Call Me "Mama"
set a few weeks after Black Widow (some minor MCU spoilers possible throughout)
POV: Natasha
"Barton, we've been over this. I am many things, but a babysitter is not one of them."
"Sure it is," replied the archer. "It's just one kid, for just a couple of hours."
"Look, Nate is the love of my life. But I can count on one hand the number of minutes I've ever spent alone with an infant. I'm ridiculously underqualified."
"What's there to know? You feed him, change one diaper, then set him in the crib and he sleeps the rest of the time. C'mon, Laura's going to have enough on her plate trying to wrangle eight six-year-olds in the park."
I snorted. "And where will you be during all this chaos?"
"Taking pictures of my beautiful children to remember the day, of course." Clint's expression matched his overly innocent tone. "I've been told my distance photography is excellent."
"Can't you ask Tony? I'm sure he would jump at the chance at three uninterrupted hours to talk about robots to a captive audience."
"He's got that conference."
"Pepper?"
"Conference, with Tony."
"What about Steve?"
"Ah, yes. Let me just call the fugitive war criminal out of hiding to watch my infant during my daughter's birthday party."
"Worth a shot. Hey, here's an idea. Have you considered getting, you know, an actual babysitter?"
"Nuh-uh. We're way too conspicuous right now. You know that. The party itself is risky enough. Please?" Clint paused, searching me. "Could it be…is the great Agent Romanoff afraid of a little baby?"
"Afraid?" I scoffed. "Hilarious. Reverse psychology's real mature, Clint."
"But it's working. I know that look."
I sighed. "Fine. But I'm going to need very clear instructions on how to not break him."
O
Laura nudged the two older children out the door like a mother duck shoving ducklings into a stream.
"Come on, goobers! Lila, you don't want to be late for your own party, do you?" Before closing the door, she turned back to me. "Thanks again for doing this, Nat. I appreciate it more than you know." The last four words were delivered with emphasis and a meaningful look towards the kids, who had reached the car and were already bickering over seats.
"Have a great time," I said, waving.
From his seat on my hip, Nathaniel mimicked my waving motion with both hands. "Dada!" he crowed exuberantly.
"Is that any way to say goodbye to your mother?" Laura teased, planting a quick kiss on Nate's head. "Everything has been 'Dada' to him for the past week. Don't take it too personally."
"I will consider it an honor," I said.
The moment I locked the door behind her, the weight of Nathaniel on my hip seemed to double. I'd held him dozens of times since he was born, but only ever in the company of other adults. If he cried now, there was no one to whom I could hand him back to be comforted.
"Looks like it's just you and me, little man."
I set him down on his toy blanket and watched him explore each object as though it were the first time he'd seen it. Most of the toys were met with a shriek of delight, then tossed across the room. With that arm, the kid had a future in baseball. It was frankly fascinating to watch him play, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
After a while, the shrieks grew softer and the tosses less frequent. His mouth puckered into a soft yawn.
"Is it bedtime, bub?" I plucked him from the floor and picked my way across the minefield of toys. I heated the bottle Laura had left for before bed, which he drank hungrily. Nathaniel closed his eyes almost immediately after I laid him in his crib.
Unsure what to do with the newfound quiet, I absentmindedly began to gather toys from the living room floor and arrange them into their bins. Before long, I'd collected all of Nathaniel's toys and moved on to Lila and Cooper's.
What was this? I was picking up toys, while a baby in my charge slept in the next room. Was this a taste of domestic bliss? It felt so foreign…but at the same time, somehow familiar.
Yelena's question from that night last month popped into my head uninvited. "Did you ever wish for kids?"
I hadn't answered her. How could I answer—the point was moot. Yes, they had stolen my womb in the Red Room, but I suspected they'd ripped out any nurturing instincts I might have possessed long before that. Even if I were physically able to be a mother, I would have no idea how to fill that role for a child.
There's no sense in wishing for something that could never be—this was what I'd repeated to myself whenever I was struck by those cold pangs of loneliness late at night.
If only emotions were sensible.
I caught an imaginary Clint with a crisp roundhouse kick to the jaw for bringing me here to sit in the middle of all these raw feelings, but quickly reconsidered. Nothing about my situation was his fault. Anyway, violence was the cause of this problem. It would never be the solution.
Startling me from my reverie came a thin wail from the bedroom. Nathaniel had woken.
When I went into his room, I saw the culprit responsible for the tears: his pacifier had escaped through the bars of the crib and was now lying on the floor, far out of reach. I handed him a fresh one, but he batted it away and continued to cry.
"What's wrong, is this one not as good?" I picked him up, and his crying ceased. "Mmm, that's right. You're alright, малыш."*
Sitting down in the rocking chair beside the crib, I cradled the babe on my lap. He was calm now, looking up at me with clear blue eyes that were so like his father's. He gurgled contentedly.
"Hey, there's that handsome smile," I said.
He stretched up an inquisitive hand to my face. "Mmmm…Ma-ma-ma-ma," he babbled.
"What'd you say?" I extended my own hand to his tiny one.
"Ma-ma," he said, this time with conviction.
My breath caught in my chest. "No, not Mama," I said firmly. "Auntie Nat. Can you say 'Nat'?"
Nate looked puzzled. "Dada!" he chirped. "Da-da-da-da-da."
I laughed. "Okay. I guess 'Dada' will have to do for now."
His eyes began to drift shut again, and his small body relaxed into mine. Not daring to move for fear of disturbing him, I simply sat and stared at the marvellous little creature in my lap.
Mama. He was only seven months old, and it was only baby talk. Innocent, meaningless experimentation with sounds—that was all. But still, he had said it, and he'd said it to me.
This child was not mine, but right now, he was falling asleep on my lap. Tears pricked my eyelids. For the first time in a while, I allowed myself to really cry. Silent, cleansing sobs racked my body as I held my Nathaniel tight.
The non-words of my infant godson had broken some sort of dam inside me, allowing pain and healing to finally converge.
O
The sound of keys scratching in the front door deadbolt was almost disappointing. I stood slowly, waited a moment for feeling to return to my fast-asleep right foot, and laid the sleeping Nathaniel back into his crib.
"Hey, birthday girl!" I said to Lila, who had marched in with a plastic tiara and a large stick. "Did you have fun?"
"So much fun," she said. "Look at my magic wand!" She waved the stick in a figure-eight.
"It is majestic, my queen," I replied.
Laura entered, lugging a now-empty cooler.
"How'd the party go?"
"No one broke a bone, no one puked from sugar consumption, and no parents were called. I'd call that a smashing success." She set down the cooler and turned to me. "How were things around here? Any problems?"
"None," I replied. "Nate is an absolute angel."
Laura lowered her voice. "Clint told me in the car how he pressured you into this. I'm so sorry. I'm going to talk to him and make sure he won't try that again."
I smiled. "Thanks, but please don't worry about it. I had a great time, and Nathaniel's such an easy kid."
Laura looked relieved. "Well, if you're sure. Thanks again, Nat."
"Any time—I mean it."
And I did.
* малыш = "little one"
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Hope you are well and had a good holiday week, if you celebrate. Reviews, criticism, and suggestions are always appreciated!
To Christ alone be the glory. 3