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Whistling, Steve went into the kitchen to see what was around for breakfast. It had been a good run with beautiful weather and it had put him in a great mood. He was still thinking about Central Park and the lovely fall colors, contemplating getting his sketch book and going back to do some drawing, so he felt he could be forgiven for not being on high alert in his own home.
That lack meant that when there was a harsh cough from the kitchen table, he whirled, hands already up. He relaxed when he saw that it was Phil who’d coughed. Then he realized that Phil should have been at work an hour earlier.
Puzzled, he said, “Phil? You okay?”
Phil shook his head. That was really weird - Steve had seen him say he was okay when he was bleeding from a leg wound - so he was already on his way to Phil’s side when Phil started coughing again.
“Okay, that sounds nasty,” Steve said. He turned back to the sink and got a glass of water for Phil. Carrying it over, he waited patiently for Phil to finally stop and then handed it over. “You’re sick?”
Phil didn’t actually answer, but the look he gave Steve told him very definitely what he thought of the question. Steve could remember getting sick before Erskine, so he did what his mom had always done, and laid a hand on Phil’s forehead.
He was really hot to the touch, and Steve said, “You’ve got a fever. Back to bed with you.”
Steve wasn’t really surprised when Phil shook his head and said, “Can’t. Need to go to the office.”
“No, you really don’t,” Steve said. “You go to the office like this and one, you’ll give it to everyone else, and two, you’ll feel even worse. I’ll call Fury. Go back to bed.”
Phil looked stubborn for another minute, and then he basically folded in on himself and said, “Fine.” When he stood up, though, he looked really unsteady on his feet, so Steve stepped in, wrapping an arm around Phil’s shoulders and guiding him back to his room.
He helped Phil change back into sweatpants and a t-shirt, one that Steve knew for a fact belonged to Clint. Phil looked a little uncomfortable with Steve’s assistance, but Steve simply tried to stay matter-of-fact about it, and it seemed to make Phil relax a bit. As soon as Phil was tucked back up into bed, a glass of water on the nightstand, he went back to the kitchen to make some phone calls.
True to his word, the first one was to Fury. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the man, but he was pleasantly surprised when Fury just said, “Huh. Explains why I had to repeat myself yesterday. You got things under control over there, or do we need to move him to medical?”
“I don’t think he needs medical for what looks like the flu, sir. I’m pretty sure we can handle it over here, and he’ll be more comfortable.”
“Call me if that changes,” Fury ordered, and then the call was disconnected.
The second call was to Clint, but all he got was his voicemail, since Clint and Natasha were in a training session with some of the SHIELD agents. So Steve left a message that Phil had the flu, but he had it under control.
He thought about going down to Tony, since he was sure that there had to be better treatments for the flu now than there had been seventy years prior. Unfortunately, he also knew that Tony didn’t deal well with reminders of human weakness, like getting sick, so Steve didn’t try. Bruce was probably in the lab with Tony, and Thor was visiting Dr. Foster in New Mexico.
It took him a couple of minutes to figure out who to call. Pepper answered on the first ring.
“Steve? Everything all right there?” she asked. Her voice was even, but Steve knew from a conversation with Tony that Pepper was always afraid for a moment when one of them called.
He hurried to reassure her. “We’re all fine, Pepper.” Then he thought for a second, and corrected himself. “Well, Phil has the flu, which is why I’m calling.”
“Oh, no. Do I need to come over?”
“I think I can handle it,” he said. “I just wanted to know if there were any treatments beyond chicken soup these days.”
“Nothing that will cure it,” she said, and Steve was disappointed. She added, “There are some medicines to treat the symptoms though. I can have some sent to you?”
Relieved, Steve said, “That would be great. Thank you.”
She said, “Any time,” and disconnected the call.
Steve pocketed his phone and started poking around in the refrigerator to see if they had juice. Pouring a glass of the orange juice that he found, he carried it in to Phil.
Phil was wrapped up in his blankets and shivering, but there was a glaze of sweat on his forehead. He looked positively miserable, even half asleep.
Setting the juice down on the table, Steve went into the bathroom and got a washcloth, which he used to wipe Phil’s face gently. Then he set about trying to straighten the blankets to make Phil a little more comfortable.
Phil woke while Steve was shifting him around, the movement seeming to set off another coughing fit. Steve knew that there wasn’t much he could do, so he just sat next to Phil on the bed and rubbed his back as Phil tried to get his breathing under control.
When he finally quit coughing, Steve helped him lay back, propped up on two pillows, and handed him the juice. “Little sips,” he said, remembering well how hard it could be to drink when his lungs seemed determined to turn themselves inside out.
Once he’d gotten the full glass into Phil, he covered him up again and went back to the kitchen. While he was waiting for the courier with the drugs for Phil, he figured he could find something to make that might tempt Phil to eat in a couple of hours.
Some digging around in the refrigerator netted him a chicken and some vegetables. He was fairly certain that the chicken was for dinner the next night, but he also knew that getting another wouldn’t be a big deal. And if anyone else got sick, the soup would be useful.
It took him a few minutes to find a pan big enough to make soup in, but by the time the courier arrived at the door with a bag full of medications that were labeled as cold and flu, he had the chicken cut into pieces and the heat on under the pot.
He took the bag to the kitchen and dumped it out on the counter, trying to figure out what he should give to Phil. Some of them were labeled for daytime use, but he figured that it would be better for Phil to try and sleep through as much of this as he could. Opening the package required advice from Jarvis, but pretty soon he had two green capsules and another glass of juice.
When he carried them in to Phil, Steve found him asleep, but even in his sleep he was periodically coughing. He hesitated and then decided that it would be better to wake Phil up and give him the medicine.
Phil was really out cold, so getting him awake enough to take the capsules was difficult. Eventually he managed, however. Phil’s expression was still glazed and glassy, so as soon as Steve was sure that he wasn’t going to choke, he laid him back down. Phil was asleep before he even hit the door.
Not knowing what else to do, he puttered around in the kitchen as the chicken boiled, cutting up the veggies he’d found to add after the stock was made. He couldn’t help hoping that the chicken soup would come out all right - the last time he’d cooked something like that was when Bucky caught a cold right before joining up.
That had come out pretty well, but the spices he’d used had been fresh and supplied by their next door neighbor. He’d never used dried spices before and was going to have to guess as to amounts. He figured that worst case, he could add more garlic. Garlic covered a multitude of sins.
When the phone rang, he grabbed it as quickly as he could, not wanting to risk it waking Phil. A glance at the screen told him it was Clint.
“Hey, Clint,” he said.
“So, Phil’s sick, huh?” Clint said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sick before.”
“Yeah, it looks like the flu. Pepper sent over some medicine and I’m making soup for when he wakes up.”
Clint made a humming noise and then said, “Do I need to cut this short and come home?”
Steve knew that if Clint actually had that as an easy option, he’d already be on his way back to the tower. Even though he really, really wanted to say yes, he couldn’t in good conscience put Clint in that position.
“I think I can hold down the fort for a few more hours,” he said instead. “You’re coming home after the session ends?”
“It was already my plan,” Clint said.
“Good,” Steve said, and after a few more pleasantries, Clint disconnected the call to go back to the class.
Steve devoted a little bit of attention to Phil’s room, so that he’d hear it if Phil needed anything, but there really wasn’t anything else he could do right now. The chicken needed to cook for an hour or two before he could take out the bones and skin, and add the vegetables.
He really didn’t feel right about leaving Phil alone for long, but after a quick peek showed that he was still out cold, he figured running to his own suite would be okay. He hurried, and was back in the kitchen within ten minutes, sketchbook and charcoal in hand.
The view out of the kitchen window wasn’t the best, but staring at the clouds brought to mind some abstract designs, and Steve tried to capture them on paper. His focus was split, but he managed to hear the elevator ding, and Tony’s and Bruce’s voices.
He looked up as they came into the kitchen, Tony jostling Bruce and calling him “Green bean” in an effort to get a rise. Steve had finally figured out that Bruce actually like the teasing from Tony, so he just grinned as Tony poured himself coffee and Bruce made tea.
“What are you doing drawing in here?” Tony asked once he’d restored his caffeine to blood ratio. “I thought you didn’t like the light in here or something?” Before Steve could answer, Tony had lifted the lid on the pot and was peering inside. “And why are you boiling a chicken?”
Steve waited a moment to make sure that Tony wasn’t going to add another question, and then said, “Phil’s sick. I’m making him soup.”
Tony closed the pot and turned to look at him. “You can get chicken soup in cans. I’m pretty sure there’s some in the pantry, actually.”
“It’s not as good as homemade,” Bruce said with a smile. “Phil’s sick? Do I need to look in on him?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s just the flu,” Steve said. “Pepper sent medicine, and I gave him a dose about an hour or so ago. But I wouldn’t mind you confirming it - I’m not a doctor.”
Bruce chuckled. “Strictly speaking, I’m not an M.D., but I’ll take a look.” He turned and headed towards Phil’s room as Tony poured himself another cup of coffee.
Steve stayed in his chair and watched as Tony took a big sip. He knew that the man could only stay quiet for so long, and he was proven right when Tony said, “So, why didn’t you call down to the lab?”
Shrugging, Steve looked down at the sketchbook in front of him. Idly filling in a cloud, he said, “I’ve had the flu, Tony. I used to get it every winter before I - before. According to Pepper, there’s still no cure, so I figured it was better to not bother anyone else if I could keep the situation under control.”
“You called Pepper?” There was something off about Tony’s voice, and Steve looked up. “You called Pepper, but not me.”
“Uh...” Steve wasn’t sure what was going through Tony’s head, but whatever it was, it didn’t look good. “What’s wrong?”
Tony threw himself into one of the kitchen chairs, clutching his coffee and looking upset. “I just don’t understand - I was right here, and so was Bruce, but you called Pepper at the office.”
Ouch. Okay, maybe he misjudged the situation a little. “I’m sorry. I just - I know you don’t like being around sick people.”
Tony nodded. “That’s true. But this wasn’t ‘people,’ this is Phil. He’s part of the team, you know?”
Ouch again. Steve had clearly failed to properly realize Tony’s reaction to being left out. Even now, Tony sometimes looked surprised to be included in some of the team stuff, and Steve knew that he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Aw, hell. “I didn’t mean - I just figured that you and Bruce were probably busy,” he said, but it sounded weak to his own ears.
“Right,” Tony said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Well, I really doubt that there’s anything I’d be doing in the lab that you couldn’t interrupt. And if there were, Jarvis would tell you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve said, wanting to say something to reassure Tony, but unable to come up with anything. “I’m sorry.”
Shrugging, Tony looked away. The expression on his face clearly said that he thought he’d given away too much, so Steve did what they all did when Tony got like this. He tried to redirect to something that they could do together.
“You know, you have this whole spice rack, and half of them have never been opened,” Steve said. “You think you could help me figure out what I should put in the soup?”
“Sure, I guess,” Tony said, laying his tablet on the table so that they could both see the screen. As he searched for recipes and suggestions, Steve watched enviously. He was getting the hang of the internet and google, but Tony truly was so much better at it than he was, and it was fun to see.
Pretty soon, Tony had put together a list of recommendations, and Steve went to find the right bottles. He poked at the chicken again, and skimmed some of the foam off the top.
Just then, Bruce came back in. He glanced curiously between Steve and Tony, and then shook his head. “Well, you’re probably right. Definitely looks like the flu. Best thing for him is rest and fluids.”
“I think between the three of us, we can handle it,” Steve said with a small smile, trying to make sure that Tony knew he wasn’t being left out.
Tony smiled, his expression a little more genuine. “Yeah, I think you’re probably right.”
The three of them chatted about the current projects in the lab, while Steve periodically got up and poked the chicken. He’d forgotten how long it could take to make stock, and was starting to wonder if maybe he should come up with something else to feed everyone.
When the stock finally looked about the right color and smelled right, and when the chicken was falling off the bones, he turned off the heat and started the painstaking process of straining out the liquid and sorting bone from meat. He wasn’t surprised when Bruce joined him at the counter and started helping. He also wasn’t surprised when Tony came to stand on the other side of Bruce to watch and heckle.
“So, is it done now?” Tony asked as Steve disposed of the parts of the chicken that he wasn’t putting in the soup.
“Unfortunately, no,” Steve said. “We’ve got to add the spices and the vegetables and cook it for a while longer.”
“But I’m hungry now,” Tony said, looking at Steve as if he was thwarting him deliberately.
Steve was just about to suggest that Tony grab a snack, when Natasha strolled into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock, a little surprised to see her so soon, but she just smiled. “I understand we’ve got a sick agent,” she said.
“Yeah,” Steve said, not even trying to hide his mild amusement at the way this had turned into a team activity.
“Well, I guess I should give him the cure?” she asked.
All three men stared at her in confusion. “There’s no cure for the flu,” Bruce said. “And we’ve already given him some over the counter stuff.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Natasha said, and she pulled a small vial from her one of her pockets.
Bruce was already reaching for it when Tony asked, “What’s that, exactly?”
Natasha looked a little uncomfortable. “Something that SHIELD medical cooked up a while ago.”
“Great,” Tony said, “But that doesn’t actually answer my question. Forgive me if I’m a little suspicious of anything that comes from there.”
Sighing, Natasha handled Bruce the vial of blue liquid. He held it up to the light curiously, but Tony didn’t look away from Natasha’s face. Steve watched both of them, a little confused as to what exactly was happening.
“When they woke you from the ice,” she said, looking at Steve, “Do you remember the amount of blood they took?”
“Yes,” Steve said shortly, fairly certain he didn’t like where this was going.
“Well, some of it went to the SHIELD labs. They’ve done some interesting things with it - and among them is an apparent cure for the flu.”
Steve wasn’t surprised at the troubled looks on Tony’s and Bruce’s face. He kept his attention on Natasha, however. “If it can cure the flu, why isn’t in common use?”
“Because apparently they can’t synthesize it from anything but your blood, and we’d rather you keep that inside you,” Natasha said firmly.
“What else are they doing with those samples?” Tony asked.
“I don’t know,” Natasha said, and Steve was fairly certain that she was telling the truth. It was also pretty clear that it disturbed her too, which would explain why she was telling them, and not coming up with some other bullshit to cover it up.
“Well, we’ve got it here, so we might as well give it to Phil,” Steve said, trying to be pragmatic.
Tony finally stopped looking at Natasha long enough to glance at Steve. “Yeah, okay,” he said, but he didn’t relax. “And then we’re going to find out what else they’re cooking up over there.” His voice was flat, determined, and Steve knew that arguing it was pointless. Besides, the idea of them doing experiments on his blood kind of freaked him out, to be honest.
Bruce lowered the vial and looked at Natasha. “Any idea how this is supposed to be administered?”
“Just put it in a glass of juice and get him to drink it,” Natasha said, looking a little relieved. “It’ll work in an hour or two.”
Steve turned to the refrigerator and got out the orange juice, pouring another glass. Taking the vial from Bruce, he added it to the orange liquid and then started towards the bedroom. He could hear everyone following him, and he looked back to see a smile on Natasha’s face, and looks of concern on Bruce’s and Tony’s.
It took a little doing to get Phil awake enough that Steve didn’t have to worry about him choking. When Steve handed him the juice, Phil took it and started to drink it without questioning, but at the first taste he pulled the glass away and looked up at Steve. “That doesn’t taste right,” he said, his voice a mess from all the coughing.
“Just drink it,” Steve said. Phil looked at him for a moment, and then past him at the people gathered in the doorway. Steve wasn’t sure for a moment that Phil was going to do it, but then he shrugged and started drinking again.
When the glass was empty, Steve took it back and passed it over to Tony before helping Phil lay back down. They left the room, and when Steve looked back over his shoulder, he could see that Phil was already asleep.
They all went back to the kitchen. Steve wasn’t surprised that Tony was obviously anxious and upset, but he was surprised when Tony looked at Steve and said, “I’m going to find out exactly what they have, and I’m going to get them to destroy the samples.”
Steve was a little shocked at Tony’s vehemence. He couldn’t bring himself to disagree with the sentiment, however - the idea that they were experimenting on his blood for this made him wonder what else they might be doing.
“I’ll help,” Bruce said. “If they think they can experiment on you, what’s to stop them from trying it on the rest of us?”
And wasn’t that just fuel for nightmares? Steve had a pretty high opinion of Fury - higher than Bruce’s or Tony’s was - but he was still the spymaster, and he knew that the man wouldn’t hesitate to do something that Steve would find unacceptable if the circumstances were right. Proof of that was lying in bed, hopefully recovering from the flu.
Steve wanted to say that they’d be together on this, but he didn’t want to speak for Natasha. Instead, he looked at her and simply said, “You?”
She hesitated for a moment, as if she was trying to decide, and Steve couldn’t really blame her. Over the last few months they’d really come together as a team, but no one had asked Natasha where exactly her loyalties were. Steve knew that she owed a lot to SHIELD, and that could make things even harder.
Before she could answer, the elevator dinged again, and Clint came out. He seemed focused on getting to Phil’s room, and he almost bypassed the kitchen entirely. Steve could almost pinpoint the moment that Clint realized there was something going on, as he looked up and his pace slowed before he changed trajectories and came to stand next to Natasha.
He looked between Steve and Natasha, and then at Bruce and Tony. “Tasha?” he asked.
Steve waited to see what she’d say, and when Tony went to speak first, he shook his head, cutting him off.
Natasha met Clint’s gaze head on and said, “You were right.” Then, she turned back to Steve and said simply, “We’re in too.”
It was a shock to realize that Clint and Natasha had previously discussed this in some way and in enough detail that Natasha felt that it was reasonable to speak for him. It was also somewhat of revelation that they were going to side with the Avengers against SHIELD, because there was no doubt that this could end their relationship with the organization that had sheltered them for so long.
Steve hadn’t even noticed the tension knotting up his back and shoulders until it dissolved in relief. He smiled, and said, “Thank you.” He wished he had better words, to explain what their choice meant to him, but for now, those would do.
Sighing, he said, “We’ll need to make a plan, and we will, but right now I need to just think about this a little. And in the meantime, I need to finish making soup for Phil.”
There were pleased smiles on everyone’s faces, which warmed Steve all the way down. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t really need to. Picking up the bowl that held the cut vegetables, he started to add them to the stock.