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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND FOUR WILL OPEN AT 10PM EST ON MONDAY THE 14TH.
ROUND THREE
closing at 5000 comments
Please read the [rules] before commenting!
REMINDER: THERE IS A SPOILER POLICY IN PLACE UNTIL 7 MAY.
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!Put [RPF] before RPF prompts ( Read more... )
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He has a quick shower and then, hair still wet, takes the elevator up to Bruce's lab. It's only as he enters the room that it dawns on him that he has no frickin' clue what he's letting himself in for. Up until now, this pregnancy has been a relatively abstract concept - sure, there were those two pink lines, but other than that the only real hard evidence of anything unusual going on in Natasha's body was just a lot of vomit. How will he feel, actually seeing the thing that some random unnamed guy - apparently not a very nice random unnamed guy - did to her?
Besides, as far as Clint knows, Natasha's still not planning on actually keeping the resulting infant. Is this going to change that? Will she fall in love, like those scenes on tv where expectant mothers look at the sonogram image and burst into tears? Will it look like a person yet? Will it look like anything? Will they even find anything? What if, after all this, there's nothing there?
But, again, it doesn't matter. He promised - not just after those two lines, but long ago - that he would be there no matter what. Because she's his partner. Because she's Natasha. And he's not backing out now.
Natasha's perching on the edge of the exam table, and Bruce is brandishing a sort of white stick that looks vaguely like an electric toothbrush without any bristles. Clint greets them both and goes to stand next to Natasha. “So, how does this work?” he asks. “Is it just like when they do ultrasounds on tv?”
“Pretty much,” says Bruce. “Been a while since I've used one of these things, but it's mostly the same. Except shinier. JARVIS, lights down please?” The lights dim. Clint can barely make out Natasha's face in the gloom, and can't tell whether she's nervous or excited. Or both.
“So, Natasha,” says Bruce awkwardly, “uh, remove your pants, please?”
“What?!” splutters Clint. “You said it was like on tv! I thought you just, I don't know, waved that thing around like you're scanning a barcode?”
“It's probably a bit too early for that,” Bruce explains. Clint can't really make out his face in the dark, but he sounds apologetic. “Easier to do an internal at this stage, then I can date it more accurately. Natasha and I discussed this.”
“...Internal?” says Clint weakly, as Natasha peels off her leggings. “You mean you're going to stick that in-”
“Clint,” says Natasha, patting his hand, “it's fine. Don't worry.”
He stares fixedly at the ceiling as she - he assumes - removes her underpants, and mentally curses television in general for not better preparing him for this. There's the sound of rustling, and then she prods his arm. “You can look now,” she informs him. “It's okay, there's a sheet.”
She's lying back on the angled table and does, indeed, have a paper sheet covering most of her thighs. She has her feet up in the stirrups, her bare toes waggling in the gloom.
“Ready?” Bruce asks her. Clint kind of wants to say not really, but Natasha nods. Bruce fumbles around under the sheet - Clint looks at the ceiling again (not that he can see anything from next to Natasha's head), and then, remembering the purpose of this exercise, at the screen.
For a few moments, all he can see is grey fuzz, like static on a broken television. No-one speaks. Clint tries not to hold his breath. Then -
“There,” says Bruce triumphantly. “Found it.” He turns the monitor a little so Natasha and Clint can get a better look.
“Bozhe moĭ,” says Natasha under her breath.
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On the screen, among all the grey static, is a black oval shape. And inside the black oval there's a... well, a fuzzy grey blob, honestly. It looks vaguely like a misshapen kidney bean with little nubby appendages. Or possibly a gummy bear.
And right in the centre of the blobby grey gummy bear thing, something is flickering.
“Holy shit,” says Clint, pointing at the flicker on the screen, “is that-”
“Yep,” says Bruce, sounding far too enthusiastic for someone who has apparently done this many times before, “that's the heartbeat.”
Clint just gapes at the screen as Bruce adjusts the image, looking for different angles. He kind of wishes he'd thought to pull up a chair next to the examination table, because now his legs are all wobbly. That thing he can see on the screen? That thing is actually inside Natasha right now. And, okay, so it really doesn't look anything like a person, but it is definitely there and it definitely looks like a something. An alive something. And he can see its heart beating. There is a tiny thing right there in Natasha's abdomen with its own heartbeat, and he's looking at it right now, and it is officially the weirdest fucking thing Clint has ever seen (and that is saying a hell of a lot).
“Holy fuck, Nat,” he says, voice inexplicably hushed, “that's... just...”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “It's... yeah.”
“It's really there.” Unconsciously, he reaches for her hand and squeezes it. She squeezes back.
“So, um, everything looks really good,” Bruce tells them. He fiddles with the keyboard and some lines and graphs and symbols appear on the screen, although Clint doesn't really pay attention to any of them because he's still transfixed by the tiny flickering gummy bear thing.
“It's measuring... eight weeks and six days,” Bruce adds. “Natasha, does that, um... sound about right?”
“Yeah,” she says, “about that. Yep”. Clint tries not to think about where Natasha was nine weeks ago. Where he was nine weeks ago. He honestly can't remember. Why can he not even remember a day that turned out to be this significant? Was he nearby? Could he have changed things? Would she have wanted him to?
Doesn't matter. He can't change anything now. This is happening. Fucking hell, this is happening.
“There's definitely only one in there, right?” Natasha asks Bruce. Her tone is light, but Clint gets the distinct impression that she's not completely joking. Fuck, he hadn't even considered that, either, and now he's trying not to panic again. What if there's more than one? Is that likely? The morning sickness has been particularly awful, although admittedly he has no frame of reference.
“Only one that I can see,” says Bruce, and Clint feels Natasha breathe a silent sigh of relief. Bruce studies the screen intently as he fumbles around underneath the sheet for a few moments, double-checking, and then adds, “Yep, only one, unless any are hiding. I think you've just been particularly unlucky with the sickness.”
“But it... it looks good, you said?” asks Clint. “I mean, it's supposed to look like... that?”
“Like an alien?” supplies Natasha helpfully. Clint's kind of relieved that it doesn't look like a human to her either. He wasn't sure whether he should be feeling guilty about his inability to discern features.
Bruce laughs. “Yeah, that's normal. It's still really early. But look, see, that's the head,” he points at the screen, “and these little bits? Arms and legs.”
Clint tilts his head to one side. “...Huh.”
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He's still trying to process this - any of this - when there's a knock on the door of the lab and, before waiting for an answer, Tony enters.
“Hey, Bruce, why's it so dark in here? I'm free now, anyway, d'you wanna get started on the- Hoooooooooly crap.”
Clint scrambles to check that the paper sheet is still covering Natasha (it is); Natasha makes a noise that may or may not have been something profane in Russian. Bruce remains outwardly calm (thankfully, considering he still has his hand underneath the sheet, presumably holding the toothbrush-like instrument), but he's clearly pretty pissed.
“Tony, what have we discussed about knocking? You still have to wait for an answer. You can't just barge in. This is my lab.”
“It's my tower,” says Tony sulkily. Then he adds, somewhat more sincerely, “Sorry, I had no idea you were doing this now. I'll just, uh...” He turns as if to leave, but then stops. “Is that... Can I... look?”
Bruce looks to Natasha, and to Clint's surprise, she shrugs permissively. “Why not.”
“I'm really sorry,” Bruce tells her, as Tony makes his way over to the three of them, “I should have made sure everyone knew not to interrupt. I need to get a lock for this room.”
Tony stands next to Clint, and tilts his head at the screen. “Huh.”
“That's what I said,” agrees Clint.
“...Natasha, why are you incubating an alien? Is there something you haven't told us?”
“Oh yeah, little green men make me hot.”
“What wrong with green?” asks Bruce, mock offended, “Not that 'little' is a problem...” Clint chokes. Natasha bursts out laughing.
“Well played, Doctor,” says Tony, slapping him on the shoulder.
Bruce looks embarrassed. “I only meant that the other guy looks kinda like a big green alien. Big all over. I didn't mean... See, this is why I shouldn't try to make jokes.”
“Oh please,” says Tony, “don't sell yourself short, big guy. It's not like we haven't all seen you naked plenty of times post-smashing.”
Bruce only looks more dejected. “I'm still trying to create an ultra stretchy fabric. You could always help with that, you know.”
“I've got enough stuff to work on. Besides, everyone loves naked people. Naked people are funny.”
“This is a weird conversation to be having, considering where Bruce's hand is right now,” Natasha points out. Clint considers that a gross understatement. “Why the sudden interest, anyway?”
“What, in Bruce's penis?” asks Tony. “Come on, you have to admit it's-”
“Please stop,” says Bruce.
“Please,” agrees Clint. He's beginning to wonder why he left the safety of the gym. Or, for that matter, why he lives with these people.
“No, in... this,” says Natasha, gesturing at the screen. “I thought you were still freaked out by the idea?”
“Yeah, well,” says Tony, “I figured if Operation: Grow A Tiny Human is really happening, I better get on board. Make it a team effort.”
There's a pause while this is considered. Then Natasha says, “That's... kinda sweet, actually.” Clint feels about as surprised as she sounds.
“I have been known to manage it on occasion,” concedes Tony. “Hey, Dr Banner? Can you print out a screenshot of that?”
Bruce looks mildly surprised (or possibly just still traumatised from the discussion of his lack of pants). “Sure.” He presses a button. “...Why?”
The answer to that question, as it turns out, is 'so that Tony can stick it on the refrigerator door'.
And underneath, using the magnetic alphabet Thor had bought on a whim (“NOW WE CAN SEND MESSAGES TO EACH OTHER VIA THE FOOD CHILLING CUPBOARD!”), he arranges the letters
OP G A T H
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... 'so that Tony can stick it on the refrigerator door'.
love you forever, Tony!
hmm, what is opgath?
blonde moment
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Heh, glad you figured it out! Tony ran out of letters. (Mostly because Thor keeps spelling out MORE HAM and such with the rest of them.)
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And I want Thor to come to my house and leave messages on my chilling cupboard. AAAAUGH SO MUCH LOVE FOR THIS.
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I imagine Thor's messages on the chilling cupboard consist largely of things to the effect of "MORE HAM PLEASE" and "SORRY I ATE ALL THE POP TARTS". Perhaps with a side of "GOOD MORNING FRIENDS IT IS A FINE DAY" and "I LOVE HEDWIG".
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Oh, Clint. I want to give you all the hugs! And Natasha to give you all the hugs- shut up, shipper brain!
I can't help thinking though- what will happen when the comments get too skinny? Will you just post the next parts further down rather than as replies?
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Honestly, I very nearly had Steve walking in on the ultrasound in progress purely for his OMGWTFBBQ reaction (plus there's definitely been a lack of Steve thusfar), but I figured he'd never barge into Bruce's lab uninvited. But yes, there will definitely be baffled Steve and Thor reactions.
Clint and Nat really do need ALL THE HUGS, bless them.
Re: comment thread, that is an excellent point (thanks for reminding me!) - I have a massive widescreen monitor so I hadn't properly considered it, but yeah, I definitely don't want to break the page for anyone (apologies if I have already!). I'll start a new sub-thread as reply to part 1 for the next section, indeed.
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And Natasha's careful, cautious approach to this continues to be kind of heartbreaking. Awww.
*loves Clint, because is made of win*
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