Author's Note: I got a brilliant idea from an anonymous reviewer about SHIELD's "Bring Your Kid to Work" Day. I also had another reviewer request some extended Natasha-Pepper friendship moments, so both ideas are incorporated into this chapter. Leave a review with an idea if you've got something you're dying to see. I love to hear about what y'all want to see come out of this story.
Continued Author's Note: Also, because I felt badly about the time delay between the last posting, you get two chapters today. That's normally unheard of for me. Then I saw that the story has over 100 reviews, and it just blew me away. Keep the reviews coming, and I'll keep spitting out more chapters!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just playing around with the characters for shits and giggles.
"Barton," Fury addressed. "There's a child sitting on your desk."
"Very observant, Director," the archer responded without looking up from his paperwork.
"Let me rephrase. Why is there a child sitting on your desk?"
"Didn't you get the memo? It's 'Bring Your Child to Work' Day." He barely hid a smirk in the file he was working on. You could almost feel the irritation cascading from Fury in waves. The other agents actively tried to avoid him.
"SHIELD is one of the world's most powerful intelligence agency. We don't exactly work well with children, Barton."
"Well, sir, you demanded I turn in my reports from our last few missions in a timely manner. Romanov is pregnant if you recall the moment you gawked at her and she threw a pen at your face and nearly punctured your throat. She is taking the day to go to doctors appointments and whatnot, so Philip is with me today."
"You live at Avengers Tower. You have built in babysitters."
"No, we have built in superheroes and an AI that really isn't capable of watching him since JARVIS isn't technically human."
"I like JARVIS," Philip voiced his opinion.
"Fine. You have built in superheroes. I'm sure one of them can watch the kid," Fury countered, completely ignoring Philip's statement.
"First, the kid has a name. His name is Philip. Secondly, really? Stark lost him in the AC unit of the helicarrier, and he's working on some explosive addition for his suit in the lab. Banner is in Calcutta for the week. Pepper is with Natasha. Thor might as well be a child himself. He still burns PopTarts, you know. And Rogers is driving his motorcycle down the coast for some R&R. Would you like to watch him? Then, I can finish my paperwork and be out of your hair. If not, he's going to sit on my desk and continue to distract the agents, who by the way I'm almost positive have never actually seen a child before."
"He's coloring on the memo I sent you yesterday," Fury pointed out. "At least give him some paper that isn't important."
"I did," the archer countered with a smirk. "I gave him the memo you sent yesterday."
"Barton," Fury growled. "Don't let him out of your sight. It's a dangerous place for a child."
"Yes, he's in so much danger here on base where everyone in a thirty mile radius knows he is my child and that whoever dares touch him will be at the business end of not only my arrows but Romanov's thigh choke and basically the combined wrath of all the Avengers. No one without a death wish is going to endanger my child."
"Just don't kill anyone," Fury sighed unhappily.
"No promises, Director."
Barton grumbled and refocused on his files. "Daddy hates paperwork," he complained to the little boy. "Absolutely hates paperwork. Daddy also really does not like Nick Fury." Philip laughed and continued scribbling on and across numerous pages. His pale skin displayed lots of colorful marker streaks; his hands, face, and arms were more or less covered. Yet he was content to sit on the desk and color. A ream of paper later, Clint stood up and stretched after dropping the last file into his completed stack. "Want to go watch Daddy shoot arrows," he asked.
"Daddy shoot arrows," Philip replied, clapping his hands. The child leaped from the desk and into Barton's arms. The older man tickled him as he headed down towards the range. The young boy's laughter filled the hallways of the helicarrier, and the sound, while very pleasant, was definitely out of character for the usually somber base.
The range was completely empty; after all, Barton was the only agent whose preferred weapon was a bow and arrow. While other agents occasionally needed to qualify with the weapon, they rarely practiced in this area. It was an unspoken rule almost that this was Barton's territory. Like he didn't take too fondly to people touching his weapons, he didn't like people screwing with his targets either. He lowered Philip to the ground in the corner behind a baby gate he doubted Fury knew about. In the playpen type area, Legos and books scattered the floor. Clint ruffled Philip's hair, thinking vaguely that the young boy probably needed a haircut.
Unloading his quiver and bow from their case, he set up at one of the lanes where he could clearly see Philip while sighting his shots. It was a common enough occurrence whether the assassins were training on base or at home. Philip would come down with them more often than not and play with his toys in the corner, well out of the way of any danger. Stark even built playrooms into one of the gyms and the shooting range to keep the young boy entirely out of harm's way. The playrooms' walls were made out of transparent bulletproof and arrow proof material as opposed to the usual dry wall and plaster combination. Toys, books, and beanbags filled both rooms. Clearly, Stark was planning on adding to the Avengers' brood of children at some point or another.
An hour later, Philip started to grow annoyed with the toys in reach. He opted instead for throwing the Legos at Clint. "Daddy." A red Lego launched itself towards the older man. "Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy." A Lego for each chant clattered to the ground with the other thrown Legos.
"Yeah, Philip? What's up?"
"Bored, Daddy."
"Okay, I hear you. One Scooby Doo and then we'll go home." Philip pouted, but stopped throwing Legos.
"You have your child in a firing range," Fury scolded from the doorway of the range. "He's actually within shooting distance of projectiles that could injure him. Do you see the liability issues, Barton? Also, why is there a baby gate on my base?"
"We both know I don't miss. I'm the only one in here, and I'm sure as hell not going to shoot my own child with an arrow."
"You shot your wife with an arrow once," Fury countered.
"My wife was a target once. My wife was also not a 2 and a half year old child."
"Your wife was a nevertheless."
"So was I," Barton responded. "What do you want, Director?"
"I've got a mission for you. It's an in-and-out, but your firing distance is needed; the mark is a touch on the paranoid side and intel says no one gets close enough. Here," he dropped the file on the table to the left of the archer. "Plane leaves in two hours."
"Yes sir." He retrieved his arrows, checking the tips and shafts as he loaded them back in his quiver. The compact bow collapsed into its carrier. Barton walked to the corner, lifted Philip easily onto his hip, grabbed the weapons case and the folder in one hand, and left. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you home."
Once in the car, he grumbled and groaned as he called his partner. "Hey Tasha. I've got an assignment. Where are you?"
From his car seat in the back, Philip clapped happily. "Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama."
"By popular demand, I'm putting you on speakerphone to appease the pint sized cheerleader in the backseat."
"Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama. Mama."
"Привет, малыш," Natasha greeted the child warmly. He chirped back a reply in perfect Russian. "When do you leave?"
"2 hours. I just left base. If you're still at the doctor's, I'll get Stark to postpone his explosions until you can come home."
"I can be there in 20 minutes. No need to interrupt him when he plays science," Natasha said. Clint could hear Pepper laughing in the background.
"Did the appointment go well?"
"Yeah, everything's normal. I'll see you soon, boys."
"Say bye to Mommy," Clint prompted their son.
"пока!"
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The second Philip's feet hit the ground he was running over to the elevator, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, eagerly waiting to go upstairs. "Daddy, hurry," he commanded anxiously. "Wanna see Mama."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming. I'm coming." The agent walked behind his son at a much more leisurely pace.
When the sliding doors opened to their floor, his little feet slapped the floor as he rushed over to their door, pausing only to turn around and glare at his father, who was obviously moving much too slowly for his taste. Clint couldn't help but recognize the glare on their son's face as one Natasha sported frequently. "Seriously, kid? Calm down. Mommy's not going anywhere."
"Mama!" Philip screamed excitedly as he ran into the living room. He leaped into her arms when he saw coming in from the kitchen. "Mama!"
"Hi, love. Did you have fun with Daddy at the office?"
"He's a poop," the boy responded seriously.
"Daddy's a poop," Natasha clarified barely holding in a laugh. Pepper, however, who was sitting on a couch in the living room, broke out in a wide grin and laughed happily.
"Hey now," Clint objected as he kissed Natasha's cheek. "Be nice to Daddy."
"No, Fury," Philip corrected very sternly. "Fury's a poop."
"Well that I agree wholeheartedly with," Clint nodded vigorously as he moved to the closet in their bedroom to suit up.
"Yeah, I can see it," Pepper agreed from her spot. "It's also reassuring to hear he hasn't picked up any of the curse words I'm positive he's heard around the Tower."
Natasha sat down on the couch, her legs tucked under her like a pretzel. Philip snuggled himself into her lap contentedly. "Mama," he mumbled happily. He moved one of her hands to his stomach as he leaned back into her chest. With her free hand, she affectionately ruffled his hair before kissing the top of his head. "Я люблю тебя."
"I love you too," she responded into his ear.
"Scooby Doo," the little boy asked hopefully.
"JARVIS," Pepper called, happy to appease her nephew's wish. "Right away, Miss Potts." The TV kicked to life and Philip was immediately hooked. The women conversed over his head about anything and everything until Clint returned to the room in his suit. He handed Philip his blanket and kissed the little boy.
"Look Philip, Daddy's all suited up. Can you say bye to Daddy?"
"Daddy go shoot," Philip asked, turning his attention away from the TV for a split second.
"Yeah, bud. I'll be home soon though. I love you," he affirmed.
"Love you too, Daddy!"
"Be safe," Pepper called.
Clint kissed Natasha over their son's head and whispered in her ear. She smiled brightly at him and returned the kiss. He brushed a caring hand over the top of her stomach; only those who knew her could see she had really gained any weight at all.
Barton slipped into the car and sped back to base, briefly wondering why Fury was in such a shitty mood. It was definitely contagious. A quick retina scan and he was parked in the garage. Grabbing his weapons case and the mission brief, he stopped in his on-base quarters to review everything before being on deck to leave. As he sat down in one of the chairs and kicked his feet up, a paper crinkled in the pocket of his pants. Frowning because he never put things in his suit pocket, he dug around until he found a post it note with Natasha's handwriting.
Wherever you're headed, if you see a tutu, you may want to buy it. We're going to need to stock up for Baby #2.
His foul mood disappeared just like that. He was going to have a daughter. Clint nearly jumped in the air to click his heels together. A knock on his door caused his head to swivel towards the intruding noise. The door slid open to reveal Fury. Clint audibly groaned. "You have a finely tuned radar to recognize when people are happy and you swoop in to come and destroy it, don't you? You can't just let me have my moment of pure joy. Can you go away for about 5 minutes and come back with whatever the hell you need?"
"Barton," Fury growled. "They're waiting for you on deck."
"When did you become the little errand boy? Aren't you supposed to be the Director of this fine institution?" The archer mocked with a dangerous smirk on his face.
"Watch it, Barton."
"Sir, yes sir," he scoffed as he grabbed his case, the file, and the post it note. "My child thinks you're a poop by the way."
"He spends too much time with you and Stark clearly," Fury rebutted. "Just go do your mission and don't fuck anything up."
"Your concern for my well being is touching," Barton bantered as he left his quarters and headed for the deck.
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"So Baby Number Two," Stark prompted from across the table. "I vote we name the young spider Antonia."
"For goodness sake, we are not doing this again, Stark," Captain chided. "It is their child, and they are going to name the baby whatever they want. They are not going to name the baby after you. Your ego can't handle much more inflation. It's like trying to fill a balloon past its stretch point. It explodes."
"Did you just refer to my genius as a latex party decoration?"
"Is that not a condom," Thor asked, genuinely confused about the terminology.
"Sort of," Stark replied. "A condom is like a balloon for your…" His sentence trailed off as Pepper smacked the back of his head with an open palm.
"Do not finish that sentence, Tony," the tall woman advised.
"What," he shrieked. "It's not like Philip doesn't hear his lovely agent parents cursing. You've heard them have sex. Hell, most of Manhattan has heard her have sex. She's not exactly quiet." He met the deadly glare of Natasha and the menacing glare of his longtime girlfriend. "On that note, I have chocolate for you. JARVIS, find me chocolate," he demanded under his breath as he scuttled away from the table. "Find me chocolate now!"
"That trick never gets old," Pepper laughed. Philip started to get restless in his high chair, so she reached over and lifted him out. "Hey little man. Want your water?" Pepper bounced him slightly on her knees as he leaned back into her chest.
"So," Natasha started, noticing that it was just the three of them in the room since Stark vanished to find apologetic chocolate. "What's…" She paused and shuffled through the words in her head. She met Pepper's confused look. "I'm not good at this," she replied to the unvoiced question.
"You're not exactly great with words when it comes to normal interactions. Just spit it out," Pepper encouraged.
"What's holding you back from having one yourself? You're so good with him." Natasha took Pepper's advice and spit the words out, not giving much concern to how blunt it sounded. There were just certain facets that couldn't be ironed out of her personality. She watched the other woman cradle Philip in her lap lovingly.
"We live with crazy people," Pepper deadpanned. "Absolutely crazy people."
"There's that, yes. But would you want it any other way?" Pepper shrugged undecidedly. "So what's really the problem?"
"Everything around us is so abnormal that I want to do this in the traditional order. Marriage then baby. Tony doesn't seem to want to do the first part, so I'm not so sure I want to jump into the second part," the strawberry blonde confided sadly.
"That makes sense." Natasha understood that point of view completely, especially coming from her friend.
"I want him to want it because he wants it, not because he thinks I want it."
"Remember when I said I'm not good at this friendship, listening and offering advice thing," the red head asked. "You lost me."
Pepper laughed softly in spite of herself. She gave Natasha a lot of credit. She knew the other woman actively avoided emotions unless it directly involved Philip. She knew the agent preferred to keep an emotionless façade. She greatly appreciated Natasha dealing with personal discomfort in order to help her figure out where she stood in her relationship with Tony. "I don't want to him to marry me unless it's something he wants as much as I do. I don't want him to go through the motions because he knows I want him to do that. I want him to do it because he wants to."
"Stark never does anything he doesn't want to do, but I see where you're coming from I think."
"I've tried subtle hints that it's what I want. You know, in case, he thinks I don't want it," Pepper admitted.
"Again, Stark is about as a subtle as a nuclear explosion, so I'm thinking anything that gets his attention isn't going to fall into the category of subtle. Do you want me to get Clint to bring it up the next time they go drinking, not to encourage him to do anything but to see where he stands?"
"I'm impressed, Natasha. That's what someone who's good at friendships and helping with emotional distress would say. I'm so proud," Pepper feigned excitement.
"Yeah, yeah. Mock away," Natasha rebutted with a laugh.
"I'm also equally impressed you didn't offer to physically knock some sense into him."
"Oh, that's a standing offer," the agent emphasized. "Anytime you want his ego knocked down a few pegs, just let me know. I have to say, it's a very effective method, and I'm speaking from years of experience. All you have to do is say the word; you know how much I thoroughly enjoy hitting him."
"Honestly," Pepper continued. "I think the list of people who don't enjoy hitting him would be much, much shorter than the list of those who would love to take a swing at his goatee-d face."
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"I hate the mud," Clint announced as he dropped his bags haphazardly on the floor. "I absolutely hate the mud with every fiber of being. I might hate Fury a little more than that though. The jury's still out on the rankings of my shit list." He shuffled into the living room and groaned happily at the sight of his couch. "Oh couch," he addressed. "How I've missed you."
"Do not even think about sitting your mud-caked ass on that couch, Barton," Natasha warned from the kitchen.
"But, darling, it looks so inviting," he drawled, emphasizing the pet name. He watched her shoot daggers at him around the refrigerator. "Fine," he grumbled. "Hi." He kissed her, leaning into her and feeling the telltale sign of pregnancy pressed against his stomach. "Hi little one," he whispered to her stomach, kissing the bump through the fabric of her shirt. "Can I kill Fury for sending me on a two week long mission to the ass end of the middle of fucking nowhere?"
"No, sadly you can't, though trust me I've thought about it."
"I missed you." She turned in his arms, pushing her back firmly against his chest. His hands rested on her now obviously large and pregnant stomach. "How is everything?"
Natasha kissed his cheek and continued making dinner, albeit more slowly with his arms wrapped around her middle. "It's good. She loves to turn my bladder into her personal trampoline, so there's that. Philip has officially stopped yelling at my stomach for invading his designated spot, which happens to be my lap. She's not even born and our children are already fighting with each other. It's splendid."
"Where is Philip," he asked with mumbled curiosity as he kissed her neck. "I figured you didn't swat me for cussing, so he must not be in the vicinity."
"Rogers took him to the zoo for the day. They should be back fairly soon though."
"Good," he mouthed. "I missed the rambunctious little thing."
"He's definitely your son. Thor decided to play hide-and-seek with him the other day. I'm almost entirely certain that Thor was crying because he couldn't find Philip and he thought I was going to maim him."
"Yeah," Barton laughed. "Where was he hiding?"
"The air vents above the game room," she informed him. "We should probably make a rule about that. We should make him a perch of his own that's actually safe."
"Can I build him a tree house of sorts," Barton exclaimed excitedly. "Like a loft that has a safety railing but looks like a tree and we can put some of his books and stuff up there."
Natasha laughed and kissed his cheek again. "You might be more excited about it than he is. By build it, I'm assuming you mean get Stark to draw up appropriately plans and have Banner monitor the two of you to keep you from doing anything too crazy."
"Of course," Clint returned automatically. He knew his ideas tended to get a bit wild, especially when Tony was involved. Banner always acted as a calm and rational participant who enjoyed the project as much as the other two but kept them in check.
"I don't see why not then. Boy's his father's son. He would probably like a perch of his own." She paused for a second. "I have a feeling that's something normal parents never say."
"Why would we want to be normal parents? Normal is boring. I would much rather have conversations about a demi-god losing our almost-three-year-old in an AC unit and a crazy billionaire offering to build a bounce castle into one of the unused floors."
"What is a bounce castle," Natasha asked.
"What is a bounce castle," he repeated astounded. "It's only the most fun childhood activity ever. It's a big thing that's filled with air and you can bounce around inside of it."
"So it's a trampoline?"
"It's a bounce house."
"But you bounce on it like a trampoline?"
"Sort of, but you don't bounce on it like you, an all-star gymnast, bounces on it. You bounce on it like a kid who flails around and falls over." She lifted an eyebrow at him. "We'll get one for his third birthday! He can invite some of his friends from day care. Stark already ran intensive background checks of all the parents with kids in attendance, so we can have a party! It can be dinosaur themed," he shouted exuberantly.
"Clint," she asked softly. "Are you turning three, or is Philip turning three?" She fixed him with an undeniably mocking look as she turned around with her hands dramatically on her hips.
"Oh, shut up," he countered stubbornly. "I'm allowed to be excited. Do you realize I'm been sitting in mud for two weeks watching groups of irritating idiots fumble around in circles? There is absolutely nothing exciting about mud, Tasha. It squishes and gets in everything. Everything," he emphasized, as if saying it once just didn't cut it. "There are bugs in the mud that pop up and crawl on your boots as you sink into the puddle of soggy dirt. It's a really unfortunate place to be. I've convinced Fury hates me."
"I know Fury hates you," Natasha corrected. "I bet the muddy hell hole you've been in didn't have showers either. Go; shower, get clean, and I'll finish dinner." She nudged him towards the bathroom.
It would have been a completely normal scene, had someone ignored the luggage tossed by the door packed with a collapsible bow, numerous arrows, and a variety of back up weaponry as well as the very pregnant woman wearing an ankle holster under her yoga pants and a knife tucked into a sheath hidden in her bra.