My Weakness

"Nor would your baby.”

Neither Clint nor Natasha heard anything after that word. They dropped each other's hands and leaned forward intently. Baby.
What? How? When?

Natasha looked at the doctor and asked, "What?"

"You're pregnant, Ms. Romanov."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite."

"How did it happen?"

Dr. Horgan grinned. "In the regular way, I suppose."

"No, I mean how am I pregnant? I'm supposed to be infertile. They told me they'd ruined me, that I couldn't ever..."

"They were wrong."

She shook her head. ”I don't understand."

"Remember how we talked about how your body has remarkable abilities to heal itself?"

"Yes?"

"It healed itself quite a bit from whatever damage they did to you. There is still some lingering scar tissue that has made it difficult to conceive, but I assure you. You are pregnant, about ten weeks along. Congratulations."

"Jesus." Clint spoke for the first time. He rubbed his hand all over his scruffy face and leaned back in the chair, propping his elbow on the armrest and covering his mouth with his hand, his eyes wide and staring at the doctor. "Jesus."

Dr. Horgan went on, undeterred. "And the baby looks perfectly fine, against the odds. Apparently, you curled into a ball while you were being beaten, and that protected the fetus. The clot was treated quickly enough that it does not seem to have affected the baby. It's in a good position, the heartbeat is nice and strong, movement is good, everything looks great. We'll know more in a few weeks, but we're optimistic."

Clint lowered his head and put his face in his hands. "A heartbeat. Oh my God."

The doctor looked at the two of them, two people to whom he had just delivered the shock of their lives, and said, "I imagine you two have a lot to talk about. But the long and short of it is, Ms. Romanov," she looked up from staring at a fixed point on the bed next to her cast leg, "you're going to be okay, and sooner rather than later. You'll be back to yourself in a couple of weeks." Natasha went back to the fixed point on the bed. "I will check back in tomorrow afternoon. Have a good evening."

Clint scrubbed his face again and covered his mouth. Natasha just sat, staring at nothing beside her foot. Neither of them spoke or moved for a long time. Personnel bustled by, shadows slid a few inches across the floor. The clock ticked seconds, the minute hand swept to bottom then began an upward climb. Clint and Natasha sat in silence together.

Clint put his hands down, propping himself on his elbows and clasping his hands in front of himself. "I love you, Natasha."

"I love you, too." She didn't move. She just stared.

"And we'll do whatever you want. You've got the final say here."

She didn't answer. Staring.

"But I hope I can have at least some input."

"Okay."

"I want to have this baby, Nat."

She looked over at him, confused and disbelieving. "I don't understand. You've never wanted kids. You've said explicitly that you don't want kids. Why the sudden change? What makes you want this baby now?"

"Because it's us. It's you and me. I love you, and I want to have a family with you. It's part of me and part of you. God, Nat. I just can't..." He laughed roughly. "We made a baby. I can't believe it."

"But Clint,…”

"Hold up, I'm not done. This wasn't supposed to happen, but it did happen. After everything you went through, that baby should be gone. But it's not. You kept that baby safe without knowing you did it. I don't think this is an accident, I think this is a gift. I think we're meant to be a family."

"Clint, I..."

"I'll do whatever you want. You're the boss. And I never wanted kids in my life until this moment. But I want this baby, and I want it with you."

"I need time to think. I can't...I need to think."

"Okay. I'm right here."

Natasha sat back in the bed, still staring blankly. Clint took her hand and kissed her fingers, then sat back in the shitty chair, smiling a little, thinking of all the things that were in store for him. He was going to be a daddy. In a few months, this tiny little piece of he and Natasha was going to come out of her. Something beautiful and perfect he had helped to make. Creation he had been a part of, instead of destruction. She was going to have his nose and Nat's hair and eyes. Nat would teach her to dance, he would teach her to shoot. She would be the prettiest little girl who ever lived, and he would buy her everything she ever wanted. She'd never have a date, because if a boy even thought about copping a feel, he'd have an arrow pointed at his junk, Iron Man aiming a hand at his forehead, Thor aiming lightning at his entire body, etc.

It never crossed his mind that the baby might be a boy, he never entertained the thought that Natasha may not want the baby. He closed his eyes and held her hand, the mother of his unborn child, smiling and daydreaming about the pink bundle to come. He dozed off with the smile still on his lips.

Natasha woke him a long while later when the shadows had grown long in the room and the dinner tray had been brought. It lay, untouched, on the table at the foot of her bed.

"Clint?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"I don't know how to be a mother. I never had one."

He got up and sat gingerly on her bed, turned to face her. "My dad was a piece of shit and then he was gone. You and I, we're better than that. We love each other and we'll love our baby. What we don't know, we'll figure it out together. We'll give her the best of everything."

"Her?"

"Well, you don't want a kid that looks like me, right?" He gave her a lopsided smile. "It's a girl. I just know it.”

She gave a small, unsure smile back at him and thought quietly for a couple of minutes. Clint waited it out.

“I don’t think we can do this. I just don’t see how it will work.”

“Why not?”

“We’re killers, Clint. We kill people for a living. We dress it up all nice and say we’re spies and assassins for the government, but…fuck. Look how that turned out.”

“Sweetheart, we don’t do that anymore. You and I, we’re part of a team of superheroes who do nothing but fight for good. When we did what we did, we were fighting for good. The company we worked for was shitty, but we had good intentions.”

“We killed people. A lot of people.”

“Yes. Bad people who were going to kill lots more innocent people if we didn’t stop them.”

“We killed a lot of people before we got into the ‘good’ side of things.”

“That’s the past, sweetheart. And it makes us better equipped to teach right from wrong, when we're very well-versed in both sides of the coin.”

She sat silently. He stroked her hand, saying nothing.

“I'm scared, Clint. I just don't know about this. I really suck at emotional shit. I don’t know anything about kids. My childhood was the most fucked up thing anyone could ever imagine. I can't imagine not fucking up a kid.”

“Okay. Let me ask you this. Take all of the other factors out of the equation - our jobs, our pasts, everything. There’s just you and me. Do you want this baby?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I think so. I'm pretty sure yes.”

“Let me ask another way. If you were to not have this baby, would you regret it?”

“Yes.”

“Then there's your answer.” He kissed her hand, then leaned over and kissed her lips very, very softly. “I know it’s scary, sweetheart. Think on it some more. We have a little time.”

“Okay.”

He laid her bed back and got her comfortable, sitting beside her bed, holding one hand and stroking her hair until she fell asleep. He fell asleep not long after, still holding her hand, his head dropped to his chest. It was full dark when she woke him.

"Clint?"

He yawned. “Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Is this really what you want?"

“The baby? Absolutely."

"You won't change your mind?"

"No. Not one bit.”

She hesitated for a second. "Do you swear you won't leave me?"

He leaned over and kissed her lightly. "Sweetheart, if I ever leave you, it won't be by choice. You're stuck with me."

She nodded, then nodded again. Natasha looked at him, smiling a little. "Okay. Call the doctor."

"Why?"

"I want to see for myself that our baby is okay."