A/N: I went to see the Avengers last week, and I walked out with some serious Black Widow/Hawkeye feels. I've had the idea for this fic in my head for a while now, and my friend kept on pestering me to write it, so I finally did. The idea for it was spawned when my friend and I had a conversation about what we thought Natasha would do if she actually ended up pregnant. I'm not sure what it says about me if the first fic I write for a new pairing is baby!fic, but oh well.
Warnings: Angst, I suppose?
Disclaimer: LOL like I would ever own The Avengers
"I'm really sorry it has to be like this," Natasha said to the squirming infant in her arms. "Maybe if things were different, different circumstances, perhaps, I could have kept you."
The baby stared up at her with wide, brown eyes, her father's eyes, no doubt. She'd known this child's father, once. But now he was just a progression of memories, a collection of phantom sensations, pain-stakingly memorized files and data, could-have's and should-have's and why-not's, and the acidic burn of regret that came with all of these things. You know why this couldn't be, she chided herself. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly in a cage, frantic and frenetic, thumping against her ribs.
"This doesn't mean I don't love you, it's just that you deserve better," she said. "You'll be safe this way."
She had chosen not to even name her, because if she did choose a name, she would grow even more attached, and she knew she couldn't do that. It hurt to think she may never see this child again, that she would never get to hear her first words, watch her take her first steps, celebrate each birthday. At the same time, she knew she could never be a mother. She wasn't even very maternal to begin with. And then there was her job. Child-rearing didn't exactly fit into the lifestyle of a master assassin. It would be selfish to even try and think she could ever be a mother to this child.
"If your father were here, he would say the exact same thing," said Natasha, shifting the baby slightly so that she was more comfortable. "But he doesn't even know you exist."
She couldn't have told Clint. It just wouldn't work. It was all too complicated, especially in their line of work, and she didn't want to further complicate the enigma that was their relationship. It was a partnership, definitely, but it was also so much more than that, and at the same time less. It was full of surprises, and if there was one thing Natasha Romanoff hated, it was surprises.
The surprise of falling for the man who was originally supposed to kill her.
The surprise of staring at a pink plus sign.
The surprise of walking out of the abortion clinic, out of her own volition.
The surprise of realizing how much it hurt to stare at this squirming, pink thing, and realizing at the same time how much she loved this thing, her daughter.
"I'm sure he would love you if he did know about you."
The sound of a door opening interrupted the stillness of the air around them, making her look up. A woman was standing at the other end of the room, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun and her face devoid of makeup.
"Um, if you're ready," the woman said gently. "We can give you a few more minutes, if you like."
Natasha nodded. "Oh, no. It's-it's fine."
For a moment she considered taking back everything she'd said, telling the woman she didn't want to go through with the process, that she would keep her, name her, care for her. She even thought, in a brief moment of complete insanity, that she could leave S.H.I.E.L.D., quit killing, live a normal life. She was surprised she didn't laugh out loud at the thought. She would be miserable living a life like that.
"Are you ready?" the woman asked.
She sighed, and carefully handed her daughter over to the woman. Her daughter's small fist closed around her ring finger, holding it in a tight grip. She smiled slightly, a sad, weak smile, and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. Extricating her finger from her daughters grasp, she stepped back and watched the woman turn and exit out the door.
There was a pain in her sternum, as if a knife were slowly being forced down her throat. If her observations were correct, this was the first sign of tears to be shed. Except they wouldn't come. The famous Black Widow would not cry. It was a bit funny, really. She had taken countless lives, felt their blood dripping from her fingers, yet it was when she gave someone an opportunity for life, she felt the need to break down.