A/N: Feels nice that once again I was able to churn out a whole, round story in one sitting :) A little background info on this one: I save all the pics as prompts I get on my PC, and when I was saving this one, the original file name contained a segment something like "pregnant woman stops robber," and I fell in love with the idea right away. And… then this story was born.

Late Night Visitor

If there was one thing Dean Andrews was proud of, it was his great skill to find the perfect target to rob.

Like this family, for example – they just screamed perfect. Young, suburban couple with a toddler and the second baby on the way. Hell, they even had a dog. The whole deal was as if they had just stepped off a Hallmark postcard. And on the top of it, the brand new SUV in the front hinted at money – at good electronics and jewelry and maybe even cash inside that were worth stealing. And with the husband away for the night, the wife alone with the kid at home, it was just the perfect night to sneak in.

Getting in was a no-brainer – they had some nice home security system (the guy living there sure prided himself to be such an expert), but honestly, Dean had dealt with more sophisticated stuff; it took him about two minutes to disable the system, and from then on unlocking the back door and walking in was a piece of cake. It even seemed like as if the dog was playing for his team, too – he was sleeping in a basket in the hallway, and although he slightly raised his head when he heard Dean approaching, he simply yawned, and went back to sleep. Good doggie.

Dean got to the living room with no problem, and once there, he could already see that this endeavor was going to be profitable – a high-end laptop was sitting on the coffee table, with some other device next to it (he couldn't identify that stuff, but since it looked expensive enough, he decided to pack up that as well). There was also a tablet there, some older model that, based on a tiny, sticky handprint on the screen, was kept solely for the child to play. He shrugged and reached for that one first – tablets sold well, okay?

Only he never got to actually putting it into his bag.

"I'd put that back to where you found it if I were you," he heard a calm voice from behind his back that made him freeze momentarily. Still keeping the tablet in his hand, he slowly turned around.

It was the wife – cute, petite woman in her mid to late twenties, big eyes, long hair, round belly –, standing on the stairs and pointing a gun at him.

Dean gulped, but decided to play aloof.

"No need to do anything rash, lady," he told her, going for a smug, confident smirk. The woman cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Good to know," she said, with only a hint of sarcasm in her voice, which, honestly, was starting to unnerve him a little.

It was not the first time Dean was caught in the middle of the operation by the folks he was going to rob, but this woman was the first who seemed to be completely unfazed by this; what's more, she almost seemed to be amused by this.

He didn't like that. Not at all.

"Really, lady, be sensible – put that gun down before you hurt–"

He didn't get to finish the sentence, because suddenly a bullet flew right next to his head – close enough that he actually felt the wind of it –, hitting the wall behind him. So he ended up ending his sentence with a, rather girlish, scream. (He didn't even hear a shot! The freaking thing had a built-in silencer!)

"Could you please keep it down?" the woman said, clearly annoyed. "My daughter's sleeping upstairs."

"Right, of course," Dean squeaked out, his voice at least an octave higher than normally. He wasn't proud of that. "But please, put that gun down before…" He swallowed. "Before you hurt somebody." Him, especially.

The woman let out a dry chuckle.

"Please, if I wanted to hit you, you'd have an extra hole on you by now." She was speaking with such a self-assured confidence that Dean couldn't help but believe her. She slowly came down the stairs, still holding the gun in one hand, resting the other on her belly. "Now put that tablet down and sit down nicely. The police will be here shortly."

Dean was so stunned – and a bit terrified, to be honest – that he complied without a question. He put the tablet down, pulled the strap of his bag from his shoulder, then, pulling his bag into his lap, he took a seat on the couch. The woman walked over to him and perched on the armrest of the armchair opposite of him, still casually holding him at gunpoint.

"The police?" he asked almost shyly, just to say something. And because it was a bit unnerving to just sit there and stare at the barrel of a gun.

"Yep," the woman said, sitting up straight. "You set off the silent alarm the moment you stepped on the property," she informed him.

Oh, a silent alarm; he hadn't thought of that.

"So the one I disable was just a –"

"Decoy? Yeah," the woman nodded almost proudly. Definitely proudly. "Actually, it just controls the watering system. My actual home security is a bit more… sophisticated, Mr. Andrews."

Mr. Andrews? How the hell… Oh. Decoy panel, silent alarm and facial recognition. The only thing he couldn't put together was how the hell she accessed the database. Still, he was screwed.

But he didn't get to ponder a lot about it, because the next moment – probably hearing the conversation – the dog trotted in. He looked at Dean with mild disinterest, then walked over to his mistress and sat down at her feet, expecting some head rubs.

The woman chuckled.

"Shame on you," she told the dog, looking at him, to which the dog answered with a lazy wag of his tail. "I'm officially revoking your guard dog status."

Dean saw this as his one opportunity – the woman was distracted, petting the dog; it would only take one swift movement to lounge forward and get the gun, and then – well, then he could get to upper hand; he could run. Although she already knew his name so… Still, it was worth a shot. He flexed his muscles, ready to move, and then…

"Don't even think about it," the woman said, not even looking at him, but ever so casually turning the barrel at him. "I might be pregnant, but don't have any doubts about it – I could take you. And since wiping a bloody nose with a broken hand is not a pleasant thing, I strongly advise you to stay put." By the end of her sentence she was looking at him, smiling at him sweetly.

He returned the gesture somewhat awkwardly and leaned back in his seat.

"It's a, um… it's a very nice house."

The police – two cars, four officers; it was a nice neighborhood, after all – arrived about ten minutes later (spent with him awkwardly staring at the woman, trying not to make any sudden movements, while she just sat there, looking at him with apparent amusement written on her face, and gun still in hand.

For once, Dean was actually glad that cops had arrived.

They were quick to detain him (after being cautioned by the woman to keep quiet, because there was a toddler sleeping upstairs), giving him a good tap down (finding the knife he had on him, the one even he had completely forgotten about) and cuffing him, not even trying to hide their delight over the fact that he was bested by a petite, pregnant lady.

Still, as he was informed of his Miranda rights (he wasn't paying much attention; he knew them by heart by now), he managed to overhear a bit of the conversation between the woman and the senior officer on scene.

"I hate to be a bother, madam," Dean heard the cop say, "especially after this stressful situation, but this gun you have seems like some serious piece of artillery. You have a license for that, right?"

Dean could just see the woman on the edge of his vision, so he just caught as she nodded after half a second of hesitation.

"It's actually my husband's – he's away on… business right now –, but I can show you my license." She stepped to the table standing close by, picked up the handbag that was sitting on it, and pulled a small, leather case out of it. "I'm sure you'll find no problem with it," she said with a small smile as she handed the case over.

The cop opened it, looked at contents approvingly, accompanied by some low humming and slight nodding, then handed it back to the woman.

"Everything's completely alright," he assured the woman in his most respectful voice. "We'll be on our way right away. And we are sorry for the inconvenience, Agent Ward."

Now, that had Dean blinking – although he had no chance to hear more, as at this point he was escorted out of the house, but he made a point to ask about it as soon as he was loaded into the patrol car.

"Hey, officers," he addressed the two cops sitting in the front. "What was this agent-nonsense? Who was that woman?"

The two cops briefly looked at each other, then laughed.

"I'll give it to you, mate," said the one in the passenger seat, "you are not the luckiest guy. You managed to break in to the house of two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But I guess you are sorta lucky – at least the guy wasn't home."

"And you didn't wake the kid," the other added, laughing at his expense.

Dean leaned back in the seat, swallowing hard. So maybe he didn't have such a great skill to find the perfect target.