The Avengers Collaborative Drabble Thread

[VividBubbles!]

Requests, huh? Garnet, you should not have said that!

So, hmmm, how about an sick Thor and a caring (but not slashy) Steve? I just have not seen enough Thor around here! If there's anything you want in trade I will gladly try!

BYE!

[serotonin]

GARNET GARNET GARNET

ohmygod.

I die fifty thousand times of happiness and sexy to the face. And then I died a fifty thousand and first death at "Rain check for allergy season?" I love all the physicality details you included like 'cracking sound of desperation,' totally nailed what I love about that idea.

AND THEN YOU WROTE THE SECOND ONE TOO.

all the flail! you make me so happy. In the interests of attempting to repay the favor, I offer the following:

Pepper glared balefully at her monitor and pinched the bridge of her nose, attempting to serve the dual purpose of preempting the oncoming headache behind her eyes and quelling the buzzing itch in her sinuses. She was on the last page of this contract with a start-up and yes, she'd made it through the previous seventy-eight pages...

The now familiar tingle that heralded a fit of allergic sneezes bloomed at the top of her nose and she pressed harder against the bony ridge, pressing her fingertips up and down in an improvised massage. On one hand, she wouldn't have to read that page right this instant. On the other hand, she was getting frustrated with sneezing. Of course, it didn't actually matter because she was helpless to prevent the powerful sneezes and the page would still be smirking at her after she finished. Pepper couldn't actually frown in disapproval, as her lips were already parted and tight at the corners with anticipation, but she wanted to as the sneeze hovered in her nose, vibrating insistently.

"hih.. hh-! hehISSHEEW! eh'ISHHew!"

The double was wetter than she'd expected, spraying through the gaps between her slender fingers. Her nose twitched in the tiniest of sniffles, setting her off again.

"ah'ESSHHH! eh--! h'TSSSHHieew!"

She smothered the last sneeze into her fingers, jammed flush against her flared, damp nostrils. "hahMMKkgtshh! --nn."

Pepper uncurled her fingers with a slow exhale, reaching for the much depleted tissue box on her desk. The first two were devoted to drying her hands and the next handful was used to actually blow her nose, carefully and lightly at first, then strenously. This whole business had lasted long enough that she was starting to get congested. She crushed the tissues into a ball, not without a bit of anger, and deposited them into the trashcan at her feet. The lingering dampness on her fingertips from the tissues reminded her of her sneezes' earlier wetness and she glanced at her screen.

Definitely a casualty.

Ruefully, she plucked another tissue from the box and had began to dab at the spray when a sharp, staccato series of knocks sounded through her office. The knocker's identity would have been confirmed by the act of stepping through the door without waiting for an affirmative, but her boyfriend's voice preceded him anyway.

"I was running early for the board meeting -- thank JARVIS and the Cap -- and I thought, hey, why don't I drop by and see my favorite girl--" Tony began and paused, getting a good look at her. As always, he looked unfairly attractive in his suit and tie, especially, Pepper thought with feeling, in comparison to her current allergic self. "Are you... sick? Because that seems unlikely since you were fine this morning. Well, if you count when I got to bed as morning--"

"I'm fine," Pepper interrupted. "I just had a reaction to someone's cologne in my morn-- morning... hold on," she managed, pressing the forgotten tissue in her hand to her nose, turning away from Tony's line of sight.

"ehh-NNNGKSHew! h'iihngktsch! ihhTSSCH-mmphhf!"

Even stifling -- well, as much as she could manage anyway -- didn't help the tissue's survival, it being throughly decimated after the harsh triple, and it made her feel like her head was going to explode. A thoroughly unexpected pressure on the back of her shoulders surprised her enough to let the next sneeze out.

"ihh'IITsch! heht'ISHew!"

Or two. Well, at least they weren't like some monster ones she had earlier, which Pepper appreciated considering her awareness of both Tony's presence behind her and his fingers working at the tension in her shoulders. "hah--!!" The inhale was unexpectedly huge, and she just about froze for a second from the overwhelming sneezy sensation. Hell.

"ahh'ISSSSCHHHKKew! --ugh," Pepper sneezed harshly into steepled hands, the sneeze scraping her throat, and groaned. "Think I'm done... ooh, hih-! hih'ETSCHeeeeew!" The last sneeze was desperate and feminine, the end drawn out for relief, and followed by a soft sigh. She inclined her head slowly, the movement accented with a weary set of sniffles.

"Christ, Pepper, bless you," Tony said, "no wonder you're tighter than an overstrung wire." He extracted his pocket square, unfolding it with a sharp flick of the wrist, and offering the handkerchief to her by brushing it gently against her wrist. She sniffled again, deeply, and freed one hand to take it. Tony went back to slowly kneading her shoulders, sweeping his thumbs in broad curves. The heat of his palms radiating through the thin fabric of her shirt felt fantastic.

"Thanks Tony," she murmured, congestion starting to warp her consonants, and blew her nose as well as she could before it kicked in any further. He pressed an absently affectionate kiss against her hair and when he left a few minutes later, that last page didn't seem as bad as before.

---

Drabbling lol what is.

Annnd I may have had some other ideas in the same sneezekink!Pepper vein, like what if Tony called her during something public-y, perhaps a board meeting. This one is more of a picture but I'm a bit scared of tackling Tony... so they're going to out but discover Tony is allergic to her perfume and Pepper offers to wash it off, but he says something to the effect of "Why don't we stay in? My treat. *smirk of sexy*" Besides them, there is also this idea where Bruce is group cook and in the process of cooking dinner one night a spice gets him a bit sneezy -- maybe someone surprises him and he knocks it over.

Lastly -- I promise! -- I'd like to increase my Avengers repetoire since I've only written Pepper and Steve... so I'd like to take a prompt or two as well.

[ID2006]

I'm totally addicted to sciencebro slash if anyone wants to take that as a prompt

[Garnet]

OMG serotonin, that was glorious 8) Allergic!Pepper pleases me immensely, I love the spellings and wet desperation and AWW AWW at Tony being comforting in passing. Help, my feels, I'm drowning in them.

Also, I love those prompts, I will totally do them (unless you meant they were ones you were going to write IN WHICH CASE I WILL STEAL THEM ANYWAY). Hell I love everyone's prompts. Best thread.

P.S. I would love to see more Hawkeye or, if someone is feeling super daring, Fury B| Yesss.

Edited July 29, 2012 by Garnet

[SweaterWeather]

Jeez guys! These drabbles are AHMAZING!

P.S. I would love to see more Hawkeye or, if someone is feeling super daring, Fury B| Yesss.

Hmm.....Am I really feeling super daring? I've really never tried doing Fury, so YES! (Or I may crack and end up writing Hawkeye XD)

[Garnet]

Requests, huh? Garnet, you should not have said that!

So, hmmm, how about an sick Thor and a caring (but not slashy) Steve? I just have not seen enough Thor around here! If there's anything you want in trade I will gladly try!

BYE!

Tada! It ventured a liiittle towards slash, but you can easily read it as just Steve being lonely and Thor having no sense of boundaries. Hope you like!

----

"HEISSSCH-AH!"

Despite his impressively steady nerves, Steve looked up with a start at the sound splitting the late afternoon quiet. He wasn't sure if he was more or less surprised to see Thor standing in the doorway to the kitchen slash common room, obviously the owner of that thunderous sneeze. His hand was braced on the doorframe, but he recovered slowly, blinking as if equally bewildered by the noise.

"Wow," Steve offered with a threat of laughter. He paused in the sandwich he'd been assembling with surgical precision, and stepped back from the counter to look his teammate over. "Hi, Thor. I didn't know you were in town."

Since the repair of the Bifrost, the Asgardian had become a more common fixture around the tower, but he still seemed to divide his time between the Avengers and Jane, some two thousand miles away in New Mexico. From the look of him, posture slightly slouched and expression dazed, it might have finally caught up with him.

"Since last night," Thor agreed. He straightened himself back up with a telling sniff, but put on a smile for Steve. "Though only for a few days, I fear."

Steve clucked his tongue in disappointment. Too bad, he liked Thor. There was a certain camarederie in their shared fish out of water status. "We'll just have to make them count. Want one?" He gestured to the sandwich, half-completed.

Thor glanced at the cutting board in thought. Someone had obviously been dressing him as well; gone was the scale armor and cloak, replaced by denim and flannel with his hair gathered back into a low tail. Probably Jane, then. If Tony had a hand in it, he'd be wearing Armani and Versace. As it was, Steve was always a little surprised to see how... human he looked, without the warrior's regalia.

"Your hospitality is appreciated, but my appetite appears to have fled me."

That alone was enough to give Steve pause. It wasn't like Thor to turn down food. He seemed to share Steve's absurdly high metabolism, and had spent more than one afternoon happily cleaning out the refridgerator with him. As if to confirm his suspicions, Thor's expression glazed over a moment later as he took a step back from both Steve and the food. The evidence of another tickle displayed clearly in his furrowed brow and the wrinkling flare of his nostrils, just before turning to sneeze with furious relief at the floor.

"Hh...HEISSHHH'ah!"

"Bless you," Steve offered, giving Thor a wary sidelong glance even as he went back to layering turkey and cheese in neat folds over the bread.

"Bless me... for what?" Thor wondered, straightening back up with a lengthy sniffle.

Steve bit back a grin. "Sorry, it's usually what we say after a sneeze, here." He waved a hand dismissively.

Thor tilted his head. "A strange custom."

"We have a few of them," Steve agreed. "You getting a cold, there?"

"A what?" Thor tipped his head to the opposite side, looking like a confused puppy. A really, really big puppy. "I am at a comfortable temperature..."

"Oh, it's a... an upper respiratory illness," Steve explained carefully, gesturing to his face and chest. "Do you, um, even get sick on Asgard?"

Thor looked disturbed as he touched his fingertips to his nose. "Very rarely. This cold... is it serious?"

Steve resisted the urge to laugh. "No. Runny nose, sneezing, and you feel run down for a week or so, but that's about it."

"This description sounds accurate," Thor admitted, obviously with some difficulty to his pride. He'd switched his fingers to a steady back-and-forth rub beneath his nose, as if it were still tickling him. "The malaise is troubling, I confess, though not so half so much as this accursed sne... sneezing..." He quivered, giving Steve time to casually brace himself for impact.

"HEH-ESSHHH'ah!"

"Bless you," Steve offered, "Speaking of which, you should cover up when you sneeze. Colds are pretty contagious."

"Forgive me." Thor looked appropriately contrite, touching a hand in a loose shield over his nose. His brows trenched with worry. "Have I infected you, friend?"

"O-oh, no," Steve reassured hastily, a little touched by the open concern displayed on Thor's features. "I'm more or less immune, super serum and all," he confessed with a shrug. "The others, not so much. Here..."

He eyed the paper towels for a second, then thought the better of it and reached for a plain red bandana in his back pocket instead. He carried it more out of habit than necessity now, but was briefly glad for old habits dying hard.

"I don't think tissues would last long with you," he chuckled. "Clean, I promise. Keep it," he offered, holding it out. Thor stepped hesitantly forward to accept. For a moment, Steve was struck with the odd sensation of having to actually look up to meet someone's gaze again. The Norseman had the same breadth of shoulder that he did, and a few extra inches of height besides. He'd read through team profiles about Thor having a gargantuan ego to match, but Steve had only seen him fluctuate between cheerfully polite and fiercely protective. Maybe all other egos just paled in comparison to Tony.

"My thanks," Thor said, as he folded the makeshift handkerchief gratefully to his nose. "I feel half a child. There is no cure for this ailment?"

"Don't worry about it," Steve soothed as he bookended the sandwich with the other piece of bread. "And uh... not really. Just take it easy and let it run its course. Tea, bedrest, that sort of thing. I'm sure there's some decongestants kicking around if you get too stuffed up."

Thor grimaced. "How dull."

"Yeah," Steve admitted, pouring himself a glass of milk. "Being sick's no fun. How about some couch-rest, then? I was gonna put on a movie."

Thor hesitated a moment, then nodded. "This sounds far more appealing."

So Thor settled near him on the couch while Steve surfed for something on Netflix, still congratulating himself a little for having mastered that useful bit of modern technology. He settled on a documentary that looked interesting instead, and bit into his sandwich as Thor sniffled beside him. The Norseman kept uncharacteristically quiet, only throwing out the odd question here or there, which Steve did his best to answer.

Some twenty minutes later, Thor had grown completely silent, save for the occasional sniff or catch of breath. Steve chanced a glance over, and frowned at the sight of his teammate pinching the handkerchief wearily to his nose, expression contorting as he fought off the desire to sneeze. "H-hah-...!"

"You okay?"

"I beg your pardon, friend, I must n-needs..." Thor made as if to stand, perhaps intending to excuse himself entirely from the room before he allowed himself release. Steve half-wondered if he'd instilled some sort of paranoia with his comments about contagion, despite explaining that he himself was at no great risk.

Physical contact was still somewhat foreign territory for Steve, and he'd really only touched Thor when sparring, but he bolstered his apprehension and laid a hand firmly to his companion's shoulder, tugging him back down. "Hey, it's okay. Go ahead, you can let it out."

The time limit for arguments had evidently expired, as Thor folded back into the couch with nostrils desperately flared. He bent over his own lap, sneezing with a startling ferocity.

"HAH'ESSSCH-ue! ... H'EISSSH! -- HEEISSHH'ah!!"

As Thor didn't seem to protest the touch, Steve shifted his hand to rubbing in open-palmed circles over the other man's back, bracing himself as the couch shook with his explosions. Thor sneezed twice more in crushing succession, then gave a lengthy blow into the abused cloth. From the sound of it, he was biting back a groan as well.

"My apologies, I did not desire to interrupt your viewing," he sighed when he'd recovered, though his voice sounded a little hoarse.

"Bless you! And don't worry about that, seriously," Steve assured, unsure when an appropriate time to remove his hand was. Now seemed good. He withdrew, awkwardly. "Sneeze as much as you need to."

Thor gave a rough laugh at that, apparently not the least bit concerned for their closeness. Then again, he was generally more inclined towards bone-crushing embraces and handshakes, regardless of gender or familiarity with the other party. "The need is nigh endless, I fear, but thank you. You are most kind." He edged closer, until their shoulders and sides were almost touching.

Steve drew a breath, but didn't protest. It wasn't as though Thor was cuddling up to him, even if he was now clearly aware of how warm the larger man was, and that he smelled like the sweet, earthy tang of the air after a storm. Strange, but comforting. Steve got on decently with the rest of the Avengers outside of battle, to the point where he could comfortably call them his friends, but still there was something like an invisible barricade there that he usually chalked up to the disconnect of being a 'man out of time'. Most of his downtime alone was spent trying to distract himself, precisely so he didn't think about those he'd left behind. That was when the crippling sense of loneliness tended to set in.

Thor, however, seemed to have zero regard for holding anyone at arm's length. Steve couldn't argue with that.

"It's fine, I used to be sick all the time, before the serum," he offered in explanation. "So... I can empathize, at least," he admitted with a chuckle.

Thor said nothing else, only smiled, though by the end of the documentary he was half-dozing and had unconsciously leaned into his shoulder slightly. Steve considered this. He had a work-out still left to do, but Thor looked too drowsy to move, and he was in no great hurry to bolt off the couch himself. Instead, he shifted his position into something more comfortable, and queued up another film to pass away the afternoon.

[matilda3948]

Oh Garnet! This is just too good! Thor sneezing and Steve having to explain having a cold?! Thank you so much!

[Dye]

Awww, caring Steve is the cutest thing! GARNET WHY ARE YOU PERFECT

[blackrose]

OMG! sick Thor! i just about lost my mind from hotness! what i'd give for a full length fic about Thor getting his first cold on earth, and the rest of the team helping him through it!

[Anonymouse]

MOTHERFUCKING THOR YOU MOTHERFUCKER HELL YES

Those huge harsh sneezes are perfect for him.

"My apologies, I did not desire to interrupt your viewing," he sighed when he'd recovered, though his voice sounded a little hoarse.

I giggled at how freaking cute that was.

I also like the idea of pre-serum Steve being sickly.

[VividBubbles!]

Sorry I didn't comment before! Stupid Internet costing money. Anyhow,

GARNETTHISISDELICIOUSOHMYGODTHOR!!!!

...

...

...

I loved this very much.

BYE!

[hiyou9]

Hey ya'll! I come bearing three little Clintasha centric stories, all of which follow the first one I did. In the first two, Natasha's still the one who's sick. In the third, it's Clint (poor baby), who comes down with the flu. Enjoy!

A Compromise

Natasha spent exactly one day resting. Clint, quite honestly, was shocked she’d lasted that long. Natasha didn’t really...do rest and relaxation. Had Clint been a betting man (or had anyone to bet with), he would’ve placed money on her not lasting more than two hours at home.

But—for whatever reason—she slept some, had a few mugs of tea, and even ate some of the chicken soup Clint had bought for her at Zabar’s. He’d wanted to actually make her soup, but his skills in the kitchen were limited to using the microwave. He sometimes had problems boiling a pot of water.

Natasha had been so unusually submissive that it had Clint worried; was she sick with something worse than the flu?

But then she’d woken up the next morning in the foulest of moods—already sick of being tired, and tired of being sick—and announced she was going into S.H.I.E.L.D. for the day.

Clint rolled his eyes, but was privately relieved. A prickly, combative, hot-tempered Natasha didn’t worry him nearly as much as the sleepy, shivery, docile Natasha with whom he’d spent the previous day. He buttered a bagel as he tried to come up with the most tactful argument, “You aren’t going to get better if you run yourself down at the firing range.”

“I am better,” she snapped.

“It’s only been twenty-four hours, Tasha,” Clint said slowly, “I don’t think you are.”

She scowled at him, “I’m not wasting another day sitting around here.”

Clint sighed, “How about this—you go in, but you just spend the day inside,” he held up his hand as she started to protest, “We had a morning meeting that you missed, and there’s some stuff I brought back from my last mission you should probably go over.”

“I’m not doing paperwork the whole day,” Natasha hissed, “I have more important things to do.”

“Natasha!” Clint said, exasperated, “This is the best plan of action, okay? You make an appearance, but you don’t exhaust yourself—,”

“Heh...hp-ksschiew! Hept'ksshhhew!”

Natasha scrubbed at her nose and glowered at Clint, whose expression clearly said, “I told you so.”

“Fine,” she acquiesced huffily, “You win.”

Clint grinned and kissed the top of her head, “Forever and always, you bet I do,” he teased, and ducked quickly to avoid the swat she aimed at him.

*

Still Human

Later that day, Natasha was working at a computer at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters—and privately wishing she’d taken Clint’s initial advice and just stayed home.

She felt miserable. She probably looked rather miserable as well, given that both Bruce and Steve had asked if she was feeling alright.

She’d had to bite back the angry retort that automatically rose to her lips—they had no way of knowing she hated getting inquiries about her well-being, that they made her feel weak. They were just trying to be nice because they cared for her—which, quite honestly, was rather weird in and of itself.

So Natasha had painted a bright, false smile on her face and assured them that she was fine; just a little tired, that’s all. Neither one of them looked particularly convinced, but they knew better than to push the matter. An irritated Natasha Romanoff was not conducive to a pleasant workplace.

But several hours had passed, and Natasha no longer had the energy to deny just how lousy she felt. The irony of this situation was not lost on her—one of the best assassins in the world, and she could be brought down by something silly as a flu virus.

“Hah...ahhh...hah’eegsheeew!”

Natasha sniffled and grabbed what felt like the millionth tissue from the box Clint had quietly placed on her desk earlier that morning. She blew her nose, wincing as it chafed her red, sore nose.

She coughed quietly and rubbed at her tight chest. She still had a few more pages of data to go through, but all she really wanted to do was sleep.

Natasha was absently rubbing her temples as she looked at her screen without really seeing it when Tony Stark walked into the room. She closed her eyes and prayed for patience. They didn’t exactly get along at the best of times.

Tony was whistling as he ambled past her desk, “Natasha,” he greeted.

“Stark,” she said curtly.

He leaned over her shoulder to look at her computer screen, “What are you working on?”

Natasha pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes upward; why couldn’t he just leave her be? “Nothing of any real significance.”

“Huh,” Tony said, still at her shoulder, “I expected you to be out on the range with Barton.”

“Not today,” Natasha said tightly.

Natasha suddenly felt a particularly poorly timed sneeze creeping up her nose, and she internally groaned. Showing weakness—of any kind—in front of Tony Stark was not high on her to do list.

Still, based on the way the tickle in her nose was growing, it wasn’t going to go away until she sneezed. She hastily grabbed a handful of tissues and pressed them to her nose, “Heh...hp-ksschiew! Hept'ksshhhew! Hah’eegsheeew! Ktchiew!”

The sneezes had torn through Natasha’s already sore throat and left a pounding in her congested head. She winced, but was—privately—a little smug. Everyone knew what a germaphobe Tony was. Maybe he’d finally leave her alone.

Though he’d backed up a little, he hadn’t sprinted off in the opposite direction as though Natasha were crawling with the plague. Instead, he just stood quietly and studied her. She blew her nose and glared at him with teary eyes, “What are you looking at?”

He shrugged, “You.”

“Well, quit it,” she huffed.

“Sorry,” he smirked, though his expression the opposite of that, “I just never imagined you ever got sick. That’s all.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “I’m a master assassin, but I’m still human, Tony.”

Tony laughed, “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” he agreed.

He started to walk away, and Natasha went back to her computer.

Just as Tony had made it to the door, he paused, “Natasha.”

She looked up, “Yes?”

“Last time I was sick, Pepper made me this homeopathic, eucalyptus tea stuff,” he said, “Now, I’m normally not one for folk remedies; personally, I think they’re a load of crap. But that particular tea did work wonders for me. I’d try it, if I were you.”

Natasha smiled slightly, “Thanks, Tony.”

He grinned, “Feel better.”

*

Three Days Later

Three days later, Natasha had finally, finally kicked what was left of her flu. She knew she had a lot of work to do on the firing range before she felt even remotely up to par again, but still. At least she wasn’t a pathetic disease zombie anymore.

Clint had been a surprisingly good caretaker for the few days she was sick. Though they both knew over a hundred different ways to kill a man, neither one was particularly skilled when it came to coddling.

But Clint had bought her soup and tea and cold medicine; he’d even stayed over, in spite of her protests. She knew she was contagious, and she didn’t want him sick, too.

Fury, she suspected, probably shared her feelings.

But Clint had insisted, so Natasha relented—with quite a bit less resisting than usual. She had been sick and tired and—truthfully—it was nice having him there. He made her feel better.

Natasha had just stepped out of the shower and was toweling off her hair when her phone beeped. She frowned—she usually didn’t get text messages. She flipped it open and looked at the contact. Clint.

Want to come over?

Natasha’s frown deepened. While Clint often showed up unannounced at Natasha’s apartment, it was rare that he invited her over to his. She quickly answered back.

What’s wrong?

She drummed her fingers impatiently while she waited for her phone to ding with his answer.

Nothing. Just want some company.

Clint’s answer did nothing to assuage Natasha’s worries, so she quickly got dressed and walked the few blocks over to Clint’s place. She hurried up the building’s stairs until she got to his fifth floor apartment, and knocked insistently at the door until he answered.

The door swung open, and Clint stood in front of her—looking pale, rumpled, and rather worse for the wear.

“Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I got you sick,” Natasha murmured.

Clint opened his mouth to answer, but his eyes fluttered and he sneezed instead, “Huh-ahtscchh! Hetschhu!”

“Bless you,” Natasha said quietly.

“Thanks,” he sniffled, “And to answer your earlier question—,”

“It wasn’t a question,” Natasha interrupted, “It was a statement of fact. I got you sick.”

“No,” Clint said gently, “I caught what you had. It’s not your fault, Tasha.”

“Still,” Natasha said guiltily, “I feel awful.”

Clint raised his eyebrows, “You feel awful?”

At this, Natasha let out a reluctant laugh, “Well, not as awful as you, I’m sure. But I do feel bad—guilty, I suppose.”

“Well, don’t,” Clint said simply, “I wanted to take care of you. So I got sick. Occupational hazard. I’ll live.”

Natasha sighed, “What can I do for you?”

Clint looked taken aback, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you took care of me. Now, it’s my turn.”

“You don’t have to—,”

“Neither did you,” Natasha pointed out, “But you still did.”

This, Clint didn’t have an argument for. “That’s true.”

They stood awkwardly at his door—staring at each other, not saying anything, until turned away to cough into his elbow.

Suddenly, he was aware of Natasha’s cool hands on his forehead.

“I think you have a fever,” she said.

“Like you would know,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes, “What do you do for someone when they’re sick?” she mused.

Clint laughed slightly, “For now, I’d just like company.”

Natasha smiled, “That I can do.”

[Alice]

I absolutely love a sick Clint. Him with a fever is so damn sexy to me. I really like this thread!

[Dusty15]

Sick!Bruce with attentive Pepper

---

Pepper finds him curled up on the sofa in the ante-chamber above Tony's labs. He's got a digital tablet resting on his lap, covered in glowing equations, but his eyes are elsewhere, gazing unfocused at a spot in the distance.

“Bruce?” she asks quietly, not wanting to startle him.

“Mmh?”

He looks up, eyes bloodshot and weary behind his thin glasses. He takes them off and scrubs a palm across his face.

“You okay?” she asks. “You look worn out.”

“No, I'm alright,” he replies, though his voice is a little hoarse. He pinches his nose as he rubs his face again, as if he's just woken from a nap.

“It's nine,” Pepper says. “Why don't you go up to bed? I'll tell Tony you've turned in for the night.”

“I'm good,” Bruce insists, turning his focus back to the tablet and tapping the screen to zoom in on a formula.

Pepper reluctantly leaves him, though she hears a distinct sniffle as she walks away. She returns a half-hour later with a cup of tea. Bruce is sitting in the same spot, unfocused again, and he's slumped back a little further into the sofa.

“Tea?” she says, sitting next to the doctor.

“Oh,” Bruce replies, surprised. He takes the cup and offers a small smile. “Thanks. You didn't have to do that.”

“You're sick,” Pepper says simply.

Bruce crooks an eyebrow as he looks at her.

“I've come to that conclusion on my own,” he says woefully.

“So, go on up to bed. I'll bring up some extra blankets. I think we've got some Nyquil stashed away somewhere too.”

He doesn't reply, instead setting the mug of tea on the floor nearby and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a pale blue checkered handkerchief.

Heh'ghstt!

He sneezes, rather restrained and soft, into the cloth. Pepper smiles a little, amused by the contrast of the mild scientist with his handkerchief compared to the Other Guy.

“Bless you,” she says.

He sniffs thickly and nods his thanks.

“I'm really okay, Pepper,” he insists, pocketing the handkerchief after a few final nose wipes and returning his attention to the tablet on his lap.

“I will remind you that I have dealt with an ill Tony Stark, so I am a master at coercing those with colds who deny the existence of illness in the pursuit of science,” Pepper said teasingly. “You really don't want to see me angry.”

Bruce laughs hoarsely and powers the tablet down.

“I'm terrified,” he says. “I'll accept your offer of bed and blankets, Miss Potts. Please, please don't hurt me.”

Pepper smiles.

“Good. I'll be up in a minute.”

She touches Bruce's arm affectionately and he glows, though whether from fever or the simple feeling of being worried about and cared for, she can't tell.

When she goes upstairs later to drop off some medicine and the promised blankets, he's already under the covers, sound asleep. On the bedside table is a hastily scribbled note.

Please leave medicine. Keep Tony away- he can't see me in this terrible state- I'm afraid I'll be subjected to experiments. Pepper, you are the best. - Bruce

[Jorm]

I love caring but simultaneously dominant Pepper

[VividBubbles!]

Oh my Christ on a cracker! The note at the end was total ! I Bruce so much! This thread is total awesomeness. I am just amazed at the amount of amazing drabbles on here. Thank you, Daisuko, for creating this thread. And thank you everyone else for adding to it! Sometimes I'm just amazed at the amount of awesomeness this forum holds.

BYE!

[Fae]

yeah bruce! now tony gets it, and the cycle continues and continuessssss, plz!

[Garnet]

Awww precious! I love Bruce and Pepper interactions, and he's so sweet and demure about it ;u; Thank you for sharing!

[Always-a-Ginger]

I've really enjoyed reading this thread. And now that I am able to post I can actually relay that.  

[fufufufu]

Longtime lurker, LOVE the site and especially this post I hope it's okay to bump up, this is my first contribution to the site.

I have been dying for some allergic!Bruce, so I decided to write some… would love to know what you think!

Fandom: The Avengers (movie) (I doubt it's much of a spoiler anymore, but contains reference to the end of the movie)

Characters: Bruce Banner, Tony Stark (friendship, no objection to anyone putting on slash goggles though...)

Words: ~1650

***

Clad in his red and gold armor, Tony soars over an empty meadow. He’s tracked his wayward green teammate a long way from their latest battle. Hulk has a tendency to run off once the fight is finished, as if desperate to jump around and smash as much as he possibly can before Banner reasserts control.

Hulk often ends his trail of destruction in a tranquil place, and this one is especially so: rolling hills covered in bright healthy grass slope up toward a forest, where the trees toss back and forth. It’s beautiful, really. As far as Tony is concerned, the big guy doesn’t get enough credit for his appreciation of simple things. Like smashing, and postcard-perfect landscapes.

Bruce gives the Other Guy the least credit of all. Then again, Bruce is the one currently crouched behind a cluster of shrubs, trying to get the tattered ribbons of his pants to cover his nudity. So maybe it’s understandable.

Tony’s remembered to pick up a spare T-shirt and trousers on the way, and as he lands, he tosses them beside Bruce.

“Are the others anywhere close?” Bruce asks, and wrinkles his nose up at the sky, glancing around as if to spot the Quinjet. He’s made an art of dressing swiftly, pulling up and fastening the trousers as he stands.

“Steve swears the jet will be here in five minutes,” Tony says. “Which means we’ve got, what? Thirty?”

“At least.” Bruce groans, pushing a hand back and forth across the top of his nose. “Great.”

Huh. It’s well-known that transforming back and forth leaves him tired, but he’s usually full of wry, soft-spoken jokes about it. This time, Bruce appears downright irritated.

Tony flips up his mask and removes the helmet. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Bruce pulls the T-shirt on over his head. It leaves his hair even more wild and rumpled than usual. “Just – you know, the usual.”

He waves around, gesturing at the footprints the Hulk had stomped into the ground. A moment later, Bruce wrinkles up his nose again and takes in a wet, impatient sniffle.

“The usual?” Tony says.

“Yeah,” Bruce says, sniffling again and pinching the bridge of his nose. “…Yeah.”

“You’re not crying, are you?” Tony says. “Because I can go hang out in the forest if you want some privacy.”

Bruce laughs. “No.”

“You look distinctly tearful to me,” Tony says, peering closer.

“It’s fine,” Bruce insists, although he does swipe his thumb along the bottom of each eye.

“You’re not sick, are you?”

“No.” Bruce’s expression lands somewhere between amused and annoyed. It’s disrupted by another sniffle, this one heavy and loud.

“So what exactly was that?” Tony presses.

“It’s nothing.” Bruce crosses his arms, self-conscious, and mutters: “Just – I wish they’d get here before my hay fever kicks in.”

“Your hay fever,” Tony repeats, incredulous. “And you didn’t consult with the Other Guy before he set you down in a grassy field next to a forest?”

Bruce rolls his eyes, unwittingly emphasizing how pink and watery they’ve become. “If the Other Guy could be ‘consulted’ with, my life would look a lot different right now.” He sniffles again, more briskly. “I’d swear he does this to me on purpose...”

“He’s not as bad as you think,” Tony says.

“He’s dot… not takig up space in your brain,” Bruce answers, cupping a hand in front of his increasingly stuffy nose.

“Maybe he plays around in lovely meadows because he knows you can’t,” Tony suggests, waving toward the grass. “You know, a little wish fulfillment. It’s sweet.”

“He fulfills his wishes. I get to deal with the allergy attack afterwards,” Bruce answers. “Excuse me if I’b dot exactly bowled over by his generosity.”

Tony sighs. Bruce is an endlessly patient man on every topic except his alter ego.

Rolling his neck to stretch out the kinks, Tony glances up toward the sky. It would be nice if the Quinjet could actually arrive early for once. It had been a hard, grueling battle, and for all Tony’s easy chatter with Bruce, he really just wants to go home and sit in a stupidly luxurious bath for a few hours.

Abruptly, a crisp breeze hits Tony’s face. He closes his eyes, a little smile on his lips, and basks in it. If he can’t yet wash the sweat and grime from his skin, maybe letting the wind refresh him is the next best thing.

“Hnnnngtchew!”

Vaguely startled, Tony turns to find Bruce red-faced and pinching his nose, and gearing up for another—

“Hnngtshoo!”

“Gesundheit,” Tony says.

Bruce shakes his head, a flustered not yet. For a moment, his eyes glimmer tears; then they squeeze shut, while Bruce’s fingers remain firmly pinched at his nose. Of course. His entire life is about self-control. It figures he’d try to repress this too.

“HNNG’tschhoo!”

After the third sneeze, Bruce relaxes and lets go of his nose with a loud, congested groan.

“Gesundheit now?” Tony says.

Bruce sighs. “Thanks.”

After watching Bruce snuffle and rub his nose for a few moments, Tony says, “You’ve lived at the tower for six months and never said a word about having hay fever.”

“You’ve… uhhgh… made enough accommodations for me already.” Bruce, unable to cure his allergic itch by rubbing his nose, resorts to pushing both hands up and down his face roughly. “Like buildig a roob for the other guy.”

“Hey, you’re talking to someone who actually likes the big guy,” Tony answers.

Bruce isn’t listening, his expression having grown dazed. “Huh-NNGKXT,” he stifles into his fingertips.

“Admittedly,” Tony says, “I’m starting to see the drawbacks of an alter ego who goes rolling around in common allergens.”

“Hnngktschhh!” Bruce pinches his nose. “You’ll be… Haahh… Hnnnng-ktschoo!... starting to see all kinds of drawbacks soon enough, I’m sure.”

Tony’s shoulders sink. “C’mon, Bruce,” he says. “He’s part of you.”

Bruce’s face screws up. Whether his distress is from the pollen, or from Tony’s statement, is unclear.

“Unless you’re telling me it wasn’t you who saved my life,” Tony prods.

Bruce gives him a long, pink-eyed glare. “I’m dot saying we have dothing in common,” he says grudgingly. “Hnng-KSHHEWW!”

The sneeze catches him so violently off-guard he can’t fully stifle, and ends up spraying all over the back of his hand. When Bruce lifts his face, his eyes and nose are streaming badly, unaffected even by his most determined sniffles. He widens his eyes, their brown irises distorted by a mess of tears, and rolls them around.

Tony winces in sympathy. “I really had no idea it was this bad.”

“This is – Hnnng’ktschoo! - weird, actually,” Bruce gasps out. “Usually the sneezing doe… doesd’t… HNG-KTSCHhheww!... hit me this fast.”

Tony’s eyes narrow curiously. “So what exactly is it that sets you off?”

Bruce keeps fingertips rubbing slowly up and down the top of his nose, as if trying to soothe it into obedience.

“Dot sure. Hng’tsch!” He glances resentfully at the nearby forest. “Sobe type of… Hehhh-ng’tschh!... uh, tree pollen, I think. Plus the widd blowig it aroud probably isd’t – Hnnnktschoo! – helpig.”

“Well, if you don’t know for sure, then you’re getting a scratch test as soon as we get back to the tower,” Tony declares. Finally, thinks the engineer’s part of his brain, something he can actually do about this.

“Too dangerous. Radioactive blood, rebeber?” Bruce snipes, his peevishness growing in time with a fresh itch in his nose. “It’s not like I ha… haven’t thought of that my… hehh, ihhhk-huhh… myself.”

The brewing sneeze – causing Bruce’s breath to catch in anticipation, but not actually happening – does not escape either of their notice. Bruce lifts the collar of his T-shirt so that it covers the bottom half of his face. His eyes scrunch shut, and a dark pink flush goes through his cheeks.

“Hngt’CHOO,” Bruce sneezes, loud and heavy despite his best effort to muffle himself. “HNGKT’CHOO, HNGT’CHOO.”

The pattern, as Bruce himself surely knows and Tony is just starting to realize, is three in a row. Even if Bruce gets a respite between them, it’s like he’s programmed to complete the triple set. Which is why Bruce lowers the T-shirt from his face; and why they’re both caught off guard when he breaks the pattern, immediately plunging forward with a ferocious, uncovered “HURKTTSSCHHHOO!”

“My God,” Tony says. He gestures to the armor he’s still wearing. “Look, I can at least get you out of this damn field.”

Bruce lifts his head, blinking dizzily. Whether he’s overwhelmed by the force of the last sneeze or anticipation of the next, it’s hard to tell.

“Bruce?” Tony prompts.

“I’ve beed… HNNG’KTCHOO!… through worse,” he manages, hoarse and wavering. “Whed I was… hehh, ahhh… od the rud. HI-NNKTCHEW! HNNKTCHEW!”

“You mean, worse hay fever attacks.”

“HNNNGTSCHU! … yes.” Bruce plows the heels of his hands into his eyes. “HNNGK'TSCHOO! HNNGK-EHTSCHOO!”

“I’m finding that slightly hard to believe,” Tony says.

He’s not even sure if Bruce hears it over his next “HNNG’EKTTSCHOO!”

For a few moments Tony watches Bruce sneeze helplessly, his curly hair flying as he jerks forward again and again. Finally, impatience gets the better of him. Tony slides the helmet back on, and lowers the faceplate.

“Isn’t there a reason you stopped being on the run?” comes the mechanized voice, as Tony floats forward and extends an arm. “C’mon, we’re getting out of here. Steve can meet us somewhere else.”

For a dazed moment, Bruce looks ready to protest. Another roaring sneeze makes his decision.

“That’s a good—HNNNKTSCHU! – point,” he mutters, before he steps forward, and allows Tony to fly him away.

--end

[obsessed]

Fantastic!

[fufufufu]

Yay, thank you!

[Ciuty80]

awesome!!!! :drool:

[matilda3948]

Awww! Loved this!

[Dusty15]

Oh my goodness. Allergic!Bruce may just be my new favorite thing!