2.
He awoke suddenly when Natasha rolled over him on a mad dash to the bathroom. She'd been doing this more and more often lately, waking up nauseated, and he was starting to really worry about how little food she was keeping down. He got his bearings by force of will alone, and then he was on her heels. He found her crouched over the toilet, heaving. It must have been the fourth time today, and his heart broke a little at the sight.
He wet a washcloth in the sink, then went to his knees behind her. Gathering her hair out of her face, he pressed the cool cloth to her forehead.
"Hey, sweetheart."
She twisted her lips at the endearment. "Don't call me . . ." she tried to say, but was interrupted by another bout of vomiting.
When she finally finished voiding her stomach, she closed the toilet lid and flushed, laying her head on the cool porcelain. Clint wiped the edges of her mouth with the rag while she groaned.
"Better?" he asked.
Natasha snorted half-heartedly, cracking one eye open to peer at him. "Give me six months."
He gathered her to him at that, let her rest her head on his shoulder instead of the toilet seat.
"Have you been able to keep anything down?"
She shook her head, a weak motion against his neck. He shifted a little, settling on the floor with Natasha in his lap, a pose that had rapidly become their most common in this room.
"Not today," she said weakly.
He didn't know what to say to that, had nothing left in his repertoire after a month of this. "I'm sorry" wasn't really right, and English had no good way to say, "I hope you don't punch me for knocking you up and making you hurl." It had gotten worse in the past week; she'd barely eaten anything other than toast and herbal tea, and even that she was having trouble stomaching. So instead of offering another empty platitude, he kissed her forehead and cradled her head in his palm.
"Can we go see Bruce?" He asked quietly, just like he had every day this week. She had said no to the suggestion every day, equally afraid that something was wrong as she was that nothing was wrong, preferring not to know for as long as she could. He didn't blame her for it, but that didn't make him worry less.
But this time, instead of denying the request, she sighed.
"Yeah. Okay. But tomorrow?"
There was a pleading note in her voice, and he felt it hit deep down. If they were going to find out that something was wrong, that they could not keep this child, then at least they could have one more night pretending differently.
"Yeah, tomorrow."
He held her for a few more minutes, resting his hand on the slight curve of her belly, the lovely roundness that had only just appeared. He'd only just started to get used to the idea of being someone's father, and he wasn't ready to give that up yet.
Refusing to dwell on possibilities, he pulled Natasha up to her feet. "Come on. Let's go make some toast."
She smiled weakly at that and let him lead her back into the bedroom. They paused in there, needing to cover up before they could head out into the common area. He handed her one of his old sweatshirts, soft from repeated washings, and she tugged it on over her camisole. She'd taken over this sweatshirt not long after they'd discovered she was pregnant, having few things of her own that weren't form fitting or lacy. She wasn't cold, he knew, could have just as easily grabbed a t-shirt, but they hadn't told anyone yet, didn't want to share this little private part of their lives with the world, not even their teammates, and it was easier to hide her body under the thicker, baggier material.
They'd been careful, played it close to their chests for the last month, a tiny, perfect fact that they could keep all to themselves. They would have to say something soon, couldn't hide it forever; her uniform was getting harder to zip, and it was only sheer happenstance that they hadn't been called up for anything in the past two weeks. Soon, even baggy sweatshirts wouldn't cover her up. Neither one of them had much experience with good secrets, though, and they wanted to savor the feeling for as long as possible. Because, well, once Tony Stark was in on a secret, it wouldn't really be a secret anymore.
She watched him closely as he pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants over his boxers, an inscrutable expression on her face. She'd changed recently, not just physically, but the change in temperament was slight, not enough that most people would even notice it. She smiled a little more, reached for him more often, touched him in public, or, like now, she just stared at him, watched him move. He rather liked it.
After they dressed, he took her arm in his and let her lean against him as they made their way down to the common room.
They found Steve still there, looking like he hadn't moved for hours, sipping from an oversized mug while he hunkered over a silver laptop. He looked up as they entered, smiled.
"Hey, guys. Late night?" he greeted.
Natasha smiled and waved back, and she took a seat on the stool next to him. "Couldn't sleep," she said, yawning for good measure.
Steve nodded with understanding. "Had a couple nights like that myself."
Clint doubted it.
While Steve and Natasha chatted, he busied himself with the tea, filling the kettle with water and setting it to boil. He was digging around for the bread he knew he picked up the other day when Steve called over to him.
"There's extra coffee, if you want some."
"Oh, thanks," Clint replied, taking a mug for himself. Caffeine never stopped him from falling asleep, and he found the sharp taste soothing. Natasha, of course, would be having chamomile tea, but he wasn't going to draw attention to that fact. "Hey, Nat, have you seen that loaf of bread from the other day?"
She raised her eyebrow as if to say, "Seriously?" but Steve was the one who answered, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Uh, was it that pumpernickel stuff?"
Clint had bought the black bread especially for Natasha, knowing how much she liked it, recalling that one of her few positive memories from childhood was of helping her mother, her real mother, make black bread.
"Yeah, that's the stuff," Clint said.
Steve scratched his head, clearly embarrassed. "I, uh, well . . ."
Before Rogers could finish his sentence, Clint cut him off with a hand wave. "Right. Got it." Steve ate a prodigious amount of food even on a slow day, and he was a fan of carbs. Clint took it as a lesson that he needed to either buy more bread when he went out or he needed to keep a stash for Natasha back in his room.
"Sorry." Steve actually looked sheepish.
"Don't worry about it. There's other stuff here," Clint said as the kettle started to whistle. He dropped a tea bag into the cup, then poured the water. He walked it carefully across the kitchen to where Natasha sat, placed it in front of her, and she clasped the mug in her hands while it steeped.
Changing the subject for Steve's sake, Clint asked, "Anything new on the radar?" He dug around in the cabinet next to the stove, in search of something else that wouldn't bother Natasha's sensitive stomach.
"Not much to talk about," Steve said. "Even HYDRA has been quiet lately, although Fury's got a team looking into it. But, uh, nope. Everything's coming up roses."
Natasha chuckled at that, poking her tea bag with one long fingernail. "Shouldn't have said that, Cap." She took an experimental sip of her tea and crinkled her nose. Even though he would never tell her so, Clint thought it was cute how much she hated herbal tea, how she insisted that anything that didn't come from the tea plant didn't deserve the moniker.
She and Steve continued to talk, and Clint eventually found a sleeve of saltines that the super soldier had somehow missed. Natasha smiled gratefully at him as she tore open the packet and experimentally munched on a square. He really hoped she could keep some of those down.
A few minutes later, after Clint had taken one of the chairs for himself and eaten a few of the (completely stale) crackers, Steve shut the lid on his laptop and stood.
"Well, that's it for me. Good night."
Clint waved a finger, polishing off his coffee, and Natasha nodded her head as Steve gathered his things. He was on his way out the door, but paused at the threshold, turned back, and said, "Oh, and guys?"
They both turned to face him.
"Congratulations."