YO GUESS WHO'S SORT-OF SOBERED UP but not enough to edit skillfully
Fucking hell I've written a lot of words tonight.
Muffinworry asked what they're like when they're desperately tired and here is your answer, friend.
There isn't actually any kissing in this but it's vaguely fluffy and it's a ficlet so I'm counting it
Paige had been working on a piece that just didn’t want to cooperate. The light source kept shifting, as did the forms contained within it; the colours wouldn’t mix properly and surface pattern was completely out of the question. Determined not to be defeated by paint, she had pulled no less than three all-nighters in the last seven days and come Tuesday was just about ready to pass out where she stood.
Tony, on the other hand, had been trying to locate all the clock parts Paige had stashed around the house. For whatever reason, it wasn’t enough to suffer on her own; as soon as it had become apparent that her work was going to challenging, Paige had stolen no less than four clocks, dismantled them, and hidden everything.
It seemed a rather foolish thing to be losing sleep over, but Paige liked to move things, and Tony didn’t like to know that broken clocks existed. Every so often Paige would lose concentration and he would hear her wandering around the house, darting to the room in question just in time to see Paige leave it, and the proceed to spend at least two hours searching the room for all the increasingly impressive places she had hidden the components.
A whole week of this had come and gone. Tony was hunched over the table, reassembling the final parts of the final clock, when Paige dragged herself wearily downstairs and- after several attempts- managed to switch the kettle on.
A careful hand placed the last cog into position; a gentle palm pushed the clock to one side; and an utterly spent Tony slammed his face on the table with a loud, prolonged, and incredibly relieved groan.
“I concur,” Paige managed, while not managing to get the teabag into her cup on the first, second, third, or fourth attempt. She rested her head on the counter and narrowed her eyes as she tried to aim the spout of the kettle properly. It didn’t work. She missed by about two inches and flooded the counter with boiling water.
“Tony, my face is burning,” she mumbled, without sounding particularly distressed.
Tony had apparently fallen asleep on the table, and didn’t take kindly to the interruption.
“Stop making t- tea if you can’t do it w…ithout melting your skin off…” he dissolved into a yawn, and slouched back against the surface.
“I don’t mm think I’ve eaten for two days…”
“Then eat something,” was the muffled response from the far end of the room.
Paige tried to reply, but her brain appeared to have switched off and all she was capable of were jolty, robotic motions that were just enough to render her still mostly mobile. She abandoned the tea-making endeavour and stumbled over to the table.
Tony had drifted off again, awoken by Paige pulling on his arm: he didn’t have the energy to be angry (despite everything she’d done this past week) and leaned up a little, gazing at her beneath heavy lids.
“Come onnn… Bed...” she croaked, “You don’t want to… um… fall here… asleep… table…” She gestured lazily to the clock, and Tony got the message. He dragged himself to his feet, partially aided by Paige, and took a few careful yet clumsy steps towards the door.
Paige leant against him as they made it out of the kitchen.
“…Carry me…”
“…No...”
“…Bastard…”
“…Yes…”
“…Y- You’re tall…er…”
“…sh…hutup…”
The stairs proved too much of a challenge and they both collapsed simultaneously. Tony buried his face in her hair, and she mumbled something of a complaint that quickly faded into a yawn. It would seem this was the furthest they were going to get.
Besides; they both seemed to find each other respectively comfortable. Or maybe they were just too tired to care.
