Flu

Natasha's POV

"Good morning Tony."

"Wha'? Oh. It's morning?" he yawns as he pushes a coffee mug at me.

"Yes, genius, it is." I sigh as I grab a box of cereal and the jug of milk.

"Oh – ah-choo!"

"Bless you." I blink at him as he grabs a paper towel to wipe his nose. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he waves me off, "just dust."

"If you say so." I shrug and return to my breakfast.

Steve is the next one up, with a mumbled "Mornin'", bedhead like a porcupine, and a beeline towards the coffee machine. "What are you two doing today?"

"Good morning, Captain Sunshine." Tony yawns. "I have a business meeting at f-four-" the last word, and subsequently the sentence, were cut off with a harsh coughing fit.

"Are you okay, Tony?" Steve asks with a scrunched brow.

"Yeah," he gasps, "like I told Spidey, it's just-"

"Yeah, I don't think it's dust, Tony." I cut him off loudly. He opens his mouth to argue, but any response is cut off by Taylor shuffling into the kitchen.

"Morning, Tay – whoa." I trail off as I get a good look at Tony's daughter.

Her hair is sticking up every which way, her eyes are watering with bags and dark spots underneath them, and the light is reflecting off a thin sheen of sweat coating her skin.

"Whoa." Steve echoes me in a whisper as Taylor trudges towards the table, collapsing into a seat and setting her forehead in the table.

"Taylor," Tony whispers, "are you-"

"Shhh." Taylor hisses, slightly feral, at us. "Too loud. Head hurtsssss…"

Tony's face immediately softens as he scoops up his daughter and half carries her over to a couch, draping an afghan over her back as she face plants. "Get some rest, okay? Temperature check in an hour. I'll go find the soup."

What is it? I mouth at him from the bar/island overlooking the entire living room.

Flu season, he replies silently as he creeps away.

"You cook soup?" Steve whispers as soon as Tony rejoins us.

He snorts softly and quirks an eyebrow. "Canned goods, Capsicle."

I roll my eyes at him. "I'll go get meds, vitamins, and orange juice later, for the both of you."

"Sice when are you a nursemaid?"

I snarl at Tony. "I can still kill you in your sleep."

A~A~A

By the time I return – with seven bottles of Advil, pain pills, and a few bottles of liquid cold medicine - the sickness that had snared Taylor had spread to the rest of the team.

Clint was splayed on one of the recliners, fast asleep with his hair sweat-plastered to his forehead and surrounded by tissues. Bruce was looking less affected, probably because of his alter ego, but still fast asleep and snoring on an armchair. Even Steve, Mr. Super Serum, was half-reading a book with bleary, half-lidded eyes.

Tony was rubbing circles into Taylor's back and holding a trash can as she heaved, now half on, half off the couch, blanket laying rumpled on the floor.

He looks up as the elevator dings, lifting Taylor back onto the couch before weaving his way through the sick occupants of the room and helping me sort through the bottles in the bag.

"Since you seem to be the healthiest person in the room," I glance at him, "how's everyone else doing?"

He shrugs and hands me a surgical mask he swiped from beneath the bar, right next to the whiskey. "Well they aren't good. Put this on unless you want to get…whatever this is. I do not want to have to deal with a sick Black Widow."

I nod and snap the mask over my ears. "You really don't. What could medicine does Taylor take?"

"For this? Mucinex."

"Great. Here," I slide a bottle at him, "and I brought Vicks too."

"Vapor rub?"

I nod, fishing more items out of the bag. "And tissues too. I think I brought Walgreens' entire inventory of tissues."

Tony nods, but one of the invalids moans before he can say anything. He weaves his way back through towards Clint and waves for me to toss him a box of tissues.

He catches the box expertly and pops a thermometer between the archer's lips, and said archer barely moans again before rolling onto his side and beginning to snore again.

"And you say I'm a nursemaid?" I snort as I check on the tougher two of the bunch, Bruce and Steve, to see how badly they're being affected by this sudden virus.

Bruce's temperature is reading 99.6, a normal level for him, and his mucus-induced snore is quieter than Clint's – who sounds like a bear on a freight train – so I assume his big, green, angry counterpart is doing a decent job at scaring away most of the germs.

Steve is only breathing a little heavier than normal with sporadic snorts, so I gently ease the novel out of his hands, slip a scrap of paper between the pages, and pull fluffy blanket over his torso.

"All okay on the germ resistant front?" Tony hisses as I tiptoe back to the island.

"Yeah. And on the normal side?"

"Snot. Snot everywhere," he shudders dramatically, "but everyone's sleeping, however restlessly. Taylor's the only one expelling stomach contents."

I nod, keeping an eye on the sleeping company in the room, as a though occurs. "Is this what you did when she was little?"

"Taylor?" he shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. I would set up a couch or armchair in the lab and keep the music and general noise down. Jarvis was a built in medicine reminder."

"I am so glad you appreciate my talents, sir." a slightly sarcastic voice from the ceiling buts in.

"No problem, J."

"You just couldn't tear yourself out of the lab, could you?" I tease.

"Hey!" he defends. "She liked it down there. And plus, it was more educational than lying up here watching daytime TV."

"True." I shrug. "You know, you've been playing the nursemaid game a lot longer than me."

He quirks an eyebrow. "How long have you been taking care of people?"

I shrug, slightly self-conscious. "Since I found people to take care of."

Tony looks oddly thoughtful as he replies. "Same here."

I give him a small half smile, which he returns.

The room goes silent, and we bask in the opportunity to relax.

Until Taylor starts heaving again.

And Clint moans.