p • r • e • s • s • u • r • e

nervosa

"Breathe. Just breathe."

"Teres piper, ligusticum, coriandrum viride, satureiam, cepam, vinum, liquamen et-"

"What, are you summoning Florence Nightingale from the dead?" he muttered, a pathetic grasp for a joke. "Not sure if I should be insulted or relieved."

Tony groaned. The endorphins had dissipated now, and his whole body pulsed like a strobe light from pain to unendurable agony, then back again. 

"'s an ancient Roman recipe," he croaked. 

"For what?"

"Omelette."

"Who needs a recipe for eggs?"

"It's got asparagus in it, that complicates things."

Bruce couldn't help but crack a smile. 

"Why?"

"Pepper told me I needed to brush up on my egg-making skills."

"So you memorised an ancient recipe in Latin."

"Happy wife happy life, right?"

They both smirked, Tony in spite of his pain. Which was really quite difficult. 

Even harder to get through than From Bird to Belly: A Brief History of the Egg by Professor Charles Archibald Windbury.

Bruce had tossed the flat sheet aside and lain the comforter over Tony's shoulders. The scientist himself was resting stiffly atop it on Pepper's side of the bed.

"I'm staying." he said. Tony didn't dare argue. "God only knows what would've happened if I hadn't been here. I mean Jesus, Tony."

Neither of them spoke, but the thoughts on Tony's mind had grown too loud.

"What if you hadn't found me that night in the garage?" his voice was weak and hoarse and he hated it. 

There was silence. It was deafening. It grew between the two of them rather like a fungus, infecting the space with something foul and damp and heavy. 

"Tony...don't-don't think like that. I don't want to-"

"Yeah, but sometimes I feel like..." he fought to get control over his words. "...maybe you shouldn't have." He lost. KO in mid-sentence. 

Bruce's breath was light and barely there but there it was all the same, touching upon the air like tiny footsteps running away. Running away from him and all his darkness. 

"Tony-" he started. "Don't-" Bruce sighed. "Don't go this way. Please. You can fall apart, I'll put you back but don't you dare burn."

- - - 

A knock on the door woke Bruce up, who rolled over to jab Tony in the shoulder. 

"Tony? Tony, it's Nat." 

He made a sound that could only be described as a growl and hobbled out of bed, still shirtless, to open the door.

"Come downstairs, Cap made pancakes."

Tony nodded slowly and rubbed his eyes, flinching a little as Natasha's gaze flitted lightning-fast to his stomach briefly before glancing back up to meet his own, void of any emotion.

Before he can panic and grab a shirt, she is halfway down the stairs.

Shitshitshitshitshit she saw

"That goes for Bruce too," she added, a hint of a smile playing across her lips.

He shut the door.

"How did she know?"