Little One

Let Go

The door gave a whispering squeak on its hinges, turning open before closing equally quietly.

It was Natasha's only warning as she slowly sat up, recognizing the even, familiar tread of footprints. A small smile appeared on her face; even after all the months they'd been apart, she could never forget them.

It was later in the evening – a full twenty-four hours since little Steven had been born – when Clint stepped into her hospital room. His eyes were alight with mischief, glinting happily in the dim light.

She sighed, a tiny, knowing smirk replacing her smile. "You snuck in, didn't you?"

He shrugged, taking a few steps in. "Didn't want them to have to disturb you. Besides, I've been off duty too long. It felt nice."

"Only you would regard sneaking into a hospital as 'nice.'"

"I see your sarcasm is still intact," Clint grinned, pulling up a seat at her bedside. His eyes drifted to her infant, whom was awake and looking toward quietly him the best he could. "Hey, little guy. How're you doing?"

"Is that really your attempt at baby talk?"

"I'd like to see you try,"

Her green eyes rolled good-naturedly. This all felt so . . . normal. Even after almost a full year apart it was like nothing had changed, banter falling back into place on her tongue as it always had. It wasn't forced or heavy, just lighthearted like the siblings they had become to one another. It was natural.

Clint swallowed hard. "He's adorable, Nat. Looks just like Steve,"

Pain flashed across her features but it gone as quick as it had come. It had struck her from the first moment she saw him, and it still hurt just a little bit every time. "I know,"

"He's going to make him proud. I can tell."

She looked away, back to the closed window. The curtain just barely allowed the slightest sliver of light in, but it was enough to divert her attention to. "Please, not now, Clint,"

A sigh escaped him; he could see it wasn't healthy to just hold it all in. But she was a time bomb, opening when she was ready. Just not right now. Perhaps not for weeks, months even. But eventually.

"Alright," he nodded quietly, resigned. "But are you still up for moving?"

Natasha nodded likewise, lightly lifting her child. "Could you put him in the crib, please?"

Clint took the infant, cradling him expertly close to his chest. He seemed frantically lost for a moment at the lack of his mother, but he soon settled snugly into the archer's arms. A smile split his face as he looked up at Natasha.

"I never thought we'd be here. They said it was impossible." Clint breathed, gently rocking the boy.

Natasha smiled sadly. "Neither did I,"

Clint's smile fell as he realized what he was intruding on. This wasn't his place. This shouldn't be his moment. It was Steve's. It was her husbands place, something a father only gets to experience once. Yet the soldier would never get to enjoy it, to hold his son for the first time. To hold his wife's hand as she labored, to help her take care of the newborn, to drive her home. Nothing.

"God, I'm sorry," Clint muttered, his chest aching. "This is all my fault,"

Natasha stubbornly shook her head. "No. It's mine. I was stupid enough to believe in Stark,"

"You did what you felt was right," he swallowed tersely, still cuddling Steven close though his eyes stared off into blank space. "We all did."

"And yet who was right?" her voice came out in a whisper, fingers playing absently with the edge of the bleached hospital sheets before she somberly raised her eyes to his. "Nobody won this, Barton,"