The lab was unusually quiet, save for the occasional sniffle from Tony as he tinkered with a gauntlet prototype. His face was flushed, his hair a mess, and the blanket you’d draped over his shoulders hours ago had slipped to the floor. A half-empty cup of coffee sat forgotten beside him, long gone cold. You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorway, watching him stubbornly solder a circuit board.

"You know," you said, your voice cutting through the quiet, "Most people take a day off when they're sick. Or, I don’t know, sleep."

Tony didn’t even glance up. "I’m not sick. I’m just slightly under the weather." He stubbornly insisted.