You've seen it all before. The red puffy eyes, the sniffling nose, the hoarseness. Simon J. Paladino, who was currently shivering in your shared bed, was down with some sort of sickness. It was only a cold, and while he at first insisted that you didn't need to tend to his every need and that he could handle himself… he caved quick when he attempted to stand and make himself his morning cup of coffee. Not that you allowed him to brew it- lord knows it would make the headache he muttered about worse.

Seeing your husband who was usually dressed neatly without a single wrinkle in his clothing or a stray hair in such a state felt bizarre. The striped button pajama top was heavily wrinkled from the constant tossing and turning in his restless sleep and his hair was pushed in all sorts of crazy directions; some dark strands plastered to his slick forehead. Almost charmingly, his habit of flicking his eyes this way and that remained even as the blue of them glazed over. The movements were sluggish.

It was nothing a nice warm bowl of soup couldn't fix, and you just so happened to have some cozy homemade stock in the freezer made for such an occasion. You should really pat yourself on the back for having such foresight for the colder months. Steam that smelled of chicken and herbs wafted up and brushed your cheeks, leaving them slightly flushed.

"I've brought you some tea as well, that should help your throat… it'd be a nice little break from the water," You hummed softly as you brought the tray towards your boyfriend's lap. "Plain black just like your coffee,"

Simon shifted around to open up his lap for you, thick blankets pushed halfheartedly to the side as he used the headboard of the bed to prop himself up.

"Thank you.. Angel.." His voice settled somewhere low, and it slipped thick in the air as it caught on the phlegm coating the insides of his throat. The sound alone was enough to make the back of your own throat squirm in discomfort- the quality could only be described as gummy. Or maybe slimy.

Regardless, the warm tea should help break through it even if just for a few minutes. Relief was relief.

"I'm sure it smells amazing," Even in sickness Simon's tone remained stiff ,but you knew his words were intended to be genuine… even if the sniffle and crinkle of his nose told you that he couldn't even get a whiff of the perfectly cooked veggies. It was a shame, because it really did smell great. Truly, you had outdone yourself this time.

"You flatter me, you really do," Your smile was soft as you settled yourself on the edge of the bed, one hand remaining on the tray for just a moment to keep it steady until the bed settled back into stillness. "I really should give you some pointers in the kitchen once you're feeling better,"

He let out a faint laugh. More of a dull wheeze than a chuckle, before fading off before he could slip into another tiny fit of coughs.

"I'm sure I could learn a thing or two from you," Simon's long fingers hooked around the handle of the mug.

Okay so maybe Simon wasn't helpless in the kitchen. In fact he might have been even better than you, even if you could never admit it to yourself.

He was. He really was.

And then it happened, right before the rim of the cup could make it to his chapped lips. His nose crinkled- and he reeled back. Before a rather aggressive sneeze nearly sent the still faintly warm tea splattering down into his soup- your hand instinctively reaching out to steady the mug in his hands as his fingers gripped tight to its smooth sides.

But that wasn't the thing that really caught your attention.

No, it was the smell of burnt paint and wallpaper and the feel of something falling from above and settling on your hair and tickling your face as it landed on the bed. Wide eyed you slowly reeled your head back.

Two thin marks carved from the wall opposite to Simon and flicked across the ceiling. Jagged and black. Unsteady and burnt.

You lingered on the sight as dark smoke seeped and crawled across the ceiling; you'd have to open a window, but first-

Simon's open mouthed breathing dragged you back to the moment as the cup remained clutched in his shaking hands, held so tight that his knuckles stained white. His fingertips mimicked the same rosy color of his nose as they pressed and squirmed against the smooth sides.

"…Bless you??" Was all you could think to say as he snapped out of his shock with a click of his teeth. Another glance to the marks etched into the room, and then back to him as he stared shellshocked into the tea before flicking his eyes somewhere. Then somewhere else.

His mouth opened, the sound of thick saliva and phlegm slipping around somewhere in the back of his throat. The inner workings of his mouth flexed and worked but no real words came out as he visibly clawed his brain to try to explain away the face that for a brief second you swear you saw red lasers blast from his tired eyes. You swear you saw the faintest wisp of smoke clinging onto his pupils but that couldn't be right. For a brief moment Simon's eyes flicked over your own shocked expression.

"You're a super?" You finally broke the silence after it stretched on for far too long- a funny sort of awkwardness mixing in with the genuine surprise. Maybe it was dumb, or maybe it was justified… but once the words spilled from your mouth it finally dawned what exactly happened- or at least a vague idea that boiled down into the facts, regardless of the specifics of his apparent powers- you almost felt… betrayed. It wasn't like your relationship was fresh and budding. It was deep.

Rationality attempted to pop its head in; supers were outlawed, he never said anything to protect himself. It only served to twist the coil in your gut. Did he not trust you enough to not look at him different?

A second sneeze from Simon- softer and without lasers this time- snapped you back to the fact that he was still sick. You could unpack your feelings later, because super or not your husband was still ill and needed your help. It felt cruel to interrogate him in his current state, anyway.

"I meant to tell you," Simon mumbled thickly, as far as he could project his voice. He looked like he felt just as guilty as you felt betrayed. His mouth remained hung open at he dragged in a wet breath, shaking and despite his efforts vaguely shallow. A faint trail of clear mucus dripped down from his left nostril, and before you could even debate if you were going to give him the cold shoulder over his secret you reached for a tissue and wiped it away. Simon's warm cheek pressed lightly into the pad of your thumb as it brushed his skin, tiny unseen hairs tickled your skin. It might not have been the best timing, but he looked… nice with the unshaven look once you got past the visible signs of illness.

You roll your teeth against one another as you eyed the now ruined soup still steaming in his lap, pieces of ash and ceiling clouding the once clear broth. The used tissue was tossed in a nearby waste bin, one that was already partially filled with more tissues and cough drop wrappers.

"We can talk about it later when you're feeling better, I'm not mad," It was only a partial lie. You wouldn't even say you were entirely mad. Upset for sure. But angry felt too harsh no matter if it was accurate or not. "You're already sick," You mumbled. Was it a reminder for you or for him?

Both.

Your husband's mouth remained partially hung open before finally closing shut. His blue eyes flicked to the bowl as you took it away.

"I'll get you some new soup," You mumbled softly as you swirled the food around in the blue patterned bowl. If you lied to yourself hard enough you could pretend the bits of charred ceiling were just larger pieces of black pepper. Very large pieces. Maybe even lightly cracked peppercorns. "I guess it's a good thing I made a whole pot, huh?" The halfhearted attempt to try to snip through the tension didn't… do much…

He didn't even offer you a pity smile. You rolled your teeth against one another.

"Did any of the…" Your eyes flicked up to the bedroom ceiling. "get in your tea?"

Another few seconds of silence as Simon swished the tea around in his mug. "No, nothing did," His nose made a pathetic attempt to clear itself, all it could muster was a squeezing sort of whistle.

…

You rise off of the edge of the bed, but before you stepped out of the room you pressed a soft kiss to his temple- the action alone did little to undo the tension in his body.

"This doesn't change anything, I'm not going anywhere," You mumbled softly. That finally seemed to be enough to at least get him to put his spine back against the mound of semi flattened pillows between him and the headboard.

You could only hope that once the conversation happened, it wouldn't change anything. As you stepped into the hallway, keeping the bedroom door cracked open- no point in closing it if you're only going be gone for a minute- you finally allowed yourself to quickly unpack the discovery.

So he was a super. So what? Sure he had lasers in his eyes, but so what?

Dull popping rolled through your jaws as you flexed them against one another in a tight circle.

He was still Simon Paladino. He was still your husband, he was still a lawyer. He still had his dry sense of humor, the same kind eyes- even if they just pushed you to finally redo the walls in your shared room- he was still him.

You stood kind of dumbly in the entrance of the kitchen, the chicken soup in your hands already beginning to grow cold. You couldn't stop looking at the flakes of char swimming around in it, no matter how much you tried to trick yourself into thinking it was some loose piece of parsley.

More than anything you wanted to pick Simon apart for answers, you were sure he'd give them to you right now if you decided to interrogate him as you spoonfed him.

But you wouldn't.

Instead, you emptied the bowl and grabbed a clean one. Refilled it, and sauntered back to the bedroom in your very best attempt to look like you weren't as bothered as you actually were. It was a mercy that the conversation was limited as you aided his shaking hands during the meal.

Simon seemed more than grateful that you didn't jump right into questioning, even as his eyes fought to stay open until you gently pushed him down into the bed.