A/N: I've got this headcanon where Clint really does "see better from a distance" because he's insanely farsighted. Also this headcanon where he and Natasha eventually have the most adorable redheaded twins and name them Phil and Tess. End of explanation.
A loud wail of surprise and pain jerked Natasha's attention away from the stubborn knot she was working out of Clint's back. He had already half-risen before she'd gotten off of him. It was Tess, on her diapered bottom on the carpet beside the coffee table, tiny blue eyes just starting to stream. The tears had just started when she stopped wailing – Natasha had noticed early on that the little girl cried loud, but not long. Clint said she probably had a high pain tolerance. Nat thought there was more.
"She gets distracted from crying," she'd said. "Watch her eyes – she quits when something else catches her interest." Now she was staring at something out the window, but Natasha couldn't see anything. Phil started whimpering in sympathy for his twin, though, so she walked across to pick him up and calm him down. By the time Phil was sorted, Tess had gotten bored of whatever she was looking at and was up walking again. She made it five steps before she bumped into the side of the couch. Clint picked her up before she could start crying again, bouncing her a little and telling her cheerfully that she'd be fine. Nat couldn't help a smile at the look on Clint's face as he dropped a kiss on his daughter's red curls.
These days Tess had gotten the hang of toddling across the floor for about ten steps at a time, and after that she usually plopped back down and clapped for herself. Phil had already figured out the walking thing – not flawlessly, but better than Tess had. He usually managed to get to whatever his target was before he dropped down, and if there was furniture or a leg to hang onto, he stayed standing. Tess dropped after a few steps, like she'd decided it was too much trouble to keep swaying and stepping until she reached some object – but that was better than her habit of walking straight into things if she did reach them. It was like she didn't know when she'd reached the chair or the table or Clint's leg; she just kept going. To be perfectly honest, Natasha was starting to worry a little. The baby was perfectly normal in every other way, but she couldn't seem to keep from running into things.
"Maybe she's just clumsy," Clint had suggested. "She's still a baby; she'll figure it out." But Natasha could tell he was worried as well. As much as they both hated the idea of doctors and hospitals, they were agreed on the fact that they were not taking chances with their children. Clint made the call.
Tess hated hospitals already. That was what Clint said. Natasha said she didn't like the cold and the smell. Clint said, "Exactly." Natasha kissed him and hummed a little to try to get Tess to stop whimpering. Phil didn't seem to mind the place, blue eyes drifting around, locking first on a nurse rushing past and then on the flashing lights of a monitor against the wall.
The doctor was good with kids, at least. Asked a hell of a lot of questions, which made Natasha nervous – after the life she'd lived, it was only reasonable that people asking personal questions about her daughter made her nervous – but seemed to be giving the matter a decent amount of thought. Tess didn't seem to mind him picking her up and she seemed to think his various little tests were a wonderful game. She giggled and kicked some and went as far as to try swallowing his silver ballpoint pen.
"She likes shiny things," Clint explained, not quite apologetic but sounding like he thought he should say something as the doctor gently extracted his pen and wiped baby drool off it with the edge of his white coat. He finally handed her back to Natasha and leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together like every doctor Nat had ever seen.
"I can't be sure, but I think it's her eyes." Natasha didn't have to look sideways to know Clint had tensed; she could feel it. "Problems with vision are fairly common in children. It's not as common for a child this young, but it's certainly not unheard-of. Have an ophthalmologist check to be sure; it's likely something common. I'd guess from seeing her today that she's far-sighted. It's even possible it could be corrected; her eyes are still developing at this age." He nodded as if he'd just solved everything. "Get her an eye exam and then we'll go from there once we're sure." He smiled reassuringly, like there was no problem with their baby having faulty vision. Natasha forced a smile back. She was the best undercover operative in the world; she could fake a convincing smile. Phil waved over Clint's shoulder as they left. Tess let out a stream of garbled baby chatter and waved her arms excitedly at a few pigeons that flew past as they stepped outside.
For all the inconveniences babies introduced to their lives, at least they went to bed easily these days. Phil smacked at the colourful toys hanging above the crib for a while after the two of them were washed and in jammies and down for the night. The soft rattling of the spinning toys was interrupted from time to time by his delighted laughter. Tess kicked restlessly and let out a constant moaning sound that worried Nat, but that they'd learnt meant she was content.
"She likes hearing her own voice," Nat had said. Clint had said the toddler was trying to sing. Natasha liked Clint's habit of humming when he was happy, and it was kind of nice to imagine that Tess had inherited he habit, so she hadn't argued the point.
They leaned over the crib to brush kisses on the babies' foreheads and then slipped out of the room. Most nights they had something to occupy them. Natasha was technically still on leave, but she usually had a stack of files to review and give various feedback on for Fury. Or they would spar as quietly as they could. She sometimes wondered whether it was bad for the babies to hear Mommy and Daddy working on hand-to-hand in the next room at night. Or they would curl up on the couch together and Clint would run his fingers through her long red curls and hum.
Tonight Clint didn't say anything, but walked directly to the window and stared out. Natasha could see the tension in the lines of his shoulders and back and the way he let his head drop against the cold glass. She knew what was wrong, but she didn't know how to say it, so she stepped up behind him and slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his shoulderblade and just held on. It seemed like an eternity before Clint drew a deep breath and let it out. Some of the tension eased out of his muscles, but not much.
"She got my eyes, Nat." There was a tone in his voice that bordered on despair, and she could tell it was just inches from cracking. She tightened her hold on him just a bit.
"Yeah, probably." She knew Caucasian babies were all born with blue eyes, but she'd still been inordinately excited to see the twins' milky blue eyes looking up at her that first day, after hours of labour, when they'd finally let her hold her children. "They've got your eyes," she'd told Clint, smiling up at him. He'd looked overwhelmed, eyes glossy with an unusual wet sheen and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He'd drawn one shaky, shuddery breath and nodded. She'd thought there was nothing that could make her love Clint more, no situation in which he could possibly be more attractive than she'd already seen. She'd been wrong; Clint's face the day she gave birth to their babies had struck her heart somewhere she hadn't known existed to be touched.
"She can't see." He straightened abruptly, and she slipped round and put her arms up around his neck from the front. Clint squeezed his eyes shut. Natasha could see his nostrils flaring and his chin trembling the barest bit. She slid her fingers into his hair and he dropped his head down to rest against hers. "That's why she runs into things. She can't see them." That explained a lot, really. The way she seemed to be looking off into the distance so often. The way she seemed so sure of herself when she started walking and then walked directly into things once she reached them. The way she didn't play with the toys in the crib like Phil did. The way she had trouble picking up her toys sometimes.
"It's okay," she whispered. "She's gonna be fine. You did just fine; she will too." The childhood Clint had gone through had been beyond rough. But he'd figured out how to compensate for his eyes before SHIELD had ever come into the picture with their fancy doctors and contacts and corrective glasses. Even now, years later, he still liked his own eyesight better than the corrected sight with contacts in.
"She's getting hurt because of me." Natasha's hands went to the sides of his face and she drew back from him just far enough to look into his eyes.
"Babies are resilient. She'll survive. She'll learn. We can help her." Clint looked away.
"He said they might be able to correct it." Something cold spread through Natasha's veins; her heart pumped ice instead of blood.
"No." The word came out sharper than she'd intended, but it served to make Clint's eyes snap back to hers. He settled his hands on her waist.
"Nat, they might be able to do something." She shook her head. Maybe she was crazy, but it seemed wrong. So wrong. She loved Clint's eyes; so bright and beautiful and expressive, so unique, the way they saw. Clint saw things nobody else in the world saw.
"No. They can't – Clint they're her eyes. It's not a tumor or a tooth growing the wrong way; it's the way she sees. It's fine." He chuckled, but the sound was the back side of a sob.
"Exactly. They're her eyes; she needs them. She's gonna need them her whole life. I can't just – if they can do something –"
"They're beautiful. They're perfect the way they are." She dropped her hands to his shoulders, held on a little desperately. "Clint, if you could go back, have your eyes fixed when you were a kid – would you do it?"
His silence was the only answer she needed. She sighed and pressed her face against his chest. "She'll learn. I'm not letting them change her eyes." Her voice was muffled, but still audible. She felt Clint's arms wrap the rest of the way around her. "I hoped they'd get your eyes," she whispered. Clint held on tighter and she felt him pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"They could fix her, Nat." She leaned back a little, caught his gaze.
"She's not broken, Clint." She sounded a little desperate, but she didn't care. "She takes after you. That's a great thing." She sighed and brushed her thumb lightly across one of his eyelids. "She's a little part of you. Don't let them change that." Clint let out a sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a sob and might have been something else entirely.
"I mention you're incredible?" She smiled a little.
"Flattery," she muttered. He kissed her softly.
"Not flattery if it's true." He held her eyes for a moment in silence, and then added, "We're taking her to that eye exam anyway. Just to be sure." She tensed a bit. He rubbed one hand up and down her spine. "Just to make sure."
She searched his face for a moment. "I'm not letting them do anything." He shook his head.
"Just to make sure," he repeated. Natasha hesitated, then nodded and relaxed against him at last.
"Thank you."