I'm out of touch, I'm out of love. I'll pick you up when you get down. And out of all these things I've done, I think I love you better now.
She was only twenty one. She was not only twenty one, but she was alone in New York while he was off in Germany somewhere fighting a force that he wasn't entirely sure existed. Nine hours, fifteen minutes, redeye from Frankfurt to New York. He'd done the math over and over in his head, knowing damn well that he wasn't going to be his father's son.
As soon as Coulson hailed him on his radio, he knew something had happened. She's in labor, I figured I'd update you since you asked to be informed. She said to have you get your intel and leave as soon as you can.
Clint knew. His heart raced. They'd already found complications in his daughter's DNA, it could lead to further complication with the delivery. He didn't want Natasha to be alone. He was thankful Coulson was there, but he wanted it to be him, not some man who watched her. From then on, his shots were a bit more rusty; they hit the target, but not as well as he had hoped. His focus was broken, his mind elsewhere. What if she died? What if she died and he wasn't there? Could he live with himself knowing he'd ruined her life like that?
Before entering the next building, he tapped on his earpiece, hoping for a response from Fury, but it was Coulson who came back. "Barton."
There was a soft tremble in his voice, he wanted answers; he wanted them now. "When?"
"Her water broke around four hours ago. She's been in slow labor since. Handling it like a champ, I must say. I don't think I've seen her so calm since she arrived here. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's waiting for you." Coulson replied.
Clint looked down to his bow. "I'm coming home. Forget the intel, we've got other spies who can get it. There's two others here working on the same mission, they don't need backup support. If I leave now, I'll get there in ten hours. Tell Fury that I'm coming back to the nest. Tell him that if he has to fire me, he can. I'm not negotiating this."
"Is this really worth your job?" Coulson replied casually.
The man sheathed his arrow and put his bow over his shoulder, not even waiting for an answer. "Yes. At least if I lose my job, I'll have my family to return to. Keep me posted on any changes."
"Will do. You get your ass to the Quinjet, we'll worry about the rest later. Fury will have to handle you on his own terms; I doubt he'll fire you. This kind of takes precedence. Coulson out."
As the earpiece clicked to silence, Clint studied his watch. 2 pm back home...he could do this. He had to do this. Nine hour trip, that wasn't too God awful... It was just thinking about what would happen from there. All the ideas that flooded his mind were crippling. He couldn't help but think of what would happen if something went wrong. Pushing it from his mind, he climbed aboard the Quinjet and set the coordinates.
Frankfurt to New York was a trip and a half. He felt like his life was going to be so much different now, and that was putting it as a mild understatement. His bones ached, his heart wanted to be with her, but he also knew that she was tougher than anyone else he'd ever met - including his mother. Clint wasn't afraid of Natasha being able to handle this...he was afraid of him being able to be there for her.
He arrived on the roof of the hospital hours later, if his math was right, it was roughly eighteen hours all together, and that was still far too much, given the circumstances. The hospital was wary about letting him in, but Steve and Bucky were already present, a small blessing in a harrowing time. When Clint explained he was the father, and the confirmation came from the two in the front lobby, he gowned up and got on gloves to go inside the room. Eighteen hours. He couldn't imagine having to endure that pain for so long. He was shocked to see that she was barely conscious, fading in and out. He knew it must have been difficult. Reaching over to take her hand, he closed his eyes when she gripped him so hard, he thought it would break. "I'm here," He whispered over and over. "I'm here, Tasha."
Twenty two hours passed. There were shouts, screams, pain from both parties, curses thrown about, and then - deafening silence. At first, he thought he was going crazy, that was unusual in it's own merits, but silence? Weren't newborns supposed to cry? He thought at first that his hearing aids malfunctioned, until he heard the doctor speaking quickly in the background. No. No, no no! Remaining calm, he looked to Natasha, who heard the same thing. They were rushing their son to the Neonatal unit, where they could keep an eye on him...if it were possible, his heart stopped in his chest.
Not even a few seconds passed before their daughter made her grand entrance; her cries as loud as could be, her presence well known in the room. But for some reason, Clint wasn't exactly happy. Something had gone wrong with his son, and that was aching in his mind. While Natasha was cuddling with their daughter - affectionately named Starling Aleksei Barton - he was in the hallway, his hand pressed to the glass of the Neonatal care unit.
"Will he be okay?" Clint inquired with one of the doctors. He wanted to hold his son, to tell him everything would be okay, but the fact that he would have to use a special suit stopped him. Maybe positive vibes was enough to help.
The doctor nodded, looking to the man. "We were concerned about the fact that he wasn't breathing, but luckily we've got him on a ventilator. It seems to be working. In the next day or so, we'll slowly introduce him to breathing without it, see where it goes. Unfortunately, he was trapped for quite some time, and it cut off his ability to breathe, but..." The doctor frowned. "Had I noticed it sooner, he wouldn't be in this precarious situation. But he'll make it. I've met his parents."
Clint nodded and dropped his hand to his side. "May I hold him?"
"Of course." The man led him into the sterile room, where they got him into a special gown and made sure that he couldn't translate any diseases, then took the child - tubes and all - and handed him over to the father.
Clint's hand trembled while he held onto his son, his eyes closing from the burning. There were tears, he knew that much was evident; his posture was entirely different as well; guarded. "Hey buddy, can you hear me? It's daddy. I used to talk to you a lot before you got here, I'm sure you know what I sound like by now. I'm here, okay? I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, no matter what. You're going to do great things, you and your sister. You're going to be amazing, just like your mother. You'll overcome this, because you're a Barton-Romanoff. You don't know how to quit." He bit his lip, looking at the tag that read Baby A. Taking a pen, he scribbled out the word Baby A and replaced it with Francis Grant, like they'd agreed months ago. "You're going to do great things, I already know it, Francis."
I'm gonna pick up the pieces and build a lego house. If things go wrong, we can knock it down.