Author's Note: Ideas for this chapter come from discordchick, IaMcHrIsSi, and CrazyDC. Also, I reuploaded chapter 10 because an anonymous reviewer pointed out a word usage mistake. To that person, thank you! I appreciate the heads up and got it changed. Same rules apply as before; please let me know what you think of the chapter! I need ideas!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any such Marvel characters; it makes me sad on a daily basis.
"Uncle Steve," Philip called as he ran into the communal living room. "Uncle Steve, I have a question!"
"Yeah," the captain replied. "What's your question, son?" He looked up from his lap, where Amelia, again decked out in a tutu, was coloring. Rogers offered her a green crayon, which she accepted happily. Her red curls were wild around her face and covered the edges of her coloring book as she hunched over the pages. "Want to color with us?" Philip shrugged and climbed into the chair next to Steve. He reached out to grab some blank paper and Amelia pushed some of the crayons towards him with a smile.
"Thank you," he said as he grabbed a red crayon. "So my question," Philip started seriously. "Daddy says Auntie Pepper and Uncle Tony are gonna have babies."
"Yes, sir," Rogers confirmed. "You're going to have two new cousins."
"Well how do they get the babies? Murphy says they come from a bird and a bee, but that doesn't make sense. I told him he was stupid cause that's not how it happens."
Steve coughed as he choked on air. He focused on one of Amelia's curls as he tried valiantly to come up with answer.
"Your face matches my crayon, Uncle Steve," Philip laughed.
"Hmm, yeah," Rogers grumbled. "Yeah, it probably does." He pulled at the neck of his shirt, trying to give him a little more room to breathe. "That's a very pretty drawing, Amelia," he complimented, still trying to buy time to come up with an answer.
"Murphy's not right, is he? Because it's so annoying when he's right; I really don't want him to be right," Philip confided seriously.
"I… um… well... Who's Murphy?"
"Murphy's my friend from school. Is he right?"
"What did Mommy and Daddy tell you when Amelia was born?"
"I don't know. I was little, member?"
"You weren't that little," Steve grumbled.
"I was too! I was little like Amelia!"
"Not little," she growled.
"Are too," Philip countered as he stuck his tongue out. "You're a baby!"
"Am not, Philip!"
"Are too!"
"Enough," Rogers objected. "Why don't you ask Mommy or Daddy about babies?"
"And then Anna said that her mommy and daddy had a baby because they dance together in bed. I told her that you can't dance in bed, that you dance on the floor."
Steve turned bright red, and the blush on his cheeks continued to brighten as Philip regaled him with stories of what kindergarteners thought of pregnancy.
"I don't care if Anna is right; she not as annoying as Murphy. But Murphy can't be right."
"Do you want to watch Scooby Doo?" Steve tried desperately to distract the five-year-old from the current train of thought.
"Dora," Amelia decided. "No more Scooby Doo."
"Only babies watch Dora. I'm not watching Dora," Philip declared.
Steve sighed in relief as the two started arguing about TV shows to watch, which effectively derailed the conversation about the birds and the bees.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Clint, where are you going?" Natasha shouted through the suite.
"What do you mean 'where am I going'? I'm going to work. It's a three day mission in Saudi Arabia."
"No."
"No?"
"No," she repeated as she finally walked into the room to stand across from him. He continued to load his duffel bag.
"Why no?"
"Amelia's dance recital."
"Fuck," he groaned. "That's when?"
"Tonight," Natasha informed him with a grimace. "You promised her you would be there. She's been swirling in circles for weeks."
"Fuck."
"Fix it," she grumbled as she left him alone.
"Damnit." Clint sat on the carpeted ground of the closet and leaned against the drawers. He pulled out his cell and pushed the sixth speed dial. "Hill," he groaned. "I have to decline the mission."
"The mission you're supposed to leave on in 95 minutes?"
"Yeah that one."
"Why?"
"My daughter has a dance recital."
"Oh this'll be good. Let me put you through to Fury."
"No, Hill. No, no, no…" Clint chanted as he knocked his head backwards against the closed drawers.
"Agent Barton," the loud gruff voice greeted.
"Director."
"Yes?"
"I need to postpone my mission."
"Why? Are you deathly ill?"
"No, not in so many words," Clint sighed.
"Then why the hell am I supposed to postpone a mission that you agreed to?"
"Amelia's dance recital is tonight, and I promised her I would go."
"You promised a two year old you would go to a dance recital," Fury repeated. "A two year old and a dance recital? Are you fucking kidding me, Barton? You're supposed to be the best marksman in the world. I'm supposed to reschedule a multi-million dollar mission for a dance recital. She's two! It's not a dance recital! It's a bunch of midgets in tutus uncoordinatedly dancing in circles!"
"With all due respect, sir, one of those so-called midgets is my daughter, and I can't miss her dance recital. If you don't want to postpone the mission, get someone else to do it." Clint hung up the phone and allowed himself a total of five seconds to wonder just how far he could push Fury before he lost his job.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••"Don't you look pretty, Miss Amelia," Banner complimented. She smiled up at him, her red curls offset by a bow that matched her leotard and tutu.
"Are you excited for your recital," Rogers questioned. While he didn't entirely understand the concept of putting two-year-olds in a dance class and having them perform, if it meant supporting his niece, he was there. She nodded slightly, but clung to Natasha's leg. "I think you're going to be great," he confided when he dropped to his knee to be eye-level with Amelia.
"Where's Daddy," Amelia asked with a hopeful smile. Her smaller green eyes looked up to find her mother's eyes. "And Philip?"
"They'll be here," Natasha promised. She placed a comforting hand on her daughter's head.
"Up Mommy," the little girl requested as she put her arms in the air. "Please," she added quickly. Natasha smiled and swung her daughter smoothly onto her hip. "Auntie Pepper and Uncle Tony," she asked.
"They're," the agent paused, looking around. "They're here somewhere." An older woman appeared and requested all the dancers behind stage. "That's your cue, Amelia. You ready?" The redheaded child looked nervous. "Мед, you don't have to go on stage if you don't want to. It's okay to be scared. Dancing is about having fun."
"I like dancing," Amelia mumbled.
"Do you want to go dance with your friends?" Amelia nodded, and Natasha gave her a reassuring smile. She kissed her daughter's forehead before pointing to the first row of seats. "We'll be sitting right there. All of us will be watching you, just like at home when you dance in the living room. Okay?"
"Okay, Mommy."
"That's my girl. Go have fun!" Amelia skipped off to her teacher, who was standing patiently by the curtain. Natasha grinned and waved before turning back to her two teammates. "What," she asked when she saw the look on their faces.
"Nothing." "Not a damn thing," Steve and Banner replied respectively, shaking their heads. Natasha rolled her eyes and led the way to the seats reserved. Tony and Pepper sidled in to the other open seats, leaving an open seat on Natasha's left.
"Where's Clint," Pepper asked as she leaned over to whisper into her friend's ear.
"Have no idea," Natasha responded. "But I'll kill him if he misses this after he promised her he would be here."
"I'm sure he's just running late. Philip is with him?"
"Yeah, Philip was on a play date, though I don't understand why we have to call them play dates. Can't we just say the kids are playing together or something like that? Play date is such a strange term." Pepper laughed with a shrug. "How was your appointment," Natasha asked, gesturing towards Pepper's growing belly.
"Good. Really good. My OB-gyn says they're two girls." Pepper's smile wore a cheek-splitting smile.
"That's fantastic! Congratulations," Natasha grinned. "Just wait until they all start dating, and Clint pierces Amelia's first boyfriend with an arrow while Tony pummels their first boyfriends before dropping them off a large cliff."
"Our poor children," Pepper commiserated with a smile. "Then take into consideration Rogers, the super soldier, Thor, the demi-god with his lightening, Banner, and the Other Guy. Oh the teenage years should just be splendid. I simply can't wait."
"I'm going to start stocking up on aspirin now."
"Stark Industries may need to purchase a company that makes such medication; it might actually be more economically friendly," Pepper said with a laugh. "Oh there's Clint." She nodded towards the entrance and waved a hand at the archer.
"Sorry, we're late. We stopped to get flowers."
"Hi Mommy! It was my idea! Daddy said I can give them to 'Melia when she finishes her dance."
"Isn't that sweet," Pepper cooed. "Look Tony, the boy has better manners than you do!" Stark barely listened as he was knee-deep in a discussion about thermodynamics with Banner. Rogers sat between them clearly baffled and out of place.
"Can I have hug," Natasha asked her oldest child. He nodded and grinned before twining his arms around her neck. She pulled him into her lap and kissed his cheek. "How was Murphy's house?"
"It was fun. We played Legos and jumped on the trampoline. I can do a flip now!"
"Swell," Natasha chuckled. "Only with adult supervision," she reminded him. He nodded and snuggled into her chest.
"Oh! And Murphy has a Nerf bow and arrow thing! He really sucks. He can't even hit the door. He was holding the bow the wrong way and everything. He hit the ceiling once. He sucks."
"I taught my child well," Clint boasted happily. "Maybe we start giving him real arrows," he mused to himself in a hushed whisper. Natasha fixed him with a dangerous glare.
"What'd you do in school?"
"We played Bingo! Murphy got in trouble cause he didn't win Bingo and he started crying. He was a spoys-spore."
"A what," Clint asked.
"A spoys-spore. That's what my teacher said. She said when you cry because you lose, you're a spoys-spore. You're supposed to be happy that your friend won, even if you didn't win."
"A spoiled sport?"
"Yeah, that's what I said," Philip said, shaking his head emphatically. "A spoys-spore! Anyway," he continued with a dramatic eye roll he clearly learned from Natasha. "I didn't get in trouble because I told Allie good job when she won and I didn't cry because I didn't win. I got a gold star on my chart cause I told Murphy that he was supposed to be happy for Allie and not be sad."
"Wow," Natasha mused. "I'm very proud of you. What's that? Six gold stars this week?" He grinned and nodded his head. "If you need ten gold stars to get a special toy, how many more stars do you need?"
"Hmm," he paused. He spread his fingers wide in front of him. "I have ten fingers and I need ten stars. I got six stars." He counted to six with his fingers, tucking each finger into his palm as he went. "That means," he paused. "I need four more gold stickers until I get my toy," he asked as he counted his remaining fingers.
"Yeah, that's right! You're getting really good at that," Clint cheered. "High five!"
"I did it, Mommy!"
"I know; I saw. I'm very proud of you," Natasha replied, giving him a comforting squeeze.
"I bet you're the only kid in your class who can add like that," Pepper considered.
"Noah can add too. Ms. McKinney let us play with a math puzzle during free time cause we both can add and stuff. Everyone else was working on reading and numbers and stuff, but we can do that too. She gave us big boy stuff to work on," he stated proudly.
"Oh, I think it's starting," Pepper whispered.
The two-year-olds were the first to go onstage, as they didn't sit quietly backstage very well. The song Who Let the Dogs Out kicked to life through the speakers, and Tony resisted the urge to sigh at the absurdity of it all; his eye roll, though, didn't escape Pepper's notice.
"Get used to this, Tony. With two daughters, you're going to be going to a lot more of these," she whispered into his ear.
Amelia was standing in the front row, her red curls shining brightly under the stage lights. She looked down and saw the row filled with her family members. She waved happily. The teacher counted them down from the side curtain. Each girl began to twirl and shuffle from side-to-side. In actuality, the dance itself was a train wreck, but Amelia was clearly having fun. She strutted around the stage in a circle, following the girl in front of her. She tapped her feet off beat and spun in circles when she felt like it. The girls around her did the same thing.
When the music ended, the parents in the audience stood to clap. The teacher walked out on to the stage and encouraged the girls to bow, which really turned into the girls fidgeting in a line. The teacher requested one parent come to the side door to retrieve their daughters before sitting down to watch the rest of the dance recital. Clint stood up quickly.
"Daddy," she cried happily as she saw his sandy blonde hair. Amelia rushed out of line and he caught her as she jumped into his arms. "Did you see the dance, Daddy?"
"Yeah, Princess! You were great. Let's go sit down with Mommy and watch the rest of the show." She nodded and tucked her head into his neck as he carried her. He kissed her forehead and told her how much he loved her.
When the recital was over and each class had their chance to perform, Philip squirmed out of Natasha's lap and reached under the seat. He pulled out the floors and handed them to Amelia. "Here ya go, 'Melia. They're for you cause you danced really pretty!"
"What do you say, Miss Amelia," Natasha prompted.
"Thank you, Philip. Hug," she asked. The little boy rolled his eyes but obliged his sister. Pepper cooed at the precious sight. As they stood to leave, Rogers and Banner congratulated her on her dancing, and Tony dramatically kissed her hand. "Ice cream," she announced excitedly. "Can we have ice cream," she amended when she caught a look from both her parents.
Banner grinned. "I could always do for some ice cream. It's so much better than shwarma."
"It wasn't that bad," Tony defended. "And keep in mind, I had just destroyed the space station of alien minions or something, toppled head over heels out of the sky, and got scared to life by the Other Guy roaring angrily in my ear. I'm allowed to pick the food when that happens!"
"It was disgusting food," Rogers added.
"Oh for heaven's sake, let's go get ice cream before we dredge up this entire argument again in a public place surrounded by innocent children and their parents," Pepper encouraged as she ushered the motley crew towards the parking lot. "The children do not need to be scarred by your differing opinions on sustenance."
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Agent Romanov's off the grid," Hill informed Barton. "She missed her check-in."
"What," he stumbled. He risked a glance at his two children playing on the living room floor.
"Her contact waited for her arrival for 15 hours. Romanov's gone dark. She has 48 hours to check in before we send in a team."
"Put me on the team."
"Barton, think very carefully about this," Hill insisted. "You don't take missions together for a reason. If she's in jeopardy and you get compromised, there's a lot at risk."
"I know that, Agent Hill," he growled into the phone. "I lead the team that goes into recover."
"Are you sure, Barton?"
"Damnit, Maria. I need to be on that team." His outburst got Philip's attention. The recently turned six-year-old pushed himself off the ground and shuffled over to his father.
"I'll keep you updated. Hopefully, she'll check in and the team won't be needed," Hill replied before ending the phone call.
"What's wrong, Daddy," Philip asked. He stood between Clint's spread legs and placed his little hands on his father's knees.
"Nothing, buddy. Nothing's wrong. Everything's going to be okay," he promised as he wrapped his arms around his son. "Everything is going to be okay," he reassured.
"When's Mommy coming home," he wondered aloud.
"Soon, I hope. I need to run down to the lab to talk to Uncle Tony. Can you stay here and play with Amelia? If you need anything, ask JARVIS to get me. I'll be back in about ten minutes, okay?"
"Yeah, Daddy."
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Stark," Barton all but screamed as he burst into the lab.
"Jesus freaking Christ," Tony shrieked. He practically jumped out of his skin when the archer stormed into the lab. "Care to knock? Or at least announce your presence in a less heart-stopping manner? Do you even make a sound when you move? Fuck you're like a panther or something."
"Shut up. I need you to hack SHIELD and get information on Natasha's current mission. I need it now."
"What? Why?" He bumbled even as he slid across the floor to another computer to start hacking. He took a long swig of coffee and waited for Barton's answer.
"She went dark. Hill just called. I demanded to be the lead on the recovery team if she doesn't report in the next 48 hours."
The genius for once was silent. His fingers flew over the keys as he bypassed firewalls and security validations. He paused as his software ran through a sequence of loops. "Count me in."
"It won't be an Avengers recovery. It will be SHIELD agents."
"No. If she's gone dark, I'm on the recovery team too." The archer looked like he was about to protest. "Barton, whether you admit it or not, you're human. The suit has a camera on you at all times. When you run off and do something stupid to save your girl, I'll at least be there to catch you, literally because you really love to jump off buildings without even bothering to look. If she needs a recovery team, count me in."
"Fine by me," Clint agreed. "Talk to Fury."
"Fury will do as I say," Tony insisted. Clint sent him a disbelieving look. "Fury will do as Pepper says."
"That sounds more like it."
"Okay, JARVIS, set a 48 hour timer. Alerts at four-hour intervals. Print the file retrieved from the SHIELD system concerning Romanov's mission."
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Clint paced. Ten strides. Turn. Ten strides. Turn. Again and again until there seemed to be a well defined lightening in the carpet.
"Stop," Pepper shouted. "You're going to make me sick."
"Sorry," he murmured. He ran a hand through his hair before rubbing it roughly over his face.
"She'll be okay."
"You don't know that."
"You know her, Clint. She can get out of any situation. She'll be okay. She has to be. She still has seven hours left to check in."
"398 minutes," he corrected. "398 minutes until I'm leading a recovery team to find my partner."
"If there's anyone who can find her and bring her back, it's you," Pepper tried to reassure him.
"God, Pepper," he groaned. "If I can't get her back, fuck, I don't know. Philip and Amelia, Jesus, Pepper. I've got to," he paused when the phone rang. He practically flew across the room, fumbling the phone once he got it in his hands.
"Barton." His voice was gruff. He knew the timeline; either it was good news and she was alive, or bad news and she wasn't. Their lives had always been in black-and-white: live or die, hit or miss, success or failure. Whenever the outcome of the coin flip was unknown and Natasha was involved, it made his stomach flip uncomfortably. Now that they had a family, two beautiful children waiting for their mommy to return, that churning in his gut became a painful stab at the thought of all that could be lost.
"You need to get on base now," Hill demanded.
"What happened? Is she okay?"
"She's alive." The tone in which Hill revealed Natasha's status did little to relieve the encompassing feeling of worry.
"What happened?"
"Barton, get to base."
"What am I walking into?"
"Does it matter? You need to get here as soon as possible. We think she was made by the mark." He hung up before continuing to fumble with the phone.
"I've got to get on base. They found Natasha. She's alive," he mumbled as he grabbed his keys off the ring. "Can you… The kids…"
"Of course, Clint. Go. I'll stay here in case they wake up."
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
"Where is Agent Romanov," Barton demanded as he ran into the medical bay of SHIELD headquarters.
"She hasn't been cleared for visitors yet," a nurse informed him timidly.
"Like hell she hasn't. Where is my partner?"
"Agent Barton," Hill called from down the hall. "Calm down."
"Calm down," he asked. He inhaled deeply, clenching his fists by his side. "Fine, I'm calm. Where's my wife?"
"Follow me. I need to brief you before you go in the room."
"Fantastic," he grumbled sarcastically. They stopped in front of a bright room with neon lights, a jumble of medical equipment, and a drawn curtain. He caught a glimpse of her red hair just beyond the curtain. His hand itched to pull the doorknob.
"She called in an extraction from a payphone in an abandoned warehouse district. When we got to her, she was barely conscious."
"What are her injuries?"
"Broken ankle, fractured ribs, concussion, a few burns and electrical burns, deep bruising, and lacerations. She passed out from blood loss from a deep gash in her thigh. Medic casted her ankle, wrapped her ribs, treated her burns and cuts, and stitched the ones that needed it. She can't leave until she's been debriefed, but when she called for an extraction, she seemed to be hallucinating. There were drugs in her system. I called you in because, let's face it, anyone else is too afraid to talk to her in her drugged state. I like to keep my blood inside my body and my bones unbroken. I trust her not to maim me on a good day, but drugged and extracted from a made mission, no, I think not."
"Glad to hear you're using me for your own personal safety," Clint quipped. "Can you get your white coat minions out of my wife's room?"
It wasn't until he was sitting at her bedside with her small hand tight between his did that churning feeling of despair begin to ebb. He knew it wouldn't entirely go away until Natasha was back at home seamlessly juggling motherhood and agency work. He hoped they would be home before Amelia and Philip woke up for the traditional Sunday morning cartoons.