Marvel Oneshots

Signs (Tony Stark)

The incessant beeping of the machines around me formed a dissonant rhythm, almost like the frantic thumping of my heart against my chest. I blinked slowly, my eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung in the air, making me acutely aware of my surroundings. I was in a hospital room.

I turned my head to the side and caught a glimpse of the IV drip that connected to my arm, the clear fluid slowly trickling into my system. This was not how I had envisioned spending my weekend. I never thought I would find myself here at all, and yet here I was, trapped in a bed with a stack of get-well-soon cards piled on the bedside table.

The last thing I remembered was trying to convince Tony to take a break. My boyfriend was relentless, always driven by the next big project or a new invention that needed his attention. "Just a few more hours," he'd said, glancing at me over the top of his laptop, his brow furrowed with concentration. I had tried to shake off the sickness that had been creeping in for days, my body feeling like lead while he buzzed around the lab.

"Tony, I don't think I'm feeling well," I had said, wrapping my arms around my knees and hoping he would look up and really see me.

"Just a cold," he'd replied nonchalantly, waving a hand in the air as if my health was a trivial matter in the grand scheme of things. I didn't want to bother him. I didn't want to be another distraction from whatever monumental project was occupying his thoughts. So, I had nodded, resigned to the fact that I would have to take care of myself.

Now, lying in this sterile room, I wondered if my silence had been a mistake. I took a deep breath, the air feeling thick in my lungs, and closed my eyes, willing myself to find the strength to sit up. Maybe if I could just gather the energy to go home, I could curl up on the couch and rest. Maybe that would help.

But the moment I tried to move, a sharp pain shot through my chest, and I gasped, falling back against the pillow. A few moments later, the door swung open, and Bruce Banner walked in, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed, rushing to my side. "You need to stop trying to do things on your own."

"I was just trying to get up," I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, well, that's not happening." He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, his eyes scanning me for any signs of distress. "You need to listen to your body. You're lucky I got you here when I did."

"Lucky?" I raised an eyebrow. "I feel anything but lucky right now."

Bruce sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You pushed yourself too hard. I told Tony he needed to pay more attention to you."

"Tony?" I chuckled weakly, shaking my head. "He doesn't have time for me. He's busy saving the world."

"Or burying himself in work to avoid facing reality," Bruce replied, crossing his arms. "He may be brilliant, but he can be incredibly oblivious."

The words stung, a reminder of how I had been feeling for days. "I thought it was just a cold," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to worry him."

"You should've worried him. This is serious, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself." He paused, his gaze softening. "I know he can be a lot to deal with, but you need to reach out when you're not feeling well."

I stared at Bruce, the weight of his words settling over me like a thick blanket. I wanted to believe him, but part of me felt guilty for bothering Tony when he had so much on his plate. The thought of him looking up from his work, his eyes filled with disappointment because I couldn't handle a simple cold, was more than I could bear.