It's the middle of winter, and Tony's got the flu. He's hacking and coughing and sneezing all over everything, and his throat is so sore he can't talk, but he won't just go to bed and sleep because he's got a million things he needs to be working on, upgrades for the team and the suit and that SI paperwork that Pepper keeps pestering him about.
So he wraps up in a hoodie and drags himself about, snuffling and miserable and trying so hard.
And Steve's super worried, but Tony just stubbornly shakes his head when Steve says he should go and sleep. So Steve hangs around anxiously, and makes Tony hot coffee and soup for lunch, and frets silently.
And then, Tony's leaning over to pull up a diagram on the holoscreen, and he's sort of dizzy and lightheaded, and next thing he's crumpling up and falling to the ground.
Except Steve's there. And Steve catches him before he hits the floor, and Tony's white-faced and disoriented and shaking, and Steve says grimly, 'okay, that's it.'
'Wh-h-what?' Tony wheezes, and he's gripping onto Steve's arm and trying not to go off into another paroxysm of coughing. Steve holds him upright, one arm around Tony's waist and the other rubbing soothing circles into his back.
'I said, that's enough,' Steve repeats, and he's got the Cap face on – or is it the Steve-Rogers-is-not-taking-no-for-an-answer face? Tony's not sure, but oh he's so tired and it feels so nice to not have to hold up his own weight.
Steve's so nice and strong, and his chest is really soft. Tony rests his head on it without thinking, and Steve's arms tighten protectively around him. 'I'm taking you to bed,' Steve says against his hair, and oh, there's an inappropriate joke right there for the picking, but Tony's too tired to make it.
And then the weight is taken right off his feet, because Steve is lifting him up like a baby, one hand braced under Tony's backside, and Tony wishes he felt more awake so he could enjoy that. He curls his arms around Steve and lets himself go limp, because Steve's got him.
There is one thing though, that his fuzzy head is telling him is important, that Steve needs to know. 'Y'shouldn't – touch my butt,' Tony mumbles into Steve's shoulder. 'P'pl will think – think you…'
He feels Steve huff out a wry amused breath into Tony's hair. 'They already think that, Tony,' he says, and then, softer, 'They're quite right, too, and you would know it if you weren't such a blind idiot.'
Tony just turns his face into Steve's neck and lets his eyes drift closed. God, he feels like shit. There's something about what Steve just said, something important, but he can't think properly and he just wants to sleep.
Tomorrow. He'll think about it tomorrow. For the moment he just feels so safe, held like this as though he doesn't weigh more than a feather. Steve's carrying him, careful and strong, supporting his weight.
Steve carries him into his bedroom, lowering Tony down onto the bed. He tucks him under the covers, bringing them up to his neck and laying a blanket over the top, warm and cosy.
Tony looks up at him, struggling to keep his eyes open. 'T'morrow,' he croaks. 'Me 'n' you. Talk. Gotta 'member.'
Steve looks down at him, and his eyes are very soft somehow. 'Tomorrow,' he agrees gently. 'You and me are going to talk about this if it kills us.'
Tony thinks hazily that he actually likes the sound of that. Steve's stroking his hair with his fingers, and it feels so good.
And Tony nestles into the pillow and lets himself drift off to sleep, because Steve's there and Tony's safe and maybe he's allowed to rest, just this once.
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