Chapter 21

Selfie

Unpacking a box of antique vases, Natasha paused and looked around the room. Almost all of her and Emily's combined must-have stuff was unpacked and displayed. Bookshelves lined the room she was in and two others and on them were books and various dust-collectors. Momentos from their separate lives were everywhere. Art and souvenirs mostly. Emily had dozens of framed photos of her family and friends. They hung from walls and rested against books. Natasha had three.

One that Stark had insisted the Avengers cram into after their successful defense of New York. One at Laura and Clint's wedding where they'd gotten Natasha drunk enough to laugh and blush as they kissed her cheeks. One of Lila and Cooper from a few summers ago eating watermelon, juice dripping down their happy faces. She'd left the first in D.C. The other two were in her office upstairs.

"Emily?" She called as she reached for her phone.

"Yea?" came from the porch.

Natasha had the camera app loaded by the time she reached the front door. "I just realized something."

Turning from her inspection of the old willow tree in their yard, "What's that?"

"We don't have any pictures of us." Natasha stated as she huddled in her jacket against the chill air. Atlanta in early December wasn't that bad, but it wasn't Tahiti.

"Oh. Yea. Visitors might wonder about that when I've got so many others, huh? I could take dow-"

"No," sharp, definite. She loved seeing those happy moments. It made the place feel warm in a way that Natasha's domiciles never had. Her eyes went to the phone. "I like them."

Emily was watching her. "I know how you feel about photos," came her careful words.

There were so many reasons not to allow them. Safety, for one. And what about in fifteen years when Emily had lines from years of laughing while Natasha's skin was smooth as ever? Fuck it. That was a bridge to cross later. And since the Senate had decided not to kill or imprison Natasha or anyone else involved in spilling SHIELD's secrets, she had time to build that bridge. "This is our home. I want pictures of us in it."

"And you think the first one should be a selfie?"

Natasha handed the phone over. "You take it." Photography experience that revolved solely around surveillance shouldn't be trusted for something this important.

An arm went around her waist, and their heads bumped. Emily held up the phone, capturing the soft moment with the willow tree in the background. She proceeded to take about thirty more before Natasha could retrieve her phone from the giggling woman.

Later, as she uploaded them to her computer, she discovered that she loved most of them, even the completely absurd ones. She chose five and went to a local craft store. A collage frame that would match the living room's décor was chosen. Thinking about how it would look sent a shiver through her. So much exposure.

Putting the pictures in the frame, Natasha's open emotions for Emily immortalized and displayed for other people to see made it hard to breathe. She found the hammer, level, and nails. The frame got a place of prominence over the couch. Breathing hard, she stepped back.

Comfort enveloped her. "Are you sure?"

Natasha leaned back into Emily's arms. "Yes."

"We look good, little fox." Together, they stared at the evidence that the Black Widow could love.

Emily held a mug of hot coffee in front of Steve. He jerked from his staring contest with the black TV screen. "Oh. Thanks."

She sat beside him, watched him start to zone off into the coffee. "I'm sorry."

Sadness, dejection, they spilled across his face though he tried to wave her off. "It's alright. There was nothing you could do."

"You're a good man, Steve. A good leader and friend." She hated the twist in the gut expression that friend gave him. That Bucky had never showed, and Steve hadn't been able to find him was eating the man alive. "I know that I couldn't drag him back with me, but I still feel bad that there wasn't, isn't, anything I can do." Steve had avoided talking about his emotional reaction to Bucky the entire time they were in D.C. Emily had only managed to get him to open up by getting him out of that political den of wolves. It was February now. Maybe she should've pulled him out by his ears sooner.

A lightness that hadn't touched his eyes since he'd discovered that the Winter Soldier was an experimented on, brainwashed old friend who he thought dead returned to his gentle blue eyes. "You're wrong, Emily. You showing him compassion was huge. There's hope that he might come back for more. This helps too." He lifted the coffee. "Being here, away from everything, with a friend who has been going out of her way to make me feel comfortable, including buying a coffeemaker."

"I've had that old th-"

"I noticed the receipt yesterday. You missed throwing it in the trash."

She felt a blush.

There was the slightest perk of a smile. "And you haven't been trying to catch me up on stuff I missed during my ice nap. You have no idea how relaxing that is."

"It might sound weird, but I kinda think of you as one of my foreign friends. You might miss a few pop culture cues." She chuckled at his pointed expression. "Okay, a lot. Whatever though. You've got a rich personality, great things to offer, and a different cultural upbringing than my own. We get along. That's what's important."

"Is that how," pink tinted his cheeks, "You and Natasha work?"

"That, and I really like younger women." Natasha smirked from the hallway. Their attention fully on her, she crossed into the room, stood next to them. "I never mentioned it, but you really surprised me, Rogers."

He blinked. "With what?"

Teasingly, she slid into Emily's lap. Who she was teasing more, Emily or Steve, was the question. Probably meant it for both, the troublemaker. "You're a traditionally raised Catholic, yet you've never even flinched at a relationship that would have been quite frowned upon back in the day."

Flushing, he begged help from his coffee, sipped at it. "Flinched might not be the right word for it."

Natasha made herself even more comfortable, wiggling sweetly. "Why, Steve, have we been the subject of y-"

She squealed at a pinch on her thigh. Emily scolded her, "Stop teasing him, you share crop, you."

Steve choked on his coffee while Natasha narrowed her eyes. "What did you call me?"

Emily lifted her chin. "Share crop." Her grin grew wicked as she realized Natasha wasn't familiar with the antiquated American slang.

"Rogers, what did she call me?"

He silently begged Emily to get him off the hook.

Only because she'd started this mess. "Don't go bustin' his chops over somethin' I said, you old broad."

Natasha huffed like a black and white Hollywood diva, "Don't be crass!"

Coffee spurted from Steve's nose, and Emily guffawed, deep, rocking belly laughs that quickly won Natasha laughs too. Steve was a little busy being embarrassed and wiping at his nose, yet after a few moments, he chuckled with them. "Dang it, I got it all over the carpet. I'm sorry. I'll clean it up."

Grabbing at his elbow, Emily tugged. "Sit down, Steve. My doll here will take care of it."

"You made him laugh. You clean it up." Natasha argued. "I'm perfectly comfortable." She twisted to give Emily a prime view of her cleavage.

Though tempted, Emily was on a mission. She adjusted the arm that was already around Nat's waist, and slipped her other under knees. With a mild grunt, she stood. Damn, it was nice to function without a broken wrist anymore, or stitches or bruised ribs or the various other injuries she'd grumbled through for weeks and weeks. Tony had stopped by their place in D.C. with a prototype of the armor, and she'd had to admit that it was nice. It fit great. It looked really good too. And it was lightweight, left lots of room for movement, and made Natasha happy.

Emily smiled down at her grinning spy, enjoying the way Natasha's eyes danced and walked them to the kitchen. "Grab that towel."

An eyebrow firmly arched at her in refusal.

Emily pulled out the big guns and kissed her chin, whispering against it. "Mon petit renard, je t'en prie. Prends la."

Nat sucked in her lower lip, biting the side of it before giving in.

"And the vinegar and baking soda."

Eyes promising to pay her back later, she opened the cupboard, grabbing the products and a bowl.

Back at the couch, Emily eased them down with only a little strain. Her injury-weakened muscles sighed in relief. Natasha poured some vinegar in the bowl, gave her a vicious smirk and crawled forward to dust the baking soda over the carpet, purposely giving a display of her lovely behind. Emily swallowed as Steve went pink again, purposefully staring at the painting on the wall. While she cleaned, Natasha tortured her lover and friend.

Point to the master seductress, Emily offered. "Not bad for an old broad."

"You are going to get us killed, Emily." Steve muttered.

Snickering, she agreed. "Probably."

"So, Em, what's with the old geezer jargon? Recent study or what?"

"I've been on a forties era binge lately. Nat left a biography on President Truman laying around. After I finished it, I went looking for other stuff written during or about the forties." She leaned forward. "There was this one I found written by an Egyptian activist that blew my mind. God, Steve, I wish you read Arabic so I could loan it to you."

A soft expression smoothed his young face. "I'm glad we're friends, Em." He chortled. "But I'm not learning Arabic just to read your books. There's plenty in English and French on my catch-up list."

She waved at the expansive collection surrounding them. "Borrow anything. Between the two of us, we probably have whatever's on your list."

"Except my first editions." Nat interjected. "Those don't leave the house. And you better not break their spines."

"Thanks." Emily whispered into her ear as they lay in bed that night.

Squirming at the hot attention being lathed there, Natasha hummed. "For what?"

Warm kisses were set to her neck. "For helping me make Cap smile."

Oh. That. "You're welcome and thank you for working to make him smile."

The kisses reached her chest, languidly spread across it.

"Hey, Em?"

"Hm?" came from around a breast.

Natasha arched into her mouth, nearly forgot what she'd finally brought up the courage to talk about, what she'd been thinking about for months. "Now that our life is in complete chaos, do you want to make it worse?"

Lips retreated to puzzle at her. "What?"

Natasha took a breath and plunged forward. "I was thinking that maybe it's time to reverse my sterility. I," she gasped at the love sparkling in Emily's dark eyes. "I want my options back."

Emily stared at her. A wide smile threatened. "You're ready to make more little foxes?"

No. But, she was ready to talk about it, to plan, to dream. "Not right now, and we have to find the right donor."

Sliding back up, Emily kissed the underside of her jaw. "And tell the hawk family their little birds are going to have playmates."

Natasha groaned. "Clint will gloat we're copying him." Wait. She'd said she wanted options, not that she was ready to pop kids out right now!

"What's wrong with mimicking Laura's greatness?"

At that, she laughed. "When you put it that way."

Emily smoothed back damp frizzies, traced her cheek with a thumb. "It would be nice for the cousins to be close in age."

Cousins? The children of spies, killers, assassins; two people who had bonded in the blood of the dead. The thumb paused, drawing her back to Emily and the present. No. They would be children raised by people who loved each other. She'd never said it out loud, but she loved Clint. He was the family she'd never been allowed to have. Then he found Laura and she became included in Natasha's short list of people she'd do anything to protect.

Now, she had Emily, who wanted to help create a new family with Natasha. She wanted Emily's baby. Hadn't there been recent progress in the research into creating children from same-sex parents? She made a mental note to look into it. Any children she had with Emily would be raised by a village. Good people who Natasha respected would be part of their lives. The Bartons. The Fortune siblings, Steve, Hill, Pepper, even Tony and Bruce. Thor, when he deigned to visit. Adrenaline suddenly shot through her.

All those people. All those attachments, and she was planning on the worst vulnerability of all. A child.

"Natalia. It's okay." Emily soothed.

No it wasn't! She slapped Em's chest. "How are you so damn calm about this? I thought normal people freaked out at the idea of planning kids!"

There was a certain tightness to her smile, visible even in the dark room. "I already raised two kids."

Never would she make that kind of choice without Emily's consent. Not even to save the world. Exposing her secrets along with SHIELD's corruption had been terrible enough, and though Emily had said she'd forgiven the matter, Natasha could tell that she fought herself to make it true. It had insinuated itself into Natasha's nightmares. Taking choices away from Emily, like the Red Room had done to her, drenched her in a cold sweat. "I wouldn't ask you to raise a child you didn't want."

Emily's eyes closed, and her frame trembled.

Moving slowly, lovingly, Natasha kissed and stroked the shudders away. "You're the other half of my together, Em. We make decisions about our future as equals."

Dark depths stared at her. "I wonder how many lifetimes of good karma it takes to deserve a partner like you."

It was her turn to shudder as love attacked nightmares. "Probably just as many as it takes to deserve one like you."

Natasha's ledger was still so horribly stained. Yet, being with Emily made it not so horrible, because she knew that a happy Emily made the world a better place. Somehow, she'd become the person who could make Em laugh and smile even when they were fighting. She didn't want to have a real fight with Em again any time soon. They'd only just started being able to smile at each other without bitter edges, and Emily was sleeping through the night again. Natasha wanted the easy comfort to last forever.

A/N - I feel like this is the biggest moment of their relationship, and I really, really hope that I didn't fuck it up.

Translation:
Mon petit renard, je t'en prie. Prends la - My little fox, please. Take it

share crop - sexually promiscuous girl (slut)

bustin his chops - giving him shit

broad - woman

doll - pretty woman