Warnings/Tags: Minor Bad Language, Slightly Suggestive Themes, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Snark, Pre-slash, GoodGuy!Tony

Notes: I wrote this about two years ago when I came down with the inevitable and much dreaded Winter Cold. Turns out that whilst being sick leads to interesting plot bunnies, it also leads to loads of grammatical errors. So this has been sitting on my hard drive collecting virtual dust until I had the time and energy to proofread it and tidy it up a bit. Any errors I may have missed, please let me know.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the rights to the Avengers or any of the Marvel universe and make no money from this work. If, however, Stan Lee wants to leave me some of those rights in his will… that would be just fine with me. Until then, I take inspiration from whatever feedback I get.

Bird Flu

By Jynx~

Clint fired an arrow from his bow and then wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He fricking hated being sick! He nocked another arrow, pulled back on the string and released. He sniffed to the backdrop of another robotic explosion. Nock, pull, release. Atchoo! His arrow went wide, pushed off course by the force of his sneeze. It missed the robot he had aimed for, hit the wall, rebounded and took out the robot creeping up on Steve. Well, whatever.

Steve looked up at him, nodded and then went back to pounding robots with his shield. The man seemed to take perverse delight in that. Clint shook himself out of his daze. His head was pounding and his concentration was shot. He may as well have had cotton wool stuffed inside his head for all the thought process he was capable of. Nah, lead. It definitely felt more like lead. Heavy enough for it.

"Hawkeye!" Natasha barked through his comms-set.

Right. Robots. He withdrew three arrows from his quiver, pulled back two of them and took out two of the robots currently climbing the Hulk's back. Hulk reached over his head, grabbing the last robot and smashing it into the pavement. Clint set the third arrow on the arrow rest and turned ninety degrees as Iron Man shot past. There were about four robots hanging off Iron Man's right leg like someone had been playing Barrel of Monkeys using robots instead. Clint shot the topmost robot and watched disinterestedly as the rest all toppled to the ground. He sniffed again.

He looked up as Iron Man came up alongside him, hovering in the air in such a typical Iron Man Pose that he almost looked around for the media shot. He wiped his nose again and scowled.

"Good thing you paint your suits in such obnoxious colours," he snarked. "Or else I wouldn't know which robot to shoot at."

Tony just did that head tip thing he did when he was amused and wearing his suit. Clint could almost see his shoulders twitch with laughter.

"You really don't do sick well, do you?" He chuckled. "I've seen you whine less riddled with bullet holes."

Clint scowled harder, pulled back another arrow and fired it at Iron Man's foot. A robot exploded from where it had been climbing the wall, inches away from Tony's foot. Tony hadn't moved a muscle - not at the arrow that flew straight for him nor at the subsequent exploding debris. Clint scowled all the more at that; uncharitable thoughts running through his brain.

He opened his mouth to snap at the smug bastard in front of him, only to snap it shut again as he instinctively caught the projectile flying straight at his face. He stared at the box of travel tissues in his hands and then at the Iron Menace in front of him. Tony did this light flicker with one eye, in a weird parody of a wink and flew off, blasting more robots along the wall as he went.

That eye thing was just weird. He stared owlishly after the man again, before tearing into the box of tissues. He had no idea where Tony had picked them up from since Clint knew for a fact that he hadn't had them on him when they set out. Still, oh man, that felt better.

He drew another arrow. Time to take these bloody things out! He really wanted to get home and crawl back into bed.

In the end, it had taken them another hour to finish off the main force and flush out any stragglers. Steve finally handed the situation over to the relevant authorities to handle the cleanup and herded the Avengers all back onto the quinjet. Clint collapsed quietly into his seat and put his head in his hands. He was completely wiped out and frankly, he was starting to wonder whether his bed was worth the effort of getting to it. He wasn't honestly sure he even had the energy left for standing. The chairs in the quinjet were more functional than comfortable, but right about now, this one was starting to feel like heaven.

He felt the bump that signalled they were back in the tower. He welcomed the darkened environment after being in the bright sunlight all morning. The light had done nothing to temper his migraine and his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He felt a cool hand on his feverish bicep and peered up from between his fingers. Tony stood, still in his Iron Man suit, with the faceplate removed, gently hauling him to his feet. He whimpered, just a bit. Tony kindly ignored him, all the while resolutely tugging him down the ramp and towards the living quarters.

It took far longer than it should have to get from the hangar to the elevator. Clint flopped back against the wall, and rested his head against it, trying to control his breathing from the exertion. The elevator quietly hummed as JARVIS automatically took them to the appropriate floor. Never in his life had Clint been so grateful for the lack of elevator music. The doors slid open and once again, he felt Iron Man's hand reaching for him.

This time, Tony reached around him, slinging Clint's left arm over his shoulder and sliding his hand under Clint's right to steady him. By the time they made it to where Clint's room was, Tony was holding at least half his weight. Tony pushed the door open and allowed Clint to collapse onto the bed. Oh man, pillows – so much better than utilitarian chairs in the quinjet.

He snuggled deeper into his pillows, already fairly out of it. He was half aware of Tony still hovering around the base of the bed, and when he felt his shoes loosen, he instinctively kicked them off. Tony moved alongside him, unbuckling the braces from his arm and pulling at the straps for his quiver. He half-heartedly sat up just enough to draw them over his head and drop them onto the floor with the case for his bow. He felt something tugging at his other hand and he looked down to see Tony pulling the mangled box of tissues from where he had been clutching them since the plane. He hadn't even realized he was still holding them. He groaned again and flopped back down onto the bed while Tony dumped the tissue box onto his nightstand.

"Uh uh, birdboy, not yet. Work with me here," Tony cajoled.

Clint cracked an eye open to see a glass of water and some pills hovering just out of range. He made futile grabby motions for them, but they stubbornly stayed just beyond his reach. With another pitiful groan, he leant forward on one elbow again and took the pills and glass from Tony. He shot the pills back and drank deeply from the glass. It was whisked out of his hands again before he could forget about it and spill it, as his head once more found a flat surface to lie on. The light suddenly switched off and Clint sighed with relief, his headache finally starting to ease.

"Mm… I think I love you" he muttered, gratitude towards the man swirling around his already spinning head.

"I have to admit, this isn't exactly what I had in mind when I thought of getting you into bed," Tony admitted – his voice still laced with the amusement it held earlier in the day.

Clint huffed out a laugh.

"Yeah well, maybe when I am not busy dying," he mumbled.

A deep chuckle answered him.

"Deal," Tony said quietly, slipping silently out of the room.

Clint didn't really know what the hell he was saying, as he honestly wasn't following the conversation anymore. All he knew was that, as the medicine swiftly carried him into blessed unconsciousness, he fell asleep smiling.

Fin~