Author's Note: Hello again! I appreciate all the reviews and ideas! I incorporated a few in this chapters from discordchick, Abandon-Morality, OwlMay, and demonpixie1. CrazyDC and Addicted-To-Sugar-Quills, I'm going to get your ideas included in future chapters when the kids are a bit older, but don't worry! I will get them in there and you'll get a shout-out in the corresponding chapters as well. I love to hear what you all think, so keep the reviews coming! Please enjoy! Also, all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any such Marvel characters; it makes me sad on a daily basis.
"Morning sickness really is just peachy, isn't it?" Pepper grumbled as she made her way slowly, very slowly, into the communal kitchen. Natasha laughed and hid her smile behind her extra large mug of coffee. "I'm convinced it was a male who dictated it to be morning sickness because I feel sick 24/7. It's smells and movement and really anything makes me feel the urge to curl into a ball on the floor." The assassin nodded regretfully. She had been there and done that… twice, and never again, no thank you. Her lady parts were closed for business, which she had explicitly told Clint during Amelia's 22-hour labor. "And this no coffee thing," Pepper continued to grumble, "that is just so damn stupid. I can't sleep and I can't have coffee. What am I supposed to? Be completely useless for 9 months?"
"It gets better," Natasha promised.
"It does?" Pepper's question dripped with hopefulness.
"Yeah, I hear it gets better when the child goes to college," the assassin completely deadpanned.
"Not funny."
"A little funny."
"Where are your minions of terror?"
"The boys took them for the day. I deemed today 'Leave Me the Hell Alone or Die Painfully' day," Natasha replied. "All of the guys are gone; the kids are running circles around them, I'm sure. Fury thinks I'm escorting you to China for a three-day business trip as Natalie Rushman. I get to sit and enjoy my coffee in silence without someone pulling on my pants to go to the bathroom or screaming my name for attention or trying to break up the latest squabble."
"I honestly can't tell which of those descriptions apply to your children or your teammates. I'm almost possible the bathroom one applies solely to your children. The screaming for attention and the refereeing different fights could easily be one or the other."
"Such is life."
"What are your plans for your 'Leave Me the Hell Alone or Die Painfully' Day?"
"I'm going to sit on the couch and read a book. Actually read a book," she amended. "Not just read the same sentence fifteen times because the second I look even remotely relaxed, people come from everywhere and demand I accomplish things like locating lost blankets and toys or shooting a target because everyone else is incompetent. I will finish a book, and pity the person who ruins my day today."
Pepper laughed and nodded knowingly. She excused herself to her office to work on a few press releases for Stark Industry.
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"YOU LOST THEM," Rogers shrieked. "HOW DID YOU LOSE THEM?"
"You," Stark responded. "I didn't lose them. We're all responsible!"
"Obviously, you did. They're gone," Rogers panicked.
"Okay, this clearly isn't a good way to find them," Banner insisted. He turned in a slow circle surveying the area.
"There's three of us and two of them. How did you screw this up," Rogers continued to rant.
"It's a five-year-old and a two-year-old. How far could they have gotten?"
"That's a very bad question to ask. They're Romanov's kids! They move without being seen or heard. They even manage to throw off JARVIS!"
"We should put chips in them, so we can always have a GPS trace on them."
"Chips into children? I know science isn't my thing," Rogers mumbled, clearly confused. "But potato chips into children doesn't seem to be a good idea."
"Not potato chips, Captain," Stark shook his head irritated. "Computer chips." The man started explaining the circuitry involved; Captain just stared at him, getting more and more confused by the second.
"Stark, is now really the most appropriate time to delve into the topic of circuitry and GPS? We lost the children of two of the most dangerous assassins in the world. Do you know what that makes us," Banner asked. "Do you?"
"Idiots," Rogers responded to the proposed question.
"No, Cap. It makes us dead meat. If we can't find them before Natasha gets wind of it, there will be no place we can hide to escape her wrath."
"We'll split up. Hopefully they stuck together. Banner, you check the first two floors. I'll check the third and fourth floors. Stark, go talk to security and see if we can spot them on a security feed- coming, going, anything. I don't think Philip would leave the store, but you never know, especially if Amelia isn't with him."
"Why did we think bringing them to the largest toy store in New York was a smart idea? It's a sea of children and people and hiding places," Stark grumbled.
"This was your idea, you dumb shit," Banner countered. "I wanted to take them to the science museum."
"And my vote was for the Central Park Zoo," Rogers added. "So technically, this is your fault. It's always your fault."
"Let's just go find them. Keep in touch with your phones. We really should permanently wear comm links at this rate," Stark bumbled as he retreated to find the security desk. A very large man sat squished into a small booth looking uninterestedly at a screen flickering over dozens of cameras. "I need to see your feeds. My nephew and niece are lost somewhere in the store," Stark informed the bored security guard.
"The security feeds are not available to the public. I will alert the general manager on duty of your lost child," the guard responded, as if on autopilot.
"Lost children," Stark corrected. "Children- two of them."
"The security feeds are not available to the public. I will alert the general manger on duty of your lost children."
"Are you serious?" Stark fumed, clearly irked by the unconcerned attitude of the so-called security guard. "Hey, Chubs. Look." He turned the guards chair to face him. "I am Tony Stark of Stark Industries. Get me the manager now. I want your on-site security looking for my missing niece and nephew. As I own 51% of the stock of this company, I'm technically your boss. See how that works? Now, I know you have protocols in tact for missing children, as toy stores are typically hot spots for predators, so hop to it. Now," Stark seethed.
Wide-eyed, the guard flailed into action. He flapped around looking for a list of codes to utilize in certain situations. Finding the one he needed, he called 'Red Alert Alpha' into the walkie-talkie. "Thank you," Stark said, less than impressed with the guard himself. "What is the definition for Red Alert Alpha?"
"A child or children of an influential individual have gone missing in the store," the guard read off the list.
"Good man. My nephew is five years old and my niece is two," he informed the manager, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. "My teammates are searching through the floors for them now, but we could use the help."
"Teammates," the manager asked. He paused and tipped his head. "Tony Stark as in Iron Man Tony Stark? The Avengers Tony Stark?"
"The one and only." He almost smirked when the manager fumbled the clipboard in his hands before calling for a lockdown of the store- no in or out. Clearly the man knew what was good for his career and knew that letting a possible kidnapper walk out of the store with Iron Man's niece or nephew would destroy any chance of a successful future. Stark was close to saying that Philip had a tendency to walk off when something caught his eye, but he figured the extra precautions didn't hurt.
It was a furious twenty minutes of searching in every display on every floor. Amelia was the easiest to find. The little girl, a perfect replica of Natasha, was watching the commotion from inside a life-size dollhouse. The cottage was child-sized with a little kitchen and table set. Its windows looked out on to a world of dolls where parents and their children shuffled through hundreds of types of dolls and thousands of accessories. Rogers saw her bright red hair through the windows and sighed in relief. He knocked on the closed door of the dollhouse.
"Miss Amelia, can I join your tea party," he asked politely. She opened the door for him and smiled widely. "You scared us, missy. You can't just run off like that. You know better than that."
"Sorry," she mumbled sheepishly.
"Do you know where Philip is," Rogers questioned hopefully. She shook her head, her little red curls swaying. "Well, let's go find him. Shall we?" He offered her his hand. Once away from the little house, she tugged on his pant leg.
"Up, Cap'an," she asked with a wide smile. He grinned and lifted her onto his shoulders, her multi-colored tutu haloing his face. Holding onto her ankles with one hand, he pulled out his cell to text Banner and Stark.
One of the guards scouring the floors noticed Philip, sitting at the top of one of the tallest displays in the building. The young boy could have reached his hands up and grazed the ceiling if he so wished. The guard called out and tried to coax him down, but Philip shook his head vehemently. Having two assassins as parents and growing up in a world of superheroes where everyone seemed to have a laundry list of enemies, both Barton children were taught about strangers. Only trust people you know seemed to be the clear message Philip had taken from all those lessons. He didn't know the guard, and thus, refused to climb down.
Banner found the guard a few minutes after the guard found the young boy. "Hey Philip," he waved from the ground. "Come on down."
Philip looked around and tried to remember how he had climbed up in the first place. He grimaced. "I think I'm stuck, Uncle Bruce."
"That's okay, bud. Jump like you learned. I'll catch you." The boy smiled and nodded. He placed his feet flat against the vertical wall of the display and pushed himself off and away from the perch. Bruce caught him easily and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks," he said to the guard before turning to return to the security desk. When he was away from prying ears, he scolded the young boy. "It's very dangerous for you to run off like that. Remember the rules? You always have to tell an adult where you're going before you go. You scared us."
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I won't do it again. I'll try to remember the rule," he promised.
Rogers again sighed in relief when he spotted Banner and Philip. Stark pulled out his checkbook, scribbled down a number with a good handful of zeros and his signature, and handed the check to the manager. "Thank you for your help. I hope this covers any loss of sales from the lock down," he said professionally. The manager blanched at the amount on the check, but nodded vigorously and thanked Stark.
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Natasha was away on a mission projected to be a weeklong. Clint stayed in New York working on consultations and training for new recruits. Three days into the mission, both kids came home from school with a bug. Clint groaned as he visualized what the next few days would entail. He envisioned Amelia cuddled in his lap, crying, with Philip on the floor next to him, crying and angry that Amelia was in Clint's lap. He bet he would be shedding more than a few tears in frustration as well. While both kids were usually pretty good, when they were sick, it was madness. Philip refused to share 'his mommy and daddy' with Amelia, who insisted on always being held. Natasha was the only one who could comfort either child during any bout of illness. Clint dropped his head dramatically to the granite countertop as he realized just how loud and frustrating the next week would be.
The first day wasn't too bad. Whatever sickness had attacked the immune systems of the Barton children hadn't hit to its full extent. They were tired and uncomfortable, but nothing Clint couldn't handle.
The second day, the flu hit hard. Sick children who were extremely tired, nauseous with fever and coughing, and only wanted their mother, who was in another country assassinating a drug lord, made Clint's day job a whole lot more complicated.
The third day, Philip went so far as to push Amelia out of Clint's lap. The five year old was extremely territorial when he was sick; sharing his daddy just wasn't going to happen. After all, he was there first, he declared vehemently before falling into a coughing fit. Amelia, of course feisty like both of her parents, didn't take well to being shoved to the ground at all. Immediately she threw out a leg to kick Philip before the little boy could climb into her recently vacated spot.
"MY DADDY," Philip screamed.
"No! MINE," Amelia countered.
"He was my daddy first! Get your own daddy!"
Clint could feel his eardrums quaking. Both of his children had lungs that helped them wail louder than he thought physically possible. He had been in firefights that didn't make as much noise and commotion as his two children when they got in one of their moods. Switching between scolding and comforting at a frantic speed, the time passed very slowly, and he prayed to every god he could think of that Natasha finished her mission early.
Finally, he managed to get Amelia calm enough to sleep, and he tucked her into the crib. Philip, on the other hand, crawled into his lap and cried.
"I want Mommy," he sobbed. "Mommy," he wailed in between hiccups. The poor boy's fever seemed to stay right around 100 degrees, and his throat was sore from crying, coughing, and vomiting. Clint did all he could- rocking his son, singing him lullabies, and reading stories. Nothing worked, and the little boy continued to cry for his mommy.
It was nearly three AM when Natasha stumbled through the door, exhaustedly. She could feel her ribs protesting each breath. Her ankle, though tightly wrapped, threatened to give under each step. The bruises scattering her body pulsed and demanded attention with each movement. She didn't want to think about the lacerations on her torso, causing blood to smear between her tactical suit and her skin. She wanted to sleep.
Walking in and seeing Clint in the large armchair overlooking the city with a crying Philip in his lap immediately banished any thoughts of sleep. She could faintly hear the little boy crying for her. She put her bags down quietly, unloading her weapons onto the kitchen counter, before walking over to the two. Clint's head swiveled around in surprise when he felt Philip being lifted out of his lap. He sighed in relief seeing his wife. Philip clung to her and started sobbing again.
"Mommy," he spoke between heaving in breaths. She could feel his small body shake in her arms. She could feel his heated skin against her neck. She spoke soothingly to him in Russian, telling him that she was right there, that she loved him, and that everything was okay. His legs wrapped around her torso, and she barely hid the grimace as his heels pressed into a cluster of bruises covering her left side. With the added weight, her ankle protested violently and seriously threatened to give out, so Natasha walked over to the couch.
When his sobs slowly dissolved to sniffles, she kissed his forehead, offering him comfort while gauging his temperature. She rocked him slowly, occasionally whispering things in Russian or English, until he was fast asleep in her arms. Clint looked on in awe and disbelief.
"I've been doing that for the last five hours." She smiled sadly and offered a nod. "They both have the flu," Clint informed her. She grimaced, knowing exactly how his last few days had been. "They only want you when they're sick." She nodded, knowing how it was. "I think it's almost out of Amelia's system. Philip will probably have it at least another 24 hours unless his fever breaks sooner. Did you stop at base?" She shook her head no. "Medical," he asked, though he knew her answer. She shook her head again. "Tasha," he sighed. "How bad is it?" She shrugged and didn't offer any further explanation.
Clint watched her closely, gauging her injuries from almost imperceptible tells in her body language. Noting that Philip was fast asleep, she stood gingerly from the couch and moved to take him back to his bedroom. Clint walked into the master bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit (read: large rolling medicine cabinet) before dragging it into the bedroom. When she shuffled into their room, she glared at the cabinet before ignoring it and walking into the closet.
"Tasha, come on. The sooner we patch you up, the sooner you can go to bed."
"Don't need it," she countered exhaustedly. She winced as she unzipped the cat suit and peeled it from her body. She made a mental reminder to put civilian clothes in her bag. When she called for an extraction, she dug through the duffel and found nothing but her tactical suit. Folding herself into the skintight uniform was painful, and as she pulled it off, she saw all the visual evidence of why it had been so painful in the first place. Maybe she did need it, the logical part of her brain argued.
"Don't need it," Clint asked disbelieving. His voice was right behind her in the doorway of the closet, and she silently groaned. "Jesus, Tasha," he whispered as he took in the injuries on her back as she continued to lower the suit. She ran through her options quickly in her head. He was going to look over her wounds regardless, so she turned towards him with a neutral expression. He barely suppressed the grimace at seeing her front on. "Come on," he encouraged.
Clint worked efficiently and quickly, expertly cleaning each laceration and rewrapping her ankle. He made a mental note to keep an eye on some of the darkest bruises. He pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder when he was done and moved from behind her to grab a pair of pajamas. Although she didn't need the assistance, he helped her into the outfit. She allowed it because she knew it made him feel better. He pulled back the sheets of the bed and ushered her under the covers. The moment her head hit the pillow the baby monitor on her bedside table came to life with the clear sounds of Amelia crying for her mommy. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut before heaving herself back into a sitting position.
"You sure," Clint asked, a tender hand reaching out to catch her wrist. "I can get her. You need to sleep, Tasha."
"It's okay. Go to bed," she responded before soundlessly padding down the hall to the nursery.
She watched the sun come up, and with it came a particularly grumpy mood for the assassin. Amelia slept in her lap, curled into her left side, when Philip stomped out of his room complaining of a stomachache. He furrowed his brow as if he was about to voice his irritation with Amelia's presence. One look from Natasha silenced any comment he might have made. She ushered him over with her right hand, and he snuggled into her right side, begrudgingly sharing with Amelia.
"I don't feel good, Mommy."
"I know, love. I'm sorry."
"Make it go away," he begged.
"I wish it worked like that, but you'll feel better soon."
"I want to feel better now." She kissed his forehead. She knew that feeling all too well.
It was 7 AM when she tucked Philip into a makeshift bed on the couch and returned Amelia to her crib. She grimaced and groaned aloud at the clock. She shuffled into the communal kitchen. Her report on the mission was due before 10AM.
"JARVIS, coffee please," she grumbled. "Lots of coffee and keep it coming."
Natasha took a moment to breathe. She dropped her head gracelessly to the counter before forcing herself to sit up straight. She violently stabbed the power button on her laptop. She was two paragraphs into her report when Stark traipsed in.
"You look delightful this morning, Spidey," he greeted.
"Die."
"Oh, with a bubbly attitude to match. What got your panties in a twist?"
"Die violently," she countered without looking up from her computer.
"I'm disappointed, Romanov. Usually you had a creative spin to your death threats. You're losing your touch." She lifted her gaze to meet his. Stark visibly swallowed when he realized he was looking at the Black Widow's threatening eyes as opposed to Natasha's somewhat-less menacing glare. He fled.
Banner was the next to come in. He looked at her, analyzed her posture, and noted the dark circles under her eyes and the baggy pajamas. He gave her a sad smile and offered a platitude. "Let me know if I can do anything to help." She curtly nodded before he too fled.
Rogers and Thor came in together from the gym, and one look at Natasha, both men turned on their heels to find coffee elsewhere.
"Another coffee, JARVIS," she grumbled. Her report was almost done. As she waited for her drink, she calculated how many hours it had been since she slept. Her frown deepened at the answer. She didn't envision sleep anytime soon, and damn that made her quite unhappy.
It was 9:58 when she submitted her report to Fury. She slammed the lid of the laptop and stalked back to their suite. Amelia was dancing in the middle of the living room listening to some wordless hip-hop song. Natasha smiled because at least the little girl was feeling better. Philip buried himself beneath blankets on the couch, his face illuminated by the glow of his GameBoy system. Clint sat in his office, working on one consultation or another, with the door wide open to keep an eye on the kids. She shuffled silently to the bedroom where she promptly collapsed on her bed and covered her face with numerous pillows.
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"Tony," Pepper called as she waddled through the garage.
"Yes dear?"
"We are going to need to double up on a lot of things," she replied. Tony's coffee cup clattered to the counter. "Two cribs, a double stroller, and so on," Pepper elaborated.
"Two," Tony stuttered. "Two," he repeated. He mouthed the word over and over again as if repeating it would some how change its meaning. "Two."
"Yeah, do that for about an hour and a half, and you'll be where I am now."
"Okay. Two, well that's … That's good," he breathed. "That's doable. We can handle two. We can do that," he voiced, though his assurance was weak.
"As long as they both aren't like me, we should be fine," he concluded after a long pause.
"And if they are," Pepper asked.
"If they are, we're going to have our hands full," Stark agreed with a self-deprecating laugh. "We are going to have our hands very full." Pepper nodded vigorously as she leaned into his embrace.