#after the avengers disband after Tony; Nat; and Steve Die | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sapphicsaro · 5 years

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anya || (post) winter soldier

hello all. here is another edition to the “anya” series i’m writing. this part takes place immediately after winter soldier and includes natasha’s pregnancy. i hope you like it. its a long one!

(here’s a link to the civil war chapter, if you missed it too! https://rechutexx.tumblr.com/post/186134602680/anya-civil-war)

thank you to @catching-vibes-and-stars and @jackxangelica for beta reading!

---

“Mister Barton, you have a message from Miss. Romanoff, shall I read it to you?”

Clint continued his practice, eyes locked on the swinging target in front of him. “Sure, JARVIS.”

“Alright. From Miss Romanoff at 2:37pm: ‘She’s already feeling excited. He’s only usually seen entertaining’. End of message. I’m sorry sir, I am not sure who she may be referencing for you.”

His arrow released from his quiver. Bullseye.

“Don’t worry, JARVIS, I understand it. Thank you.”

“No problem, sir. Shall I turn your music back on?”

Clint placed the remaining arrows back into his quiver, and shook his head, “No, I believe I have to start packing up.”

“Alright sir.”

Clint folded his bow up, and placed it, along with his quiver, back into its case.

She was speaking in code like she always did when she needed to be conspicuous.

Safehouse.

She had been gone with Steve for a few weeks, as had become the routine. Strike Team Delta disbanded with the introduction of the Avengers, so now the two spies were free to work with any of the other members. Fury sought out Natasha, knowing she was ready for more missions, unlike Clint, who needed some time to recover from the Battle of NY. Fury asked Nat if she would keep Steve busy and give him something to help him adjust to contemporary society.

So, for the past two years, she had her new partner and was in and out of their home in the tower (which was a move for them that Stark had insisted they make).

But, he was equally as busy as her. Just not with her anymore.

SHIELD may have been utilizing him less, but Stark had found “Hawkeye” more useful for his own missions. Yeah, maybe they weren’t as eventful as the shootouts he would typically have at SHIELD, but he enjoyed the work just the same.

Stark got him home at a reasonable time and he would be in bed, hearing aids out, hours before Natasha would stumble in, kick off her boots and flop onto the bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously.

The two would eat breakfast together, swap stories, and spend a few more hours together before they would both hit the road again.

But she sent the message: safe house.

This was their secret (one of many) and they were the only ones who knew what this meant. The steps to follow were simple:

Text is sent.

Leave wherever you are as quickly as possible.

Don’t speak to anyone.

Send Fury an “x” (he would know what that meant)

Grab a file with new identities and get to the airport.

Step one was done. Time to go.

It took him six minutes to get upstairs, grab the necessities and toss them in their suitcase.

No weapons; those were at the house.

Grab their keepsake boxes.

Toss some clothes in.

Get the new passports.

Get out.

He was used to this. Although the safe house text was rare, he and Natasha were spies. Having to flee and get out quickly was second nature to him.

Clint put on his jacket and grabbed the new passports, hello Elise and Mark. Ugh, Mark? Of all names it had to be-

“Going on vacay, Birdie?”

Tony was leaning against his front door, which in his hurry, Clint must have left open. “Uh, yeah, SHIELD called. They-”

“No they didn’t.”

Fuck.

Tony smirked at Clint, walking into the spies’ home and heading into their kitchen. He opened their fridge, giving it the once over, “Didn’t you hear the news? SHIELD is done-so.”

What.

Clint froze, letting his bag slip slowly down his shoulder, “What are you talking about?”

Tony stuck his head out of the fridge, before grabbing a beer from it. “Oh yeah, it’s brutal. Steve just sent me a message. More like a warning, actually. Apparently a bunch of you were HYDRA. Don’t know which of you to trust.”

Clint couldn’t move, there was too much to process. If what Tony was saying was really true, that meant Natasha was out there fighting against people they thought were on their side. And now Tony thinks that he is HYDRA?

Fuck this. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You think I’m HYDRA?”

“Hmm, could be. You never know, you two lovers are very hush hush.” Tony gulped at the beer in his hands, “This is terrible. What is this?”

“I’m not HYDRA.”

Tony chuckled, “Wow, I feel much better. Thank you, Barton.”

He wasn’t dealing with this.

“I have to go.”

“What if I won’t let you?” Tony eyed him up.

“You can’t.”

Tony nodded, “Interesting.”

Clint’s eyes never left Tony’s. If he had to, he could overpower Stark, right here, right now. He’s got no suit and Clint is way more experienced and trained. But, neither of them moved. Instead, they remained silent for a moment, two men, ready for a fight in a kitchen.

“Tell me where you’re going, Merida. Seems rather odd that Steve send me that message and I spot you about to flee the tower. You know, I thought we were becoming friends too. But all that time you were just spying on me. Huh.”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh no?” Tony’s beer was empty now. He placed it gently on the counter, spinning it a few times, eyes focused on the bottle. “Then why can’t you tell me where you are going?”

Clint was stuck. Tell Tony the truth? Risk the safe house. Lie to Tony? Risk everyone thinking he’s HYDRA. Fuck.

“Natasha texted me. She needed to talk. We’re are going away together.”

Tony pursed his lips, clearly not satisfied with his answer. “And I’m supposed to just believe you?”

Clint tries to respond, but he pauses. He gives a second.

“Yes.” Tony looks up, analyzing Clint’s expression as if he was one of his silly little equations.

Fuck this. Fuck Tony.

“Tony, look. I’m telling the truth, if you don’t want to believe me, that’s your problem. Because you just informed me that the place I’ve worked at, for a large portion of my life, mind you, turned out to just be one huge lie. And I brought Natasha there too; I made her leave her life for SHIELD. And now, we lost everything. She texted me. No, she didn’t tell me what happened, she just texted that she needs me; she asked me to go to her. So I’m doing that. Because I love her. And if you want to try and stop me from getting to her, you’re a damned fool.”

Tony stared the archer down once more, but this time, a small grin crept up on his face. He held his hands up as a sign of defeat and headed back toward the front door. “Fine. Go to your girlfriend. But, if I find out you lied to me, I’ll be really upset, Katniss.”

————

Fuck airports. Fuck planes. Fuck old men who can’t keep their mouth shut.

Clint hated planes. Not the actual flying or any of that, but: the people. Dear god, how he hated the people.

He missed the jets that Tasha and him would fly around. They were private; always just the two of them and whatever music she felt like playing that flight.

Public planes were dirty and overcrowded. And when you needed a last minute flight, you got stuck with the worst of the worst. Clint had to sit between a 90 year old man who clearly had been drinking while being on medication, and a middle aged woman who continuously claimed that he had been touching her and eyeing her up.

Clint wanted to put an arrow through his eye.

But the flight was over, he landed safely in Missouri, and he practically ran off the plane.

A 30-minute cab ride led him to the familiar, run-down storage unit where his baby was kept.

His truck. Oh man. For a man friends with Stark, you’d think an old, beat up pickup truck wouldn’t please him at all. But the memories Clint had in his truck were worth more than a thousand of Stark’s fancy, self-driving shits.

Clint dug through his bag, pulling out the keys, and made the familiar route home.

Home?

No, home was supposed to be their apartment in the city, not this “safe house”. But somehow the farm house felt more like his home than the sleek two bedroom in the Avengers tower.

No, this farm house was domestic, intimate. Natasha and him were not spies here; this was where they went to hide, to be “normal”.

Nat was always ‘Tasha’ here.

Here, she wore flannel shirts and baggy sweaters. She would cook food from the market and eat dinner at a real dining room table. She would hum around the house, and sometimes Clint would hear her sing softly when she thought she was alone. At the safe house, she was softer.

Here, she could still kill you in the blink of an eye, but you would die with a record crackling Fleetwood Mac in the background.

But they were rarely here; only when they had a bad mission. Fury would send them on a “mandatory vacation” for anywhere from a week to two months and they always ended up here. They never even discussed it.

So D.C. must have really kicked her ass if Natasha willingly decided to come here.

The drive back was easy, with little to no cars on the road. And when he got closer to the house, all the cars disappeared except for his. Natasha must have left her CD in the player because Clint was stuck listening to Dvorak’s Ninth World Symphony on a loop as the radio stopped working forever ago.

He pulled up; it was getting dark now. He could see a single light on inside. She was here.

He parked, gathered his bags and headed inside. The downstairs was quiet and clean, indicating that she had barely been down here. Her shoes lay sprawled next to the door, her jacket thrown over the railing. She was upset.

Clint slid his boots off, locked the door and made his way up the stairs. He saw the light on at the end of the hall and heard the soft tunes of Ella Fitzgerald playing on the record. “Tasha?”

No answer. Clint got to the bedroom door and slowly opened it to see her curled up on the bed, eyes watery. Shit.

She looked at him, not moving, letting her eyes tell the story.

He dropped his bag by the door and took his jacket off before sliding into the bed with her and enveloping her in his arms. She stayed silent. He did, too.

He cupped her face and ran his thumb across her cheek with his one hand as the other was tangled in her hair. She laid against his chest, arms curled near her face. She locked her legs in his and he kissed her head, breathing her in.

She rarely cried in front of him. She never cried in front of anyone else. Her tears stopped, but he knew that she must have been crying before he got here. The rare times he did see tears fall, they wouldn’t talk about it. Instead, he would silently hold her and she would let him. It was the dance of two people who needed comfort but were too stubborn to admit it.

They laid as the record kept spinning; now Dream a Little Dream of Me was ending and Natasha started to shift in his arms, indicating that she was going to sit up.

“It’s over.”

Her voice was rough, and it may have sounded normal to any other person, but this was his Tasha and he could recognize the pain.

“I heard.”

She shook her head, brows furrowed, but eyes starting too well slightly with tears. “This entire time, Clint. Who knew?”

Clint shrugged, sitting up across from her, “We didn’t.”

Natasha let out a small laugh. It wasn’t a genuine one. “Two highly trained spies couldn’t even figure out we were being double crossed.”

Clint smiled at her, bringing his knees up and folding his arms around them, linking his hands together. “I guess we’re shit, then.”

Natasha finally took her eyes off the wall next to her and looked at Clint, a small smile coming across her face. “Yeah, we suck.”

He didn’t want to prod, but there was a burning sensation that wanted her to tell him everything. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped. “I released everything.”

Confusion hit Clint like a ton of bricks, “Released what?”

“All of SHIELD’s secrets. And HYDRA’s technically. Everything. I released them. Now the world knows everything about me.”

Clint slowly nodded his head, trying to process everything she was saying. “That bad, huh?”

“They wanted to arrest me. I told them to fuck off.”

Clint chuckled, “I would expect nothing less.”

He had to take this conversation slow. He knew Natasha better than anyone else did. She was not a revealing person by nature, so if she was going to tell him anything, he had to keep his questions minimal and wait for her to feel ready to open up.

“Are you okay?” was what he deemed appropriate.

She sat for a moment, letting her eyes fall away from him. A short pause later, she looked back up, “No.”

Clint nodded, and stayed silent. This was different from any other time. Usually she would mask the situation, and he would follow along, pretending everything was fine until it actually was.

“We’re safe here. This is still off records. That’s why-” she let out a heavy sigh. “The public knows the person I was before. They’re not going to see me as the person I’ve worked so hard to become. The one who fought on the side of good. And now, with HYDRA, was I ever even on the right side?” She shook her head, “I need to hide out here; just for a bit. I need time for them to cool off so they don’t want to kill me.”

“Okay. We can do that.” Clint looked at her, giving her a half-smile. “It’s like another vacation.”

Natasha chuckled, “Yeah. I supposed so.”

Clint laid back down, a held out his hand, “C’mere.” She placed her hand in his, letting Clint pull her into him again. This time, she ran her hands all over his chest. Clint smiled, and held her tightly, placing little kisses on the top of her head. He reached over, clicking off the light as her breathing got heavier. “G’night, Tasha.”

————

When she woke up, the sun shined brightly through the window, glistening over Clint’s sleeping face. She was still comfortably against his chest, but she felt stiff and groggy.

She felt nauseous; crying for as long as she did yesterday (although no one saw her) would do that to you. She carefully slid out of his arms, as to not wake him, although he was the heaviest sleeper, hearing aids in or out.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, taking a glance in the mirror as she passed it. God, she looked terrible. The bags under her eyes highlighted the sleep she’d lost over the past weeks.

Her stomach hurt. Again.

All of the stress gave her horrendous stomach aches. She had lost everything she ever knew in the past weeks. Luckily, Steve was there for her, but the recent discoveries were still hard on her and it made her ill to think about where she would go from here.

Oh no.

She made it to the toilet before throwing up. Fuck. These stress aches were killing her.

“You okay?” Clint asked, standing in the door frame while rubbing his eyes from exhaustion.

Natasha stayed on the ground, head against the wall; the nausea was still there. “It’s just stress.”

“Stress?” He raised a brow at her, a slight look of confusion across his face, “Since when have you thrown up from stress?”

Natasha looked up at him, he wasn’t wrong.

The two locked eyes as if something was said, but neither spoke a word. If either of them asked the obvious, Natasha would explode. This was not an option.

Nope. Not possible. There was no way.

Clint cleared his throat, “Um, so how long as this, uh, stress sickness been happening?”

“Two weeks.”

“Oh.” He nodded, acting as if this was a conversation about what they were having for breakfast and not a literal human baby.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu-

“Is there a chance you’re-“

“Clint Barton, please do not finish that question.”

There would be no “p” word here.

But let’s just say he did ask. Yeah, they did have sex right before they left, but they always did. Besides, she was sterile. Nothing worked down there. Except for the extremely rare moments she would randomly bleed down there, the Red Room took away all chances of a “p” word happening. She even went undercover once to a doctor in the middle of Iowa to confirm her diagnosis. The doctor was mystified by what she saw, and her conclusion was that she was sterile. Natasha snuck out the building before the doctor could see her again.

“Okay.” He stayed against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes never leaving her.

Natasha shook her head, still leaning it against the wall as she tried to control her nausea. “Clint, I’ve told you, it’s not possible for me to have a child.”

“I know. I’m just thinking that this is like what happens in the movies, ya know? The girl is all sick and then she pees on a stick and then-”

“Clint, I love you, but please shut up or I’ll puke again.”

“Sorry.”

Clint moved away from the doorframe, instead opting to sit atop the corner of the counter near Natasha. As she sat still, he kicked his feet, back and forth, back and forth-

Oh no.

It happened again. This time she threw up hard and it hurt her throat. Clint jumped off the counter, grabbing a cup and filling it with water. He quickly knelt by her side, “Here, here.”

Natasha took small sips from the glass as Clint rubbed circles on the small of her back. “Fuck,” she coughed out. “I’m gonna have to piss on a stick.”

———

Clint and Natasha were, undoubtedly, two of the toughest people out there. Clint has put more arrows in people than he has targets, and Natasha could kill a man with just her thighs. They’ve seen death, caused death, and have been at death’s door themselves. They’ve been shot, stabbed, bruised, tortured, you name it.

And yet, the two people who have seen the most gruesome ways to die, were scared of a piece of plastic.

The trip to the store was awkward. Neither said a word; Clint just drove all the way into town, got inside the store with Natasha, bought the stick (well, a few), and got back in the car to head home. The cashier smiled at the two and gave a small thumbs up to Clint as Natasha signed the receipt.

Clint didn’t know how to feel. A baby was never an option for them. He didn’t really care though; he was happy with her. And yeah, he loved kids, but he liked the fun parts about them, not the responsibility of having a child. He was the cool uncle who shot bow and arrows and taught little kids archery, not a father.

Could he even see Natasha having a baby?

Meanwhile, Natasha was out of it. Her mind was far away from the place she actually sat in their bedroom. No, she was trying to imagine one line, clear as day, on each of the three sticks. A negative would mean that they could laugh at the absurdity of the day, make dinner, fuck, and forget they even thought she could be pregnant. One line meant she would go back in the field soon. One line meant her whole world didn’t fall apart. Again.

Fuck three minutes feels like a lifetime.

Clint was the first to break the two-hour long silence, “What if-“

“It’ll be negative.”

“But what if-”

“Clint.”

“Okay.”

Back to the silence they went as they waited for the timer to go off. When it did, they both stood up, but Natasha pushed ahead of Clint to gather the tests. Clint sat back down, waiting for her to come back.

Natasha walked back to the bed, three sticks still in her hand.

“Are you...”

“I didn’t look.”

“Oh.”

Her knuckles were turning white with how tightly she held onto them. “Clint, I can’t do this.”

“I’ll look for you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She took her eyes off the tests and shifted her focus to him, “I can’t be a mother. I’m not meant for that.” Instead of responding, Clint just nodded his head slowly. “I’m a murderer. We both are. We are not cut out for this.”

“You’re right.”

“So if- and it’s a big if- if they are positive, we cannot keep this child.”

“Understood.”

Natasha nodded and then flipped the sticks over.

Two lines, two lines, and a plus.

“Son of a bitch.” She threw her head back, letting her body flop on the bed while Clint stayed frozen, eyes locked on the tests.

“So you’re- wow.”

Natasha tilted her head towards him, “Are you happy about this?”

Uh oh. Clint didn’t know what to say. On one hand he wanted to say, no we can’t do this. But, Natasha just beat the odds, and this baby seemed like a miracle. No, not a miracle. Natasha doesn’t want the baby. It’s her choice.

Natasha had fully sat up at this point, staring Clint down as he stayed locked on the tests, deep in thought. “Clint, talk to me. I can’t hear you think.”

Clint shook his head, keeping it down, “I have a lot of thoughts…I just- I just don’t know. I don’t how I feel.”

Natasha placed a hand gently on his arm, “Talk to me.”

He moved his focus to her, her expression was soft as her hand stayed on his forearm. Clint placed his hand on top of hers and took a deep breath, “I…I feel conflicted. I know we are not meant for this, trust me, it’s almost impossible to picture us taking care of a child for even an hour, let alone forever. But there’s this part of me that’s just like: wow, we thought this was impossible and somehow this baby is there. It’s stupid, I’m sorry, I know we can’t keep a baby, it’s just we never got to even think about the possibility of this happening before.”

“It’s not stupid.” She began chewing at her lip, a nervous habit he noticed she had. “I feel similar.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I mean, I’ve had it in my mind that I could never have a child since my graduation ceremony. And now I’m looking at three things telling me otherwise? And I’m rushing to say we can’t do this and we are spies and not meant for this, but everything is changing and I don’t know how to feel.”

Her eyes welled with tears and Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders, letting her lean her head against him. “Hey, it’s okay, Tasha.”

“No. No it’s not.” She began to cry, and hard. Clint rubbed circles across her skin, trying to soothe her as she let tears roll onto his shirt. “Why is there a part of me that wants this?”

What.

Of all things he thought she might say, Clint did not expect this. He placed a kiss on the top of her head and gave her a tight squeeze, “So, what if we did?”

Natasha lifted her head off of him, wiping her cheeks, “What?”

“Let’s talk about this, for real. We have two options: keep or don’t. If you decide not to, then I take you to the doctors, we forget this happened, come back home and that’s the end of it. If you decided to keep it, then we hide out here for the pregnancy, have a baby and then-”

“And then what, Clint? Spend our lives hiding a human child from the public? I don’t know if you remember this, but the public isn’t too happy with me right now and I’m sure a lot of people would love to get their hands on the child of Black Widow and Hawkeye.”

“We wouldn’t let that happen.”

“How would we stay hidden for months without anyone needing us or calling us?”

“SHIELD is gone, the Avengers are fine, we have time. We tell the others we have our own mission and that we’ll be hard to reach.”

“And when it’s born? What do we do then?”

Clint shrugged, “We raise it. We can stay here, off the radar, or we go back to Avenger’s Tower and-”

“If we have a baby, we are not raising it in the tower.”

“Okay.”

The silence returned to the room, and both of them adverted looking at the other. They sat like this, on the bed, deep in thought for what felt like hours before Natasha turned to Clint, “We should call the team.”

———

Telling the Avengers that they had their own “mission” they were going on was challenging because each person asked too many god damn questions. Luckily, Natasha and Clint were trained spies; lying was easy. However, dealing with Tony Stark was not.

He asked for check-ins, calls every week, a secret way to contact them, the whole nine yards, but neither spy budged. Natasha calmly told him that they were going to be out of service for a while and to please clean out our fridge in the apartment, the food will rot.

Clint and Natasha didn’t talk about the baby again. In fact the next time the pregnancy was even acknowledged was three weeks later.

Natasha woke up in a pool of sweat, pain accumulating in her abdomen. Clint’s aids were out, so she lightly shook him awake. “Clint.”

Clint jumped up, “Wha-what?”

“Something’s wrong.”

Clint flicked on the light, and scrambled to her side of the bed, kneeling down next to her. “What’s happening, are you okay?”

Natasha sat up slowly, “It’s my left side.”

Clint ran to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in cold water. He went back to her side, running the washcloth along her face, trying to cool her down. “Are you bleeding?”

Natasha shook her head, “No.”

“Okay.” He continued to wipe the cloth around her face, traveling down to her chest. She tried to slow down her breathing to help ease the pain as the cool water helped relieve her overheating body.

She groaned once more, this time gripping his arm tightly. He used his other hand to rub her back. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” She let out a small whimper as pain ran through her again, “Yes.”

“Okay.” Clint stood up and grabbed a duffle bag, piling in a new outfit for her and some of their essentials. Natasha slowly moved, placing her feet on the ground.

She groaned once more, “Fuck.”

Clint zipped up the bag and came back to her, “Can you walk?”

“If you help me.”

He leant down, and she threw her arm over his shoulder. He grabbed the bag with the other hand and slowly went down the stairs. She continuously groaned each step they took down. “Tasha, I can carry you.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded, and he picked her bridal style. He carried her all way to the car and got her in the passenger seat before climbing into the truck himself and driving away.

He wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t scared. Sure, they haven’t talked about the baby since they kind of decided to keep it, but he was getting more attached to the bump that was forming. And he thinks she was too. Sometimes when he would look over at her, she would have a hand resting on the bump, her thumb rubbing it slowly.

He drove as careful and quickly as possible, and Natasha had flicked on the CD player to cover the sound of her moans. When they arrived, she stayed in the car while Clint ran in, returning with a nurse and a wheelchair. He lifted her out and gently placed her in the wheelchair as the nurse raced inside with her.

Clint almost forgot their undercover identities as he checked her in, but when he finished, Mark was escorted to his wife, Elise’s, room.

When he got there, he passed the nurse who was exiting the room and stared at Natasha, laid back in the bed. “I hate the name Elise.”

Clint chuckled and sat in the chair next to her bed, grabbing her hand. “Me too.”

A nurse arrived with an ultrasound, and one exam later confirmed she was pregnant, and still pregnant. However, the nurse was perplexed by the exam and called in an OBGYN to take a closer look. Natasha knew the conversation that was about to happen and wanted to launch herself out of the room, but she still needed an answer as to what was causing the pain.

Natasha watched Clint throughout their time there, his eyes bouncing back from her face to the uncovered baby bump. He would deny that he was looking at it, but she knew he was. She couldn’t lie, she had grown more attached to the baby as well. The two of them were terrible at communicating their emotions, but if they were a “normal” couple (like Elise and Mark) they would be reading baby books and designing a nursery by now.

Right now, they were just at ease with the idea of a baby. They hadn’t quite grasped the reality of the situation yet, and especially not enough to plan for the baby to arrive. Granted, they had some time. But this was probably a wake up call for them to start some conversations.

Three hours later, they were settled back at home in bed, headed back to sleep. The doctor concluded that the pain was from her uterus stretching, but because of her “unique” situation down there (when he said unique, Natasha almost punched him in the throat), her pain was going to be more extreme. He gave her a prescription for painkillers approved for pregnant women and sent them on their way home.

Now they were back in their bed, Clint behind Natasha arms wrapped around her, hands landing on her bump. She placed her hands on top of his, scooting back to get closer to him.

Eyes closed, he kisses her hair, “G’night Tasha.”

———

Three months went by and Natasha’s baby bump grew larger to the point where her only outfits consisted of leggings and an oversized sweater. Since the hospital incident, Clint and her made some progress on getting ready for their child. He had emptied one of the upstairs bedrooms (not Kate’s though, that room still remained down the hall), and started to build the nursery. Natasha would stop by it sometimes, resting against the door frame, watching him build.

The first thing he finished was a rocking chair for Natasha. When it was done, he didn’t show it off to her. Instead she noticed it the next morning and ran her hands over it, noticing how well done it was. She had almost teared up when she saw his personalization of it with a “⧗” engraved on the top, but she held her ground.

One weekend, they decided to paint the room. Clint let Natasha pick out the color and she settled with a pale yellow, something Clint was surprised by.

“It’ll look nice in the sunlight with those windows in there,” she had told him.

And she was right.

Even with all the progress they were making, their actuals conversations about the baby were limited. No names were picked out, no talks about parenting, nothing. Natasha didn’t speak to Clint or anyone else about her growing belly. She would read parenting books by herself, and he would watch her as he would read some of his own, but they didn’t discuss it.

Some people would be worried, but Clint knew that Natasha was never going to change into the stereotypical mother that some thought every woman should be like. Instead, she was reserved and kept her feelings to herself, but he knew she would love this baby just the same, if not more.

Clint could tell that she was still apprehensive about having a baby. She had spent five months at the farmhouse so far, the longest they had ever stayed before, and there was still a lot of time left for them here. He did worry that Natasha wasn’t happy here, as she was used to the high intensity, fast-paced life of a spy, but she seemed good for now. The medication helped with pain, and Elise would go to the doctor’s for her monthly checkups with Mark.

At one of the earlier checkups, they got to hear their child’s heartbeat. Natasha didn’t know how to react. Clint started wide-eyed at the screen, trying to hide a smile from forming on his face. Natasha listened intently to the “drum beat” of her child’s heart; holy shit.

At last month’s checkup, the baby started to look more like a real baby. They gave her and Clint each a sonogram to take home. Both of them had it on them at all times, sometimes taking it out just to see their baby one more time.

Natasha was mystified. Six months ago, she thought this was impossible. She thought that she could never conceive a child, but now there was a baby in her, growing day by day.

And they had a heartbeat.

It was a little scary. It reminded her that this was real; that in a few months Clint and her would have a child. She knew in her heart that Clint would be a great father, but she didn’t know how she would be as a mother. Truthfully, she wanted this baby now, but she was also ready to go back to work.

Her whole life she spent fighting, and this “vacation” her and Clint were on was the longest she has ever had to just do nothing. She had new pains everyday, and yes, the medication helped but the feeling of being pregnant and carrying around a baby inside her did not feel like the “miracle” that other women had said it was.

She felt like a different person sometimes. This “Elise” identity felt like it crept into her own and had brainwashed her into becoming more domestic. The old Natasha wouldn’t have taken this break. The old Natasha wouldn’t be buying a stuffed animal in the town’s shop.

It wasn’t the baby that changed her though. It was the fall of SHIELD.

Before her and Steve’s mission to D.C., she felt like herself. She had been working at SHIELD ever since Clint had brought her in all those years ago, and they became the best at the agency. Their team was the most trusted by Fury. They had a success rate of 99 (they don’t talk about the mission in Belize where all hell broke loose and they needed backup).

So when she found out that HYDRA had infiltrated them, she felt lost. She had a purpose before; to fight on the good side and clean out her ledger. But, knowing that HYDRA had been there the whole time, she felt that all her hard work had been invalidated. She was still the same “bad” person she was before.

And yes, her intentions of being a good person were still there, but it felt wrong. Sure, the Avengers were a thing, and she had fought with them to save the world, but she wasn’t ready to go back. Not after the public had gained access to all her dirty secrets.

The timing of this baby seemed too convenient. She felt lost, needing something to do after D.C. and all of a sudden she was miraculously pregnant? ерунда. (Bullshit)

Maybe it wasn’t the best way to express it, but it felt like this baby was her next mission. Strike Team Delta was back, and better than ever. Except one of the members was heavily pregnant, and the other was obsessively building baby furniture. But here they were, the two best spies, in a Missouri farmhouse, reading baby books and buying stuffed animals.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she wanted this baby.

Yes, she would hesitate if you asked her, but that’s because she was scared to bring a baby into a world where their parents fought alien monsters and consistently were in shootouts. But she was filled with an overwhelming sense of needing to protect this child, and they weren’t even born yet. Some might not call that love, per-say, but keep in mind she was a trained assassin who grew up in the Red Room in Russia. She would never be the cutesy mom who wore proper maternity clothes and made scrapbooks.

However, she was going to be the mother who would never allow her child to go through what she and Clint went through. She would protect this child until the day she died. Maybe she wouldn’t be going to the school’s bake sale or see the play, but she would be there when her child cried, and she would make damn sure that her child was well taken care of.

Natasha had fallen asleep on the couch reading another maternity book while Clint was upstairs in the baby’s room, continuing to work on the crib when there was a knock at the door.

Nobody ever came to this house.

Clint jumped up, and instinctively ran to the bedroom to grab his gun. He slowly made his way down the stairs and peeked into the living room, spotting Natasha in the distance, still fast asleep.

There was another knock.

Clint stood frozen, gun aimed at the front door while he watched the doorknob twist and turn. Someone was trying to break in. They picked the wrong house. Clint was ready to fire, no matter what; no one was going to lay a hand on his wife or their unborn child.

The knob twisted harder, until the sound of keys were heard and the door clicked unlocked. Clint took a deep breath, and the door was thrown open.

Fury.

“Hello to you too, Barton.”

“Fury? What the hell-”

“I’m sorry, my two best agents disappear for five months and you expect me to not know you’re here? Reminder that I’m the one who is keeping this house off everyone’s radar. Even after your wife published everything out there.” At this point, he had stepped into the house, walking right into the kitchen and looking around as if he had misplaced something. “Where is Natasha?”

Clint had unloaded his gun, putting the safety back on and placing it down. “She’s asleep on the couch. But I wouldn’t bother her.”

“I have to talk to you both. She can wake up.”

“Sir, I really wouldn’t-”

Fury had spotted her before Clint could finish. There she was, his best spy, asleep and clearly pregnant with a baby book on her lap. “You better tell me that’s fake and you’re really committing to being undercover.”

Clint cleared his throat and crossed his arms, “It’s real.”

Fury couldn’t take his eyes off of her, “How? I thought-”

“We don’t know. We just got lucky, I suppose.”

Some would think that this was a poor reaction to finding out someone was pregnant, but Fury face seemed softer than usual, even though it was definitely not overjoyed.

When Natasha first came to SHIELD, Fury didn’t trust her. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with her until she proved her loyalty to him. Within her first year, she had completed every mission perfectly and could even get the job done in less time than any of the other spies. She was good. Fury liked her. She didn’t showcase emotions, just worked and did it well. Barton and her became his best team. He could trust them with the hard missions and they accepted the challenge gladly.

After the many years they worked together, Fury had forgotten he once despised the young redhead. He had grown to care for her, almost like she was a daughter to him.

So, when she started dating Barton, he wanted to kill the archer. He had indeed threatened him, stating that if Clint ever hurt her, he would kill him and no one would ever find his body. Luckily, the two seemed happy together and the relationship only helped their work instead of hindering it. When he proposed, the only ones who knew were himself, Phil, and Maria. The same three were the only ones allowed to know about their marriage as well, until the Avengers, of course.

And now, they were having a baby. Fury didn’t know what to say. Was he upset? No. Was he happy? Maybe?

“Are you both quitting?” He turned away from Natasha, now staring Clint down.

“SHIELD is gone, sir.”

“The Avengers aren’t.”

Clint nodded his head in acknowledgment, “We know.”

Fury chuckled, “And who is supposed to inform them that two of their members quit and decided to live Little House on the Prairie style, forgetting everything about their old lives?”

“We aren’t quitting, sir.”

Fury raised his voice, slightly, “Well, it sure seems-”

Clint shushed him, pointing towards Natasha. He headed toward the back porch and Fury followed suit. Clint leaned against the railing, while Fury took a seat on one of the wicker chairs.

“We aren’t quitting, sir.”

“How?”

Clint folded his arms in front of his chest, “What do you mean ‘how’? Natasha has three to four more months before she gives birth and then we’ll take some time with our child before Natasha goes back to New York and I stay here with the baby.”

“When do you come back to New York, hmm?”

Clint shrugged, “I don’t know, when the timing is right? I’ll know after the baby’s born.”

Fury shook his head, “This complicates things far more than either of you realize, Barton.” Clint stayed silent; he knew Fury was right, but he would never admit it. “Sure, you can get through the next months doing what you’ve been doing. But once that baby is born, both of your lives change forever. You are underestimating how much that child will mean to the both of you. Natasha may never be ready to go back, and neither may you. And you better be careful. That child is going to need a lot of protection with the parents they’re gonna have. You may be whichever undercover names you are here, but don’t forget you are still Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff.”

He stood up from the chair, “When she wakes up, you tell her to take care of herself. And that’s an order.”

Clint nodded and Fury places a hand on his shoulder, “Keep me updated, too. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on. It’ll be just the three of us, none of Avengers will know.”

“Of course, sir.”

Fury walks down the porch steps, “Oh, and call your little Kate Bishop friend, she’s been bugging the shit out of me.”

Fuck. Clint had been so preoccupied in the last couple months he didn’t realize that he had placed Kate on the back burner.

It had been five years ago that he had discovered her trying to be a mini-Hawkeye. And after seeing some promise in her, he decided to began training her. She was a free spirit, and she sure acted like she hated him, but Clint had become very close to the teenager.

No, he was nowhere near like a father to her, maybe more like an older brother?

And he had his phone shut down for the past five months, only thinking about how the Avengers may try to contact him, and not Kate. Fuck, she was going to be pissed.

Clint made his way back into the house; good, Tasha was still asleep. He went back upstairs, taking the gun with him so he could put it away. He went into their closet, spotting the burner phone they had for emergencies.

He knew her number by heart, now he just had to pray she would pick up the phone.

Three rings went by before he heard a dry, “If this is a telemarketer calling, get a life, dude.”

“Kate?”

“That’s my name. What do you want?”

“Kate, it’s Barton.”

There was a long pause.

“Kate?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry, Kate, I-”

“No seriously, fuck you. Do you know how long I’ve been trying to contact you?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You and Nat go on the run, and you don’t even tell me?”

“It’s more complicated than that, Kate, I’m sorry-”

“Stop saying that!”

“Okay.”

“Look, I know you’re on your little farmhouse and when you guys need a break, I can’t just show up but you could’ve at least kept in contact with me. You just abandoned me for the past five months.”

“Kate, I can’t apologize enough. I never meant to abandon you, something just came up and we had to lose all contact with everyone and I just forgot.”

“Glad I’m forgettable.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Fine. But what the hell happened that was so important that you completely cut me off from your life? Hmm?”

Clint didn’t know what to say. I mean, he knew he had to reveal his little secret, but this was he first time telling anyone about Natasha.

“Hello? Earth to Barton? What happened?”

“It’s Natasha.”

“…is she okay?”

“She’s pregnant.”

There’s a small pause.

“Shut up, you’re lying.”

“No, I’m not, I promise.”

“How? I mean, I know ‘how’, but like I thought she couldn’t, ya know, have a baby?”

“We aren’t sure. But she is. She’s a little over five months today.”

“Damn…Barton’s having a baby. That’s wild.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this though, okay?”

“Of course.”

“You should stay over soon, you got to see the nursery. I built everything from scratch. It’s pretty nice.”

“For sure. I’ll let you know when. I’m kind of busy doing some small missions of my own here and there. Nothing too intense, but I was trying to keep busy.”

“Good, I’m glad. I should go though, I should probably check on Natasha.”

“Yeah, do that! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Bye, Kate.”

“Bye, birdbrain.”

———

Natasha was six months pregnant when she brought up baby names. Clint was in the nursery (which looked like a construction zone at this point) and she took a seat in the rocking chair, asking him if he had any ideas.

It took Clint by surprise, but he stopped his work, sat on the ground and looked back at her. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

Natasha placed a hand on her bump, which had grown a great deal at this point. “I think it’s a boy.”

Clint laughed a little, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. Why, you don’t?”

Clint shook his head, “I have no clue. I mean I don’t really have a way of knowing.”

Natasha started rubbing small circles across her bump, feeling the baby shifting around. Last month she felt a kick for the first time. She grabbed Clint’s hand while they laid on the couch together, placing it gently on the bump as the baby kicked for him as well. Clint couldn’t believe what he was feeling and he didn’t take his hand away for a while. Natasha let him enjoy these moments with the bump, as she knew that she got much more experience with the baby daily than he did.

“It might be a girl,” Clint stated, fiddling with a piece of wood in his hands. “A little redhead who looks like you.”

Natasha gave him a small smile. He liked this. This little moment was nice. Sure, it was a little late in her pregnancy, but he would have never rushed her.

“And if it’s a girl, what do we call her?” she asked.

“Hmm. I don’t know. I kind of like shorter names like Ellie or Meg. Why, did you have anything in mind?”

“I was thinking either Sophie or Anya.”

Clint smiled, “Anya? I like that.”

Natasha looked up, “You do?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty. And Russian?”

Natasha nodded, “Yes. It means grace.”

“Well, I think it’s perfect. What if it’s a boy? Do you have a Russian name in mind too?”

“I was thinking Sasha. Or Misha. The first means defending men, the second is gift from God.”

“I like Misha. It’s cute,” Clint replied, leaning back against the finished crib. “I think they should have your last name.”

She raised her brows, “Mine?”

Clint shrugged, “Yeah. We could like hyphenate it like the young kids do now. You know, Romanoff-Barton?”

“Hmm. I’d like that.”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes before she spoke again, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Natasha shifted in the chair, moving her focus to her hands, still resting on the bump. “For not talking much. For keeping to myself. For not being overly excited. There’s a lot.”

Clint moved closer to her, placing his hand on her knee, “Tasha, you have nothing to be sorry for. This baby was a lot to take in, and you’re the one doing all the hard work. You can be quiet. You don’t have to talk to me about things you don’t want to. We both are new to this, we’re not going to do everything by the book.”

“Maybe we could start talking about the baby more, though.”

Clint smiled up at her, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Natasha took one of her hands off her knee and placed it on her belly, “They’re kicking.”

———

Kate stayed over when Natasha hit seven months. She only stayed for a couple days, and she definitely was weirded out. Sure, it was all very exciting, but it was very odd. The woman she knew for five years, who she had seen bloodied, bruised, shooting a gun, throwing knifes into targets, was now folding baby onesies into a dresser in a pale yellow nursery.

It was weird.

And now, Barton, the most sarcastic man in the world, was being gentle around her.

Everything was changing, and Kate didn’t know if she liked it.

For the three days she was there, she tried to keep things like normal. Clint took her shooting in the backyard, which was nice. Then she helped him in the nursery. When she first walked in, it was strange. She would have never pictured this.

The old gray walls were now pale yellow. There was a crib, a changing table, a dresser, and a closet that had the beginnings of a child’s wardrobe. There were a few stuffed animals, a few books, and a blanket draped over the crib.

“Wow,” she said.

Clint smiled, “I know. Weird, huh?”

“Extremely.”

Clint and her started to work on a wooden rocking horse that he had seen in one of the baby books. They fell right back into their old selves, joking around the entire time, each throwing lighthearted insults at the other.

Kate had really missed him. He was the only strong male figure who stayed around in her life, and truthfully, she had grown to love him like family. Sure, she would never say that to his face, but, yeah, it was true.

“So, you, uh, got a name for the little assassin yet?”

“Natasha picked some out. We got Misha Ryan Romanoff-Barton for boy, Anya Arianna Romanoff-Barton for girl.”

“That’s a mouthful.”

“Hey, I’m not doing any of the hard work, so why should the kid just be a Barton?”

Kate handed him the hammer, sitting back as he used it. “This is weird.”

Clint kept hitting the wood piece into place, “Well, it’s not finished yet so don’t-”

“Not the horse.”

Clint stopped and looked up at Kate, whose face had turned somber. “Oh.” He placed the hammer down next to him, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Kate adverted her eyes away from his, “It’s just…It’s just going to be so different.”

“Yeah, it will be. But it’ll be exciting too.”

Kate bit at her bottom lip, “Maybe for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” She began fiddling with the tools in front of her, picking one up to examine it, and then placing it back on the floor.

Clint, still seated in front of her, grabbed the tools from her hands. “Talk to me, Hawkette.”

She half-smiled at his nickname for her and looked up at him, “This baby is so important to you guys. I just don’t want our relationship to change.”

Clint nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Kate, that won’t happen. Honestly, the baby will probably make us closer. We’re definitely going to need your help with them. And I want the little bugger to have their Auntie Kate around to teach them and play with them. You can stay here with us, in your room. We aren’t going to change that. You can come here any time you’d like, just as long as you tell us beforehand. We love you, Kate. And yeah, the baby is going to change some stuff, but I promise we are all going to be okay.”

Kate nodded, grinning a little, but still looking unsure. “Okay.”

“I promise you. You’re going to be such a huge part of this baby’s life.”

Kate smiled at Clint, picked up his hammer and handed it to him, “Let’s finish this horse.”

———

Natasha was officially eight months pregnant when she awoke in the middle of the night with severe pains, and a puddle of warm liquid between her legs.

The baby was coming.

She shook Clint awake, “Clint. Clint.”

“Wha-what?”

“I think I’m in labor.”

With the word ‘labor’, he jumped awake, scrambling out of bed, “It’s time?”

Natasha let out a long moan, “Fuckkkkkk-“

“I take that as a yes.”

She shook her head, “It’s only eight months, we aren’t ready for this.”

“I don’t know if the baby is going to wait any longer.” He reached his hand out, “Here, let me help you. We have to get to the hospital.”

“No, no,” Natasha breathed out.

“No? Tasha, what are you talking about? Come on,” he reached for her again.

“Clint, we can’t. We can’t have anybody know about the baby. We have to do it here, we can hide them here, no one will know, we can-”

“Tasha, you aren’t being logical. We have to go to a hospital, we don’t want anything to go wrong.”

Natasha gripped her belly, another contraction slamming her hard. She moaned through it, “I don’t want them to take my baby!”

Oh.

Clint bent down to her side of the bed where she was sitting, feet on the floor. He took both of her hands in his, “Tasha, look at me. No one is going to touch that baby, okay? We’ll go as Mark and Elise, and we’ll give them a fake baby name too. We can call Fury after and sort it all out. But, I’m not risking your life or the baby’s by staying here. I’m not qualified to deliver a baby, and I know you aren’t either. So please, come with me. Please?”

Her eyes welled with tears, and she nodded her head, “Okay.”

Clint got her down the stairs carefully, her groaning in severe pain as she took each step. It felt very reminiscent of when she was two months pregnant, heading to the hospital the first time. Except now, they had a finished nursery with all hand-made furniture, a car seat, a high chair, stuffed animals, books, and more onesies than either had seen in their life.

They seemed like real parents.

And they were about to be. Very soon.

It was difficult to stay undercover for both of them. Especially when the one’s in pain, and the other is trying to comfort them. Natasha had to be careful not to call him ‘Clint’ in front of the nurses who got her all set up in her hospital room. Clint had almost slipped and called her ’Tasha’ while she squeezed his hand through a particularly painful contraction.

So, here they were, posing as Mark and Elise Leonard, about to give birth to either to Amy Marie or Alex Tyler Leonard.

It was ridiculous.

But they couldn’t risk anyone finding out.

Natasha had gotten paranoid at anyone who looked at her longer for five seconds, but luckily, this town was so small that there were less televisions than there were tractors, so most of them did not known the Avengers well, or at all.

The doctor immediately came to check on her when she arrived. He was concerned that the baby was coming too early, as she had three more weeks before she hit her due date.

One ultrasound later revealed that the baby was okay, and that they would just need a careful delivery. Hearing that made Clint feel so much better about coming here, and thankful Natasha agreed with him. If he was alone at home, he would have been so scared that something would have happened to either Natasha or the baby. Or both.

Of all the injuries Natasha had had in her life, nothing was more painful than this. This was the one thing that was most accurate about what she had heard about having a baby.

Labor sucks ass.

She tried to breathe through the contractions, but they hurt like a motherfucker and the fact that she had to be undercover was making her more irritable.

Clint was there for her the whole time, like he had been for this whole pregnancy. She was so grateful for him, but in this moment, she wanted to strangle him for putting this baby in her.

Three hours.

She got through three hours before she was able to receive the epidural. A long needle was shoved into her back, and the nurse was stunned by how well she took it. Clint smiled at her confused face, needles had no effect on the master assassin.

But contractions did.

Luckily the epidural kicked in and relieved her of the pain, but this was still a lot for Natasha.

Four hours of contractions, sweat, tears, and Clint’s hand going numb later, Natasha was at her breaking point.

“I need to push, I need to push, I need to-”

A short nurse came over to the bed, placing a hand on her leg, “You can’t push just yet, we need to make sure you are fully dilated before you do, okay Elise?”

Natasha wanted to kick her in the face.

She got through fifteen more minutes of excruciating pain, squeezing Clint’s hand and letting tears roll down her cheeks. “Please, I have to push,” she cried and the doctor came quickly to check how far along she was. This time, she was ten centimeters dilated and the doctor’s team gathered in the small hospital room, ready to deliver this baby.

The nurses got everything set up, including Clint, who was directed on how to hold his wife and what he should be doing. Clint was sat on the bed with her, body half next to, half behind her. His right arm wrapped around her shoulders, his left pulling up her left leg.

She looked up at him, a glimmer of fear in her watery eyes. He placed a kiss on her sweat covered forehead, “You got this.”

As another contraction hit, she cried through the overwhelming pressure to push, and the doctor was finally ready for her. “Okay, Elise!”

Fuck that name.

“You ready to meet your little one? On your next contraction, I need you to push.”

Natasha nodded, eyes squeezed shut as she waited for the pain to build up again. When it did, she held her breath and began to push how she had read too in the maternity books. Clint held her tightly as she screamed through her first push, a pain that was far worse than she had imagined.

It might not have been this bad if it wasn’t for the Red Room. If it wasn’t for the fact that this baby wasn’t supposed to be here. If she had instead got to live a normal life, like Elise and Mark did.

She snapped out of her thoughts as the doctor counted up, “One, two, three, push!”

Natasha listened to her body’s instincts, pushing as hard as she possibly could. “Good, good!” The doctor said, before she stopped and slammed her head back against the pillow.

“I can’t, I can’t-”

Clint placed his head against hers, “Yes, you can, you are doing so well, you got this.”

Another contraction came over her, and she pushed again. And again. And again.

After six rounds of pushing, Natasha was becoming exhausted, but on the seventh push, the doctor declared that the baby was crowning. He told Mark to take a peak at his baby’s head, and Clint was overwhelmed by what his was witnessing. “You’re almost there, you got this.”

Natasha pushed as hard as she could and this time, the baby’s head was out. After a second, the doctor told her, “One more push, Elise, and then you can see your baby! One, two, three!”

She pushed harder than she ever did, mustering up as much strength as she could through her exhaustion, when she felt an immense pressure release from her and heard the loud wails of a small baby. She flopped back against the bed and Clint as the doctor held up her newborn baby.

“It’s a girl!”

The two spies, heartless as they used to be, both sat astonished by what they were witnessing. Their baby, their little girl was right there, right in front of them.

“Here you go, mama,” a nurse said as she handed the wailing child to Natasha.

Natasha grabbed her carefully and placed the child on her chest, arms wrapped around her gently as Clint was still wrapped around her too. Natasha felt a tear roll down her cheek, “Hello, little one.”

Her Anya was here. And she was beautiful.

Both of the spies cried as they held their child for the first time. Her little screams subsided as she became more adjusted to her surroundings. The nurses got her all cleaned up, weighed and measured her, and wrapped her up in a blanket, putting a small hat on her head.

5lb, 6 oz. 18 inches long.

She was small, but she was mighty.

Their little Anya Arianna Romanoff-Barton.

#black widow #hawkeye #Clintasha #clint barton #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #clintasha au #clintasha edit #clint/natasha #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #anya romanoff-barton #avengers #mcu edit #winter soldier au #mcu #marvel mcu

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rushmanatalie · 5 years

Text

falling like the stars || ch. 1/?

Rating: E

Summary: In the five years since the world they knew ended, they found solace in each other, until a brief encounter with fate gives them the chance to change everything. A post-Infinity War and Endgame re-write. Notes: Thank you all so much for reading, and for all the love on my last work. It really gave me the drive I needed to get this baby out. Hoping to get the second chapter up some time in the next two weeks. Please feel free to leave comments on what you want to see next because I’m always open to new ideas!

Steve would never let Nat live in the Avengers facility alone, change my mind. Also Steve is a bad cook, it’s canon. Title from James Arthur’s song of the same name.

Read on Ao3

It’s like a ritual now. She wakes up in his arms, the white silk sheets of the bed cold against their warm, entangled bodies as he presses gentle kisses down her spine, drawing out her good morning in a content sigh. He’s perfect like this, mussed blonde hair golden under the first rays of the morning sun, blue eyes almost grey with the haze of sleep, a lazy, boyish smile on his lips. And for a moment she can’t help but to contemplate the irony of it all, how it took the darkest of times for them to finally find this, this happiness.

What did it cost?

Everything.

They had lost everything. Everyone. Nick. Sam. Wanda. Vision. T’challa. Hell, even the kid Tony had picked up from Queens had vanished into thin air.

Half the population, gone. To say they were not prepared for this amount of devastation was an understatement. For months, families, cities, and entire countries fought to put themselves back together. Natasha had done everything she could to help bring order in the year of chaos that ensued, but she couldn’t do anything to subdue the uncertainty that loomed over them, a constant shadow of doubt and grief that hung on every fake smile, every bit of laughter, like salt in the wound of the healing.

And she’d almost done it alone.

The Avengers disbanded shortly after they left the Garden. Some had found a way to live on; Tony and Pepper had gotten married and had a beautiful daughter, Morgan, and Bruce was last heard finding success in experiments with the Hulk. Others fell into their despair; Thor had disappeared to New Asgard, only ever leaving his home to restock his supply of Asgardian mead, and Clint. Clint. She couldn’t bear to think about him.

These were the people she called her family; now they were so broken it felt like she’d lost them too.

Of course, they had all been lucky enough to survive the Decimation (that’s what they called it now). But some days she found herself almost, fuck, just almost, wishing they hadn’t, because knowing they had left each other, had left her, one by one, in a time of such hopelessness and defeat, that somehow hurt more.

Steve was the only one who stayed, and honestly, she doesn’t know where she’d be if he had left her too. For the past three years, the two drowned themselves, Steve in his support group, Natasha in her training, and at the end of the day, they would drown together, in each other, until she didn’t know where she ended and where he began. And she never wanted to come up for air.

Some call it hell. She calls it happiness. At least, it’s the most happiness she’s known in years, though why they couldn’t have found it sooner is a mystery she could never seem to solve.

“You okay?” His voice is soft against the nape of her neck.

She nods, the faintest of smiles crossing her lips. “I’m fine.”

She’s not, he thinks as he smooths his thumb over the creases between her brows, a hint of worry showing between his own. She smiles, but her eyes are empty. That’s all she’s been in the past two years, a ghost, a shell of her former self. And it scares him how hard it hit her. Of course, it had hurt them all, but Natasha was always the strongest one, the one who would rather die than put her emotions out on display. In that sense, she hasn’t changed, but he knows of the crying behind closed doors, the wiping away of tears when he’s not quite looking, the sneaking of cigarettes on the balcony when she thinks he’s fallen asleep.

But at this moment he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s a trust between them now that goes beyonds words, beyond these feelings. She trusts him with her life, her heart, and she’s proven on various occasions that he could entrust his with her.

She’ll tell him when she’s ready, if she ever would be.

He silences her thoughts with a languid kiss, weaving a hand into her hair. It had grown out over the years so that the bright red reached her shoulders, yet the blonde tips remained, almost as a reminder of the pain they carried with them everywhere.

She kisses him back, growing in hunger, desire, and he opens his mouth to let it take over. He dips a hand down to her stomach and slips under the hem of her camisole, finding the roughness of the scar the Winter Soldier had left on her all those years ago. The satisfaction of hearing her moan makes him reach a little higher, until his hand is over her breast. Her own hands roam the planes of his chest, every touch hotter, lower than the last, until his hardened length is painfully straining against the fabric of his briefs.

But his own pleasure can wait. He grabs her wrists and pins them above her head. She likes him like this: a little rough, a little harsh. It had taken a long time for her to convince him that this was good, that she enjoyed it, and when she finally did, when he finally let himself be in charge, it was pure ecstasy.

He pulls the camisole off of her in one smooth movement. Before she has time to react to the cold air on her skin, he’s planting a row of kisses down her chest, beneath her navel, fingers dancing around the thin fabric of her underwear. That comes off of her torturously slowly, he makes sure of it, and he takes pride in the way she arches her back and spreads her legs in protest.

God, how did he ever get so lucky?

She’s already wet with wanting, aching for his touch, and he obliges, licking a broad stroke over her sex, relishing in the way her hands thread their way through his hair, urging him to keep going. His eyes meet hers from between her legs and she can’t help but giggle (since when did she giggle) at the sight of him like this.

“Shouldn’t we eat breakfast first?”

The corner of his mouth tugs into a smug grin. That dumbass. “I already am.”

He pushes two fingers inside her, curling them just right as he presses his thumb to her clit, circling over the sensitive nerves, taking her closer and closer to the edge, a string of Russian curses falling from her lips. His mouth finds the pulse of her throat, and somehow knowing that it’ll leave a mark makes him suck harder on the softness of her skin. But before she can get where he knows she wants to be, he stops, and it takes everything in her power to hold back a strained whimper of desperation.

My turn. Sitting up, she hooks her fingers into the top of his briefs, and pushes them down to his ankles so that he can kick them off the side of the bed. She’d seen him like this many times before, but Christ, it never gets old. A swipe of her tongue across the tip of his length has him lost in a wave of pleasure, and it isn’t long before she’s closing her lips over him, taking note of the way his breath hitches, the muscles in his body tensing up as he tries not to bury himself in the warmth of her mouth. His patience wears thin, with every hum of her throat bringing him closer to his climax.

“Fuck, Nat, I’m—”

She denies him the chance. The way her mouth comes off of him is absolutely obscene, and ten years ago, it would have sent him into a furious blush, but now, he can’t stop the titillating thoughts of what he wants to do to her from running through his head.

She brings him down on top of her and kisses him hard. It’s almost shameful how much pleasure he gets from the way his taste mixes with hers on their tongues. When she pulls away, it’s green eyes on blue, and somehow, it feels the most intimate they’ve been all morning despite their state of undress. An “I need you” said in complete silence.

He slides inside her slowly, carefully, then all at once, and it earns him a lustful moan that he takes as his cue to move. They find their rhythm with ease. It’s fast, it’s hot, and it’s heavy, and it’s almost muscle memory by now, but the pleasure feels just as new as it did the first time they made love like this. Her legs are wrapped around his back, and this time, she doesn’t hold back the loud wails that escape her lips as he finds the perfect spot inside of her. The bed creaks beneath them; the headboard rattles against the wall as she grasps it so tightly her knuckles turn white, and for a second, Steve can’t help but be thankful they have the place to themselves, because the sounds they’re making are practically pornographic.

They teeter on the edge of pure bliss, and she’s so goddamn close that she’s writhing underneath him, chasing her release.

His fingers circle her clit as he presses an open kiss behind her ear, where he knows it makes her melt. “Come for me, Nat. Let go.”

That was all she needed to push her over, and she falls apart with his name on her lips like prayer from the mouth of a saint. The tightening of her walls around him, sending him down seconds after, and he comes inside her with an unrestrained groan against her neck, and perhaps an “I love you” hidden within it.

He’s never said it before. Neither of them have. Not out loud. Not to each other. But they say it in stolen glances, worried looks, and moments like this.

They lie beside each other, face to face, breathless, for what seems like an eternity as he rubs small circles on her arm. “You know what? I think I actually enjoyed today’s breakfast.”

“Yeah? Well, it was slightly better than the pancakes you made last week.” She eyes him pointedly, her signature smirk more teasing than her words. “Slightly.”

“Well, I don’t know about you,” he says, kissing her forehead, her nose, then, chastly, her lips, “But I’m still hungry.”

She shakes her head as he moves over on top of her again; her laugh is like music to his ears. “You’re insatiable, Rogers.”

“What can I say? I can do this all day.”

—————————

When Natasha gets out of the shower, she’s greeted by the unmistakable smell of bacon. She doesn’t even realize how hungry she is until her feet are betraying her, and before she can even put on proper clothes, she’s walking into the kitchen, pulling her black bathrobe just a little tighter at the sight in front of her. Steve stands in a light grey henley and dark jeans, back to her as he prods at a pan of scrambled eggs on the stove with a wooden spatula. It’s almost strange to see Captain America being so domestic, but she finds it surprisingly endearing. Besides, was he even Captain America these days anymore?

He catches her through the corner of his eye as she saunters over to the island behind him, where a plate of cooked bacon sits on the marble countertop. “Would you look at that?” She breaks off a corner of the meat and finds that it’s a little crispier than she likes, but she manages to both chew and swallow it. “That’s actually almost edible.”

Natasha would never consider herself a picky person, especially when it came to food. Not when missions often required her to cook canned beans in microwaves or instant oatmeal over wood fires. But it didn’t take her long to find out that Steve’s cooking was less than enjoyable, which wasn’t all that surprising since he lived a good chunk of his life on food rations and boiled cabbage or potato soups.

“I’ll take almost,” he chuckles as he sets down a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her.

“Is that...paprika on top?” she questions with a suspecting brow. “Since when did you get so fancy with the spices?”

“Just thought I’d try something new.” Nodding toward the plate, he hands her a fork. “Here, try it.”

With a false reluctance, she flips through the pile of eggs before tasting the smallest piece. “Wow, uh—”

“That bad, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, that’s what it sounded like you were saying.”

She shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Sorry, Gordon Ramsay.”

The name clearly doesn’t ring a bell, his face showing nothing but confusion.

“Celebrity chef? He had this show where he went to the worst restaurants in the world and turned them into these five star places in a week.”

“Must not have made it onto my list.” The plates are pushed to the side as he heads to the fridge for a jug of milk before pulling out two boxes in the cabinet above him. “So, Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Frosted Flakes?”

“Is that even a question?”

He sets two bowls and spoons onto the countertop and pours the milk first (to this day, she still has no idea why), then Cinnamon Toast Crunch after (again, no idea why), pushing the bowl with less milk across to her. Just the way she likes it.

“So, what time’s your meeting today?” she asks, a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.

“Two. I should probably head out soon.” He pauses with a breath of hesitation that’s grown all too familiar to her, so much that a small part of her fears what comes next. “You know my offer still stands.”

This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned it, and her answer has always been the same.

“I’m fine, Steve.” She stares down blankly at her reflection in the back of her spoon to avoid the concern of his gaze.

“You can't keep going on like this."

"I said, I’m fine."

"Natasha—"

"Steve, please, leave it—"

"You need to talk to someone, Nat!” The harshness of his tone startles her, and her eyes dart up only for a second, but long enough to notice the clenching of his jaw, the furrowing of his brows. “You can't just shut everyone out." His voice softens. “Don’t shut me out.”

There’s a hint of pleading in his voice, but she chooses to ignore it, because the implications that it comes with are something she’s spent too long considering, and she didn’t want to anymore.

“You’ve been putting up this front for three years, Nat. I know you’re hurting. I’m fucking hurting. But goddamn it, let me help you,” he swallows heavily, as if those words had dried his throat completely. “And I know you’re drinking again.”

Fuck. The back of her throat begins to burn, her eyes stinging with tears that threaten to fall. Part of her knew that she could have done a better job at hiding the bottles. He always seemed to find them. But then again, maybe it’s because deep down she knew that she wanted him to.

When she finally looks up, it’s with an anger in her eyes, but not at him. At herself.

“Why do you care?” It’s not meant to be a challenge, yet she can tell that’s the way it comes off to him because he looks at her, almost stunned.

He opens his mouth to say something, but she doesn’t stay to hear it. Before he replies, she storms out of the kitchen, stopping halfway through the hallway only when she knows she’s out of his line of sight to turn and catch a glimpse of him, a wave of relief and a tinge of disappointment washing over her when she realizes that he hadn’t followed.

But there’s only one place she wants to be now.

By the time she grabs the headphones, leg warmers, pointe shoes, and backup flask hidden in her sock drawer, she hears the soft hum of his motorcycle in the driveway, and finds herself wishing that when he comes back, she won’t be awake to see it.

#my writing #fic #romanogers #stevenat #marvel #mcu #avengers endgame

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