Author's Note: Wow. Because I was overwhelmed by the story alerts and reviews and everything, I rushed to get this chapter posted for you all. A shout out to tardiswing and pinkhairedharry for some of the ideas strewn throughout this chapter. As always, please let me know what you think! I love reviews, and I love hearing ideas readers have about what they want to see in the story.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just taking Marvel and Joss' characters and playing around for a bit.
Four days into their vacation, they ran out of coffee. Natasha almost stabbed him with a fork. Sitting at the small table in their kitchen, he looked over his plate of pancakes and mumbled that their stash of caffeine had depleted. The grimace on her face, the icy glare in her eyes, and the imperceptible twitch in her knife hand had him scrambling to find his car keys. When the fork, still sticky with syrup, sailed past his head, he all but ran from the cottage, forgetting his shoes and his wallet, both of which were thrown through the door after him.
She didn't even look up when he came in. She just focused on the page in front of her as she said, "You don't value your life nearly enough, Barton. What happened to that line about a hefty amount of coffee?" He had stopped being surprised by her ability to sense his arrival long ago. He smiled but said nothing as he organized what was purchased into the kitchen.
Two days later, she was firing at a tree from the deck. "Are we out of ammo?"
"Said the pregnant assassin recovering from stitches on vacation?"
"First of all, it's not recovering from stitches. Who says that? You're an idiot. Secondly, answer the question before I take your beloved bow out for a spin."
"It is recovering stitches when said stitched person rips them out every other day. Touch my bow, and die."
"It's not my fault my husband can't keep his hands to himself, and really, Barton, like you could kill me. We both know I can kick your ass any day." She walked in from the deck to find her husband flipped over the couch. His ankles crossed and rested on the back of the couch as his head dangled off the edge of the couch cushion. "Why in the world are you looking at our living room upside down?" He grunted his response and looked at her.
"You're pretty upside down."
"Yeah, okay. We're going crazy. It's time to go back to Avengers Tower."
"Thank God." Clint did a quasi-somersault off the couch, landing flat on his stomach on the floor with a nice oomph.
"Wow," Natasha drawled slowly, barely containing her laughter.
"That kind of hurt my stomach," he groaned with a smile as he lifted into push-up position and then onto his feet.
"You're such a pussy," she teased as he sauntered towards her. He gave her a mock pout, and she patted his face, though it was more of a gentle slap. "Did the mean couch hurt you?"
"Your mockery hurts me. I'm wounded." He drew out the vowels in the last word, receiving a tremendous eye roll in return. She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed him with a look that he knew meant I-love-you-that-doesn't-mean-I-won't-punch-you. "So on that note, I'm going to go pack." He stole a kiss before retreating quickly to the bedroom.
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The look on Stark's face was absolutely priceless. His jaw went slack for a moment, and it was clear that his mind was reeling. He spent about 45 seconds trying to piece together how he himself had not put two-and-two together. "So you're technically Natasha Barton?"
"I'm sure you didn't mean to say that as condescending as it sounded," Barton interjected from his spot at the table. "It sounds like you're surprised she picked me."
"Were you married when you were Natalie Rushman?"
"We've been partners for ten years. You delivered supplies to a joint safe house. How in the world in your perverted mind did you not get that we were sleeping together?"
"That's not even remotely an answer," he grumbled. "Were you even legally of age when you defected from Mother Russia? And in my defense, I always thought you were sleeping with him. I just didn't think you had the capability to wed and feel and love and feel. Ya know the whole Black Widow moniker? I'm surprised you aren't dead yet, Barton. Though I've seen you two spar, it's not for lack of trying."
"Ignore him. He's just being obnoxious because he and his nosy self didn't figure out you were married. Congratulations by the way, however belated they may be," Banner said.
"Well Stark, you may want to grab your balls and kiss your ass goodbye because she's pregnant," Barton blurted out.
Natasha just looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Really? That's how you decide to tell them? Kiss your ass goodbye? God, I hope you find a more couth way of explaining the situation to Fury."
At that, Rogers was choking on his drink. "Can we back up a few paces?" He sputtered in the midst of knocking on his chest repeatedly.
"Pregnant. With child. Bun in the oven. Knocked up. Eating for two. Her eggo is preggo?" Barton started listing all sorts of sayings, and the poor captain just stared at him with a slack jaw.
"Her eggo? What's an eggo?"
"Her eggs, Captain. Her eggs are pregnant. It's on play on the modern breakfast food," Banner tried to explain. Cue spit take number two as Steve spewed his water across the table.
"Congratulations," he all but whimpered, trying desperately to clear his face of the telltale blush of embarrassment.
"I have questions," Stark demanded. "I have lots of questions."
"I'll answer five," Natasha informed him. Of course, Stark heard that as a chance to negotiate.
"Twenty."
"Five."
"Fifteen."
"Five."
"Ten."
"Five," she repeated and gave him a pointed look.
"Five," he agreed with a sullen pout. "How long have you been married?"
"Four years."
"How far along are you?"
"I don't know."
"Does Fury know you're married?"
"He does now."
"Does SHIELD know you're pregnant?
"Not yet."
"Have you written your will? Because I call your guns."
"What," Clint and Natasha responded simultaneously.
"Because you know Fury is going to tear you a new one. In other words, you're both dead meat, and I call dibs on his exploding arrow tips too!"
"You're such a child," Natasha shook her head. "Fury isn't going to kill us."
"No, of course not, he's going to welcome an assassin baby with open arms. Can't you just imagine it? A curly red-headed child running around shooting Nick Fury on his bald head with a toy bow-and-arrow. Of course, Fury is going to be like a Cyclops grandfather. That's not intimidating at all." Clint couldn't help but laugh at Banner's comment. The scientist was usually quiet, but he had a biting wit, which made him the perfect friend for Stark, who was getting a kick of Banner's comment as well.
"If you could give me a heads up when you decide to inform the old man of your eggo, not only do I want to be there, but I want to sell tickets. It's going to be fantastic." A fork hit Tony smack dab on the forehead. "Hey now, Spidey, play nice," he chastised, rubbing the spot with his palm.
"That IS nice, Stark," she emphasized. "I could have stabbed you with it or thrown it in such a way that it impaled your head. Given the previous options, being knocked on the head with a piece of cutlery doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
"The next nine months are going to be splendid, aren't they?" Stark groaned as he dropped his head unceremoniously onto the table. "Who wouldn't want to witness the world's deadliest assassin battling pregnancy, morning sickness, emotional roller coasters, and hormones? I may start permanently wearing my suit."
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"Hill, in my office, now."
"Yes sir."
Hill stood at attention just inside the closed door of the Director's office. "Since my two best agents decided to waltz off base and announce a long vacation, I decided to flip through their jackets. As their handler, I thought you could provide some further insight." Hill nodded, but said nothing. "Care to have a seat or a drink? If I know them at all, I'm going to need a drink." After Hill sat down, she started to relax. She had always been Fury's left hand man as Coulson had been his right. "First, did Coulson know they were married?"
"Yes sir."
"Son of a bitch," he shook his head. Her eyes widened a little bit. "You cannot place a bet if you already know the answer to the question on which money is being bet. Still, he owes me 30 bucks. I was right."
"Sir?" Hill asked. She realized she had been doing a lot of that confused up talking in the conversation.
"It's about damn time. How long have they been married? Hell, I half expected them to be married when he dragged her ass in here after he couldn't shoot her in Budapest the first time. If they were married then, I don't want to know. She was 18 when she defected, right?"
"16," Hill corrected.
"Yeah, I don't want to know if they were married when he brought her back in that slip knot concoction he called handcuffs."
"They've been married four years. Coulson was their witness during a shoot-out in Budapest, ironically enough."
"Isn't that Assassin 101? Don't fall in love with another assassin? Isn't that the entire premise of that Angelina Jolie movie? What is it?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Smith."
"That one. Isn't the entire premise of that movie about not falling in love with an assassin?"
"Actually, that movie is about how two assassins are married, are hired to kill each other, and manage to make it work romantically and professionally."
"Well isn't that a load of crap?"
"Cinematically, enough action to keep people engaged. Realistically, action scenes are crap, though they usually are. Though making it work, sir, Romanov and Barton seem to have a good handle on it."
"Coulson always said that. He said something about how watching them fight was like watching a choreographed dance, even when he just brought her in."
"Yes sir. They sense each other's movements. They move seamlessly whether it's as partners in a firefight or opponents on the mat. Coulson believed in soul mates. He believed that's why Barton couldn't loose the arrow when he had the chance."
"Coulson thought they could make it work?"
"Yes sir, he did."
"Do you think they can make it work without being compromised in the field?"
"They've been compromised from Day One, sir. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, that's how their partnership works. It doesn't affect their professionalism though. They've taken bullets and beatings to save the other. Even before they were married, before they were romantically involved, their loyalty has been to each other first and foremost."
"Is it a weakness in the field?"
"No, not the way I see it and not the way Coulson saw it. She will do whatever it takes to keep him alive. He will do the same for her. From an organizational point, sir, our best assets are keeping each other from dying. From a handler's perspective, it's going to compromise them more by splitting them up. They do their best work together. They're the best team SHIELD has for now. Having them on solo missions would be a detriment."
"Point taken. Get their marriage license and put it in their files. You're free to go." Hill nodded and got up to leave. Before she reached the door, Fury stopped her. "What did you mean 'for now,' Hill?"
Her brow furrowed. "They're both getting older, sir."
"Mhmm," he hummed. "And the real reason you added that phrase to your sentence?"
"That's an interesting question. You may want that drink now." She turned around to face him and clasped her hands in front of her. Taking her advice, Fury took a long gulp of his whisky. "Agent Romanov is pregnant, sir." The undignified coughing choke that sputtered from the Director's throat was almost enough to make her laugh. Almost. After all, she did like her job, and laughing in such a way at the director of one of the world's greatest intelligence agencies was a fast track to the unemployment line, even if he was a friend.
"You did that on purpose," he accused. "She told you she was pregnant? Confirmed?"
"No sir. I don't think she knows unless Agent Barton informed her."
He downed the rest of his drink before continuing. "Let me get this straight. My two best agents have been married four years. Fine, I can handle that. Said agents are pregnant. A little less fine because I don't even want to imagine the type of sex two assassins have; a lot less fine because I can't imagine the whirlwind of terror that the child will be; a little more fine because I can't wait to watch Stark baby proof Avengers Tower. Coulson would get a kick out of that. What is a little disconcerting is that the mother in this equation is, to the extent of your knowledge, unaware she is pregnant, but her handler, her boss, her husband, and a slew of medical professionals all know she is pregnant. Do you see where I'm going with this, Agent Hill?"
"Barton is going to talk to her while they're away."
"Romanov is going to kill him. Why didn't the doctor who found the results follow protocol and tell her she was with child?"
"Sir, he's a medical professional. He has no training in weapons or self-defense. Would you really want him to be the one to the Black Widow that she's expecting a bundle of joy? He would be dead, sir. Barton, at least, can defend himself… sometimes."
"Am I running an organization where people can ignore protocol because they're intimidated by an agent?"
"She's not just an agent, Fury. She's the Black Widow, and if that's not intimidating enough, her partner is Hawkeye. They're our best agents for a reason. While it was against protocol and the information passage was a little unorthodox, you can't blame the man for a little self-preservation technique."
"Point taken. When they're back on base, I want a meeting with them."
"Yes sir." She saluted before leaving the office.
"Wow," he grumbled to himself after the door closed. "That child is in for a whole world of crazy."
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"Tasha," Clint called as he walked into their suite. "Tasha."
"I'm afraid Mrs. Barton is not here, sir."
"Okay. Thanks JARVIS."
"Sir, would you like to know her whereabouts?"
"No thanks. That takes the fun out of finding her."
She wasn't in their suite or on their floor. He reasoned his second best guess would be the basement training facility. When that struck out, he tried the common floors. He checked the movie lounge, the library, and even the garage. Then he started looking though his hiding places. When he finally found her, a good hour and a half after his search began; she was on the roof, sitting on the ledge with her legs dangling over the side while her body leaned against the protective railings surrounding the roof. "There you are. Let's hope our child isn't as good at hide-and-seek as you are." She nodded, her legs swinging rhythmically. "Tasha." He nudged her shoulder as he sat next to her, mimicking her position. She looked over at him, doubt in her eyes as she bit her bottom lip. "What's wrong?"
"We're assassins," she stated. "And when we're not assassins, we're one third of a team of super heroes who save the world from global catastrophes. Can we do this?" Natasha paused for a second, clearly mulling the words over in her head. He waited patiently. "That's not what I meant." She backtracked, although he wasn't offended by the question; he too had his doubts. What new parent didn't?
"I meant… I… I'm scared, Clint. This is nothing we were ever trained for. This is nothing I was ever trained for. Red Room," she paused again, grimacing as she worked through her words again. "They don't seem to have their programming down, but still, this is new. This is uncharted territory. This is emotions, nurture, comfort, and family. Clint, I can't do that. I'm horrible at that. I have no doubt that you will be a fantastic father. It's the thing that keeps me confident. I know, at least, this child will have you. I just… Can I do this? I'm the Black Widow. Nowhere is that moniker synonymous with anything maternal or family oriented. Just… Fuck, Clint. I don't know anymore."
"Can you love this child?"
"Yes. I already do."
"Do you want our child to be happy and healthy?"
"Of course."
"Then we will be just fine. Tasha, we're going to make mistakes. Like you said, we're two assassins having a baby, but all new parents make mistakes. No one is perfect. No one has a guidebook to help them. But hey, between the two of us, we know a million ways NOT to raise a child. That has to be worth something." She gave a soft laugh. "This child is going to be so loved, Tasha. That's what matters. Let's face it. The Avengers, we're a family. This child has three superhero uncles and an uncle who is a demi-god. It's going to be utter chaos, but the little nugget will be so loved. And I don't see what you see. I think you'll be a great mother." She scoffed at him, so he continued with his explanation.
"You hold a conversation with Banner about the latest science news, not because you're interested, but because he's interested. You know when to comfort Rogers when he's feeling homesick and when to drag him to the mats and make him spar. You know how to shut down Tony's obnoxious sense of humor and rambling ideas without damaging his pride or your relationship.
You're the Black Widow, yes, and that doesn't change because we have a baby. But you have a softer side. You trust. You love. You care. You think it's the comforting you're going to have the hardest time with, but you're wrong. I've felt it. I wake up from a nightmare and you're there. After a close call with a mission, you're there. I trust you, Tasha. You won't screw this up. Our child won't have your childhood or mine. Our child will have a childhood- an actual childhood filled with bubbles and toys and family." She dipped her head against his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head. "We're going to be okay, Tasha." And for once, she actually believed the platitude.
"Did it sound as weird as I thought it did to say 'little nugget?'"
She actually laughed out loud. "Yeah, Barton. Add that to the list of words you are not allowed to use in reference to the baby or me. Ever."
"I still don't know why you rejected some of them. They're sweet!" His proclamation got him an eye roll. She didn't make a move to push him off the roof, so Clint decided to push his luck. "I mean come on, Tasha. What's wrong with baby, love of my life, lovebird, ladylove, baby cakes, sugar lips, my enchantment, honey, babe, pearl, and sweetheart? Oh! I've got a new one!" She sent him a warning look, but there was a smirk dancing in her eyes. "I shall call you Dumpling!"
She got off the ledge and walked away, shaking her head. "No Dumpling then. How about Tootsie? Buttercup? Honey Bun? Lamb?" When the roof top access slammed, he couldn't help but laugh. Had someone told him that his life would take this turn- married with a baby on the way- he would have shot said person. But sitting on the roof of Avengers Tower, probably locked out of the main building thanks to his lovely wife and her undeniable hatred for pet names, he couldn't imagine his life any other way. "Good thing you're good at embracing the craziness, ya old carnie," he mocked himself as he climbed off the ledge.
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It wasn't until they were lying in bed that night when he brought up part of her conversation on the roof. The blackout curtains were drawn, and the room was cold. He rolled onto his side, propped his head up with his elbow, and reached a hand to her stomach to pull her close to him. "Tasha?"
"Hmm," she mumbled.
"What did you mean when you said they didn't have their programming down?"
"Hmm," she mumbled, but he could hear a difference. "I…" He felt her grimace. He felt her rib cage rise and fall as she drew in a deep, stabilizing breath. "Red Room," she started. "They're good at what they do, at getting what they want. You're broken and pieced back together just to be broken again. They do it over and over again until you've been beaten into a cold, calculated killer who's efficient and deadly. You're beaten and sculpted until your first instinct isn't defending but attacking. You're always on alert, always waiting. You don't have trust. You don't have love. You have your experience telling you that life hurts and it's not fair. If you don't feel, you don't hurt. You start to feel and they take everything away in a way that destroys everything good." Her voice was strong, calm, and collected. It was as though she was speaking of someone else's past.
"Tasha," he soothed.
"I was twelve. I made a friend in a new recruit. She was ten, and I could hear her crying in the middle of the night. I tried to comfort her. She was my friend. Our handler found out. And I was ordered to kill the little girl. It was my first kill, and she was my friend." The slight tremor in her voice gave away her true feelings, though no one would have picked up on it but him. He pulled her closer. She paused, taking another deep breath. "Red Room doesn't expect you to live to be able to have kids. They train child assassins. Very few make it to puberty, even fewer to adulthood. It's a procedure of sorts. Basically, they found a way to ensure that even if their assassins live to be adults that they can never have children. They didn't have their programming down because not only am I alive, not only do I trust and love, but I'm pregnant, which means their procedures, their programming, failed."
He kissed her forehead and tried to pull her impossibly closer. Before he asked the question, he knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "What do you mean by procedure, Tasha?" She tensed in his arms, and he thought she was going to bolt.
"Nothing good," she responded softly. He hated Red Room. He had always hated them since the first night they had spent in Budapest with her curled in a ball in the corner and him trying to figure out the words to say to Fury to convince the director that she wasn't a wild card. There was nothing to be said that could make it better, so he curled around her as if to protect her from the world. Blindly, he kissed her in the dark, declared his love in a whisper against her lips, and sent a prayer to anyone listening for a dreamless sleep.
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"We're going to have a pint-sized ninja baby in Avengers Tower," Stark said, still trying to wrap his head around the words coming out of his mouth. He sipped at his bourbon thoughtfully.
"Be nice, Tony," Pepper scolded.
"Technically, the baby isn't going to just be a pint-sized ninja baby," Barton informed him from his bar stool. "That term is fantastic, by the way. I've got to remember to tell Tasha that one."
"I need to build you cutlery-proof skin suit or something. Romanov loves to throw things at us."
"And rightly so. You two are idiots," Pepper interjected. "You're either mortal enemies or partners in crime. It's much easier to hit both of you first and then ask questions." Tony scoffed at her. "I don't have her aim, so I resort to smacking you both on the head. It's effective. Speaking of effective, where is Natasha?"
Barton mumbled something into his drink. "What was that, Robin Hood? Did you get in trouble? Are you in time out?" For his mockery, Pepper smacked the back of his head. "Hey!"
"I warned you to be nice. Don't make me do it again."
"Legolas, we're going drinking! Come on! We'll leave Spidey to sulk and brood or whatever pregnant assassins do in their spare time, and we need to get out of Pepper's range of hitting."
"Tony, I've managed to coral you into submission from China. My wrath is far reaching." It was said with such a sweet smile that he could almost believe there wasn't a threat swirling under her sugar coated words. "Don't let him die, Tony. If you kill him, Natasha kills you. Oh! And then my life is a lot easier." She paused, mockingly contemplating something in her head. "Then again, Natasha would be sad. Don't let him die."
"Ma'am, yes ma'am. Robin to the Bat Mobile!"
"That reference had nothing to do with archery. You lose." Barton quipped with a smirk as he sauntered to the elevator, already feeling the effects of a few classes of Tony's expensive bourbon.
The two men climbed into the elevator discussing the pros and cons of certain bars in the area. "JARVIS," Pepper called. "Keep an eye on them, please. This never ends well."
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"So you're going to be a dad? That's something," Stark said as he waved over the bartender, ordering another rounds of shots.
"So you're going to be an uncle? That's something," Barton countered. When Tony stared at him with a confused look, the archer shrugged simply. "We're more than a team, Stark. You know that as well as I do. This crazy conglomeration of people is a family, yes?" The older man nodded. "If you're family and I have a kid, that makes you the kid's uncle."
"I can build an infant Iron Man suit. The child will be well-dressed and protected at all times."
"If you build the child a suit, Natasha will murder you."
"What about Iron Man themed clothing? One-sies," he exclaimed loudly. "I will find Iron Man themed one-sies."
"Oh, yippe," Barton returned in mock excitement.
"So how does this work, Daddy?"
"No, no. You don't call me that ever. Go back to your depleting list of archer nicknames."
"Snippy little Robin Hood."
"I don't know how this works. Ideally, we stop being agents and become consultants, I guess. We stay Avengers because how many people can feed seamlessly into that crazy team and deal with the narcissistic asshole that chatters constantly into the comm link?" Stark offered a smirk.
"You love my commentary and you know it."
"Maybe we do security consulting instead of missions. Maybe we just do consulting for SHIELD on the missions that others can't accomplish. Maybe we just live normally and save the world when needed."
"You and Romanov, normal? Oh please, Katniss. You wouldn't know normal it knocked you on your ass. Is she going to keep going on missions until her due date? When is her due date?"
"I don't know, Stark. She's as stubborn as you are. She'll maim the people who treat her like a fragile object while she's pregnant though. She hates when people tiptoe around her."
"Oh yeah, Rogers is going to get forked. We need to replace the steak knives in the kitchen with something less sharp for the time being."
"We need to make sure the first aid cabinet is fully stocked with hydrogen peroxide and sterile gauze."
"Ain't that the truth," Stark agreed while motioning to the bartender for more shots. "Are you keeping track of alcohol?"
"No, I stopped the tally after the green drinks."
"Well shit."
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"Mr. Stark and Mr. Barton have returned," JARVIS announced to Pepper and Natasha. "They're in the elevator."
"Reroute them to this floor please," Pepper declared. She stood from the couch, smoothing her skirt as she did so. Natasha sat on the arm of the couch facing the elevators and controlled her face to hide the smirk that was threatening to show.
And did you write the book of love? Do you have faith in God above if the Bible tells you so? Barton's singing voice filtered through the hallway before the elevator doors opened. When Tony continued on with the classic American Pie verse in a rough baritone, Natasha almost laughed, the hidden grin dancing in her eyes. Now do you believe in rock and roll? Can music save your mortal soul? And can you teach me how to dance real slow? When Barton waltzed from the elevator in a flourish of jazz hands, Natasha stifled her laugh behind her hand before schooling her features. Stark grapevined out of the elevator and continued singing. Well, I know that you're in love with him cause I saw you dancin' in the gym. You both kicked… "Off… Oh hello, Miss Potts."
"Tony."
"Dance with me."
"You're drunk."
"I can dance. Look," Stark attempted the Macarena.
"You look like a flailing fish," Barton commented from where he leaned heavily against the wall. "Hi Tasha." She nodded at him, no longer trying to hide her amusement.
"Dance with me," Stark all but demanded. "JARVIS, play us a jig."
"Come on, let's go to bed, you drunken buffoon," Pepper chastised as she gripped his waist and led him back to the elevator. "Night guys," she called over her shoulder.
"Dance with me," Barton asked hopefully.
"I've got a better place we can dance," Natasha teased softly as she passed him. She ambled to the elevator. With a seductive wink over her shoulder, "You coming or not? I'm more than capable of dancing by myself." The drunken archer practically stumbled over himself to get to her before the elevator door closed.