Author's Note: I could really use some ideas for the following chapters! Please drop a line and let me know what you would like to see in this store (or any other).
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I'm just playing around with Marvel's characters for a while. No infringement intended.
"Oh my god," Stark bumbled. "Oh my god," he repeated, dropping his head to his hands. "Oh my god."
"Find a different phrase," Pepper encouraged.
"Use that big genius brain of yours and come up with something besides 'oh my god,'" Natasha mocked.
"That is going to come out of you," Steve shrieked.
"I'm scarred for life," Stark continued to whine. "Why? Why would you make me watch a video about giving birth? What did I ever do to you?"
"Would you like the consolidated summary or the itemized list?" Natasha rebutted easily, her arms crossed over her chest and rested on her obviously pregnant stomach.
"I never… But… I… I hate you," Stark conceded.
"Trust me. The feeling is mutual," the redheaded agent smirked. "Now, would you like to revisit the topic of painkillers during labor?"
"No," both men amended, violently shaking their hands.
"Good boys. And why do you not get a say in my medication preferences concerning the birth of my child?" Natasha prompted as Pepper snickered, clearly enjoying the situation.
"No uterus, no opinion." Stark repeated the phrase the agent had screamed at him the night before. Steve blushed furiously at the mention of Natasha's uterus.
"I'm never going to have sex," Steve muttered. "It's not worth it." Pepper couldn't help but laugh. She quickly covered her mouth and pretended she was coughing. "That looks so painful."
"And that is why I will be having a fantastic amount of painkillers," Natasha interjected.
"I can't get those images out of my mind. They're there every time I blink. Pepper, make it stop," Stark groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder dramatically. "You, madam, are the very definition of evil," he directed towards Natasha.
"Why thank you. That's the nicest thing you have ever said to me," she responded as she laid on the charm, drawing on a heavy Southern belle accent she learned out of necessity for an undercover mission years back. "You ready to go, Pepper?"
"Go? You're taking her? You can't have her. She's mine. Mine," Stark repeated. "She has to nurse me back to health after your mental and emotional trauma."
"Would you like to come with us? We're going to buy more things for the baby," Pepper informed him.
"But," he stuttered. "Barton and I bought the whole damn Babies 'R Us store a week ago. What else could we possibly need?"
"We don't need anything. We," Pepper stressed, "are not having a baby. Yet," she amended. Tony blanched and quickly shut up.
"Have fun, dear," he muttered as he kissed her offered cheek.
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"So which do you think it is?" Pepper asked as she pushed a cart through aisles of Babies 'R Us. The two women spent the first forty minutes of their shopping trip returning many of the items purchased previously by their significant others. She met Natasha's questioning eyebrow and clarified. "Do you think you're having a boy or a girl?"
"I honestly don't have a clue."
"Do you prefer one or the other? Does Clint?"
"I am going to be hopelessly overwhelmed whether this is a boy or a girl. Clint is excited regardless. The man cannot contain his joy."
"Oh, yes. The whole tower has heard him singing," Pepper laughed. "He's got a good voice. He might need to learn some more kid-friendly songs though. 90s Nelly doesn't scream lullabies, though some of the 60s classic stuff he sings could work."
Natasha laughed at Pepper's analysis. "The man only has one volume when he sings."
"It seems like he only has one volume for most things. They're putting new sound proofing in your apartment by the way. Something about a new crying baby, Clint's penchant for karaoke, and generally loud assassin sex."
"Probably a good thing," she agreed. Natasha tried to look embarrassed, but she ended up smirking knowingly. "What do you think about this stroller?"
"It's better than the one the boys picked out."
"The one they picked out looked like a death contraption. It looks like this one can be a stroller, car seat, and a bassinet."
"Oh," Pepper exclaimed. "That stroller matches the colors for the nursery!"
"Turquoise or gray," Natasha asked from further down the aisle where she was looking at other types of carriers.
"Gray, and it looks like they have a turquoise lining for it as well."
Their shopping trip continued in much the same fashion. A good two hours later, Happy helped them unload all of the bags from the car. Natasha dropped all the bags haphazardly on the floor of the nursery before she shuffled back to the couch, where she collapsed into the oversized cushions gratefully.
"Hey babe," Clint called from the office.
"Just because I can't see my thighs with our child in the way doesn't mean I won't strangle you with them, Barton."
"I was just trying it on for size," he explained kindly with a wide smile as he came into the living room.
"Well, if it didn't fit before pregnancy, it sure as hell isn't going to fit now when I have 35 extra pounds of lovely weight attached to my midsection. How was your day?"
"I worked on a consult for a something or other in some country."
"I hope your report was more specific than something in some place," she teased. "You get it finished?"
"Almost. I've got to finish the thing for the other one. I have a greater appreciation for all the paperwork Coulson was always bitching about."
"You and me both. I was thinking," she paused. "If we have a boy, what about Phillip?"
Clint looked taken aback. He swallowed deeply before leaning forward to cradle her face in his hands. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she encouraged. "What do you think?"
"I think it's perfect, Tasha. Thank you."
She flashed him a rare smile before kissing him. "He gave you a second chance. You gave me a second chance. Time to pay it forward." She kissed him again. "Now, go finish the thing about the something that it's in some country that you obviously aren't paying any attention to, so Fury isn't calling us at the ass crack of dawn."
"You, Natasha Romanov, terrified the old man the last time he called at the ass crack of dawn. I think he might have reconsidered those diapers he refuses to let the junior agents wear. You may have scared him just enough to make him piss himself, and you have no idea how much I would have given to have seen the look on his face."
"In my defense, he shouldn't be calling a heavily pregnant woman before 9 AM. Before 6 AM is just a recipe for disaster. Thus, it is his own fault that he was at the receiving end of my wrath. If I had been within range, it's likely he would need two eye patches instead of one."
"Performing thigh chokes while pregnant is an action that is frowned upon according to your doctor."
"When was the last time you saw me take out an enemy's eye with a thigh choke?"
"Throughout our partnership, Tasha, I've learned never to underestimate your ability to maim the other side." She laughed before she nudged him off the couch and pointed to the office.
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When the phone in their apartment rang loudly, Natasha let out a very long string of colorful cusswords as Clint burrowed under his nest of pillows.
"What the fuck do you want?"
"Agent Romanoff," Fury started. "Good morning."
"What the fuck do you want," she repeated. "Do you know what time it is? Is the clock on the side of your body that you can't see, Director? Why do you always insist on calling me at the ass crack of fucking dawn? Do you know I'm pregnant? Do you know how little sleep I get already? Do you know how difficult it is to ever get comfortable with the equivalent of a fucking pumpkin strapped to your stomach? Do you know how remarkably irritating it is to have to listen to your voice of all voices at 4:27 AM?"
"Tasha, give me the phone before he puts you on eternal maternity leave and you never get to go on a mission again," he grumbled, his voice muted somewhat by the pillow still covering his face. Taking a chance with his hand, he grabbed the phone from his ranting, angry wife. "Morning, Director. What can I do for you?"
"I have an urgent assignment for you that requires your long distance marksmanship."
"Duration?"
"Mission brief says three days. Base in an hour," Fury instructed before hanging up.
"Duty calls. I'll be back. I love you, Tash." He crawled gracelessly out of his makeshift nest and kissed the red head before slipping from the bed.
"Love you too," she mumbled as she rearranged herself in his nest. She would never verbally admit it to anyone ever, but she felt comfortable and safe surrounded by the odd jumble of pillows, blankets, and sheets. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent. She was asleep before he left, giving her a quick kiss on her forehead before fumbling through the dark apartment to his car.
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"Surveillance, termination, and get out," Barton repeated as Hill gave him a hearty slap on the back as she ushered him onto the Quinjet.
"Seriously, though. Get in and get out; no ridiculous complications that you two are so found of. That includes no hostage situations; no explosions of any sort, no all-out firefights, no zip lining off buildings. No crazy shit, Barton. In and out. If you miss Romanov's due date, she will butcher every single one of us. I'm too young to die," she joked.
"Trust me. If I miss her due date, she'll be so busy killing me and reincarnating me in a fatal cycle that she won't have time to come after you." With a quick salute, he was off.
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"Is it possible to crave vodka," Natasha groaned.
"Yes, it's called alcoholism," Banner teased softly as he stirred whatever was in the skillet.
"Ha," she retorted, though he could see a smile teasing at her lips. "Aren't you sassy today?"
"I'm sassy everyday, but usually Stark absorbs all the sassy and sarcastic in the room and exudes it as ego."
"Trouble in science paradise?" She asked, gentle concern coating her voice, as she drank her tea.
"He blew up the baby gift I was building with a new prototype laser attachment for his suit." If the doctor didn't seem so sad, she might have laughed at the seemingly adorable pout that had never adorned his face before.
"You were making a baby gift?"
He nodded sullenly while scooping some of the eggs out of the pan and onto two waiting plates. "Until Stark blew it up; the jackass," he muttered.
"What was it?"
"It was a baby monitor system that could be connected to the private comm links you both wear during missions. It was completely safe. I installed a cloaking device in the motherboard, so you could also have visual of the baby when you are away. You wouldn't have to worry about an enemy hacking into or distorting the feed. It could be used here in the tower and away on missions." He sounded so proud of himself, and it really was the perfect gift.
"Damn these hormones," she cursed when her eyes started to water. "It sounds perfect, Bruce. It's the thought that counts. You really didn't need to get us a gift, much less build such a system. I can't even imagine how much time you must have spent learning about coding, hacking, and video surveillance. This kid is lucky to have an uncle like you."
"To have an uncle like the Other Guy is probably more dangerous than you would like around your newborn."
"Bruce, hey," she stood up from her chair at the counter and crossed to stand in front of the doctor. He was arguably one of the sanest people on their team, and in the years since the Chitauri invasion, they had bonded over sleepless nights and late-night tea. Usually, they sat in silence, both reading their latest books or articles while slowly drinking tea. Occasionally, they spoke softly about different things. She had learned over the course of these nighttime run-ins that he often needed reassurance in regards to matters concerning Hulk. "I have no doubt that the baby will be safe around you. I have no doubt that the baby will be safe around the Other Guy if he makes an appearance. The Other Guy has saved my ass more than a few times. While he is a bit on the larger side and I doubt I would ask him to babysit, he wouldn't hurt the baby. Other Guy or not, you're still this child's uncle. We were all used to being alone. All of us are remarkably damaged. Together, we're a little less broken. It's a change from solitude, but we're a family, a crazy ragtag group of people, yes, but a family nevertheless." She offered him a rare smile before turning back to the counter.
"Also, if you ever tell anyone about this softer side my lovely pregnancy hormones seem to bring out, I will find a way to make you suffer, a very creative way," she threatened as she picked up her tea nonchalantly.
"And there's the Widow we all know and love," he laughed. "Thanks though. I appreciate it," Banner mumbled under his breath slightly. "When does Barton get back?"
"Three days, I think."
"In case you were wondering, I'm going to be steering clear of you after the 12 hour mark." He answered her questioning look with an answer. "Now, please don't throw anything at me, but you get visibly snippy and crabby when Barton's gone for longer than a day."
"I figure if I get to be pregnant for nine months and then go through what people describe as 24 hours of painstaking torture… I mean labor, simple slip of the tongue. He can at least be here to bear witness to my discomfort or directly suffer for my discomfort."
"I'm sure that's the only reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that you love him."
"Shut up," she commanded, though there was gentleness to her voice that would not have been present if someone else had been the one to say it.
"Regardless, I'll be in hiding. Here, have some eggs."
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True to his word, Banner hid in the lab. That was fairly normal though. The man loved the lab. Tony, still scarred from his forced viewing of a labor video, managed to steer clear of Natasha as well for the most part. Pepper was in China doing a press conference for Stark Industries latest gizmo or gadget, and Steve had taken a weekend trip to some old hotel in Brooklyn he used to know. So it seemed as if Natasha had the tower to herself for however short a period, and she absolutely basked in the silence. She took her tea out on the deck and watched the city. February in New York was cold, not dead-of-winter-Russia-cold, but cold enough to remind her of her original country. She rubbed her belly and spoke to it softly.
"One day, your daddy and I will take you to Russia. We'll see a ballet, even if it drives your father nuts." The baby kicked in response and she smiled. "I know," she continued. "Isn't it funny to see Daddy go a little bit crazy?"
When her face started to grow numb and her tea long since gone, she lifted herself slowly out of the deck chairs and back into the warmth of the communal floor. Steve leaned against the counters waiting for the coffee pot to give him his beverage.
"You're back early."
"The hotel's heater broke, and it's just too cold."
"This is nothing compared to Russia."
"I seem to recall. Eastern Europe in the winter… May as well be the ice caps. More tea?"
"Yes, please." She offered him her empty mug and leaned against the opposite counter.
"Where's Barton?"
"Fury sent him on mission."
"That explains why Banner and Stark have disappeared," he mused quietly. He turned to prepare his coffee and steep her tea. When he turned back there was water on the floor. "Hmm, one of the machines must have leaked. Why don't you sit down? I'll clean it up."
"Steve, I'm going to go out on a limb and say it wasn't a machine that leaked," Natasha said, her hands resting on her stomach.
He gave her a confused look. She watched the realization hit him, and she almost laughed. Almost. His eyes switched rapidly between staring at her like a gaping fish and staring at the puddle on the floor in embarrassed horror. "Oh. Oh," he said more quickly. "Oh! The baby… Oh my goodness. Okay. Sit. And… Oh…. Um… Breathe? Yes," he amended. "Breathe."
"We need to go to the hospital. I'm having a baby," she spoke slowly.
"Baby. Okay. Oh… Um… STARK," he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "STARK!" He frantically rushed around the kitchen, putting their mugs in the sink. "JARVIS, the plan… Code Widow… A," he asked mid-shout. "No, that's not it. THE BABY IS COMING, JARVIS. FIX IT!"
"Captain, breathe," Natasha coached from her spot on the closest chair. "The AI cannot fix this. JARVIS, please tell Banner and Stark that we need to visit the hospital as I've gone into labor."
"How are you calm? You're having a child. Did you not see the video," Rogers shrieked as he continued to flitter around her like an overly cautious and extremely confused protective. "STARK," he shouted again.
When Banner came rushing into the kitchen, Natasha could have hugged the man. "JARVIS, contact SHIELD to notify Barton of the situation and tell Pepper. Make sure Tony gets the car with the hospital bags and newborn carrier. Captain, get it together. If you can save the world from a psychotic god and his army of alien mutant warriors, you can help your friend get to the hospital. Got it? You ready, Natasha?" She nodded and let him help her out of the chair. "Okay, let's go. Avengers Tower is about to have a new resident."
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48 hours into what was supposed to be a three-day mission, Barton sat freezing his ass off on the roof of some abandoned building watching his mark drink himself into oblivion.
"God this guy is a wuss," he said to himself. "Rogers could drink this dick under the table, and Rogers drinks juice instead of alcohol."
When a dark van pulled to a halt in front of the opposite building, Barton could have jumped for joy. "It's about damn time," he snarked at the balding man getting out of the car despite the fact that the man was entirely unaware of the archer's presence. "Do you know how goddamn cold it is right now?" He switched his comm link off mute and said, "Targets on site." When the mark and the balding man were face-to-face in what Barton assumed to be a traditional greeting, he spoke again. "Marks acquired." One deep breath, and an arrow punctured the mark mere moments before an arrow punctured the balding man. "Marks terminated. Send in the maids. Extraction requested."
"Get your ass on the jet," Fury ordered over the comm set. "Your wife is in labor." For the first time since he was 10, Barton fumbled with his arrow.
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"For the love of God, if you hand me another cup of ice chips, I will force them down your throat. It will not be at all comfortable. Do you understand? Should I try telling you 'no more ice chips' in another language? Would that help you understand? I am having a goddamn child. I will be pushing a pot roast sized human out of a very small hole. Is there a logical scenario in which ice chips help me birth a child? Either give me something useful or get the fuck out," Natasha berated from her hospital bed.
To say she was unhappy would be the understatement of the year. She had been in labor for 7 hours, and there was no sign of Clint. Only that he was on a plane and would be there soon. She wanted to kill Fury for sending the archer on the mission in the first place. So what if the baby was coming early? Fury always harped about how he is the director of the world's greatest intelligence agency. He should have known the baby would come early. He should have known that the child of Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton would make sure nothing happened by the books. He should have known that the child would have a mind of its own.
"Did you not see the other nurse flee from the room holding an unwanted bucket of ice chips? You, male nurse with a penis, yes… you. Why are you holding ice chips? It's not a hot summers day. I'm not looking to cool a beverage. I'm having a child. You look like you're about 10, so it's possible you don't know what that entails. Let me lay it out for you. I'm in fucking pain, and giving me ice chips is going to make me throttle you."
Banner was the only one allowed in the room until Clint showed up. Stark was banned because well Stark's an idiot and tends to say the wrong things consistently because his verbal filter is faulty. Rogers was banned for continuing to shriek like a little girl who has seen a spider. One look at Natasha, red faced, sweaty, and cussing, and Rogers was more than happy to evacuate the hospital room in favor of the waiting room. Stark had JARVIS running extensive background checks on every hospital employee within a mile radius of Natasha and his unborn niece or nephew. The eccentric billionaire went so far as to demand to see the MCAT scores of a doctor that looked to be young enough to still own a Fisher-Price plastic stethoscope.
"Switch to Russian, Natasha," Banner suggested. She glared at him, but there was no threat behind her eyes, unlike the glares she fixed on the nurses who insisted on bringing more and more ice chips. "You can be more creative with your cussing in your native tongue," he explained.
10 hours in and Natasha was fed up. She wanted Clint and then she wanted the baby out. She demanded that it happen in that order and that it happen right that instant.
At 15 hours, she was finally dilated enough to have an epidural. The doctor who administered the epidural was forced to show his diploma, ID, hospital badge, and resume to Stark before being allowed to enter the agent's room with any form of medication.
When Clint stumbled out of the elevator panting like he had just run a marathon, Stark clasped his shoulder in congratulations and pointed him towards Natasha's room with a quietly muttered "Thank God."
"Tasha," he called when he walked through the door. He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, and interlaced their fingers. "Hey."
"Did you tell Fury I hate him?"
"Fury knows you hate him, darling. But I'll be sure to explicitly remind him the next time I see him," he amended quickly. "How are you doing?"
"I'm in labor."
"She's made three nurse attendants cry," Banner interjected. "Good luck," he said. "We'll all be in the waiting room if you need anything." He excused himself leaving the couple alone.
"They kept bringing me ice chips," she said in way of an explanation.
"What good are those to a pregnant woman?"
"I knew I loved you for a reason. Mission a success?" Her eyes raked over his face and body, looking for any new injuries.
"Yes ma'am. Can I get you anything?"
"Just stay. God, I'm glad you're here," she said kissing him again. "I thought you might not make it in time." When her eyes sparkled with welling tears, she practically growled. "I really hate these hormones. I no longer have control over my tear ducts. A decade ago, I would have sworn I didn't have tear ducts, and now, I can't get them to stop watering pathetically."
"Hey, you're not pathetic," he chastised softly. "You're beautiful and strong. You're having a baby, our baby. You're allowed a few tears, Tasha. God, I love you so much."
"No, no. There's more than enough sappy, pathetic, emotions in this room without you falling into the trap."
"Hmm. I'll do my best to keep the sentimentalities inside, but I make no promises." He smiled widely at her, and she knew he wasn't planning on even trying to keep them contained.
"You have to remember to look at the footage from Rogers realizing I was going into labor. If I hadn't been leaking water all over the kitchen floor, I would have been laughing at his expression. It was priceless. He told JARVIS to fix it."
"The man can survive 70 years as a star spangled Popsicle, but show him a woman in labor and he's down for the count. Good to know… I'll have to remember that. Maybe if I bring it up while sparring, I'll actually win against him."
"Don't get your hopes up," she laughed.
"You really are beautiful, Tasha."
"Stop it. I'm bright red, sweating in places I didn't know I could sweat, and I'm swollen and large. You are not allowed to call me beautiful if I can't look down and see the tips of toes."
"I don't care. I think you're beautiful."
"I think you're full of it." There was a gentleness that coated her words.
"Full of undeniable amazing personality? Yes. It is hard to be this awesome."
"I was going to say full of shit," she countered simply.
"Love you too, Tasha."
"For the love of God, if you, cowering individual, are bringing more ice chips into this room, I will begin listing very creative ways to flay you like a damn fish fillet with my IV tube. Would you like to hear all the ways I can kill you with the medical equipment at hand? I may be in labor, but that does not mean you are safe from bodily harm," she cursed and shouted at the unsuspecting nurse in the doorway.
"And the tally of crying nurses gets bumped up to four."