Hey! I know you've probably gotten this prompt before, and I'm sorry about that. But could you write anything with Tony pretending he's not sick? I'll understand if you don't want to, so no pressure.
I probably have, but I can spin out something short.
Tony’s relieved when the bots finish pulling his suit from his aching body. He reaches for a towel on the edge of his workbench and uses it to mop the sweat from his brow. He sighs when he’s finished and drops into his chair, wishing the beating he’d taken during the mission hadn’t included a bit of steel pipe to the helmet. The headache he’s already nursing is enough.
“Tony?” Bruce comes running down the stairs to the lab, clothed in a slightly undersized bathrobe.
“Did you take that from my bathroom?” Tony asks, glancing up at him.
Tony decides he doesn’t care. “’S ok.”
“What do you want?” Tony asks, a little more sharply than he means to.
“Just, you, uh, took a lot of hits, and I wanted to be sure you were ok,” Bruce says. He glances at Tony’s dented armor, which the bots are now returning to its case.
“’M fine.” Tony swallows a cough. “Yeah, got hit. Expect some bruises. I’ll be fine.” His head pounds as he speaks, and his vision swims for a moment.
“You sure?” Bruce asks. “You look a little pale, there.”
“Do I?” Nausea begins to play around Tony’s ears, which he’s in no mood to admit to. He’s in no mood to be feeling it, either.
“Yeah.” Bruce takes a step toward him.
“Nope. Stop. I’m good.” Tony puts up his hand.
“I’m done hulking out, if that’s what you’re worried about–”
“No, I’m –” Tony’s suddenly too nauseated to speak. He quickly picks up an empty coffee cup from the lab bench and turns the swivel chair away from Bruce. He gags over the mug, bringing up a pitiful amount of mucous and bile. His sinuses burn, as does the back of his throat.
“Ok,” Bruce says. “You can stop pretending you’re alright now.” He pulls a couple of Kleenex from a box on the table opposite Tony and hands them over.
Tony wipes his mouth and tentatively moves his chair back to its original position. “S-sorry,” he mumbles.
“I can’t believe you went on a mission feeling like that.” Bruce shakes his head.
“What choice did I have?” Tony says hoarsely.
“Well, you have a point. But how ‘bout getting out of here and heading up to get some rest.”
Tony slowly. nods. “I would, but somebody stole my bathrobe…”
“Hey, at least I didn’t take your pajamas.” Bruce smiles.
“Fair point.” Tony shoves the mug at Bruce and heaves himself out of his chair. “I’ll see you later. For now the bed is calling.”
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