Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

nov. 4th, 3:23 pm

clint

The elevator had begun its smooth ascent when Clint groaned. “You’re hurting me.”

“Oh, stop whining.” Whining? She hadn’t seen whining yet.

“I’ll stop whining when you’re bony little fingers quit stabbing me.”

She scoffed, but there was a smile present and she released his arm before flicking his shoulder lightly. “If you’d come willingly, then I wouldn’t have to drag you up here like a delinquent.”

“That’s what happens when you pull me away from Mario Kart.” He lifted his hands in a shrug. “I get cranky.” He’d had Tony on the ropes, one more lap to go, and now he’d have to hear him gloat about him surrendering; which he did not.

 “You played, like, six rounds before that.” A soft chime and the elevator slowing signaled they’d reached Natasha and Bucky’s shared floor, the doors opening swiftly as she smirked and stretched up to throw an arm around his shoulders while they walked out. “You know how sensitive elderly people are to blue light.” 

“And here is where you’ve mistaken me for Barnes,” he replied, picking her arm off him in mock disgust. “I’m young. Young and agile and at peak performance.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. She led them through the floor, bypassing the kitchen. It was empty and the dishwasher seemed to be running, but the smell of something rich and savory lingered. “Wasn’t aware we were playing truths and a lie.”

“Shut up. You cooked?” he asked, and she shook her head gently after a chuckle at his first remark.

“James. Shashlik & pilaf.” Well, that just wasn’t fair.

“So first you pull me from Mario Kart and now I get this rubbed in my face.”

She halted just as they made it to the hallway, amusement on her face as she turned back to look at him. “I saved you some, it’s in the fridge.”

Okay, maybe it was fair.

It was his turn now to walk up and throw an arm over her as he grinned, “Do you know how much I love you?” to which she gave a good-natured shove. They’d been on one of their earlier ops together when she’d introduced him to shashlik (and he’d made the mistake of calling them kebabs because she went on for five minutes explaining every way in which they were not kebabs); Latvia, waiting out an arms dealer to take him into SHIELD’s custody for interrogation.

Junior work, really, which Phil and Nick had known but they’d insisted on having her work her way up to the bigger jobs—much to her chagrin. She’d not been shy in expressing her disdain for something so simple all before, during, and after the op.

He’d just been happy to get out of training the actual recruits that week.

They’d ended up finishing up earlier than they’d planned and stopped by a hole-in-the-wall restaurant she knew of before extraction.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

She dropped her fork down and stared straight at him. “What.” It wasn’t a question this time.

God, she was bossy. Young and extremely talented, but bossy all the same.

He found it charming.

“I’ve just—never actually seen you eat—really eat before. Maybe a nibble here and there…” More often than not, a protein bar or a meager sandwich from the cafeteria at best; nowhere near an adequate amount of food, especially for her. She was already quite slim, with not much to spare, and he already had to remind her to get something in her on a semi-regular basis.

“You Americans only eat sugar and fat,” she replied, picking her glass up for a sip of water. “It’s gross.”

“You liked that grilled cheese sandwich I made you last week,” he pointed out. She really had—the swinging of her foot from the stool in his kitchen and lack of frown on her face was proof enough.

She blinked at him. “I was hungry.”

He ignored her comment and shrugged instead, gave her a slight nod. “But it’s good. Seeing you eat, it’s good.”

He’d been half ready to have her glass of water tossed in his face for the soft comment, but her moment of pause almost made him chuckle. Then she said, “Shut up,” almost halfheartedly, by her standards, so he let himself smile then, digging back into his plate of rice. The shashlik was good but the pilaf was even better.

Yeah, he was growing on her.

And so was his lunch.

Maybe he’d look around the city when they got back, see if any restaurants around made the foods she was more accustomed to.

“Hmm, remind me next time you wanna yell at me for getting injured?” The old memory took him back so far he hadn’t even realized they’d made it inside the living room until Natasha was sitting down on the oversized couch, looking up at him. He loved this couch.

He’d taken some of his best naps on this couch.

“I’ll remind you after I yell ‘cause your skull’s too thick,” was his reply, and leaned back as he took a seat beside her. “Comes with the territory.” She rolled her eyes, but there was a small curve of her mouth present before she took a deep, sobering breath. “What’s up?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay… if this is about the bet with Sam, I don’t even…”

“There’s a bet with Sam?” she cut him off, eyebrows raised.

“Forget I said that,” he said, grinning at the side-eye she gave in return. Yeah, like hell she would; she’d most likely already made a mental note to ask Friday about it later. “So what’s up?” 

“You know I went to Toronto last week.” Clint nodded. He’d heard about her extraction, was seconds away from pulling on his shoes and heading straight for Headquarters had he not gotten confirmation from Bucky himself that she was okay. Kid was gonna run him ragged, she kept getting injured. “Came back, had to go to medical and see Helen, all that stuff. Sound familiar?”

He was in the med bay with her, of course he knew. She’d been too out of it to really speak anyway. He made a point to look at her butterfly-bandaged forehead and back at her. “I’m vaguely aware of it.”

“Ass.”

“I do have a great one.”

“I think Laura would argue mine is better,” and the eye roll he gave her elicited a smile as he waited for her to go on. Natasha continued, “So Cho checked me out, gave me the whole nine. My system’s clear, vitals are good. She did the bloodwork…” And while that was all good news, not that he’d been too worried, the slowing in her words gave way to something else.

“Okay…so that’s good. Right?”

“Right,” she echoed, shifting on the couch to lean back against the armrest, but perturbation underscored that one syllable and she couldn’t look at him. Natasha, of all people, was struggling to maintain eye contact, so surely there was something else.

A beat passed. She toyed with an errant thread on a throw pillow.

Another beat. The very faint sounds of Midtown danced around the quiet room. It was nearing rush hour for most people, so it made sense.

Clint, in all his years of being a father, had damn near mastered the art of patience. And while it came with the job as well, it’s always been different with people. To wait out a temper tantrum from Lila, a lecture from Fury—of which he’d gotten plenty—or one of Stark’s science-y rants.

Or Stark in general, really.

Pepper was probably more forbearing than himself, and that was saying something. But being patient with Natasha was something else entirely, and for that, he really must thank her for someday because he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him a better man.

Leaning forward, he dipped his head bit in an attempt to meet her eyes, though his efforts were ineffective. Natasha just shook her head, more to herself than him. “What’s wrong, Kid?”

Now… well, now was when a hint of worry seemed to ease its way in and around his heart, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could be the problem. He’d been used to silence. His partial deafness instilled that, had for a while now, and the dead quiet just before shooting an arrow had come almost as a comfort.

Any lack of communication from Natasha regarding anything personal to her during her junior years at SHIELD had been almost if not just as second nature as those things—at least until she fully acclimatized and got to talking his ear off when the mood took her. Silence was a coping mechanism, he’d come to learn. Being brought up—if he could call it that—in the Red Room, emotions were not acknowledged, let alone tolerated. But they’d worked on that, those early years, and he and Phil made it a priority to drill into her the complete opposite.

“I’m giving you two more minutes before I come over there and sit on your ass.”

Her scoff said yeah okay better than she could say it. Which was by a lot, considering she wasn’t saying anything.

“I can get really annoying, too. Ask Phil.”

“And what you’re doing now, that’s not you being annoying?”

So she could speak when it came to making fun of him?

He could work with that.

“I’m just warming up. If you tell me what’s going on, I can save it for another day.” He made a show of looking at his watch. “You have a minute and forty.”

At that, she stood from her bed to pace the small living quarters she’d been assigned to, her hands coming up to rest on her hips. Dressed in a gray, oversized SHIELD sweatshirt and white joggers, flyaways from her ponytail framing her face, she looked more like a college student than a former assassin.

“There isn’t anything to talk about.”

“Okay. So I’ll just sit here until there is.” Letting that hang out in the air, he leaned back against her headboard and shut his eyes, hands folded over his chest. If she wasn’t going to talk anytime soon, he might as well get a power nap in, right?

The pacing came to a halt just near the bed. Kid was probably watching him. “Why.”

“Why what?”

“Has Fury asked you to do this? Is that…”

So much for that nap. Clint opened his eyes at her query, made a mental note to curb any emotion from showing on his face. She thought him caring was… “You think the only reason why I’d come straight here after hours of paperwork and training is because I’ve been ordered to.”

Natasha said nothing but crossed her arms in front of her in what had to be an attempt at shielding herself from the touchy conversation. Her eyes flitted over him, assessing him for any sign of a bluff.

“Why are you here?”

“Your bed’s comfier than mine… I gotta talk to Phil about that, y’know. My back deserves the best.” Natasha didn’t laugh. Shifting to face her better, Clint met her gaze solemnly. “Because I want to be, Nat.” The faint confusion on her face shouldn’t have struck him so hard—he knew she was nescient to this sort of thing, knew some of what she’d been through, the Red Room, and a few stories. It was different, still, to see her so openly flummoxed at his admission.

No one deserved to be so alienated from kindness.

“That’s not part of your orders.”

With a frown, he replied, “I know that.”

“Yet you’re going off-task.” The words came out measured as if she were trying to parse it together as she spoke.

Clint sighed. “I know that too…” He watched her for a beat before sitting up against the headboard and patting a spot next to him on her bed. For a moment he thought she’d tell him to screw himself for trying to tell her what to do or for the conversation to begin with, but she moved to sit next to him, even if she seemed a bit wary.

When she settled in beside him with her feet crossed at the ankle, he continued, “You’re also not some—mission. You’re a human being. One that I do care about. Genuinely.”

“This isn’t an order?”

“This isn’t an order.” He’d remind her however many times was needed until she got it through her hard head, and if it never did he’d keep doing so.

“I wasn’t…” Natasha trailed off. She shook her head, her gaze seemingly on the closet across the room. Her uniform and a few other basic pieces were hung up. “I’ve never…”

“I know.”

“I’ve never had a real friend.” The words came out so gently. “Never been one either. So I don’t—”

“Tasha?” She turned her head slightly in his direction but didn’t look directly at him. “I know. We’ll work it out. Trust me?” While she didn’t answer immediately, she leaned over to rest against his shoulder. Clint smiled.

Pushing sometimes did more harm than good, and they’d already made progress today, so he wouldn’t force her about whatever it was that was troubling her. They’d tackle it later. Maybe after lunch? It should be nearing one by now…

As he drifted off into a light doze, Natasha said quietly, “This doesn’t mean you get to hog my bed all the time, by the way,” and Clint had to snort at the unexpected comment.

Yeah. She’d be okay.

So now it worried him, her sitting quietly in front of him with a look on her face that belayed she was quite upset—an image that he’d been insanely familiar with about fourteen years ago. For Clint to be able to read that from her so easily to begin with spoke many things.

None of them were good.

Slowly, so as not to disturb her any further, he shifted to rest a gentle hand on her knee. “Tasha…” She blinked slowly, meeting his eyes briefly. “You can talk to me. Whatever it is. We’ll work it out.” We always do.

And for a moment, he thinks he’s gotten through to her, sees her mouth moving subtly as if to finally say something until she moves to stand up and pad to her and Barnes’ room on silent feet, leaving him to stare out at Manhattan from the windows.

Twenty seconds pass.

Patience.

Fifty seconds.

Alpine made his way into the room from God knows where, settling under the coffee table with a lazy stretch.

Two minutes and twenty-seven seconds.

Alpine blinked up at him. Clint blinked back.

When it neared four minutes and forty seconds, Natasha emerged from the room, face still contorted with anxiety and holding a…gift bag.

“Aww, you shouldn’t have,” he said, holding a hand to his chest.

“Open it.” she encouraged and handed it off to him before returning to her spot on the couch and drawing her feet up to wrap her arms around her legs. He stared at her for a beat, hoping to get a read on her, on what she was trying to communicate without using words, but she only blinked at him.

Well, okay.

If she wasn’t gonna say it, then he’d go along with…whatever this was.

It was a pretty standard bag, paper and yellow, and it was filled with white tissue paper—a lot. A lot a lot, and if she hadn’t handed it to him herself, he’d have thought it was Lila’s doing. He’d taken out about six sheets of the damn thing before she jerked forward and grabbed his arm.

“Umm—”

“Tash…”

Her face was still pretty unreadable, but the way her eyes flitted everywhere… the anxiety was almost palpable. “I just—” She hung her head and squeezed her hand where it still lay on his arm. She took a breath, then another before looking back up and wrapping her hands back around herself. “’kay, never mind. Open it.”

Eyebrows raised, he nodded slowly. Patience.

“Okay.” Another three sheets of tissue paper later he reached the bottom of the bag, which held a piece of cloth, he thought. But after pulling it out he realized two things. The first being that it was a blanket, gray and white and soft, smooth on one side, warm and plush on the other, and covered with little elephants in various poses. The second was that this…well, this was a kid’s blanket that she’d given him, and he and Laura were already having a hard time weaning little Nate off of Blankie, which she knew, so he didn’t think they needed another.

“As cute as it is, I think Nate’s a bit old for this, Nat,” he said, looking back up at her.

“I know.” Sighing, she dropped one of her legs to swing her foot off the couch, leaning against the armrest again as she finally looked at him. A soft shake of her head, then, “‘t’s not for Nate.”

He tilted his head in genuine confusion, but Natasha only cocked hers back in mockery.

He said, “What, so it’s for me? Is this some—weird Russian riddle I’m supposed to figure out, hmm?”

“Hey,” she stretched a leg out for a moment to poke him in lightly in his arm, and the knot in his chest loosened a bit at the absence of worry on her face. Good, that’s progress. “I am not weird. And it isn’t for you either.” A beat. “Well. It is, a little bit…” She chewed on the inside of her cheek in thought. “But mostly it’s for someone else.”

Someone else? As far as Clint was concerned… “Laur’s not pregnant, right?” Right? He’d know if his wife was pregnant, he’d known the last three times… Did she—

“Jesus, Hawkeye, do I need to spell it out for you?” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. Alpine stretched his head out from underneath the table and purred up at them before crawling out and onto Natasha’s lap for scritches. Spoiled. Both the cats were.

“Please?”

“No.”

He gave her a pout. “But you asked.”

“I feel like I gave you the answer already,” she replied simply, and her voice held something that had him thinking harder—if that was even possible. He looked back at the small blanket he cradled and frowned. To say it was a kid’s blanket was probably generous.

And then, very slowly, it dawned on him.

It’s not for Nate.

But it’s mostly for someone else.

Someone else.

“Natasha.”

“Clinton,” light and playful, but her shoulders were tense and she’d slowed her caresses on Alpine.

It’s not for Nate.

“Is this for someone I know?”

She picked Alpine up a bit and repositioned him to lay better on her stomach. “No.” Then, softer, “Not yet, anyway.”

The knot loosened again.

“That someone happen to be under a year, by any chance?” She nodded once, and he made an effort not to grin. If he made a big show of it before she got to reveal anything, it’d only make her more nervous. “Technically in this room, right now?” She paused to think, then gave him a shrug that said I guess so, but there was a glint in her eyes. “...possibly half-Russian, half-American?”

At that, she rolled her eyes playfully, and then jut her chin toward the abandoned gift bag before she said, “Look again.” So he rested the blanket down on his lap, though, not before taking a moment to stare at the elephant pattern. It really was cute.

He’d been too confused by the blanket at first even to notice it, but at the bottom of the bag under another (when Tash overdid it, she overdid it) piece of tissue paper was a little picture, no bigger than his hand, and gray and black.

Clint had been a father for a while now, so it took him all of about a second to know what he held in his hand.

And the knot from earlier went taut once more, finding itself in his throat this time.

The room fell even more silent, Alpine’s purring had ceased. There was even a lull in the traffic noises from outside, as if aware of the moment unfolding around them.

To the untrained eye, it would look like nothing but blurs and blobs, but having been around the block three times, it made it easy for him to spot what she’d been trying so hard to tell him. He shook his head slightly, both in disbelief and complete awe, focusing on a small circle of black amidst a field of gray and brushing a thumb over the even tinier smudge within it.

Seeing the Romanoff, Natasha printed in the upper-left corner was what really did it for him, though, and his eyes blurred a bit while his heart swelled… He was not going to cry.

“I knew you’d get all mushy over this at some point,” came Natasha’s voice softly, but nervousness underscored her words. He looked up to find her watching him. “But you’ve gotta say something.”

Okay, he was so going to cry.

He took a second to rest the sonogram on the other side of the couch before pulling her over and hugging her to him with a burst of laughter. Alpine jumped down before he could get crushed between them and looked back at Clint before walking off, clearly unhappy with the sudden loss of attention, but he didn’t care. His best friend…

“You’re pregnant.”

“Seems so.”

“Six weeks…” He glanced back at the picture. “Two days.”

She tilted her head in a shrug. “Well. Maybe seven weeks flat.” Then she looked up at him. “Didn’t know how to tell you.”

He snorted. “Idiot. Would’ve been happy either way.” And that was just the truth; however he found out, he was still gonna be an uncle. “Told him yet?”

“Yup,” she popped the p. “Hence the shashlik. I get spoiled now.” She already was spoiled, not that he needed to voice that; she knew that already. Then she sighed, “He’s already talking about Little League.”

“Oh boy,” he replied, and didn’t stop his chuckle at her groan. Years and years since she’d defected and the kid still didn’t know a thing about baseball. He’d tried bringing the sport up to her pretty much from the night he brought her in, as small talk—small talk that consisted of him doing the talking and her rolling her eyes or pulling a face, but small talk all the same.

There were times in the Common Room when the team would have sports debates, which usually led to Natasha voicing her lack of interest in baseball, which never failed to get everyone else riled up and, in a joint effort, explaining the rules of the game. He’d also passed her and Bucky a handful of times, overhearing him recall the exact stats of past games as she nodded along indulgently.

One of the smartest women he’d ever met and somehow American baseball never stuck.

“Better start practicing your circle changeup.”

“Whatever that means,” and he snorted. A few moments of comfortable silence passed, the news still bouncing around his head like the ringing of a church bell. Tasha’s pregnant. She was—she and Bucky were going to have a baby. Something she’d given up hope for so long ago had been gifted to her, by way of miracle and science and, and…

Pulling back enough to look at her properly, he bent his head a bit. “How do you feel?” ‘Cause he could be joyous enough for the both of them, and then some, but none of that mattered if he wasn’t clear on how she felt exactly. Whatever Natasha wanted or didn’t want to do, felt or didn’t feel, he’d be game.

“Good,” was the simple answer he got but he simply waited her out, eye contact unwavering. “I’m… I’m good.”

“Uh-huh.”

She exhaled quietly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, moved to lean her head back on his shoulder. She usually seemed to do better with expressing herself if she couldn’t see him directly and he had no problem with that. “Clint, I am…terrified.” He expected that, and that she admitted it at all had him smiling inside. “I’m not like you, or even Laura. I don’t know the first thing about being a parent.”

“Nat, the kids adore you.” Anyone who’d been around her and the kids could see that.

“I know that…” Natasha told him, reaching up to scratch a spot on her nose. “I do. But I’m Auntie Nat, so it’s different.” That was bullshit. She may not know it, but he did. 

“No… Who was there when Lila was born?”

“Laura.”

“You.” He tugged lightly on a lock of her hair for her trouble. “You were with Laura before I even got there cause I was stuck in Bolivia. You were there for Nate too, who, in case you forgot, is named after your dumb ass.” And he and Laura had the pictures on the walls to prove it. “You sing to them, you spoil them… They love you. Your baby will too. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Mmm, I suppose. Oh, by the way…”

He looked down at the top of her head. “Mhmm?”

“You’re gonna be a godfather,” and she patted his knee. “In case you didn’t already know.” He hadn’t.

Well, he did, he sort of… Natasha was his best friend, and he hers. SHIELD had been a lonely place before his world got turned around by his little Russian, and before her, he’d never had one of those. Barney was… Barney. The STRIKE team hadn’t counted; Rumlow had always been an ass and his dislike for the rest of the group grew exponentially from the time they’d started nagging Tasha up until after the events in D.C. He’d say Phil, but he’d been more of a mentor and sometimes-sort-of-kinda father figure.

Fury could only put up with him for so long before Clint gave him a headache, and vice versa.

But Tash had swooped in—or technically, he had, whatever—and she’d somehow found it in her to let him push past her defenses, and her defenses’ defenses, forming this…this bond. Somewhere along the way, the line between partner and friend had blurred to become one and more.

So because he had no way of putting into words how lucky he felt to see her grow into the person she was now, a soon-to-be mother to whom he’d be a godfather… He could only pull her close to press a kiss to her forehead and rest his chin atop her head.

She leaned into the contact before chuckling, “You are so soft. I more expect this from Laura.”

“I don’t care. I’m a godfather,” he preened. A godfather. Him. God, he was excited.

“Damn right.”

“I do love you, y’know.”

“I do. I guess I find you slightly less annoying than most people,” which Clint smirked at because he knew it meant she loved him, too. As a restful silence fell over them, Alpine strolled back toward them to wrap around Nat’s ankles. Idly, he wondered how he and Liho would fare with the arrival of a baby taking more of the attention—especially the latter, who was spoiled to no end. Natasha stretched a foot out to rub softly against Alpine’s back. “I am okay, though… Scared. But it’s a good one. Like…”

“Like a parent.”

Her mouth curved into a gentle smile, turning the idea over in her head. “Yeah…” Kicking at the empty gift bag, she asked, “Still think I shouldn’t have?”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is very adult of you. You’re growing up on me,” he stated, petulance in his voice. “I don’t like it.” The laugh he was rewarded with was impossible not to grin at, and if she heard his sniffle… Well, her head was down and she gave no indication she had, so he’d live it down.

Maybe.

———

nov. 4th, 7:12 pm

bucky

Telling Steve, Bucky thought, as he and Natalia stood quietly in the descending elevator, telling Steve he’d be a father was something he’d thought about off and on. Well. Well, okay, let him be clear; telling Steve he’d be a father was something pre-draft Bucky Barnes had imagined when settling down with a dame, a white picket fence, and starting a family was the automatic life plan. But then the war happened.

Then Azzano, the train, and Zemo, and Karpov, and—okay this was supposed to be a happy moment.

It was happy, he was overjoyed. It had taken real strength on his part to refrain from crushing Natalia too hard when she’d told him the news last week.

Last week.

He’d had all that time for the news to marinate, and yet, the giddiness hadn’t subsided in the slightest. Anyway.

The point, which was starting to get away from him, was that there had been a point in time when telling Steve he was having a kid would’ve been the most normal thing ever. Then he’d gone so long, literal lifetimes, without the thought that he’d have a chance for that, no matter how much he and the Soldier may have wanted something more with Natalia, even if his scrambled brain didn’t have a clear idea of what more was.

But that was Before, and now he was still working through his acclimatization to normalcy as a free person, an Avenger (a part- time Avenger, actually, he didn’t want the title, but if they needed him, he’d be there. He also just liked to watch Natalia’s back. And Steve’s. And Clint’s), a husband, and now a soon-to-be father.

“Breathe.” Natalia’s voice came out calm and reasonable as she squeezed his hand gently where she held it. “It’s Steve.” He paused from his reverie to look at her, the mass of red curls atop her head that reached just below her shoulder blades.

“Says the woman who took over an hour to tell her own best friend.” Her telling Clint earlier had eased some of his apprehension, warmed his heart seeing the relief on her gorgeous face afterward and hearing the congratulations from her best friend. Clint had been a rock for her when he’d still been in the grasp of Hydra and remained one now. He respected him a lot and was even more grateful for him.

He also made a mean sandwich.

Originally, they’d planned to come up for a movie night; Steve somehow had yet to see The Devil Wears Prada and Natalia wasn’t having it. But after meeting up with him after telling Clint the news, she’d encouraged him to tell Steve as well.

“You’ll need someone to freak out with,” she’d said, wrapping her arms around his neck in a loose embrace. “You can freak out with me too, of course. But doing it with Steve would be fun, too.”

Bucky smiled, then craned his neck back to look at her standing behind him. “You just want someone else to subject to corny pregnancy puns.”

“…And I want to make more corny puns, yes. I also may have made a bet with Barton.”

“On?”

“How long it would take Steve to start crying.” Bucky snorted. “Clint said four minutes, I say two.”

“I’m the one who’s knocked up,” she pointed out, in a whisper—super soldier hearing just couldn’t be trusted, even from in there. The elevator came to a halt and she bumped him with her hip. “So I have an excuse.”

“You’re gonna milk this, aren’t you?” and she bit back a smile as they walked out together, hand still in his.

“Oh, you can count on it.”

“Count on what?” Steve, dressed in a white t-shirt and dark wash jeans, feet bare where they were crossed as he sat in an armchair with a Starkpad on his lap.

“The pancake boycott I’m planning,” she said smoothly, moving toward Steve’s kitchen while Bucky took a seat of his own on the couch near him. “Want in?”

“Hey—”

“Before I say yes, is this against all pancakes or just—”

“Just James.” She opened the fridge and reached in for a bottle of water, but then paused and straightened to look back at Steve. “You wouldn’t happen to have any tea, would you?”

Then, looking straight at Bucky, mirth painting his features, Steve said, “Where do I sign?” Then back to Natalia, “Should be some in the cabinet next to you. Not that one, the— yeah.”

“Quick question…”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you two have against my pancakes?”

Natalia said, “I’m pancaked out.” She and her made-up words. She had a kettle running and was reaching for the mug she kept on this floor. She brought it to the counter and placed a tea bag inside, then packed the rest away in their original spot in the cabinet.

“I’m not,” Steve admitted. He closed out whatever he’d been working on, and gave Bucky his full attention as he leaned back in the chair. “But I won’t turn down an excuse to gang up on this jerk.”

Mouth agape, Bucky said, “Punk.” Steve chuckled.

“So I’ve heard.” Steve gave him a sly grin, and Natalia snorted, then the banter went on like that for a solid twelve minutes, up until the subject changed and they’d somehow gotten to telling stories.

Or rather, he and Steve were telling stories while Natalia listened quietly, teasing or asking a question in between. She’d always loved hearing about their childhood, this he knew. On bad nights, he’d try and think of ones he hadn't told her yet to get her mind off whatever nightmare her mind would plague her with.

“The Cyclone isn’t even that bad…” Natalia said, gathering her empty mug and standing to get a refill. He’d moved to get it for her instead, but she shook her head slightly and gave him a gentle look, glancing from Steve and back to him.

She was giving them privacy.

Which was silly, considering it was her news to tell as well, but he knew she’d still insist on it anyway. She was adorable.

“You try being ninety pounds—on a good day—and throttled in the seats,” Steve joked. “Then we’ll revisit this conversation.”

In the back, he heard Natalia’s phone go off and his gaze diverted to her just as she looked at the caller ID, smiling as she stood from her spot at the kitchen island. Answering, she pressed the phone to her ear and brushed a curl out her face. “Hey, Laur.” A pause. Then, her features softening, “Oh. Hi, Lila.”

Grabbing the mug of tea, she looked between them and nodded to the door that led to Steve’s balcony, indicating she was heading out there. Bucky looked out the window for a moment. It wasn't too cold, and there were heaters installed outside, but still. He beckoned her over with a casual flick of his fingers before tugging off his sweatshirt and handing it to her.

She rolled her eyes but tucked the phone between her cheek and shoulder to keep it in place while she took the sweatshirt from him with her free hand. He watched as she opened the door, the cool breeze flowing in, and took a seat in a chair to pull her legs up and sit cross-legged. She draped the sweatshirt over her lap, and he caught her saying, “So, you have to ask Mommy…” just before the door shut.

Sitting area now blanketed in quiet, Steve said, “She looks better.”

“Yeah.” Steve reached for the remote to the TV and turned it on. “Antidote worked well.” And those fools at Maggia were damn lucky it did, otherwise, he’d be paying them a visit—sadly for them, he wouldn’t be as lenient as Natalia. As he sat there, the more he thought of it, the better it sounded. With the quinjet, it would take, what? An hour? Though—

“You’re gonna take a trip up there, aren’t you.” A statement, not a question, and Bucky smirked.

“Am I that predictable?”

Steve glanced at him, then focused on getting the movie on. “In regards to Nat? Totally.”

“Between the two of you, I might just have to start planning my funeral early.”

“You sound like your Ma. You and Becca drove her nuts with your antics.”

“Becca used to start it,” He scoffed. “Remember Thanksgiving ‘31?” Steve busted out into laughter as Bucky shook his head remembering how he couldn’t have any dessert for something Becca had done. Ridiculous.

“Remember Marjorie? Year after, I think. Helped Becca plan that awful surprise party.”

“The blonde?” Bucky nodded. “Yeah. I always said you guys would get married,” Steve recalled.

“Yeah…” Bucky trailed off, thinking back to his younger self. “Little did I know.”

“She’d been shacking up with Jack in her spare time,” Steve picked up. He shrugged, “To be fair, her laugh was horrendous.”

Bucky snorted. “No, no, it was.”

“Their kid came out cute, though… Always thought you’d make a good dad. You were always so good with your sisters.” He chuckled. “I imagine it so clearly, too.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth kicked up. This was his window, Steve had presented it beautifully and he wasn’t even aware. God bless Captain America.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Won’t have to imagine by next year, anyhow.” The silence dragged on for about five seconds, five long seconds, and it took everything in him not to make eye contact or laugh because he knew Stevie, knew he’d have the most puzzled look on his face at his statement.

“Buck.” And then he was quiet. When he glanced at the other man, he had that same look he got when he was trying to make sense of one of Parker’s pop culture references—puzzled as Hell. Bucky just gave him an expectant look. “What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying…” he started, but trailed off as he craned his neck to crack it. His shoulder, the left one, was tense, the junction where metal met flesh always grew achier in the colder months. Maybe he’d ask Natalia for a massage later. “I’m sayin’ you better start getting a hold of that impulse to pick a fight with any and everybody ‘cause kids are very impressionable.”

More quiet. He could hear Natalia slightly while she was still on the balcony. Then, “Kids.”

“Well, just one.” He thought… Twins were also a possibility. Or triplets.

“A kid.”

“A baby,” he corrected, pointing a metal finger in his direction.

“Oh, Buck…” Steve’s eyes glinted as he looked from him to the balcony where Natalia had disappeared to, and back to him again. His eyes were already red-rimmed, he got emotional so quickly. “You two… And you’re sure?”

“As sure as I believe the Dodgers should’ve stayed in Brooklyn, yeah.”

Steve chuckled wetly and stood to meet him on the couch. When he pulled him into an embrace, he chuckled. “That’s pretty damn sure. Congratulations, man. This is…”

“I know,” Bucky’s mouth curved into a grin. “I’m still— wrapping my head around it. We both are.”

“How long?” They pulled out of the hug and Steve looked at him, though not before trying to brush the wetness from his cheek.

“Ehh, ‘bout seven weeks by now. Month and a half by next week.” Leaning back, he blew out a breath. “Steve, I don’t— She deserves so much. They both do.”

“And?”

“If I mess this up, I’ll never forgive myself. I don’t want her to regret this. Not for a moment.” She deserved so much, and he’d hurt her so badly already. You could argue it was in the past, sure, but it would never change the fact that it did happen. Natalia handed out forgiveness like candy on Halloween, something he’d never see himself worthy of, but would fight for it anyhow.

He’d never do anything to intentionally hurt her, and now their child, but still. It was terrifying.

“I honestly don’t see how you could,” Steve told him as he spread his hands, open and honest and so…Steve. “You’re a good man, Buck. You’re too thick-skulled to see it,” — Bucky rolled his eyes — “but that’s okay. I do. I can bet everything that Natasha does, too. Wouldn’t be wearing that ring if she didn’t.”

True.

“She’s the most sure woman I know. You ask anyone else in the Tower, they might just tell you the same thing. If it’s anyone she’d regret something like this with, you’re the furthest thing from them.” Taking his words in, Bucky leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Your kid? Gonna be damn lucky to have you as their dad. Don’t kill yourself feeling sorry for something that won’t even happen.”

“I hate it when you go all Captain America on me.”

Steve smirked, filled to the brim with smugness. “Yeah, well. I do happen to be the best one for advice.”

“That what the Department of Education told you when they asked for those…” He gestured his hand around, trying to remember. “What’d they call ‘em?”

“Educational public service announcements.”

“Educational public service announcements…” Bucky didn’t bother holding back his snicker. Steve just waved him off and nodded, a few chuckles of his own escaping him. “Yeah, laugh it up.”

Suddenly remembering the earlier mentioned bet, Bucky asked, “Friday, you timed it?”

“Three minutes and two seconds, Sergeant Barnes,” she responded, almost sounding amused herself. 

“Damn.” Steve gave him a puzzled look. Before he could explain, Natalia emerged from the balcony with her phone and mug in tow. Her call was finished. Cheeks and nose flushed pink and the sweatshirt still not on, she caught sight of Steve’s face and smiled gently, almost shy. Then she faced him.

“He told you?”

“Sure, did. C’mere, you.” As she walked into his open arms and returned his hug, Bucky’s heart felt full. He had his best girl, his best friend back in his life, and now a baby on the way. He had everything he wanted, everything he needed, and then some.

Then she gasped suddenly and looked back at Bucky. “Did you time it?”

He pointed up at the ceiling as Friday repeated, “Three minutes and two seconds.”

 She made a face and slouched after taking a seat on the armrest of the couch. “Damn…”

“Okay, what—what did we time?” Natalia explained the terms of her and Clint’s bet, and then with an eyeroll, he said, “You know what, Romanoff… I suppose you guys could always split—” Steve tilted his head.

“Five dollars and bragging rights.” Now both he and Steve shot her questioning looks because…because their bets usually had higher stakes and five dollars was honestly nothing. “Clint wouldn’t agree to anything else because of the baby.”

“Thank God. We know how you two get when it comes to bets.”

“Oh, please,” she flicked her fingers at them and crossed one knee over the other. “James already has a wager with him on whether it’ll be a girl or boy.”

Steve nodded to himself, then, in all seriousness, looked up at them to say, “Fifty says it’s a boy,” and he and Natalia laughed.

———

nov. 19th, 10:32pm

bucky

“Alright, chapter…”

“Thirteen? Fourteen?” Natalia crossed the room, the cotton of her crew socks muffling her light footfalls on the hardwood with Liho underfoot. “I think it was thirteen.”

Bucky watched as she made her way over, her fingers, thumb and middle, snapping lightly in a quick tempo at her sides; where on earth she got that habit from, he’d never know. But what he did know was that he found it utterly charming, the way she did it at the simplest of times—while they’re walking—waiting for the quinjet to land just before a mission started—leaning up against the kitchen island as she waits for the kettle to whistle. Never done with enough effort to make a real sound or elaborate enough to be seen right away, but just enough that he’d managed to notice it; all of this and he doubted she was aware of it herself.

Anyway. The books.

“Gonna fall asleep again?” he teased, his voice filling the reposeful atmosphere of the living room from his spot in the armchair. The many lamps they own shone prettily over her skin, golden light making her appear more delicate even if she’s the furthest thing from it.

They don’t do overhead lights, can’t stand the damn things.

Bathroom lights still made Natalia flinch on bad days, even the warmer-colored ones—fluorescent or not—and Bucky had always hated when his Ma woke him up with the overhead light for church on Sundays.

Tony’d even asked them, on more than one occasion, if there were problems with the lighting on their floor, and each time they’d said no.

(Credits to Tony, though, who’d altered the Tower’s wiring on their floor to accommodate their niche little hangup, which allowed Friday to dim the lamps, just as she would with the ceiling lights.)

“Again?” Perfectly arched brows furrow as she feigned confusion, a small wrinkling of her nose, then, “I’m afraid I don’t follow…” Throwing her a look that said really? far better than he could say it, he placed a supporting hand on her waist as she settled in his lap, her feet hanging over the armrest.

“Sure you don’t,” he answered drily. “You smell nice.”

She snorted and, fondly, gave a small shake of her head at his change of topic before brushing a loc of his hair away, trapping it behind his ear and cupping his face to kiss the line of his jaw. “You say that every day.” She leaned over to the side to reach for Liho, lifting her and placing her on her lap with a fairly dramatic groan.

Liho wasn’t heavy in the slightest.

She’d come home a little over an hour ago from a team-building meeting at Headquarters (that Clint thankfully accompanied her on) followed by helping Pepper with a consult on behalf of Stark Industries, had originally been set on showering first and then eating with him.

But she’d walked in, bone-weary, unashamedly dragging her feet through the foyer, and the mouth-watering aroma of Indian takeout immediately pushed out any plans she had on showering first if the way she had a laser focus on the dining room was any indication. He’d greeted her with a soft kiss, smiling like he hadn’t seen her in weeks, and hung her jacket up for her, took her food out while she washed her hands, then they ate and… 

And now they’re here.

He’d offered to read to her and she, without a second of thought, had said yes, took him up on his simple suggestion because she couldn’t possibly say no. Not when she got to hear his voice non-stop for a beautiful stretch of time after she’d missed it so dearly for the past day.

Of all the pastimes that she and Bucky had (and they had a great many), Natasha’s got to admit that this was one of her favorites. Him reading to her. Her reading to him. Really, it doesn’t matter who does what, it’s just— it’s just the fact that they’re doing it, to begin with; principle of the thing, or something like that.

Natasha has curled up with a mug of tea and some Jane Austen or Elizabeth Bishop (to name a few) in this very same armchair—or their ridiculously comfy bed, and even the balcony when Mother Teresa felt like spoiling her any time apart from spring or summer—more times than she could count, and she can’t be bothered to recall every time James had settled by the kitchen island or the sitting room with Keats, or Tennyson, or the latest Times in his hands.

So, okay, they read like it’s going out of fashion, but this—this is different.

It’s the little in-between things that they do together that can’t be done on one’s own; the soft smiles they'd share when starting and ending new chapters, the way she would accompany dialogue with little hand movements and facial expressions, or how he’d draw aimlessly on her knee while she listened to him bring the words to life…

James starts reading and it’s like an instant balm over her mind as she sinks into the moment, 

Pages and pages go by—five, seventeen, twenty-nine… Time went on, slow as honey, as he took note of how she followed along quietly, her head tucked neatly under his chin while Liho stretched out across Natalia’s own lap, clawing gently at her leggings; more than once she’d managed to pull a thread in the fabric, and more than once Natalia had to the retract her little claws from it, though, she never got annoyed.

She’d lost the battle to sleep and nodded off just when Bucky’d reached where the Cullens had begun their baseball game.

Twilight.

Funny, yes, but he’d actually found more pleasure in it than he’d easily admit.

He waited for a bit, knew she’d fallen asleep but, easily roused as she was, he hadn’t wanted to move her yet. Plus, it was getting late and he was quite comfortable himself, his body almost seeming to sense his lover wasn’t awake and wanted to go to sleep soon as a result.

So he closes the book to rest it on the coffee table, relishes in the warm heat of her body, the comfortable weight of Natalia on top of him, and her quiet, even breaths. The soft, thick curls tumbling past her shoulders and framing her face. She’d gotten a trim recently, but the length was the same for the most part. She’d done something else to it too, the fall was a bit different. Layers, he thought.

Yeah.

He let fifteen minutes pass before he carefully gathered her—Liho still curled against her—and took his time to walk them up to their bedroom. Once he’d made it up the first flight, he went to the bedroom first and laid her gently, gently on the bed. When she didn't stir, he moved for her dresser and grabbed a large sleep shirt.

For someone who complained about being cold so often, she hated too many layers when it was time to sleep, and relied on the blankets and his body heat to stay warm.

He lifted Liho carefully off her and placed her on the other side of the bed, but the little thing woke up once he placed her down. When she started mewing, he held a metal finger to his lips and pointed to Natalia’s sleeping form. Liho blinked up at him and seemed to get the message because she went quiet, occupying herself with the comforter as he got Natalia changed into the shirt.

That she hadn’t stirred much aside from a sigh now and then proved how much their baby was already changing her. She’d had it drilled into her, to sleep light. To never let her guard down. It’d gotten marginally better when they started sharing a bed at the Tower, and more once they moved in together. Now she was able to sleep soundly, completely entrusting him to watch her back and be at her back at all.

He hadn’t felt worthy of it at first; how she gave so much of herself up to him, sides of herself that no one had ever seen, and how she had all this complete trust that he wouldn’t take advantage of her guards being down. He never would, not as long as he could help it. He’d hurt her before, yet her heart always remained so open and welcoming.

Always for him.

Done changing her, Bucky gathered her clothes from earlier and went into the bathroom to place her clothes in the dirty hamper. The bathroom was still a bit warm, the scent of Natalia’s body wash lingering faintly from her shower earlier. Since they’d eaten already, and there wasn’t a high chance he’d get hungry again for the night (…maybe), he decided to brush his teeth then.

Finished with that, he shut the light off in the bathroom and, on light feet, went back down to the living room. He gathered up the dishes—two glasses of juice long forgotten, plates covered in the remnants of tonight’s takeout dinner—and carried them to the kitchen to wash them up.

While the Tower was nice, their brownstone was cozier. Private. Secure. The long hallways, high ceilings, the dark, winding estate staircase—all theirs and molded to their liking.

Three floors to themselves. Oh, and a backyard. And an attic.

And a backyard.

Amazing what you could do with decades of military back pay and the occasional SHIELD salary.

Clint had even made fun of them (and still did) for all the space they had.

“Y’guys are just gonna use the kitchen and bedroom, maybe the sitting room.” He glanced back at Bucky. “At most.”

“Not true,” he said, hands tucked in his jean pockets as he walked around the bare space that would be their living room come next month. Then, in a whisper and rather matter-of-factly, “Talia’s getting a dance room.”

Clint chuckled and nodded, understanding his secrecy. “Okay, kitchen, bedroom, sitting room, and that. And—”

“And rooms for when you guys come over, of course.”

“Well, I dunno about Clint,” Natalia said, her voice and footsteps echoing in the hall as she descended the stairs. “But the rest of his family is surely welcome. I’ve already picked out Lila’s guest room.”

Dishes clean and sat to dry, Bucky wiped his hands on a towel. What did he have to do tomorrow? Anything? He moved to the fridge and took out the pitcher of water, then a glass from a cabinet, and filled it up. In the past weeks, Natalia had gotten thirsty throughout the night and he’d felt bad every time she had to get up for a drink. Now he made it a habit to make sure she had water there. Finished with the pitcher, he placed it back in the fridge, shut the lights off, and headed back upstairs.

He found her curled up, her eyes slits of jade surrounded by long, dark lashes. “Totally see what you meant about falling asleep, now…”

Bucky snorted. “Uh-huh.” He made his way over to the side of the bed, placed the glass of water he’d brought for her on the nightstand, then kneeled to meet her eye level. “You okay?”

She was quiet for a moment as if processing his question. Despite her not showing yet, Bucky had started to notice she’d picked up the habit of resting a hand on her stomach, which she did now. It was charming. “Yes.” She inhaled deeply, stretching languidly, all long limbs and graceful curves. Crossing her feet at the ankle, her eyes closed once more. “’M sorry about earlier.”

“What for?” he frowned. “Glad you’re sleepin’ anyway.”

Her mouth curled upward. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm… Much quieter around here.” Natalia giggled and reached out to flick him lightly.

“Oh, very rich coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mention baseball one time,” — she held up a finger in his face — “one time, and you get to talking like an auctioneer.”

“Yeah, okay, enough yapping,” he chuckled, and she opened her eyes, catching his gaze as he stood. “Go to sleep, kotyonok.”

“Bossy,” she mumbled, sleepiness blurring the syllables. He found one of the lighters they kept on the dresser and began lighting the candles they’d placed around their room. “You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“I always am.” He lit the final candelabra near her side of the bed, then placed the lighter back on the dresser. He changed out of his clothes, throwing his jeans and sweatshirt in the laundry basket, leaving him in his boxers. When he turned back to face Natalia, he’d found her half under the covers; she’d managed to get the first blanket over an arm and leg, but the rest of her was out and she was still lying on top of the rest of the blankets.

“You’re making me go to sleep early.” It was minutes to twelve, but he’d let her have it. No arguing with her at this point, the sleepiness had taken over. Heading back to the bed, he scooped her up a bit to tug the rest of the covers over her.

Completely, this time.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” He pressed a kiss to her hair, her forehead. Then he crawled into bed, mindful of Liho toddling nearby, and reached to turn off his bedside lamp, then hers while she shifted up to burrow under his chin.“I love you. Now sleep.”

She pouted. “But I just—”

“Sleep, Natalia, or so help me God…” She stayed quiet this time but was betrayed by the subtle shaking from her laughter.

When she whispered, “So bossy,” he grinned.

———

nov. 27th, 10:23 am

natasha

“You think Mickey’s friends call him that in the same way I get called Bucky?”

As far as questions from James went, that…wasn’t the worst one.

“I think Mickey’s friends get more leeway,” she answered, eyes still on the TV. Sunday morning cartoons were so calming. “They’re technically a bunch of animals that hang out in a clubhouse. Bucky is a dog name and you are not a pet.”

“The Tower is like a glorified clubhouse,” he pointed out and she smiled. He wasn’t wrong. “And by definition wouldn’t I count—”

“Ugh,” she placed a hand over his face and shoved him away gently where he sat beside her on the couch. “Don’t finish that thought. And Alpine is pet enough.” Boyish grin on his face, he sat back up and picked his mug up from the coffee table. They’d made breakfast this morning; him manning the stove with eggs and the waffle maker, while she sat on the counter—as the best chefs do—stealing pieces of chicken he’d fried before.

“Liho, too.” The program went to commercial and she reached for her abandoned plate on the coffee table, took a bite of her leftover waffle.

Mickey Mouse, the whole Disney Junior thing… Became a habit because of Lila and Nate, really. Spend enough time at the Barton house and you’ll find yourself using baby-talk or reciting lines from the kids’ programs sooner or later.

“Liho’s more of my companion, than just a pet.” She looked over at him, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “She gets me.”

“Sure she does.” The look of doubt on his face made her snort and she leaned into him. 

“The two of you need to play nicely.”

The morning had been easygoing, routine.

Until her mouth sprung with saliva, a presage to morning sickness—just like that she knew said morning had been ruined. Looking over to the clock on the wall, Natasha frowned. Every day for the past week around this time, she’d gotten ill, a side effect she knew of but, damn, if it didn’t grate her nerves anyway.

She didn’t hear James’ reply, she’d gotten up too fast as she made a beeline for the bathroom. Having stellar balance and reflexes were the only things that helped her avoid slamming her head against the toilet seat before she threw up.

Lovely.

Head pillowed on her arm on the porcelain, she listened to the muted sounds of the radiators running. A honk here and there from outside the Tower. It was Monday. Thanksgiving had been the past weekend and she didn’t want to imagine the influx of traffic both from people who already lived and commuted in the city and from those who were leaving it from the holiday.

And what a beautiful weekend it had been; the Compound was loud. Loud with the kids, the teens, everybody. She’d played with Nate on her lap almost as much as she curled up with Lila somewhere when they weren’t eating, and the food… Laura cooked with her heart, which was nothing new, and she always did love cooking for all of them.

A shuffle of feet outside, a light, three-beat knock. “Talia?”

Hoping her voice didn’t waver, she inhaled slowly. “Don’t come in.” And then he did come in because the boy never listened and she’d forgotten to lock the door in her haste to get inside. She frowned, but she doubted it had much effect. You know. Cause she was kneeling on the bathroom floor. Over the toilet. “I said don’t.”

He nodded once, a look of indifference on his face and a hand still on the knob as he stood in the doorway. “I heard. Decided not to listen.”

“Yet somehow Steve is the hardheaded one out the pair of you…?” Natasha jerked forward, though not willingly, her body gearing up to throw up again, but she clamped down and dipped her chin as she shuddered and winced through the nausea.

James made a tsk sound and then he was there, crouching near her; a waft of his body wash—sea salt? Sea-something, for sure—and his natural musk brushed over her and she basked in it for a moment before it faded away. “Why’re you holding it off?” Why was she… She wasn’t yet used to it, her body working against her, being so out of sync. It was disorienting, nauseating—literally and figuratively—and she’d wished it to stop.

It was also really gross.

“I don’t like it.”

“You might feel better if you just let it happen, doll.” Oh, yes, why hadn’t she thought of that. Seriously. She heard more than felt him scoot closer to her before he rested a steadying hand on her lower back. She thought, distantly, she might be trembling. “I’m here with you.”

Despite James’ disapproval and gentle (or audibly gentle, at least. He had a way of saying something so nicely but it would be very clear by his facial expression or wording when he very much did not approve of something.) suggestion not to, she managed to hold off the next bout for another four minutes before she was leaning over the toilet again to empty what had to be the last contents of her stomach. When she leaned back up and rested her cheek against her arm, she closed her eyes.

She realized, rather belatedly, that he’d been holding her hair back for her. The cool air on her neck felt good, so, so nice…

Ugh.

How Laura managed to go through this three times—so far—was beyond her.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.” Oh, him being there was more helpful than he knew, then there was a cold rag against her forehead helping to lessen her overheating, how’d he know she— “Hey, Friday, can you turn the heat down some, please?”

“Will do, Sergeant Barnes.” Almost immediately, the bathroom started cooling down and thank God for that because her skin kept flashing hot.

“I don’t feel good.” Mundane. Needless. Childish, especially with the frown she wore now, but it had to be said. It almost helped to hear it out loud, like admitting to it gave it less power.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“My stomach’s empty.”

“Yeah, I bet.” The repetition made her smile. “I can make you toast. Some peanut butter or jam on the side.”

“I like toast.”

“I know you do.” When she opened her eyes she found him mirroring her expression. He always was so empathetic. It was adorable. Paws against the hardwood of the bedroom and tiles of the bathroom alerted her to the presence of one of their four-legged dependants.

“Please, do take notice of how Alpine is here and not Liho. Who’s the real companion now, hmm?”

Despite how crappy she felt, she chuckled. “Liho knows not to come in here right now, she’s smart that way.”

“Now this,” a fond sigh escaped him. He tucked a strand of hair away from her face. It was bothering him that he couldn’t take away her discomfort, that much she could tell. She wanted to kiss that worry from his mouth, the crease between his brows, but that would be less than pleasurable in her current state.

Her current state.

If you’d told her about a month ago that she’d be heaving up her insides like there was no tomorrow because she was pregnant she’d have laughed in your face.

And yet.

But it would all be worth it, in seven month’s time. Suddenly tired, Natasha let out a heavier sigh, that faded into a small groan. James reached for the rag on her head, held his other arm out to her and she crawled into the embrace gladly. She shut her eyes again, heard the faucet running. Then the rag was being wiped gently across her face, warm from where he ran it under the water. James was a steady wall beneath her, the ripples of his chest and arms a familiar sensation.

Morning cartoons would have to be put off for now, but that was okay. James—and Alpine—was there and that was really all that mattered to her.