To: http://sleepygrimm.tumblr.com/
From: http://mysteriousangstninja.tumblr.com/ (Sideblog, sorry!)
“What do you mean someone already picked him up?” Despite all of her training, years of learning to push back emotion and continue on anyway, Natasha felt her heart sink to her stomach at the words. “You were meant to be keeping him here until I returned.”
It was only by virtue of the toddlers babbling to each other in a playpen nearby that Natasha didn’t raise her voice.
The babysitter – retired SHIELD Agent, Natasha thought with grave annoyance – almost winced. “You never said that it was restricted just to you! You said he was staying a few overnights, I wasn’t told he couldn’t be picked up by someone else on his emergency list.”
She clenched her hands at her side, inhaling slowly and trying to get the image of her strangling the woman out of her head, “Who took him, Alice?”
“Wanda Maximoff. You’ve always had her on the list of emergency pick ups, and you didn’t say otherwise.”
“Two days ago.” Alice answered sheepishly taking a step back. “Before Germany made the news.”
It started in the ruins of Sokovia. In the parts of the city that were broken beyond repair, but hadn’t made their way into the air.
Where the remaining Avengers worked with first responders, and eventually neighboring military forces, to dig out the dead and dying, the miraculous survivors, and account for every person they could possibly find.
Where Steve’s hearing picked up heartbeats behind rubble no one would ever think to look behind, and his strength had him moving entire slaps of concrete where they wouldn’t dare try to bring machines in.
He heard it first, the faint unhappy whimpering noises coming from a building that was little more than rubble.
A whimpering, whining noise he rarely heard outside of television.
“That’s a baby.” Steve said aloud, staring up at a half collapsed building, brick and rubble surrounding it from a hole in the side that cascaded it’s destruction outwards.
“No way a kid survived that.” Natasha answered immediately. There was no way anyone could have survived what looked like a building collapsing onto a second, smaller building.
“I can hear it,” Steve shook his head, “There’s a baby in there.”
Natasha eyed the crumbled walls, shattered brick and glass. “How sure are you?”
“Certain.” Steve took careful, measured steps forward to the building, testing his way inside. The front door had given way to a giant hole, letting them at least get inside easily. Even if moving brought down more dust. The stairwell door he had to shove open, creating an ominous rumbling noise through the building, brick and boards shifting and creaking. “I think I can get up there.” Steve grabbed the handrail for the stairs above where their path was blocked, and started to pull himself up. The moment he moved the noises started again.
“No, you’re heavy, and big.” Natasha nudged him aside, staring up into the stairs that ended abruptly in night sky only a few stories up, “You’d fall through the floor, or bring down the roof behind you. Gimme a boost.”
Steve eyed her cautiously, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’ll be easy.” She rolled her shoulders and gestured for him to move closer, “Like playing the floor is Lava with the Bartons.”
“Only slightly more chances of being impaled.” Steve moved forward anyway, bending down on one knee and cupping his hands to work as a boost.
“Slightly less chance of stepping on a Lego though. I’d ask for a kiss for good luck, but you’re coated in dust and this country probably isn’t up to code with carcinogens and asbestos in buildings.” Natasha brushed the bottom of her boot against the back of her gloved hand to try and clear anything sharp from it before stepping onto Steve’s hands, one hand on his shoulders to balance herself as he slowly stood, carefully pushing her upwards until she could easily grab the railing and pull herself over. “However you owe me at least one kiss - about six showers and a bubble bath from now.”
“Fair trade,” Steve nodded, “Be careful.”
“I’m always careful. Left or right?”
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, listening closer to the sound, “Left, sounds like it’s west side of the building.”
The stairwell had mostly held together it seemed, at least so far as the stairs, the walls were a little more pockmarked than they were meant to be, she was sure.
They were marked by debris from the building breaking, from people trying to leave in a hurry.
By bodies that she checked for a pulse, even though Steve hadn’t mentioned any other heartbeats or breathing in the building. She noted their location as precisely as she could over the com system, waiting for a reply from Clint that he’d marked them down before moving on.
Steve’s hearing was beyond what any normal humans could dream of having. She knew that, they all did, yet still he managed to surprise her on a regular basis with it.
It took two floors, and a door before she heard the whining noise Steve could hear so clearly from outside the building.
There were bodies in the living room, obviously long dead, taken out by what had broken the building so thoroughly.
The fussing had almost a despondent tone, more pathetic and hopeless a noise than she’d ever heard Lila make as a baby. Probably beyond certain that no one was coming for it. Had it been crying for two days? Hoping that anyone might come and take care of it?
Natasha had to put a bit of force into getting the door open, listening to something on the other side scraping on the floor as she forced it open.
A collapsed dresser, she noted without much interest, now covering the floor in clothes and wood shards.
What was interesting was the crib. The whole room was a display of broken bits of ceiling, broken furniture, bits of glass, but the crib? It was as if all the debris had perfectly encircled it, leaving it untouched.
“It’s okay, kid,” Natasha took measured steps across crumbling floorboards to the crib, “You’ll be okay.”
The crib was untouched inside, the sheets still a pretty mint color.
It had to do, Natasha was certain, with the fact that the fussing baby it held was currently engulfed in a little bubble of blue light.
“Huh.” Natasha reached out slowly, finding her hand passed through the energy, whatever it was, easily, and touched the baby’s cheek. Poor kid was freezing cold, but it’s eyes snapped open at the touch, it’s arms flinging out to the side, the bubble moving outwards and making her hand tingle as if it had gone to sleep. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
As if it were desperate for human contact – which Natasha was certain it was after being alone so long – the bubble seemed to pop at her words, dispersing into the air around it.
“Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay?” Natasha carefully scooped the baby out of the crib, cradling it against her shoulder, grabbing a blanket from the crib to cover it a little more from the cold, from anything falling from the ceiling, “It’s going to be okay.”
He wasn’t at the New York safe house. No one was.
The backpack that served as his bugout bag was gone, as was the money hidden beneath the floor, and Wanda’s fake passport.
So she had taken him, and she had gone with him. Clint had been with them, obviously, he had to have been since Clint and Wanda were together in Germany at the airport.
After they’d taken off with her son. Steve’s too, she had to admit, but he wasn’t the one who’s taken him. They might have done it at his request, but there wasn’t any way he’d ask them to do it, and then not tell her. There was no reason to take him.
Sure they were on different sides when it came to government interference, but taking her child because of that? That would be beyond low, beyond cruel.
He wasn’t in their apartment, or the D.C. safe house either.
It took three states and four days to figure out where he had been moved to.
The blue bubble didn’t return while Natasha held him, only showing up again when she tried to lay him down for someone else to look at. Something that led to the doctor trying to examine him getting a nasty shock from it.
The grumbling from the Sokovian doctor had politely been translated by a UN nurse as ‘you didn’t warn me he was enhanced’.
Enhanced. Whatever the HYDRA infiltrated version of SHIELD had been up to here, it hadn’t been great. She was worried enough over how young Wanda had to be; finding out there was at least one enhanced infant was enough to make her want to rage. But she couldn’t.
“Doctor thinks he’s around two months old,” Natasha told Steve when the soldier dragged himself into the small jet the Avengers had taken over as their brief living quarters, courtesy of Fury. “That’s pretty young to be injecting someone with any version of the serum, isn’t it?”
“Too young to survive.” Steve set his gloves down on a now empty crate, freeing his now moderately clean hands to touch the baby’s hand. The boy didn’t stir, too content to bother with anything now that he had a clean diaper, and a full belly for the first time in at least two days. “Far too young.”
“So you think this is natural, some gift he was born with randomly or…?”
“Or his parents were enhanced, at least one of them.” He let his helmet drop by the gloves, “You going to leave him with the red cross?” The look on her face must have been evident enough of what she thought of his opinion because he laughed quietly and nodded, “Right. Enhanced means he should probably stay with us until we figure out if he has any relatives to go to. Obviously.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, letting his temple rest against the top of her head, peering down at the baby.
There were no missing persons reports for a baby that young. No one looking for any infants, no hospital records – surviving anyway - for a baby that fit his description, no certificates of birth. Not completely out of the norm for a war torn country, but what cemented him fully in their minds as an orphan was Wanda.
Wanda who stayed at the compound with them in the first few days, watched them and the baby. Wanda who took one look at his chest while Clint helped Natasha change him into a romper, eying the dark mark across his ribs. “Is that a bruise or a birth mark?”
“A birthmark. Might get lighter as he grows, might not. A lot of kids are born with them.” Clint placed his hand between the baby’s torso and the zipper when he tugged it up, into place.
“Huh.” Wanda leaned against the back of the couch, “You said he was blue? Very bright, yes?”
Natasha turned towards her, resting the baby against her shoulder, “As bright as your magic… please tell me he’s not yours.” Wanda was already young and taken advantage of, Natasha could see the way Clint stiffened, looked a little murderous.
“No. He might be Selene’s.” Wanda gave half a shrug, “They took her baby away. He was noisy, and he had a mark on his chest. Also on the back of his head, like a strawberry. My… Pietro said he’d heard a mark on the front like that was bound to be a sign of greed.”
“Yeah, well the only thing he’s greedy for is another bottle,” Clint joked in that same dad voice he used on his kids, making Natasha roll her eyes.
“Who’s Selene?” Natasha asked instead of giving in to talk about marks, baby happily resting against her shoulder.
“One of the people they were testing on. They took many of us,” Wanda hesitated, “Only Pietro and I survived more than a few weeks. She had him after they injected us. When she died they took him away. She called him Ilya, if that helps.”
It took two weeks to set up for the baby to be tested by anyone. After Ultron Steve was hesitant to let Tony near the baby in any way, and Natasha didn’t protest the idea.
But it meant two weeks of him staying with them. Two weeks of late nights and endless bottles, diapers.
Of seeing Steve sprawled out on their couch late at night with the baby laying across his chest, watching the TV and talking to the little guy to 'entertain’ him while Natasha was meant to be catching up on sleep.
After two days she didn’t want to give him up, by his appointment at two weeks the idea of handing him off to anyone was painful.
About as painful as Ilya found his physical to be, given the way he squealed, his hands balled up into fists, face scrunched up in fury at even being looked over by anyone else.
It wasn’t a doctor technically, Maria Hill had explained, but apparently Dr. Simmons was the best biologist SHIELD had, and wouldn’t be put out by dealing with enhanced challenges.
Something that stood out when the attempt to take a small vial of blood from Ilya ended in a rapid appearing blue bubble that sent the woman stumbling backwards, caught by a prepared Maria.
“Is it bad I really want to just throw things towards him now and see what he blocks?” Maria asked, leaning against the table watching Natasha soothe the baby enough to where Simmons could draw blood with only minor electrical interference.
“Clint said the only thing stopping him from doing it was a little voice in his head telling him I’d kill him.”
Their apartment was a slight mess. Well, a mess as far as Steve’s sensibilities.
There were books piled neatly on the coffee table, a stack of sketchbooks on the kitchen island, a few boxes along the hallway.
Things that were meant to be in his hobby room.
A room where currently faint music was playing.
“What the hell…” Natasha shifted Ilya in her arms, letting the fussy baby lay against her chest instead of her shoulder. His loud complaints and subsided to occasional grumbling behind a pacifier about the time they left the building Maria swore wasn’t a hidden SHIELD office, not in the least.
The room had been cleared out and cleaned. Against the wall leaned a large white cardboard box with what looked like a crib printed on the side of it, along with a few grocery bags tied at the top like a knot.
Steve looked up from where he knelt, carefully painting what looked like Donald Duck in a border, three smaller half painted creatures walking behind him. “What?” his voice was muffled by another paintbrush held between his teeth. He removed it carefully, swiping yellow paint across his cheek in the process, “It’s not like we were gonna return him.”
The farm was silent as she drove up to it. None of the alarm systems she’d helped set up cued off, at least not that she could see. Laura didn’t call her burner phone on the way to the house. No one was out front either.
Cooper’s bike was leaned up against the porch, Laura’s car was in the drive. The front door wasn’t broken open.
But it was unlocked when she tried it.
The house alarms didn’t go off either. The coats weren’t hung up by the door, and the kitchen floorboard had been pulled up, the go-bags stashed inside taken out.
“Shit.” In a crisis she was supposed to help them, keep track if possible, but they’d gotten out first. Probably when Clint left.
The only thing left behind was a piece of paper on the kitchen table. It held very little information, but it did settle some of her anxiety.
Laura, wherever she was, had Ilya with her children. That was both a relief and more worry inducing. She knew one or two places Laura might go, but with Clint as her husband, they probably had more she didn’t even know about.
With Clint in prison she had no ways to contact him to try and find her son.
She tried one more time on the numbers she knew they might us, burners that might be active, but got no reply, no answer. Some didn’t even ring.
The one that did ring and cut short, being sent to voice-mail had her clenching her hand, listening to the beep meaning it had begun recording.
“If I don’t get him back, and soon, you’re going to be very, very sorry.” She spoke clearly into the phone, not raising her voice in the least, keeping it as level as she could before ending the call with a click, shoving the phone back into her pocket.
There were more places to check, to catch up to the ones who thought she sided against them.
Continuing life with a baby around wasn’t as hard as they expected it to be.
Most training sessions Ilya was off to the side in whoever wasn’t working’s arms, and the times they worked as a team he was most happy to lay in his swing, suckling on his pacifier while they worked on practicing working as a team, perfecting what feats they needed to rely on each other for.
They found out quickly that he adored Wanda, tolerated Sam and Rhodey, and cried at Vision being near. The crying wasn’t funny, but the way his little fists would be swallowed up in tiny blue energy crackling around them was.
“You trying to threaten the mean ol’ Android. You’re older than him, you know,” Steve teased Ilya, sitting cross-legged in front of his swing, playing with his tiny fists. “You’re meant to look out for the younger guys, that’s how it works.”
“Nah, you defend yourself against anyone who’s mean to you,” Sam disagreed, crouching down next to the swing, catching Ilya’s attention with his movement. “You may be little, but I bet you got a hell of a south paw. Huh?” He tapped Ilya’s nose with his fingertip, making the baby go crossed eyed briefly, blinking and refocusing.
“He’s gotta learn to balance on his own before he can manage that mean right hook,” Steve disagreed, unfastening Ilya and climbing to his feet, plucking the cheerful boy from his spot. “Huh bud?”
“Yeah, might need to discover he has feet before he can plant them for a proper punch,” Sam conceded, following after Steve out of the gym, giving a sarcastic farewell salute to Rhodey who looked rather resigned to his role of practice dummy in Natasha’s lessons to Wanda on taking down bigger opponents.
“He knows he has feet!” Steve protested. He glanced down at the baby, “You know you have feet. Don’t you?”
If the four month old had any answers, he wasn’t sharing them.
Steve shook his head “He’s aware of his feet he knows when they’re cold.”
“He knows he’s cold, that doesn’t mean he’s aware he has feet,” Sam made a face at Ilya that had the baby making a chuffing noise.
Steve stared down at his son, “Do that again?”
“Do what?” Sam blew a raspberry at Ilya, receiving the same noise in reply.
“That.” Steve shifted Ilya so the baby was watching Sam fully. “That face.”
Sam rolled his eyes, “Your Daddy thinks I’m an on cue comedian, doesn’t he?” But still he made a face, blowing a raspberry at Ilya again. This time the chuffing noise came with waved hands, a high pitched breath out at the end. “Oh. Oh shit, did I just make him laugh?”
“No. No you did not. That did not happen,” Steve decided after a minute, “You heard nothing and neither did I. Nothing has happened until Mommy sees it.”
“Like the feeding him orange juice incident. Got it.”
Ilya’s first shots at two months old, after the blood, led to a shrieking baby and a dazed scientist with a nasty bump on the back of her head.
At four his screaming anger at shots had a dent in a wall, and Maria threatening Steve via text about having to catch scientists on her own.
So when his six months shots came up, they were prepared ahead of time, with Steve bracing his arm around a stuttering brunette who tried to keep her focus on the now distrustful baby.
A distrustful baby who shrieked as if he’d been betrayed, tears rolling down his face, hand clenched in pain.
Steve had counted on having to block poor Simmons from being tossed backwards again, that was easy enough.
He’d counted on Ilya’s crying, a needle hurt when you were an adult, of course it’d be a horrible pain as a baby.
What he hadn’t counted on was the way his heart broke at Ilya’s face, screwed up in pain, in the pained, betrayed sobs that came from his poor innocent son.
“Hey, no, no, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Steve scooped him up the moment Natasha had a bandage over the two tiny injection marks. “You’re okay champ, I’ve got you.” He cradled Ilya to his shoulder, bouncing him lightly, “You’re okay. I know, I know, that was so cruel. That was mean and terrible, I’m so sorry.” he didn’t notice the amused look Natasha gave him, or the way Maria pulled out her phone, pointing it at them, all he cared about was Ilya’s slowly quieting cries, “I’m sorry, buddy. I know, but I promise you that jab’s a lot better than polio.”
“I don’t think he cares about what he’s avoiding, hon,” Natasha’s amusement was evident in her tone, obviously trying not to laugh despite how much she had been nervous about his getting his shots. “He’s just mad we poked him.”
“That was a horrible betrayal, he should be mad. And he should care! Whooping cough is horrible. I had it, it wasn’t fun. We don’t like stuff that isn’t fun, do we buddy? No, no we don’t.”
“Nat. Nat,” Steve nudged the bed lightly with the side of his leg, “hey.”
“What?” Natasha blinked to clear her eyes, looking up at Steve stood by their bedside, baby in his arms. “What’s wrong? He can’t sleep?”
“He’s sleeping fine. Too fine. Clint said babies are up crying all night after shots and get sick and aren’t well but he hasn’t even woken up for a bottle” Steve sat down next to her on the bed when she tugged on the hem of his boxers to make him, “No bottle, no waking, and he’s warm.”
Natasha sat up enough to touch Ilya’s face, his hands, “He’s warm but he’s not hot.”
“Warm is bad for a baby, it could mean something is very wrong,” Steve pointed out.
“Or it could mean it’s September in New York, he’s wearing footie pajamas, and you don’t sleep so instead you stay up and obsess listening to him breathe,” Natasha scooted backwards on the bed, nudging Steve to lean back on the pillows and relax. She plucked Ilya from his arms, settling herself back against Steve’s shoulder instead, baby on her chest. Ilya was a bit warm, but no more than he normally was when sleeping in full body pajamas. He wasn’t flushed, or breathing hard.
“He could be really sick,” Steve covered her hand on Ilya’s back with his own, “What if he is? He always wakes for a bottle, this could mean–”
“That we start getting full nights worth of sleep again, and he’s tired out from the day. If you really want me to I’m sure I can wake him up for you,” Natasha offered, entwining her fingers with his, and moving so both his arms were around her and Ilya. “Or you can obsess over his breathing and rest with us for a while.”
“I don’t obsess,” Steve defended himself with remarkably little conviction, “I monitor.”
“Uh huh. Sleep, he’s fine.” Natasha rested her head on his shoulder, letting her eyes close, “I promise.”
The Montana safe house. had obviously been used, but it hadn’t been emptied of supplies. The signs of life there were subtle. While bed was made up neatly, they were crinkled and obviously had been used, not just tucked in hospital corners.
The dishes were in the cupboard neat and clean, but the few that were up there held no dust on them at all, recently used and washed.
Two of the towels hanging up to dry in the bathroom had been used and hung back up again.
More telling than anything though, was something Natasha was certain was deliberate; tucked just behind a pillow on the couch was a tiny pair of light blue socks, decorated with little versions of Captain America’s shield.
Tony and Sam found it hilarious to send them everything Captain America or Black Widow they found baby wise. He had so many outfits and toys of the avengers it was unreal, enough that she’d started sending them to Clint for Nathaniel to wear too.
So they’d left New York, Natasha reasoned in her head, took Ilya with them, somehow got him to Laura on the way to wherever they were going pre-Germany. Laura who went into hiding as well, with two children, and two babies with her.
She owed Laura at least one bottle of wine after this. Wanda and Clint owed her more.
Steve could take a full weekend babysitting the Barton children if he’d organized this on his own.
Natasha checked her phone when she finally settled down, content that the security system was in place and working.
The wait for the burner to power up was agonizing, and her heart leapt when she saw she had a message in return.
“For what it’s worth,” Steve’s voice rang through clear, “I’m already very sorry.”
October brought two snuffling, lingering colds, dreary weather, and more Halloween costumes than Ilya could ever need.
Which meant most days poor Ilya found himself dressed in some set of Halloween pajamas or zip up rompers.
It was both cute and a sad to watch a red cheeked baby in a zip up dragon romper sneeze himself backwards on a playmat.
Steve tried to veto superhero clothing, but somehow found his kid in mimics of their outfits, along with the occasional superman onesie. He drew the line at capes, all they were useful for was an emergency spit rag. Occasionally capes that didn’t even belong to Ilya’s outfit.
October brings Halloween, a day that Natasha had planned out as early as of the 1st of October. A day of candy, Halloween movies, and even taking Ilya trick-or-treating around a few approved places.
There were matching costumes planned out from mid October onwards; even a set that made sure Sam and Wanda had to participate.
Except instead of hanging out with their son on his first Halloween, Steve and Natasha found themselves in a shitty, rundown hotel room outside Madrid, keeping watch for an illegal sale of HYDRA weapons.
Weapons that had been the source of devastation and chaos in the past, and would do even less good in the hands of the unstable extremists that sought them out for their own agenda.
“It’s just Halloween, one of many Halloweens. He’s too young to even realize it’s Halloween. And way too young for candy.”
Steve tried not to smile at Natasha’s mutterings over the comms, eyes scanning the street. “Are you trying to convince me or you?”
“You. Obviously. Why would I care about missing such a minor holiday? Even if it’s his first ever Halloween.”
“Exactly. You’ve lucked out, now you don’t have to dress up as Wonder Woman,” Sam piped up with easy amusement, “There’s a bright side.”
“I don’t think she sees it as a bright side,” Wanda interjected, “Because now we don’t get to see Superman Steve.”
“Aww, that’s disappointing. No Cap in tights? God why don’t you just ruin a guy’s year?”
Steve snorted, “Can we focus on the mission and not turning Ilya into Batman please?”
There was silence across the comms for a few minutes, the occasional update on what they saw on the street, various things that might work out badly.
Then finally Wanda had to break the silence, “If Ilya becomes Batman, would that make Sam Alfred or Robin?”
“Alfred,” Steve replied instantly, “No one wants to see that much of Sam’s legs.”
“Hey, I got great legs! But I ain’t no one’s sidekick.”
“Leave the sidechick alone, we’ve got incoming.” Natasha scolded them lightly.
November brought them road trips, and a very unhappy Ilya.
Between his nine month shots (suffered much better than him than Steve, who looked like he might cry himself when Ilya burst into tears), and teeth beginning to make their way through, he was already an angry little grouch, but when they added in a flight on the Avengers’ Quinjet, he was a downright menace, his tiny fists waving, coated in that same blue energy that had been there before, but this time setting off alarms in the plane.
With Natasha as pilot it was a little hard to console the baby whose ears were now popping as well. No matter the faces Steve made, he cried – no matter how he sang or rocked, Ilya refused to be consoled.
That was until Wanda intervened, tapping a lollipop to his lips. The surprised baby jolted, watching her as he opened his mouth reflexively, tongue darting out. His eyes lit up at the new taste, his feet kicking as he watched her. “Yeah? That worth not crashing us over?” Wanda asked, holding it up and letting him touch his tongue to it. “Worth not throwing a fit? I’d like to live, please.”
Ilya apparently found the deal worth it, feet kicking, hands waving, reaching out towards Wanda and the newly discovered treat.
Steve shook his head, handing his son to her, “I didn’t give him it, I can’t get in trouble for this.”
“Give him what?” Natasha called back, barely glancing to where Wanda now sat cross-legged on the floor, Ilya on her lap happy slobbering over a lollipop.
Neither Cooper or Lila could have cared any less about their new honorary baby cousin, not when Wanda was there and could move things with her mind, and when Sharon could name every Pokemon off the top of her head at Lila’s prompting.
Laura gleefully took a turn holding Ilya though, swapping Steve easily for baby Nate, “Oh my God he’s even cuter than the pictures. Hi, buddy! Oh look at you,” Laura beamed over Ilya who looked slightly bemused behind his pacifier, but okay so long as he could see his mommy nearby. “He’s tiny, isn’t he? Or are my kids just fat? My babies might just be oversized.”
“He’s 'dainty’,” Natasha conceded with amusement, “But we’re assured he’s perfectly proportional, and healthy as can be, just small. And also your babies are fat.”
“Well, Nate is a boob monster.” Laura grinned as Steve turned at the words, leaving the living room to go find Clint. “Is he easily embarrassed or does he just not want to think about me having boobs?”
“You’re Clint’s wife, any thoughts of any of your body that’s typically covered by clothing, willing or unwilling, are punishable by death.”
Steve wasn’t sure who hated the other more, Ilya or Nathaniel.
Ilya had been interested in the baby, until Natasha held him. And then the baby was the worst creature ever to exist, even worse than the mean doctor who gave him injections.
He didn’t turn blue, or do anything but stare with this look of betrayal, crying at the obvious rejection and horrific slight that was his mommy holding another baby.
A sentiment returned by Nathaniel when he spotted Laura holding Ilya and started crying, despite being held by his father.
They sat staring at each other across the playmat, Ilya sitting up on his own, worrying his teeth on a stuffed rabbit’s ear, while Nathaniel sat in his bumbo chair, gumming at his pacifier.
“You know, I never figured it’d be your kid my kid would hate,” Clint offered cheerfully, sprawled out on his side next to Nathaniel, entertaining him by jingling brightly colored fake car keys.
“Which kid did you figure on yours hating?” Steve watched Ilya, trying not to be reminded of a small dog at the way he grumbled around the toy.
“Stark’s, or that ass Martin from the PTA.”
“That ass Martin?” Steve laughed, “Are you feuding with the school?”
“No, just Martin. He thinks his kids are the best thing to ever grace this earth, while we know that Tommy’s a dirt eating icky head, Polly needs to stop stealing the good crayons, and that baby of theirs is bald still so they’re so not all that.”
Steve blinked, scoffed, “This is retirement?”
“Oh no, this is the battle I fight when I’m not saving the world. We’ve been feuding since Tommy pushed Cooper off the slide in Pre-K and Cooper shoved dirt down his shirt. What? My kids fight back.”
“So in a few years I may be feuding with that ass Martin with the PTA.” Steve could feel Natasha trying not to laugh where she lay next to him on the air mattress, Ilya sprawled in his pack & play next to them.
“Clint doesn’t like some guy named Martin, or his kids.”
Natasha did laugh quietly at that, “I’ve heard about Martin, and the evil icky kids. Why would you be feuding with them?”
Steve gave a half shrug, “Cause apparently dads feud with PTA dads, and go to soccer practice in cargo shorts, and stand around poking burgers on a grill while holding a beer and calling everyone 'champ’.”
“You call Ilya 'champ’.” Natasha changed positions, moving around so she could lay her head on his chest, half draped across him, not that he minded.
Steve rested his hand on her back, watching the ceiling where glow in the dark stars twinkled, “I don’t typically drink 'bud light’ while doing it.”
“Clint drinks IPA, not Bud light.”
“I don’t own cargo shorts.”
“No, but you do own skinny jeans,” Natasha offered.
“Only because you bought them,” Steve countered. He sighed, tracing random designs on her back with his fingertips, “He says I have to buy a football jersey with ’#1 Dad’ on the back or I’m not a real dad.”
“We’ll get you a baseball jersey instead, much more your speed.”
“Please promise me you’ll never use the words 'boob monster’.”
“Well, not in relation to Ilya at least…”
Thanksgiving day had Wanda playing an enhanced game of soccer out front with the kids, Ilya happily tucked into his sling against her chest so he could see everything.
With Ilya outside with them, the men out back playing around with turkeys and deep fryers, and Nathaniel asleep, the kitchen was actually quiet.
Sharon and Natasha had both been forbidden from touching the stove top by Laura who wielded a wicked wooden spoon. Natasha had joined them when she got bored of hanging around the deep fryers, and the two men debating how far Steve could boost someone into the air, planning to avoid any possible oil burns from attempted acrobatics.
“Vision and Stark still terrified of Ilya?”
Natasha scoffed, “Stark’s debating a civil lawsuit against Ilya for befouling a suit that costs more than a car. So he claims. He’s also been fiddling about with a car seat that he swears will keep any baby inside from feeling the 'slightest of movement’.”
“Or he likes interesting new projects. He also likes to send us as many outfits as he can with his face or Steve’s face on it. Which reminds me, I brought Nathaniel a few outfits I’m so never putting Ilya in.”
“Oh, did I tell you what Aunt Peg thought about Ilya?”
Natasha tried not to make a face, instead digging into the fridge to steal one of Clint’s beers, “Nope.”
Neither had Steve beyond 'he’s cute’. She wasn’t jealous in the least of him taking their son to meet his ex-girlfriend.
His only ex who was only his ex because he ended up frozen in the arctic for a few years.
She was relative certain she could take the 94 year old in a fight.
“Oh what’d Nana have to say?” Laura lit up at that, “She called Nathaniel ‘chunky’ and said he was 'marginally’ cuter than my Uncle James as a baby.”
“When did your Grandmother lose her filter?” Natasha made a face, “Don’t most people only say nice things about babies?”
“She’s always said what she thought, she just occasionally kept it inside until the person she wanted to comment on was gone.”
“She thinks he’s cute,” Sharon told her, snuggling Nathaniel to her shoulder, “And 'positively tiny’, much like Steve before Howard got hold of him. Also she expected a much ornerier child from 'That Romanova girl’. How badly did you annoy her?”
Natasha rolled her eyes, “I never did a thing to her. Not once. She was retired when I joined SHIELD. It’s all Clint gossiping, he gives me a bad reputation.”
The apartment in Calgary looked undisturbed at first. The counters were a little dusty still, and the floorboards were in place still.
But there were pressure marks on the living room floor, the kind left by a playpen. When she did pull up the floorboard the cash that was normally stored there was gone, in it’s place a sketched postcard.
Natasha frowned over it, turning it over in her hands. On one side was a hand drawn image of a hotel, complete with neon sign out front, a few cars that even had license plates on them. Plates that marked them as not American, most likely European, without additional research.
“Wish you were here XOXO ” was all that was written on the back. It was Steve’s handwriting, Steve’s artwork, and most likely the only clue she was going to be given to where she was meant to meet them.
Christmas was big and exciting, and Ilya couldn’t seem to care about it beyond the lights.
Pretty stockings hung up? Boring.
But those twinkling lights decorating the windows and railings at the compound? Oh those were the most important thing in his little life.
So important that Tony had made a little device to project the little lights around his playpen as well, so they could actually set him down without him screeching to get back to the lights.
It didn’t help his temperament in regards to missing his dad, but it was a distraction.
Steve and Sam were only meant to be gone a few days at most, and yet somehow they were still gone, still radio silent, in the days leading up to Christmas.
If they weren’t back in the next few days Natasha was going to go after them herself. Rhodey was spending time with his family, The Vision was with Tony 'learning’ all about the festivities, which left Natasha mostly alone with a baby and a teenager.
Steve missed Ilya’s first visit to Santa, but she made sure to get multiple photos of the baffled baby on Santa’s lap, a feat she only managed by convincing Wanda to get in the photo with him. She sent a copy to Clint when they got home, receiving a heart emoji in reply. Sap.
He missed Christmas shopping last minute for things she’d missed before, and on baking cookies that Ilya couldn’t eat anyway at his age, and watching old Christmas movies while Ilya hung out in his elf pajamas.
Natasha refused to be upset by it. It was part of the job. God knew how many holidays she’d miss in the future, or what reasons she’d have for missing them. He was young enough the day didn’t matter to him, they could do Christmas in July and he wouldn’t notice.
But it did bother her a little when the house was silent on Christmas eve, with Ilya sleeping peacefully in his crib, tucked up under his Captain America blanket, and Wanda curled up on the couch fast asleep.
With a quick text to Clint about pretending to be Santa, she went to bed herself, not very hopeful for the morning.
It wasn’t a loudly complaining baby wanting his breakfast that woke her, but heavy footsteps in the hallway, her bedroom door being pushed open.
“If he hasn’t woke up yet, did I still technically miss Christmas?” Steve half joked, dropping his helmet and gloves next to the laundry basket.
“Not technically,” Natasha flipped on the light, climbing out of bed to look him over. “You didn’t check in.”
Steve started to smile then stopped as it pulled at a cut on his cheek, “Yeah, things got a little messy.”
A little messy was probably an understatement, given the marks on his hands and face. She gently swatted his hands away when he went to undo his uniform jacket, doing it herself instead, “A little? Where’s Sam?”
“Dropped him off in DC, he’s gonna surprise his mom with a Christmas visit.” Steve winced when he shrugged the jacket off, “I didn’t protest.”
“Did you manage what you set out to do?” she frowned when his shirt came off, studying the bruises on his skin, some of which were already fading.
“You’ll be happy to know that there is no more threats of a nefarious takeover in Adelaide. That country’s more deadly than its’ bad guys, did you know that?” He’d left his boots somewhere before reaching their bedroom, meaning it was easy enough for him to shimmy out of his uniform pants, nudge them aside with the other parts of his uniform, “I really don’t say it often, but I need a nap, and at least three protein shakes and a sandwich.”
“You need a shower first, soldier boy.” Natasha wrinkled her nose, “And a look over with a first aid kit. Let’s go.”
“You gonna join me? Thought we had company on the couch,” Steve joked without protest, already headed for their private bathroom.
“We do, which is why you’re not quite as lucky as you think you are. I’m just pretty sure you probably can’t lift your hands over your head to wash you own hair right now, and you might pass out on the shower floor.”
Tony and Ilya held an easy peace between them. Tony brought him embarrassing outfits to wear, occasional high tech toys like his Christmas light projector and car seat, and refused to pick him up at any time.
Ilya for his part would happily blow bubbles at Tony and play peek-a-boo for hours on end, so long as he didn’t attempt to take him out of sight of his parents, or Wanda.
When Ilya wasn’t feeling well however, all his tolerance was gone.
It was only a few hours they were meant to be watching him, and Wanda was the one watching him – really. Tony and Rhodey were just hanging out, casually at the compound like always. Shooting the breeze with Sam, fun night all around really.
Fun enough, even though Wanda paced around with Ilya, talking to him in a combination of languages, swaying in place while the poor boy fussed, rubbing at his ear til it was red. Teething, Sam had explained to them, meant Ilya’s nose was running, he had a fever starting, and his ears hurt.
It made for a very irritable baby, 'so don’t take it personally’.
“Tony.” Rhodey nudged his oldest friend, “Go poke him.”
“What? Why?” Tony eyed the baby. His fists were tinged with blue where the one tugged at his ear. “You think he’ll launch me too?”
“I think I wanna see if he can launch the suit, and yours is much shinier and prettier to look at than mine to a baby’s point of view,” Rhodey nudged him again, “We know he can fling humans, think he can fling an Iron man?”
Tony paused, watching Ilya chew on a frozen teething toy, “$500 says he can’t toss me.”
Rhodey grinned at that, “I got five says he can.”
“You two are both completely screwed if you do that,” Sam warned them, “That being said, I’ll put five down that not only can he throw you, but you make it through the wall.”
“Hey, be nice to the birthday boy, okay? We just repaired the walls he threw you through,” Steve warned Tony, pointing at him as Tony moved to put a wrapped present down on the table with the others.
“He did not throw me. He pushed me and then my boots mysteriously started on their own which propelled me.” Tony defended himself, “Sam lies.”
“Which means he won’t poke the baby again. Where’s the birthday boy?” Pepper greeted him cheerfully.
“He’s gaining massive applause by showing off his newest skill in the rec room,” Steve gestured her down the hall and didn’t feel the least bit offended when she didn’t stick around to chat. Ilya was cuter than him, after all.
“King fu? Electro shock? He levitate yet?” Tony guessed.
Steve chuckled, “No he’s learned to pull himself up to his feet and balance without anyone holding onto him. For short, short periods of time.”
“I’m officially uninterested. Let me know when he’s controling Vision’s mind or something cooler.”
Steve rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Learning to stand on your own two feet is a very valuable skill.”
“I’m sure. Say, are you really, really sure the kid’s not yours?” Tony nudged past him into the kitchen.
“Like didn’t spring forth from the font of freedom?” Tony wiggled his eyebrows, opening the fridge. “Didn’t come out of mother Russia?”
“I’m just curious is all,” Tony gave an innocent look Steve’s way, popping the top on one of Sam’s hidden Pepsi’s. “I mean, his birthday’s fantastic.”
Steve frowned, “Why? It’s just an estimated date.”
“Yeah, but you know what that day is?” Tony asked with a giant grin, “The reason everyone’s got plans on it so we’re doing this like a week early?”
Steve’s brow furrowed in thought, trying to connect in his brain whatever it was Tony was going on about. After a moment it clicked, “Aw… son of a bitch.”
“Who picked it?” Tony asked eagerly, “Because I’m ashamed I didn’t notice until FRIDAY pointed it out to me.”
“I think Nat did,” Steve rubbed at his temple, “Jesus.. At least it’s not the 4th of July.”
“No, we’ve gone for the non-American pride. God, Captain America’s son, our little Caplet, the mini soldier, born on Saint Patrick’s day. Can you get any more Irish when you’re adopted with a questionable ethnicity from a war torn European state?”
“You don’t. You will when the first 'Kiss me I’m Irish’ shirt gets put on him, but you’ll tolerate me til then.”
“You didn’t warn me.” Steve complained lightly at Natasha once the party was over, when it was just a few of them hanging out in the rec room, watching Ilya alternately tear up wrapping paper, and plaster his dark curls to his head with more bright yellow frosting.
“Warn you about what?” Natasha made a face at Ilya, handing him another piece of paper to tear, causing him to break into giggles once more.
Natasha gave him a look, “The party you just attended? I think I gave you notice.”
“No, not the party, his birthday. See, there it is! There’s that smirk.” Steve pointed in as much outrage as he could manage, “How could you?”
“It was a tough debate between the 17th and the 15th, and Saint Patrick’s day seemed more fun than The Ides of March.”
“You could have gone with the 16th.” Steve grabbed Ilya’s sippy cup when he reached for it demandingly, watched him try to sort out how it worked once more.
“That just wouldn’t be interesting at all, why would I do that?”
Steve shook his head, trying not to smile, “Next time point things out to me before Tony does, that’s all I ask.”
“Like what things? Oh, like how Captain America’s son literally has an Uncle Sam? That kind of thing?”
“Uh-oh,” Ilya mumbled to himself, knocking his sippy cup off the coffee table and onto the ground, wriggling his toes as the milk inside leaked out on them.
“Yeah,” Steve answered faintly as Natasha lifted Ilya into the air, cheering him on for the word, “Like that kind of thing.”
The hotel wasn’t actually European, but based in South Africa, Natasha had learned with a bit of research online, a little prodding at sources with license plate numbers.
It took two hours of hanging around the hotel before she was approached. Surprisingly not by Steve, but by a very cheerful looking Sharon who linked her arm in Natasha’s, “Walk with me.”
“Where’s Ilya?” Natasha asked though she did lean in against Sharon, walking casually as if they were just old friends.
“With Steve, who had absolutely no idea what dumb plans other people stirred up. Dumb plans which have already caused them to receive many, many lectures.” Sharon smiled, “Many lectures. Laura used her mom voice. It was impressive.” She gestured Natasha to a rather dirty, beat up looking car, climbing into the driver’s seat.
Natasha followed, settling in the passenger seat, tossing her back into the back, “What exactly was their goal in taking him? Were they trying to piss me off or gain leverage?”
“I believe the thought process was that Tony’s a dick, and the Government was getting real mad at most of us, and Ilya being alone in New York made him an easy target for Ross or Stark. Laura didn’t know, no one did, it was Clint and Wanda’s idea on the way out of New York, not a conspiracy. I promise.”
“Where are Steve and Ilya?”
May brought too much heart ache and memories. It brought the anniversary of Sokovia’s destruction, of Pietro’s death, and of Ilya’s adoption.
It brought a fuck up in Lagos like they hadn’t ever anticipated, and more government digging around in their affairs.
It brought news of the death of one of the two surviving people he had left who knew him from before he was frozen, and Natasha siding with the government.
“You really want them registering us? Keeping tabs on us, controlling what we do, when we act? They’ll register anyone who’s enhanced, you know that. What does that mean for Ilya?”
“If we get ahead of this now, get a hold of what’s going on while he’s young, it’ll hopefully mean we have control over all of it by time he’s old enough for it to be an issue. Steve, this isn’t a problem we can punch our way out of, this is one we have to take the quiet route on.”
“You think they’ll let him wait that long?” Steve scoffed, “They’ll have him mark an X before he’s even aware what the pen he’s holding is used for. This is the Government we’re talking about.”
“When they arrested us,” Bucky spoke up from the back seat, legs stretched out as much as they could be in the back of their borrowed beetle, “The man in the armor mentioned your son. You have a kid?”
“Yeah, I… I do.” Steve nodded, glancing into the rear view mirror at Bucky.
“That wasn’t in the museum, and I don’t remember it. How old?”
“Oh.” Bucky’s face scrunched up like he was doing mental math. “Who’s the mom?”
“Remember the redhead you shot when we chased your ass on a highway?” Sam spoke up, shifting in his seat a little.
“Vaguely. Oh, oh shit, did I shoot a pregnant woman?” Bucky sat up at that, slightly alarmed,
“Not that time, I can’t vouch for others,” Sam answered at the same time as Steve.
Steve rolled his eyes, it was worse than Nathaniel and Ilya’s glowering contests. “Ilya’s adopted, you didn’t shoot a pregnant woman or anything like that.”
Bucky nodded, “So… if you’ve got a little boy to take care of, why’d you leave him to help me?”
“Because I’m helping him too. He’s like us, Bucky. He’s just a little weird, with some powers that aren’t quite accepted by the general public. I let them treat you like this, let the world treat us like this, then I can’t say what they’ll do to him. And if those Super Soldiers get out, they start anything… How can I look my kid in the eye when I can’t say I did the best I possibly could to protect him?”
The house turned out to be a vacation home on the beach. A beach she could see two familiar little kids running around on, playing tag with another familiar figure with red hair.
“It’s amazing the access you get to things when you have our skills,” Sharon parked the car, climbing out herself, “Ilya’s been a bit of a menace lately, which is totally their fault. Won’t sleep more than a few hours at a time, he’s forsaken any food but formula, and he’s been biting again.”
“I wonder why.” Natasha grabbed her bag, heading for the house, “Tell Clint I’m going to kick his ass later.”
Sharon gave a salute, heading down towards the beach instead of inside.
Inside the house was cooler than outside, but much noisier. It made her heart hurt to hear Ilya whining and fussing, obviously distraught. She dumped her bag on the floor, tossing her jacket over it, and hurried after the noise.
She found him in the kitchen, Steve in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt rocking in place, trying to comfort Ilya as the microwave whirled, heating up water for formula.
“Hey.” Steve’s greeting was hesitant, like he expected to be yelled at, but it got Ilya’s attention.
Ilya who turned, and upon seeing Natasha let out a shriek, trying to throw himself out of Steve’s arms towards her.
“It’s okay, I’m here, sweetheart,” Natasha cradled him close, pressing a kiss to his head as Ilya buried his face in her neck, clinging.
“Mama!” he cried loudly, nails scratching against her shirt where he clung to her so fiercely. “Mama!”
“Yeah that word started in Montana,” Steve told her, “He’s been uh pretty angry he couldn’t find you.”
“Who’s fault is that?” She wanted to be angrier at him, but Steve looked beyond tired, like he just wanted to rest awhile.
“Clint’s. I had no intention on moving him, I figured if you thought he was in danger you’d make Fury grab him. If it makes you feel any better he’s been shocking Clint when he comes near him, and he’s bit Wanda twice.”
“Slightly.” Natasha hummed, kissing Ilya’s head again, rocking in place like Steve had. “I need a shower, and a nap,” She listed, “And at least one coffee before I start yelling at you for this.”
“This is a rental place,” Steve perked up,“ One of those winter rentals to show off to your family. It has a jacuzzi tub.”
“The yelling might be lesser just for that. You want a bath, baby boy?” Natasha bounced Ilya lightly in her arms. Steve looked almost like a kicked puppy, standing there watching them, so she extended a hand to him, pulling him into a hug he seemed to need as much as her, even if it did make Ilya grumble. “How long are we staying here?”
“The plan was to stay as long as it took to get you to us, and figure it out from there. Wasn’t gonna leave until you got here, no matter what. Then we’d go from there.”
“Oh sure, now you wait for my opinion. Don’t think waiting earns you any brownie points, or that you’re forgiven, we’re still going a round or three later,” Natasha warned him, “When I don’t have a baby in my arms.”
