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Entry tags:
Avengers - Lamaze
Title: Lamaze
Genre: Gen, Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~5,250 words
Synopsis: It is time to prepare for certain imminent events. Somehow, an actual attack plan might make more sense.
Author's Notes: Part 5 of the Respiration series. Follows immediately after Breathless. Natasha is pregnant with her clone and the team is determined to protect her.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Sequel to Breathe Again [LJ | DW | AO3], Breathing Exercises [LJ | DW | AO3], Breathing Room [LJ | DW | AO3], Breathless LJ | DW | AO3, and will only really make sense if you read them first.
Link to the Respiration Series on AO3.
"Breathe through it," he urged, voice no more than a whisper.
"I really don't think I can," Natasha replied. She sucked in air, short and tight through her nose and released it more as a huff than as a controlled breath before she darted a glance between him and the impending melee before her.
There were at least half a dozen screens up, filled with diagrams, plans, and layouts. There were even more books spread open across the table, swatches of color and texture bursting at the seams of each. There were pencil sketches and pastel drawings and what looked to be actual wooden block toy furniture, all cluttered everywhere, all opposite of anything she had implied she had wanted thus far.
"Come on, what's she going to say if we just do it? It'll already be done and she'll just let it slide because we were awesome and finished it, right?" Stark wheedled, and Clint winced in anticipation.
At least the others were smart enough not to answer.
Natasha strode forward, as sure and strong and capable as possible in the fuzzy black socks that had gift from Pepper two weeks prior, one of the rare things she had accepted without fuss or commentary. "No," she declared, and he watched as the room ground to a halt.
"Okay, so the gilding might be a bit much," Tony shrugged in agreement.
He turned right back to what he was doing and she shook her head and repeated, "No." She swiped the multiple data windows closed and handed the sketches back to Steve in haphazard piles and flat out threw a book full of glittery fabrics at Stark, though Thor intervened before it could do actual damage. "No to the gilding, no to the flash, no to the silver and gold and ruffles and whatever else you have decided is best for my child," she announced.
Tony frowned and went so far as to put his hands on his hips when he pointed out, "Natasha, the kid's coming sooner rather than later, don't you want all of this done and out of the way before she does?"
Steve, wise man that he was, moved to apologize, possibly for all involved. Clint just moved to stop her from reaching the blade he knew she kept tucked at her belt. "He means well and will soon see the error of his ways," he promised, and hoped it was true for the sake of the team.
He watched her take a deep breath and slowly let it out again, proud of her for barely seething as she said, "This is my choice, not yours." He elbowed her slightly, and she relented, "I thank you for your care and input, but it is not necessary at this time. The situation is under control." To say the emotion behind the sentiment wasn't there would be an understatement, but at least she managed a monotone version of the sentiment.
"No offense there, mom, but the last time you went a-designing, it ended in bloodshed," Stark said. Clint stole the knife before Nat could get to it. Tony never knew when to shut up though, even when faced with a trained, hormonal, pissed off killer aiming for him, so he continued, "We thought we could do this for you, help finish the thing you have admittedly been slacking about."
Natasha reached for another book, but this time refrained from throwing it. She flipped to a page of deep blues and crimsons, dark browns and hints of grays. She thrust the book across the table and said, "Natural colors, natural fabrics. No sequins or glitter or sparkles, no ruffles or toile or silks. This is a child, not a fashion show or a chance to show just how much better you are than the Smiths in L.A." She closed a third book of paint swatches and said, "Walls remain as they are, decorations are individually approved by me and will be few and far between, rugs are negotiable."
Clint clapped his hands together and over-enthused, "Well, that was easy!"
Stark opened his mouth, but shut it almost immediately at her glare. Steve and Thor nodded mutely, and Bruce held up a pot and offered, "Tea?"
"That would be lovely, yes," she replied, and took a seat next to him. He poured and she slid the tablet he had been looking at over in front of herself without protest. A single eyebrow raised, she prompted, "Bruce?"
He looked chagrined, even as he offered her the delicate cup. "It reminded me of the one Shashikant and Meri had - they were the family kind enough to put me up for a while before you found me," he explained. "You have made your wishes known though, and I respect that. I might have gotten caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment, but please know I would never go against your consent."
Natasha's fingers lingered on the tablet, and Clint snuck a peek at it over her shoulder. The image was of a simple wooden cradle, possibly hand carved from the look of it and definitely hand painted. Each panel and the arched protective top that covered about a third of it had a simple design painted in russet and a blue so deep as to be almost purple, the base ending in gently sloped rockers instead of actual steady feet. "It's lovely," she told him, and Clint readily agreed.
Bruce moved to close it, but she shook her head. Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow, then the other, then to grin widely at her nod of approval. It wasn't the most practical, and the kid would outgrow it and need an upgrade faster than a standard crib, but that could be dealt with at a later date. For now, it was something relatively straightforward that held meaning and wasn't totally horrific like some of the options they had come across so far. He could understand why she chose it, just as he could understand why the room as a whole seemed to let out a breath of relief when she did.
That seemed to guide the rest of the planning, for the little planning that occurred from that point forward. There was no formal baby shower as spies with a mark on both themselves and their unborn child tended to forgo such things, but gifts appeared one by one and, as much as Nat insisted she didn't want clutter, she accepted each and every offering.
Tony gave her lamps and lighting for the room, sturdy and set into the wall itself with no risk of cords to be tangled or possibly eventually yanked on, the shades the exact colors she had chosen from the book, no more and no less. He didn't take credit for them, but curtains and bedding also appeared at her doorstep three days later, sans any identifier, all within the acceptable hues.
Steve gave her pictures he drew himself, a sort of slideshow done solely in the same shade of red as the cradle, framed in the blue of the lamps, that was comprised of images of the things they found important and each loved best. There was the spot in the park she loved to sit at and pretend to ignore the ducks, a view from the top of the tower to the city below, a design remarkably similar to that on Bruce's favorite clay teapot, a stylistic lightning strike against the night sky, something that looked like a closeup of the wheel of Steve's own bike, and a red-hued abstract version of the arc reactor that had kept Tony alive for so long.
Thor gave her a giant stuffed... something... that was vaguely lizard or dragon in nature and a deep rich green of an impossibly soft fabric. He had apparently described what he wanted in detail to Steve, who then sketched it out and, together with the others, found someone to create a toy version of it. When he realized the finished product would be far too large for a newborn to appreciate, he requested another, miniaturized version to be made. Clint wasn't around when he gifted that to Natasha, but he found it in the cradle next to a quilt gifted by Bruce just the same.
Clint also wasn't around when Pepper attacked, but he saw the aftermath. To be fair, she kept it simple - by her standards if no one else's. The dresser Nat had chosen during their ill-fated shopping spree was now filled with a crap-ton of clothes. Most were the little snappy one-piece things called, appropriately enough, onesies, but some were the old fashioned gowns and some were bibs that the kid probably wouldn't need for a while but were at least there for the eventuality. They came in nice bleachable white and a few solid colors, though he did smile at the little gray one with red trimming that truly looked like a kidified version of Natasha's own Black Widow uniform.
The whole color scheme thing seemed to be a theme, really, at least for certain people. Coulson stopped by around the time Thor's gift appeared with three of his own, each wrapped in black with a red silk bow positioned just so in the center that he would neither admit nor deny tying himself. Clint was there when she opened them, and not because he didn't trust SHIELD to try to pull something. He just happened to be in the neighborhood... even if he had been in the gym when their former handler's arrival was announced.
The first gift was a copy of everything SHIELD had discovered so far about who had taken her and who was after her and why, even if that last part was pretty obvious. It was fairly comprehensive and, of course, cleared SHIELD of blame for all but an admitted possible leak that had since been plugged by Coulson himself, possibly with extreme prejudice. The second was a box of the same candied breads she had devoured during an op in Prague four years prior that she had vocally lamented the lack of in the remaining years and the two other people who had been present at the time tried to get for her when they could. Clint hadn't found a reason to venture to the small shop yet, but it appeared Phil had.
The final box revealed a small stuffed sparrow-like bird that squawked when you squeezed it. Steve had looked at it curiously, and Tony had JARVIS search for possible meanings. Clint watched Natasha smile and set the gift in a place of honor while he shook his former handler's hand at the promise that, as always, that little chirp in their ear that they had come to know and trust would be there if needed, no questions asked.
That seemed to be the end of it, or so he hoped. Little things kept appearing, like snacks and foods and such, but they were unwrapped and left as offerings of friendship and possibly sacrifices at the altar of short tempers, apologies, and deadly rage. He was munching on one such offering while Nat savored another when she dug in the seat cushions behind her and tossed an actual paper file into his lap. He wiped the salt and grease from his hands onto his jeans and carefully thumbed open the document, not bothering to hide his surprise at what he saw.
He looked up from the paperwork to Natasha, who simply swallowed another handful of chips of some strange and awful flavor and pretended to be interested in whatever was on the television screen as she said, "Maria stopped by."
"As in Commander Hill?" he verified, even though the signature before him attested to that fact. He flipped the page and blinked at what he saw. "And this is legit?"
"As legitimate as anything we do," she shrugged, which was a fair reply.
He read and reread the document and took note of the signatures and the listing of where verified copies of the same would be stored for future reference. It was a contract of sorts, though more of a promise than anything else. Both Hill and Fury himself had signed it in actual ink with Sitwell notarizing and swearing by it and declaring safeguards in place should known copies be destroyed. It stated SHIELD would make no move towards the child or Natasha herself for as long as either of them had a say in the matter. It even went so far as to declare personal protection outside of SHIELD and WSC control should it come down to it, which was quite the declaration indeed.
"He knows he's not going to be the godfather, right?" Clint asked, trying to keep the mood light.
Natasha shrugged again, but this time with a subtle smile. "I don't know, he does make a fair bid for the job." She shook the bag and chose another chip before she added, "Besides, she already has, what, like seven others?"
Clint set the file to the side and went back to his own greasy goodness. If he was honest with himself, he had kind of been hoping for the job. That said, he understood the whole "team" factor of the issue and the fact that, irregardless of any official name or title, every single one of them would probably play some sort of guardian role in heart if not on paper. Also, given the fact that the team consisted of a super soldier that healed in minutes and someone who was quite possibly a god or at least god-like, choosing the mortal with the least protection and the least common sense probably wasn't the wisest choice after all.
One mindless show was ending and another about to begin when the call to assemble piped in. They had gone quite some time without one, likely because the criminals and mad scientists of the world were terrified of what the Avengers would do to them if the team issued the full force of their wrath for attempted kidnappers, let alone something far more serious. This one involved killer robots in Midtown because apparently everyone hated Midtown and some loner with a chip on his shoulder and no social skills to speak of was ready to tear it to pieces.
Natasha was not allowed to go, which would have pissed her off save for the fact Clint was already to the door by the time she got her feet off the coffee table and her butt off the couch. Stark had already sent the announcement that a feed of whatever they would be doing would be piped in to the command center, which rather negated any argument that she should go out to one of the site vans to coordinate from there. Clint knew the command center was just a fancy name for a corner of Stark's usual lab outfitted with extra monitoring equipment. He also knew it had more recently been outfitted with a cushioned, all ergonomically-supported fancy chair despite Tony's usual stools and benches still laying about. Nat would at least be comfortable in her exile if nothing else.
He quickly discovered that the robots were annoying. They basically just tried to smash things with little rhyme or reason and it would have hardly been considered an Avengers' job save for the sheer number of them. They didn't even really have that many defenses, so Clint had taken to saving his explosive arrowheads and instead aiming standard bolts at a chink in the covering of their CPUs which, when hit, caused them to freeze and shut down.
"Does this seem almost easy to anyone else?" he asked as he took out yet another.
Cap played pinball with his shield and knocked out five more before he suggested, "Maybe the programmer just wasn't very good?"
"Or maybe it was a diversion," Tony chimed in. He blew a robot up, possibly for sport, his usual background noise going dim for a moment in the way that usually meant he was conferring with JARVIS. "Shit!" he said as he came back. "Tower is under attack, JARVIS is barely able to send a signal. Lockdown has been initiated, but we need to finish these assholes and get back there ASAP!"
Clint's first thought was for Nat, and his second was for why the hell she hadn't notified them via the comm link he knew she had with her. "Natasha, report," he tried. He let off another three shots, this time with explosives, and managed to take out seven of the metal idiots in the process. Bruce, who had been pretty much sitting on the sidelines at this point to limit the property damage, Hulked out and had taken down an even dozen by the time Clint shouted, "Damn it, Nat, what's your status?"
"Contained," came a very short and rather breathless response.
"Do you care to expand on that, Widow?" Cap asked, clearly as less than accepting of her response as Clint himself was.
A shot rang out across the comms and, considering no one on the ground was carrying a standard firearm, it was pretty obvious where it came from. "I'll be happy to give you a full report when I am free to do so," she replied, followed by a click that signaled her end to the conversation.
The robots really did not last long after that. Not that he was there to see it. After Cap's shouted, "Go! We've got this!" Tony and his Iron Man suit grabbed Clint from his perch and made a beeline for the Tower. They landed in the bay for the Quinjets only to find a jet already there. It was SHIELD-registered but empty, and Tony lifted his mask to share a look of not quite reassurance. Clint grabbed a fresh quiver from the supplies and followed behind Tony, listening to the apparent mass destruction by their team over the comm while he took in the destruction that surrounded them now.
There was a line of bodies, unmoving and clearly neutralized, that led from the bay to the inner corridors. Some bore bullet wounds and others the signs of Stark's automated defense system that he had told everyone was only in the testing stage. Most troubling were the ones that looked as though they were taken out by hand, with necks at odd angles and bodies slumped from sleeper holds and bashed heads.
Natasha was mobile, he knew this. Natasha was damn good, he knew this as well. Natasha was also roughly eight months' pregnant and should not have had to take on multiple hostiles alone, especially at risk of the child and especially considering how she had decided slippers were the name of the game because she wouldn't admit she had trouble tying her shoes let alone any more complex acrobatic maneuvers.
"JARVIS, where is Agent Romanov?" Tony asked, voice oddly hesitant.
"Agent Romanov has requested her presence not be publicly identified until such time as all hostiles are verified as neutralized," the AI responded, static nearly overriding several of the words.
"Of course she has," Clint sighed, more to himself than to the system. He turned to Stark and asked, "Can he show you on the HUD?"
Tony flipped down his mask and nodded, "He's showing me something, but it's more instructions than actual visuals." He marched on anyway and Clint wasn't dumb enough not to follow.
He probably could have found his way without the big red flashlight, to be honest - all he needed to do was follow the path with the highest concentration of bodies. As a surprise to absolutely no one, they led first to the communal level where the entertainment system and possibly the refrigerator would never be the same again, and then towards the command center where Nat would have originally been.
There was movement to his left and both Stark and he spun quickly, weapons at the ready as a shape materialized from the shadows. "Agent?" Tony asked in surprise, but notably did not lower his hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Fulfilling a promise," Coulson replied. He nodded to Clint, his own pistol in hand but at least not aimed at them, so there was that. He still wore his standard neatly pressed dark suit, but with the nonstandard bloodstain from what looked like a bullet wound in his upper arm.
"To us or to some evil clone-stealing entity?" Stark ask, arm relaxing slightly.
"To Romanov," Coulson answered. He led them a short way down the corridor and explained, "We came as soon as we heard, and multiple agents have volunteered as backup if welcomed, but we haven't been able to get past her lockdown despite the fact she trapped at least three enemy agents inside with her, possibly more."
Clint figured that sounded about right - with a lockdown she would have prevented others from infiltrating the area and could then focus on removing the immediate threat. He questioned why she hadn't lifted it yet even as he questioned just who the "we" was in the equation.
At least part of that was answered for him when they turned the corner to find Commander Hill with her back pressed up against a wall, uniform smeared with all things unsightly and possibly some flour from the pantry. A few strands of hair had escaped her usually neat style, but she greeted him calmly with a cool, "Agent Barton." She lowered her gun and he lowered his bow, but mainly because he could see past her to inside the room where the various displays showed no further hostiles - or agents for that matter - roaming around the place.
Of course that's when what he thought was a body surged upward and a heap of metal and broken parts shifted to reveal another attacker that tried to make his way across the room. Two shots rang out in quick succession, with the first man hit center mass and the second soundly kneecapped. "Found Nat," he commented, which earned an eye roll from Hill and the hint of a smirk from Coulson.
Tony simply announced, "JARVIS, open the door." The door stayed closed, ballistic glass and all, and Clint thought it unlikely even Stark would use a repulsor against his own lab. He was proven correct when Tony ordered, "Override, code sigma-six-alpha-three-cookie."
"Cookie?" Hill mouthed.
"It was baking day and I was distracted," Tony shrugged. The door released with an audible click, and he added, "Besides, no one would ever think that access to one of the most restricted labs on earth was inspired by Captain America attempting a recipe he learned over seven decades ago."
Maria nodded as though that made sense, and moved towards the door. She didn't make it far before a robot of Tony's own making raced forward towards one of the fallen men and lifted him upright by a wrist that, if it wasn't broken before, it most certainly was now. A second robot hovered next to a man fallen long before they had arrived that appeared to be making the climb back to consciousness. Phil took care of that threat with the butt of his pistol against the man's head and, finally, they were able to take stock of the situation, such as it was.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Clint sing-songed, knowing the others had his back if he inspired someone other than his partner to attack.
"Your eight," Natasha called from somewhere roughly ahead of him.
He turned and fired, the strike echoing far more than it should when it hit the body, a bullet wound appearing next to his arrow.
"Anything else?" Coulson asked before he could.
There was a grunt and the screech of metal on metal and then a rather defeated sounding, "Just that I may need assistance getting out of here."
Clint shouldered his bow to help, but found it unnecessary as Stark's robots raced up and began to peel away layers of sheeting, disassembled armor, and various other supplies. He had a feeling they may have assisted in the creation of the barrier as well, as jumbled and secure as it was. Between them and their creator and his super-powered suit, they made short work of the mess and it was a matter of only moments to reach a sweaty, filthy, healthy and whole Natasha. She was kneeling and armed and flopped gratefully to the side when enough room was cleared for her to do so.
"So, setup?" she guessed as she slowly stretched out her legs.
"Setup," Clint agreed. He offered her a hand up and, when it was ignored, plopped himself down next to her instead. He knew better than to ask about her, so instead he asked, "How's Juniorette?"
"Active," she replied. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and he watched as her stomach visibly ripped. She rubbed a hand across it, her light gray shirt pretty much unsalvageable anyway and now even further stained with dust and possibly motor oil. Her hand jumped away soon enough and she added, "Painful."
"The Itsy Bitsy Spider is just all worked up like her mom after a fight," Tony guessed. He ignored the resulting eye rolls and gestured to the bodies littered about the place, still under watch from Hill and Coulson. "She can't kick their asses so she's kicking yours instead."
"She's good at it," Natasha agreed, perhaps more out of breath than she would ever admit.
"We'll get her - and you - checked out, just in case," Clint promised. He'd say it was a suggestion, or an order, but wasn't dumb enough to call it either. Nat would allow the kid-to-be to be checked out to settle her own mind, and would have to be checked over herself as they were currently more than a little dependent upon each other.
She made a face, but didn't outright object. Instead, she attempted to lever herself fully upright to stand, and Clint quickly scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around her when it looked like she wasn't going to make it. She leaned back against him for a moment, flinching slightly at something unmentioned but probably uncomfortable, and he gladly took the weight and the admission of the need for comfort if not actual assistance. "I can still kick your ass," she grumbled.
"Always," he agreed, smile wide and safely hidden from view.
Coulson slid over the now bullet-hole-ridden comfy chair for her to use, while Stark started in on trying to fix whatever the hell they did to his AI.
"We can have medical personnel here in minutes, if you'll accept them," Hill offered. Unspoken was the fact said personnel would only be those personally approved by herself or Fury, or so Clint assumed.
Natasha, as expected, shook her head. "No offense, but there's only one doctor I will trust right now."
"And he only has the loosest of ties to a shady government organization that may or may not have double agents plotting against you?" Clint finished for her. The tilt of her head served as confirmation, though he might have been the only one close enough to catch the brief twitch of her lips.
He helped her get situated on the chair and maybe stood guard a little behind her and maybe stayed a little closer than she usually would allow. Given that she was allowing it, for the time being at least, he took what he could get. Given the way Phil saddled closer and even Tony used the console nearest to them despite its damage, he figured he wasn't the only one thinking they just had yet another close call.
Nat wasn't fragile or broken or anything like that, he knew this. He also knew that one of if not the closest friend he had in this world had just been put at unnecessary risk. True, she singlehandedly took care of that risk - or maybe not so singlehanded if you counted the robots - but the fact remained that he had been elsewhere when she could have used the backup. It rather pissed him off to be honest, and not just that they were so obviously played. Despite how other parties might see the situation, she wasn't some fancy experiment, nor was she carrying one of her own. She was a person, a teammate, and a friend and she didn't deserve the shit that had been tossed at her in the past few months, even if she had predicted precisely this would happen when he originally found her, hidden away from them all, safe and supposedly sound.
Mere hours later, after everyone had cleaned up and been checked out, after a meal of comfort food and more desserts than were strictly necessary, Stark strode in, a near manic look in his eyes. "So," he said, satisfied he pretty much automatically had everyone's attention the moment he entered the room. "Who wants to take these bastards down?"
"And send a message to anyone else out there?" Steve guessed. He didn't seem troubled by the fact, or by Tony's answering smile.
Maria sat up, posture shifting as she changed from ally to Commander. "What do you need?" she asked.
"A blind eye and possible clean up," he replied.
She accepted that as her due, and Clint accepted a tablet with encoded information regarding the targets and a loosely sketched plan of attack. He read through it and turned to Natasha to say, "Tony totally wins at shower gifts, this puts my bear to shame." They still needed to investigate and they still needed to verify the true culprit wasn't leaving a fake trail to point the finger at someone else but, mixed with the previous information SHIELD had provided, it was a start and a damn good one at that.
Nat swiped the tablet easily enough and read through it herself. A perfunctory nod later, and she seemed to agree with what was presented and offered only, "Her middle name still isn't going to be Antonia, you know that, right?"
"Tough crowd," he replied without heat. "Can I at least design her first computer?"
"Like you haven't already?" Bruce asked doubtingly.
Thor spoke of the need for more than intellectual training given the child's heritage and Steve tried to remind them that this was a kid they were talking about and, maybe, she should have a chance to be a kid for a while. He then quickly backtracked and said, "With your permission, of course," to Natasha, possibly with her relatively recent outburst in mind.
Natasha smiled at him as though it was the first intelligent thing the team had said in weeks.
Clint leaned back against the arm of the couch and Natasha leaned back against him. She would later undoubtedly claim it was solely for the leverage of getting to her feet or simply outright deny it, and he was wise enough not to push the point. Instead, he draped a certain soft gray blanket over them both and resisted the urge to place his hand across her belly. She sighed knowingly and grabbed his wrist, placing his palm just so against a rounded curve. Together, they listened to the ensuing bickering and plotting and possible breaking of several international laws. When he felt a kick, solid and strong, reverberate against his palm, he knew they were going to succeed.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: Gen, Friendship
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~5,250 words
Synopsis: It is time to prepare for certain imminent events. Somehow, an actual attack plan might make more sense.
Author's Notes: Part 5 of the Respiration series. Follows immediately after Breathless. Natasha is pregnant with her clone and the team is determined to protect her.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
Sequel to Breathe Again [LJ | DW | AO3], Breathing Exercises [LJ | DW | AO3], Breathing Room [LJ | DW | AO3], Breathless LJ | DW | AO3, and will only really make sense if you read them first.
Link to the Respiration Series on AO3.
"Breathe through it," he urged, voice no more than a whisper.
"I really don't think I can," Natasha replied. She sucked in air, short and tight through her nose and released it more as a huff than as a controlled breath before she darted a glance between him and the impending melee before her.
There were at least half a dozen screens up, filled with diagrams, plans, and layouts. There were even more books spread open across the table, swatches of color and texture bursting at the seams of each. There were pencil sketches and pastel drawings and what looked to be actual wooden block toy furniture, all cluttered everywhere, all opposite of anything she had implied she had wanted thus far.
"Come on, what's she going to say if we just do it? It'll already be done and she'll just let it slide because we were awesome and finished it, right?" Stark wheedled, and Clint winced in anticipation.
At least the others were smart enough not to answer.
Natasha strode forward, as sure and strong and capable as possible in the fuzzy black socks that had gift from Pepper two weeks prior, one of the rare things she had accepted without fuss or commentary. "No," she declared, and he watched as the room ground to a halt.
"Okay, so the gilding might be a bit much," Tony shrugged in agreement.
He turned right back to what he was doing and she shook her head and repeated, "No." She swiped the multiple data windows closed and handed the sketches back to Steve in haphazard piles and flat out threw a book full of glittery fabrics at Stark, though Thor intervened before it could do actual damage. "No to the gilding, no to the flash, no to the silver and gold and ruffles and whatever else you have decided is best for my child," she announced.
Tony frowned and went so far as to put his hands on his hips when he pointed out, "Natasha, the kid's coming sooner rather than later, don't you want all of this done and out of the way before she does?"
Steve, wise man that he was, moved to apologize, possibly for all involved. Clint just moved to stop her from reaching the blade he knew she kept tucked at her belt. "He means well and will soon see the error of his ways," he promised, and hoped it was true for the sake of the team.
He watched her take a deep breath and slowly let it out again, proud of her for barely seething as she said, "This is my choice, not yours." He elbowed her slightly, and she relented, "I thank you for your care and input, but it is not necessary at this time. The situation is under control." To say the emotion behind the sentiment wasn't there would be an understatement, but at least she managed a monotone version of the sentiment.
"No offense there, mom, but the last time you went a-designing, it ended in bloodshed," Stark said. Clint stole the knife before Nat could get to it. Tony never knew when to shut up though, even when faced with a trained, hormonal, pissed off killer aiming for him, so he continued, "We thought we could do this for you, help finish the thing you have admittedly been slacking about."
Natasha reached for another book, but this time refrained from throwing it. She flipped to a page of deep blues and crimsons, dark browns and hints of grays. She thrust the book across the table and said, "Natural colors, natural fabrics. No sequins or glitter or sparkles, no ruffles or toile or silks. This is a child, not a fashion show or a chance to show just how much better you are than the Smiths in L.A." She closed a third book of paint swatches and said, "Walls remain as they are, decorations are individually approved by me and will be few and far between, rugs are negotiable."
Clint clapped his hands together and over-enthused, "Well, that was easy!"
Stark opened his mouth, but shut it almost immediately at her glare. Steve and Thor nodded mutely, and Bruce held up a pot and offered, "Tea?"
"That would be lovely, yes," she replied, and took a seat next to him. He poured and she slid the tablet he had been looking at over in front of herself without protest. A single eyebrow raised, she prompted, "Bruce?"
He looked chagrined, even as he offered her the delicate cup. "It reminded me of the one Shashikant and Meri had - they were the family kind enough to put me up for a while before you found me," he explained. "You have made your wishes known though, and I respect that. I might have gotten caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment, but please know I would never go against your consent."
Natasha's fingers lingered on the tablet, and Clint snuck a peek at it over her shoulder. The image was of a simple wooden cradle, possibly hand carved from the look of it and definitely hand painted. Each panel and the arched protective top that covered about a third of it had a simple design painted in russet and a blue so deep as to be almost purple, the base ending in gently sloped rockers instead of actual steady feet. "It's lovely," she told him, and Clint readily agreed.
Bruce moved to close it, but she shook her head. Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow, then the other, then to grin widely at her nod of approval. It wasn't the most practical, and the kid would outgrow it and need an upgrade faster than a standard crib, but that could be dealt with at a later date. For now, it was something relatively straightforward that held meaning and wasn't totally horrific like some of the options they had come across so far. He could understand why she chose it, just as he could understand why the room as a whole seemed to let out a breath of relief when she did.
That seemed to guide the rest of the planning, for the little planning that occurred from that point forward. There was no formal baby shower as spies with a mark on both themselves and their unborn child tended to forgo such things, but gifts appeared one by one and, as much as Nat insisted she didn't want clutter, she accepted each and every offering.
Tony gave her lamps and lighting for the room, sturdy and set into the wall itself with no risk of cords to be tangled or possibly eventually yanked on, the shades the exact colors she had chosen from the book, no more and no less. He didn't take credit for them, but curtains and bedding also appeared at her doorstep three days later, sans any identifier, all within the acceptable hues.
Steve gave her pictures he drew himself, a sort of slideshow done solely in the same shade of red as the cradle, framed in the blue of the lamps, that was comprised of images of the things they found important and each loved best. There was the spot in the park she loved to sit at and pretend to ignore the ducks, a view from the top of the tower to the city below, a design remarkably similar to that on Bruce's favorite clay teapot, a stylistic lightning strike against the night sky, something that looked like a closeup of the wheel of Steve's own bike, and a red-hued abstract version of the arc reactor that had kept Tony alive for so long.
Thor gave her a giant stuffed... something... that was vaguely lizard or dragon in nature and a deep rich green of an impossibly soft fabric. He had apparently described what he wanted in detail to Steve, who then sketched it out and, together with the others, found someone to create a toy version of it. When he realized the finished product would be far too large for a newborn to appreciate, he requested another, miniaturized version to be made. Clint wasn't around when he gifted that to Natasha, but he found it in the cradle next to a quilt gifted by Bruce just the same.
Clint also wasn't around when Pepper attacked, but he saw the aftermath. To be fair, she kept it simple - by her standards if no one else's. The dresser Nat had chosen during their ill-fated shopping spree was now filled with a crap-ton of clothes. Most were the little snappy one-piece things called, appropriately enough, onesies, but some were the old fashioned gowns and some were bibs that the kid probably wouldn't need for a while but were at least there for the eventuality. They came in nice bleachable white and a few solid colors, though he did smile at the little gray one with red trimming that truly looked like a kidified version of Natasha's own Black Widow uniform.
The whole color scheme thing seemed to be a theme, really, at least for certain people. Coulson stopped by around the time Thor's gift appeared with three of his own, each wrapped in black with a red silk bow positioned just so in the center that he would neither admit nor deny tying himself. Clint was there when she opened them, and not because he didn't trust SHIELD to try to pull something. He just happened to be in the neighborhood... even if he had been in the gym when their former handler's arrival was announced.
The first gift was a copy of everything SHIELD had discovered so far about who had taken her and who was after her and why, even if that last part was pretty obvious. It was fairly comprehensive and, of course, cleared SHIELD of blame for all but an admitted possible leak that had since been plugged by Coulson himself, possibly with extreme prejudice. The second was a box of the same candied breads she had devoured during an op in Prague four years prior that she had vocally lamented the lack of in the remaining years and the two other people who had been present at the time tried to get for her when they could. Clint hadn't found a reason to venture to the small shop yet, but it appeared Phil had.
The final box revealed a small stuffed sparrow-like bird that squawked when you squeezed it. Steve had looked at it curiously, and Tony had JARVIS search for possible meanings. Clint watched Natasha smile and set the gift in a place of honor while he shook his former handler's hand at the promise that, as always, that little chirp in their ear that they had come to know and trust would be there if needed, no questions asked.
That seemed to be the end of it, or so he hoped. Little things kept appearing, like snacks and foods and such, but they were unwrapped and left as offerings of friendship and possibly sacrifices at the altar of short tempers, apologies, and deadly rage. He was munching on one such offering while Nat savored another when she dug in the seat cushions behind her and tossed an actual paper file into his lap. He wiped the salt and grease from his hands onto his jeans and carefully thumbed open the document, not bothering to hide his surprise at what he saw.
He looked up from the paperwork to Natasha, who simply swallowed another handful of chips of some strange and awful flavor and pretended to be interested in whatever was on the television screen as she said, "Maria stopped by."
"As in Commander Hill?" he verified, even though the signature before him attested to that fact. He flipped the page and blinked at what he saw. "And this is legit?"
"As legitimate as anything we do," she shrugged, which was a fair reply.
He read and reread the document and took note of the signatures and the listing of where verified copies of the same would be stored for future reference. It was a contract of sorts, though more of a promise than anything else. Both Hill and Fury himself had signed it in actual ink with Sitwell notarizing and swearing by it and declaring safeguards in place should known copies be destroyed. It stated SHIELD would make no move towards the child or Natasha herself for as long as either of them had a say in the matter. It even went so far as to declare personal protection outside of SHIELD and WSC control should it come down to it, which was quite the declaration indeed.
"He knows he's not going to be the godfather, right?" Clint asked, trying to keep the mood light.
Natasha shrugged again, but this time with a subtle smile. "I don't know, he does make a fair bid for the job." She shook the bag and chose another chip before she added, "Besides, she already has, what, like seven others?"
Clint set the file to the side and went back to his own greasy goodness. If he was honest with himself, he had kind of been hoping for the job. That said, he understood the whole "team" factor of the issue and the fact that, irregardless of any official name or title, every single one of them would probably play some sort of guardian role in heart if not on paper. Also, given the fact that the team consisted of a super soldier that healed in minutes and someone who was quite possibly a god or at least god-like, choosing the mortal with the least protection and the least common sense probably wasn't the wisest choice after all.
One mindless show was ending and another about to begin when the call to assemble piped in. They had gone quite some time without one, likely because the criminals and mad scientists of the world were terrified of what the Avengers would do to them if the team issued the full force of their wrath for attempted kidnappers, let alone something far more serious. This one involved killer robots in Midtown because apparently everyone hated Midtown and some loner with a chip on his shoulder and no social skills to speak of was ready to tear it to pieces.
Natasha was not allowed to go, which would have pissed her off save for the fact Clint was already to the door by the time she got her feet off the coffee table and her butt off the couch. Stark had already sent the announcement that a feed of whatever they would be doing would be piped in to the command center, which rather negated any argument that she should go out to one of the site vans to coordinate from there. Clint knew the command center was just a fancy name for a corner of Stark's usual lab outfitted with extra monitoring equipment. He also knew it had more recently been outfitted with a cushioned, all ergonomically-supported fancy chair despite Tony's usual stools and benches still laying about. Nat would at least be comfortable in her exile if nothing else.
He quickly discovered that the robots were annoying. They basically just tried to smash things with little rhyme or reason and it would have hardly been considered an Avengers' job save for the sheer number of them. They didn't even really have that many defenses, so Clint had taken to saving his explosive arrowheads and instead aiming standard bolts at a chink in the covering of their CPUs which, when hit, caused them to freeze and shut down.
"Does this seem almost easy to anyone else?" he asked as he took out yet another.
Cap played pinball with his shield and knocked out five more before he suggested, "Maybe the programmer just wasn't very good?"
"Or maybe it was a diversion," Tony chimed in. He blew a robot up, possibly for sport, his usual background noise going dim for a moment in the way that usually meant he was conferring with JARVIS. "Shit!" he said as he came back. "Tower is under attack, JARVIS is barely able to send a signal. Lockdown has been initiated, but we need to finish these assholes and get back there ASAP!"
Clint's first thought was for Nat, and his second was for why the hell she hadn't notified them via the comm link he knew she had with her. "Natasha, report," he tried. He let off another three shots, this time with explosives, and managed to take out seven of the metal idiots in the process. Bruce, who had been pretty much sitting on the sidelines at this point to limit the property damage, Hulked out and had taken down an even dozen by the time Clint shouted, "Damn it, Nat, what's your status?"
"Contained," came a very short and rather breathless response.
"Do you care to expand on that, Widow?" Cap asked, clearly as less than accepting of her response as Clint himself was.
A shot rang out across the comms and, considering no one on the ground was carrying a standard firearm, it was pretty obvious where it came from. "I'll be happy to give you a full report when I am free to do so," she replied, followed by a click that signaled her end to the conversation.
The robots really did not last long after that. Not that he was there to see it. After Cap's shouted, "Go! We've got this!" Tony and his Iron Man suit grabbed Clint from his perch and made a beeline for the Tower. They landed in the bay for the Quinjets only to find a jet already there. It was SHIELD-registered but empty, and Tony lifted his mask to share a look of not quite reassurance. Clint grabbed a fresh quiver from the supplies and followed behind Tony, listening to the apparent mass destruction by their team over the comm while he took in the destruction that surrounded them now.
There was a line of bodies, unmoving and clearly neutralized, that led from the bay to the inner corridors. Some bore bullet wounds and others the signs of Stark's automated defense system that he had told everyone was only in the testing stage. Most troubling were the ones that looked as though they were taken out by hand, with necks at odd angles and bodies slumped from sleeper holds and bashed heads.
Natasha was mobile, he knew this. Natasha was damn good, he knew this as well. Natasha was also roughly eight months' pregnant and should not have had to take on multiple hostiles alone, especially at risk of the child and especially considering how she had decided slippers were the name of the game because she wouldn't admit she had trouble tying her shoes let alone any more complex acrobatic maneuvers.
"JARVIS, where is Agent Romanov?" Tony asked, voice oddly hesitant.
"Agent Romanov has requested her presence not be publicly identified until such time as all hostiles are verified as neutralized," the AI responded, static nearly overriding several of the words.
"Of course she has," Clint sighed, more to himself than to the system. He turned to Stark and asked, "Can he show you on the HUD?"
Tony flipped down his mask and nodded, "He's showing me something, but it's more instructions than actual visuals." He marched on anyway and Clint wasn't dumb enough not to follow.
He probably could have found his way without the big red flashlight, to be honest - all he needed to do was follow the path with the highest concentration of bodies. As a surprise to absolutely no one, they led first to the communal level where the entertainment system and possibly the refrigerator would never be the same again, and then towards the command center where Nat would have originally been.
There was movement to his left and both Stark and he spun quickly, weapons at the ready as a shape materialized from the shadows. "Agent?" Tony asked in surprise, but notably did not lower his hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Fulfilling a promise," Coulson replied. He nodded to Clint, his own pistol in hand but at least not aimed at them, so there was that. He still wore his standard neatly pressed dark suit, but with the nonstandard bloodstain from what looked like a bullet wound in his upper arm.
"To us or to some evil clone-stealing entity?" Stark ask, arm relaxing slightly.
"To Romanov," Coulson answered. He led them a short way down the corridor and explained, "We came as soon as we heard, and multiple agents have volunteered as backup if welcomed, but we haven't been able to get past her lockdown despite the fact she trapped at least three enemy agents inside with her, possibly more."
Clint figured that sounded about right - with a lockdown she would have prevented others from infiltrating the area and could then focus on removing the immediate threat. He questioned why she hadn't lifted it yet even as he questioned just who the "we" was in the equation.
At least part of that was answered for him when they turned the corner to find Commander Hill with her back pressed up against a wall, uniform smeared with all things unsightly and possibly some flour from the pantry. A few strands of hair had escaped her usually neat style, but she greeted him calmly with a cool, "Agent Barton." She lowered her gun and he lowered his bow, but mainly because he could see past her to inside the room where the various displays showed no further hostiles - or agents for that matter - roaming around the place.
Of course that's when what he thought was a body surged upward and a heap of metal and broken parts shifted to reveal another attacker that tried to make his way across the room. Two shots rang out in quick succession, with the first man hit center mass and the second soundly kneecapped. "Found Nat," he commented, which earned an eye roll from Hill and the hint of a smirk from Coulson.
Tony simply announced, "JARVIS, open the door." The door stayed closed, ballistic glass and all, and Clint thought it unlikely even Stark would use a repulsor against his own lab. He was proven correct when Tony ordered, "Override, code sigma-six-alpha-three-cookie."
"Cookie?" Hill mouthed.
"It was baking day and I was distracted," Tony shrugged. The door released with an audible click, and he added, "Besides, no one would ever think that access to one of the most restricted labs on earth was inspired by Captain America attempting a recipe he learned over seven decades ago."
Maria nodded as though that made sense, and moved towards the door. She didn't make it far before a robot of Tony's own making raced forward towards one of the fallen men and lifted him upright by a wrist that, if it wasn't broken before, it most certainly was now. A second robot hovered next to a man fallen long before they had arrived that appeared to be making the climb back to consciousness. Phil took care of that threat with the butt of his pistol against the man's head and, finally, they were able to take stock of the situation, such as it was.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Clint sing-songed, knowing the others had his back if he inspired someone other than his partner to attack.
"Your eight," Natasha called from somewhere roughly ahead of him.
He turned and fired, the strike echoing far more than it should when it hit the body, a bullet wound appearing next to his arrow.
"Anything else?" Coulson asked before he could.
There was a grunt and the screech of metal on metal and then a rather defeated sounding, "Just that I may need assistance getting out of here."
Clint shouldered his bow to help, but found it unnecessary as Stark's robots raced up and began to peel away layers of sheeting, disassembled armor, and various other supplies. He had a feeling they may have assisted in the creation of the barrier as well, as jumbled and secure as it was. Between them and their creator and his super-powered suit, they made short work of the mess and it was a matter of only moments to reach a sweaty, filthy, healthy and whole Natasha. She was kneeling and armed and flopped gratefully to the side when enough room was cleared for her to do so.
"So, setup?" she guessed as she slowly stretched out her legs.
"Setup," Clint agreed. He offered her a hand up and, when it was ignored, plopped himself down next to her instead. He knew better than to ask about her, so instead he asked, "How's Juniorette?"
"Active," she replied. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and he watched as her stomach visibly ripped. She rubbed a hand across it, her light gray shirt pretty much unsalvageable anyway and now even further stained with dust and possibly motor oil. Her hand jumped away soon enough and she added, "Painful."
"The Itsy Bitsy Spider is just all worked up like her mom after a fight," Tony guessed. He ignored the resulting eye rolls and gestured to the bodies littered about the place, still under watch from Hill and Coulson. "She can't kick their asses so she's kicking yours instead."
"She's good at it," Natasha agreed, perhaps more out of breath than she would ever admit.
"We'll get her - and you - checked out, just in case," Clint promised. He'd say it was a suggestion, or an order, but wasn't dumb enough to call it either. Nat would allow the kid-to-be to be checked out to settle her own mind, and would have to be checked over herself as they were currently more than a little dependent upon each other.
She made a face, but didn't outright object. Instead, she attempted to lever herself fully upright to stand, and Clint quickly scrambled to his feet and wrapped his arms around her when it looked like she wasn't going to make it. She leaned back against him for a moment, flinching slightly at something unmentioned but probably uncomfortable, and he gladly took the weight and the admission of the need for comfort if not actual assistance. "I can still kick your ass," she grumbled.
"Always," he agreed, smile wide and safely hidden from view.
Coulson slid over the now bullet-hole-ridden comfy chair for her to use, while Stark started in on trying to fix whatever the hell they did to his AI.
"We can have medical personnel here in minutes, if you'll accept them," Hill offered. Unspoken was the fact said personnel would only be those personally approved by herself or Fury, or so Clint assumed.
Natasha, as expected, shook her head. "No offense, but there's only one doctor I will trust right now."
"And he only has the loosest of ties to a shady government organization that may or may not have double agents plotting against you?" Clint finished for her. The tilt of her head served as confirmation, though he might have been the only one close enough to catch the brief twitch of her lips.
He helped her get situated on the chair and maybe stood guard a little behind her and maybe stayed a little closer than she usually would allow. Given that she was allowing it, for the time being at least, he took what he could get. Given the way Phil saddled closer and even Tony used the console nearest to them despite its damage, he figured he wasn't the only one thinking they just had yet another close call.
Nat wasn't fragile or broken or anything like that, he knew this. He also knew that one of if not the closest friend he had in this world had just been put at unnecessary risk. True, she singlehandedly took care of that risk - or maybe not so singlehanded if you counted the robots - but the fact remained that he had been elsewhere when she could have used the backup. It rather pissed him off to be honest, and not just that they were so obviously played. Despite how other parties might see the situation, she wasn't some fancy experiment, nor was she carrying one of her own. She was a person, a teammate, and a friend and she didn't deserve the shit that had been tossed at her in the past few months, even if she had predicted precisely this would happen when he originally found her, hidden away from them all, safe and supposedly sound.
Mere hours later, after everyone had cleaned up and been checked out, after a meal of comfort food and more desserts than were strictly necessary, Stark strode in, a near manic look in his eyes. "So," he said, satisfied he pretty much automatically had everyone's attention the moment he entered the room. "Who wants to take these bastards down?"
"And send a message to anyone else out there?" Steve guessed. He didn't seem troubled by the fact, or by Tony's answering smile.
Maria sat up, posture shifting as she changed from ally to Commander. "What do you need?" she asked.
"A blind eye and possible clean up," he replied.
She accepted that as her due, and Clint accepted a tablet with encoded information regarding the targets and a loosely sketched plan of attack. He read through it and turned to Natasha to say, "Tony totally wins at shower gifts, this puts my bear to shame." They still needed to investigate and they still needed to verify the true culprit wasn't leaving a fake trail to point the finger at someone else but, mixed with the previous information SHIELD had provided, it was a start and a damn good one at that.
Nat swiped the tablet easily enough and read through it herself. A perfunctory nod later, and she seemed to agree with what was presented and offered only, "Her middle name still isn't going to be Antonia, you know that, right?"
"Tough crowd," he replied without heat. "Can I at least design her first computer?"
"Like you haven't already?" Bruce asked doubtingly.
Thor spoke of the need for more than intellectual training given the child's heritage and Steve tried to remind them that this was a kid they were talking about and, maybe, she should have a chance to be a kid for a while. He then quickly backtracked and said, "With your permission, of course," to Natasha, possibly with her relatively recent outburst in mind.
Natasha smiled at him as though it was the first intelligent thing the team had said in weeks.
Clint leaned back against the arm of the couch and Natasha leaned back against him. She would later undoubtedly claim it was solely for the leverage of getting to her feet or simply outright deny it, and he was wise enough not to push the point. Instead, he draped a certain soft gray blanket over them both and resisted the urge to place his hand across her belly. She sighed knowingly and grabbed his wrist, placing his palm just so against a rounded curve. Together, they listened to the ensuing bickering and plotting and possible breaking of several international laws. When he felt a kick, solid and strong, reverberate against his palm, he knew they were going to succeed.
Feedback is always welcomed.