Detachment
The ultrasound was the most amazing thing either of them had ever seen. Natasha's belly was still flat, as flat as it always was, but there it was: a tiny little sea monkey with arms and legs and a huge head that they hadn't known they wanted. It bounced around on the screen like a little humanoid version of pong, and they stared dazedly. Clint was visibly thrilled. They were both terrified.
Her doctor told her that due to the level of scar tissue, she would be considered a high-risk pregnancy and would have to avoid very high-stress environments and exertions. Clint nodded, Natasha fumed a little. Nine months with no real exercise? No work? What would she do? But, if that’s what she had to do…
Natasha began refusing all pain medication. The doctors insisted that it was safe to take certain medications, but she insisted on going without, making her very uncomfortable and more short-tempered. Clint took it in stride; he was too excited to be upset over her attitude. Natasha sent Clint out to buy books the next time she slept: she trusted books much more than the internet and she wanted to know what she was facing. He came back and they started reading. The books all advised waiting to tell friends and family until the first trimester was over. For them, that was about two weeks away. Which was fine, she was going to be in the clinic a good chunk of that time anyway. So they waited, and they read. Natasha felt braver when she was educated about something, and she wasn’t feeling very brave about this pregnancy at the moment. Clint was horrified as he read about changes in a woman’s body during pregnancy. He couldn't imagine his Natasha going through the things the book described - and he had done this to her. Jesus, Barton. Smooth. Still, he was excited about the end result to the point that he couldn’t sleep well. A baby. His baby.
They started discussing names, parenting techniques, which room to use as a nursery ("I don't give a shit, that's up to you, sweetheart" - a statement he would take back later), and how soon they could tell people. Natasha's due date was November 11th, making her 12-week mark a week to the day after she was set to be released. They decided to ask everyone over to dinner and tell them all together.
Natasha was released after a week in the Tower clinic at her 11-week mark, and was almost completely healed after the next two weeks. She still had some pain in her leg and wrist, but it was minimal. Clint marveled that she could heal from the breaks she had suffered so quickly, and thanked God for the enhancements the Red Room had given her. Without the meddling they had done to her body, she would be dead. So would the baby. Yes, he was very glad they had experimented on her. He would never forgive them for the damage they had done to her, but they were indirectly responsible for his happiness now, and he recognized that.
Someone from medical came to see her in the apartment once a day, insisting she remain on bedrest for the first week she was home, then modified bedrest for three days, finally letting her up fully just after twelve weeks. They had been wanting to watch the baby and monitor Natasha’s legs, fearing another clot that could cause an embolism. She had let them and even acquiesced to the bedrest, feeling the same caution. Everything was fine.
~*~
12 weeks
The day after she got home, they had everyone together in their apartment. Tony and Pepper had ordered in a lavish meal, calling it a “welcome home” dinner. Thor and Jane came and brought flowers, Steve and Bruce came to welcome her home as well, even thought they’d been frequent visitors since she'd been back at the tower. Natasha was touched at how relieved everyone seemed to have her home.
The group had had dinner and were sitting around the table, laughing and joking, all but Natasha drinking beer or wine. Clint cleared his throat, "Hey, guys. We've got something we want to tell you." He smiled at Natasha and she blushed prettily. She tugged his hand and he whispered, “It’s soon enough, I can’t wait.”
Jane said, "You're secretly married? You already told us."
Clint blinked. "I did?"
Bruce nodded. "Yeah, when they bringing in Nat. You said you were getting married again.”
Clint looked uncomfortable. "Well, we are. We were. Sort of. That's a long story. But it's not what we wanted to tell you." He took Natasha's hand. "Do you want to, or me?"
"You do it." She looked uncomfortable, despite her small smile.
He turned back around, beaming. "We're pregnant. Due in November."
The table was dead silent, and then Pepper let out a girly “OMYGOD,” running around the table for hugs. Jane followed. Thor looked pleased but Bruce, Tony and Steve looked stunned.
"Is this safe?"
"Is the baby okay?"
"Is Nat okay?"
"How...?"
Clint had expected this. Natasha was special to all of them, and their concern was certainly warranted after everything she had been through and the condition they had seen her in. "The doctor spent a lot of time with her and checking the baby. Everything looks fine. Nat is fine, although the pregnancy is considered ‘high risk’ and she’s going to have to take it a bit easier than most women. She’s pretty pissed about that. As for the ‘how’ - well, except for telling you that it happened the natural way," Tony rolled his eyes and Steve looked away, "they don't know. She wasn't supposed to be able to get pregnant, but here we are."
Bruce asked, "Are you okay with it?"
"Yes. Absolutely. Have been since about fifteen minutes after we found out."
"Is Nat?"
“I think so. She was hesitant, but she seems to be okay now. It’s a shock to both of us.”
Tony sat back in his chair and contemplated, looking over at the women cooing and babbling at the other end of the table around a wide-eyed Natasha. "Well I don't know whether to thank you or kick your ass. You just stole all of Pepper's attention and free time for the next year or so."
~*~
13 weeks
No one was surprised at all when Clint was protective to the point of ridiculousness over Natasha. He had come so close to losing her - twice - and he had nearly lost his mind with grief and worry. Now she was carrying his baby, too...if anything happened to her and/or the baby, everyone was quite sure that he would not survive it.
But what surprised everyone else - what left everyone absolutely shocked, actually - was how much Tony seemed to take an interest Natasha’s pregnancy as a personal cause. They had always had a good rapport, but his dedication and devotion to getting her and a healthy baby here safely was mystifying to everyone (and a beacon of hope for Pepper). Tony spent a king's ransom hunting down the premier high-risk OB-GYN specialist in New York City and having him sign a contract stating that he would be at Stark Tower within twenty minutes of being paged - day or night - and see Natasha for weekly visits. He set up a room in the clinic for delivery and prepped it for a c-section, just in case. He even set up interviews for doulas.
Natasha was completely mind-boggled, Clint was thrilled and grateful. She reminded them that she was only thirteen weeks along, a lot of this was rather premature; and oh by the way, she was the one that was pregnant. She was largely ignored. Tony and Clint frequently ganged up on Natasha, clucking like mother hens. Pepper was a switch-hitter, sometimes on their team, sometimes hers. She was torn between appreciation, affection, and a strong desire to knock their heads together. The rest of the guys typically just watched with amusement, occasionally offering Natasha quiet moral support, occasionally ganging up against her with the others. But nobody was going up against Team Papa Bear out loud, with the possible, occasional exception of Pepper.
Natasha was further surprised and greatly annoyed over how protective everyone became towards her. She probably shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how close she had been to death, but she was. When they heard she was high-risk, they started reaching things for her, lifting things for her, encouraging her to sit while they did small jobs for her. This lasted all of a day before Natasha lost her temper and threatened to kick the ass of anyone who continued to treat her like a child; that the doctor had said that she needed to avoid excessive stress, not that she needed to avoid doing anything. Everyone stood down but Clint and Tony.
Clint put his foot down for the first time in their eight-and-a-half year partnership and refused to let her work out like she normally did. He removed all of the equipment from her little gym down the hall and had Jarvis lock her out of the main gym. She turned to the rest of the team for help, but they were all solidly Team Clint. She was furious, but understood and only pretended to hold a grudge. Natasha wasn’t really up to sparring with a dummy yet anyway, and she knew better than to try to spar with a person. She didn't make him sleep downstairs, and still snuggled him after only two nights. She just huffed at him. Clint didn't give a shit.
~*~
He came home one afternoon to find her in her gym supervising workmen.
"What are you doing?"
"Installing a barre.”
"The fuck is a barre?”
"It's a horizontal pole attached to the wall to use in ballet."
His eyes narrowed. "And why would you need that?"
"Because I'm taking up dance again. If you try to stop me. I will kick your ass all over this room and make you beg me to do it again. Don't think I won't do it, Clinton.”
“You’re not supposed to be doing anything strenuous.”
“Good thing it won’t be strenuous for me to wipe the floor with you.”
The workmen froze, staring at the woman who had her hands on her hips and the man who stood there, looking at her with his lips twitching. Her eyes were sparkling at him; she was trying not to laugh, too.
She whirled around to the workmen. "What'd you stop for?"
They ducked their heads and got back to work quickly. She looked back at Clint.
He gave in to his grin, "If you weren't in a delicate condition, I'd take you up on that, sweetheart."
Natasha snorted. "Delicate." She made a 'pssh' sound. "I'll have your ass for that, Hawkeye."
"You've got my ass, Tasha. You've owned it a long time."
She grinned.
"So you're gonna do ballet, huh?" She nodded, he sobered. "I don't like this, Nat."
"Why the hell not?"
"What if you fall?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Watch it, Barton."
"Watch what?"
"That's damned insulting."
"What, worrying that you could fall?"
"I don't fall."
"Nat. You haven't danced in ten years. You're bound to be rusty, even if it's just a little."
"You're pissing me off, Clint.”
“You’re not invincible, Natasha.”
Her eyes were slits. “I'm reminding myself that you've never seen me dance and don't realize just how good I am. I'm reminding myself you know dick about dance, and you don't know what forced inactivity when you're able to get up and move is like. I'm telling myself that if you think real hard, you'll realize that I'm not stupid and wouldn't endanger myself or our child. I'm having quite the conversation with myself, Clinton Barton."
He looked at her appraisingly for a long time. "Fine. You're right. Do your ballet if it makes you happy. But not those tippy-toe shoes. Okay?"
"I'll give them up when I get wobbly."
He sighed. "God, you're a pain in the ass."
"You got a concession out of me. I'd take it and run."
He reached out and pulled her to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.
"You're an asshole, Clint."
He kissed the top of her head. "I know. You're not exactly sunshine and rainbows yourself. But I love you."
"I love you, too."
He kissed the top of her head again. "I've always wanted to see you dance, anyway."
~*~
14 weeks
Natasha had forgotten how much she loved ballet, how natural she felt en pointe. She recalled, now, that when she trained every morning for three hours in the Red Room and they drove her so hard, it wasn't such a hardship for her. She loved the way her body felt as she twirled and bent. She craved the power she felt as she flew through the air, knowing the lines she created were beautiful. She relished the stretch and strain she put on her legs and arms as she flexed and bent in graceful arcs. The Red Room had given her something to love unwittingly, and a skill they couldn't take away. She spent one day working out the rust, and then she was back to her old self. En pointe. Oh, how she had missed this.
She danced every day, at first only for a half hour or so, eventually working her way up to two hours daily. She stretched, feeling her muscles elongate and become more limber. She worked out routines for herself, changing up her music. She danced classic ballet routines, performing various parts from famous ballets. She put on modern music and just danced, whatever popped in her head.
She had promised to hang up the pointe shoes when she got wobbly, but she hadn't meant it. She had just had a broken leg six weeks ago, though, and wasn't as steady as she liked to make everyone think she was, so up they went. She didn't tell Clint. He was unbearable when he was right about something.
Ballet was a bit more freeing, anyway, she had the full flexibility of her feet which opened her up to a wider variety of motion. As much as she loved pointe, she had always felt more poetic when she danced ballet, so she wasn't too crushed to switch over. She did almost completely give up the classical and opera music, however, switching over completely to modern, western music when she switched over to the ballet. She felt expressive and free dancing to it.
She had very mixed feelings about that opera and classical, anyway. It was beautiful and closely tied to the ballet that she loved. It was also forever linked to Russia and all that that entailed in her mind. She loved it and she hated it. Nothing could change that. Clint had introduced her to western music - every type of music she had been denied all her life. He had tried to steer her in the direction of the music he liked, naturally, and she wasn't opposed to it. They could listen to it in the car, she didn't care. But she had what she liked, and she'd discovered it on her own.
That had been her first taste of freedom, actually, when Clint brought her a bunch of different CDs and she listened to all of them. The next day when he had seen her, he asked her what she liked. He didn't tell her, he asked her. She had been confused for a while because she'd never really had much of a choice, but she did now. She lied and told him she hadn't listened yet, then listened to them again, this time with the freedom of knowing she could like something. The next day she told him what bands she had liked. He had brought her each of their entire body of work within two days. She had been surprised and thankful. It had been one block of many out of the wall she had built around herself, and Clint took every last one of them down.
Clint had saved her in so many ways; Natasha doubted if he would ever fully understand. She reached down to pat her belly where it was beginning to swell. She didn't know if she was being saved anymore, though, because she was as terrified now as she had ever been in her life. The wall she had lived behind before she met him, cold and lonely, seemed a bit safer these days.
~*~
15 weeks
Clint was going on his first mission with the Avengers, and Natasha's heart was burning with jealousy. Intel had gotten to them that there was a small cell of ex-HYDRA operating out of upstate New York, so Clint, Sam and Steve were headed up there to check it out and bust it up if need be. Natasha was stuck at home, feeling like an operator. She had never handled idleness well, and now was not an exception. She craved the excitement of a covert mission and fight that would come along with the busting of the cell. She had been feeling nothing but excitement and trepidation over this baby, but suddenly a new emotion showed up: a tiny little kernel of resentment. What the hell? Would she always have to give up everything she had worked all her life for and loved because of this baby? She wondered if maybe the Red Room hadn't had the right idea when they tried to sterilize her in the first place, thinking she'd be a better agent… then immediately hated herself for the thought. She hated herself for thinking any of it. She should feel nothing but joy, right? Like Clint. Like everyone else around her. She was the only one who wasn’t deliriously happy about this baby, so the problem had to lie with her. She needed to get happy...so she would try.
But when Clint left to go on that mission, the tears that welled up when she kissed him goodbye were only partly out of worry and the fact that she'd miss him. A big part of it was envy of his freedom and bitterness that she'd surrendered that freedom to do what she loved and was good at indefinitely, for a baby she felt no attachment to.
And then the tears were tears of guilt for feeling such horrible, un-motherly things. Clint looked at her curiously when she cried - she'd never cried when he left on a mission before. She just told him that she loved him so much and needed him and please, please come home safe - which was true. She didn't dare tell him that she was desperately jealous and wished she weren't pregnant with his baby so she could be with him. She hated herself in that moment and cried herself to sleep that night. See? I told you I was shitty at emotions and was going to be a fucked up mother. And we're not even halfway through this pregnancy. God help this baby.
~*~
16 weeks
For a week or so, when she would lay down for bed and curl up with Clint, she would have this bizarre feeling...it felt like the palpitations your heart gets when you're nervous, but lower. She didn't think much of it, didn't even bother mentioning it to her OB, Dr. Heist. It didn't happen during the day, so she put it out of her mind.
She was lying on her back on the bed. Clint was propped on an elbow, telling her ever-so-slightly rounded belly how he was going to take it to the zoo and teach it to shoot a bow and -
Natasha bolted upright, looking all around the room. Clint shot up too.
"What? What's wrong?"
"It kicked me."
"Are you serious?"
"Yeah."
"Lay down, I wanna feel."
She lay back, still looking all around the room, dazed. Holy shit. There's something inside me. It kicked me.
Clint was next to her belly, his mouth right next to her skin. "Come on, little baby girl. Kick again for Daddy."
Natasha just laid there, waiting to feel it again. She didn't know if she wanted to feel it or was afraid to feel it, but her mind was racing. Comprehension evaded her.
~*~
17 weeks
Clint knew she had been dancing, but he hadn't been able to catch her at it. He had the feeling that this was something private for her, but he badly wanted to see her dance. He wanted to know that part of her.
He stepped off the elevator and heard music coming from the big room she had established as her dance studio, hesitated just a moment and went that way.
Clint got to the door and stopped, then made himself as invisible as possible. He wanted to watch, and he suspected she wouldn’t perform for him. This was personal to her, and he didn’t want to interrupt.
She had her hair in a classic ballerina's bun, but tendrils had escaped and swirled around her face and neck as she danced. She wore a plain black leotard, which only showcased the swelling of her lower abdomen. A thin, gossamer skirt fluttered about her waist, and her tights-clad legs ended in flat leather shoes.
Time can't erase the love we shared,
but it gives me time to realize just how much you cared
A tiny, serene smile came to her lips occasionally, and her eyes closed at times as she became one with her motions and the music - her body seeming to flow and move of it’s own accord, without any instruction from her. Her feet traced lines and arcs across the floor before they sprang, jumping effortlessly from the flat of her foot to the toe, arching her back impossibly and maintaining perfect balance, then folding herself inward, leaping to the side, standing straight and spinning herself. She was glorious. She was beauty and grace personified. Her feet slid, her arms and legs raised and lowered, she bent and arched. Her fingers remained cupped with her fingers outstretched in the most delicate pose he had ever seen, never breaking the pose of those fingers, no matter how strenuous her movement.
You know I won’t hold you back now
The love we had just can’t be found
She stood on one leg like a flamingo, forming a circle with her arms in front of her, and spun multiple times, eventually raising one arm above her head. Clint lost count and felt a little dizzy. She stopped and went immediately into sidewards leaps in a backward circle. He couldn’t understand how she could do that without vertigo, but she seemed perfectly fine.
A guitar solo hit, and the intensity of her dance increased. He wondered if she had seen him and was showing off.
She leapt into the air, splitting her legs perfectly parallel from the ground, her back arched backwards in a way that looked painful to Clint, one arm raised to the ceiling and the other parallel to the ground, then landing as lightly as a cat, pulling her arms into a circle, and putting one leg behind her, spinning slowly. She leaned forward and raised her leg backwards, doing a split into the air, somehow turning her body and making a graceful transition into more dance. Then she repeated the sequence flawlessly in reverse. Clint was entranced, almost dazed. Every movement was natural, fluid, perfect. She spun and swirled, smiling serenely and closing her eyes, her hair flying all about her face. She seemed to put forth no effort at all.
She was his. She had chosen him. At 41, he couldn’t comprehend sometimes why she, so young and so achingly beautiful at 29, had picked him. But she had, and he was going to devote his life to taking care of her and his child, making them blissfully happy.
He walked towards the middle of the floor where she was and she spotted him, stopping mid-dance and surprising her. She wasn't showing off. She’s that good when she’s practicing. My God. He walked to her, kissing her slowly and thoroughly as the song faded out, communicating very clearly that he had intentions for her.
“A break up song?”
She smiled. “Don’t read into it. Any song will do, but this one is a favorite because it starts slow and delicate, but builds to a crescendo. Plus, it's pretty.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “But if you try to leave, I’m going to hold you back.”
"You are an amazing dancer, Tasha. I’ve never seen anything like you.”
"Thank you. I told you so." She grinned.
He grinned. "Yes you did. I believed you, but I still can’t believe it. You never fail to amaze me.” He kissed her again. “Are you sure you're not doing too much? This isn’t too much strain on you?”
“Fuck you, Clint.” She walked out of the studio towards home with her head held high like a queen, demonstrating all the grace she had just shown while dancing.
~*~
18 weeks
Clint was totally enamored of this baby. He caressed her abdomen, he talked to her belly and kissed it, he read books and websites, he ran names by her, he pampered the shit out of Natasha. When he made love to her, he was more gentle than he had ever been. When she begged him to go harder, faster, he wouldn't. He brought her to the same mindless heights as always, and he did it often, but he did it slowly and gently. He showed her more affection and adoration than he ever had, and it irked her. Why now? Did he only show her this extra affection because she was a vessel for his true love? And what the fuck was wrong with her, that she was having pangs of jealousy towards her own unborn child? All of the smiling women in magazines and books were totally in love with their babies. Natasha was just…she was happy that everyone else was happy, she supposed. Mostly she was just scared. Annoyed with Clint for caring more about her belly than about her. Hoping that one day, she might feel what everyone else was feeling. Bored as shit of having next to nothing to do. And getting tired of pretending to be the happy little pregnant housewife. She hadn't gone this long without at least sparring since she was 7, and goddammit, she was dying for a fight.
Natasha had looked online for maternity clothes and been absolutely appalled. They were all hideous. She was determined to wear her own clothes until the last possible second, she was NOT putting on a tent shirt or overalls, thank you very much. Besides, she couldn't see the point in buying clothes to wear for a couple of months and then never again. That seemed pointless to her, so she made a vow to herself to avoid maternity clothes until she had no choice.
"No choice" came much sooner than she expected. Natasha had always worn form-fitting clothes, and she was carrying like she had a basketball strapped low on her abdomen: even her yoga pants were straining. She couldn’t keep wearing the same pair of sweats all the time for the next five months, so at four-and-a-half months, Natasha found herself in a maternity store with Pepper and Jane. She bought some clothes that were sort of pretty, she guessed - at least she avoided the tents and overalls - and they were comfortable. Then she went home, took a shower, and found her first stretch mark.
That night, Clint and Natasha were curled around each other in their usual sleep position, her back snuggled into him. Clint had started his nightly ritual of whispering sweet nothings and declarations of love into her hair, only now while stroking her belly. Natasha started to cry. Clint wasn’t worried, he was getting used to this emotional roller coaster she was dragging him on. Hormones, man. He began to up the soothing talk in her ear, telling her how much he loved her, that she was safe, that everything would be okay. When he said, “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” she flipped into full-on sobs.
He sat up. “Tasha? What’s wrong? Is it the baby?"
She sat up and snuffled. "Yes, it's the baby! The baby has made me completely different, Clint! I can't work out, I can't train, I eat like a hog, I can't wear my clothes, my body is doing crazy shit, I'm getting kicked from the inside, I cry over fucking cell phone commercials and now it's ruining my body forever! Look!" She raised his shirt over her abdomen and pointed to the offending mark. He looked around for it, found it, squinted at it. It was a purple line, maybe an inch long. To be honest, he thought, she already has so many scars, this really shouldn't be a big deal.
He put his hand over it, looked back up at her and smiled. "Sweetheart, you're the most beautiful woman there ever was. A couple of marks on your belly won't change that.”
“Don’t patronize me, Barton! Don’t do it! You don’t want me, you just want this baby!”
Clint was nonplussed. He blinked a few times. "Tasha, sweetheart? The fuck are you talking about?"
"You only love me for this baby!" Major tears.
Clint fought the urge to laugh. He gathered her close to him and laid them back down, one arm around her shaking shoulders, the other hand running circles up and down her back soothingly. "Oh, sweetheart. My sweet Natasha. Is that what you think?"
"It's true! You've been completely different since we found out about this baby. Since that very moment! You talk to my belly and you stroke it and kiss it and you're nicer to me than you've ever been and...oh!" She buried her head in his neck, sobbing.
He didn't hide his grin, since she couldn't see it, but waited until he could fight it down until he spoke. He didn't want her to hear a smile in his voice. "Natasha, sweetheart, listen to me. I have been completely in love with you for the better part of a decade. That whole time, neither of us wanted children and we both thought it couldn't even happen. Right?"
She snuffled and nodded.
"I love this baby, yes. I am so excited to be a father that I am beside myself. That's true. But this is exciting and wonderful and beautiful and something I want because of you. Do you see what I'm getting at?"
"Not really."
He sighed. "Natasha, do you remember the day you left to go on the extraction with Cap? The last time I saw you before...you know?"
"Yes."
"There was a ring in my pocket that day. That's why I wanted to take you downtown to dinner. It's over there in the top drawer."
She pulled back, her red eyes wide. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"But that only proves my point!"
"How the hell do you get that?"
"You just want the baby, not me!"
“The fuck? Jesus, woman, you're going to kill me." He pulled her back close while she cried and kissed her temple, her ear. Hormones are a fucking bitch. Goddamn.
He took deep breaths. You can survive this, Barton. She’s not herself. She can't help it. "Sweetheart, did it occur to you that maybe I was waiting for a romantic moment? That we've had a lot of shit going on and the right time hasn't come up? That I'm dying to ask you but I promised not to do it in bed again?" She snuffled. "They didn't, did they? You've got it in your head that I don't love you and that's that. How can I convince you that you are the most important thing in the world to me?"
"Marry me."
He pulled back and looked at her. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Marry me. Fish or cut bait. Shit or get off the pot. Marry me."
"Gee, that's romantic."
"I'm serious."
"I am, too. I've never been traditional in my life, but I want to be married when this baby gets here. I wanted to be married this summer anyway, as soon Coulson gave the all-clear. Hence, the ring in the top drawer."
"Well, let's get married this summer."
"You realize that's the next few weeks, right?"
"Yep."
"And if we run off, we will have our asses beaten by superheroes and worse, their girlfriends. So we have to do it up a little.”
"Yep."
"And we've not planned a damn thing."
"Nope."
"And we just decided to get married in bed for the third time."
"Yep."
"Well, there's only two questions left here."
"What's that?"
"Do you want to get dressed and go in front of the fireplace or somewhere slightly more romantic so I can ask you, or should I just grab it, hop back in bed, give it to you and we get it on?”
~*~
The chorus of squeals and backslapping was much louder when Clint and Natasha called everyone up to the common room the next afternoon and told them they were getting married. Nobody was surprised, just excited...there was an "about time" air to the discussion. It turned out there had been a pool, and Jane had won the pot. She didn't seem to care - if she did, no one was able to tell, because Pepper had snatched her up and grabbed Natasha by the hand, calling out to Jarvis to have her assistant bring up bridal magazines from the last six months and the numbers of the five top planners in the city. Then Pepper started talking location, colors, flowers, and all kinds of shit Natasha hadn't thought about for half a second.
Tony magically produced champagne and the men stood around, clapping Clint on the back and making the occasional crude joke that would get them beaten severely had Natasha heard. Tony offered the use of his winery, or his Italian villa, or his Caribbean island, or his English estate, or any of his properties, really. Just say the word. Any of them could be secured against the paparazzi. And, of course, he'd like to pay for the reception as a gift to the bride. The groom would be getting a bachelor party worthy of superheroes. Clint said he didn't give a fuck what they did or where they went as long as she showed up and they wound up married.
~*~
20 weeks
Clint had bought cigars for the occasion of the anatomy scan ultrasound at twenty weeks. Tony told him they were shitty and bought Cuban cigars, top of the line. Natasha told them both they were morons, that it was just an ultrasound to see if the baby was growing normally.
"Sweetheart, they're going to do the 4D thing today. We're going to get to see our daughter's face for the first time. Don't you see how exciting that is?"
"That's another thing. We don't know what sex this baby is. It could be a boy. You don't -"
"Its a girl. That's all there is to it."
She was starting to become genuinely worried about his reaction if she was having a boy. "But, Clint, what if it's not? Just...what if?"
"It is. I'm sure of it."
"You can't wish it so, dammit!"
His expression turned mulish. "We're having a girl, Natasha."
"Why is this so important to you?"
"It's not. I would love a boy to the ends of the earth and back, too. I just know."
She sighed. There was no point. He had been so damn stupid over this pregnancy, she had never seen him like this. She hadn't known he had the capacity for this. It was endearing and obnoxious. It would probably be more endearing if she felt the excitement as he did.
~*~
The doctor squirted the cold gel on Natasha's belly and spread it around with the wand. Clint was squeezing the hell out of her hand. She just laid back and looked at the screen on the wall in front of her. The baby came on screen, and it was definitely a baby. A real baby. She could pick out the baby’s arms and legs, curled into fetal position. She knew now why they called it that. She recalled curling into that very position three months ago in Russia and shuddered.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
“Fine.”
He squeezed her hand and went back to watching the screen, absently playing with her engagement ring. She laid there and watched. The doctor measured and marked things, occasionally taking screen shots and labeling things. ‘Toes.’ ‘Hand.’ ‘Face.’
“Okay, we’re going to switch to 4-D now for a few minutes since we’ve got a good angle…”
The screen changed, and there was a face. A real face. A little distorted, but it was a real human face. The baby moved and brought it’s hand up to it’s face, brushing it’s nose, then brought it’s hand back down to it’s chin.
Clint said, “Oh my God, Natasha. Look.”
“That’s my baby?”
“That’s her.”
Clint whirled around. “It’s a girl?”
“It sure is. And she's perfectly healthy.”
Clint kissed Natasha hard. “I told you so.”
She smiled a little. God, he was unbearable when he was right.
~*~
They left and went upstairs to the common room where everyone was waiting clutching a handful of ultrasound pictures. Natasha’s brain was buzzing. Holy shit, there's a child inside of me. A real, live human being. There are fingers and toes inside of me. There are two hearts in me right now. Two brains. Two livers, two stomachs. One is mine. One is half mine and half Clint's.
Half Clint's. I'm carrying half of Clint inside of me all the time. There is going to be a person walking around on this earth that is a living monument to the fact that we are in love with each other. That should be the greatest thing ever and I should worship that monument. Why do I just feel like it's a parasite sucking out my energy, beauty, health, and Clint's love?
Will he ever love me - just me - again? Just for me, not for the baby?
Is he marrying me for me, or for the baby? The doubts wouldn’t go away, even though she’d gotten what she'd asked for.
~*~
She walked into the shooting range, where he was practicing. “I want to get married now.”
“What? Stop simulation. What did you say?”
“I want to go to the courthouse Thursday. That would have been our two year anniversary. I want to get married on that day.”
“But what about Pepper's plans?”
“We don’t have to tell her. Or we can tell her and just renew our vows on a beach or something after the baby is born. I don’t care. I really don’t. I just want to know you love me, and I want to get married on our anniversary. I’ll wear the gown I bought and everything. I’ll do my hair, I’ll carry flowers. Or we can hire a judge and do it in central park. But I want to get married Thursday.”
“I wish I could understand why you’re so hung up on me not loving you. There is nothing more important in this world to me than you.”
“Hey hey so you say.”
“Goddammit, Natasha!” He threw his quiver down on his bag and walked a few steps away. “What the fuck is it going to take? Huh? I’ve been as patient as I know how to be, but I swear to God it’s like you’re trying your best to run me the fuck off. Well guess what, sweetheart? It’s not going to fucking work. All you’re doing is pissing me the hell off. I’m not leaving, do you get it? I love you, I have always loved you, I will always love you, and just because I love our daughter too does NOT mean that I love you one tiny bit less. If anything, I love you more! Goddammit!” He grabbed his bag, bow and quiver and stormed off.
“Wait! I thought you weren't leaving!”
“I’m not! I'm just too fucking pissed to stay here right now and be doubted all the damn time. I’m going to get a beer, and I’ll be back. Maybe three beers. Maybe ten. But I’ll be back, believe it or not. I love you, believe it or not. Fucking hell!” He threw the door to the shooting range open with unnecessary force, started out of it, then turned back. “Just who the hell are you, Nat? I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”
Shields up, Natasha. Shut it down. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve never needed me for a goddamn thing. You’ve kept me around because you wanted to, but you haven’t needed me in your life. I’m a convenience, almost an accessory. I’ve needed you, I’ve needed you so badly I thought I would die from it, but you've been a fucking island. You’ve never needed me for shit. You love me, but I'm just here because I’m something you want to have, not because I'm someone you rely on. And you know what? I was okay with that. I got used to being the one who needed you, but wasn't needed. It fucking hurt sometimes, it hurt like hell, but I dealt with it. Now all the sudden, you’re rocking the boat. You’re role-reversing on me. You’re putting words to the way I’ve felt for seven goddamn years! Sucks, doesn’t it, sweetheart? To feel like you’re not getting as much as you give? But guess what? Your fears are completely fucking unfounded, because I love you so goddamn much I can't even…I just can’t…fuck!”
He threw open the door again, and this time he let it slam behind him. He didn’t come back in.