The Ocean Carries You Home
Title:The Ocean Carries You Home
Rating: PG
Warning:Talk about pregnancy, noncensual medical procedures
Pairings:Clint/Natasha; Tony/Pepper
Disclaimer:Characters belong to Marvel
Author's Note At the End
Summary: Pepper and Tony tell the team their good news. It goes over like a lead balloon for a few members.
Natasha does not even try to hide her escape. Normally, when something upsets her, she excuses herself politely for tea and simply does not return. Eventually, Clint will notice, excuse himself, and wander through the halls or up to their apartment in the Avenger Tower to find her. But this time, she’s out of her chair like a shot, and the door is slamming behind her.
“Shit,” says Clint and he leaps up and follows her. She’s gone by the time he reaches the door, but he thinks he knows where she is going. He takes the elevator, hoping it will beat her to the lobby. He paces the small elevator cabin, hands in his back pockets.
He should have seen this coming, should have stopped Pepper, but he had been enthralled by the happiness emanating from her and Stark that he hadn’t even noticed the way Natasha drew herself warily when Pepper said, “We’d like to share some good news with you all first, since you are our family.”
He didn’t notice, until too late, the way Pepper’s hands fell, folded, slim fingers entwined with slim fingers, on her stomach as she took a deep breath. He didn’t notice until the words were out of her mouth and by the time Pepper ended the sentence, Natasha was out of her chair.
Clint cursed himself silently, then aloud, as the elevator doors opened for him to see the lobby doors opening and shutting. He glanced at the armed guards who nodded. It was Natasha. He pushed through the doors into the cold December night, looked right, and left, and saw her, a red flag moving through the crowd. He hated being in New York the week before Christmas, hated the crowds, hated the cold, hated the confusion on the sidewalks from tourists. But now everyone was in his way, keeping him from reaching her, so his level of hatred reached a place where he didn’t care if he shouldered his way through the crowd.
He reached her, but did not reach for her. He said, “Tasha,” and his voice came out hoarse and broken and a thousand things he didn’t mean to let out escaped off his tongue.
She turned to him, her blue eyes full of tears, and a trembling hand over her mouth. She leaned forward and he caught her, wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth into her temple. She shook in his arms, her hands up to her mouth, trying to contain the uncontainable sadness she carried with her every single day. Clint knows what they did to her when she was just a kid, before she had a choice, before she understood the ramifications, and they talked about it once, when Natasha was drunk after Sao Paulo, and she acknowledged that her life did not permit for a child, but still, still, still. Sometimes the horrors that were done unto them as children were too much to bear, and sometimes the choices that were made for them were too heavy to carry alone.
He whispers to her, “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”
“It’s not--,” her voice breaks and she trembles a bit, before swallowing hard and looking up at him, her cheeks pale and streaked with pink from tears. “Why?”
He kisses her forehead. “There’s no answer to that.”
She nods against his mouth. “I know.”
She grips his shirt front tightly and then releases him, her palms flat against him. He keeps his hands lightly on her back, watching her carefully. She takes a deep shuddering breath, turns her face slightly from him and wipes the back of her hands over her eyes. She takes another breath and looks at him. She nods as she straightens her shoulders. He takes her hand and they wander back through the crowd. They’re both shivering from the cold, but they take a longer route to meander by the tree and the ice skating. Clint watches Natasha’s eyes follow the couples with a child between them and he wishes, for one moment, that the impossible could become possible. But then she turns away from the families and leans on the railing, smiles up at him and brushes snow off his hair.
She says, “Ready to go back?”
He says, “If you are.”
So they walk back to the Avengers Tower, take the elevator up to their apartment where they change into warm, dry clothes, and then head back down to the communal living space. She rocks onto her toes and gives him an unexpected kiss before pulling open the door and sliding back into the dining area.
There had been a healthy chatter which stilled as soon as Natasha and Clint reentered. Pepper gave Clint a nervous look and Tony’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Banner took off his glasses, his eyes following Natasha as she crossed the room, put the kettle back on the stove, and Steve mouthed “is she okay?” to Clint who shrugged a bit. There is no answer for that. He stands by the door, watching Natasha like a hawk. She makes herself tea in the silence, like the quiet of the room is totally normal, and takes a seat next to Pepper.
She says to Pepper, with a small, tight, uncomfortable smile, “In Russia, they would say that you cannot cut your hair or knit for the duration of your pregnancy. Something about Samson and sharp objects. Protect the baby.”
Pepper’s face softens and she says, “My hair will be terribly long.”
Natasha’s face is smooth when she says, “You will be a wonderful mother. I can’t say the same for Tony-“
“Because I’m not going to be a mother,” Tony points out helpfully.
Natasha says, “Congratulations.”
Pepper reaches out, hesitantly, and covers Natasha’s hand with her own. “Thank you.”
Natasha squeezes Pepper’s hand before extracting her own. Clint lets out a soft exhale and crosses the room, pouring himself a glass of water. Natasha only lasts a few more minutes in the room before quietly excusing herself. He’s still by the sink when she passes him to pour out the rest of her tea.
He watches her pour out the tea and then set the cup carefully in the dishwasher. She leans on the counter and looks up at him. “I want to be alone.”
He nods. “Okay.”
She adds, “I’ll be in the apartment. I just…I don’t…”
“I’ll come up later,” he reassures her. He hooks a finger through her jeans belt loop and pulls her a little closer. He whispers, “Yellow blue bus. “
She plants a quiet, chaste kiss on his mouth and whispers back. “Yellow blue bus.”
And she’s gone, and Clint can’t help but wish he could follow her, wherever her mind was going. But some things, even between them, were secret and private. A long time ago, they decided that if they asked for privacy and loneliness, they needed to grant it to each other.
“Where’s she going?” asks Banner quietly.
Clint blinks and looks back at the table. “Upstairs.”
Pepper says worriedly, “Is there something wrong? I mean-“
“She can’t have children,” he replies shortly, and then winces. “I’m sorry. That was sharp. They-the Red Room-it was a liability, in the field, so they took that away.”
“Oh,” whispers Pepper, her eyes filling with tears. “Poor Natasha.”
Clint snorts, “Don’t let her hear you say that. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her that I told you. She doesn’t particularly like to share that information.”
“Or any information,” points out Steve.
Clint shrugs. “Spy.”
“Russian,” adds Tony. He looks uncomfortably close to sympathetic. He says, “Will she be OK here?”
There wasn’t a lot to say about that. Clint stares at the floor and then looks up at Tony. “If she’s not, we’ll leave, and please don’t take it personally.”
“We won’t,” Pepper says, squeezing Tony’s hand.
Clint moves over to the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Who’s playing tonight?”
“Philly versus the Braves,” says Steve, scooting over to make room on the couch. “What’s Yellow Blue Bus mean?”
Clint says, “Just because I told you some of her secrets doesn’t mean I share all of them.”
Steve is relaxed about the reply. He says, “It was worth the try.”
**Yellow blue bus is a mnenomic device to remember the Russian for “I love you”. The Russian is Я люблю тебя or, ya lbylu tyblya or ya lbylu vas.
Rating: PG
Warning:Talk about pregnancy, noncensual medical procedures
Pairings:Clint/Natasha; Tony/Pepper
Disclaimer:Characters belong to Marvel
Author's Note At the End
Summary: Pepper and Tony tell the team their good news. It goes over like a lead balloon for a few members.
Natasha does not even try to hide her escape. Normally, when something upsets her, she excuses herself politely for tea and simply does not return. Eventually, Clint will notice, excuse himself, and wander through the halls or up to their apartment in the Avenger Tower to find her. But this time, she’s out of her chair like a shot, and the door is slamming behind her.
“Shit,” says Clint and he leaps up and follows her. She’s gone by the time he reaches the door, but he thinks he knows where she is going. He takes the elevator, hoping it will beat her to the lobby. He paces the small elevator cabin, hands in his back pockets.
He should have seen this coming, should have stopped Pepper, but he had been enthralled by the happiness emanating from her and Stark that he hadn’t even noticed the way Natasha drew herself warily when Pepper said, “We’d like to share some good news with you all first, since you are our family.”
He didn’t notice, until too late, the way Pepper’s hands fell, folded, slim fingers entwined with slim fingers, on her stomach as she took a deep breath. He didn’t notice until the words were out of her mouth and by the time Pepper ended the sentence, Natasha was out of her chair.
Clint cursed himself silently, then aloud, as the elevator doors opened for him to see the lobby doors opening and shutting. He glanced at the armed guards who nodded. It was Natasha. He pushed through the doors into the cold December night, looked right, and left, and saw her, a red flag moving through the crowd. He hated being in New York the week before Christmas, hated the crowds, hated the cold, hated the confusion on the sidewalks from tourists. But now everyone was in his way, keeping him from reaching her, so his level of hatred reached a place where he didn’t care if he shouldered his way through the crowd.
He reached her, but did not reach for her. He said, “Tasha,” and his voice came out hoarse and broken and a thousand things he didn’t mean to let out escaped off his tongue.
She turned to him, her blue eyes full of tears, and a trembling hand over her mouth. She leaned forward and he caught her, wrapped his arms around her, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth into her temple. She shook in his arms, her hands up to her mouth, trying to contain the uncontainable sadness she carried with her every single day. Clint knows what they did to her when she was just a kid, before she had a choice, before she understood the ramifications, and they talked about it once, when Natasha was drunk after Sao Paulo, and she acknowledged that her life did not permit for a child, but still, still, still. Sometimes the horrors that were done unto them as children were too much to bear, and sometimes the choices that were made for them were too heavy to carry alone.
He whispers to her, “You’re here, and that’s what matters.”
“It’s not--,” her voice breaks and she trembles a bit, before swallowing hard and looking up at him, her cheeks pale and streaked with pink from tears. “Why?”
He kisses her forehead. “There’s no answer to that.”
She nods against his mouth. “I know.”
She grips his shirt front tightly and then releases him, her palms flat against him. He keeps his hands lightly on her back, watching her carefully. She takes a deep shuddering breath, turns her face slightly from him and wipes the back of her hands over her eyes. She takes another breath and looks at him. She nods as she straightens her shoulders. He takes her hand and they wander back through the crowd. They’re both shivering from the cold, but they take a longer route to meander by the tree and the ice skating. Clint watches Natasha’s eyes follow the couples with a child between them and he wishes, for one moment, that the impossible could become possible. But then she turns away from the families and leans on the railing, smiles up at him and brushes snow off his hair.
She says, “Ready to go back?”
He says, “If you are.”
So they walk back to the Avengers Tower, take the elevator up to their apartment where they change into warm, dry clothes, and then head back down to the communal living space. She rocks onto her toes and gives him an unexpected kiss before pulling open the door and sliding back into the dining area.
There had been a healthy chatter which stilled as soon as Natasha and Clint reentered. Pepper gave Clint a nervous look and Tony’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Banner took off his glasses, his eyes following Natasha as she crossed the room, put the kettle back on the stove, and Steve mouthed “is she okay?” to Clint who shrugged a bit. There is no answer for that. He stands by the door, watching Natasha like a hawk. She makes herself tea in the silence, like the quiet of the room is totally normal, and takes a seat next to Pepper.
She says to Pepper, with a small, tight, uncomfortable smile, “In Russia, they would say that you cannot cut your hair or knit for the duration of your pregnancy. Something about Samson and sharp objects. Protect the baby.”
Pepper’s face softens and she says, “My hair will be terribly long.”
Natasha’s face is smooth when she says, “You will be a wonderful mother. I can’t say the same for Tony-“
“Because I’m not going to be a mother,” Tony points out helpfully.
Natasha says, “Congratulations.”
Pepper reaches out, hesitantly, and covers Natasha’s hand with her own. “Thank you.”
Natasha squeezes Pepper’s hand before extracting her own. Clint lets out a soft exhale and crosses the room, pouring himself a glass of water. Natasha only lasts a few more minutes in the room before quietly excusing herself. He’s still by the sink when she passes him to pour out the rest of her tea.
He watches her pour out the tea and then set the cup carefully in the dishwasher. She leans on the counter and looks up at him. “I want to be alone.”
He nods. “Okay.”
She adds, “I’ll be in the apartment. I just…I don’t…”
“I’ll come up later,” he reassures her. He hooks a finger through her jeans belt loop and pulls her a little closer. He whispers, “Yellow blue bus. “
She plants a quiet, chaste kiss on his mouth and whispers back. “Yellow blue bus.”
And she’s gone, and Clint can’t help but wish he could follow her, wherever her mind was going. But some things, even between them, were secret and private. A long time ago, they decided that if they asked for privacy and loneliness, they needed to grant it to each other.
“Where’s she going?” asks Banner quietly.
Clint blinks and looks back at the table. “Upstairs.”
Pepper says worriedly, “Is there something wrong? I mean-“
“She can’t have children,” he replies shortly, and then winces. “I’m sorry. That was sharp. They-the Red Room-it was a liability, in the field, so they took that away.”
“Oh,” whispers Pepper, her eyes filling with tears. “Poor Natasha.”
Clint snorts, “Don’t let her hear you say that. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her that I told you. She doesn’t particularly like to share that information.”
“Or any information,” points out Steve.
Clint shrugs. “Spy.”
“Russian,” adds Tony. He looks uncomfortably close to sympathetic. He says, “Will she be OK here?”
There wasn’t a lot to say about that. Clint stares at the floor and then looks up at Tony. “If she’s not, we’ll leave, and please don’t take it personally.”
“We won’t,” Pepper says, squeezing Tony’s hand.
Clint moves over to the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. “Who’s playing tonight?”
“Philly versus the Braves,” says Steve, scooting over to make room on the couch. “What’s Yellow Blue Bus mean?”
Clint says, “Just because I told you some of her secrets doesn’t mean I share all of them.”
Steve is relaxed about the reply. He says, “It was worth the try.”
**Yellow blue bus is a mnenomic device to remember the Russian for “I love you”. The Russian is Я люблю тебя or, ya lbylu tyblya or ya lbylu vas.