Summary: Natasha catches a cold. Steve takes care of her.

"You suck," Natasha grumbled irritably.

Steve chuckled, low and fond. "I know."

"I kinda want to hate you for it," she added.

"I know that too," Steve agreed, far too amiable and amused for the gravity of the situation.

Natasha shivered and bit back on the groan that tried to follow as her achy muscles protested the sharp movement. She was sure that she had been on missions-gone-bad that hurt less than this. Her head pounded and her skin was sore and tender. Her throat was raw and her back and chest ached something fierce from the near-constant coughing.

Her handlers from her past life would be so ashamed. Their proud Black Widow laid low by the common cold, she thought miserably.

Steve had shown up at her door early the morning before which was nothing unusual. Natasha feeling like absolute garbage was considerably unusual though. And she hated it. Natasha was nearly positive that she would rather be shot than fall ill. Steve had taken one searching look over her and frowned in such annoyingly adorable concern when she'd answered, undoubtedly looking as awful as she felt.

Nose bright red and eyes glassy and puffy, face somehow pale and flushed at the same time. One of Steve's stolen hoodies that easily covered her entirely down to mid-thigh and covered her fingertips along with the most comfortable pair of sweatpants that she owned.

He hadn't left her alone since.

Checking her temperature every other hour. Bringing her soups and teas. Even cleaning up her mess of discarded tissues and encouraging her to take the cold medication that she had left on the kitchen counter. Gently tucking her warm, heavy blanket around her whenever she shivered or happened to manage a light doze. He had gently shot down each of her attempts to assure him that she was fine and could manage on her own. Smiling fondly at her miserable expression and tetchy attitude that illness always seemed to coax out of her.

Because, of course, he couldn't get sick. Asshole. Steve just smiled fondly and urged her back to the couch.

Steve stretched out on the couch with her when he noticed the shiver--because of course he couldn't just pretend not to notice, she thought miserably--and encouraged her to lay with him. Before she could shiver again, he tugged the blanket up around her shoulders and gently tucked her against his side, arms wrapping tightly around her. Despite her grumbling, Natasha cuddled more heavily against him, head pillowed on his chest with his steady heartbeat under her ear, all too willing to take advantage of his enhanced body heat and the promise of being held.

She might be miserable when she was sick but she wasn't so out of it to turn away Steve's gentle hold.

His hand unerringly found her hair and fingertips scratched lightly over her scalp, mindful of pressure with as tender as her skin felt. Natasha sighed, melting into the soft touch that somehow managed to soothe some of the ache she felt.

"Smug asshole," Natasha grumbled.

"Yeah," Steve agreed again, his chest jumping lightly under her head with his muffled laughter. His free hand shifted to tip her chin up and he pressed soft kisses to her forehead, the tip of her nose and then her lips.

Natasha scowled and shoved ineffectually at his face. "Steve," she groaned. "Stop it, I'm disgusting."

"Nah," he smiled, brushing their noses together affectionately. "Just as beautiful as always." He dodged her hand to pointedly pressed another soft kiss to her lips before letting her settle again, his fingers working gently over her scalp.

The cold medicine that he had given her began to kick in and drowsiness tugged at her mind. Before it could pull her under she sighed. "I don't hate you."

"I know, sweetheart," he said softly, arm tightening around her briefly before relaxing again. "Get some sleep, I'll keep watch."

Natasha might have said something more in response but she wasn't sure if she had managed to actually vocalize the words before sleep tugged her under. She slept hard and dreamless to the point that when she blinked awake sometime later she was hit with a wave of disorientation. The heavy arm that was wrapped around her shifted and a broad hand took its place, sweeping over her back soothingly.

"How're you feeling?" Steve asked quietly.

She sighed and relaxed back into his hold, giving herself a moment to take stock. "Little better, I think," she answered sleepily.

"It seems like the fever finally broke while you slept," he said, keeping his tone low and steady.

"Feels like it," Natasha agreed.

"How about you go take a shower," Steve suggested, even as his fingers worked magic against her scalp and her eyes felt heavy again. "Get changed into fresh clothes, maybe one of the other sweatshirts of mine that I know you have stashed away somewhere. I'll clean up in here, get some more soup warmed up for you for when you're done."

"No," Natasha mumbled despite how wonderful the idea of a hot shower sounded at the moment.

"No?" He echoed, amusement back in his tone.

"I'm comfortable for the first time in two days," she said, words muffled against the fabric of his shirt. "Shower can wait."

Steve hummed softly and Natasha felt the pressure of the kiss to the top of her head. "Okay," he agreed. "It can wait."

True to his word, they stayed just like that, Steve's fingers combing gently through her fever-damp, tangled hair and rubbing light strokes over her scalp. Natasha didn't fall back to sleep but the warmth and comfort helped her to doze in and out. Unfortunately, it was a vicious coughing fit that finally disrupted the peace. Steve helped her to sit upright and rubbed a hand over her back until it passed but the soft, comfortable mood that had enveloped her had passed.

"Come on, angel," he said after the coughing had eased. "Go take your shower and get changed. You'll feel a little better when you're feeling clean." She sighed but nodded in agreement, leaning into the affection when he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Natasha had to admit though that the hot water and the steam did help. Soothing the lingering ages in her muscles and making it easier to breath through the congestion. God, she hated being sick. Loathed it. Everything from the feeling of being sick itself to the shear and utter vulnerability of it. Natasha would, could, and had fought through illness if she had to but it left her far more drained in the aftermath than she ever felt comfortable being. Thankfully, it wasn't something that happened often but when it did, it seemed as though it hit her all the harder to make up for it.

And, contrary to her grumbling, Natasha found herself grateful for Steve's gentle care. He hadn't been as overbearing as she had almost anticipated him being. Instead he was every bit as soft and sweet as she had come to expect from him. Illness usually came with a heavy side of intense paranoia, the soul deep alertness that she couldn't escape regardless of the circumstances, that inevitably seemed to make things worse. Leave her feeling worse for longer.

But with Steve's steady presence and his gentle reassurance that he had the watch, that she was safe. Well, suffice to say it was unlike any of the previous illnesses that she had battled through in the past. It was amazing how much affect assured safety and warm cuddles could have on recovery time.

By the time Natasha stepped from the shower, there was a steaming mug on the counter beside the pile of clothes that she had dropped haphazardly on her way in. She found herself smiling slightly as she toweled off and redressed in a clean pair of sweatpants and another of Steve's pilfered hoodies--he had been the one to suggest it after all.

Natasha lifted the mug from the counter and breathed in the steam through her stuffy nose before taking a long sip. Lemon and honey, heavy on the honey she noted. Speaking of sweet, she mused as she tucked her comb and hairbrush into the front pocket of the hoodie and took another deep drink from the mug as she left the bathroom.

Steve liked to affectionately tease her about the amount of sugar she generally added to her teas and coffees when she was at home and comfortable. Around everyone else she drank both undoctored. It hadn't escaped her notice that, for all his teasing, he seemed more than pleased to indulge her sweet tooth. Even when she was sick, apparently.

He was already back on the couch by the time Natasha returned to the living room feeling drastically more human. As he had promised, the mess that had accumulated in the last two days had been cleaned up and neatened, despite the fact that she would be perfectly capable of handling it in another day or so. A large bowl of soup sat on the coffee table with a small stack of grilled sandwiches beside it.

Natasha let her hand not holding the mug drag lightly across his shoulders as she rounded the couch. He tipped his head back to smile warmly up at her and Natasha felt her heart lurch at the open affection in the expression.

"How are you feeling?" He asked for what might have been the dozenth time since he arrived at her door.

"Human," she said with a small smile of her own.

"That's improvement, I'm sure," he grinned, shifting until he sat at an angle on the couch and she could settle in the v of his legs. Steve's arms wound around her waist as she got comfortable and he pressed a kiss to her hair. He hugged her snugly for a brief moment before his hands dropped to fish the comb and brush from her pocket.

With movements gentle enough not to jostle her, Steve set to combing through her wet hair, patiently detangling any knots that he came across. Natasha let her eyes fall close and enjoyed the attention for a long moment. She sighed softly and leaned forward just enough to lift the bowl from the table.

Between the warm layers of clothes, the soup, and Steve's soft treatment, Natasha found herself lulled into a comfortable haze. She felt the slight tug at her hair that indicated that he was loosely braiding it to keep it out of her way and automatically raised her right hand. He carefully pulled the hair tie from around her wrist, closing his hand around hers and squeezing gently.

When the braid was tied off, he set the comb and brush onto the coffee table and settled back against the couch, his arms winding around her waist again. Natasha grabbed two of the sandwiches from the plate and leaned back against his chest, lifting one of the sandwiches over her shoulder in offering. Without a word, he detangled one hand and accepted it.

Natasha only made it halfway through the food before exhaustion tugged at her and she was unable to eat anymore. She put the bowl back onto the table and shifted on the couch until she could lay against him again, head on his chest and his heartbeat in her ear.

The rest of the day was spent similarly with Natasha sleeping off the last of whatever bug had gotten her and Steve alternating between holding her tight and plying her with food and hot teas, always heavy on the honey.

When she fully woke the next time, she was in her bed with Steve at her back, wrapped tightly around her. Natasha hadn't initially enjoyed the way she always felt so tiny around Steve. It hadn't been until they had grown closer and the hugs and cuddles had come into play that the feeling had become a fond one. Now she was unashamed to admit, at least to him, how much she loved the way he wrapped so fully around her. Natasha was almost too warm, though, between Steve's body heat, her blankets and the layers that she was still wearing. But it was welcome considering how hard she had to try to get even the slightest bit warm in recent days.

She let herself relax fully again into his hold. His arms clung tight enough to tell her that there had been some unpleasant dreams at some point throughout the night but the slow, even expanding and relaxing of his chest against her back told her that, at least for the moment, he slept soundly. Natasha stole a glance at the glowing red numbers on her alarm clock. He would be waking up soon too, always an early riser.

As if on cue, he made a soft, sleepy sound and warm lips pressed against her neck and he seemed to curl even more snugly around her. "Mornin' angel," he mumbled.

Natasha felt a smile work over her face as she turned over to face him, Steve's arms loosening around her just enough and then pulling her snug against him once she settled. She laughed softly when he affectionately brushed his nose against hers.

"Don't even think about it, I'm still gross." She huffed, knowing what was next. He just smiled and shifted his aim to kiss her forehead instead. Natasha tucked her head against his chest comfortably. She wasn't tired, in fact she felt more awake and alert than she had in days. But she wasn't ready to get up and start the day yet either. Too warm, too comfortable. She sighed when she felt his fingers gently tug the hair tie off the end of her braid and work carefully through her hair until the braid came loose and he could comb through it.

She couldn't be sure what it was about her hair. It was a thing he did almost any and every time they were alone, combing his fingers through it, rubbing gently at her scalp. Even combing or brushing the tangles free and braiding it back without being asked had become a new normal. She didn't want to ask on the off chance that doing so led him to stopping. And, frankly, that was the last thing Natasha would want. It was odd, she thought, how a gesture so simple could make her feel so warm and loved.

"Thank you," Natasha said quietly, shifting her face until she could speak without the words being muffled.

"What for?" Steve asked in the same tone.

"Being here with me," she said with a small shrug. "Being you."

His hand paused in her hair. Natasha made a low protesting sound in response and his fingers immediately picked up where they left off.

"You don't need to thank me for that, Natasha," he chided gently. "If anything, I should be thanking you for allowing me to take care of you when you weren't feeling well. I'm aware of how hard that must be for you."

"Not with you," she admitted before she could think better of the loaded confession.

He exhaled heavily over her head. Using the gentle hold he had on her hair, he urged her head back and kissed her softly in a way that felt like both gratitude and a promise. Perhaps that he wouldn't misuse that trust but Natasha realized that she had long since stopped worrying about that being an inevitability with him.

"I'm still gross, Rogers," she murmured.

"Don't care, Romanoff," he retorted and she could feel his fond smile.

"I don't hate you," she said after a moment.

"I know," Steve said quietly. "You hate being sick. I get it."

"I love you," Natasha continued softly but refusing to allow herself to speak the words in a whisper.

He kissed her again, soft but with an underlying urgency. "I love you too, angel," he answered. "But I hope you already knew that."

"I only pretend to know everything," she smiled and then softer she added, "but, yeah. I know. You've made it pretty impossible not to."

"Good," he grinned, letting her tuck back against his chest and continuing his ministrations on her hair. Most mornings that he stayed with her, Steve would already be changed and kissing her sweetly before leaving for his run. But right then, he didn't seem anymore eager to move or to start the day than Natasha did.

Suffice to say, she wasn't going to complain.