Little One

It was over.

All of the life she had built, the walls that surrounded her heart. Natasha Romanoff, hardened spy with an inhuman amount of red in her ledger, was broken.

Her body was glistening with the sheen of sweat, every nerve in her body on fire. It was the most painful thing she had ever felt, well past a bullet to the shoulder. But then with a final burst of fiery pain it lessened dramatically. She lay there in the bed in sweet relief, for once ignoring her surroundings. A sharp cry rose up, but she pushed down the emotions that rose with it. And after what felt like hours later a cloth bundle was pressed into her exhausted arms against her will.

She didn't want him. She really didn't. He was what Natasha and Steve had wanted - not the Black Widow. The little baby deserved better than this hollowed out shell of a mother with nothing to offer. He was better off with another family, with two parents instead of a single broken assassin. With someone who would care for him, give him what he deserved.

But the walls were gone, washed away by the flood of love as she was handed her baby boy.

He was so tiny, though it could be that the only experience she had was with Barton's children. His little eyelids were shut tightly but she could see the beginning of what would one day be long eyelashes. His chubby little cheeks were flushed red, but he was silent, rather surprisingly.

Her boy was all wrapped up in a little cloth that held his little arms from wiggling. Upon pulling off the little cap someone had placed on him during the night, she was greeted by a shock of damp blond hair. A tired smile lit up her face as she carefully ran her fingers through it. Just like his father.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, pulling him closer to her tired face. He stirred for a moment, and Natasha fleetingly worried that she had done something wrong. And then his tiny lids fluttered open, eyes settling on his mother's face.

Her heart skipped a beat as the eyes of her husband stared back at her. Bright blue eyes, hypnotized by her green irises. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes at the old pain, but she suppressed it.

The Black Widow doesn't cry. Never show vulnerability. But caressing her son so close, she realized that no one could take him away from her, not even her own conscious. Not the fearless monster she had been raised to be since she was a girl.

He blinked twice, mouth opening slightly before his tiny lungs began to scream. Natasha jumped, eyes torn from the formerly angelic face to search for help. A leftover nurse, seeing her distress, hurried over with a bottle.

Early on, she had told the nurses she wasn't interested in 'naturally' feeding. If she was giving him away, they wouldn't allow it. Now he wasn't going anywhere, but still missions wouldn't allow. So rather awkwardly, the younger woman instructed the assassin on how to tip the tiny container just right. She caught on fast and was alone in under six minutes, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath and sip of formula.

Her little boy fell asleep before he finished. She gently pulled the rubber nipple from between his lips and shifted him into the crook of her arm. He stayed still, breathing softly, as she returned the little blue cap to his head.

Natasha watched him sleep peacefully with a ghost of a smile on her face before her own exhaustion began to take over. Her lips drifted down, and she planted a light kiss to his forehead. Laying back, she finally let the darkness overtake her, little one in hand.

The nurse attempted to take him when she saw the scene (apparently it's not all that safe to sleep with a newborn), but one glare from the feared spy left them in peace. Her child wasn't a possession; he was a human being who was meant to be next to her in the first precious hours of his life. He wouldn't be taken from his mother to be placed in a glass box amongst strangers. No, not after her husband had already been taken from her. Natasha wouldn't leave another one she loved.