May Parker isn't one to let a case of the sniffles get her down. Unfortunately, what she's got is no case of the sniffles and, under doctor's orders, she's not supposed to leave bed. After a full day of bed rest, she's managed to convince her minder that taking some pillows and blankets to the living room sofa is entirely acceptable and won't kill her.

"You should be at work," she says, smothering a cough in a wad of tissues.

"They'll survive a day without me," Phil answers.

May gives him a disbelieving look as he sets the tray he's carrying on the coffee table. She knows his phone must be buzzing like crazy. Just like his back-up phone. And his other back-up phone. Because Phil can't be away from S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers for five minutes without someone needing something.

"I took a sick day," he says.

"You're not sick," she says with a laugh, which quickly dissolves into a cough.

"No, but you are," Phil points out. He leans in and brushes her hair away before pressing his cheek to her forehead. She notes that he lingers a little longer than is strictly necessary before he hums thoughtfully and pulls away. "A little better than yesterday."

"Is that your professional opinion?" May asks with a smile.

"As an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and part-time member of the educational community, that is my professional opinion," Phil says with a smile to match. He shifts his attention to the tray he'd brought with him. "Now, you're not due for another dose of antibiotics for another…"

He consults his watch.

"…forty-five minutes, but you can't take them on an empty stomach. Think you can get some soup down?" he asks her.

She really doesn't want to, but she knows antibiotics on an empty stomach will be hell and he did spend all that time making it himself. If she could taste it, she's sure it would be delicious, but as it stands she's just going to have to settle for using it to soothe her throat a little. When she's had enough, Phil moves the tray away and sits on the sofa beside her, which would be one thing, except he's got an arm around her and is trying to get her to lie back against him.

"You're going to get sick," May warns the agent, trying to shoo him off.

He chuckles warmly and kisses the top of her head. "I'll take my chances."

If she's being honest, it's not like she wants him to leave anyway. And it's nice to be pampered a little bit. And he's such a comfortable pillow. With a sigh she gives up and leans back against him, letting him tug the comforter over both of them.

"Oh, Steve wanted me to give you this," Phil says, reaching for something and handing it to her. "He heard you weren't feeling well."

May looks over the hand-drawn card carefully. "Such a nice man."

"Mmhmm. Pepper sends her regards," Phil says, massaging her shoulders. "Tony tried to send you an entire florist shop, but I managed to stop him."

"Oh, thank god."

"I talked him down to a single bouquet, so expect that."

"He really didn't have to."

"None of them did, but I still came home with a bag full of 'get well' tokens, regardless. Which reminds me: Bruce would like to stop by tomorrow to see how you're doing."

"This is why they say it's dangerous to date a secret agent, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. You just might end up killed… by kindness."

Not many people can say they have superheroes sending them get well cards, she supposes. It's all really very sweet, she thinks, if a bit much. She wonders if they're this bad with Phil. She wonders if they're worse. God, what would worse even look like? She doesn't think she wants to know.

"It's their way of showing their approval. They seem to think you're good for me," Phil informs her.

"Oh, really? And what do you think?" she asks.

"I think they're right," Phil answers warmly.

May reaches up and squeezes the hand on her left shoulder. "You're good for me, too."

"I'm glad you think so," Phil says. He tilts his wrist, obviously checking his watch again. "Alright, time for some antibiotics. And after that, what do you say to a nice, hot bath?"

She sighs slowly at the mere thought of it. "I'd say good thinking."

Apparently the soup hadn't sat as well as she'd thought it had. About an hour after her bath, May finds herself kneeling over the toilet, her stomach muscles beyond sore as her body continues to try to expel what it no longer has.

There's a cool cloth on the back of her neck and she can feel Phil rubbing slow circles in her back, murmuring soothingly all the while. She supposes this isn't even close to comparing to some of the things he's had to deal with as an agent, but it certainly doesn't make her feel any better about it. Being on her knees with her head practically in the toilet as she dry heaves isn't exactly her finest moment.

Eventually her stomach stops trying to turn itself inside out and she's able to pull away. Her legs feel like jelly as she rinses her mouth out at the sink and, much to her embarrassment, Phil decides to help with that.

"It's fine, May, just put your arms around my neck," he instructs, one arm looped around her waist as he ducks down.

"Phil, don't," she argues, her voice hoarse and her throat raw.

But it's not enough to deter him from doing what he set out to do. And, okay, maybe it's sweet that he decides to pick her up and carry her back to the room—bridal style, no less. But he can't go making a habit out of it. He looks faintly amused as he settles her on the bed.

"You know, I took today off so I could take care of you," Phil tells her.

"And I told you I would have been fine," May reminds him. "You didn't have to take a day off for me."

"I know you would have been and that I didn't have to. But I want to be here," he says. "How're you feeling now?"

"A little queasy still," she admits before yawning unexpectedly. "And tired, apparently."

"Okay, why don't you try a few sips of ginger ale and then take a little nap," he suggests.

"Only if you take one with me."

"I'll agree to those terms."

So, she still feels pretty lousy and it'll probably be another few days before she feels well, but in the meantime, a little extra cuddle time isn't something she's going to complain about.

May clucks her tongue as she looks at the readout on the thermometer.

"103.2, you are definitely staying home from work," she announces.

Phil groans from where he's huddled beneath the sheets.

"No buts," May tuts. "I'm calling Nick right now."

She can hear the agent protesting weakly that he's fine, that he can still make it to work on time, as she dials the number on her cell.

"Let me guess: he's sick."

"Afraid so," May says, pushing Phil gently back against the pillows as he attempts to rise. "He seems to be under the impression that he's coming in to work today."

She hears Nick snort. "I don't want his germ-infested ass anywhere near me. And you can tell him I said so."

May does tell him Nick said so and gets a series of miserable coughs in response.

"That him?"

"You should hear it from where I'm standing," May tells him. "Is there any chance you could send Bruce by, if he's free and it's not too much trouble?"

"I'll have him give you a call."

So, in the end, Phil's cleared for a few sick days and Bruce calls to confirm he'll be swinging by sometime in the next two hours. May pats the agent's back worriedly as he coughs and shivers.

"I told you you'd get sick," she says.

"Worth it," Phil mumbles into the pillows.