"They did what?" Clint had that slightly wide-eyed look he got when someone did something particularly gobsmackingly unbelievable. "Natasha and Parker both?"
"I for one don't want a pregnant Parker getting hurt," Eliot growled. "Why do you think she's off jobs?"
"She jumped off a building," Hardison added, aggrieved. "And Natasha with her."
"What? Tell me you're kidding." Clint looked between them.
Eliot shook his head. "There's footage. Something could've happened to them."
Clint cursed feelingly.
"Exactly, man," Hardison agreed.
Natasha was lying flat on her back with a book, snuggled in the bed after a long day of good work and chatting and fun with Parker, so she wasn't expecting to hear constricted breathing when Clint shuffled inside the door to lean against it.
She struggled to sit up, a certain overly large stomach in the way, and scowled at her unborn daughter for making it difficult. Technically, it wasn't their baby's fault, it was theirs, so she patted her stomach apologetically and transferred the scowl to her husband who looked like he was struggling himself. "Clint?"
He caught in a ragged breath and lifted his head up to look at her. He was laughing, the jerk. She'd thought he was hurt or dying.
"I don't know why in the world everyone thinks I'm not a spy," he said and collapsed bonelessly beside her on the bed, still chuckling a little before and after the sentiment. Breath well and truly caught, he added, "Have fun on your outing?"
"Yes, I did," Natasha stated, eyes narrowing. "You were not spotting me from a perch, were you?" A warning note had entered her voice.
"Please." He grinned. "I let you play damsel in distress to the Russian mafia without backup. You can handle a simple corporate espionage job. This was practically a milk run."
"While pregnant," she prodded.
"There is that." He sat up on one arm and rolled over to kiss her stomach gently.
She made a small, irritated sound in the back of her throat. "Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"
Clint chuckled and kissed her again. "Do you have any idea how little I care?"
Yes. She had a very large idea of how much he didn't care, but she tucked her fingers in the short spikes of his hair as she sighed and held him affectionately.
Just two more months and there would be baby to keep her occupied while she was still out on maternity leave—a baby to cuddle and dress and feed and keep from choking on a million small objects because she was certain to get into as much trouble as her father every chance she got.
She leaned down and kissed the top of Clint's head. He hummed his contentment. On that, they were totally agreed.
Epilogue
"I for one don't want a pregnant Parker getting hurt," Eliot growled. "Why do you think she's off jobs?"
"She jumped off a building," Hardison added, aggrieved. "And Natasha with her."
"What? Tell me you're kidding." Clint looked between them.
Eliot shook his head. "There's footage. Something could've happened to them."
Clint cursed feelingly.
"Exactly, man," Hardison agreed.
Natasha was lying flat on her back with a book, snuggled in the bed after a long day of good work and chatting and fun with Parker, so she wasn't expecting to hear constricted breathing when Clint shuffled inside the door to lean against it.
She struggled to sit up, a certain overly large stomach in the way, and scowled at her unborn daughter for making it difficult. Technically, it wasn't their baby's fault, it was theirs, so she patted her stomach apologetically and transferred the scowl to her husband who looked like he was struggling himself. "Clint?"
He caught in a ragged breath and lifted his head up to look at her. He was laughing, the jerk. She'd thought he was hurt or dying.
"I don't know why in the world everyone thinks I'm not a spy," he said and collapsed bonelessly beside her on the bed, still chuckling a little before and after the sentiment. Breath well and truly caught, he added, "Have fun on your outing?"
"Yes, I did," Natasha stated, eyes narrowing. "You were not spotting me from a perch, were you?" A warning note had entered her voice.
"Please." He grinned. "I let you play damsel in distress to the Russian mafia without backup. You can handle a simple corporate espionage job. This was practically a milk run."
"While pregnant," she prodded.
"There is that." He sat up on one arm and rolled over to kiss her stomach gently.
She made a small, irritated sound in the back of her throat. "Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"
Clint chuckled and kissed her again. "Do you have any idea how little I care?"
Yes. She had a very large idea of how much he didn't care, but she tucked her fingers in the short spikes of his hair as she sighed and held him affectionately.
Just two more months and there would be baby to keep her occupied while she was still out on maternity leave—a baby to cuddle and dress and feed and keep from choking on a million small objects because she was certain to get into as much trouble as her father every chance she got.
She leaned down and kissed the top of Clint's head. He hummed his contentment. On that, they were totally agreed.