“Sorry, I have a clingy and feverish assassin on my lap. I’ll call you back when I’ve convinced him that a cold doesn’t mean he’s dying.”
Darcy hung up before Jane could comment or worse start laughing and had to bite her lips against a smile as she put the phone down, her other hand still rubbing circles on the muscular back which shook with shivers even under her favourite fuzzy blanket.
“’s not funny.” A raspy voice came from where he had his head buried in the fabric of her hoodie. He sniffed, the sound pretty spectacularly demonstrating the amount of phlegm he was struggling to breathe through.
“Aww, come on Buckybear, it’s a little funny.”
He just groaned, before dissolving into a coughing fit that had him finally disentangle himself from where he had wrapped himself around her half an hour ago, to try and catch his breath.
Admittedly, now that she got a good look at him, he really did look awful.
His eyes were glassy and swollen, his face pale except for the high flush of fever and the red, sore nose he was rubbing at with his sleeve. (It was still leaking rather unattractively)
She wanted to wrap him back up in the blanket and feed him her nana’s chicken soup.
But then, she just could not help herself. “I thought Supersoldiers don’t get sick.” She teased, reaching out to brush his sweat-tangled hair back. He had been talking about getting a haircut for ages but never actually followed through.
“Steve didn’t.” He grumped, tugging her fuzzy blanket back tighter around himself.
She really wanted to take a picture of the poor, miserable Winter Soldier burrito but even she was not that cruel, especially when he sunk back against the couch cushions limply, eyes closing with pure exhaustion.
Frankly, she had not expected to be spending her Sunday afternoon like this. He had turned up at her door, leaning against the doorframe and given her his sad, homeless puppy eyes, then proceeded to hack up phlegm in her hallway and finally collapsed on her sofa, dragging her down with him.
Testing his temperature with the back of her hand, she sighed and decided to stop her teasing. “You’re really burning up there, champ, aren’t you?”
He nodded vaguely, turning more into her touch. “Haven’t felt this bad since ’44.” He mumbled and because he had confided his history in her not too long ago, he could only be talking about his captivity in WW2 Europe.
She moved closer, stroking his scalp, like one might the head of a cat, absently and pursed her lips. “Now I know you’re exaggerating.”
He shook his head, eyes closed.
“Hmm…. alright then. What can I do? Want some warm tea and maybe a cold towel for your head?”
He shrugged but blindly grasped for her, pulling her closer. “Just…” She did not catch the rest because he muttered it into her collarbone, rubbing snot into her sweater, (she did not mind, in fact it was a little worrying how little she minded) but the way he was once again wrapping himself around her got the message across.
Still, he kept shivering and as loath as she was to break the spell -
“Okay, heres’s the deal. I’m gonna grab you another blanket and them I’m gonna dig out some soup from the freezer which you’re gonna eat and then I’ll introduce you to the beauty that is 90s cartoons.” She patted his back when he only stiffened. “Alright?”
Momentarily tightening his grip, he reluctantly nodded and when she came back with the thick quilt from her bed and a mug of tea, she found him curled up into a ball against the back of the sofa, but awake enough to take the tea and start sipping as instructed.
He even ate most of the bowl of soup and she felt a lot better that he did, because she was sure he had not eaten all day and Super-soldier metabolisms were a pain on a normal day.
The blind obedience started to ring a few alarm bells in her head but then he was pretty out of it, so as long as he reacted to her quips even with just the barest twitch of an expression, she hoped he was doing okay and not slipping back into any past traumas.
Mostly he just watched her every move, even when she had hoped he would finally be dozing.
“Better?” She asked when she put the bowls away.
“Little.” He mumbled, lying down again under the pile of blankets he had collected at this stage.
“Good.” She lowered down to sit on the floor in front of the couch after flipping the TV to a low volume. This way her head was close to his and she could easily stroke the tense lines on his forehead.
“See? Not so bad.” She whispered as he relaxed under her hands and the Tailspin theme song started playing in the background.
***