Chapter Forty Five
When the air was sticky and sinuses had been thrown off kilter by pollen or humidity, there came a sensation wherein one's body felt entirely too heavy, as though one were dragging around an Acme dumbbell in place of a head. That was precisely how Clint felt when his eyes finally fluttered as unconsciousness spat him back into the world of the living. A soft groan escaped. He cupped a palm over his eyes while trying to make sense of his surroundings to determine location and personal safety.
He got only as far as realizing maintenance crews were at work repairing the Vault and the lights had been restored overhead before a chair squeaked. His hand was dragged from his face to find Bruce rolling a stool closer.
"What's up, Bruce? When did you get here?"
"Four days ago."
Alarm suddenly sat Clint up on his hospital bed despite the aches and pains littering his nervous system. "Four days? Natasha is going to be out of her mind by now! And she's been manic enough to begin with since the whole Amora ordeal."
Bruce was quiet throughout the miniature rant, only speaking when Clint paused for breath. "No, it's okay. We've been in touch with everyone back at the tower. She knows what happened, and she also knows you're going to be fine in a few days."
Tension eased and allowed him to collapse back against the pillows. "What did happen?"
"Rogue, unintentionally of course, exposed you to her draining mutation. She absorbed some of your energy along with some memories and personality traits. Thankfully, the contact wasn't prolonged enough to cause lasting damage. You should be mobile in a few days and fully recovered in a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks? This phase I've been going through where I end up flat on my back for days and weeks at a time needs to complete it's cycle. Post haste."
Bruce retrieved a bottle of orange juice and a pack of Jammie Dodgers from a mini-fridge. "You need to start getting some calories to burn. As your acting physician, I give you full permission to overindulge in protein and complex carbohydrates for the next few days."
"Yay." Said in the most monotone voice imaginable.
Doctor Banner snorted softly. "Don't look so miserable. You're alive, healthy, and will be going home before any of the rest of us. We have to stay on until repairs have been completed and the Vault is secure again."
"Trade you places." Only his sour mood only lasted so long as it took to get a sip of orange juice in his mouth which perked him up. "No, I'm being a crybaby. This is just hard to swallow after I was laid up for a month from Amora's attack."
"Understandable."
"Who's here, and what kind of time frame are you looking at?"
Clint listened semi-patiently to Bruce's explanation of the events that had unfolded while he'd been mucking about in the facility's underbelly attempting to stay clear of Rogue. Warden Jeffries had been behind the original prison outbreak, and they suspected he'd deliberately caused a catastrophic failure in the power grid so they could be murdered in the ensuing chaos. What better way to keep his name clear than silencing them with escaped inmates to cover up his involvement in Grey's break-out?
"So to sum things up, Marcus is being promoted to the position of warden. Turns out, he had nothing to do with the original event and is actually a very responsible commander."
"You mean other than staring at women's tits without invitation."
"Nothing excuses that kind of behavior, but Marcus did help us gain access to the facility against command from Warden Jeffries. He can't be all bad. Oh, and Tony has agreed to develop a line of suits specifically tailored to the guardsmen's needs."
"Were his designs really ripped off?"
"They're still investigating, but the present armor isn't advanced enough for what these men and women are tasked with doing here."
Clint took a deep breath and would have continued badgering Bruce with questions were it not for the automatic door swishing open to admit Rogue. The young woman appeared… Sane, he finished to himself. Yeah, sane was a good way to describe it.
"Morning, Mister Bruce. Can he receive visitors yet?"
"Sure. I'll give the two of you some privacy. If you need anything, just shout. I'll be around." Bruce smiled warmly. He shuffled into a back room with a terse "finish your snack" thrown over his shoulder.
And then came a moment of awkward silence while Clint chewed one of the Jammie Dodgers. Heaviness blanketed the infirmary. Having undergone such personal things at Rogue's hands, despite her lack of culpability, he found it difficult to meet her eyes. Too many memories of his helplessness while under Loki's control had resurfaced for any degree of comfort.
She sat calmly on the stool Bruce had vacated and allowed him his silence rather than immediately starting in with conversation. Her fingers absently toyed with the cuff of someone's borrowed button down shirt she was presently wearing.
Said silence was beginning to become uncomfortable when Clint decided to break it by asking, "Feeling better?"
"Yeah." A white tendril slithered over her shoulder, and she gave it a quick tuck behind her ear. "Mister Clint, there aren't words to tell you how sorry I am."
"I know. You don't need to apologize."
"On the contrary, I do. I never should have come along knowing what kind of mental state I was in. That was my fault."
"Sure, but we all make that mistake. Being a rabid dog when it comes to our jobs is, like, a prerequisite for this business. The rest of it wasn't you. Our little altercation was the sole responsibility of one Christian Grey, who is a complete tool to begin with. As long as you're feeling better now, that's what's important."
"Thank you. I'm just happy to see you awake and animated. You know, in a way you helped me more than you ever intended to. More than you could ever know. Something about your mannerisms is very calming. You process things well. That's helped me to begin dealing with everything."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Carol has been part of my mind since the night Mystique manipulated me into attacking her. Learning to forgive myself has made both her and Christian disappear. All this time, they were shadows of my own making, my guilt making me see ghosts where they didn't exist. I've lost so many years because I couldn't learn to forgive myself."
"Like they say, hindsight is better than foresight. At least you know it now and can move forward without worrying about that stuff."
"Maybe you can be doing the same when it comes to Loki's spell."
He froze like a deer in headlights.
She tapped her temple. "Absorbing you put those memories in here too. You might could start letting yourself heal from that. He controlled your love. He manipulated you the one way he knew would hurt the most. You have to be letting it go before it poisons you."
"Thanks for the advice, Doctor Rogue, but I'll thank you to leave it alone."
"Yeah? And I said the same thing, and look where it's gotten me. Let it go. Forgive yourself, and allow yourself the opportunity to move past it. You have to."
Clint practically squirmed on his bed and drained several swallows of orange juice to avoid saying something that could be misconstrued as spilling his guts. Of course, she was right. Logically, he'd known all along. Making the leap from Point A to Point Better was decidedly more difficult.
"Look, Mister Clint, you've been kind to me, and if I might could be making it up to you somehow, just say the word, and I'm there."
Being blasé was the best way to handle the situation, he figured. She didn't need more guilt piled on her shoulders by knowing how much he'd been affected, and appearing emotionally vulnerable wouldn't help him feel any better either. So he brushed some crumbs off the front of his hospital gown and shrugged.
"You know how you can make it up to me?"
"How?" Rogue sat forward more eagerly on her stool.
"Get me out of here. Smuggle me out from under Bruce's nose, because I need to get back to Avengers Tower as quickly as can be arranged. Bruce is a great doctor, so he's going to caution against moving me for a few days, but I really need to get home."
She was uncertain when glancing in the direction of the doorway Bruce had disappeared through. "Do you reckon it's safe for you to be moving around?"
"Sure!" He offered her one of the cookies. "I mean, I'm just overly tired. It's not like I'm going to tear stitches and my guts are going to fall out from moving. My girl is back home, and she's been having a hard time of it lately. I'd really like to see her."
Finally, she nodded and reached over to take the offered cookie. "Okay, I'll see what I can do about smuggling you aboard the Blackbird. Mister Charles, Remy, and me are leaving later this evening."
Tasha looked like someone had deliberately and maliciously broken her favorite toy upon shuffling from the bathroom wearing her maid of honor gown. Saffron silk hugged her curves and revealed a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage without being in the least bit distasteful. She looked elegant, or at least she would have were her shoulders not stooped and her chin not practically touching her chest.
A whistle of appreciation was forthcoming from the peanut gallery currently occupying Tasha's sofa and composed of Jane and Pepper. The two women were like night and day. Pepper was seated primly with legs crossed and butterscotch skirt tugged down over her knees. Jane was sort of sprawled across a seat cushion wearing track pants and a flannel over-shirt, and yet, she was no less attractive than Miss Potts.
"Don't bother. I know I look a mess," Tasha groused. "That tends to happen when one has been awake all night heaving up one's guts." While the father of one's unborn was laid up a thousand miles away… Thoughts came screeching to a halt to avoid working herself up.
"Nonsense," Pepper cut in. "You look fine, or at least you would look fine if you corrected that atrocious posture. The more you stand like that, the bigger your hunchback will be when you're ninety."
"Aren't you feeling well?" asked Jane.
Tasha barely avoided pointing out that she was already ninety. There was no reason to get into the details in front of Miriam Wonderly, the seamstress Pepper had hired to create the bridal party's trousseau. And then she grimaced upon realizing what she'd blurted out in front of Jane. She hadn't planned on telling anyone until after having told Clint.
"I'm fine, Jane. Last night's indisposition will go away in nine months. Well, seven months and one week by this point," she finally said.
"Oh my God, you're pregnant!" Jane exclaimed. "That's… Wow. Congratulations. I'm sure Clint's thrilled."
Pepper looked mildly pleased.
"He doesn't know yet, so you have to keep it quiet until then. Don't tell anyone, not even Thor, and especially not Loki."
Jane mimed zipping her lips, locking them, and throwing away the key.
A moment of silence crept over the great room while Miriam fussed over the capped sleeves in an effort to make them fall correctly along the points of Tasha's shoulders.
Tasha broke the silence by asking, "You're making Jane and Jenny wear one of these things, right?"
"Of course! Only theirs will be candy apple red."
"Are you sure it's a good idea to dress She-Hulk in a red gown? I mean, green and red can't not be Christmasy," Jane commented. "And thank you for asking me, by the way. Thor and I will try our hardest to be back in time for the wedding."
"Oh, you know, I hadn't thought of that." Pepper paused to consider the idea and then continued, "No, it should be fine. Candy apple is different enough from your standard Christmas colors to avoid the connection. What do you think, Miriam?"
The German seamstress tugged a wrinkle from the gown's waistline, a pincushion affixed to her wrist. "I think Madame Potts should ask Miss Walters not be green during wedding and avoid the issue."
"I'd rather her look like a walking Christmas stereotype than to ask her to relinquish her She-Hulk persona. I'm not a bridezilla. I want my bridesmaids to be comfortable when they accompany me down the aisle."
"Thank you," Tasha said in behalf of all the Potts bridesmaids. "Have you decided who you'll ask to give you away?"
"You know, I don't know. Rhodey is Tony's best man, and he's asked the rest of the male Avengers to be part of his entourage. I think this will be the only wedding on the planet where there are more groomsmen than bridesmaids."
"What about Director Fury?" she suggested.
"Nick will be performing the ceremony."
Two sets of eyes blinked owlishly in response.
"Neither Tony nor myself put any credence in religious ministers. Director Fury possesses the necessary credentials to perform legal ceremonies, so who better to marry us? We're quite fond of him and consider his agreement an honor."
"Happy?" Jane volunteered.
"No, that wouldn't work either."
Those same sets of eyes stared expectantly while waiting for an explanation.
"For reasons."
"What about Charles Xavier then? From what I hear, Tony's already invited three fourths of the X-Men team anyway," Tasha helpfully supplied.
"You know, I like that idea. He's practically Tony's godfather anyway." The shrieking teapot prompted her to rise and glide into the kitchen. "Thanks for the suggestion."
Tasha jumped slightly when Miriam suddenly ripped the side seam of her dress from hip to underarm. "What are you doing?"
"Considering Miss Tasha have baby, I leave room for growing belly. Miss Tasha still be beautiful, though. Miss Tasha have lovely figure."
Tasha refused to engage in the stereotypical reaction wherein a certain percentage of pregnant women yowled about getting fat. There was a massive difference between fat and baby belly. Putting on some extra pounds to make childbirth easier and ensure the health of her fetus was a natural part of being pregnant.
But Pepper didn't miss a beat when she said, "Of course she has a lovely figure. You know, if I were just a smidge more bisexual, Tony would have real reason to be jealous."
"No," Jane interjected. "If you were slightly more bisexual, Tony would be begging you to engage in a menage a trios. Next thing you know, you'd be taking part in a polygamist marriage, and the Stark family would be expanded to include Tony, Pepper, Tasha, Clint, and Jenny's boobs. Thankfully, I think he's too intimidated by Jenny to marry more than her boobs."
The collective henceforth to be referred to as The Estrogen Estuary burst into laughter.
That one even got a chuckle out of Tasha, but all amusement came to an abrupt end when the door of her apartment opened. Clint stood there looking worn and pale, one hand braced against the door jam as though he could barely manage standing without support. From that moment onward, she saw and heard nothing but the father of her unborn looking as though he were ready to collapse. Despite Miriam's protests, she dashed to his side and assumed the position, arm sliding around his waist while pulling his around her shoulders.
"What are you doing back already? Bruce said it could be upwards of a week before you were mobile enough to return. What's happened? Where are you hurt? Who do I need to kill?"
Clint's voice was scratchy when he said, "Snuck out of the infirmary. Was smuggled aboard the Blackbird by Rogue. Made good my escape. Bruce didn't find out I was missing until it was too late. He's not happy with me." The screen of his phone was flashed whereupon a text from Bruce was being displayed.
"Hulk smash, Agent Barton!"
Her lips twitched as she fought laughter, tension ebbing with the knowledge Clint wasn't so bad off he couldn't engage in antics. "Let's get you in the bedroom where you can lie down. I'll text Bruce and let him know you arrived safely. Ladies…"
"Fine, but we're taking the tea and cakes," Pepper said. The woman gathered the tray she'd been making up and ushered Jane and Miriam from the apartment, pausing to instruct Tasha to take the dress off before she stained it.
The apartment fell into silence while she shuffled Clint into their bedroom, pulled back the austere white covers, and helped him ease down. Then she crouched to whip through the laces of his boots and removed them. Her hand was shaking ever-so-slightly.
"Tash, stop fussing over me."
"Shut up, Barton. I'll fuss if I want."
Once his boots had been removed, she settled herself next to him on the side of the bed, hands clasped between her knees. There they were. Alone. In the bedroom. No one else around to overhear their conversation. How did one go about telling one's significant other one was pregnant? The words seemed to stick in her throat now that she had time and opportunity.
His hand dropped onto her forearm and slid down to lace their fingers together. "Rogue's much better now. Funny thing the tricks the mind can play. Charles thinks there's a chance she'll be able to learn to control her touch mutation now, like her guilt was persecuting her and forcing her to suffer to make up for hurting Carol."
"She wanted to make you her bitch. I don't know whether to be sympathetic or jealous."
"Be sympathetic." He paused briefly. "Just trust me. Be sympathetic."
"Then I'm glad for her."
"Tash." His voice dropped into the realm of barely audible as a shoulder came to rest against hers, his head cocking in her direction. "I know something's been bothering you. We were going to start talking about this stuff, remember? Communication is the key to any relationship, ours more than others."
Quietude settled over the apartment, and it was in that silence Tasha finally admitted the source of her unsettled attitude of late. "I'm pregnant."
Clint blinked owlishly.
And she tried her damnedest to be patient while the information absorbed into his brain, but she had to admit that patience wasn't her strongest quality right now. She was pregnant, and a part of her desperately needed his reassurance.
"P-pregnant?" he finally stammered, glance immediately flying toward her belly. "Like, with a miniature human?"
"No, Clint, with spoon of Russian caviar. Of course with a miniature human!" She came close to whacking him in the back of the head only to remind herself that she'd had weeks to get used to the idea of having a kid. This was all new to him.
"Wow, I don't even know what to say. I know you need me to be enthusiastic, but you'll just have to give me a few minutes. Pregnant?" To his credit, he didn't demand to know whether or not the baby was his before raking fingers through his hair.
"Yeah, see, it's that thing where your super sperm swam up into my uterus…"
"Despite everyone bitching about how public education handles reproduction, I do know how pregnancy happens. How do you feel about it?" His tone turned reticent when he continued, "Have you made a decision on whether or not you're keeping the baby?"
"When I was younger, like, a lot younger, I had a baby girl, but she was stillborn. I repressed all those memories, and they only recently started coming to the surface again. She never had a chance to know what life was like. It wasn't the right time or the right situation to bring a baby into."
"Do you want this baby?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I want our baby. God, yes."
Clint suddenly grinned and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her in tight against his side. "Then we're going to have a baby."
"But how do you feel about all this. Pepper reminded me that this isn't all about me. You're going to be a dad. Do you even want to be a father?"
"Hey, you know what? If my weak sperm can get through your obstacle course of a vagina, lay siege to your egg, somehow circumventing your birth control implant, then that's fate trying to tell us something, right? Fate must want this baby to be born."
"What do you mean by your weak sperm?"
"Shit, I've know for years, Tash. Some medical mumbo jumbo about having a low sperm count or something that would make reproducing damn near impossible."
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"It never needed to be talked about? You always acted like you didn't want kids, and I'd become used to the idea of never having them. Why do you think I was so devastated when I found out that old girlfriend of mine tried to foist someone else's kid off as mine?"
"God, Clint, if I'd known that, deciding whether or not to keep the baby wouldn't have been so hard. This could be your only chance at fatherhood."
His lips ticked toward a smile and he reached over to flatten his palm over her stomach. "Hi in there, little Barton Spawn."
The astonishment in Clint's voice brought tears to her eyes. Clint was generally an easy-going guy, but the open wonder in his expression made her insides melt into the Warm Fuzzies. She suddenly couldn't believe there had ever been even an inkling about not keeping their child.
A/N: Sorry to be a little late with the upload, but here it is. And that's a wrap on CGVsRogue. We'll be moving on to CGVsNatasha Romanoff next time.
Next Chapter: Grey is assaulted by diseased mutants, and wedding bells toll on the Stark/Potts wedding.
