Used an idea I've been looking to write for a while, hope you like it! It's sickfic, so there's a little bit of gross, but not much. PG-13.
Hello Nurse
Bruce awakens in a haze. Heat emanates from his skin like he's a flesh-covered furnace. What feels like a 20-pound weight is sitting in his chest. Through the fog of not-awake and oh-god-why, he's able to vaguely remember his and Tony's conversation from the previous night.
"Well, all the simulations I've run present a low risk for the Other Guy showing up." Bruce looks over the graphs hovering in front of him, scratching at his throat. "I'm just so surprised a virus made it through after all these years. It's unusual."
"It's an anomaly, for sure." Tony says, a hand on his chin as he looks over the data. "But viruses are mutating and evolving all the time. If your tests are right, this one didn't even exist when all that happened. Oh, and just to be safe, you're taking the day off tomorrow."
"What? No, I'm fine. It's just-" Bruce pauses to cough harshly into his fist. "Just a little chest cold, no big deal."
"Mhmm," Tony smiles at him and pats him on the back. "No need to push yourself too hard. Take a day to get better. I promise not to make any groundbreaking discoveries without you."
Bruce rolls his eyes, tempted to make a pot-kettle comment. "Fine, but only because I don't want to contaminate anything."
Once the recollection ends, Bruce realizes he feels too warm and kicks the blankets down around his knees. He starts shivering soon afterwards and brings the blankets up to his neck, only to be overheated within moments. He winces as he rolls and adjusts, skin and muscles feeling tender and sensitive to even slight movement.
Bruce is a doctor, he knows he should get up and take some medicine. But he just feels so completely awful. He convinces himself he'll just lay down for a bit longer and then get up. Medicine can wait. He even manages to make himself believe that the blurry coloured spots in his vision are normal.
He isn't sure if he falls asleep again or just rests his eyes. An indeterminate amount of time later, he opens them to find Clint gently shaking his shoulder.
"Bruce? Hey, sorry for barging in. Tony told me you were sick." He presses a hand to Bruce's forehead. "Wow, you're burning up! Did you take something?"
Bruce goes to speak and surely pulls several muscles with the force of his hacking. His chest tightens and feels wet inside. His throat hurts more with each cough.
Clint keeps a light hand on his shoulder until he settles down. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."
Clint practically runs out of the room. Bruce slumps onto his side, feeling dizzy and woollen-headed and certain that he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to.
Clint returns a few minutes later. He sets a few bottles on the side table and opens a small plastic case. The tip of a thermometer pokes at Bruce's lips. "Open up, big guy."
Bruce complies. He tries to suppress the rising urge to cough by concentrating how annoying the thermometer feels under his tongue. Metallic, plastic-y, and not-quite-painful.
Clint removes the thermometer moments later. Bruce descends into hacking again, but he hears Clint curse repeatedly as he sets the thing down and heads for the bathroom.
Bruce hears water running and splashing for several minutes. Clint returns and helps him up, leads him to the bathroom. He helps Bruce to strip off his t-shirt and boxers before half-lifting him into the bath. Normally, Bruce would ask a question or two, but he's feeling even hazier than earlier and just allows the manhandling to happen.
The water is exactly room temperature and feels nice on his burning skin. After coaxing him to take some ibuprofen and a mouthful of foul-tasting cough syrup, Clint rubs at Bruce's neck and forehead with a dampened washcloth. The awful feeling pervading his body is suddenly much easier to ignore.
After a long quiet, Bruce starts coughing hard. Clint brings the wastebasket over and Bruce is able to clear out his chest a bit, not caring much for propriety at this point. He feels much clearer-headed than earlier, and decides to attempt conversation.
"So," Bruce says quietly, his voice raspy but no longer painful. "What's with the surprise bathtime?"
"You had a hundred and six degree fever," Clint replies a little grimly. "You should be more careful."
Bruce feels embarrassed and unconsciously sinks deeper into the water. "Yeah, wouldn't want the Other Guy to show up over something stupid like that."
"I'm not worried about him," Clint says with complete honesty. "I'm worried about you having a seizure and damaging that enormous brain of yours."
"It is my best feature."
Clint smiles and combs fingers through Bruce's hair. "Are you feeling any better?"
"Quite a bit. Still pretty...gross. Yeah, gross is a good word."
"Think you'll be okay on your own while I run to the 7-11 and get a few things?" Bruce nods and Clint pushes himself to his feet. "I'll have JARVIS keep an eye on your vitals. Just try to relax."
Bruce manages to ask JARVIS to put some of his music on, closes his eyes, and tries to do just that. He still feels foolish. Of all people, he should know enough to take care of himself. Clint might not be worried about the Other Guy, but Bruce certainly is. What if Clint had been at the range today? The rest of the team never came to his floor. Bruce hopes that it's because they respect his need for personal space and not because they were still afraid of them.
Bruce tries to clear his mind and eventually succeeds. Not for long though, a hand touches his shoulder soon enough. "Hey, Bruce?"
He opens his eyes and shivers, the bathwater had gone cold. Had he nodded off again? He doesn't have much time to ponder that, as the thermometer is introduced again. Bruce holds it under his tongue patiently until Clint withdraws it and smiles.
"Your fever's gone down," Clint says almost pridefully as he reaches to drain the tub. "Can you stand up alright?"
Bruce tries to say "Of course," but it comes out growly and ends in wet-sounding coughs. Clint just laughs and extends a hand. One towel, a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and several more coughing spasms later, Clint was helping Bruce back into bed.
"I'd probably be right in guessing you haven't eaten yet?" Bruce nods. "I'll take care of that. Oh, Natasha came to the store with me and she got you this." Clint pulls a small object out of his pocket and tosses it at Bruce on his way to the small adjacent kitchen.
It's a palm-sized teddy bear. Specifically, a brown palm-sized teddy bear in pin-striped pajamas, holding a tissue, with "Get Well Soon" embroidered on one foot. Bruce is still chuckling and coughing by the time Clint comes back carrying a tray.
"She thought you might like that," Clint grins and gestures for Bruce to sit up more so he can set the tray down. "We named him Robert on the way back here, hope you don't mind."
"Not at all." Bruce chuckles before examining the spread in front of him. A bowl of chicken noodle soup with some soda crackers beside it, a glass of ginger ale filled to the perfect height, and a sandwich with some kind of deli meat, all perfectly arranged.
Bruce nibbles at his lip and feels indignation rear its head. Fever disaster averted, he was now capable of taking care of himself. He wasn't a child. He'd taken care of himself in much worse situations than this.
But it would be pretty rude to get all bent out of shape right after Clint had made a nice lunch for him. He might as well eat the food before sending Clint on his way.
"Thanks, this looks great," Bruce says politely before lifting a spoonful to his mouth. All distaste immediately flees from his mind. "Oh, my god."
Clint grins at him from his perch on the edge of the bed. "It's my secret recipe. Good, huh?"
"Did you put unicorn blood in this or something? It's spectacular."
Clint reaches over to ruffle Bruce's hair. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to get Natasha to kill you."
* * *
After lunch, Bruce's symptoms really start to kick in and getting out of bed seems like a nigh-impossible task. He naps, wakes up to take medicine, eats a little, watches the beginning of a movie, and falls asleep again. Rinse and repeat.
He wakes up after dark to a coughing fit that nearly pitches him over the side of the bed. Clint's beside him and keeps both hands on his shoulders until it passes. Bruce shamelessly collapses face down on Clint's lap and groans.
"This flu is really kicking your ass, isn't it?"
"No, this is great. It's a new persona I'm trying out. I call it Consumption Victim Bruce Banner. What do you think?"
Clint laughed and ruffled Bruce's hair. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the new husky voice. Makes me wanna try some of that, what's it called, intimate healing?"
"Dare I ask what that is?"
"You know, in the movies." Bruce rolls over so he can see the rather grand gestures Clint is making. "The hero is wounded in a big fight with one of his nemesis' tougher goons. He never flinches during the punishing blows, but winces as soon as his love interest touches his side. The scene cuts to the love interest tending his wounds while he lays on a bed in a dimly-lit room. There's some banter at first, but gradually through stolen eye contact, their dynamic changes. The last bandage is put in place and finally, they make out. Then the scene fades to black and the rest is up to our imagination."
Bruce blinks while Clint smiles. "The amount of thought you put into that is truly disturbing."
"You watch enough action movies and you learn a few things." Clint smoothes a rumple in Bruce's shirt. "But seriously, you sound awful. Come with me- I know, I know, you feel like a train hit you. Trust me, this'll be worth it."
Bruce drags his diseased carcass to wherever the hell Clint wants him to go. Turns out it's the balcony on the penthouse level.
"I know I said I was feeling awful," Bruce rasps, the cold mid-autumn air making him shiver violently. "But I wasn't going to jump to this just yet. Pun somewhat intended."
"You're terrible." Clint kisses his temple and expertly clothes him in a thick, enormous quilt he'd snatched off the bed. "This is just to help clear your chest out."
Clint walks them until they're about fifteen feet from the edge, sits down, and guides Bruce down beside him, embracing him with both arms. Bruce would normally be a bit more reticent about being all cuddly outside of their rooms, but the other Avengers don't tend to hang out here after dark so he happily leans into the warmth of Clint's touch.
After obeying Clint's instruction to take deep breaths and hacking up some more gross stuff,- Clint is thankfully not an easily phased man -Bruce finally feels the weight in his chest ease up. Bundled up, the cool air washes comfortably over him. "I think you might have missed your calling. You'd be a great nurse."
Clint laughs softly, trying to contain it and not jostle Bruce too much. "Nah, I only save my good bedside manner for special patients."
They sit in comfortable silence for long, uncounted minutes. Bruce finds himself leaning and resting his head on Clint's pulled-up knees. It occurs to Bruce that Clint's stuck sitting out here with him, and that he ought to suggest they go back inside so Bruce can go to bed and Clint can be released from nursemaid duty.
Clint speaks before Bruce gets a chance. "It's kinda weird."
"Hm?"
"I was just thinking. Even though you can see the lights and hear the cars and stuff from up here, it's easy to pretend you're alone."
"Oh. Yeah. I get it."
Clint murmurs in acknowledgement before going silent again. Bruce relaxes and lets his eyes half-close for a while. He's about to try suggesting going to bed again when Clint starts humming.
It's quiet at first, with lots of pauses and dips in volume where it seems like Clint loses the melody. It builds until Bruce can feel the vibrations and the song would be quite recognizable if Bruce knew it. A thought passes through his mind that he'd always had the impression that adults didn't hum to themselves, aside from twiddly little jingles while they were performing mundane tasks like laundry.
Bruce remains completely still and lets his eyes fully close, knowing any movement or noise would spoil the moment. He dozes off just as Clint starts mumble-singing some of the lyrics in between stretches of humming.
"Let the world, just hurry by..."
* * *
Bruce wakes up in bed several hours later, drenched in cold sweat and disoriented. He sits up, panting loudly in the quiet room. Clint, ever the alert sleeper (while sober, anyways), is up and fully awake in an instant. "What is it? Did you have a nightmare?"
"No, no," Bruce mumbles, swiping at his forehead with his hand, becoming a little more awake and aware. "I think my fever broke."
"Wow, that was fast." Clint deftly rolls out of bed and walks to Bruce's side. "Let's clean you up a bit, or else you'll get sick all over again."
Clint helps Bruce wash and towel off before handing him some fresh boxers and crawling back into bed. "You'll probably be feeling a lot better tomorrow, huh?" Clint asks once Bruce is comfortably positioned under his arm.
"Yeah, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me."
Clint kisses the top of his head. "I'll probably be at S.H.I.E.L.D. most of the day, Coulson's cracking down on my lack of finished reports. Try not to science too hard, okay? I won't have you pushing yourself and relapsing."
Bruce laughs even though he still feels somewhat dizzy. "I'll try, but I make no promises." Pause. "How did I get back here? I don't remember coming back."
"I carried you," Clint says matter-of-factly.
Bruce goes to say something, but just sighs and nuzzles against Clint's chest. Tomorrow he'll take care of himself. Tomorrow.
* * *
Bruce wakes up the next morning with body aches and a supremely scratchy throat, but much improved from yesterday. All Clint's caretaking had done the trick. He dresses, grabs the pack of lozenges left for him on the side table, and makes his way to the main living floor.
"Good morning, Bruce!" Steve's in the kitchen making breakfast. Bruce wants to ask why he's not up at the crack of dawn like usual, but notices a light purple mark peeking out from his shirt collar and decides against it. "Are you feeling any better?"
"'Morning. Uh, yeah, a lot better," Bruce says in his sick-roughened voice, coughing hard before speaking again. "Oh god, I sound like a frog. Tony's going to make fun of me for this."
"If he bugs you too much, just let me know."
Bruce waves a dismissive hand and hangs back so Steve can finish what he's doing. "I just have to give him the silent treatment and eventually he'll stop and start bribing me with food."
"I wondered why you never come upstairs for lunch," Steve smiles and goes back to clinking dishware around. "I'm sorry none of us came to visit you yesterday. Clint insisted that you were not to be disturbed. You must have been pretty sick."
"Well, yeah, I felt pretty awful but-" Bruce shakes his head. "I didn't have cholera. He didn't need to do all that. I'll talk to him today."
"I wouldn't bother," Steve says with warmth in his voice. "You'd been so adamant that you couldn't get sick, I think it worried him. When you care about someone, you worry about them. That's just how it is."
Steve turns, holding a tray of pancakes and juice in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. "It's why I'm going to go force-feed Tony, because I care about him and I worry about him starving to death in his workshop. This is for you, don't work too hard today."
Bruce takes the mug that's handed to him and barely manages to get in a raspy thank-you-goodbye before Steve is gone. Confused, he takes a sip of the tea inside. It's lemon and delicious.
Bruce continues sipping and smiles to himself. Maybe being doted on isn't so bad.
FIN
Post-Credits Scene
"I think I'll name him Robert."
"Why is that?"
"He looks like a Robert."
"How can something 'look' like a name?"
"It just does. Don't I look like a Natasha?"
"Well yeah, but that's different."
"How?"
"You're a walking, talking person, not a toy. Everything about you seems Natasha-like."
"See, you've just proved my point. What does seeming Natasha-like entail?"
"Well, being a super-competent, cool Russian vixen who won't blink while she breaks your hand with black high heels."
"Where the hell do you get off calling me a vixen?"
"It's a compliment!"
"Comparing me to a small animal that has five kids at one time and is made into pelts is not a compliment."
"C'mon, foxes are cool! But we were talking about a teddy bear."
"Yes, his name is Robert. He'll cheer Bruce up."
"He could use that. Poor guy is sick as a dog."
"That's such an odd expression, dogs aren't naturally sick."
"Yeah. I'm kind of worried that I'm developing Munchausen's by Proxy, though."
"I'm surprised you know what that is. Why?"
"I can read. Bruce never lets me spoil him. But being this sick, he has no choice to lay there while I wait on him. It's great, in a sense."
"Not that he isn't completely head-over-heels for you, it's obvious that he is, but I don't think he realizes your potential as a partner."
"I know, right? If it was up to me, he'd just lay in bed all day while I alternated between making him food and petting his hair."
((Six and a half months ago and 350+ followers ago, I started a blog called askpinktaric. I didn't plan on ever drawing, and I hadn't planned on it lasting long. I think we see where that got me. I've been through my share of askblog drama and askblog fun, and I think it's time to celebrate the latter with a "Best of" post. I went through my "old stuff" folder and selected what I found to be the most memorable or funniest, as well as going back and hunting down some old posts. Maybe in 6 months I'll do this again. xD))
Old Posts
Taric serenades Varus
Lotion and Tissues
Images
'nuff said.
In which in an AU Pink!Taric regularly hides behind FunctionalandStylish's couch and they share gossip about whatever F&S watches on television.
A scarf made by Pink Taric for Draven.
One day on my dashboard a very long time ago...
Manly Teemo and this guy have THE BEST name and ping for their champions.
Once I tried to explain something to Alioran. It didn't work, and after like 10 minutes of trying, this happened. Yes that is Lee Sin's blindfold. >_>
You can't kill what's not there, Vlad!
I ship EzxVlad.
Taric is suddenly interested in the idea of this party.
Just ask TF, Febreezreal, Orion, or male!Lux
Taric's favorite Shen quotes. I had too much fun with that. >_>;
Personal announcement and 30 Days of Character Development: Day 30
Write a letter to your character, from yourself.
Dear Pink Taric,
We've had a good run. We've made friends and lost friends. You've simultaneously kept me sane and made me lose it even more. You've inspired inside jokes with a lot of my current friends that I have met through you. You've been my muse for 6 months (190 days to be exact) we've gone through a lot. You've been a religious man, a pimp, a female, a flamboyant paladin, and a large part of what kept me from being depressed when I had nothing else to pour my effort into.
Right now though, you're not what I need anymore. I've gone on long enough bottling things in. You're not enough anymore, and I'm sorry for that. Maybe I'll come back to you once everything is through. Thanks for everything.
- Tigercule
~
As I'm sure you can tell from the above, I'm putting askpinktaric on indefinite hiatus. I've been struggling with depression a lot lately, and instead of confronting it and dealing with it, I've tried to hide behind friends and this blog.
Well, it's time for that to stop. There's a Hawkeye line in the Avengers, "Do you know what it's like to be unmade?" Well right now, that's what I need. I need to take myself apart entirely and fix things from the beginning.
I can't just keep halfway fixing things with a good laugh and a friend-crutch. As such, I'm logging off skype, I've deleted everyone from League, and I'm signing off tumblr until I fix the shit wrong with me. I'm sorry to anyone this may hurt, but I'm the kind of person that needs to fight things alone in order to actually fix them.
Thanks for the times we've all had together, everyone.
