The silence was comforting as emerald eyes slowly opened and unfocused vision grew clear once again. It was the complete quiet nature of the room that made her exhale slowly, leaning back relaxed against the soft pillow. There were no ominous beeping of monitors, or doctors rushing frantically. The past twenty four hours seemed like some deranged dream, compared to this now hushed environment. For a moment she laid there completely in peace, that was until she recalled earlier events.

Of all things to put the Black Widow in the hospital, she figured a re-sprained ankle was one of the most least likely of scenarios. It was a perfectly normal morning, sure she had woken up feeling slightly fatigued, but perhaps that was due to somewhat chronic insomnia. But really, she couldn't quite remember the last time she hadn't felt exhausted.

Clint had told her to stay in bed, and that he would bring up breakfast. However, a sore back and the constant shortness of breath made Natasha extremely restless. It wasn't in her nature to just lay there, so she got up and went into the bathroom. Washing her face off with a towel, she couldn't help but laugh at how tired she looked. Shaking her head as she figured it wouldn't get much easier the next few weeks, she gently lifted her shirt and placed her thin hand on the scar on her stomach. It had been over fifteen years since The Winter Soldier had shot her, and yet even today the scar showed more evident than before. Lowering her shirt, she slowly made her way downstairs.

She took each step carefully, balancing herself carefully, and yet somehow she missed the second to last step. Her ankle twisted, and her weight sent her collapsing down the last step. A minor drop to someone who's survived falling great heights, but there was more at risk here than in combat.

The sound of a utensil dropping was heard as Clint raced over to the staircase, dropping down to his knees, eyes wide yet he was speechless. Firm hands helped her to sit up, one hand supporting her head and neck, as concerned eyes met hers.

"Tash-"

She shook her head rapidly, as dizzied eyes looked downward slowly. Clint feared she had hit her head on the way down, or worse, that she landed on her stomach. A shaking hand was what indicated the liquid on the floor, as fearful eyes darted up towards his.

Clint had only rarely seen her look so frightened, yet he knew this worry to be genuine because a very similar unease could be seen in his eyes as he kneeled there. She didn't speak, evidently she was in some sort of shock. Clint's hands shook and his eyes were wide with fear, yet he very steadily helped her lean against the stair rail, as he tried to calm her down. After that, he ran quickly to grab a phone.

Two minutes later, Clint helped Natasha into the car. It was the middle of winter, and Clint was in such a hurry he didn't grab an extra jacket for Natasha. He put his own jacket around her shoulders, as he held her hand and let her lean against him. The ground was covered in ice, and it was clear she had a limp. Once in the car, Clint sped to the hospital, completely ignoring the fact he could be pulled over for speeding. Natasha, barely noticed the speed at which her husband drove at, due to the pain that came with contractions.

Once at the hospital, Clint practically carried her in. Through carrying her, to sitting with her in the waiting room, to standing beside her bed, Clint never let go of her hand. Her grip was almost painful, but he knew she was going through much worse pain than his hand. He would gently rub her back and shoulders, talking to her quietly as he tried to calm her down.

A doctor and his intern came in, informing Clint that due to Natasha's increased blood pressure, possible damage from her fall, and early labor, a C-Section was needed. The last thing Natasha remembered before she was put under anesthesia were loving and encouraging words from Clint.

With her memory cleared she exhaled once again, relieved she had made it through the procedure. She slowly placed a hand on her abdomen, and knew the baby was delivered. But now she was alone.

However, before she could get up or call for a nurse, the door opened and Clint entered. He looked tired and disheveled, but he smiled radiantly as he closed the door behind him. He approached Natasha slowly, and she noticed that in his arms was a the bundle of a baby blue blanket. Clint smiled down at the infant, before lowering himself so Natasha could see.

The baby was fast asleep in Clint's arms, eyes closed and small nose inhaling and exhaling. The baby had soft wispy tufts of brown hair, and didn't stir as Clint very gingerly laid the newborn in Natasha's arms.

Natasha having just woken up was slightly weak, and so Clint helped support her arms until she could hold the baby. Her exhaustion faded as she looked down at her baby, staring in almost awe that she had brought this small and innocent life into this world. In slight shock, that she was now a mother.

As Natasha regained enough strength to hold the infant, Clint released his hand and leaned down to kiss the top of Natasha's head. He hadn't stopped worrying about her since she went into surgery, and even after the baby was delivered, he hadn't heard any news about Natasha.

Clint spoke softly as he said, "She's a girl."

Natasha looked up towards Clint, locking gazes as tears of joy made her emerald eyes glean. Clint couldn't help but smile because he knew Natasha had always wanted a daughter.

She held her daughter very gently, thin arms wrapped around her small form as she held her close. Natasha could feel her take tiny inhales through the blanket, and as the baby began to stir, Natasha coaxed her quietly. Clint had never known Natasha to be good with children, but she was naturally nurturing. After a few soft rocks, the baby fell soundly asleep in the safety of her mother's arms.

Natasha looked down lovingly at her newborn daughter for what seemed like forever, unable to draw her gaze away. Clint grabbed the blanket which was folded at the end of Natasha's bed, and pulled it over her since the hospital was notoriously cold. She finally broke her gaze as she looked up at him, warm eyes grateful for how he had taken care of her not just in the last twenty four hours, but over the last eight months. Clint walked to the head of the bed, as he said,

"I'm one lucky man to have you two beautiful girls in my life."

Exhausted as she was, she smiled gratefully towards Clint, her emerald eyes gleaning warmly. There was a sweet moment of silence between the two as he looked down at her, his own loving eyes locked with hers. She could feel herself growing more tired by the minute, and yet she also didn't want to sleep. The fact that her and Clint were now parents, was so shocking, and yet she felt truly complete. As if all those years of killing, her dark past, was overshone by this joy in her life. She would now be contributing more than violence to this world. She lowered her head and smiled warmly, leaning so low her nose almost touched her baby's head. Clint didn't see his lethal assassin partner, but his beautiful wife, and an affectionate mother. Natasha fell asleep peacefully with her daughter in her arms.

Natasha awoke with a start, green eyes wide and chest heaving for breath. The sharp sound of a heart rate monitor snapped her into a conscious state, as she attempted to sit up, only to feel a wave of fatigue fall over her. Leaning back in surrender to the exhaustion, a sudden yet burningly sharp pain fired from the side of her abdomen. Her hands clenched the blanket of her bed as she bared her teeth, breaking into a cold sweat as the pain ran it's course.

The door opened as Clint ran in, eyes wide with worry but soon that worry melted away as he approached her. She didn't have time to ask anything before he very gently wrapped his arms securely around her, and held her thin form close to his. Though confused, she closed her eyes and leaned into him. No words were needed between the two, the moment of intimacy spoke for itself.

Clint inhaled sharply, as he slowly pulled back, wide eyes looking her over frantically to make sure she was okay. One look into his eyes, and she saw more than worry, but crushing guilt. It was with another sharp pain in her side that suddenly, she began to remember why she was in the hospital.

They were in the heat of a mission, in which the enemy force got out of control and civilians were suddenly in danger. Natasha, Clint, and Steve were working to evacuate the civilians, when Clint went back into the crossfire, for a young girl who had been separated from her parents in the chaos. When Clint ran back, he didn't see the hostiles that would flank him from behind, so Natasha had ran after him to engage the enemy.

She managed to shoot the majority of the enemy, but as the last one aimed at Clint, Natasha tackled him to the ground. However the battle torn ground was uneven, and her ankle was caught and sprained. Clint tried to get an aim on the one remaining hostile as Natasha struggled to regain her footing. But the archer was not quick enough, and a second before he shot the hostile dead, Natasha was shot in the stomach. The bullet went right through her, and she collapsed onto the ground. By the time Clint had gotten to her she was bleeding from both the entry and exit wound, and was not breathing. The medics told Clint there was a slim chance she would make it, and yet she pulled through. She would find out later that her heart stopped during surgery, and that she had been unresponsive for three days.

Clint naturally took the blame, both because he went back for the girl and because he didn't shoot the last hostile in time. Natasha would soon assure him that it was nobody's fault by the hostile. Their jobs came with risks and sacrifices, she had accepted that a long time ago.

But it wasn't the fact that she almost lost her life that troubled her, but her false memory of a much more pleasant reason for being in the hospital. Her dream while she was under anesthesia. After the memory of getting shot was clearer, she also was faced with the reality that what she falsely remembered, could never happen. That she would never be a mother.

A feeling of pain that was greater than that of her gunshot wound set in, as she remembered feeling what she would never feel. The joy of bringing another life into this world, of holding her and Clint's child close to her. Of being loved by her own blood. Of having a purpose in life other than to kill.

She had never wanted kids, at least that's what she had told herself. She told herself that she didn't need kids, that she was not meant to be a mother, that her job came first. These thoughts made it easier, but she often questioned these thoughts. Because if she could have a family, maybe she wouldn't think this way. It's one thing to willingly not want something, but knowing she could never have that thing, made a part of her long for it.

Of course this was her first step to becoming the Black Widow. The darker side of her past began with her sterilization, because afterwards, she would become the assassin she was drilled to be. That was the first part of herself that she lost to the Red Room. And it was the only part of her past that she still kept from her husband, Clint.

Clint's voice snapped Natasha out of her thoughts, as he sat on the edge of her bed, his hands holding hers. After their embrace, Natasha fell so deep into thought Clint was about to call the doctors. But as she came back to him, Clint's face grew with only further worry as he could tell she was unsettled.

He knew Natasha better than anyone else, even if she rarely showed a hint of emotion. He of all people had been with her when she could not sleep at night, or woke up screaming from nightmares. He knew Natasha was human, and vulnerable to the damage emotions could cause. Natasha would never admit it, but Clint knew that like himself, she suffered from episodic PTSD. He had seen the distressed look in her eye when they had gone to Russia on a mission, and encountered an assassin who had been trained in the Red Room.

And now he was looking into those same unnerved eyes. She didn't need to cry or tell Clint she was upset, for him to know. He slowly exhaled, so to calm himself, and then wrapped her hands in his as he waited for her to talk. While for years he had been there for Natasha, he also knew she didn't liked to be pitied. If she needed to talk to him about something, she would. After a moment of silence, Natasha looked down at their hands, and spoke in a nearly silent tone,

"Do you remember the mission we had in Yemen?"

Clint nodded and said through a small laugh, in an attempt to lighten the mood,

"You mean the mission where I was stabbed and nearly bled to death? Yeah, how could I forget, even if it was over ten years ago."

Natasha smiled just a little, always finding it ridiculous how Clint down talked his near death experiences in battle, yet she continued,

"Yeah, well you probably don't remember that when we were in that cave, and I was working to make sure you didn't bleed out, that you went into shock. It may have been the blood loss talking, but you were afraid, afraid that you wouldn't make it. You cried in regret that you would never have a family, or kids."

There was a pause, and Clint looked towards Natasha, brows furrowed in confusion. Natasha knew what she was saying may sound like nonsense, but she had her reasoning. Their mission in Yemen was the closest Clint had ever come to death, and she had never seen Clint break down as he did in that cave. She needed to know, if his desperate wishes before his possible death, still held truth today. And so she asked,

"Do you still want that?"

The question obviously caught Clint off guard, as he sat up and exhaled slowly. He wasn't sure where Natasha was going with this, and he didn't want to answer in a way that would make her more upset than she already was. But he would never lie to her, and so he answered honestly,

"I haven't really thought about in awhile, but I mean, a part of me has always wanted to be a father one day. To settle down, and have a family…"

Clint's voice trailed off as his eyes caught a tear stream down Natasha's cheek. He fell silent as he moved closer to her, sitting next to her on her bed, he calmly let her fall into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder, eyes shut as she tried to calm herself. Clint gently massaged her back, as he made barely audible "shh" sounds, in an attempt to calm her. Natasha wasn't one to open up to needing comfort, so when she willingly let Clint soothe her, he knew she was very vulnerable.

The two stayed like that for a few peaceful minutes, before Natasha sat up slowly. Clint smiled sadly as he placed a soft hand on the side of her cheek, and with his thumb wiped a tear off her cheek. Yet Natasha couldn't look him in the eye as she said with a cracked voice,,

"I can't have children."

Clint's eyes locked with hers, though they reflected only comfort for her as he spoke softly,

"Nat...I never-"

"I'm sorry."

Clint shook his head firmly as he took her hand in his own, looking down and then right into her eyes.

"No, there's nothing to be sorry about-"

"I should have told you earlier, it was selfish of me to keep it from you."

"No, it wasn't selfish. I-"

"You didn't know when you asked me to marry you."

"This doesn't change anything, Nat. Even if you had told me, I would never give up what we have. I would never leave you, especially over something you have no control over."

"You've always wanted kids, and to have a family. I can never give that to you."

Clint leaned forward and softly kissed her, and as he did she closed her eyes. With a gentle hand, Clint ran his hands through her curled red hair, and she exhaled at his touch. As he pulled back, and her eyes met his, he spoke finally, his voice confident yet loving,

"You're all the family I need."

It was with those words, that the guilt in Natasha's eyes left, but a gleam of sadness remained. Clint began to realize, that she was upset that she could never have children because a part of her wanted kids too. But she would never admit that to him, and he would never bring it up. Even though Natasha was the strongest person he knew, he would be there for her, as an anchor for when she needed a little extra strength. That's what made them a good team, the fact that they found strength in each other.

He reached back to grab a blanket he brought from their apartment, and he laid it over Natasha's shoulders. He carefully so not to hurt her, laid next to her. She laid her head on his chest, and as she closed her eyes she fell asleep to the soft rhythm of his breathing. She knew she'd never know what it would be like to love a daughter or a son, but she found comfort in knowing she would never be without love, for as long as she was with Clint. And she realized that even if she couldn't have children, her life meant more than just killing. She did find love and a family in Clint, and he had given her the chance to make her killing worth something.

Author's Note: This one shot was inspired by the episode Symphony of Illumination in How I Met Your Mother. It was a very emotional episode where one of the characters reminded me so much of Natasha, that this happened. The fic however, is titled after the song Holocene by Bon Iver. The front man of the band as come out and said that the title of the song is a metaphor for when you're not doing well. But it's also a song about redemption and realizing that you're worth something; that you're special and not special at the same time. I love the song, and thought the meaning of the lyrics and title beautifully matched the plot of my fanfiction. As always, thank you for taking your time to read this short work of mine. I hoped you enjoyed it.