A/N: In Honor of Valentines Day and my birthday, here is a gift to you:
Chapter 1
December 23rd, 2028
Clint Barton tipped the ice-filled liquid of Johnny Walker black scotch and club soda against the sides of his glass, creating waves of condensation on its cool exterior. Little entered his lips since first ordering the drink, nearly half an hour before, as he'd been too enraptured with the beauty draped across the table from him. She'd wasted nothing in her wardrobe for the evening. From the fox-pelt coat, to the diamond studded heels, even her Swarovski encrusted emerald dress were all shaken out and draped on for maximum effect. If this evening was to be their last night on Earth, then they were set out to enjoy themselves in the very highlights of fashion.
One corner of her wine-colored lips crested up playfully as she leaned forward over her cooling soup. "You're not eating." Natasha said.
Truth be told, with a woman like that sitting across from him, Clint had forgotten exactly what food was. His darkening eyes, like flecks of lapis over a Caribbean ocean, glanced down briefly before lifting again to hers. "Maybe I'm not in the mood for salad."
One seductive hand set against the left side of her face. Two fingers snaked upward and tangled little rivulets in the hair hanging down. "Am I distracting you?"
"I'm thinking that it might have been better if we ate outside." Clint replied, unfolding and refolding his napkin over his lap. When Natasha set out to turn on her charm, it worked the jackhammer in his chest every time.
She cut a glance away from him to the window. Beyond the clear pane highlighted in their flickering candle, the huddled mass of New Yorkers struggled under their Christmas purchases. Winter set in like a curtain. Snow, four feet worth of it, fell in a matter of a week, and brought the entire state to a virtual standstill. Clint hoped to be home for most of it, packing what little necessities he had left in life, but traffic kept him trapped within the city limits. At least he still had a room at the Avengers Mansion to call his own.
For a while watching the hustle and bustle of holiday life distracted him from the present. The world was ready, he thought, for that which lay ahead. The Avengers had worked for the better part of the last year to spread the word of the impending doom. At first, they were met with resistance, terror. Those men and women on street corners screaming "The end is near!" finally got the fodder they so desperately searched for. In essence, they were right. Unless Earth, Terra, Midgard did something, then the life that it once knew would be snuffed out of existence like an ant lit up under a magnifying glass. The people outside now tried to make the best of what would soon be a dying world. Life had to go on. Soon, very soon, all the heroes the planet thought it could offer would be evacuated. Galactus couldn't be fought on Earthen soil, especially with his black hole arriving fourteen star systems on the other side of the universe. To save the Earth, the heroes had to leave it. They gave themselves nine months to prepare. By Friday, it was time to go.
"It'll be strange thinking we might never be back." Natasha gave a voice to his thoughts. Clint returned his attention to her.
"You will. I might not." Clint corrected sadly.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know it's not. Six years is still a long time. In space, it'll go by too fast depending on where we are. Alfheimr? We can spend months of Earth time there in only a couple weeks. Vanaheim was a good find. It'll give us at least sixty, seventy days of work every Earth hour." Clint said.
"Thor's almost finished the flagship. The dwarves have been working on it since M-day." She eased back in her cushioned, high-backed chair, one leg came up to cross the other's knee.
M-day was what they called the gathering of all of Clint's interstellar friends to his hospital bed. The day he could have died, but didn't. The Message Day. The ancient being known as The Sarhorn walked into his room that day and cured what would have surely resulted in Clint's slow death. Soon, though, the Avengers learned that the creature was not there to save the archer, but rather to deliver a message.
T'Challa compiled The Sarhorn's words to the Avenger's team, and those spent with Peter Quill afterward, into a set that he called "The Twenty Predictions of the Sarhorn". Some of those seemed to repeat on themselves if only to give him that perfect even twenty T'Challa so desperately wanted. They read:
1. If Clint survives his cancer, he dies in seven years
2. Clint will be thrown into a dark pit, fall 40 feet, shatter his legs, and the monsters of night come to kill him
3. He dies painfully and alone, as each piece of him is torn away from his body until nothing that can identify him remains
4. T'Challa will have a choice, save the woman that is his wife, or save Clint. He is blinded by his need to be with his love. He could save Clint and her, but in his fervor, he misses the chance. Therefore, he will forever be a pariah to the rest of the Avengers
5. Pym's childlike manipulation of an Infinity Stone creates the catalyst for all the events to arise
6. The mission is mismanaged at best, and a betrayal by his closest friend is the last sight Clint will ever see
7. Thor will be laughing as Clint is screaming to be saved.
8. Tony Stark's knowledge means the survival of the entire race
9. Clint may have a good life, occasionally with happiness, some of those around will live a thousand years before they will die.
10. A war will come to encompass every system, trillions of souls, and nearly all heroes. Friends and innocents die, planetary evacuations will be established where Clint is found.
11. The evacuation fails, the only saving grace is a single perfect shot. Clint knows it means he will die, but he makes the sacrifice.
12. T'Challa's wife and child, Natasha, and twenty billion souls are among those saved. Steve can't stop Clint.
13. Clint's death will be honored as the greatest sacrifice the galaxy will ever know
14. Steve will only save a quarter of the people that Clint can
15. Choice drives the events. Everyone is faced with their choice again.
16. Affected realms: Alfheimr, Asgard, Musphelheim, Xandar, Vanaheim, Jotenheim, Terra, The Dark System, the Oore System, Galaxy Red, Hyth's Star Vein, and Qivenrel
17. Galactus' power comes from his feeding and the Infinity Gauntlet
18. Galactus arrives in the Black Hole of Dfusth (this is located in Galaxy Red)
19. Tony creates the way to contain him. This feeds the energy and mass he consumes into a constant loop he can't escape
20. Star-Lord's quest: To alert the races, find the Infinity Gauntlet, and hide it! Lastly, he will guide the armada to Galactus
When Clint heard them, and that almost everyone had some horrible implication for his personal future, he wasn't sure what he should think. Like the world at large, he felt pulled into a lifeless limbo. His fate was held in the hands and choices of others. Any one of the Avengers could prevent his imminent death, but would they? That remained to be seen.
"We're talking about work again."
"Sorry." She replied. Between them, the word was a formality.
"It's all right." He shoved his salad aside, stole her soup, and dipped his spoon in to bring the long strands of mozzarella and provolone up past his facial hair. He'd been letting it grow out lately. It hid some of the more prominent scars along the creases of his mouth and Natasha seemed to like it. Or, if she didn't, she never mentioned it.
"Taste good?" she asked.
"I think we better eat something before the waiter comes and asks if we found a cockroach." Clint replied. It was good, even cold as it was. Tony had recommended the restaurant to them. Stark brought Pepper by on more than one occasion, and if he couldn't find something to complain about, then the less refined tastes of the two assassins obviously would think it the next best thing to the Ritz Carlton. Natasha, in her glitz and glam dress, with Clint in his borrowed Armani suit made some sight to see. Most recognized the pair outright as Avengers, but the staff did a decent job of handling the fanfare.
"If you want a free meal, I packed a dead mouse in my bag." Natasha replied slyly. As if to emphasize the point, she produced the silver clutch and laid it on the table between her salad and dinner forks. One auburn eyebrow arched seductively.
"That's disgusting. But with dead foxes on your coat, I would not be surprised."
"It's Kate's, I borrowed it." She explained, running her hand down the luxury. Kate Bishop was Clint's part-time protégé, and all-time pain in the neck. She'd latched onto the archer ever since he saved her and her mother's lives from a father who meant to murder them. The man just happened to also be the President of the United States. Clint facilitated their escape, and endured the grown woman's infatuation ever since.
"Kate and you wear the same size? God, she must be getting older. Every time I look at the kid I feel like she's still six."
"She's in her twenties."
"I guess time really does fly."
"You're forty-four. It should."
"Am I really that old? I lost count after Tony threw me that 'You-Are-Forty' party."
"You are. But, technically, with all that time we spent not on this planet, I say you're more like . . . Oh, I don't know, thirty-nine."
He snickered and considered flicking a cherry tomato into her hair for the jab.
Natasha reached across the table, picked up Clint's ignored salad, and began digging into the leaves herself. Years ago, they'd stopped asking to take a bite of what lay on their partner's plate. Mainly because Clint liked to be the thief, and Natasha stopped finding pleasure in stabbing him with her dinner knife.
"Should I get you something for Christmas?" Clint asked, foregoing the formality of fanning his spoon before depositing the soup in his mouth.
"Why? We're leaving the next day. Weight limits on the flagships are strict. And my bags already packed." She skewered a cherry tomato, inspected its smooth sides, and deposited it in her mouth. "Does Alfheimr have tomatoes?"
"No. And we're going to Vanaheim first. They like roots, rice, and fruit there. I'm serious though, should I get you something? It's not like I can convert my United States cash to Units, so if you want something before all my bank accounts are drained to Tony's financial broker, you better ask for it now."
Natasha considered the shape of a cucumber slice. "I thought we were going to go jack up Tony's credit cards to the max, then let them not get paid for the next six years."
That reminded him. Clint shifted in place, found the wallet, pulled it free, and rifled through the plastic to uncover the one he wanted. He dropped the black card on the table and pushed it toward her. Natasha lifted it.
"You little devil." She said, flicking the card around in her hand. "How'd you get it?"
"He left it on his shelf."
A sly look pierced him.
"On his shelf, in his room."
She waited.
"On his shelf, in his safe, in his room, behind his locked JARVIS security system, and, yes, I may have climbed a drain pipe to reach it." Clint came clean with a chuckle. His expression changed when she appeared disheartened. "What? Did you go for it and find it missing?"
She sighed. "No, I should have ordered the lobster."
He laughed a little louder, threw his arm into the air, and beckoned the nearest waiter over. "You want a lobster, then hell, we're getting lobster."
:(:):(:):
Clint considered the expanse of night shrouded in clouds as he leaned on the door jamb of the restaurant. Natasha decided to saunter for the restroom before they made the walk to Downtown and the Avengers Mansion. A part of him wanted to just rent a room for the night and sleep in the borrowed suit. The mansion was a cluster of movement, excitement, and packed bags. Hundreds of heroes had already found their way through the virtual Grand Central station before being transported off-world. Some went to Vanaheim or Alfheimr, others Asgard or Xandar, and the dozens of other planets threatened by the impending disaster. Getting a restful night's sleep was virtually impossible.
"Are you, Mr. Hawkeye?"
Clint turned a little, and had to look down before coming across the source of the voice. A boy, roughly twelve years old, stood bundled in no less than three sweaters and two winter hats. A few shop fronts down, his likely mother worked to rearrange her hands full of shopping bags. Assessment complete, he smiled.
"You're pretty clever, kid. I'm not even in my uniform."
"Aww, it ain't nothin'. I bet I could even spot out Iron Fist without his mask, and he's hard to find!" The kid replied, wiping his nose with one sleeve. He grinned. "Aren't you supposed to be in outer space or something? All the other superheroes are going."
The archer shrugged. "Iron Man makes a mean Christmas ham. I'm not missing out on that. Would you?"
"Dude, dinner at Iron Man's? No way! But I bet you do cool stuff like that all the time."
"Only on Tuesdays." Clint quipped. "Thursdays, we play Pong over at the Hulk's padded room."
The boy dug his toe into a drift of greying snow. In the city, it was rare to see the stuff stay white for too long. "Everyone really is leaving, huh?"
"Only for a little while."
"Six years isn't a little while."
Clint couldn't defend that. He didn't want to say the truth, that while Galactus might be appearing in six years, that didn't mean the world's heroes would be back right after. There was a huge probability that a war might break out between more races than just the fighting force and Galactus. The Kree Empire was stretching its fists as if they may want to prevent the armament of their longtime enemies. Even if the Nova Core meant to save the entire galaxy, the Kree felt more threatened than ever. War was coming, whether before Galactus came or after. Many of the men and women Terra was sending to fight knew they may never again return.
"Johnny! Hon, what have I told you about strangers! One day someone's going to walk off with you under his arm, and Spider-man's going to have to save you!" The boy's mother exclaimed, having gathered herself enough to approach the two. She smiled over at Clint, attempted to offer her hand, but failed to lift the packages circling her wrists. "Hi, I'm Beth. I'm sorry, he bothering you?"
"Not at all. And I'm Hawkeye. I wouldn't run off with him, he's too stringy." Without waiting to be asked, he slipped a few of the bags off her arms and held them at his side.
"Like the hero, Hawkeye? The White House bombing Hawkeye?" Beth exclaimed.
Clint nodded at his two notable accomplishments. Behind him, the restaurant door pushed open, as a wave of warmth chased Natasha out into the gathering snow drifts. With the same practiced air that Clint had, she assessed the situation in an instant. She wasn't surprised to see that Clint had found another random friend. He collected them like baseball cards.
"Holy cow, you're the Black Widow!" Johnny tugged his mom's arm, pointing at the star-studded woman.
Natasha, in turn, nudged Clint. "Smart kid. Hawk, I thought I said no Christmas gift. What have you been off doing?" She motioned to his bags. It was all formality. She could tell he'd taken them from the woman, perhaps to help her out.
"I couldn't help myself. You left me alone for three seconds, and I not only got ousted by a pre-teen, but I robbed his mom and was about to make my escape."
Their playful banter continued as the two Avengers fell in line with Beth and her son, escorting both to their parked car down the alleyway. It wasn't hard in the current days to walk down a street in New York without running into one hero or another. For one, New York never went more than five hours without being attacked by some evil. Secondly, over five thousand modern day heroes called the Big Apple home. Clint couldn't fall out of a random window without being rescued by four of them.
Depositing the boy and his mom at their car, Natasha and he continued toward home. She drew the lush fur up around her ears and tucked her neck into the collar. Clint leaned in, but stopped short of draping his arm around her.
"Cold?" He asked.
"It's not going to be any warmer in space."
"I don't know about that. Nova Prime's had a thing or two to say about our climate control system. And since they're from a planet with two suns, I think we might be looking at an oasis."
"Since when did you become Mr. Optimistic?"
"Oh, hey, here we are." Clint said suddenly. He took Natasha's elbow and steered her toward an inset doorway along the shopping strip. She didn't have enough time to glance at the name before he ushered her inside to the tune of a jingling doorway bell.
"Hello!" "Good evening!" "Can we help you?" A chorus of workers called the minute they caught sight of the fresh customers. Clint waved them all away at the same time, professing that they were only window shopping.
Natasha disentangled herself from the coat to get a clear look of where Clint had whisked her. She approached the nearest glass enclosed jewel case and gazed at the many diamond necklaces displayed within. "I thought we agreed no Christmas gifts. Again." She stated.
"I'm just a hopeless romantic." Clint replied, leaning his elbows on the case beside her. "And this is something small. It hardly weighs more than a few ounces at the max. And you don't even have to pack it. So, stop complaining and let me buy you something."
She turned in place and folded her arms. "What kind of a girl do you think I am, Clint? How long have we been together?"
"Off and on for almost twenty years, and I think you're the kind of girl who, even after I left the Avengers, decided to wear the arrow necklace I bought you." He replied with that annoyingly playful smile of his. "Come on, Tash, humor me."
"You think you're funny enough as it is. You don't need my help." She replied, but did decide to take a stroll down the cases with him. The odds of her finding a similar arrow necklace were virtually nil. It had broken on a mission, years ago, and she never ended up getting it fixed. The last Christmas present he bought her a cup of coffee and a plate of baked apples he'd whipped up overnight. They were in Alfheimr then, trying to find a cure for the cancer that nearly killed him. So much had happened in that year since.
He took a few strides ahead of her, pausing only to lean over a case as if inviting her to look inside also. She did, and her shoulders dropped.
"No." She said before he had a chance to open his mouth.
"Pick one." He said, smiling.
Natasha turned for the door, perhaps expecting him to let her escape, but Clint caught her by the arm and spun her back around.
"Nope. Not this time. This time we are going to face this, and you are going to say yes."
Two pursed, lips parted only long enough to utter, "No," again.
Not admitting defeat by any means, Clint leaned on the counter with his torso between her and the diabolical case of engagement rings. He'd made this same proposition twice in his past. Both occasions Natasha knew only general ideas about, but little concerning the details. It was about time he gave her the details.
"Bobbi Morse and I got married because we both thought we loved each other. And for a while we did. Some part of me still loves her and maybe it always will. When the Kree and the Shi-Ar went to war and I lost her, I didn't know what to do. She died in my arms, Nat."
Natasha smirked, unconvinced. "She divorced you on Valentine's Day."
"My fault, because I pulled away and never told her why."
"You tried to save her life, she didn't appreciate it, and she gave up." Natasha felt no prick of animosity, so it failed to enter her reply. She knew Clint cared about her. Despite all that Bobbi did to him, he was a relentless romantic. Women loved that about him.
"Then you went off and dated the enemy." Clint continued without giving any credence to her.
"I dated Steve. He's hardly the enemy, Clint."
"And I found Marie."
For a moment, Natasha's faced softened. She liked Marie Grant. The woman wasn't an Avenger, a hero, or even a mutant. She was a normal woman that Clint happened to meet during one of the self defense classes he hosted for women at his shooting range. She loved the lesson so much she came back every week, eventually learned to shoot a gun, and adopted the one-eyed dog that she named Pepper but Clint preferred to call Lucky. Natasha saw them together once, she didn't remember where Marie and Clint were walking off to, but it didn't matter. She saw enough in that one moment together to keep her from getting in the way. Marie loved Barton, and Clint loved her back, even if he refused to admit that at the time.
Coming off of Bobbi's loss and Natasha's fling with Steve, Clint found himself out in the cold and lonely. Then, unexpectedly, Marie found herself pregnant. Clint never planned to marry again. But he wanted to wrap something around her finger like she'd wrapped up him. Everyone he knew attended the ceremony. Everyone congratulated him. And Tony Stark himself both lost, and found, the wedding rings. Bruce Banner delivered their baby girl when a mission took Clint very suddenly to Galaxy Red. Marie had followed him secretly there. The second person to ever hold Clint's newborn daughter beside Bruce, was Tony. It took twenty minutes for Clint to get the girl away from him. They were happy, and for the first time in Clint's life he considered leaving his hero business behind forever.
But something went wrong. Clint left his new family in the care of the Warriors Three as he negotiated their travel through the Bifrost. It was a treacherous proposition. The first war with Galactus had left much of the neighboring galaxy and a few of the nine realms in chaos and disorder. Asgard was stretched thin attempting to offer support. Galaxy Red itself hadn't been untouched in the war. When Clint at last got his family to safety, he never imagined it was too late for them.
UIC-1 was the name the doctors gave it. Universal Influenza Complex. Millions contracted the disease, which in essence was an amalgam of viral pathogens stirred to life by the death of so many worlds. Over a quarter of those infected were killed by it. Clint's daughter fell ill first, then his wife, and lastly himself. Three weeks after Galactus fell, Bruce Banner walked into Clint's hospital room and told him that his daughter was dead. Twelve hours later, Marie lost her life also. Clint himself, just barely, survived.
Natasha knew how much Marie meant to him. She gave him a life, a real life, away from the Avengers that he thought he could never have. He was a divorcee and twice over a widower. Why would he ever want to propose a third time to someone like her?
Natasha approached the case and allowed herself the smallest look inside. She didn't care about jewelry. That sort of concept never came up, especially in her line of work. Maybe this was just something Clint felt he needed to do, like all those men and women having kids nine months after the news of the world ending hit. Experts estimated that the population of the planet increased by twenty percent globally. There were so many babies on the planet, Graco ran out of strollers to supply them.
What would a ring change in her? She'd have to introduce herself as Hawkeye's fiancé. One day, maybe, she'd be his wife. Could she be that? The happy wife to him? The support he needed? Could she stop running? Could he?
"I can't wear a ring. Women who wear rings lose them, get them caught on things, stones fall out…" She was grasping at straws, trying to discern a way why this must certainly not work for them, and she had little recourse but to refuse his proposal.
"Then you don't have to wear one. Pick one out for me. I'll wear it for both of us." Clint reasoned.
That skeptical brow rose toward her hairline again. "You'd wear a diamond ring?"
His eyes rolled. He shifted position from hovering over the women's rings to something further down the line. "No, but a men's ring I would. I need to be a little practical."
Natasha tugged along beside him, and they stood together, gazing down into the various gold, platinum, silver, and jeweled options below. The gaggle of clerk onlookers, realizing that a genuine proposal was occurring in their very midst, fanned out to cover the scene while sending a solo volunteer in for the kill. The man stood across from them, and inserted a key into the locked case, sliding the closure aside. He grinned almost privately at the darling archer, and waited for any instructions from the decision maker of the operation, Natasha.
Unsure, still, she searched Clint's face for signs of jesting. "Are we really doing this?" She asked, a small taste of fear flavoring her words.
"Natasha, there has never been anything between to keep us from running away. This might be that tie that keeps us together. Besides, we're most likely going to die when Galactus shows up, so what have we got to lose?"
That wasn't quite it, Natasha thought. There were a thousand and one reasons for Clint to refuse her. She tended to run out on him when times got tough. He needed . . . no, deserved . . . a family of his own. A family that Natasha could never give him. She'd been sterile since the day the Red Room initiative, her training corp in Russia, took her as a child and experimented on her with super soldier serum. Natasha always knew she'd be an unfit mother. But Clint Barton deserved to be a father, especially after the loss of his first and only child.
"I'm not right for this." She whispered to him.
"I am."
"And you'll be right enough for both of us?"
Clint closed in to her. "Natalia Alianova Romanova, will you pick this ring and agree to let me be your Terran, Midgardian, Earthly wedded husband?"
With eyes, a smile, and a devilish wit like that, how could she ever prevent the inevitable? "So, if I agree that you're my husband, what do you call me?"
"Whatever you like. You aren't my wife. You aren't that sort of girl to be owned, and I knew that long before we formerly met."
"We're really doing this, then. We're…. um… wow, Clint. The ballet, the fancy dinner, Tony's credit card, all because you were planning this?"
The archer smiled. "You forgot about Kate's borrowed clothes. I gave them to her for you. This suit, though, I really did borrow from Tony. I swear, he has no butt at all, you see how tight these things are on me? I think it's all those Philly Pretzels – "
Natasha leaned forward and ceased his badgering with a kiss, much to the swoon of the salesmen watching them. Decided then on this sudden feat of human nature, they poised over the rings for Natasha to pick one out. She knew Clint's style, and typical lack of it. It took only the occasional indecision for her to narrow down on the exact one.
The ring was made from titanium, overplayed in a polished black sheen as slick as silken dark chocolate. Between the rim of titanium was an inlay of corn silk gold etched in intricate, almost Celtic, designs. She knew what it would remind Clint of. The Elven language and world where he found his only true peace. If Clint could leave Earth forever and go anywhere in the galaxy, he would live on Alfheimr for the remainder of his days. It was a step above getting the "Great Ring of Power" from Lord of the Rings lore, but still retained all the beauty and masculinity of Clint's relationship with her.
Natasha could never be convinced to wear one herself. A wedding band alone was far beyond what she would ever allow. It symbolized vulnerability, something that could one day be exploited or used against her. Clint had seen that happen once with Bobbi Morse. He went through the horrifying tragedy of standing by as Marie and his baby both died. The fact that he would again be willing to let his heart be opened like this again moved her in ways she could never describe.
For Clint, though, as he watched the ring disappear to be engraved with her name beside his, a different realization passed through him. In six years and three months, Clint Barton knew he was going to die. Time ticked ever increasingly against him. If the Twenty Predictions of the Sarhorn were to be trusted, then his death would save Natasha and billions of others. That meant she would lose him. She'd be alone, lost, and unless she steeled herself against the loss now, it may threaten to crush her if he could be allowed to think so highly of himself in her eyes. Clint was also rich. He'd made a not inconsiderable fortune for himself in a heist twelve years prior, and despite giving away over half of it, losing others, repaying old debts, and acquiring new ones, he was still one of the planet's secret multibillionaires. The only one who knew the truth depth of Clint's wealth was Tony Stark, who often managed his financial portfolio since Clint could never bother himself to handle it. When Stark Industries went bankrupt after the Ultron attack, Clint's nest egg bailed the company out. Tony repayed him in spades, and managed their dual accounts ever since.
When Clint nearly lost his life to cancer, Bruce Banner convinced him to fashion up a will for himself. It seemed a logical choice seeing that he had a death sentence staring him down. At that time, he came face to face with his own wealth. He tried his best to spread it around where it would do the most good, leaving a trust that would keep his archery range up and running for the foreseeable future. But to ensure the bulk of it was taken care of appropriately, Clint had to take one extra step. Marriage. He wanted to secure Natasha's life. Give her everything she thought she couldn't deserve or attain.
"It's everything I want." He told her. Maybe she wouldn't understand everything he packed into that single statement, but that didn't matter. He was a male war bride. One of the legions of others getting hitched in the face of impending doom. He worried about history repeating itself, and he might lose everything in this Galactus war the way he had prior. But with the Sarhorn's promises in his back pocket, that concern trickled away. Clint would die so Natasha lived. In the meantime, they'd simply be happy.
When the jeweler returned with the ring in his hand, a second and third person followed him from the back office. Natasha's face lit up seeing them, and one hand traveled up to cover her mouth in surprise. "Fehreh!" She exclaimed.
Fehreh was the former Alfheimr queen, a world which belonged to the Nine Realms. She'd been a fixture of grace, support, and substantial fighting spirit in times past, and has helped the Avengers on more than a singular occasion. Beside her was one of the Light Elf aides, Faraday, that often accompanied a traveling Alfheimr native.
"I must say, keeping myself silent in that room was entirely more difficult than I gave credence to. And you have impeccable selection in refined metallurgy." Fehreh said with a coy grin. She presented the wedding band. "I have taken the liberty of inscribing it myself. Though Light Elves do not exchange these tokens, I thought you may like the touch of friendship in it."
Natasha turned on Clint after plucking the ring from Fehreh's hand. She punched the base of her fist against his chest. "How hard did you plan this?! I better not see Stark shoot out of the skylights or something, or else I'm calling this off!"
"No Tony, I swear, no one else either. Tasha, I don't want us to plan a big thing out and have everyone there, and the cake or the dress and all that, and I'm sure it's the last thing you want."
The thought hadn't actually occurred to her. She'd only been engaged for five minutes, but Clint was right. Natasha would never be caught dead in that sort of dress, unless it was for a mission and the groom was her target.
"At the same time I don't want us to have a never-ending engagement like Pepper and Tony have. That's fine for them, but I want more. So… If it's ok with you, I invited Fehreh here to – "
"To marry us?! Here?! Right now?!"
Fehreh nudged her cohort, who smiled. Apparently Clint had prepped them for the potential blowback.
"You aren't serious."
"I am serious."
"In the middle of the jewelry store?"
"Right here, right now."
"This isn't Burger King. You can't have it your way, marry me, and ask for fries or something."
"For one, that's McDonald's. Two, yes I can. And I don't want fries."
"She can't marry us!"
Fehreh shrugged. "I am an official emissary for my kingdom, and have been given all authority based therein to perform this task according to this paper here that I have since signed." The Faraday produced the copy of a New York marriage license from beneath his arm. Sure enough, Fehreh had become a duly appointed Justice of the Peace for this occasion. Fehreh herself withdrew a retractable pen, clicked the end to engage its writing end, and set it on the document. "I do love the drama of that writing implement."
Natasha, with no recourse left on the Alfheimr end, attempted one last ditch effort of squirming out of Clint's hair brain plan.
"No."
"Yes."
"Clint, no. I will shoot you in the kidney and leave you dying here, I am not doing this."
Clint smiled, picked up the pen, and signed his name to the marriage license. "Yes, you are. You are, because you want to do this. Otherwise you wouldn't be standing here discussing it at all. You want to humor me because everyone knows I am going to die, and no one wants to say it. Here is me saying it."
He pushed the paper over to her. "If you want to get out of it, then just say I forced you. I am, I admit it. You have enough witnesses to hear that. But you won't. You want to make me just as happy as I want to make you for whatever time we have left. So, in front of these friends and random store clerks, you are going to sign this paper. And then we never have to tell anyone about it."
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