'cause you have to blow your nose a lot, and like, you're cold and stuff…"
"If I was stranded in Antarctica completely naked, I would not put that on."
He scratches the back of his neck. "Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable?"
"No, I don't." She sniffs defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Peter opens the box, removes its contents, and drapes it over the arm of the couch. "Well, it's right here if you change your mind, okay?"
She reaches for another tissue. "They're literally just backwards robes," she grumbles. "And if you watch the commercial on mute, it looks like they're in a cult."
"But…" Peter begins, brushing his fingertips along the royal blue fleece, "It's really, really soft."
"So is this blanket," she says, taking the quilt folded over the back of the couch and wrapping it around herself, "And I'm very satisfied with the warmth it provides." She sneezes a few moments later and grabs another tissue. "Look, see that? I just used my arms, while wrapped in this normal blanket, and everything's fine. I don't need to pay nineteen-ninety-five in order to perform basic life functions." She sneezes again, rips another tissue from the box, and collapses sideways onto the couch.
Peter kneels in front of her, gently moving her hair out of her eyes. "How much cold medicine have you had today?"
She sniffs and pulls the blanket tighter around her. "A bit."
"Yeah?" he says with a smile and soft chuckle.
Gwen brings the quilt up to cover her face. "Don't laugh at me, I'm very vulnerable right now."
"I'm sorry, babe." Peter moves her legs aside and takes a seat, rubbing her back in slow circles. "So, is there anything I can get you?"
"Glass of water?" is the muffled response he catches, so he gets up and goes to the kitchen to get her a drink. He turns on the faucet and lets the water run a while so it's nice and cold, but not too cold because her throat is probably sore and he doesn't want it to hurt her.
Peter returns to the living room and kneels in front of her again. "Here's your water," he says softly, in case she's trying to sleep.
She pulls the quilt down a little and pokes her hand out just enough to hold the glass. "Thanks, Peter," she says, taking a few long sips and handing it back to him.
As he turns to put it on the side table, he notices something. "Hey, Gwen? Where'd the Snuggie go?"
There's a long beat of silence. "I don't know," she replies, burrowing back into the blanket. "I'm sleeping."
Peter looks at her for a while, then at the quilt she's wrapped in. "Wait. Are you wearing it?" he asks with a grin.
"No. I'm sleeping. Shhh."
"You're totally wearing it."
"First of all, I'm wearing it backwards, because that's how you wear a robe, because Snuggies are freaking, backwards, robes."
He waits for more, but hears a sneeze instead, and holds a tissue next to the small opening in the blanket. A royal blue-sleeved arm reaches out.
"That color looks really good on you."
"I will sneeze on you if you don't shut up. And then you'll get sick, and you'll have to wear this stupid thing."
Peter shrugs. "That's fine with me. I'll just add some red to it, Sharpie on some cool spider stuff."
There's a faint chuckle. "Snuggie-man," she murmurs, and the hand holding the tissue begins to droop.
He pulls it from her fingers and sets it on the coffee table, then brushes his knuckles over her shoulder. "Sit up for a second?" She obeys without protest and he sits where her head was; she lays against his chest now, letting out a sleepy sigh and then sniffing. "Is it as warm as they say it is?" he asks softly as he rubs her back.
"I swear to God I'll sneeze on you."
She's not shivering anymore, and Peter smiles.