Union
"I don't get it. I don't understand her at all."
Clint was sitting with Bruce and Steve in a bar in midtown, working on his second Budweiser after switching from what seemed like an endless stream of Jack and Coke an hour ago. Bruce both admired his constitution and pitied him the hangover that was coming in the morning. If Natasha didn't want to kill him now, she would when she got a look at him. Bruce didn't drink, so was along for moral support and driving at the end of the night. Steve couldn't get drunk, but constantly had women buying him drinks once they recognized him. He drank them to be polite.
Clint had sought them out in a towering rage, saying he needed loud music, lots of alcohol and to beat the shit out of someone at something, so they needed to come keep him in check and drive his ass around. They had looked at each other, Bruce grabbed his keys and off they went without a word.
They ended up at a bar with a few pool tables and darts in midtown, and Clint, the Hawkeye, set out immediately to get as piss-drunk as possible while simultaneously hustling the shit out of a group of frat boys. Once he had taken every dollar they had, he switched to beer and sat at the bar with Bruce and Steve. A pair of coeds had come over not long after he had sat down, flirting with Cap and making eyes at Hawkeye. Clint had fairly snarled at them, "Fuck off. I'm married. Kind of. Fuck, I don't know."
Bruce spoke up, "forgive him, ladies, he's had a really rough day. We appreciate you stopping by to say hello."
They walked off, casting furtive glances over their shoulders while Steve hid his face in his hands. Clint took a long, unconcerned drink of his Bud.
Bruce turned around. "You know, Hawk, not all of us are married. Or about to be. You don't know. Take our young friend here."
"Haha, Banner."
Clint grumbled. "He's probably better off."
“Come on, Clint. You know that’s not true,” said Steve.
"She's gone crazy.”
“She’s not crazy, she’s -” Steve argued.
“What the fuck would you know about it, Cap? Have you been living with her? Are you seeing her crying over the stupidest shit? Is she looking at you while your heart is bleeding on the floor telling you you don’t love her enough? But then, you’d fucking love that, wouldn't you. It’d get you where you’ve wanted to be all along, huh?”
“Okay, now, I think we’re done drinking for the night.” Bruce signaled the bartender for the tab.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it? You want her. You always have. Well you’re in luck, because she just might want you. She doesn’t seem to fucking want me.”
“Hawk-“
“Shut up, Cap.”
“Clint, nobody is out to steal Natasha from you. Natasha is not going to leave you. You’re having a rough time of it lately, and that’s understandable.”
“I’m glad somebody fucking understands it. I don’t get a goddamn thing. Where the hell did my Tasha go? That's not who she is. We’ve never been equals. She’s always been above me, way the fuck out of my league. I don't know what the hell is with her. She’s gone crazy. You think she’s finally wised up that she’s too good for me?”
Steve spoke up, “No. You two are good together, and she knows it.” Clint cut his eyes at Steve dangerously. Steve didn't flinch.
“Everything just feels wrong lately. It made sense before. Now it doesn’t anymore.”
“Well, Hawkeye.” Bruce threw down some bills and clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s never going to be 100% the same again, but neither are you. You’re having a baby, and that changes everything. But here’s the question: do you love her enough to accept the changes for what they are and go on with them?”
“Is she going to be bugshit crazy for the rest of our lives?”
“For the next few months, yes.”
Clint drained the rest of his beer and swallowed hard. “Fuck it. I want her anyway. I’d take her no matter what.”
“Then you’d better sober up and get home.”
~*~
Natasha was staring at the TV, watching a late-night showing of History of the World Part I. They'd cut the dialogue all to hell, but she really wasn't paying attention anyway. It was just there…background noise to try to drown out the noise in her head, and something to try to distract her out of the numbness she was feeling at the same time. She couldn't make sense out of feeling numb and so crowded at the same time, but she sucked at emotions anyway. It was 2am and she couldn't sleep. She couldn't ever sleep when Clint wasn't there, but right now it was doubly hard. She had thought maybe she would cry herself out, but no luck. She’d cried, but she couldn’t sleep.
Natasha heard the door open and she changed the channel quickly. Hopefully he would just go straight to bed, but she doubted it. She flipped channels idly, staring hard at the TV while listening to his sounds with all her might.
Clint appeared in the doorway.
"Hey." She didn't answer. He walked over to her. "Can we talk?"
"No." She kept flipping channels.
"Sweetheart, please. Talk to me."
She never took her eyes off the TV, never stopped changing channels. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. "Why should I? You seem to think you don't matter to me. Why would I waste time on things that don't matter to me? Besides. You're drunk."
He gently took the remote out of her hand, turned around, and clicked the TV off. Then he knelt down in front of her and put his arms around her legs where she sat. "Tasha, listen to me. Please." She refused to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."
"What for? You just said what you've been dying to say for years."
"No, I haven't been dying to say that. And I was wrong for saying it. I'm sorry. I hurt you and I'm sorry."
She looked at him, into his eyes that she knew so well. They were sad, bright blue, looking up at her from beneath his brows. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and she looked away quickly. ”Did you mean it? Is that how you feel?"
"Parts of it."
"What parts?"
"It doesn't ma-"
"What parts, Clinton?"
He sighed. "Sweetheart, can't we go to bed and talk about this in the morning?"
"No."
He laid his forehead on her knee for a moment and she fought the urge to stroke his hair.
Finally he spoke. "Fine. I've never felt like you needed me, except on missions. I've needed you. I've needed you like oxygen. You haven't needed me. That's been horrible to live with. You’ve always been out of my league, Tasha. I’ve never been worthy of you.”
She just looked at him. Out of his league? Not worthy of her? How could he ever think that? "Is that all you meant?"
"No. It's been a total mindfuck these last couple of months, the way you've been. You've not been yourself, and it's been weird seeing the woman you love become someone else because of being pregnant, plus the knowledge that everything is about to change with the baby coming. It's a lot to deal with. I've tried to stay even keel, but you keep insisting that I don't love you. And it's damned outrageous for you to think I don't love you." She looked away. He tugged at her chin. "Hey, look at me. Believe it or not, I'm scared about this little girl, too. You're not the only one who's terrified. You're not going through this alone, Nat."
She tried to blink away the tears, but they spilled anyway. She brushed them away angrily. He climbed up onto the couch beside her. "Hey, hey...come here." Clint pulled her into his lap and cradled her, kissing her hair and stroking her arm and back. "I love you, Natasha. Please don't ever doubt that."
She wiped more tears, he kissed her head again. He rubbed her back in silence a while longer, finally she spoke.
"You're wrong, you know."
"I'm wrong a lot, so I'm not surprised. What am I wrong about?"
"I do need you, and I've needed you for a long time. From about the second time you visited my cell. It started as one kind of need, and very small. It’s grown into something else, and very strong.”
"I've never known that."
"Well it's true.” He sat silently for a while, waiting to see if she would say anymore. “You’re not out of my league.”
“I disagree.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re the only man I would ever consider being with. You’re the only league I want to be in, Clint. I’ve never had any eyes for anyone else. It’s always been you.”
He sat silently for a minute, stroking her back, absorbing. ”Why are you so convinced that I don't love you?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit." She scowled against his chest. "There's some reason. I want to know it."
She sat silent, mulish. He waited, still stroking her back lightly. Nothing was said for a long time, and he finally broke the silence.
"What is it about this baby that has you insecure?"
"I'm not-"
"Yes, you are. You're afraid I don't love you and am going to leave you. You've never worried about those things before. That's insecurity."
"Fuck you, Clint. I don't want to talk about this anymore."
She tried to get up but he held her close. "Tasha, I'm trying to help us here. I want you to understand that I love you. I want to marry you in two days. We can't do that if you won't talk to me. I love you, and I love our daughter. Just because I love her doesn't mean that I love you any less. You two aren't rivals. Can you understand that? I will never stop loving you, and I will never love you any less. No matter what. Even if you left me and hated my guts, I would love you as much as right now. I just love you, Natasha. But I love her, too. It's two completely different feelings. I will never love anyone else the way I love you, and I'll never love anyone else the way I love her. You two aren't in competition with each other."
Natasha wiped her eyes again. "I want to sleep."
"Fine, but I'm coming with you."
"No."
"Yes. You can either let me convince you I love you with words, or I can hold you all night. Preferably both. You choose."
~*~
She chose bed, and he held her close, just as he'd promised. But that night, when he held her and told her how much he loved her, it meant something different...these weren't sweet nothings to a woman who believed him and loved him. These were near-desperate declarations - pleas - to the woman he loved. Cognitively he knew she wasn't going to leave, that she would be there in the morning and they would work it out, but he was never really okay on the rare occasions that they truly fought, and the thought that she didn't believe he loved her was killing him.
Natasha laid awake a long time, tears falling silently. Whenever he felt one warming his arm, he gathered her closer and said, "oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me." He had no idea that the person she was angry and frustrated with was herself, and she was really sad for him more than anything else. Had she really made him feel like he was just an accessory to her? Someone she kept around because it suited her? Did he really feel that he wasn't good enough for her? She always worried that she was afraid she showed her emotions too much...was it possible that the one and only person she ever let her guard completely down around still didn't see all of her, emotionally? Was she that stunted?
Did he really feel so unequal in their relationship? And he'd always felt like that. My God, she was mildly crazy over this man. She was doing things and behaving in ways that had always disgusted her...over him. She was having a baby - which she had never wanted - in large part because he wanted it...at least because it was his and she wanted part of him with her forever. She wasn't sure she could love this baby, but she was trusting him that she could and would. Maybe she just needed to do an emotional trust fall. Natasha didn't do these kinds of things very well, at all. But if she were going to do it, Clint would be the one to do it with.
She loved him so much that she couldn't articulate it. She needed him in her life - emotionally - and had since long before they started started a romantic relationship. How had she never communicated that? She felt like a complete failure. More tears, another squeeze and more apologies and declarations of love she didn't doubt.
She would marry him Thursday, if he would have her. She loved him more than anything she could describe and needed him more than her next breath. Even if he didn't believe her. If she married him, he'd never be gone. He didn't have to believe her, he'd just be there.
He was right, though: she wasn’t who she used to be. But was that a good thing or a bad thing? And would she ever be who she used to be again, or had she changed forever?
He pulled her close one last time. "Tasha?"
"Yeah?"
"Will you still marry me Thursday?"
"Why do we keep doing this in the bed?"
"I dunno. Will you?"
"You seemed hesitant earlier."
"I don't want to marry you until you believe I love you. It gives me two days to prove it." She was silent. "I won't ask you how to prove it. I'll come up with something."
She rolled over in his arms and kissed him, softly and slowly. He responded, opening her mouth with his tongue, lacing his fingers in her hair and running a circle on her jaw with his thumb.
He pulled back a little. "Is that a hint?"
"Kind of. I know you love me, Clint. I'm just...I'm mindfucked right now. But I love you and I need you. Do you believe me?”
“I do.”
“I’m the one who’s not worthy of you. You’re much better than I could ever hope to be. Can you understand that?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Be patient with me. Love me anyway. And please marry me."
He kissed her again, running his free hand down her body, slipping into her panties over the cheek of her ass and squeezing. "You know I love you?" She nodded. He brought his mouth to hers again, his tongue sweeping hers, his hand skirting inside the front of her panties to the front of her, cupping her, making her moan a little into his mouth. "Will you let me prove it to you?"
She nodded. "Please."
He touched her, stroking her in the ways he knew would make her keen and moan for him while nibbling at her ear and telling her of his love and desire for her. When she was close, so close, he shucked his boxers and her panties then stroked her until she was at the precipice again. When she was almost there, he removed his hand and slipped deliciously into her, making slow, sweet love until they both collapsed, glowing, satisfied, and ready to be married in a little over 48 hours.
~*~
Pepper would’t entertain the thought of a courthouse wedding, and insisted on putting together a real wedding in two days. Clint had only two stipulations regarding the wedding: he wanted her to show up and he wanted her to wear a white dress. Not off-white, not ivory: white. She asked him why and he told her, "the first time I saw you and you ruined me for all other women, you were wearing white. It seems fitting." She didn't argue. Natasha really didn’t have any stipulations for the wedding beyond Clint showing up. She just wanted something simple.
Pepper rented an area of Central Park and scads of security, the best in the city. Natasha had a gown, she selected flowers for a bouquet and Pepper said she'd handle it. She and Clint went to pick out wedding bands...it was not something she had ever envisioned herself doing. She told him she was perfectly happy with her necklace, but he wouldn't hear of it. He said she could just consider herself doubly marked and kissed her. They hired a judge to officiate, and Natasha figured they were done. Not according to Pepper and Jane.
There was to be a reception, a very nice one, with all of their trusted friends. Pepper ordered a cake to match Natasha's flowers, and heavy hors d'oeuvres. She had the common room lavishly decorated in the yellow, pink/orange and purple of Natasha's bouquet.
Phil Coulson was located and brought in, and a huge war began among the men: who was going to perform what role? Thor suggested that he perform some of the Asgardian wedding rituals he was accustomed to, but before he could explain what exactly those were Jane shushed him. Apparently she had heard all about these particular rituals and decided not to be embarrassed at that moment. Tony decided he wanted to be ring bearer, much to everyone's amusement. Steve was very subdued, saying he would do whatever he was asked, if asked. Clint almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Bruce and Coulson both wanted to give Natasha away, and were at loggerheads over it. Bruce had become quite the father figure to Natasha over the last two years, and she cared deeply for him. But Coulson was a very large part of the reason she was alive, was entirely the reason this wedding was happening, and had cared deeply for her for a long time. Natasha was extremely torn, and Clint watched her agonize for a while before he stepped in and told them that either they could both give her away or neither of them could. They apparently seemed to notice then that Natasha had been under stress over the situation, and backed down. They said they'd let her walk alone if they could kiss the bride. Clint and Natasha happily agreed, giving each of them an early kiss in gratitude.
The wedding itself was beautiful. Natasha wore an empire waist, tank sleeve gown with a sweep train, organza overlaying a satin skirt. Her belly showed adorably, but was not the focus. She had chosen well. She carried a bouquet of sunset roses accented with purple monte casino. Clint wore a loose white shirt untucked with khakis, very casual. The ceremony was short and very simple: no music or frills, just very honest and heartfelt vows, exchange of rings, a sweet, longer-than-necessary kiss, then the judge proclaiming them to be Mr. and Mrs. Barton. Legally this time.
They went back to Stark Tower for a more elegant affair than either of them had ever pictured. Every single Avenger insisted on dancing with the bride, kissing her cheek sweetly before handing her over to Clint so the next Avenger could claim her away from him. Tony took the time Natasha was dancing to inform Clint that he would still be getting a bachelor party, despite not being a bachelor any longer. Clint had hesitations about the kind of debauchery that Tony might come up with.
The cake was cut, and Tony and Pepper presented Clint and Natasha with the use of any of their estates for a week as a honeymoon. Their bags were already packed, and the private jet was waiting. Just name the destination. They went down to their apartment to grab a couple of last minute things, and then Mr. and Mrs. Barton went to the airport to fly off into the sunset.
~*~
They had gone to the Caribbean for their honeymoon and had an amazing time, but traveling pregnant wasn't a lot of fun and Natasha was glad to be home. Clint surprised her by stopping her at the door and carrying her across the threshold like in Vegas, kissing her soundly as he did.
She expected for him to put her down on her feet inside the kitchen or somewhere just inside the door, so she was further surprised when she felt herself being lowered onto the bed. Clint pulled away to jerk off his shirt and push down his pants quickly.
She giggled. "Didn't you get enough of me in Antigua?"
He climbed overtop her and growled, "I will never get enough of you." His mouth found hers again and he opened her mouth with his tongue, probing, tasting as he pushed her pants and panties down her legs. She helped, not breaking their kiss. When he had her bare, he put his hand on her, running his finger along her slit, feeling her wetness. "God, sweetheart, you're so wet already. I don’t know if I can wait…”
He started to pull her top off, sitting her up for a moment and working on her bra. She took advantage of the time to wrap her hands around his cock and pump him while putting her mouth on his chest and abdomen and sucking a bit. He unsnapped her bra and her breasts sprang free, but she didn't let go of his dick. Instead, she scooted her body back so that she could take him into her mouth, sucking deeply. Her tongue caressed the tip of him, making circles as he moaned while her other hand started to pump. She licked the shaft lightly along the bottom, then took all of him into her mouth, groaning with pleasure and letting the vibrations travel up his cock to the pleasure centers of his brain. He grabbed her hair and thrust, slowly, his eyes closed, as she sucked and moaned around him. Her left hand cupped his balls while her right stroked him into her mouth. Natasha felt herself getting wetter and wetter as he continued to pump into her face, his head back, eyes closed, alternating between moaning and saying her name. She pulled her mouth off and licked the underside on the most sensitive part, and he grabbed her shoulders. "No, that's about enough of that." He flipped her over onto her back and lay beside her, kissing her like a starving man. "Now what do I do with you?"
"What do you want?"
He grinned wolfishly. "I wouldn't ask that, sweetheart." He kissed her again, his hands roaming her, tweaking her nipples and settling between her legs.
She smiled against his mouth. "I don't think I want to wait."
"Then let's not." He rolled over on top of her, slid in between her parted legs, raised one over his shoulder kissing her calf as he went, and entered her, burying himself deep. She bit her lip and rolled her hips, mewling at the feel of him as he caressed her from the inside. He propped himself on his hands and began to pump himself into her: slowly, deliberately, telling her how beautiful she was and how much he loved her and interspersing it with how good she felt around him. She rolled her hips in a circle, tightening herself around him and enjoying the sound he made every time she clenched down on him, trying to make it as good as possible for him, wanting him to feel as good as he made her feel.
After a time he let her leg drop and she wrapped both legs around his waist, linking her ankles. He sped up and he leaned lower down onto his elbows, kissing her, placing her forehead next to hers, moaning her name into her neck. She met his thrusts, pulling at his back, begging him for more, licking at the spot behind his ear and nibbling his earlobe while she whispered dirty suggestions in his ear that only served to fire him up. He pushed into her just a little faster, just a little harder, until she exploded out of nowhere with no warning, tightening around him and sending him over the edge into oblivion with her.
He fell to her side in deference to her belly, still lying between her legs, covered in a sheen of sweat. Natasha turned to look at him, draping one leg over his waist and running her fingertips down the side of his face. He opened his eyes and looked at her, smiling tiredly.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Barton."