Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I got swamped. Let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or any such Marvel characters; it makes me sad on a daily basis.
"Barton," Stark wailed. "Did you even look? Or did you just belly flop off the side of a goddamn building in the middle of a warzone? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Your suit has a camera on me for a reason," the archer bantered. "Just wanted to meet expectations."
"You jumped off a 30-story building! Where's your damn grappling hook, Katniss? You're damn lucky I saw you. I don't want to hear you whimpering about whiplash."
"Can you save your banter for a team when we aren't being ripped apart by Doom-bots," Rogers requested, slightly out-of-breath. "Civilians trapped in a bank in the left quadrant," he added.
"We got it," Barton declared. "Mush! Mush!"
"I will drop your ass. I am not a fucking Eskimo dog," Stark threatened, his tone on edge. Barton smirked up at him.
"Tasha, six on your six," Barton called. "Five on your six," he amended as one of his precisely fired arrows pierced the armored shell of a Doom-bot.
"Romanov, how close are you to their tank?"
"Are there any villains left in the world that fight their own damn battles," Stark wondered. "I mean why on Earth do we keep having to battle these armies of robots or aliens or mutant minions?"
"Barton, can you blow the tank with one of your exploding arrows? With the way they're guarding it, it seems to be their command center. If it explodes it will take out a good number of them." Captain analyzed the battlefield as he threw his shield in a perfect arc, taking out four Doom-bots in one fowl swoop.
"Its shield is impenetrable from the outside." Natasha negated Captain's plan.
"So its weak spot is either the underbelly or inside," Rogers reasoned, given the new information.
Natasha performed a thigh choke on one Doom-bot and fired eight perfect shots off as she landed in a gymnast's plant, looking around to assess the next threat. She saw a break in the waves of the Doom-bot attacks. She eyed a skateboard abandoned before the firefight in a pile of rubble in front of a partially destroyed sports store. Quickly checking all four wheels, she silently chuckled to herself at the absurdity of her plan, not that it was extravagantly crazy but that it involved a skateboard to begin with. Oh well, she thought to herself; the assassin was proud of her ability to adapt to whatever situation.
"Let's hope it's the underbelly," she stated as she laid flat on her back on the skateboard and pushed off a particularly large pile of rubble towards the tank.
"Barton, cover the west. I've got the east. Stark, south. Romanov, roll out shooting to cover your north. Get a safe distance away and then light it up," Captain dictated as he shifted his fighting to his determined quadrant.
"The fuck, Widow," Stark laughed. "Where the hell did you find a skateboard? Oh," he exclaimed. "Maybe that would be a good gift for your little hawkling."
"Give my son a skateboard, and I will personally make sure your twins are the last children you're capable of conceiving. C4 attached," she confirmed.
"Tasha, you're riding into a whole clump of them. Change your angle. You can't take out that many lying down," Barton declared.
"I'm low on ammo," Natasha announced.
"Perfect time to tell us that, Spidey," Stark grumbled. "And who said I was talking about giving Philip a skateboard? Maybe I meant Amelia. That girl's got some good balance and a decent need for speed."
"Are you clear," Captain asked. "Blow it, Widow."
"That's what he said," Stark interjected.
"The last he that said that to her was hacked into bits and pieces and distributed all over Mexico City," Barton warned.
"I'm being pushed back towards the tank. I'm not in a safe distance," she relayed. Natasha, still on the skateboard, shot two Doom-bots before turning and pushing off the tank. She sailed between the open legs of the Hulk, who roared angrily and immediately started throwing Doom-bots left and right.
"Count it down, and light it up," Rogers commanded. Natasha did as he requested. On one, Barton ducked behind the safety ledge of the roof from which he was shooting. Captain used his shield to protect himself from the explosion or the debris. Stark, thrusters blazing, shot off to the side, as Natasha jumped behind a car. The Hulk didn't seem at all phased.
The city itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when the Doom-bots fell. Its crumbled buildings and cluttered streets exhaled dust as the Avengers looked around to assess the damage.
"What city are we in?"
"The corner of middle of fucking nowhere and hot as hell," Barton quipped.
"We're going to have a hell of a time when villains start creating armies without a handing command center to detonate," Rogers pointed out as he surveyed the wreckage of the tank.
"Until then though, let's get Shwarma," Tony declared victoriously.
"No," Natasha rebutted. "No shwarma."
"TCBY," Barton offered.
"Yeah, we just saved the fucking world again. We should treat ourselves to a satisfying meal like yogurt. What is wrong with you," Stark debated. "That's the best you could come up with? Not a giant steak or a burger or even damn chicken nuggets… You want yogurt."
"Debriefing then food," Rogers reminded. "You can argue about what we eat the whole flight back to base. Code alpha six seven," he stated into the comm link.
"Yes Captain Rogers," a voice replied.
"Clean up and extraction requested ASAP."
"Immediately, sir," the voice confirmed.
"What the hell," Barton grumbled. "I call for an extraction, and the not-so-nice voice on the other end tells me to cool my heels for 2 to 14 hours. They're worse than the damn cable guys who give you a projected time of arrival between 8 AM and 5PM. But no," he drawled, elongating the vowel. "No, no. Dear old Captain America calls and gets an immediate evacuation," he mocked.
"When you do time as star spangled Popsicle, apparently you get special treatment," Stark commiserated.
"Or maybe I get treated nicely because I'm not an ass to everyone," Rogers countered. Natasha silently smirked while Barton and Stark continued to balk at the accusation.
Banner, having de-Hulked and borrowed some clothing from a civilian, shuffled over to Natasha and leaned over to talk into her comm link. "No shwarma," he mumbled. "I refuse to eat shwarma, in case that wasn't vetoed by the other sane members of our team."
"I'm insulted that you think they're more sane than I am," Stark huffed through the comm system.
"Whatever you're saying, I don't have an earbud. I can't hear you nor do I particularly care to," Banner teased with a light air.
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"So I heard you asked Fury to be a godfather," Barton initiated as the two gentlemen leaned against the well worn bar counter at a local joint. The archer took a long sip of his beer. "How'd that work out for ya?" The more he drank, the more prominent his southern drawl became.
"I thought Pepper was kidding. Apparently, she wasn't as I found out when she threatened to drag me along to the next six press events," Stark grumbled into his scotch.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Besides the general irritating, monotonous, asinine attitude he claims as a personality?"
Barton scoffed and nodded. "Yeah, besides that, what's wrong with him?"
"He hates me," Stark said.
"We all hate you."
"Gee thanks, Robin Hood. Way to make a guy feel swell. But you know what I mean, he sees me as Howard Stark's petulant brat, and that's not exactly the person I want raising my kids God forbid."
He nodded his understanding, but with a shrug of his shoulders, the archer continued with his point of view. "He's stable, Stark. He be slightly cold and unfeeling, but so were Natasha and I. Hell we still are on occasion, but we decided that we didn't want our children to be emotionally stunted. They're going to need enough therapy as it is having the Avengers as direct family members. We figured we didn't need to add to that by teaching them those emotions were infernal and hellish. Fury's responsible, and in any case, you know he would do what was best for your kids because he's terrified of Pepper. He knows she'll haunt the hell out of him if he makes a wrong move."
"The woman is something else," Stark nodded in agreement.
"You found the one woman in the world capable of taming the great Anthony Stark."
"I am not tame," the genius countered, glowering at his friend.
"Mhmm," Barton hummed his dispute. "Whatever you say, you're whipped."
"Shut up," Stark grumbled, refusing to encourage this conversation any further.
That night ended in singing as well before the bar owner cut them off and called them a cab.
Barton flung open the master bedroom door and sauntered inside. Natasha, reclined on the bed, raised a disapproving eyebrow but kept her focus on her book. He collapsed onto the mattress on his stomach next to her with a distinct oomph.
"Whatcha doin?" He asked with a leering grin. "Tasha," he sung. He repeated her name in different accents with varying pitches until she closed her book and turned to look at him. "Hi."
"You're worse than Philip," she stated bluntly.
"But you love me," he sung again. Natasha rolled her eyes and let out a deep sigh.
"There are days I wonder why," she countered. He pouted as his brow furrowed. "Did you have fun?" She smirked to herself as she noticed she was talking to her drunken husband in the same tone she typically reserved for her children.
"We drank," he confirmed. Already in her personal space, he threw an arm over her stomach and pillowed his head on her chest. "You're comfy."
"Good to know," she drawled. "Come on, Clint. Let's put you in a shower. You smell like stale beer and peanuts." Natasha made a move to worm out from under him, but he tightened his hold around his stomach and shook his head. She grimaced, but settled back into her pillows. "Can you at least get your ass under the covers?" He opened his eyes, and she could see that he was clearly debating how much effort it would take to move. She tugged at the covers underneath her body, trying to adjust them enough so that she could slip beneath them. "You're making this very complicated," she growled at him.
"I'm so comfy," he groaned as she shoved his chest. He flopped over onto his back. Clint turned his head and simply glared at her.
"Get over it," she teased, a humorous tone to her voice. "No," she chided. "Do not get your disgusting bar clothes in between our sheets." He grumbled unhappily. He started pulling and tugging unsuccessfully at his pants before realizing he still had a belt on. He had similar difficulties with the buttons on his shirt. Natasha just watched him and smirked mockingly.
"You could help," he prompted.
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Asshole," Clint grumbled.
"Jackass," she countered.
"Love you," he whispered as he finally got enough clothes off to slide under the covers and pull her body flush against his.
"Hmm. Love you too."
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Clint let out a loud groan as he tried to curl into a ball. "Little knees always find that spot," he moaned. Amelia bounced happily on her father's chest, giggling as he grimaced.
"Morning, Daddy!"
"Hi, kiddo."
"Come on; get up!"
"I'm up. I'm up." He rubbed a heavy hand roughly over his face and dropped his head back into the pillow. "Actually, it's nap time. We're going to take a nap," he announced. He wrapped his arms around the three year old and pulled her down next to him.
She furrowed her brow and glared at him. God, she's a mini-Natasha, Clint thought to himself. He had about three seconds of peace before Amelia squirmed out of his grasp. "Daddy, it's not nap time. It's morning. It's cartoon time."
"JARVIS, cartoons please," he grumbled as he rolled over to bury himself under Natasha's abandoned pillow. "Sit," he instructed to his daughter.
"Make a nest," she clapped. He raised his eyebrows. "Please," she added with a wide smile.
"Yeah, yeah. Make a nest," he mumbled to himself. He formed a bunch of pillows in a small circle and threw a blanket over the pile. "In you go." Amelia jumped into the center and shifted around until she rested against one of the pillow walls with her feet propped up against the pillow wall on the opposite side. Clint tucked another blanket over her as he eyed his nest creation. It was the perfect size for the small three-year-old, who looked exceptionally comfy. He leaned against the headboard and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of the Flintstones.
"Daddy, wake up! You missed the funny part!"
"No, no I didn't. I saw it," he grumbled. "I'm not asleep. I'm just blinking really slowly."
"Daddy," Amelia whined. "You're boring."
"I'm not boring. Where's Mommy?"
"Training."
"Philip?"
"Uncle Steve took him to the fish place."
"The fish place," Clint asked for clarification.
"The place with the fish," Amelia replied easily.
"Where is that?"
"The place with all the pretty fishies in the tanks."
"Oh, the aquarium?"
"That thing, yeah. I'm bored. You're boring. Play with me!"
"JARVIS, who else is here?"
"Doctor Banner is in the lab. Mrs. Barton is in the range on level two," the AI responded helpfully.
"What's the count on Natasha's playlist," the archer requested. He hoped to figure out just how much longer she would be based on where she was in her music list.
"47% complete, sir."
"Okay," he groaned as he pushed himself off the bed. "Let's go to the gym and burn off some of your hyper energy. Let me put on clothes," he told his daughter, who sat in her nest and waited.
"Can I climb?"
"Depends on what you want to climb," he answered from the closet. "The rock wall?" She squealed happily. "Okay, you little spider, go put on shorts and tennis shoes please." The little girl scampered off the bed and rushed to her room to get the appropriate gear.
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Natasha leaned against Clint's firm chest from her position between his legs. He kissed the side of her temple, smiling against her skin. His hands rested heavily against her abdomen. She looked out to the horizon, feeling a certain degree of comfort in the New York City skyline on display. The cold air felt good against her skin and filled her lungs soothingly. It reminded her of winters in Russia as a child (not an operative) a lifetime before.
It was a rare moment the two got to spend silently wrapped in each other's embrace. Usually there were children swarming in rapid circles or people that needed saving. For the first time in quite some time, the two were home alone with both their children away at school.
"I almost forgot what peaceful silence sounds like," Clint noted. He gently took one of Natasha's hands in his own and brought the delicate skin of her wrist to his lips.
"I'm not sure I ever learned what it sounds like."
"There was Cairo," he reminded her. He interlaced their fingers before returning their joined hands to rest low on her lap. "Then Paris and Budapest."
"You and I remember Budapest very differently," she smirked tenderly, throwing his frequent saying at him.
"Yeah, we do. What do you remember of Budapest?"
"Which time?"
"In general," he prompted. "You hate Moscow and Kiev for obvious reasons. You actively avoid missions in Prague because you don't like being reminded of the sonic arrow. You love Paris, even though it makes you feel like a tourist. You love North Berwick because something about the Scottish countryside rejuvenates you. What do you feel about Budapest?" She dropped her head to rest against his shoulder, tilting her face towards his neck. He knew her well enough to know that the silence wasn't dodging the question, just giving her time to sift through her thoughts. Neither agent was ever particularly good at voicing feelings and emotions; they were taught instead to bury the emotions, as feeling was a weakness. Determined to teach the merit of emotions to their children, they both tried to verbalize feelings more in the privacy of their home where they knew it wouldn't be detrimental.
"It's," she started. Licking her lips to relieve the dryness caused by the cold air, she paused. "Budapest is a fresh start."
"We should take a trip," he announced.
"To Budapest?"
"Anywhere. Maybe we should take Philip and Amelia to see Stalingrad."
"Are we taking them to see Iowa too?"
"The only thing to see in Iowa is an endless eternity of cornfields. Stalingrad is interesting," he countered. "Plus you were born there." She turned slightly to make eye contact with him. "It's a place of relevance."
"As is the Land of the Corn," she replied.
"Knowing our kids, we would blink and lose them in the mazes of corn."
"Knowing our kids, we would lose them in the snow in Stalingrad this time of year," Natasha pointed out wisely.
"It's easier to track people in the snow than in the corn."
"Anyway," she drawled slowly. "What's with the sudden urge to go on vacations?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Barton, Mrs. Stark requests your presence," JARVIS informed them, effectively bursting their little bubble of serenity and privacy.
"Alright. We'll be there in a second. Is she in the office," Natasha asked the AI.
"Mrs. Stark has gone into labor. She is at Mercy Hospital."
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"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tony chanted.
"I hate you," Pepper moaned. "You did this! You and your stupid swimmers!"
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I love you!"
"Just get your children out of me now! I want an epidural," she shouted.
"I… the doctor said you're not dilated enough," Tony mumbled. He blanched when she glared dangerously at him. "I mean, I'll go find a doctor who thinks you're dilated enough."
He fled from the room quickly.
"Oh thank god." He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he skidded around the corner and literally collided with Natasha. Stark quickly gulped as he realized he lying on top of her, his legs scissored with hers and his arms bracing himself on the floor by her head, on the scratched linoleum of the hospital waiting room. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm sorry." He flung himself off of his redheaded teammate. Stark didn't know if he should help her off the floor or protect his balls and throat in case she decided to maim him for tackling her.
"Breathe, Stark," Clint reminded him with a smirk. "Inhale, exhale."
"Shut up," he grumbled.
"Where's Pepper," Natasha asked as she stood and straightened her clothing.
"Room 124," he responded distractedly as he scanned the halls for a doctor.
"Why are you out here," Clint asked, clapping a hand on Stark's shoulder reassuringly.
"Medication," he said as he snapped his fingers. "Right, that's what I was doing."
"Are you drunk?"
"What? No!"
"You seem flustered," Clint pointed out.
"I'm having twins! Oh! Luke and Leia! We should name them Luke and Leia!"
"Stark," Natasha said softly. "You're having two girls." She sent a look towards Clint as she gestured to the rambling mess that was Stark. Clint nodded in response to her unvoiced question hidden in her glance as Natasha turned to find the right room.
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Rogers rubbed his face as he hunched forward with his elbows propped on his knees. "Did it take this long when you had Philip," he grumbled softly. Natasha laughed softly and nudged him with her shoulder.
"First-time labor is notoriously long," Banner reminded him. Amelia curled in his lap. Her thumb was tucked in her mouth; her red curly hair curtained her face. Rogers' trademark leather jacket was draped over her like a big blanket. "Notoriously long," he repeated. "How can he sleep like that," he asked as he nodded to Barton. The archer had his legs flipped over the back of a chair as he used Natasha's lap as a pillow with his back acting as a bridge. It looked supremely uncomfortable. To top it off, Philip laid across his father's body, using the archer's chest as a pillow.
"It's an uncanny skill," Natasha informed Banner vaguely.
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Nearly everyone was asleep in their chairs when Tony sprinted from the room in a large blue gown.
"We have babies," he exclaimed excitedly. Banner jerked awake and Rogers practically pitched face forward out of the chair. "Babies! We have them! Two of them! Two beautiful girls with twenty fingers and twenty toes!"
"Last time I checked each child was supposed to have ten fingers and ten toes," Rogers said as he stood from the chair and stretched his back.
"Twenty fingers and twenty toes in total, you idiot," Tony returned with a frown. "Come on!" The man grabbed Banner's wrist and tugged him down the hallway. The doctor had the sense of mind to wrap his other arm firmly around Amelia before being dragged away from the waiting room by the new father. Natasha lifted Philip off Clint's chest, so the archer could stand. Though given his chosen sleeping position, standing really meant falling gracelessly to the floor. Philip tucked his head into Natasha's neck and looped his arms around her neck. In that moment, walking through the maternity ward with her first born in her arms, she realized just how big he was getting and just how quickly time was passing. She shook her head gently to clear her head of that train of thought.
Pepper held each girl in an arm. She was a natural; after all, she had been taking care of Tony for decades. Each baby was swaddled in a lavender blanket with her initials monogrammed on the corner. "Hey," she greeted as her friends walked in the room. "Hey little ones, look, your family's here to visit." Tony leaned over and lifted one of the girls from Pepper's hold.
"This is Abigail Marie Stark, and that is Sophie Rosalind Stark."
"You named your children after two female scientists," Banner noted immediately. Rogers looked at him completely dumbfounded. "What," he asked. "Marie Curie and Rosalind Franklin," he filled in as if the surnames would somehow help Rogers place the scientists in their historical place. When Rogers' look didn't change, he gave a short summary. "Marie Curie was a French-Polish physicist and chemist. She is known for her work with radioactivity. She's also the first person to be honored with two Nobel Prizes: one in physics and one in chemistry. And Rosalind Franklin was a British biophysicist and X-ray crystallographer whose work greatly influenced our understanding of DNA and RNA molecular structures." When Rogers still seemed to glare at him with a flummoxed look, Banner sighed. "Great names," he complimented. Pepper smiled fondly at him.
Tony shot Pepper a shit-eating grin. "I told you someone would get it." She nodded her agreement, though she obviously didn't care one way or the other.
"Are they identical," Rogers asked. He tilted his head to look at the baby in Stark's arms.
"Yeah, they are." Pepper confirmed happily, though exhaustion was already coating her voice.
"How do you know which one is which," Rogers continued. Natasha leaned over the bed to smile lovingly at the baby in Pepper's arms.
"A mother knows," Pepper smiled. "Though Tony has already mixed them up twice."
"We may never take these hospital bracelets off of them. I will forever be confusing them," he grimaced.
"Eh," Clint teased. "You'll get used to it eventually. Or your big ass brain will figure out a way to consistently tell them apart. Either way, it's going to be great fun for me to watch."
"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. Want to hold your goddaughter," Stark asked.
"My what," Clint bumbled.
"Goddaughter," Pepper stated softly. "I'll switch you, Natasha. Philip can lay here with me, and you can hold your other goddaughter." Natasha smiled softly. She placed Philip next to his aunt, who he immediately snuggled up next to, before gently lifting the newborn out of Pepper's arms.
"I've always wondered," Tony noted as he watched Philip curl into Pepper's side. "Which parent did he get the cuddling gene from? Is the world's best marksman a secret snuggler?" He mocked relentlessly.
"Tasha, do not answer that question," Barton declared, though his voice was soft as to not scare the baby in his arms. He looked up to see her eyeing him, a clearly mischevious glint in her eyes.
"Oh I don't need an answer," Stark laughed victoriously. "Her smirk was more than enough to confirm it for me. You, Hawk Eye, are a cuddler. You're probably like a big giant teddy bear. Oh my god. No, you're Big Bird. It's perfect. It can be your new codename. It's a perfect nickname! It incorporates the agent side as well as the soft and mushy, cuddling side. It's just great."
"Call me that ever, and I will use you as my target practice. Better yet, I'll break all of your coffee makers. Let's see how you like it when you have no fuel!"
"You wouldn't dare," Tony gasped.
"Good," Pepper groaned. "Now we have eight children to look after." Natasha couldn't but laugh.