A/N: This is a prequel to Between Past and Present where Clint and Natasha first meet their daughter, and does not take into account the events of Marvel's Agents of SHIELD or Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

Thanks to ladygris for the Beta.

Namaste,

~Sandy

Avengers

Annabelle

A Tag to Between Past and Present

Chapter 4

The morning dawned cool and dreary, the sky threatening rain. Natasha snuggled deeper into the pillow with the covers up over her head. Just as she was about to go back to sleep, the events of the night before flashed through her brain. She threw the covers aside, jumped out of bed, and padded to the bedroom door, easing it open. Clint was asleep on his stomach with the carrier on the floor and Malyshka holding onto his finger.

Natasha tiptoed across the room to kneel next to the carrier. Her sense of smell told her the baby needed changing. But how to do it without waking Clint? The archer himself solved the problem by withdrawing his hand and shoving it under the pillow. He turned to face the back of the sofa and Natasha took the opportunity to grab the diaper bag and carrier and return to the bedroom. The baby was still asleep, but if she kept to the schedule given to them by the nurse, she'd be waking up soon and would be hungry.

Spreading a towel on the bed, she took out a fresh diaper, powder, and warm clothes to combat the chilliness of the day. Digging in the bag of clothes, Natasha found footie pajamas though no jacket or mittens. She slept through the changing process to Natasha's relief. She didn't want Clint to think she couldn't handle caring for a ten pound baby on her own.

Putting the dirty clothes in a basket separate from Clint's clothes, Natasha finished washing her hands as Malyshka started fussing sending the Russian rushing to the kitchen to prepare a bottle. She made it back to the bedroom before the crying turned to screaming. Stacking pillows against the headboard, she scooped the baby up and sat down cross-legged, and got the bottle in the baby's mouth just in time. "There you go, Malyshka. After you eat, we'll have a burp then, when Clint is awake, we'll see what he wants to do.

"I know you don't understand, though maybe one day you will. You need someone to care for you, who will love and accept you for what you are, and we do. There is nothing you could ever do that would make us treat you like second best. But, lyubimaya, we're not in a position to care for you right now. And don't worry. You'll be with people who will be good to you. And if they aren't, they'll have me and Clint to set them straight. Oh, and we'll give you a proper name. What do you think of Edith? That's Clint's mother's name." The baby made a noise that sounded like a negative response. "Yes, I think you're right. It is a little old fashioned. What about Sofia? That was my mother's name."

"Sofia Barton?"

Natasha put the bottle aside as Clint came to take the baby. "Whatever the first name, her last name will be Barton-Romanoff. If we were keeping her." As soon as Malyshka was brought into the upright position, she burped making Natasha smile. "Good girl!"

"We don't want to give her one that'll get her beat up on the playground." Clint's computer beeped to let him know he had an email. He went into his office and Natasha pulled out the chair for him. The email icon flashed in the lower right corner and clicking on it opened the application. "Most of this is crap."

"What's that?" Natasha pointed to an email that had come from Shapiro, Davis and Newicky, Attorneys at Law.

Clint quickly read the text, not liking what it said. "It's from Coulson's attorneys. He left a video to be delivered in the event of his death."

"You gonna watch it?"

"Might as well." She started to leave, but he grabbed her hand. "Stay."

Dragging a chair over, Natasha sat down and waited for the video to start. Like Clint, she didn't want to watch because that would make Coulson's death completely final.

Coulson's smiling face appeared against a neutral background, their friend wearing his ubiquitous dark blue suit and subtle tie. "If you're watching this, Clint and Natasha, then I'm gone. And hopefully, my death had meaning…"

Rubbing Malyshka's back, Clint huffed. "How could he know you're…"

"…I know the two of you better than you know yourselves, Clint. Of course Natasha's there…

"I have only one regret. Because I'm the last of my family, there will be no one left to remember my sister, Annabelle, and my mother, Rose. They were all the things that I'm not. Kindhearted, beautiful and loving, and it was my honor to have known them. They were taken too soon, and deserve to be thought of once in a while…

"…I've also left a video for Audrey Nathan. Please see that she gets it…"

Clint hit pause and stared at the monitor for a long moment, voicing what they were both thinking, "What about Annabelle Rose?"

After a moment of thinking it over, Natasha smiled. "Annabelle Rose Barton-Romanoff. I like it. Once she gets to the foster home, she'll need another last name."

He sighed and got slowly to his feet, carrying their daughter, now officially named Annabelle Rose, over to the bed. Rather than putting her back in the carrier, he laid her on the bed on her side, using a small pillow to keep her from rolling onto her stomach. "Don't worry about it now. She can't stay cooped up inside all day and night. How about we take a walk in the park?"

"Can't. It's cold and she doesn't have a jacket or mittens."

Clint grabbed clean clothes from the closet. "I'll run to the store for a stroller and something warm for her to wear."

Natasha jumped up from her chair as he went first to his bedroom for clothes then into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack. "I can go."

"Nat, you helped stop an alien invasion. Taking care of a baby for an hour or so will be a piece of cake."

She looked from the baby to the bathroom door, scowling at his implication. "I'm not afraid to be alone with her."

The water came on, telling her that Clint was splashing water on his face. He came out drying his hands and face with a small towel. "Of course not. Should I get formula too?"

"Couldn't hurt. How long before she can eat other food?"

"About four months. Did the nurse say anything about allergies?" He said the last as they returned to the living room where he took out the can of powdered formula to make note of the brand.

"No. I don't have any and the only thing you're allergic to is poison ivy so it shouldn't be a problem."

Clint grabbed his jacket, phone and wallet on the way to the door. "Call if you think of anything else she might need."

The door slammed and Natasha went back to the bedroom to make sure he hadn't awakened the baby. Standing there looking at the sweet face of their child, she smiled. "Hello, Annabelle. Welcome to the world."

While waiting for Clint, Natasha's phone rang. "Romanoff…Five weeks?! No, no problem…We can handle it…Thank you." She hit end then speed dialed Clint. "Hill called. It's going to be over a month before there's an opening for her so get whatever you think we'll need."

Natasha jabbed the end key with her thumb and tossed the phone on the dresser then went to make coffee and see what Clint had in the way of food, huffing at his empty cabinets. The refrigerator only held a few condiments, some bottles of beer and a to-go container that had been in there for way too long. She threw it out along with an expired bottle of mustard and a jar of pickles. In one of the drawers she found menus from various restaurants in the area that delivered. Choosing Italian, she called and placed an order. The owner recognized Clint's address and promised to have the food there within the hour.

That hour had nearly run out when Natasha heard a key in the lock and Clint pushed the door wide. "Okay, guys. Just put it all in there."

A group of muscular young men carried boxes and bags into the apartment and set them down in the dining room and on the table. "Sure t'ing, Mr. B. You want we should help ya put it all togedder?"

"We got this, Bruno." He passed each man a crumpled bill and herded them into the hall.

"T'anks a bunch, Mr. B." Bruno tipped his hat and nodded to Natasha. "Pleasure, Mrs. B."

Swinging around, Natasha was presented with Clint's back as he crouched next to one of the boxes. "What is all this?"

"I got her a crib so she doesn't have to sleep in the carrier, clothes, toys, formula, blankets, a stroller, diapers, a few other things."

"A few? Clint, it looks like you bought out the store."

He shrugged, showing her a sheepish grin. "Never had a kid before. Besides, when she goes to foster care, it'll go with her."

Taking out his knife, Clint slit the box open and laid out the pieces. While he did that, Natasha fetched his tool box, and together they assembled the crib. He saw to Annabelle's needs while Natasha washed the sheets, blankets and clothes. Then, while Clint was feeding her, Natasha hung a musical mobile over the bed.

After they had lunch and a nap, all three of them, Natasha packed the diaper bag with everything she thought they might need while they were out, including extra blankets. The promised rain hadn't happened and now the sun was shining through the few leftover clouds. Clint dressed Annabelle in warm clothes, an all-in-one suit, mittens, and the knit cap they brought her home in. They tucked a blanket around her, making certain her hands were covered. She didn't like it at first, but she got over it when she realized they weren't going to give in.

They didn't to hide her from the neighbors and security, boldly pushing the stroller out of the elevator and across the lobby to the front door. Jerry, the security guard, held the door while Clint and Natasha carried the stroller down to the sidewalk, and with heads held high-and in disguise-they walked the three blocks to the park where they joined the nannies and other parents enjoying the cool spring afternoon.

~~O~~

That night, Clint again slept on the sofa, or rather he tried to. Natasha had insisted the crib be placed in the bedroom with her, but that meant Clint couldn't sleep because Annabelle wasn't where he could see her. Thinking that a run on the treadmill would tire him out, he walked down the hall to the workout room, standing with his hand on the doorknob but not going in. Instead, he went into the office.

Leaning against the door jamb, ankles and arms crossed, he tried to imagine it as a nursery. The crib would go against the right wall as far from the window as possible. The panes of glass were bulletproof "smart" windows. With just the touch of a button, an electric current ran through the glass turning it one-way. He could see out, but no one could see in.

The alarm would have to be upgraded and all the walls, carpets, curtains, and furniture cleaned. In fact, the entire apartment would require child-proofing. He started making a mental list, his mind screeching to a halt when he realized that he was acting as if Annabelle would live with him and Natasha instead of the foster home. But such a scenario wasn't possible. Not with the jobs they had, and the enemies they had made over the years. If word of her existence reached those enemies, there wasn't a place on Earth that they could hide her. The only logical thing to do was put her in foster care and have her moved every few months to keep her off the radar of people who wouldn't hesitate to kill her. Clint had only known Annabelle just over a day and would be devastated if he lost her. Hell, it was only their second night together and he already couldn't sleep because she wasn't with him. What would he feel like when she left in a few weeks or if that time stretched to a couple of months? A year? What if the three of them were a normal family and one day she went off to college? Got married, and had children of her own? Or God forbid, joined the military or SHIELD?

Closing the door with a solid click, Clint returned to the living room, grabbed the pillow and blanket, then quietly opened and closed the bedroom door. He spread the blanket on the floor near the crib, dropping the pillow at one end. Before lying down, he took a moment to watch his daughter sleeping. She was curled up in a ball on her side, just like Natasha, but without the hand under her pillow wrapped around a handgun or knife. Rubbing his hand over the fuzzy light brown hair, he sighed. Barely a day in her presence and already he didn't want to give her up. But for her sake, he would…and make frequent trips to watch her from across the street.

The bedclothes rustled, Natasha came to his side, and together they watched their child. After a while, she nudged his shoulder to get his attention. "Bring your pillow. You can sleep on the bed."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. We're both adults, and we've slept in the same bed before."

Clint touched Annabelle's hand once more, snatched up the pillow and blanket, and lay down on the other side of the king sized bed. He was asleep within moments.

In the morning, he awoke to Annabelle crying and Natasha walking the floor with her. Rubbing his eyes, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. She's been fed, burped and changed. I tried playing with her, but she wants nothing to do with the toys. I turned on music, but that didn't work either." His partner was frustrated and he didn't blame her. "She just woke up so she's not sleepy. She's too young to be teething, there's nothing poking her, and she doesn't have a fever."

"Is there someone we can call?"

Natasha switched Annabelle from her left to her right shoulder as if she'd been doing it for months instead of hours. "I have a contact in Stuttgart, a nurse. We met while I was on a mission a few years back. I'll give her a call."

They passed the baby from her to him. He took the drool cloth, as Clint called it, and tossed it over his shoulder. As soon as Annabelle came to rest against his chest, the crying slowed and finally stopped. "Sonofa…"

Hands on her hips, Natasha's lips turned up in a wry smile. "Huh. She's a Daddy's girl."

Grinning, Clint rubbed Annabelle's back in small circles, his hand covering her entire back. "I guess so."

"I'll go make us some coffee. If you're hungry, I could heat up the leftovers."

"Sure." By the time Clint smelled the Cavatappi Rustica and Conchiglie Al Formaggi heating in the oven along with bread sticks, he'd decided that Annabelle needed a bath, but he had no idea how to go about doing it. "Nat, I was thinking."

"About?"

"This being parents thing. Most couples have months to prepare for a newborn. You and I had none." At her huff, Clint held up a hand to forestall the snarky comment he knew was on the tip of her tongue. "She can't go weeks without a regular bath, plus there's probably lots of other stuff we should be doing. What if we took a crash course in Newborns 101?" He grinned at her, one eyebrow crawling up his forehead. "'Cause I have an idea."

Early the Next Morning

Clint rushed to answer the intercom while Natasha sat in the armchair holding Annabelle who had just finished eating. "Yeah?"

The voice on the other end was Jerry, the security guard. "Mornin' Mr. B. There's someone here from some agency."

"Send her up, Jerry." Clint gave the room a quick glance to make sure he'd gotten all the boxes and other crap picked up so they'd make a good impression on their visitor. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Clint opened it, the smile on his face freezing in place. The person standing there was not what he expected.

"Hi. Grady Tyler from TLC. I'm your new nanny."

TBC