NOTES: Thanks as always to the_wordbutler for helping me make my words better. Also, a warning for some vivid nightmares.


"Sorry I'm late," Natasha apologized as she walked briskly into the conference room.

"Everything okay?" Phil asked from his seat at the head of the table.

"Slept through my alarm," she answered. She sat down to Phil's right and began looking at the files laid out in front of them.

Phil leaned toward her, took a sniff, and then sat back in his chair with amusement shining in his eyes. "Trying a new perfume today?"

She glared daggers at him even though she knew it wouldn't faze him in the least. "In my haste of getting here, I grabbed the wrong bottle of body wash in the shower and didn't realize it till I was already dressed."

He gave in to a small smile. "How's the living situation going, aside from mistaken soaps?"

"It's been a week and no one's been killed or injured. So, better than I imagined."

And it was true. For the most part they'd gotten along fine, something to be expected of people who lived the kind of lives they did. They were accustomed to sharing personal space with fellow soldiers and teammates. Of course, there was still the usual adjustments that had to occur—who was going to shower when, getting used to sharing sheets, apologies for when someone's alarm sounded before the other needed to wake.

The three evenings where they were both alone in Steve's quarters had been quiet. They'd ordered take out from somewhere, and then Natasha provided color commentary on whatever show on the History Channel Steve usually watched in a continuous attempt to catch up on civilization and how people currently viewed the past. It had spawned conversations on politics as well as how governments and society should behave.

They tossed around ideas and opinions on the matter until Natasha yawned too many times for Steve's liking and announced that he was tired and going to bed, always giving her the excuse to say "I'll join you," instead of being the first to admit defeat.

"Is this a permanent thing?" he asked. "The two of you?"

Natasha sighed. "Can we not girl talk right now? I have a mission going live in six hours."

"Fine," he answered before going through the papers spread in front of him. The pair spent the next few hours discussing things like the validity of intelligence gathered in the last few days, g mission debriefs, and future press events. "Let me take you to lunch," Phil offered once they were done with their work. "Jasper found a new food truck a few blocks over."

Her stomach grumbled at the thought. "As long as it's quick," she answered, her mind already in mission countdown mode.

Once they hit fresh air, Natasha squinted at the bright late-April sun, and Phil pulled on a pair of sunglasses. "So, are things really going okay?" he asked, maneuvering behind and around her to put himself between her and the street.

"Why are you asking me this again?"

He shrugged and did his best to look passive. "Renovations on your floor will be finished in a week. What are you going to do then?"

"Move back into my place. I thought that was the whole reason for making the changes in the first place."

"What about Captain Rogers?"

"What about him?" she challenged.

They stopped at an intersection, waiting for traffic to pass before crossing the street. Phil kept his eyes focused straight ahead for a moment before his chin tucked down towards his chest and he answered quietly, "You'd be surprised how easily it is to get used to having someone around all the time, and how nice that can feel."

Natasha turned her head to look at him. In the close to seven years she'd known Phil Coulson, she could count out the number of times he'd said such an emotionally revealing statement on her fingers. "Then maybe that's even more of a reason for me to go back to my own floor. Alone." She turned her focus back to the intersection before her. "I felt like I lost a piece of myself when you played dead a year ago. I thought I'd never be a whole person again." She shook her head. "Attachments can bring so much trouble. I already have to add the baby to the list of liabilities, now. I don't know if there's room for someone else."

"You could do worse," he commented, his gaze turning in her direction.

"And he could do so much better."

"Maybe he doesn't want to."

She gave a snort of mild disgust. "Well, then he's an idiot."

The left side of the man's mouth kicked up in a small grin. "I have records of IQ tests that say otherwise."


The mission—an undercover meeting between two SHIELD agents and an AIM double-agent—went off well. The only hitch was a mechanical failure in the car the agents were using. Once a back-up ride was arranged and the agents were tucked away in their safehouse, Natasha left headquarters and went back to the Tower. It was after eleven by the time she got into Steve's quarters.

She was surprised to find them dark and empty. She'd yet to see Steve that day; he'd been gone on a run when she woke up late. She stopped herself before making an inquiry to JARVIS for the man's whereabouts.

Natasha thought about starting her debrief regarding the night's escapades, but the exhaustion in her bones led her to decide that it wasn't worth putting up the front of attempting to work. She put her files and tablet on the kitchen counter and went to the bedroom. She changed into one of Clint's old t-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts before climbing into bed.

She would've been asleep almost instantly if weren't for the flutters that kicked up in her abdomen as soon as the rest of her body went still. She rubbed a hand over the bump. "Shhhh… We're going to sleep now." The movements didn't stop. "I hope you listen to me better after you're born."

Natasha took in the moment the best she could. A life was moving inside her, something she had believed could never happen. And for now, they were both safe. So for a few minutes, she lay in the quite darkness, pushing away fears of everything turning against her. And for a moment, she was able to soak in her life without the haze of anxiety.

The movements soon stopped, and Natasha felt herself falling towards sleep, but started awake once more when she heard Steve enter the quarters. He opened the door to the bedroom slowly, so she called out that she was still awake in hopes that he wouldn't feel the need to sneak around her.

He came into the bedroom and Natasha immediately noticed the hard lines on his face and the faint smell of motorcycle exhaust on his clothes. He sat down at the foot of the bed and began to silently unlace and remove his boots.

"You okay?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, but did nothing else to answer her question. She stretched out her leg and stuck her big toe into his back through the sheets.

His shoulders hunched forward at the contact. "I spent all day with a reporter," he answered. "Some exposé piece on getting to know Captain America." A huff of bitter laughter expelled from his lungs and he shook his head. "Like selling bonds all over again," he muttered before grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants and going into the bathroom.

Natasha listened to the water start in the shower and considered her options. She knew there was more that he wasn't saying, but she didn't feel like it was her place to push. Her memory flitted over conversations of his distaste over people acting fake, his exhaustion with the smoke and mirrors that come with keeping a good face with the public.

Her options at the moment were to roll over and sleep—that would be the one she'd prefer. Another possibility came from her training. It reminded her that a good way to comfort and distract him would be to strip and join him in the shower. But her training didn't cover her trying to use steamy shower sex as a distraction while possessing a pregnant stomach, nor was it best suited for a man who would find such an action more than likely appalling.

She settled for her third choice. She waited for him to exit the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He climbed into bed a moment later and stared up at the ceiling. Since she was on her side and facing him, Natasha could still see that his jaw was clinched tight.

Of its own volition, her right hand slid across the sheet and came to lightly rest on the crook of his right arm. He closed his eyes at the touch, but she also felt his muscles tense and heard his breathing hitch.

She didn't bother with trite words of comfort, mostly because she didn't know any. He never told her to leave him be, so that was how she fell asleep.

When she woke in the middle of the night in need of the bathroom, she felt guilty pulling away from him, especially since at some point his left hand had stretched across his chest to rest atop of hers.


Natasha made a mental note the following day to invest in sportier maternity tops the next day; she wasn't sure her oversized t-shirt was going to cut it for yoga with Pepper. Natasha had been unsure about endeavoring into the pre-natal session, especially with a face as familiar as Pepper's.

"Please," the other woman said with a shake of her head, "my fitness club is exclusive. No one's going to say anything. Besides, half the women there have already slept with Tony and know that he had a vasectomy ages ago." Natasha crooked an eyebrow in response. "It was seen as a liability to the company," Pepper explained. "So it's decided—Natalie Rushman, my knocked-up-occasional-PA, invited me to come along with her to a pre-natal yoga class. And then, afterwards, we're going to talk nursery furniture."

"I knew there was a catch," Natasha muttered.

The outing had the benefit of allowing Natasha to slip into a cover identity for the whole experience. She missed the feeling of becoming someone else for a little while.

Once the arrived in the small studio, Natasha saw that the class was filled with a handful of women. Like Pepper, the members to this particular fitness club were business execs, or they were married to one at some point in time. A trio of them came up to the pair before things started and chatted with the two redheads briefly.

"Something you want to tell us, Pepper?" one of them, a Nancy who was a vice-president at a media company if Natasha recalled correctly, asked as the knot of women approached.

Pepper shook her head. "I already have a child; his name is Tony. You remember my assistant, Natalie. I came with her."

The women's collective gaze shifted from Pepper's face to Natasha's stomach, causing her to fight the urge to throw a protective arm around her waist. "How far along are you?" Nancy asked.

Natasha hesitated in her answer. She was used to putting a bit of herself into her cover simply to have a base to work form. But now, the personal information involved her child. A part of her brain reminded her that these women weren't a threat, that it was okay to be honest, but Natasha still fought against the idea before giving in. She could also feel the time before her hesitant answer slipping away and cursed herself for growing rusty in situations like this. "Twenty weeks," she answered, the truth finding its way out of her.

The woman in the middle—Elaine—smiled at her. "Halfway point. Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?"

"Not yet," Natasha answered; they didn't need to know everything. Natasha was grateful for Pepper not showing the least bit of emotion to tip off the lie. She understood the desire for keeping personal information private.

The class started a moment later, and while Natasha preferred her exercise to involve breaking things or people, she did feel better leaving the class than when she came in.

Happy drove the pair back to the Tower where they had lunch in Tony and Pepper's penthouse. Salads were waiting on them at the bar in the living room. Pepper barely let Natasha get a bite of food in her mouth before giving in to gossip. "So are you sleeping with him or what?"

"Who? Steve?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "No, Thor. Yes, Steve."

Natasha tilted her head. "Thor? Really?" Pepper shrugged while chewing a bite of her lunch. "Do you have some electricity or power-supply fetish you haven't told me about?"

"You wouldn't take the chance to sleep with a god?"

"I draw the line at aliens."

"You haven't answered my question," Pepper stated in the tone of voice Natasha recognized from many a board meeting and most interactions with Tony.

"We sleep in the same bed. Nothing else happens."

Pepper gave her a look of dissatisfaction. "You're a disappointment to women everywhere." Natasha shook her head in response. "No, really—all women everywhere. And some men. You've had to at least thought about it."

"Of course I have, especially when the pregnancy hormones make me hornier than Tony."

"So?"

"So," Natasha answered while stabbing lettuce with her fork, "it doesn't mean anything happens. He's not my personal sex toy, he's Steve Rogers—nicest person to ever exist."

"I would do dirty, dirty things to that man."

"What would Tony say if he heard you say that?"

"He'd ask to watch, record, join, or some combination thereof." Natasha shrugged to concede Pepper the point. "Well, if you're not going to give me any lurid details—and I firmly believe you're holding out on me about something—then it's time to discuss furniture."

Natasha heaved sigh before stuffing another forkful of salad in her mouth. Once she swallowed, she tried valiantly not to whine. "Can't you just pick it out for me? I'll give you my debit card, and you can just go to town."

"You're not paying for this, Tony and I are."

She shook her head before swallowing her food to argue. "Pepper, thank you, but no. I can afford new furniture. You already let us live here rent-free. You're paying for the remodel to my floor, let me do this."

Her friend waved it off. "Consider it an early baby shower gift."

Natasha felt her stomach drop in dread. "Please tell me you're not planning a baby shower. Think of the people we know; there's no way something like that doesn't turn out to be a disaster. Even if you're the one planning it."

Pepper's bottom lip stuck out in the faintest of pouts. "I never get to throw fun parties anymore. Granted, knowing the crowd you around with, it's entirely possible the gifts will consist of only weapons or security measures, but I'll live with that."

"I'm not going to win any part of this discussion, am I?"

"Against me? You should know better than that." Pepper reached behind her for a tablet and began to pull up images of different cribs. "Which do you like?" she asked, showing them to Natasha.

Natasha had a keen eye for aesthetics when she wanted to, but this was not one of those times. They were all beds for babies, and they all looked the same. What did it matter what color or shape they were in? "You do a wonderful job at pulling a room together, why don't you pick what you think is best?"

Pepper's shoulders slumped slightly at her words. "Are you sure? You don't want to have any say at all?"

Natasha sat down her fork to count points off on her fingers. "No pink. No sparkles. Nothing frilly."

"Anything you do want?"

Natasha picked up her fork and pushed her food around a bit before answering quietly, "I heard yellow walls would be nice."


Her hands were covered in blood. It wasn't a new sensation, except for the fact that the blood was her own. She was strapped across the chest and legs to a table, bright lights shining into her eyes. Voices spoke in Russian all around her. He stomach was exposed, slashed open and empty. She was left alone to bleed out on the operating table, ignored by the others in the room. But none of that mattered. The only thing Natasha could focus on was the shrieking.

The horrific sound came from the baby stolen out of her body. Natasha strained against the straps, but couldn't see past the doctors surrounding the smaller examination table to catch a glimpse of her daughter. She begged for them to move, to let her at least see the child, but they didn't listen to her. She tried to sit up against the restraints, but they only tightened against her and, a moment later, began to shake her.

"Natasha!" Steve yelled, finally bringing her out of the nightmare. She jolted and gasped. Steve's hands let go of her shoulders to give her breathing room, and he leaned back from a kneeling position over her on the mattress to roll back and sit on his feet. "You're okay," he told her calmly, despite the worry in his eyes.

She blinked against the harsh light in the room and wiped the tears and sweat from her face. Using her left hand to push herself upright, her right went to her stomach. She rubbed the growing bump in hopes of coaxing some movement out of the baby, but no such luck.

Steve must've seen her worry and asked JARVIS if there was anyway for the AI to run a check on the baby. "I can project the sound of the heartbeat, if you wish," JARVIS replied. Natasha nodded, and immediately the room was filled with a rapid beat.

"See? She's okay." Steve said, still not moving from his sitting position a couple feet from her. "Are you?"

Natasha shook her head. It took a couple of deep breaths before she found her voice. "Department X—the scientists for the KGB—they hunted me down. They said I'd failed. They said they were going to take her and make her into what I should've been. So they strapped me to a table and cut her out of me. And I couldn't stop them. I couldn't save her."

Steve scooted forward until his knees touched the side of her left leg. His left hand reached out to cover her right over her stomach, and his other hand gently turned her chin to meet his eyes. "That will never happen. Not ever. Those men are gone."

"There are still others like them."

"And it still wouldn't be enough for that to happen to you. Because in order for that to come true, there would be a lot of dead bodies in the way. Every single one of us; Coulson, Hill, and probably Pepper, too. And you know just how much it would take to bring all of us down." He leaned his face forward a fraction of an inch to emphasize his words. "We would never let that happen to you, or to her."

Natasha closed her eyes and felt fresh tears fall down her cheeks. She did her best to let his words and the sound of her daughter's steady heartbeat soothe her and calm her frantic nerves. Steve's hand left her chin to swipe the tracks of tears from her cheeks, and she found herself leaning into the touch. He spread his palm out for her to rest her head in his hand while he slowly swept his thumb back and forth over her cheekbone. A moment later, his forehead came to rest against hers, his nose lightly pressing into her cheek.

Whatever calming effect this man had on her was gone as her heart rate picked up again, but this time not out of fear. In need of more contact, more assurance from him, she tilted her chin up until her mouth found his. The first kiss was quick, a soft brush of lips. The second, initiated by Steve, wasn't. Much like the man himself, it was an exercise in restrained strength. He pulled away from her a moment later with a shake of his head. She reached a hand up to run through his hair and bring him back to her, but his hand caught her wrist and pulled it away.

"I don't want you to wake up regretting something in a few hours," he told her. She inhaled to argue against him, but he shook his head and cut her off. "C'mon. You need your rest." With that, he lay back down and asked JARVIS to turn the lights off.

Natasha slid back down into the sheets, as well. They both lay silently on their backs, the only noise in the room the sound of the baby's heartbeat still playing. Then, she rolled onto her side and looked at him. His eyes were locked on the ceiling and his right hand was in a fist over his head, his thumb rubbing small circles. Slowly, she slid her right hand across the space between them until it came to rest on his chest. She felt his body tense at the contact, but he didn't say or do anything to stop it. Instead, after a pause, his left hand came up to cover her right. She let him have a minute to adjust to the touch before the rest of her body followed the same path, and she pressed herself up against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. Unlike the night on the couch a month ago, his right arm came down to drape over her side. He pulled her as flush as she could be against him, and tilted his face to put his nose against her curls before he softly kissed her forehead and laid his head back against the pillow.

She fell asleep in his arms with the sound of her daughter's heartbeat in her ears. Six months ago, maybe even six weeks ago, she wouldn't have recognized herself at all. But for once, and possibly the first time in her life, she resolutely surrendered to her vulnerability, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.