Author's Note: Thanks for all the ideas! I'm going to try and incorporate as many as I can without making the chapter too ridiculous. As always, I would love to hear what you guys have to say. This chapter kind of turned into a series of scenes as Philip gets older (to an age that's more fun to write about). If it's confusing or doesn't work, please let me know.
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I'm just playing around with Marvel's characters for a while. No infringement intended.
Natasha could hear Pepper squealing all the way from the elevator. Stark opened the door and ushered his girlfriend into the hospital room where the team huddled around Natasha and the new baby.
"I can't believe this came out of you," Steve breathed in awe, holding the swaddled infant in his arms. "I don't want to think about how this came out of you," he amended.
"My turn; give the billionaire genius the baby," Stark practically demanded with a smug smile on his face.
"Do you know how to hold a newborn," Banner asked cautiously. "It's not a football that you hike down field. It's a small baby, who, for future reference, is very easily damaged by things like explosive mishaps in the lab."
"You're never going to let it go, are you? I'm sorry I blew up your toy. Now, give me the baby," Stark instructed patronizingly, stretching his hands out to snatch the child from Steve's arms.
Clint perched on the edge of Natasha's hospital bed, holding her hand. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear before he placed a sweet kiss to the side of her head. The woman looked exhausted. Pepper fretted over to her friend's bedside.
"Congratulations, Mom. How are you feeling?"
"I can't come up with an adjective that accurately describes this. Clint, make up a word," Natasha asked. "It's good to see you though. I'm glad you're here," she said genuinely. "I've also given up trying to control my emotions for the next few weeks. The hormones are wrecking havoc on my body, and I simply do not have the energy to maintain my usual façade," the redhead informed her friend.
"You just had a baby, Natasha. You're allowed to have emotions! I'm surprised Clint over here isn't singing away."
"I may have squeezed his hand a little too tightly during labor. The doctor who looks to be only a few days older than my child said Clint's hand isn't broken. He also switched himself into sniper mode, it seems, so he can catch our son at the last minute when one of them drops him."
"You have a boy," Pepper squealed excitedly. "A baby boy! That's so great! What's his name?"
"Yeah, what is his name? It's Tony, isn't it? I'm the child's namesake. It's so touching," Stark rambled as he looked down tenderly at the small baby in his arms. Pepper made a move to smack him on the back of the head, but he sidestepped and continued by saying. "Ah, ah, ah. You cannot hit me when I hold the baby. Oh god, he's like a new shield. He's perfect Pepper protection."
"You did not just refer to my son as a shield," Barton exclaimed. "He's not even a day old yet. Your turn is over. Give me my kid."
"He's more of a Pepper shield," Stark amended.
"Give me my son," Barton repeated, getting off the bed to forcibly take the young boy away from Stark. "Banner, want to hold him?" The doctor nodded vigorously before carefully receiving the infant.
"So what's his name?"
"Philip Aiden Barton," Natasha replied, exhaustion and love lacing her voice.
"You sound happy," Pepper whispered into her ear. "You sound really happy."
"I am. I have a son," she confirmed. The way she said it sounded like she almost couldn't believe that the boy was hers.
The team continued to pass the baby in circles; constantly bickering over whose turn it was next while simultaneously mocking one another. When Banner noticed Natasha was starting to nod off, he motioned his head towards the waiting room. Pepper passed the baby to Clint before ushering the men out of the room. The door closed leaving the family of three alone.
"Hey Philip," Clint cooed at the young boy swaddled in his arms. A wide grin broke out across his face as he whispered those words. "I can't believe it, Tasha. He's ours. We made him. He's perfect." Clint kissed the baby's head gently. "We have a son."
"Yeah, we do. He has your mouth," Natasha happily smiled. "Coulson would be proud of us."
"Coulson would be proud you didn't actually maim one of the unsuspecting nurses," Clint countered. "You know Philip, your namesake, he was a great man. He would have loved to meet you."
"He would have loved to see you terrorize Avengers Tower and the helicarrier," Natasha laughed as she smoothed a finger over Philip's chubby cheek. "His skin is so soft," she mused. "Hi there," she murmured when the baby opened his eyes to look at her. "Hi." She relaxed her hands to her lap and simply watched her husband interact with their son. He was a natural. He looked so happy, and she couldn't believe that this was her reality. She couldn't believe she had been granted this chance at happiness.
When Philip started to cry, Clint tried to calm him, but ultimately ended up passing the young boy to Natasha. She held him like the nice elderly nurse, who shared her opinion on the uselessness of ice chips, taught her. Philip's little head rested on her chest, just above her heart. His body curled contentedly into her. She soothed a hand over his back in calming circles, and soon, his tears had all subsided. Clint pulled out his phone to take a picture, immediately setting it to be his background.
"You better not have any photos of me actually in labor on that phone, Clint," she threatened.
"No one in the world ever needs to see that. Can you just imagine? Rogers would faint."
"I still want to see the security feed of him panicking when your water broke in the kitchen. I might need to have JARVIS burn me a DVD of that."
"Don't ever let Rogers see it, or we'll never hear the end of the apologies. You can take the man out of the 1940s, but you can't take the 1940s out of the man."
"That's my line," Clint pouted good-naturedly. "You stole my saying."
"I just birthed your child. I'm sure you can spare one of your snarky lines," she rebutted easily. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought back a yawn. She looked down and smiled fondly at the little boy resting on her chest. "He looks like you. He is absolutely perfect." She yawned again, muffling some of the compliment.
Clint brushed her hair back away from her face, tucking a few stray locks behind her ear. He kissed her forehead before suggesting she sleep. The agent nodded and carefully handed Philip back to his father. As Clint was about to go sit in one of the chairs, she stopped him before motioning to the bed. She scooted over as far as she could before he carefully adjusted himself next to her, Philip resting with his back against the man's bent knees. Natasha tipped her head to use Clint's shoulder as a pillow and the archer's singing lulled her to sleep.
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"Our baby hates sleep," Clint grumbled. "Why. Why Philip? It's so easy. I could do it right now and sleep until you graduate college."
"If you go all Rip Van Winkle on me and leave me alone, I will kill you," Natasha threatened. "You've got a mission briefing tomorrow. You need your sleep. I'll take him."
"Thank you," he murmured, handing over Philip. He kissed the little boy's head and whispered, "Please be good for Mommy."
"If only it were that easy." She carried the boy back into his room and swaddled him again in a gray blanket with his initials. She spoke softly to him in Russian as she danced in slow circles around the room. It took nearly an hour, but finally, he slumbered contentedly in her arms. "I've got to remember that trick," she whispered to herself. "Let's get you into bed, so Mommy can get at least a few hours of sleep before you try to wail through the soundproofing in the apartment. Доброй ночи, моя влюбленность. Я тебя люблю." "Goodnight, my love. I love you," she translated for him.
She tumbled tiredly into the bed after double-checking the baby monitor.
Four hours later, Philip cried loudly.
"I got him," Clint volunteered.
"I don't think you've got the parts he wants, but by all means, try to breastfeed. We can put it in the baby book," she retorted, still half asleep. "Go back to bed, Clint." He didn't argue, just mumbled something unintelligible and curled back into his nest.
Philip ate fairly easily and was soon asleep in her arms yet again.
Three hours later, when Tony knocked loudly on the door, causing Philip to wake up in tears, Natasha cursed at him in every language she knew. She lifted him out of his bassinet to try and comfort him before stomping loudly to the door.
"What," she snarled at him.
"Oy. Can I make you coffee," he asked kindly, trying to slip back into her good graces.
"No. You woke him up. You can calm him down. Here," Natasha demanded, handing Stark the baby.
"Hey, little man. What's cracking? You're not a morning person. I get that. You're mother isn't a morning person either. Did you know one time I tried to talk to her before she had her coffee and she threw a fork at me?"
"I only did that once," she asked with a smirk. "I could have sworn I've threatened you with bodily harm at least six times a day since I moved in. Even before that, I'm sure Natalie Rushman threatened you somehow."
"Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Stark continued talking to Philip. "Your mommy isn't a morning person. I'm not sure your daddy sleeps at all. Good luck when you're a teenager trying to sneak in and out. If, by the grace of God, you manage to slip out of the apartment of two secret agents, JARVIS will catch you. Having four superheroes as uncles is both a fantastically awesome blessing and a sad depressing curse. Embrace the crazy, kid. That's lesson number one."
"I should say something about that, but the sound of your voice seems to lull him to sleep like it does everyone else when you get going on one of your narcissistic monologues."
"Hey now. I take offense at that!" He pretended to be wounded, dramatically gaping at her.
"That's the point, Stark. What did you want at 7:23 in the morning?"
"I want to come with you to Philip's check up."
"Why?"
"I'm Tony Stark. It can't hurt to have me there. Maybe you don't have to wait as long in the waiting room, or maybe they don't send the intern to give him his round of shots."
"Your nephew is making you soft, you old man."
Tony looked down at the boy in his arms. "Maybe, but he's my nephew. I'm allowed. So can I come?"
"By all means, come and 'secretly' run background checks on everyone in the office. Can you watch him? I need to get dressed." He nodded and settled into the couch. "Oh," she called from the hallway. "Don't do anything stupid."
"I don't know why people keep telling me that," Stark mused to the boy, who was looking up at him with large blue eyes. "I'm a genius. Don't they know it's impossible for me to do anything that can be defined as stupid?" He looked around the room, making sure no one was there. "You know, little man, you're going to have a cousin soon. Would you like that?" He could have sworn the baby smiled at him, even though logically he knew it wasn't possible just yet. "Oh!" He exclaimed. "Look," Stark said, shifting to pull something out of his back pocket. He held up the bib that read, "These fools put my cape on backwards."
"You look mighty handsome, kid," Stark complimented after he fitted the bib around the boy's neck. "Mighty handsome indeed, though I think you would look even better in a baby Iron Man suit. Can't you just see the possibilities?"
"Make my child a suit of any kind and you will learn just how fatal my trademark thigh choke is," Natasha called as she ambled back down the hallway, cup of coffee in her hands. She let out a rare laugh when she saw the bib and quirked an eyebrow at Tony.
"What? I spoil all of you. You are all living here rent-free. Why shouldn't he get the same perks?"
She rolled her eyes at him before lifting Philip from his lap. "Let's get you away from your crazy uncle. Appointment is at 9. Be ready at 8:30," she called over her shoulder while making her way to the nursery.
"Ma'am, yes ma'am," he mock saluted as he left.
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"Need a sparring partner, Cap?" Natasha stretched slowly as she looked at him. He had been training for at least two hours by the looks of it, but thanks to the super serum, the man could train for hours and not feel sore. There were days she really hated that.
"You sure," he hesitated. "You um… just had a baby." He stuttered over his words and opted instead for a drink of water. Natasha simply raised her eyebrow and fixed him with a look that almost dared him to continue with his train of thought. When he didn't she sighed.
"Philip's almost four months old. I've been sparring with Clint for the last month and a half. I could use the challenge."
"Yeah, okay," he agreed somewhat reluctantly. He made his way to the mat and watched her carefully. In his mind he was already on the defensive. When the two first started sparring together, it had taken him at least six months to actually fight her. Part of his 1940s attitude, he felt awful hitting a lady, even if the lady was asking for it literally. Two minutes into the fight and he hadn't thrown a single punch, merely deflecting and retreating. She threw a combo that knocked him off guard and one of her roundhouse kicks caught him square in the shoulder and sent him falling to the side.
"Stop holding back," she yelled, each word emphasized with a swinging blow to his head. He made a grunting noise as two of the punches connected with the side of his face. "Come on," she demanded.
He let out a deep, controlled breath before steeling his nerves and putting himself back in the fight. He landed a punch to her stomach before she countered with an acrobatic move that had him flat on his back. "Mercy," he said, lifting himself slowly off the floor.
"Mercy, really? You could have easily deflected that or fought back." He disappointed her. He knew her well enough to know that, but she didn't let it show in her tone, which was neutral besides the hint of disbelief. "I'll let you get back to your workout then. I'll work on the bars." Rogers dropped his head slightly before returning to his line up of punching bags. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she jumped gracefully onto the taller of the two uneven bars. She worked through a gymnastic routine her body memorized years ago. With each satisfying thwack of her hands making contact with the bar, she felt herself relax more and more. As Rogers destroyed his first punching bag, Natasha dismounted perfectly, sticking the landing. Afterwards, she moved a Pilates mat to the corner directly in the sunlight to begin another routine.
When she finally finished her training session, she was dripping in sweat and breathing heavily. Between breastfeeding and her workouts, she was almost down to her starting weight. While she loved Philip, she wasn't too fond of the extra pounds she gained during pregnancy. She was eager to be rid of it.
Natasha rode the elevator up to the communal floor where she saw Philip propped up in his Bumbo chair, watching Banner with rapt attention. She leaned against the archway for a moment and watched the doctor interact with her son. The usually dignified man continued making silly faces at the young boy, reaching over to tickle him when he was graced with a toothless grin. When the baby saw his mother standing off to the side, he gurgled happily and reached his chubby arms out to her.
"Is that your mommy," Banner asked. "Here we go," he lifted him from the chair and blew a raspberry kiss to his stomach, causing the little boy to laugh.
"You're really good with him," Natasha remarked as she lifted her son to her hip.
"He's fun. How was your session?"
"Good. Thanks for watching him."
"My pleasure. When's Barton back?"
"A couple of days, I think. When he gets back, I'm scheduled for my first mission."
"I'm sure you'll be able to handle it," Banner reassured; though he knew she didn't need the encouragement. "Let's face it. The whole spy thing you've got down pat, and you're damn good at the maternal thing." He nodded his head toward the baby in her arms who was smiling happily and gripping her hair in a tiny fist.
"You don't think I'm crazy to go back on a mission?"
"I know, Natasha. I would think you were crazy if you didn't. Having a baby doesn't mean you lose your career. It just means you have a few more things to juggle. If you weren't good before, I would say you're going to be invincible now, if only because you want to make it home to him. His presence in the world just might make you a better spy. More human, yes, but I'm sure you'll find a way to work that into a strength. It'll probably make your undercover personas that much more believable."
"Thanks," she said sincerely. "Come on, младенец. Can you say bye to Uncle Bruce?" Natasha lifted his chubby little arm and waved before offering a smile and returning to their floor.
"Maybe your daddy will be home soon," she whispered into the boy's ear as she nuzzled his cheek with her nose. "I know you miss Daddy's singing." He captured her face between his small hands. She made a face and Philip laughed gleefully. "Daddy loves you, little one. I love you too." She lifted him over her head and blew a kiss on his stomach, making him giggle again.
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Her first mission was more of a test than anything. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at the ease of it when Hill handed over the mission brief. She raised an eyebrow at her handler. Her look clearly asking why her particular skill set was necessary for such an elementary mission. Hill shrugged and offered no further explanation.
When she was alone in her room on base, she reviewed the brief again, spending time memorizing the details of each aspect. She allowed herself a chuckle when reading the allotted time for the mission. 48 hours, the line declared in the large, bold print. Natasha decided to place a bet with herself. 12 hours from drop off to extraction and she would treat herself to a mani-pedi combo. It sounded like a great bet, one she knew she would win.
After memorizing the file, she focused on cleaning and checking her weaponry. It was easy for her to slip into the necessary mindset. After all, her body, her mind, everything about her had been trained to focus on the mission and accomplish the goals at hand. She knew that allowing her mind to drift to any topic besides the mission and its parameters would cause her to make a mistake. Mistakes in her field were usually fatal. Because she desperately wanted to return home to her son and husband after each mission, she forced herself to push them out of her mind and focus solely on the task at hand.
For once, Natasha was appreciative of the rigorous emotional and mental training Red Room inflicted upon her.
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"I owe myself a manicure and a pedicure," she voiced cheerfully as she waltzed into their apartment.
"Good mission then," Clint asked, his voice floating in from the kitchen.
"10 hours and 48 minutes," Natasha confirmed. "Hi," she greeted as she kissed him. "And hello to you, Philip." The baby gurgled up at her happily. "Did he actually eat any of the food or is he wearing most of it?"
"Definitely wearing most of it," Clint laughed. "Fury called."
"Oh?"
"BlackHawk is needed for a mission."
"BlackHawk," she turned and leaned against the opposite counter.
"My thoughts exactly," he mused as he offered Philip another spoonful of baby food. "Someone started a new nickname for our partnership. My bet is Tony. It sounds like something ridiculous he would come up with just to irk us. Anyway, it's the combination of my name and yours."
"I got that part, smartass," she smirked. "What's the mission?"
"One day, we will have to stop cussing in front of him." In response to Natasha's raised eyebrow, he amended. "I may have to work on it more than you, but still, you aren't exactly known for your G-rated language." She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look that dared him to continue with his train of thought. "Anyway, mission," Clint sidetracked. "There's an arms dealer hiding out in Yekaterinburg who has a liking for sassy red-headed tourists, so much so there are five women with a similar description who have seemingly vanished."
"So we locate the mark and terminate him," she asked.
"Interrogate and terminate her," he corrected.
"Oh."
"So," Clint prompted while he slowly lifted Philip from his high chair, depositing him in the sink. Testing the water in the other half of the sink, he used the nozzle to rinse the baby food remnants off his son. "We've got to work on actually eating the food, kiddo." Natasha left quickly and returned with his baby shampoo, washcloth, and dry towel.
"Here, love," she murmured sweetly, passing the young child a rubber duck to play with.
"So," he asked again. "And why don't I get a sweet pet name?"
"Okay." The woman completely ignored his second question with a satirical eye roll in his direction.
"Can I get more than a one-word response?" She lifted an eyebrow at him, letting the look in her eyes respond for her. She soaped up the washcloth as Clint puttered the duck around Philip. "Do we need to talk about how we're going to manage everything?"
"Basically, you're not allowed to die. Sound good," she asked with a smirk.
"You said that when we got married."
"I meant it when we got married. I mean it now. Clint, we're agents. This is what we do. While it sucks to leave him behind, we've got a job to do. Kids are expensive, and the job pays the bills."
"You know as much as I do that at this point it isn't about money," he retorted. He wanted to know what she was thinking; he didn't want to hear her automated responses.
"We talked about this," she sighed with a shake of her head. "The job defines me. I can't just stop. I'm an agent. I'm a mother. I'm a wife. Those roles aren't self-negating. I am all three. I miss him desperately when I'm gone, but I can't just stop. It's the only thing I knew for so long. I can't just walk away from it. I wouldn't know how."
"Okay," he nodded, a soft smile on his lips.
"Can I get more than a one-word response," she rebutted with a smirk.
He scoffed at her before laughing. "I just wanted to make sure your feelings hadn't changed. I understand. Just remember, you say the word, and Stark will hire us as security consultants or something. We will still be Avengers; that doesn't change." She nodded knowingly. "So I'm not allowed to die," he continued. She could hear the joke forming in his head and rolled her eyes in preparation.
"Your daddy's an idiot," Natasha teased comically as she rinsed all the suds off Philip before wrapping him in his towel.
"I mean if I die, I'm dead. I know your wrath is far reaching, but come on, Tasha, that's a whole 'nother ball game," he joked.
"Oh yeah," she asked. She swayed gently on the balls of her feet, cradling her son in her arms. "You really want to try that? Go on; try and die on me. First of all, I would bring your sorry ass back and kill you all over again for putting me through that. Secondly, Phil is wherever you would be going, and I would bet almost anything that man would be screaming and wailing at you until you were begging to be back. We'll call it compounded wrath." She fixed him with a look that he took to mean I-know-we-are-joking-but-do-not-die-on-me-ever. "Like I said, little one, your daddy's an idiot, but we love him anyway."
"Shit," he grumbled. "Who are we going to leave him with for a week?"
"Stark is vetoed," Natasha responded automatically. "We'll come back to an infant in a perfect replica of the Iron Man suit. Though Pepper would make sure Tony doesn't go too crazy," she considered.
"Thor is in Asgard. That leaves Banner and Rogers."
"Banner would be a good choice. Rogers is leaving to drive down the coast on his motorcycle."
"Why don't we leave him with Banner and Pepper," Clint suggested as he expertly diapered the little boy in question. "Mission brief is tomorrow. Departure is the next day. Fury said we could stay here after the brief, even though it's against protocol, so you could spend some time with Philip before we left. I think the old man is actually a softie."
"I wouldn't say that to him," Natasha advised. "Ever," she emphasized. "That's a sure fire way to be on extended missions in Timbuktu."
"Who doesn't love Mali this time of year? I mean it's a great place to get a way. The dictionary references it as an extreme place of distance. I can sit in the middle of the desert with a camel and get sand in really uncomfortable places. And I would get to see that vein in Fury's forehead throb in irritation. It sounds like a win-win."
"Well, you have fun with that. Philip and I are going to be here in our lush New York suite in Avengers Tower in the air conditioning with fantastic water pressure and no sand whatsoever."
"I do like the water pressure." He stroked his chin pretending to balance the alternatives in his head. "What do you think, Philip? Should Daddy irk the Cyclops? We could go hang out with the camels!" The little boy grinned up at him as he gripped his feet in his hands and rocked back and forth. "That's a yes," Clint pointed out. "Look at that smile, Tasha. Our son wants me to irritate Fury. I now have a legitimate excuse."
"Daddy is blaming his bad behavior on you already," she informed her son as she picked up off the changing table. The agent perched on the rocking chair in the corner, bouncing the baby on her knees slightly. "When was the last time you needed a reason to piss off Fury?"
"It's part of my boyish charm," he countered as he leaned against the changing table. She scoffed at him. "It's why you fell in love with me," he added.
"Is it now?"
"Mhmm," he hummed. "You can't resist my enchanting jokes and mockery."
"If I recall, I spent the better part of two years either silently glaring at you or openly threatening you with death and painful forms of torture."
"But eventually, you fell for me. I slowly wore you down, and now you'll laugh at some of my jokes," Clint exclaimed victoriously.
"You're right," she consented. "11 years, countless missions, a marriage, and a child later, I will laugh at some of your jokes. Your charm works so efficiently."
"You could still be cussing at me in Russian," he pointed out.
"I still do cuss at you in Russian," she countered. "And other languages based on the offense."
"Let me rephrase. You used to cuss at me in Russian, and the underlying threat of me dying painfully was very strong. Now, it's not as strong. Now, you're cussing just to cuss. There's less threat behind your obscenities now," he amended. "It's how the boyish charm works."
"Your daddy's an idiot," she whispered to her son, though there was a smile visible on her face and in the tone of her voice.
"At this rate, that's going to be his sentence," he rumbled. "Can you imagine if his first word was idiot? I can see it now. We will sit Philip in his Bumbo seat in front of Stark and just let him say idiot over and over again. Being insulted by his baby nephew might deflate his ego a little bit."
"Stop devising plans of such nature around your infant child, Barton," she chastised. "Though, that would be brilliant."
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Philip's first word turned out to be "no." Barton blamed that on Fury, Pepper, and Natasha. Conversations (if they could be called such) often went in a never-ending pattern.
"Do you want your duck?"
"No."
"Do you want a bottle?"
"No."
"Should we read a book?"
"No."
"Do you love your Uncle Tony," Banner prompted from across the kitchen with a smirk.
"No," the little boy responded gleefully.
"Isn't your Uncle Bruce just the greatest guy," Stark retorted with a glare.
"No," Philip chanted with a happy smile, occasionally clapping his hands.
"Stop using my child to indirectly insult each other," Natasha chided from the other counter where she was pureeing a cup of fruit for Philip's snack.
"We're teaching him a wider vocabulary," Stark denied. "Philip, can you say Uncle Tony is amazing?"
"You're right, Tony. He knows one syllable. It's completely logical to think he can parrot back your entire egotistical sentence," Banner mocked. "That's like me asking him to write an equation to trace gamma radiation in his baby food mush."
"Of course, because sentences and tracking algorithms are of comparable intelligence," Tony rallied.
"When he's 11 months old, it might as well be."
"Stop bickering around the baby, boys," Pepper scolded as she entered the kitchen.
"We weren't bickering," Stark returned with a childish smile.
"You are always bickering about something."
"No," Philip giggled.
"Ha!" Stark pumped his fist victoriously in the air. "See that? Little Man is on my side! High five," he requested of the small child. Philip tilted his head and frowned slightly at the large hand in his face. No one mentioned that it was a look Natasha typically wore when she was trying to put the pieces of a puzzle together. Stark lifted one of Philip's hand with his other hand and guided their hands together in a high five motion. "Heck yes!"
"It's the only word he knows. It doesn't count," Banner groaned. "Trust me. If he knew you like we do, he wouldn't be on your side." Stark gasped and pretend to be hurt.
"You're just jealous I got a high five and you didn't."
"Children," Pepper sighed.
"Ha," Stark mocked again. "You just got lumped into the deep sigh of annoyance," he pointed at Banner. "How's your IQ looking now?"
"Still higher than yours," Banner retorted.
"I was mainly referring to you, Tony, but since there is actually a child in the room, I figured the plural would be more accurate."
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On his first birthday, Philip flipped a cupcake on Clint's face. He looked up through his blue eyes at his father and smirked. He lifted a single chubby finger and drew it through the icing clinging to Clint's skin before sucking it into his mouth. Natasha couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped. She was grateful Pepper caught the moment on film and reminded herself to ask for duplicates of all the photos.
"Hey now, birthday boy," Clint chuckled. "Cake is for eating. Remember what we talked about, kid? We eat the food. We don't wear it."
"I think you should reconsider. I think the icing would go well with your suit," Rogers teased.
"Would it not throw off his aim," Thor boomed. "It would always make a good mid-battle snack." His laughter seemed to make the room vibrate with its pitch and volume.
"Barton, I have to agree. I think it could really help you blend into a crowd when we're undercover." Natasha joined in on the mockery. She couldn't help it. She was determined to enjoy the little moments.
"Oh do you," he stalked towards her with a dangerous smile on his face.
"Clinton Francis Barton, don't you dare." He rushed her and wrapped his arms around her smaller frame. Kissing her playfully, he managed to smear a good amount of icing from his face onto hers. When he pulled away and retreated to hide behind Philip and his highchair, she blinked her eyes free of the blue icing and licked her lips before laughing. Her laughter seemed to be contagious and everyone joined in with her.
"Oh," Stark jumped after Natasha handed Clint a wet towel to wipe off the icing on his face. "He can open his presents! Come here, little man." He picked up the little boy and tossed him in the air, causing the 1 year old to squeal excitedly. Tony put him down on the floor in front of the pile of presents. Philip turned around and looked at the adults behind him before tilting his head to look at the presents.
"Ma Ma," he called and reached up to her. "Up, Ma Ma. Up." When he was in her arms, he pointed to the presents clearly wanting her to do all the work.
"Alright, love. Let's open your presents." She sat cross-legged on the floor with Philip comfortably situated in her lap. Clint passed presents to her, and she helped the little boy unwrap them. Every gift seemed to make music and loud noises with accompanying swirling lights. Philip was hooked and immediately wanted to play with everything. He crawled out of Natasha's lap and sat down in the middle of all his wrapping paper. Finding an empty bag, he put it on his head and rocked side-to-side giggling.
The adults continued to chat and swap stories. At all times, someone was playing with Philip, showing him how to bounce the new ball that lit up and sparkled or showing him how to push the button to turn on the pillow lamp that projected the stars on the ceiling. Stark showed him how to hold the mini guitar and make music. Pepper passed Natasha a bottle of extra-strength aspirin with a knowing smile. When he was all tuckered out, Philip found Clint in the mess of adults and clamored into his lap. Natasha handed her partner their son's blanket from the couch. The little boy gripped it tightly and snuggled into his father as he started to doze.
"I've got to say," Rogers commented. "You both seem to be meant to do this. I mean you are both natural in the field too," he quickly backtracked. "You really are good parents," he complimented with a fond smile on his face. "I mean look how happy he is." Rogers gestured to the boy slumbering in Clint's lap with a loose fist around his blanket and a thumb in his mouth.
"He's a good kid," Barton agreed, running a gentle hand through his son's shaggy sandy blonde hair.
"He looks just like you," Pepper mentioned.
"But he acts just like her," Tony added. "Did you see that smirk earlier? That screamed Natasha. I'm also pretty sure he said something in Russian the other day."
"Sounds like we did good, Tasha," Clint mused. He smiled lovingly at the little boy and then at his wife.
"I want one," Tony proclaimed.
"One what," Banner prompted already looking nervous with the direction of this conversation.
"One of those."
"You want one of me," Barton asked. "Sorry, bud. You're shit out of luck. I'm one of a kind."
"Not you, you idiot," Stark countered. "A baby. I want one." He turned to Pepper. "I want one," he repeated seriously. The taller woman looked at him with wide eyes.
"On that note, I'm going to go hide in the gym," Rogers coughed as he excused himself. "Happy birthday, Philip," he whispered quietly to the little boy.
"Your proposition sounds swell," Thor agreed much louder than the captain.
"I think the lab is calling my name." Banner excused himself.
Natasha jerked her head towards the elevator before rising to her feet and gently untangling Philip from Clint's lap. The archer got up and quickly followed her. They would clean up later.
"I want one," Tony repeated sincerely. It was the last part of the conversation Natasha and Clint heard as the elevator doors closed and delivered them to their floor.
Cradling the sleeping boy, she walked quietly to the nursery. She kissed his forehead and hugged him to her chest. "Sleep tight, little one. I love you," she whispered as she laid him down in the crib.
"I think I agree with Stark," Clint voiced as soon as Natasha closed the door behind her.
"You agree that he wants one?" The confusion was evident in her voice. She walked over to the couch and dropped onto it gratefully.
"No. Well, yes. I know he wants one. He talked about it before." Natasha lifted her eyebrows in a clear, unspoken question. "We were drinking. It makes him open up and get into story-telling mode or something." He paused as he tried to find the confidence to spill his thoughts. She waited patiently. Both of them had difficulty verbalizing feelings and emotions regardless of the trust or love in their partnership. When he finally spoke, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "I think I want another one, Tasha."