A/N: Set in an alternate world where *SPOILER* Phil doesn't die. Because I'm definitely not convinced he really is dead.

Anyway, Stark's name for their kid is credited to ChestnutBrumby, in his fic "Of Course I Do." Go read it and tell him how clever and amazing it is. :D


They got married during a mission. The initial plan was to lull the target into a false sense of security, to coax him with happy news and expensive champagne and leave him bleeding on his Persian rug. But the more they talked about the idea, indulged the man with stories of a fake proposal and "plans" for the Big Day, the more they realized something else. They liked this plan.

So, at a wedding paid by their S.H.I.E.L.D. field fund, littered with mobsters and corrupt diplomats and general scum, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton got married.

Iron Man was furious when he found out. They had to sit through a two hour rant about how Pepper had already planned the reception and booked a church in New York City and how he'd built a robot to roll down the aisle with the rings and even had JARVIS plan the after-ceremony entertainment. ("There was going to be lasers and pyrotechnics, but whatever.")

They didn't mention that, before the last mission, they'd never considered anything past casual sex. Apparently the other Avengers saw potential, and just hadn't cared to clue them in.

Director Fury was displeased, but not surprised. Calculating as always, he decided to look at this as motivation in the field. If their solo missions became few and far between, well, who were they to question?

Phil Coulson felt deeply betrayed that they hadn't invited him to the wedding. Never mind its occupants, he was their handler, damn it, and he deserved to be present when they tied the knot. Natasha pointed out that it would have ruined the whole mission, but Coulson waved the fact aside. "Some things are more important in life," he told them sagely, then stormed off to his room to sulk.

Maria Hill took one look at them and said, "About time." With a shrug, she got back to work.

They rented a cute little apartment in downtown Manhattan, with a view so carefully positioned that they couldn't see Stark Tower at all. Of course, that meant they were looking over a ramshackle section of Brooklyn instead, but they found it hard to care. They were rarely home anyway.

Nothing really changed aside from that until the day Natasha didn't report on time. Clint paced and checked his watch and called Phil for her GPS coordinates, and once he had those he didn't waste any time storming the proverbial gates. She was tied in an interrogation—her interrogation—but it had turned into a torture session, and Clint's blood boiled as his arrows pierced the terrorists' skulls, one by one.

When they were all dead, he cut Natasha free and blinked when she slapped him. She was fuming, furious that he'd ruined their lead because (God forbid) she was an hour late. He ran a finger over the cut on her cheek and shut her up with three words he'd never spoken before. "I love you."

She stared at him, saw the fear in his eyes, and forced herself to calm down. With a heavy sigh, she pushed to her feet and said, "Love you too." Then she led him away from the warehouse, already angling towards her next lead.

One night, they stumbled into their apartment without words, skin against skin as they backed towards the bedroom. Natasha could feel his wound bleeding through its bandage again and briefly thought he should be resting instead. He growled when she voiced that remark, and she agreed that today had been too close. She met him kiss for kiss.

It wasn't until three weeks later, staring at the pregnancy stick, that she realized they'd forgotten a very important part of sex.

She didn't tell anyone, not even Clint, not until she was too far along to hide it. Her job specialized in espionage, not battlefield fighting, and she could manipulate men in any physical state. Besides, he was always in the shadows, always acting as backup, so she was never really in danger.

He didn't agree. He was furious, but he could never stay mad long. However, when Director Fury demanded her resignation letter, she knew exactly where the man had gotten his intel. Clint didn't regret it.

The baby was tiny, had his hair and her eyes, and despite Stark's urging, they didn't name him Blackhawk.

Two years later, Clint walked through the door and saw dinner on the table and their son drawing by the TV and Natasha wiping her hands on a towel, and he literally staggered and thought, holy shit, when did we become a family?

He taught his son to shoot with a bow and arrow. She taught her son to sneak. The kid was a perfect spy, and they unleashed him on Uncle Tony and Uncle Steve with sadistic glee. Thor was, regrettably, a little far away to send a ten-year-old. (They kept him from Banner in the espionage games, for obvious reasons, even though the good doctor adored the boy when in his sane frame of mind.)

And when they were old enough to retire, pleased—and a little shocked—to have made it to old age, their son stepped in to fill their shoes. Director Hill used him like the weapon he was. His parents didn't know whether to be proud or ashamed.

Natasha and Clint sat together and reminisced, and Clint said, "You know, this was all because we actually went through with that wedding."

And Natasha admitted, "I almost said no."

But looking back, neither of them cared.

A/N: If you liked this, you should check my other Natasha x Clint, "Big Men in Suits." *shameless promoting of her other works* :P