Sweet Nothings

“You okay there, Darcy?” Natasha asked as she passed the stool the young woman was slumped upon.

            Darcy groaned, not bothering to lift her head. “M’fine.”

            Natasha stopped and stood in front of the girl. “Look up.”

            “It hurts,” Darcy whimpered, obeying slowly.

            Natasha pressed the back of her hand against Darcy’s forehead and cheeks. “Oh, sweetie, you’re burning up!”

            “Nmph,” Darcy leaned into Natasha’s hand.

            “You’re sick as a dog,” Natasha concluded. “We need to get you into bed. Let me grab your coat and I’ll drive you home.”

            Natasha stepped away and somewhere in the feverish confines of Darcy’s mind, she wondered where the tough as nails, rough and ready Natasha had gone. She kind of liked this side of her, but it was unexpected. There was a loud, hacking cough from the balcony.

            “Not on the gumpaste!” Clint shrieked.

            A moment later, Clint was helping Peter down the ladder.

            “Nat, I think Peter caught the plague,” Clint announced.

            Peter slumped against Darcy’s side, causing her to moan and list to the side. Clint lunged to keep her from falling to the floor.

            Natasha’s brow furrowed. “We’ve got two of them. All right, boys, I’m getting these two home,” she said as Tony and Thor wandered in. “The rest of you, disinfect. Ask Steve to phone Dr. Richards for a house call. His wife, Sue, owes me a favor. Put Bruce on soup duty, and Thor? Beg your brother to swing by the house after he finishes the deliveries to brew some of that tea your mom brought. Darcy? Peter? Can you make it to the car on your own?”

            Darcy tried to answer, but was interrupted by a bone jarring sneeze. Peter didn’t even bother to open his mouth, simply nodding once. Natasha raised an eyebrow at Clint, who scooped Darcy off of the stool while Natasha looped her arm through Peter’s to keep him upright as they made their way outside. She helped Peter into the front seat. Clint maneuvered Darcy into the backseat, buckling her seatbelt quickly before she could fall forward.

            “Do you want me to come with you?” Clint asked.

            Natasha tossed him the keys. “Should be fun trying to wrestle them into the house.”

            Clint dropped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

            “Peter? Can you open your eyes?” A voice coaxed, breaking through the seering, pinching darkness.

            Peter cracked open his eyes and flinched at the light. “Ow.”

            “Peter, my name is Reed. I’m a doctor and a friend of Natasha’s. Can you tell me how you feel?” he prodded gently.

            Peter grimaced. “Achy. Hot. Dizzy. Ouch.”

            Reed’s lips quirked up at the corner. “Add that to- what was it Darcy said?”

            “Yucky, icky, ow, cold, bleh, pukey,” Natasha listed, amusement in her voice.

            Reed nodded. “Sounds like the flu to me. Both of them have high fevers, so you’ll need to monitor that. Between the sweating from the chills and the congestion, they’re going to need a lot of fluids. Darcy’s sore throat means she should be drinking warm liquids, and Peter’s cough would be helped by a spoonful of cold honey. I’m leaving the first round of medication with you, but I’ll need to pick up more from my office. I’ll drop it off at the bakery this afternoon.”

            “Thank you, Reed,” Natasha nodded.

            He smiled and laid a hand on Peter’s forehead for a moment before taking his leave.

            Natasha took his place, pressing a cool cloth to Peter’s forehead. “You’ll be just fine, Peter. Loki swung by with some tea, and Bruce is bringing home soup. The medicine Reed gave you should make you feel a little better for the time being.”

            Peter smiled, his eyes drifting closed. “Thanks, Natasha.”

            “You’re welcome, sweetie,” she soothed, her hand stroking his hair back from his face. “We’ll get you and Darcy back in top form soon.”

            “Top form,” Peter murmured. “My mom used to say that a lot. When I was little, I mean. Before the…before the…”

            Natasha shushed him, her hand moving to pat his shoulder consolingly. Peter’s head lolled to the side and his chest rose and fell deeply. Natasha smiled softly at the teenage boy. She felt an overwhelming need to make him feel better. Natasha had always been a protective “mother bear” to those she loved, but most of them had no need for her nurturing. It was nice to be needed, she thought, to be a balm to someone’s suffering. She leaned back in her chair and watched Peter, who began to toss fitfully in his sleep. She reached out, her hand brushing his clammy cheek, and he stilled. A warm feeling settled in Natasha’s chest.

            “C-c-cold,” Darcy huffed, shuddering.

            “I know, Darce. I’ve got another blanket right here,” Clint assured her, tucking a second comforter around her shoulders.

            She curled into herself on the bed, drawing the blankets tighter. Her body was shaking and her forehead shone with a light sheen of cold sweat, one that is a sure sign of fever. Clint offered her a mug of hot tea from the nightstand.

            “Drink this. It’ll warm you up, and it’ll make your throat feel better,” Clint urged her.

            Darcy struggled to a sitting position. Clint sat beside her so she could lean on him. Darcy fell against his side, leeching away his body heat. Clint watched her drink shakily from the mug. When she was finished, he took it from her and moved to stand.

            “No! So…warm,” Darcy pleaded, throwing her arms around his middle.

            Clint chuckled. “All right, all right. Hold on. I have to go grab your antibiotics and check on Nat and Peter. I’ll be right back.”
            Darcy burrowed in her blankets as he left the room, hurrying down to the kitchen to swipe her pills. He checked his phone, opening a text from Tony begging for an update. Clint typed a quick reply and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Glancing out the kitchen window, he saw Dr. Richards’ car pulling out of the driveway. He skipped up the stairs and into Peter’s room. Natasha looked up and held a finger to her lips.

            “He just fell asleep a few minutes ago,” she whispered, her gaze on Peter.

            “God, he looks like a baby when he sleeps,” Clint murmured affectionately.

            Natasha hummed in agreement. “How’s Darcy holding up?”

            “Freezing to death, apparently. She can’t get warm, even though she has two comforters wrapped around her and half of her wardrobe on,” Clint told her.
            Natasha shot him a look. “Clint.”

            “What?” he asked cluelessly.

            Natasha rolled her eyes. “What the hell did they teach you in wilderness survival? The best way to warm someone up is through shared body heat. Get in bed with her.”

            Clint stifled a laugh. “I was just going to try to find a heated blanket, Nat.”

            “Oh. I suppose that would work. Except that she could get overheated very easily. Her temperature recognition is skewed because of the fever,” Natasha bit her lip in thought. “No. My idea is better.”

            Clint held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

            Natasha waved him away before he could wake up Peter. A few doors down, Darcy was still buried in the small mountain of blankets.

            “Cold, Clint, close the door,” Darcy mumbled pathetically.

            Clint shut the door and slipped off his shoes. “Move over, Darce.”

            Darcy wiggled to the side to make room for him. He climbed in beside her and she threw an arm over his stomach, her cold feet pressing against his shins. Clint tucked an arm under his head and looked up at the ceiling.

            “Better?” he asked.

            Darcy nodded, the top of her ponytail brushing his jaw. “You’re hot.”

            They both froze for a beat.

            “I’m trying to care that I just said that, but you know what I meant, and it seems like a lot of unnecessary work,” Darcy admitted.

            Clint smirked. “Oh, I know exactly what you meant, and we’ll talk about it when you aren’t sick.”

            “Shut up,” Darcy muttered, slapping Clint’s abdomen lightly.

            It fell quiet and soon Darcy’s shivering stopped. She was still for so long that Clint thought she’d fallen asleep.

            “Thanks,” she murmured suddenly, her voice muffled. “For making me feel better.”

            Clint smiled, feeling her cheek move against his chest as she spoke. “No problem, Darce. I’m here for you.”

            A few minutes later, Clint noted her slowed breathing. She’d fallen asleep on his chest. He wasn’t really bothered by it. It felt nice, the warm weight of her pressed against his side. Her breath blew softly, feather light against the material of his t-shirt. Clint shifted and the smell of her shampoo drifted up to his nose. It smelled like apples and fresh flowers. It was a refreshing change from the bakery scents that usually assaulted him day and night. Jesus, even Tony came home smelling like butter and cinnamon. Clint tucked a pillow under his head and pulled Darcy a little closer, settling in for a nap of his own.

            Natasha awoke with a start, peering around Peter’s dark room in an attempt to decipher what had woken her, what time it was, and if Peter was okay. Peter was still in bed, under her hand. A glance at his clock showed that it was early evening, though the winter’s early sunset was deceiving enough that it felt like midnight. Natasha relaxed, chalking up her abrupt awakening to being overly alert.

            Suddenly, the silence was broken by Peter’s hoarse shot. “Mama! Dad!”

            Natasha went rigid.

            “Mama!” Peter cried. “Mama!”

            Natasha leaned over him, speaking in a soothing tone. “Peter? Peter, wake up. It’s just a dream. You’re okay.”

            “Mama, don’t leave me! Please!” Peter begged, thrashing in his blankets.

            “Shit,” Natasha cursed lowly, her heart breaking. “Peter, honey, wake up. It’s a dream.”

            Peter reached for Natasha, his eyes bright with fever and delirium. “Mama! Mama!”

            Natasha reached for the cold cloth and pressed it against his blazing skin. Peter struggled for a moment, then stilled, murmuring sleepily before drifting off again. Natasha pulled herself to her feet and stumbled out into the hallway, where she leaned heavily against the wall and pressed her hands to her eyes, holding back tears.

            “Natasha?” Steve asked in alarm, rounding the corner. “What happened? Are you okay?”

            Natasha nodded, taking a deep breath and shaking herself. “I’m fine, Steve. I just- Peter’s delirious. He was having a dream, and he, uh, he thought I was his mother. He…Steve, he called me ‘mama.’”

            Steve rubbed her back comfortingly. “It’s okay, Tasha. He’ll be fine.”

            “I know. I just…It’s like-” Natasha trailed off.

            “Like he’s kind of your own kid,” Steve finished. “I know the feeling. Peter and Darcy, I think, are sort of our communal children. We all think of them as our own, so when they go through something like that, it’s upsetting. Those two, they make us think and act like parents. In a way, they kind of are our kids.”

            Natasha wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders. “Yeah, I guess they are.”

            There was a grunt from under the heap of blankets.

            “Darce. Darcy. Hey, Lewis!” Clint shook her.

            “Hmm?” she groaned against his side.

            Clint squirmed. “I think I’m dying over here. You’re a fucking furnace.”

            Darcy rolled over, releasing him. Clint kicked of the blankets and stood, stretching. He leaned over the bed to feel Darcy’s forehead.

            “Hmph. At least 102. Still feeling toasty in there?” he asked.

            Darcy freed an arm to flash him a thumbs up.

            Clint nodded once. “Awesome. I’m gonna go shower and then I’ll be back to check on you. If you need anything, Natasha’s down the hall with Peter.”

            Darcy made a noise of acknowledgement and Clint slipped out of the room. Twenty minutes later, Clint padded down the hallway in a pair of sweatpants, his hair damp. He peeked in on Nat and Peter. Nat had fallen asleep with her head on the edge of Peter’s bed. Clint checked his watch. It’d be about an hour before anyone got home from the bakery. He continued down the hall and peeked in at Darcy. She was shuddering again, wrapped up like a burrito. Clint closed the door with his foot and nudged Darcy.

            “Go away,” she ordered weakly from her bundle.

            Clint cocked his head, confused. “What? Seriously, you’re shaking, Lewis. Move over.”

            “Nope,” Darcy huddled into a tight ball.

            “Lewis, move your ass!” Clint commanded. “You have a fever, you’re shivering, and you’re going to smother in all of those blankets.”

            Darcy’s middle finger snaked out of the blankets.

            Clint sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled the top of the blanket down, uncovering Darcy’s face.

            “What’s wrong?” he asked.

            Darcy yanked the blanket back in place and turned away. “I called you hot and slept on you.”

            “I am hot, and you had an invitation. Move over,” Clint said, muscling her to the side.

            She hesitated for a second before returning to her spot against his bare chest. “You smell like soap.”

            Clint dropped an arm around her shoulders. “Usually happens when you shower.”

            “You showered?” Darcy lifted her head slightly.

            Clint patted her arm gently. “You know what, how about you just go to sleep?”

            “Mkay,” Darcy relented, dropping her head against his chest.

            Clint stifled a yawn, his chin resting on Darcy’s head.

            Steve gave Natasha a short hug. “How’s Darcy?”

            “I’m not sure. Clint was watching her while I was with Peter,” Natasha explained.

            Steve and Natasha moved down the hall, ducking into Peter’s room to make sure he was still sleeping. Steve pushed open Darcy’s door and froze.

            “Remember that thing I said about Darcy being like a kid to us?” Steve whispered over his shoulder.

            Natasha’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah…”

            “Don’t apply that to Clint,” Steve warned, stepping to the side.

            Natasha grinned at the sight of Darcy passed out, clinging to Clint’s chest, which was- if Natasha was seeing correctly- bare. Clint was fast asleep, too, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and his arm wrapped around Darcy protectively.

            “Oh, come on,” Natasha teased quietly. “Tell me they aren’t adorable.”

            Steve grinned. “As long as Tony doesn’t walk in on it.”