Holiday Requests: Off-Duty Shenanigans

This entry is part 6 of 7 in the series Holiday Requests 2014

Leverage + MCU, Parker and Natasha wreak havoc together to pass the boredom of being off missions/jobs


They're not allowed to go on missions (cases) because, as amazing and strong and independent as both women were, they had to make some concession to masculine (over)protective hormones around pregnancy.

"And combat could cause a miscarriage," Natasha admitted with a sigh over her steaming cup of… hot chocolate. She mourned the lack of coffee not for the stimulants but for the taste, which she claimed rather emphatically that decaf could not touch.

Parker glared at her own cup of hot chocolate. "I could accomplish so much. No one suspects the pregnant woman."

Natasha stared at her. No one did. She raised an eyebrow. "What case are your boys working?"

"Wouldn't tell me." Parker scowled more furiously.

Natasha smiled. "I am a spy."

It was a different skillset, one a handful of thieves wouldn't be prepared for.


"Now you promise you'll be careful," Clint double-checked for the umpteenth time while Natasha gritted her teeth and bore it.

"I'm spying, not fighting," she reminded him. "No one suspects the pregnant woman."

"They'll recognize you." His brows furrowed in adorable concern.

She kissed his cheek and waved him off. "Give me some credit, Barton." By the time she was ready, she could have been Parker's sister and she certainly didn't look like the Black Widow in her thick glasses and messy blonde ponytail and bookish outfit.

"Have fun."


Parker sighed in contentment hanging upside down from the harness outside of a window while Natasha handed her tools while watching Spencer's and Hardison's positions on her tracking unit.

"You should exercise as close to the due date as possible," Natasha agreed. "This was an excellent decision."

They both looked around for a moment, taking in the breeze, the view over so many unsuspecting heads, the delightful feeling of momentary weightlessness instead of aching feet and back and, seriously, they could not wait to give birth and get back their usual centers of gravity.

Parker righted herself thoughtfully and handed back the glass cutter, which Natasha tucked back into her belt. "Did your Clint think we would be grifting inside the building?"

Feet flat on the ground acting normal? Natasha snorted. "If he did, he forgot who he married."

Parker nodded. "He knows."

Natasha agreed readily. "Yes. Do your boys know about the Red Room?"

"Most days, I don't." Parker shrugged it off with a slight blankness to her face that suggested disassociation and long familiarity with leaving well enough alone. "Shall we?"


"Hardison!" Eliot's voice was hard over the comm. "There's no package!"

"What do you mean there's no package? Of course there's a package. Do you think I didn't lovingly resear—"

Parker's distinctive giggle interrupted them and both men clutched their earpieces in surprise. "Got it! Meet you back at the house later. I've got a playdate first."

"We left you the cleanup," a clipped alto interjected before both women left the line.


The two reconvened at the Tower, giggling and sharing hot chocolate while they put their feet up. Clint came by and smiled, glad they had both found another friend.

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