We’ll do that together too

~ ~ ~

“We’ll be home soon,” Tony says, lips just touching Steve’s temple, and he brushes a kiss against Steve’s damp hair when he nods. “Then I’ll be really good to you.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” Steve says, but he’s still shivering and his nose is running, both sure signs that he’s freezing after his quick dip in the ice cold Hudson River. “C-cold,” he adds when Tony makes a little worried noise. “I think, um… snffSNFF! snff… I n-need–”

Before he can finish the request, Steve pinches his nose between his thumb and index finger and holds back a sneeze with a muffled h’ptCHshmff! sound. Doing that only makes him shiver again and then rub at his nose more firmly, then give a tiny grateful nod when Tony rests his hand on Steve’s thigh as he drives.

“Bless you, sweetheart… I’m getting you the nicest tissues, too.”

“Thang’ks… You’re good to me all the time, Tony.”

Tony glances at Steve and smiles, then feels himself go ridiculously soft at how pink Steve’s nose is and how he keeps rubbing it against the edge of the blanket draped around his shoulders.

They’ve been through this process about a half dozen times already and, predictably, they go through it about a half dozen more times on the ride back to the Compound. Steve tries his best to not shiver, ends up shuddering against Tony with one of his desperately held-back sneezes, and is left with watery eyes and a runny nose. Even having the heat cranked up in the truck doesn’t help and even though the drive back is only about an hour, Tony still thinks he should have had the jet come pick them up.

“Debrief tomorrow,” Tony announces when they get back to the Compound. He grabs Steve’s uniform jacket, shield, and helmet from the truck, ignores his own banged up, half-disassembled suit, and holds out his arm for Steve to walk next to him. “I’ll even do the calendar invite for an online meeting. Cap can grab reports tonight.”

Steve nods, then shudders against Tony with a shiver that feels as if it goes right through his body, all the way up from his toes. Shivering makes his nose run even worse, too, but he’s way too shy to take care of that non-stop case of the sniffles by rubbing his nose into the blanket in front of a bunch of SHIELD agents.

Which, well… that’s also ridiculously endearing, and Tony hugs Steve tight around the waist as he pulls him towards the residential area of the Compound.

“By the way,” he says, “you’re actually not doing reports tonight. You’re not allowed.”

“I’mb ndot–” Steve coughs in surprise, then lets out a sigh that just sounds exhausted. “That’s your husband voice.” he murmurs.

“That’s exactly right. Full husband mode activated,” Tony says. He hugs Steve again, then keeps him close until they get to their place on campus.

It’s not as spacious as the penthouse in the city, but it’s cozier. More bookcases and blankets, overstuffed furniture in the living room and a soft, warm nest of flannel and knits and pillows in their bedroom. It looks like a home, their home, art supplies and engineering projects and cookbooks and a collection of shoes by the door.

The bathroom is just as nice, however, and that’s where Tony leads Steve after dropping off their things in the foyer. He’s been coughing and sniffling their whole walk back and as soon as he’s inside, he rubs both hands over his face. He keeps rubbing at his face, too, then looks at Tony when he realizes they’re in the bathroom.

“Shower?” Steve asks, uncertain, like he’s worried he might not be able to stay upright that long.

“Bath,” Tony replies. “A long hot bath… and I’m dumping epsom salts and that menthol stuff you like in it, too. For both of us,” Tony adds and smiles to see Steve’s eyes go soft.

From there, it only takes a few minutes to turn up the heat, grab towels, fill the bath, and strip out of their mission gear. Tony only lets Steve shiver for a minute, goosebumps rising up over his arms, as Tony gets him out of his tac pants and boots.

“You are so shivery… and the most snifflish,” Tony says as he pulls Steve into the hot water, something that also seems to make Steve’s nose run. “The absolute most,” Tony repeats, then nuzzles a kiss into Steve’s shoulder when he settles in against Tony.

“S-sorry… snffSNFFsnfff The c-cold always… always… huhh… hutCH’mphshh!” Smoothing the sneeze against the palm of his hand looks like it takes about every ounce of strength Steve has left. His shoulders and chest tense as he does so, and when he relaxes them, he lets out a shuddery sigh.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re trying, but… you don’t need to try anymore,” Tony murmurs against Steve’s shoulder. He doesn’t try to pull Steve’s back against his chest just yet, but instead slips his arms loosely around Steve’s waist and strokes his stomach lightly under the hot water. “You don’t need to try to be quiet or polite or strong or… or anything, just let me take care of you.”

Steve nods and sniffles, then glances over his shoulder at Tony with such a tired, sniffly expression on his face that Tony’s heart swells right in his chest. God, he’d do anything to warm Steve up, hot baths and blanket nests and every cup or tea or soup that he wants, his body tucked in close against Tony’s, his dear husband, cold and sick and sweet and his.

“You really are good to me,” Steve says, eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones. When Tony kisses the corner of his jaw, he goes a little more shy as the sniffles start up again.

But he doesn’t move way, he just settles in against Tony and lets the warm, menthol-mint scented steam surround them. Which, well, Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved to sink his whole body into the hot water and let all the achy tension of the day dissipate.

It helps to have the warm weight of Steve’s body against his, near enough that Tony knows he can look after him here. All the soft, constant coughs and sniffles aren’t any bother, not when it’s Steve, and when his breath finally starts to hitch again, Tony tugs Steve’s hand down away from his face.

“Don’t,” Tony says, just a whisper.

Steve nods, and even though his shoulders and chest tense up again, he lets himself shudder against Tony with a sneeze that sounds like it feels good.

“H’uhhh… uhhISSHhioo! Oh… snffSNFF! snff… uhh.. eeISShhheeew!” He shivers out the second one, free and unchecked and down at his chest, and even gives a quiet, shivery sigh afterwards.

“Bless you! Twice, even,” Tony adds when Steve sneezes again. He leans in to brush another kiss against Steve’s jaw, then makes a fond curious sound when Steve coughs and rubs his nose against his arm. “Feel better, Steven?”

“Yeah? Yeah,” Steve says, then, in a thoughtful sort of voice: “I think I’m getting sick… Do I sound like I’m getting sick?” he asks, glancing back at Tony with a little frown on his face.

All Tony can do at first is lean in to listen to the soft, snuffles Steve keeps giving, then he has to press a kiss to the damp nape of his neck. Of course he knows what Steve sounds like when he’s getting sick, but for Steve to ask him like that is about as sweet as anything.

“A little bit? Maybe you got a chill when you got so wet and cold… or you were already catching a cold?” Steve shrugs, frowns again, and touches his nose gingerly.. “I … I don’t know? Maybe? snff!”

“Maybe… you just found the opportune moment to activate that head cold this afternoon. Super talented,” Tony says, and kisses the point of Steve’s shoulder when he shakes his head.

Tony adds more hot water to the bath to let them soak a little longer, and when it starts to chill, he washes them both up quickly. The only act he lingers over is washing Steve’s hair, being careful not to get soap in his eyes, and then massaging his scalp to draw a low, tired sigh from the back of Steve’s throat.

He loves doing these things for Steve as much as he loves it when Steve does them for him. He loves the way Steve melts into his arms, warm and trusting, and lets Tony wrap him a warm, fluffy towel to dry off, then help him into soft, grey, jersey knit pants and a navy sweatshirt afterwards. Tony grabs joggers and a tee shirt for himself, though he knows he’s just going to end up in bed with Steve.

“Where else would I be?” he says when Steve looks a little surprised as Tony turns down the blankets.

“It’s barely dinner time, Tony…” Steve reaches for the box of tissues on the bed, then buries his nose into a good few of them. He’s not shy in front of Tony, but even his nose blowing has that soft, muffled sound to it that Tony knows is just Steve Typical.

“Well, since we’re eating dinner in bed tonight, I have to… y’know, get in bed, to make that happen for us.” Tony sits down on his side of the bed, relief and comfort gathering in his chest, and slips in closer to Steve once he sits down, too. “Besides, it’s dark and cold, and you’re tired and sick. We can do soup and pasta or whatever in bed.”

“Okay… snffSNFF! I’mb too tired and sniffly to argue, and… that sounds good. Being with you sounds so good.”

“We spent the day together, sweetheart.” Tony nuzzles against Steve’s ear and smiles when Steve makes a happy little sound between sniffles and nose-rubs.

“Not in husband mode, though. Snff! Oh… I ndeed— yeah, thanks,” Steve murmurs when Tony hands him a couple more tissues. His eyelashes flutter for a few seconds, then Steve almost crumples down into the tissues. “uhhhhEEISSshhiooo!”

“God bless you! Where did that come from?” Tony strokes his fingers through Steve’s damp, messy hair, then laughs when Steve blinks at him. “And to revise my answer to your question: yes, you sound like you’re getting sick, Steven.”

Steve gives a huffy little sigh, then blows his nose again. There’s a congested sound at the back of it this time, though, as well as the back of his coughs. A soft bleariness is settling over his features, too, around his watery eyes and pinkened nose. His blond hair keeps falling in his face, just long enough that Tony can sweep it aside with one finger and stroke it when Steve tips his head against Tony’s shoulder.

Which is exactly what Steve ends up doing when Tony brings tea hack to their bed, along with his tablet and reading glasses. He kisses Steve first, lightly on the lips, then a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, before he settles back against the pillows.

“Are you going through post-mission reports?” Steve asks, his voice already getting that quiet, congested rasp it always does when he catches a cold.

“One of us has to, and you’re—”

“—not allowed, I know.”

“I just want to get them out of the way as soon as possible.”

There were good times, though, too, bright spots of tenderness, usually after they’d fucked, that Tony found himself tucked up against Ty in bed and would think to himself, see, this is what it’s about. It’s not all bad.

At least it wasn’t, until the time Tony brought him to a work dinner, and Ty sat in stony silence all night, Tony left to wonder and worry and gnaw at his lip all while trying to keep up appearances for the both of them with his boss. It wasn’t until much later that night that Ty finally opened up.

Or, well, exploded is probably a better word for it.

His voice had come out in a harsh, tense hiss that Tony hadn’t heard before, not even during their worst fights.

Tease, Ty had said. Slut. You’re into that guy, aren’t you? Should’ve known, the way you spend all that time at the office.

Tony could hardly process the words as they were spit at him, too busy shaking his head. No, no, Ty had it all wrong, of course he did.

He didn’t see his fist coming.

The mark on his face was bright, fire engine red, then purple-blue-green before it faded.

Tony left that night and he never looked back.

Burning, bright red love was not the love he wanted.

*

It’s a long time before Tony does anything more than fall into bed with strangers. He told himself it was all he wanted. That it was easier. That it was all he really needed.

He’d gotten used to lying to himself so long ago that it almost felt like the truth, which is why it took him so goddamn long to admit to himself that he had feelings to Pepper Potts. She was his personal assistant, but she'd felt like so much more from the moment she waltzed into his office and shook his life into order like it was nothing.

Having Pepper around was nothing short of miraculous. She was terrifyingly organized, focused like no one Tony had ever met before, and had exactly zero patience for his routine quips and flirting.

Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Stark, she’d said one morning after he complimented her outfit. She proceeded to turn on her heel and walk away, but not before smirking at him and giving him a perfect rear view of said outfit.

It was the night of a gala that he finally let himself feel it, the love he’d been harboring for her for years. She was stunning in a deep blue backless dress, and something in his brain finally gave in, snapping into place, and it felt like slipping into the waves after hours laying on the sand.

Oh. You.

It was a whirlwind, easy as breathing, and even when they were fighting it was never—

It’s not like it was with Ty.

They could talk, and snark, and collaborate in a way that Tony never knew he could have. It was like a balm, at first: soft blue, a constant as sure as the clear blue sky.

There was no way for him to know that the blue sky would turn dark and stormy, a whirlwind of anxiety and tension even they couldn’t navigate their way out of. Aliens and wormholes and panic attacks late into the night.

It’s no one’s fault, the end. He hadn’t seen it coming, and it ends not with a shout or a slamming fist but with the soft click of a door closing.

Dark blue, bruised again, all over this time, just not in a way that anyone but he can see.

*

Now it’s five years after Pepper, fifteen after Ty, and Tony finds that he’ll probably never be finished proving himself wrong.

It’s a nice feeling, actually.

Because through all of it, the slammed fists and the miscommunications, the people he invited into his bed and kicked out in the morning, he never thought that it would be Steve Rogers in the end.

Steve, beloved by all and known by surprisingly few. Steve, who was Tony’s friend and teammate before he was anything else, before either of them let themselves believe there could be anything else.

Being with Steve is a lot like coming home. At first, Tony thought that maybe he should feel weird about it, kissing Steve in the middle of the Tower’s shared kitchen, but all he felt was light; warmth, like being bathed in sunlight.

But that’s just what Steve’s like: warm and glowing, golden as daybreak and just as bright. He’s surprisingly tactile, always reaching for Tony’s hand, wrapping him in a hug, leaning over for a kiss, and he gives as good as he gets: in bed, in the field, when they spar.

Tony knows he’s finally met his match.

“What are you thinking about?” Steve asks one morning as Tony’s lost in thought, turning everything over in his mind. It’s about to be their anniversary. Married three years next weekend, and it’s all hitting him at once, how lucky he is, how settled they are. The road was bumpy, but it led him home in the end.

“Nothing really,” Tony says, then, laughing at Steve’s disbelieving frown, leans over to kiss him. “I love you, that’s what I’m thinking.”

At this, Steve smiles. “Sap,” he says, but he leans over and pulls Tony in close again, pressing a kiss to his head, his nose, the planes of his cheek, then finally his lips, soft and sweet. "I love you, too."

~ ~ ~

Even though post-mission debrief doesn’t end until after two in the morning and even he’s definitely sick by that point, Steve still drags himself out of bed when Tony does around nine o’clock.

“I’m the one with a conference call and you’re the one running a fever,” Tony says, resting the palm of his hand against Steve’s forehead again to make sure. “Yep, still feverish… are you even awake enough to tell me why you’re awake?”

Steve leans into the gentle press of Tony’s hand against his forehead, then his cheek, and gives an uncertain little sound in reply. His eyes are tired and bleary and his nose is pink, both sure signs that the low-grade fever, cough, and headache he went to sleep with have blossomed into a host of other cold symptoms.

“I have all that paperwork to finish before … Snf! Snff! Before the next meeting.” Steve rubs at his eyes, then his nose, and doesn’t protest when Tony leads him towards the sofa instead of the breakfast table.

“I’m pretty sure the next meeting is the one I’m dialing into in about fifteen minutes, so… I feel like the paperwork can get nixed.”

“... has to get done at some point today,” Steve replies. He really is completely stuffed up, though, and before he can make any further argument about work, his face crumples and his breath catches. “h’uhhH--uhh--uhhISHh’hoo! hh--EISH’hooo!”

The sneezes curl Steve away from Tony, his strong shoulders and chest shuddering with the force of it, and he rests his hand on his chest with a stuffy sigh. They leave a soft, blurry expression on Steve’s face, too. When he looks back at Tony, his blue eyes teary and his nose still twitching, Tony can’t help but stroke his hair off his forehead.

“God bless you! You really sound sick this morning, sweetheart.” Tony strokes Steve’s hair again and feels his heart melt when Steve nods and rests his head against Tony’s shoulder. “You could go back to bed, you know.”

“I know. But it’s just a cold, Tony… snff-snff!” Steve doesn't sound especially convincing, though, what with how his head is full of congestion and his voice quiet and strained. “And if I feel worse later…”

The stuffy resignation in Steve’s voice makes Tony melt all over again, which seems to be the main effect that a tired, sick Steve Rogers has on him. Enough so that Tony’s almost ready to bow out of his own meeting and spend the rest of the day making Steve tea and stroking his hair and handing him tissues.

As it is, Tony gets a half dozen reminders and messages on his phone about that meeting as he rubs Steve’s back through a coughing jag. Tony urges Steve to rest his head back against Tony’s shoulder and continues to rub his back through his tee shirt, murmuring something soft and soothing when Steve gives another hoarse cough. Steve’s just about ready to doze off when Tony’s phone chimes again and at that point, Tony’s just about to cancel.

Steve sighs and shakes his head.

“You’ll just have to reschedule. I’ll do paperwork for a couple hours while you’re at the meeting, then maybe I can have you to myself after…?” There’s a silent, hopeful plea behind Steve’s words that Tony can see in his tired eyes. That quiet neediness that tells Tony all Steve really wants is some warm affection, hot tea, and maybe a couple handkerchiefs.

God, Steve hardly ever asks for anything when he’s sick, but he could ask for everything, he could be the neediest sick person, and Tony wouldn’t have any problem giving him whatever he asks for.

“All day, Steven,” Tony murmurs as he leans in to nuzzle a kiss against Steve’s cheek. “First breakfast, then a couple hours of work, then all I’m going to do is look after you.”

Tony makes sure Steve’s morning looks exactly like that. After eggs and toast with tea, fe gets Steve settled on the sofa in a pair of warm sweatpants and the navy pullover that’s extra warm and extra soft. If Steve insists on trying to work, Tony’s going to make sure he’s as comfortable as possible even if he’s feverish and congested.

And he’s just at the brink of feverish and congested enough that Tony has his doubts about how much Steve will actually accomplish this morning. If they hadn’t been on separate missions, he’d offer to just do Steve’s paperwork for him. Actually, he’ll probably offer to do it anyway, which has to mean he’s in love because Tony’s feelings about paperwork are pretty well known.

With the door to his office open in the penthouse, Tony can hear the coughs and sniffles that sound from the living room and --

-- and, okay, yeah, he’s sure he is in love with Steve, about as deeply and warmly in love as anyone could be.

He loves how brave and strong Steve is, but Tony loves this, too, about him:

How shy he is about being sick in front of other people, but how soft and affectionate he is at home. How rumpled and sweet he looked this morning, his hair a mess and that faint pink fever flush over his cheeks. How he rubs his eyes when he’s tired and how he wrinkles his nose up a little when he sniffles. How he says Tony’s name when he’s a little needy and wants to be held and how he just literally melts when Tony calls him Steven like its every term of endearment bundled into one.

Perhaps it is, Tony thinks, and knows he needs to end that conference call then and there.

And so he does, as quickly as he can, effusive apologies and all, and gives a sigh of relief when he can stand and stretch. Tony gives himself a minute, but when he hears Steve cough again, then muffle back a series of quiet, congested sneezes, he shakes his head and goes back to the living room.

Steve’s more drooping on the sofa than he is working. His laptop and papers are on the coffee table, but the box of tissues has moved to the sofa next to him. Exhausted and shadow-eyed, Steve looks up at Tony with undisguised relief when he pads towards the sofa.

“I think it’s naptime, hm?” Tony says, softly, though, and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “D’you want to get into bed or just lie down here?”

“... warm enough in here?” Steve asks, his voice worn out from the coughing and sneezing, then frowns hard when he has to reach up and rub at his nose. The gesture is futile, though, and tired resignation appears on his face just before it crumples. “h’uhh--uhhH--uhhESHhh’uhh! hh’eiishhOO! uhh… h’uhh--uhhSCHhhh’oohh!”

The unrelenting sneezes seem to wipe Steve out. They’re raspier than they were before, more strong than they are loud, and more congested, too.

“Bless you! God bless you, Steven… even your sneezes sound tired.” Tony waits for Steve to turn back to him, then strokes the side of his face. “I think three hours of being awake is enough for you, c’mon…”

Tony spends about one second trying to get Steve off the sofa before he decides Steve can curl up right here, tucked in next to Tony, head resting against Tony’s chest. He always sleeps better like when he’s sick or hurt, especially with a stuffed up head like this.

“This is good,” Steve mumbles once he’s settled in next to Tony. He’s feverish enough that Tony only lets him have one blanket, but he’s also tired enough that he curls in warmly and doesn't protest. Tylenol won’t do him much good, but rest will. “Thought I could stay up, but… snffSNFF! Think you’re right.”

“I’m always right. About sleepy sick person stuff, anyway…” Tony kisses Steve’s forehead, then kisses him again when he pushes his face into Tony’s sweater with a snuffly little yawn.

“Mhmm… smart. Love you for that,” Steve says, and rubs his face against Tony again. “Also, just love you.”

Steve dozes off almost immediately, his body warm and heavy against Tony’s. He’s sick enough that he’s still coughing and snuffling, and he wakes himself a couple times before he sinks into a deeper sleep.

But Tony loves this, too: stroking Steve’s hair when he’s too stuffy to fall asleep easily, rubbing his shoulders when he jars himself awake with a rough cough or sudden sneeze, promising Steve that he’ll fall asleep soon enough and if he doesn’t, Tony will read to him.