Adventures in Orthomyxoviridae (Or: Vaccines are A Good Idea)

Disclaimer: Written for fun, inspired by my students slowly falling victim to the flu.
Rating: K
Pairings: General team-y goodness.
Summary: In which the Avengers practice sharing and Fury does not approve.

It starts like this:

"Everyone got their flu shots?" Bruce asks at dinner. "I can get a few from SHIELD medical if you don't want to do it there."

"I already have mine, but thank you," Pepper says, smiling at him.

"I don't need a flu shot," says Natasha. "Strong immune system."

"I don't believe in flu shots," says Clint. "Don't work."

"I hate needles," says Tony. "Can't you invent a pill?"

"Maybe for next year," Bruce agrees. "But for this year, you should really get a flu shot. There's a particularly virulent strain going around."

The three Avengers who are susceptible politely decline once more. Bruce shrugs as if to say, what's coming will be your own fault.

A few weeks later, after the conversation has faded into a vague memory, Natasha sneezes violently at the table.

"Bless you!" says Darcy, who's visiting along with her giant crush on Steve.

"Don't even," Natasha says, holding up a finger in Bruce's general direction. She sounds a bit congested. "I'm not sick. It's allergies."

She hasn't ever even popped a Benedryl in their presence, but they are wise enough not to make that point. She sneezes again, coughs a few times, rubs her nose. Darcy opens her mouth and Natasha storms off.

"You've had your flu shot, right, Darcy?" Bruce asks once Natasha's out of earshot.

"Duh. I'm not an idiot."

She receives twin scowls from Tony and Clint.

"What? What did I say?"

Tony's sneezing the next day and Clint the day after, and Natasha's developed a nasty cough along with the sneezing. They all continue to protest that they're not sick, right up until Tony loses his voice and Clint's almost too congested to be understood. Natasha doesn't show up for breakfast; Bruce discovers the reason when he gets a panicked call from Steve.

"She just collapsed!" Steve says, looking lost as he kneels with Natasha's head on his lap. "She's really hot. I mean, warm. Hot, temperature-wise."

"I know, I know," Bruce reassures the blushing Steve. Clint arrives, looking drowsy and like he's literally stumbled out of bed, and takes Steve's place. It's eerie, the way those two know when something's happened to the other. Spydar, Tony calls it.

"Wha' habnd?" Clint asks between coughs into his shoulder.

"We were sparring. She wasn't hitting as hard as usual, and she seemed dizzy, almost like she wasn't quite aware of where I was."

"That's what happens when you have a fever of 103.4 degrees and still decide to spar," Bruce mutters when a thermometer beeps angrily. "She needs to be in bed."

"Goter," Clint mumbles. "Help'mub."

"I don't think so," says Steve, scooping Natasha up easily while Clint staggers to his feet and nearly falls again.

"I don't, either," Bruce agrees, grabbing Clint's arm and yanking him down to give him a check-up. "101.5 degrees. Not as bad as Natasha, but still not good. Bed for both of you." He helps Clint up and supports him as they slowly walk in the direction of the assassins' apartments, the only two on the same floor.

"Bruce, do you have a minute?" comes Pepper's extremely exasperated voice over the speaker. "Tony is refusing to stay in bed."

"Give me a minute, Pepper," Bruce says wearily. "Although I'm not sure what you want me to do."

"Tranquilize him. Knock him unconscious. I don't care. As long as he is not-Tony! You are going to break-Tony!"

They hear a few what must be very rude words in a language they weren't aware Pepper knew before JARVIS cuts the speaker.

"Did you teach her that?" Bruce asks Clint.

Clint pauses to cough his lungs out, blows his nose loudly, then rasps, "Nat's the one who speaks Bulgarian."

"Ow!" yelps Steve as a suddenly very awake but not very aware Natasha whacks him in the nose and starts yelling at him in Russian, struggling to get down. Thankfully, the fever's made her weak as a kitten and Steve can easily hold her, but the blows she does manage to land are still quite painful. "Natasha!"

"Fevers and Natasha don't mix," Clint says in a mild, dreamy daze. "Gonna wash your mouth out with soap, Tasha."

"New plan," says Bruce as Steve tries to soothe Natasha, who's now trying to get at Clint.

Tony's room has the biggest bed, so they chuck the three infected Avengers on top of it and settle in for the long haul. Natasha becomes manageable once they get some medicine in her (and that's a fun experience), although she occasionally lashes out when they least expect it and still isn't speaking in English; Clint is happily drugged up; and Tony and Nyquil combine to make a very uncoordinated Avenger, making Pepper happy. All in all it's easier to have everyone in one place; those who aren't sick take shifts and night and those who are sick are contained. They watch all the movies they don't normally get a chance to watch and for once hear no comments from the peanut gallery (Clint and Natasha on action movies, Clint on archery, Natasha on spying and weaponry, Tony on everything). They get the chance to catch up on reading and sleep, and, most importantly, get some nice blackmail pictures of Natasha cuddling with Clint and Clint cuddling with Tony and Tony cuddling with Natasha and various other combinations.

The only one not happy is Fury, who calls the Avengers to assemble and gets two where he expects five. "They have the flu" is not an explanation he wants to hear, and promises strict lectures when they can stand on their feet for more than shuffling back and forth to use the bathroom.

It ends like this:

"Mandatory flu vaccinations," Fury tells Hill. "Get it into a memo or a contract or something. I don't care how. Just do it."

"Yes, sir," says Hill, choking down a sneeze.