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Normal Tuesdays usually equated to suiting up to fight the Big Bad of the Week, but Tony wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t sick of it sometimes. He wanted just one afternoon to himself and his husband, thank you very much. Fending off Doombots whenever Victor von Dickhead felt the need to throw a wrench in their plans was never exactly his definition of a perfect date with Steve.
The Iron Man gauntlet whined as he charged up to blast another bot in the face, and Tony felt a little surge of giddiness as it crumbled to the ground. He sent off flares to disorient a couple Doombots that were congregating around Captain America; it provided just enough of a distraction for Steve to decapitate one at the knees, then using the shield to bounce back an energy blast aimed at him.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Steve said breathlessly, throwing a bright grin up at Tony. He ducked under a bot’s attack then, swinging the shield into its chest before kicking it away.
“Got your six, honey buns,” Tony replied, shooting more RT blasts into approaching Doombots. He took a second to scan his heads-up display, targeting another handful before letting his short-range missiles fly. Mechanical limbs and tacky green hoods exploded on impact, clearing the initial wave closest to them.
There was a shout from Steve in his ear milliseconds before the proximity alarm in his helmet started beeping, and Tony had just enough time to turn his head over his shoulder to see a van come sailing right in his direction. He braced for impact, expecting to feel the full force slam into the armor, when a line of flames swept by and melted the vehicle in half. Metal and glass fell to either side of Tony, and an incredulous whoop left his lips when he saw a familiar trail of fire in the sky.
Switching to their open comms channel, Tony griped in jest, “About time you showed up, Flamebrain.”
“A little gratitude would be nice, Stark,” started Johnny, circling around Tony once, “I just saved your ass.”
Steve, ever the peacemaker, translated with a laugh, “That’s actually Tony Speak for ‘thank you’.”
“Right, could’a fooled me, Cap.” The Human Torch flew overhead, slamming into the Doombots that operated jetpacks, and blazed through them with balls of fire. The robots sparked as they dropped to the earth, immobile.
“And that’s Johnny Speak for ‘you’re welcome’.” Reed stretched into the fight, wrapping his midsection around one of the Doombots and squeezing until its mechanisms gave out. With a half-hearted salute, the scientist greeted, “Long time no see, gentlemen.”
“You’re a little late to the party, Richards,” Steve replied, using one broken Doombot as a projectile to throw at another.
“We were across town in Metro-General,” Reed told him, as if it explained anything about their tardiness.
When the bots Steve had bodied started shifting to get to their feet, Tony flew by and blasted them both to smithereens. He took another moment to examine their surroundings, counting less members of the Fantastic Four as there should be.
Curious, he pointed out, “I don’t see Ben or Susie with you.”
Johnny barked a laugh as he flew by, dodging attacks from bots, shooting steel-melting fire at their faceplates. “Benny Boy’s on his honeymoon with Alicia.”
“And Sue’s a little, uh…” Reed reached for a Doombot, winding tight around its leg, tugging harshly, and forcing it off-balance. “Undisposed, at the moment.”
Tony landed beside Reed, using an energy surge from the Arc Reactor in his chest plate to smoke a flying Doombot behind them. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”
Johnny’s voice crackled in Tony’s ear, amusement lacing his words: “Y’see, when a man and a woman love each other very much—”
The bot in Reed’s hold twisted as he pulled it closer, detonating a small electric charge that forced him to let it go, and then it scrambled away. Steve threw his shield at the Doombot but not before its charged gauntlet was aimed to the sky, projecting an energy blast almost blindly.
Reed managed a sharp warning of “Torch, watch out!” before that force hit the flying hero square in the chest. The flames that once engulfed Johnny died out, and his body arched downwards to the pavement. The repulsors in the Iron Man boots kicked to life as Tony made a beeline to Johnny in hopes of reaching him in time, but a streak of silver blew past him faster than he could blink.
The Silver Surfer caught Johnny mid-air, slowing down as he broke left. He descended close to the ground, board hovering about three feet high, and carefully let the kid step down. Before Johnny could get anything more than a quick “Nice catch” out of his mouth, Norrin zoomed off to go after the remaining Doombots.
The Surfer maneuvered between strikes of lightning and concussive attacks from the robots. A lone Doombot wearing a jetpack flew towards him, and Tony watched as Norrin angled the board up defensively, only to witness the bot get absorbed in a wave of shimmering silver. JARVIS started spewing data about radial molecular stability before Tony abruptly muted the AI.
Okay, so, maybe this wasn’t a normal Tuesday.
Tony let his faceplate flip open, mouth agape as he pointed in the Silver Surfer’s direction. He threw a look at Johnny, his voice pitched as he questioned, “Where the fuck has he been the entire time!?”
Johnny smirked, shrugging overdramatically. With a cry of “Flame on!” he was back in the skies.
The rest of the fight went down how it usually did: A few lucky punches from von Doom’s lookalikes, a zap of electricity or two from the bots, a power blast that would throw the heroes into the sides of cars. The Doombots said not-so-snappy one-liners that made both Tony and Johnny roll their eyes—hell, a failed comedy tour by von Doom would’ve been a less-effective form of torture.
Soon enough, there were fewer than a handful of stragglers, the rest broken and battered and melted on the asphalt. The bots were almost desperate in how they fought in the end, pulling dirty tricks, blindsiding them. Two Doombots self-destructed once Mr. Fantastic and the Human Torch were close enough, the strength of the explosions sending them flying.
A well-placed pulse emitter caught Tony by surprise, scrambling JARVIS’s processors and locking up the Iron Man armor for a few seconds too long. Tony slammed into concrete when his repulsors shut down, the breath getting knocked right out of him, unable to move as the suit booted up again.
“Tony!” Steve called for him, running at a full sprint to where he crashed. “Tony, do you cop—”
A Doombot managed to grab Steve by the neck, raising him up with one arm as the Iron Man HUD flickered to life, systems coming back online. A hard kick to a joint got him loose, but it was no sooner that Steve dropped to the ground that the Doombot wrestled him into a headlock, pulling his cowl off in the fight. Tony raised an arm, aiming for the lone bot as Steve continued to struggle.
TARGETING SYSTEM: OFFLINE.
“Damn it,” Tony cursed. He risked hitting Steve without it, and that was simply a non-starter. Flipping his faceplate open once again, he shut an eye, attempting to set his sights on the Doombot as it tried to level its weapon to the white star on Steve’s chest.
From the corner of his eye, Tony noticed the Silver Surfer’s calculated movements. A hazy wave of energy surrounded his board, traveled up through his body—and with a motion forward, the near-invisible energy barreled through Steve and into the Doombot. Its robotic limbs transformed into what Tony could only describe as liquid steel, sliding away from Steve and into the rubble.
Despite being stunned by Norrin’s unnatural powers, Tony pushed to his feet and hustled to where Steve was doubled over, coughing. He detached his helmet, throwing it aside as he reached him.
“Steve! Baby, hey.” Tony kneeled in front of Steve, resting a gauntleted hand at the nape of his partner’s neck to keep him grounded, worry seeping into his bones as Steve struggled to fill his lungs with air. “Shit, are you okay? JARVIS, do a full scan. Let me know if there’s—”
“I’m fine,” Steve wheezed, patting a light hand against Tony’s armor. He leaned forward, chest moving with shallow gasps, tucking his head under Tony’s chin. Steve’s breath was warm against Tony’s skin as he reassured him, “S’okay. I’m okay.”
Reed and Johnny approached them as Tony helped Steve to his feet, looking just as battle worn as Tony felt. Johnny had a slight limp and a cut on his cheek while Reed—well, save for a few scorch marks on his uniform, he seemed right as rain. Stupid elastic powers…
“You both alright?” Reed asked them, a concerned furrow wrinkling his brow.
Steve bent down to pick up his shield, straightened up with a wince, and then said, “You kidding me? I could do this all day.”
Johnny cackled triumphantly, almost bouncing on his feet. “My God, he said the thing! I can’t believe you said the thing.”
A flush pinked Steve’s cheeks and Tony couldn’t help but laugh when Reed smacked his brother-in-law upside the head, muttering something about being an embarrassing fanboy.
“Trust me,” Tony began, “nobody’s fanned over Steve more than my boy did the first time they met.”
Steve scoffed a laugh, turning to look over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m just grateful Norrin was here so that I—oh.”
“He does that, the whole disappearing act thing,” Johnny retorted, seemingly unphased as he waved a dismissive hand. “You kinda get used to it.”
“Where’d he fly off to?”
“Home, probably,” Reed replied simply.
Tony looked up just as Steve turned to him, and their eyes met. Home. That sounded nice. Taking a hot shower and getting into a soft bed sounded really nice, actually.
~*~*~*~
As it turned out, Tony discovered that taking a hot shower and getting his husband to kiss every scrape and bruise on his body was a lot nicer.
~*~*~*~
An involuntary shiver was what shoved Tony into consciousness. He pulled the covers tighter around his body, and then reached out blindly so he could find refuge in Steve’s body heat.
It wasn’t until his hand met nothing but cold sheets that Tony pried one eye open, lifting his head to confirm that his husband was indeed not in bed. A curious, nasally sound came from high in his throat. Steve often got up early for his morning runs, Tony mused, so waking up alone didn’t feel that unusual. He knew if he chased the coattails of the Sandman, he’d wake up with Steve wrapped around him before he’d even realized he fell back asleep.
Tony groaned, straightening out his limbs and grumbling when all he got as replies were gentle pops and cracks. He rolled over, facing the large windows that overlooked Manhattan. Despite the bright lights of the sleepless city below, the night sky was dark as pitch, sprinkled by a wash of bright stars and a toenail-looking moon. For a few moments he stayed there, blinking past the heavy sleep in his eyes as the rest of his thoughts caught up with him.
Weird. It seemed too dark to be jogging around Central Park.
With a voice still sleep-rough, Tony mumbled, “J, gimme the time.”
“It is quarter past eleven, Sir.”
“What?” Tony frowned. “PM?”
“According to my calculations against the coordinated universal time, Sir, yes. Although I could always Google it; I hear such findings are more accurate.”
Tony rubbed at his eyes with the base of his palm, his lip curling with annoyance. “No need for the snark, young man. It’s never too late to still donate you to a city college.”
“What a privilege that would be, Sir. Shall I make the arrangements?”
“What’s your humor setting, TARS?” Tony teased, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed and sitting up. He cracked his knuckles after he laced his fingers together, stretching his arms overhead. With a low groan, he said, “Let’s make it seventy-five percent.”
There was a pause, and then: “As you were, Coop.”
Tony chuckled under his breath, scratching at his scalp as he mechanically walked to their en suite bathroom. JARVIS slowly raised the lights, dim enough for sight but not sharp as to hurt his eyes. After Tony relieved himself and moved to wash his hands, he wondered, “Hey, JARVIS, pulse check on my boys?”
“Young master Peter is sleeping rather soundly in his bedroom, Sir,” the AI notified him. “His vitals appear to be within the scope of his newly enhanced parameters.”
Good. Great. Just what he wanted to hear. As Tony toweled off, he prodded, “And Steve?”
“Captain Rogers is—” He abruptly stopped. “One moment, Sir.”
That was new.
“JARVIS?” Tony carefully pressed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Where is my husband?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. He has advised me not to inform you of his location. He is still, however, within the penthouse level.” JARVIS remained silent as Tony walked back into their bedroom to throw on a pair of sweatpants. His voice seemed almost hesitant as he concluded, “Sir, Captain Rogers wishes for you to return to sleep and not to worry about his status.”
Tony scoffed out, “Don’t worry about him, my ass. Him hiding from me is making me worry more.” He opened his door with more force than was strictly necessary, padding down the carpeted hallway on bare feet.
The living room, when Tony got there, was completely empty. So were the kitchen and outside balcony. He checked the occasionally used guest bedroom for shits and giggles, but the bedsheets were crisp, unslept in. The bathroom in the hall was unoccupied, too, and unless Steve had somehow crammed himself into the tiny air vents, Tony was running out of places to look for him. In the penthouse? There was—
Peter’s door was cracked open, just slightly ajar that Tony didn’t make it out the first time he passed. He carefully pushed the door to his son's room and poked his head in to find only the fourteen-year-old there, laying perpendicular on his bed, slack-jawed and drooling into his own bicep.
Oh, yup, Peter was most definitely out like a light. Tony smothered a laugh, stepping inside. He rounded the foot of the bed, tugging a blanket up and using its edge to wipe the tacky wetness from Peter’s cheek and arm. A reflexive jerk of the head caused Peter to snort in his sleep. Affection bloomed in Tony’s chest, warm and fond, watching the rise and fall of his kid’s breathing. Like this, messy-haired and even weirdly contorted, his son seemed softer around the edges, the stress lines from navigating high school and having superheroes for parents absent from his features.
Tony waited for two breaths before moving to kneel on the bed, slowly sliding his arms under Peter to carry him towards the abandoned pillows. There was a sleepy, incoherent mumble that Peter made as he was turned. Speaking quietly, Tony lightly nudged him forward, “Pete? Can you move up for me?”
Peter’s face scrunched up, nose twitching, as he momentarily squinted one eye at Tony. He smacked his lips, words slurred as he drawled, “Sh’ be in th’ cab’net, Papa.”
“No, kiddo, it’s Daddy. Let’s shift you back up, huh?” Tony tried once more to slide his kid across the bed, huffing out a strained Jesus H. Christ, when did you get so big before Peter, loose-limbed and sleep-drunk, readjusted himself. Letting out a long exhale, Peter burrowed back into his pillows.
Quietly amused at the thought that Peter probably wouldn’t even remember this happening in the morning, Tony straightened out the comforters, tucking his son under the blankets. Perching on the bed’s edge, he sat mostly to catch his breath, but also to tame the rogue curls falling into his baby boy’s face. Tony couldn’t help but smile.
Ever since the lab incident mutated Peter’s genes a few months back, their family needed to make some… adjustments. The angsty teen schtick was cute before their son learned that he had the ability to crawl up walls, but Steve took the news in stride. (After all, he was the poster child for unmitigated scientific enhancements. Thanks, Howard.) If there was anyone who could mentor Peter through this puberty on steroids, it was him. For that, Tony was grateful.
Tony also really wished Steve would quit hiding from him.
As he leaned over to press a kiss to Peter’s hair, Tony saw that the light from his son’s bathroom was left on. Even shut, a strip of brightness spilled out from under the door.
Either Peter forgot to shut the lights before heading to bed, or Tony was about to beat Steve in their impromptu game of hide-and-seek.
Tony rapped his knuckles against the door’s surface, saying just loud enough for his husband to hear: “Steve, I'm coming in.” The knob turned when he tried it, clearly unlocked, and he winced as the door creaked on its hinges.
The first thing he saw was his husband, standing at the sink and white-knuckling the counter, shoulders tight with tension. Their eyes made contact through the mirror, and Tony pulled a thin smile onto his lips. Coming up beside him, Tony began rubbing circles at the small of Steve’s back.
“Everything okay?” Tony whispered conversationally, reaching up with his other hand to wipe the sweat from Steve’s temples. “Was looking for you, big guy. For a second, I thought you'd…” Something interesting caught Tony’s eye. “Baby, why do you have Peter’s inhalers out?”
His son—their son—had asthma. Or, used to, anyway. It was a mild case, something to do with inhaling fluids at birth, something else about it being hereditary, but Peter had sort of grown out of it by the time he started middle school. He rarely experienced attacks anymore and didn't need to use a nebulizer unless he caught a nasty cold, but even then, Tony made sure they kept emergency meds handy.
The blue L-shaped canister and purple disk were unusually vibrant against the off-white counters. Combined with Steve’s somewhat bizarre behavior, seeing them made Tony feel like he was missing an important piece to a metaphorical puzzle.
Keeping his voice low, he inquired, “Did Peter have an attack? JARVIS said that—"
“No, he’s fine.” Steve cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Peter’s perfect, he’s… I was just…” As he trailed off, Tony noted the conflict brewing behind Steve’s eyes before a mask of resolve slid over his features. A muscle on Steve’s jaw twitched when he gritted his teeth together. He inhaled deep through his nose, held it for a beat, and then let it out from his mouth. Silently, Steve picked up the two inhalers, replacing them on their respective shelf in the cabinet mirror.
Tony was absolutely lost. “Baby?”
“The fight with the Doombots just threw me off-kilter, is all.” Steve dismissed softly, “I told you, don’t worry about it.”
“I’d believe you a whole lot more if you weren’t trying so hard not to look me in the eye,” Tony protested under his breath, poking Steve’s shoulder with a bony finger. He angled his head forward, wide-eyed and trying to capture his husband’s gaze. “Hiding out in Pete’s bathroom in the middle of the night is weird. Like, Donnie Darko levels of weird. You know that, right?”
“I wasn’t hiding, I needed—” Steve stopped short, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. He looked at Tony directly, reluctantly sighing. His next words came out quieter, vulnerable: “I needed the puffer, okay? I-I woke up with chest pains, couldn’t breathe right for a minute.” He motioned to the cabinet. “Albuterol sure beats asthma cigs, let me tell ya.”
The annoying itch in Tony’s mind went away as the final part to the jigsaw slotted into place. “It was that creepy hand-wavy thing Norrin did earlier, wasn’t it?”
“Tony—”
“No, look, he used the Force on you, and now your Midi-Chlorians have gone all wibbly-wobbly and shit.”
Steve blinked slowly, once, and then his eyes narrowed. He muttered, “I don’t understand that reference.”
“Neither did George Lucas.” Tony shook his head. “Never mind that. The first thing we need to do is get you to the Baxter Building so Reed can fix this.”
“No, the first thing we need to do is get out of Peter’s bathroom,” Steve countered, placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders and turning him around. They switched the light off and tiptoed around their son’s bed, gently shutting his bedroom door behind them.
It wasn’t until they made it into their own room that Tony brought up the issue again. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked, slipping under the covers.
Steve settled against his pillows, turning to the side to face Tony. Propping his head up on one hand, he nodded. “It’s just a wheeze, I’ll be fine. I ain’t that sickly little kid from Brooklyn no more.”
“Yeah, but in case your pretty little blond head forgot, we live in a world of magic and monsters,” Tony began, shifting into Steve’s space, mirroring his position, “and seems like you’re not any more indestructible than I am.”
“Uh, but, actually, I am.”
“Apparently not. You don’t get sick—like, ever ever—and you’re the one telling me you needed an inhaler to breathe right again.” Tony reached across the small space between the two of them, pressing his hand over Steve’s heart, the beat strong and steady under his palm. “Plus, you know me. I worry. I’m a worrier. Mother hen vibes, as the kids call it.”
Steve snorted a laugh, a broad smile splitting his lips. “I don’t know one kid that’s ever called this” —he circled his hand over the line of Tony’s body— “mother hen vibes. Whatever that is.”
“You’re right.” A corner of Tony’s mouth twitched, even as he tried to suppress a grin. “I’m Daddy.”
“I’m surprised you were able to say that with a relatively straight face,” Steve responded, turning onto his back and smiling wider when Tony cackled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “C’mere.”
Tony tucked himself into Steve’s side then, arms wrapping around his husband. Tilting his head, he smiled up at Steve, accepting the chaste kiss he was given. “I love you,” he mumbled against Steve’s lips.
“I—love—you,” Steve replied, punctuating each word with more kisses.
JARVIS automatically dimmed the lights to black as they settled back into sleep. Steve, with his hand at Tony’s back, lightly stroked invisible patterns there that slowed as he began to doze off. With the last moment of laughter gone, Tony realized he wouldn’t be finding sleep again. Listening to the slightest rattle in Steve’s breathing had him on high alert.
When he was sure Steve was in a deep enough sleep, Tony spoke, “J, remind me to bother Reed in the morning.”
“Of course, Sir.”
~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~
“Steve, you need to go to urgent care. Reed says whatever you’ve got isn’t contagious, but we can’t rule out that you’ll get worse—”
“No hospitals,” Steve firmly replied. His brows knitted together as he turned to Tony, mouth set in a frown. With narrowed eyes, he said, “I’m staying.”
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning as he got up from the mattress. He paced at the foot of their bed, hands on his hips. “Baby, you need treatment. From real doctors, not just the shit in medical. At least until the Surfer can fix you up again. Nebulizers and aspirin only—”
“Then call Cho to put me in the Cradle, I don’t care.” Steve adjusted his posture, sitting straighter against the headboard. Tony stood silently as his husband started picking at the loose threads of their comforter. Under his breath, so low that Tony nearly missed it, Steve muttered, “If I’m going to end up dying from this, I’d rather do it at home…”
“Dying?” Tony’s eyes widened, and he abruptly jumped back into bed, crawling over to kneel beside Steve. “Who the fuck told you that you were dying?”
Steve didn’t answer, instead squinting at Tony, almost as if he were having a hard time seeing him. “I might still look, y’know… but I feel like I used to, whenever the wind used to be strong enough to bowl me over… when Ma and Bucky used to sit vigil at my bed ‘cause they weren’t sure if I’d survive the winter season.”
“Steve…”
“Ma died in a hospital. The same hospital she worked double shifts at for years just to pay for my medical expenses. How fucked up is that?” Steve smothered a short bout of coughs, clearing his throat as he continued: “I snuck in after visiting hours most nights, was small enough back then, and… and sometimes I wished it could’ve—”
“Hey. Hey, baby, look at me.” Tony leaned forward, cupping Steve’s face in his hands. He waited until his husband’s blue eyes, wet with tears unshed, flickered up to meet his. A crooked grin tugged on Tony’s mouth, heat pricking behind his own eyes. “That’s my man.”
To Steve he teased, swallowing the lump in his throat, “You know damn well there’s only room enough for one dramatic husband, right, and I’ve called dibs.”
Steve let out a watery laugh, bringing one hand up to cover Tony’s. Using his thumbs, Tony worked to swipe away warm tears as they started to leave tracks across Steve’s cheeks.
“In sickness and in health, remember?” Tony added gently, earnestly. He pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, noticeably warmer than it usually was. “I got you. I’ve always got you.”
~*~*~*~
~*~*~*~
Buried under thick blankets and with an oxygen mask covering his face, Steve looked so… small. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he saw Steve like this. He was four days into the worryingly progressing illness, Steve’s slight asthma evolving into recurring heart palpitations and shortness of breath every time he even moved. It wasn’t long until a fever took hold, full-body aches all but confining him to their bed.
Tony folded over a wet cloth, pressing the cool fabric onto Steve’s joints in an attempt to pull the heat from his body. He disappeared into the bathroom to rinse the rag, wrung it out, and then returned to replace it over Steve’s warm forehead. A sad smile grew across Tony’s face when Steve leaned into his touch, craning his head up so Tony’s fingers could easily slip into his damp locks.
“How’re you feeling?” Tony asked quietly, scratching comfortingly at Steve’s scalp.
“Shitty,” Steve croaked out, eyes still closed. He took a few breaths, and Tony breathed with him, watching the oxygen mask fog up. “But better. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Tony sat beside Steve for a few more minutes, smoothing back blond hair and turning the cloth over once it got too warm. “You hungry?”
Steve shook his head at first, but then blinked his eyes open, gaze unfocused. “Soup,” he said meekly, voice muffled by the mask.
“I’ll get you soup,” Tony said with a huffed laugh. He tucked the blankets under Steve’s chin, pausing to run the pad of his thumb along his jaw.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re the best.”
“Don’t push it.”
With a fleeting kiss to Steve’s temple, Tony exited their room and began his trek down the hall to the kitchen. The soft sizzle of a pan piqued his interest, and it wasn’t until he turned the corner that he realized who was already cooking.
“Hey, Dad.” Peter stole a glance in Tony’s direction, nodding a quick greeting before returning his attention to the stovetop and the spatula in his hand. There was a stack of what looked to be a mix of charred and undercooked grilled cheeses sitting on a platter, another sandwich still heating on the wide cooking pan Peter used.
Tony couldn’t fight the smirk tugging at his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the island counter. “What have we got on the menu, Chef Boyardee?” Tony inquired, his eyes skirting over the open tub of butter, bags of cheeses, and slices of bread strewn across the counters.
“Grilled cheese and tomato soup!” Peter replied cheerily. The grin on the teen’s face wavered for a moment as he looked around, soon replaced with a sheepish smile. “Or… just grilled cheese. I couldn’t find the soup cans.”
“Good lookin’ out, kiddo,” Tony said, ruffling Peter’s hair when he passed behind him. As he perused the pantry, he asked over his shoulder, “You butter the toast like Papa taught you?”
“Duh, I’m not twelve.” Peter made a point to roll his eyes before carefully flipping the grilled cheese over.
He responded, unconvinced, “Sure, sure.” Tony crouched down, pushing aside a few chips bags and spaghetti boxes, and pulled out three tin cans from the very back of the shelf. He placed them both on the counter beside Peter, raising a knowing brow. “Still look with your mouth, not with your eyes, though.”
“Rude.” Peter stuck his tongue out at his dad. Tony merely chuckled to himself, pulling out a drawer and grabbing a can opener from within.
The two of them worked in a companionable silence, with Peter finishing the sandwiches and Tony heating up the tomato soup in a large pot. Despite the third member of their family totally under the weather, it was nice to spend the early afternoon together. Often, with their conflicting schedules, Peter hardly got to see his dads during a school week, let alone cook a meal with one of them, and he sure wasn’t getting any younger.
“Is Pops doing better today?” Peter asked him eventually, plating the grilled cheeses.
“He’s…” Tony hesitated. He stirred the pot silently before finishing, “He will be. Just needs more rest and food in his system.”
Peter remained quiet, unfolding a food tray and setting one of the plates on it. He gathered some utensils and a napkin, the furrow on his brow telling Tony that the thoughts were running rampant in his brain. “Am I allowed to see him yet? JARVIS told me he wasn’t even contagious, and it’s been days since—”
“It’s still not safe, Pete, I’m sorry,” Tony apologized, fully turning to look at his son. “We can’t risk you—either of you—transferring whatever this thing is by touching him.”
“But how come you can? That’s not fair.”
“You know, I wish I had a good answer for you. Could be because I don’t have powers, could be your Pops will be the only one affected. We just don’t know.” Tony stepped beside Peter, throwing an arm over his son’s shoulders. (Peter was almost his height now. God, Tony’s getting old.) “What I do know is,” he continued, “he’ll be real happy to know you care so much about him that you only slightly burned his food.”
Peter scoffed, elbowing Tony in the side with a bony elbow. “Yeah, well, who do you think I got my cooking skills from?”
Tony feigned offense, his mouth dropping. “And what are you insinuating, young man?”
“Two words: Aunt Pepper.”
“I burn an omelet one time—”
“Actually, Sir, it has occurred four times in the last six years,” JARVIS butted in.
“You little—nobody asked!” Tony palmed his face, shaking his head incredulously. “I can’t believe both of my kids are out to get me.”
Peter snickered, worming his way out from under Tony’s arm and completing the tray for Steve with a bowl of warm soup. Tony picked it up and carefully walked back to his room, while Peter finished ladling two more bowls. Steve stirred when Tony eased the door open, moving to sit up as he approached with the tray.
“That was quick,” Steve commented, coughing slightly. He took the cloth from his head and set it aside, taking a whiff of the food when the tray was set across his lap.
Tony told him, “Yeah, well. Your son was already waist-deep in cheese by the time I got out there.”
Steve’s brows jumped up on his forehead, amazed. “Really?”
“Dad helped a little,” Peter said as he stepped under the doorframe, holding a bowl of soup in each hand. He handed one off to his dad before gracefully taking a seat on the floor, notably keeping his distance from the bed. They let him stay, knowing he’d pout about it otherwise.
Tony reached over to shut off Steve’s nebulizing machine, the whirring noise quieting down immediately. “Dad helped a lot,” he countered, spooning a bite of the tangy broth into his mouth.
Steve ripped off a piece from the grilled cheese, dipped it in the soup, and plopped it into his mouth. “If I could taste anything right now,” he said mid-chew, “I’m sure they taste wonderful.”
“The sammy’s a bit overdone, you can be honest,” Tony joshed, earning a light smack from one of Steve’s pillows, which jostled the contents of his bowl. He cried out, “My soup!”
~*~*~*~
The Silver Surfer arrived at the tower just before evening, manipulating through the penthouse windows with ease and leaving Tony and Steve with their jaws on the floor. And mild heart attacks. “Captain, I have been advised by Doctor Richards to return you to your rightful state,” Norrin declared, hovering closer to where Steve sat in the bed.
“Uh, yeah, that would be… preferable,” Steve stammered, almost fearful when Norrin raised a hand in his direction.
Tony felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket, and then the message popped up on the face of his smartwatch. Norrin should be arriving soon, read Reed’s text. He shot back a quick reply, unsurprised that even with instant messaging, the good doctor was predictably late.
He glanced up, looking back and forth between Steve and the Surfer, whose metallic skin went dull and patchy in some areas as he motioned over Tony’s husband. A barely-there pitch sounded as Norrin worked, and color slowly returned to Steve’s skin.
“What exactly did you, uh…” Tony trailed off with his question, unsure how to ask how he undid everything without offending the guy.
Norrin answered, “I simply stabilized the fluctuating molecules within the Captain’s body of matter.” His eyes flickered over to Steve, giving him a onceover before nodding. “Please hesitate to contact me further.” And then, within a heartbeat, the Silver Surfer was slipping through the matter of their windows.
After shaking off the strangeness, Tony turned to his husband curiously. “So. Feel any different?”
“Pain’s abating, that’s for sure.” Steve made a face, his features scrunched up as he appeared to go through every part of his body to make sure things were working as they should. “Although…”
Tony raised a brow.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to making sure everything’s back to normal.” Steve’s eyes were twinkling with mischief when they fell on Tony’s form. A corner of his mouth curled up in a bashful smile.
With a laugh, Tony jumped into bed beside Steve, giddy as he replied, “Oh, baby, say less.”
