Hello everyone. First of all, I want to thank all of you who are still reading my story, especially to those of you who have commented. Those comments make my day.

sweet sunset rain- thank you for your comment. I'm glad you like my portrayal of Clint. I was actually worried about how I was going differentiate the actions of Natasha and Clint towards their daughter. I hope you like the rest of the story.

Also, to the guest that commentented, and the peole who have commented on previous chapters, thank you soooo much for your support! :)

I soon drifted off to sleep again, and did not wake till the next morning. As my eyes fluttered open, I again became aware of the relic I held within my hands. My mother's dancing shoes.

I quickly glanced around the room to make sure that I was alone, and then began to contemplate the events of the past day.

I had been saved by a man with a bow and arrow, presumably my father, and had discovered an entryway to my mother's past.

"Your mother used to dance when she was your age."

The sentence had probably been uttered without receiving much importance, yet it was so valuable. It was as a treasure among ruins; every detail of it was of importance. The tone with which it was murmured out, with such melancholy. The tentative smile of the speaker, that was offered after its delivery; the very fact that it was a piece of information about my mother's past. Then again, there were thousands upon thousands of questions that were brought forth by such a statement: was the man, indeed, my father? Is he a good man? Why did my mother stop dancing? Why does she refuse to speak to him, yet sleeps in his presence, a sign of complete trust?

The door to the room opened, and my eyes darted towards it. Natasha Romanov, with a bruise under her eye, which seemed an explosion of color upon her very pale skin. She looked at me with a blank expression on her face, yet her mask seemed slightly fractured. More cracks of emotion than usual filtered through, and I could tell that she, though seemingly impossible, did not know how to act. I decided to take the first step:

"Hi."

She acknowledged me only with a curt nod. Another question occurred to me (of the ones that were allowed)

"Where are we?"

My voice sounded strained, unused.

She approached my bed and eased herself unto the chair that was placed next to it.

"In a safe place." She took in a breath.

"You will be staying here until I can deal with the Red Room, until it is safe for you."

"You are leaving?"

"You will be safe here." She repeated.

"Please."

I let the fear creep into my voice. The worry that I would loose her again. I had finally found my mother, and she refused to speak to me any more than what was strictly necessary. And now I would loose her again.

"Please don't leave me."

Her face softened slightly, and I saw again those emotions seeping trough- the absolute sadness that clouded my mother's face, for no longer than 15 seconds at a time.

She looked at me. Only looked, without uttering a word. I felt exposed, naked, before her penetrating gaze, yet felt safe as I was guarded by those forest green eyes, in which you could so easily get lost.

My mom. My mother. It still boggled my mind to know that she was here.

"Please. Don't leave me" again. I did not say the last word, but I know she heard it. She was good at reading people.

I saw a tear drop drip from her eye and run over the yellow- violet collage that adorned her face.

Her hand tentatively reached towards my face and wiped the tears that I had not known I'd shed. At that moment, her phone rang, and the intimacy of the moment was broken, shattered- like so many dreams. Her face sobered and regained its usual unreadable severity.

"Romanoff."

She barked into the phone. The person on the other line would have to clue that she was injured, that she was with her daughter, or even that she had any small measure of sentimentality within her.

She listened intently to the speaker, and then hung up.

"I have to go" she looked at me, and I could swear that she looked apologetic, but the expression in her face had gone so quickly, that I later categorized it as a mirage, a side effect of the discoloration upon her upper cheek.

As she exited the room, the archer entered and held her arm before she crossed the threshold of the door. She did not resist as his eyes searched her, seemingly in nervousness for his deliberate action- holding back the notorios agent Romanov. The tension that set between both their shoulders was palpable. Yet the action did not seem planned, just a mere reflex. A thing of custom which one does automatically. His eyes rested on her lips and then stormy ocean met forest of green and locked together. They looked at each other's eyes so intently, that I believed them capable of telepathy. They stayed in that position for, seemingly, an infinity, and then drifted apart. She continued on her way outside the room, snd he stayed there frozen, watching as she left with an air of nostalgia and fear, which I could understand. He, too, feared not seeing her again.

"Did you sleep well Natalia?" His expression softened when he looked at me, and his eyes focused on the on the pool of tears that welled in mine.

I nodded my head, and he sighed.

"She will be okay you know. I have never known Natsha Romanoff not to be."

I nodded again.

"Are you hungry?"

"No"

He took a step towards me, and my hands tightened around the dancing shoes, which I had not realized I was still holding.

Upon seeing them, he lightly smiled.

"Do you like them?"

I nodded, trying to read him, read his emotions like my mother seemed capable of doing. I was so accustomed to dealing with Natasha's clipped tones, that this man's openness left me wordless.

"What's your name?"

"Clint."

"You are my dad Clint." It wasn't a question, and he it.

He slowly nodded his head, observing my face, hanging on my every expression.

"Is that okay? That I am you dad?" After a breath, but before I could answer

"You don't have to call me that, or acknowledge it, if you rather not. I'm just a stranger that you've never met before."

He seemed pained at his own words.

"But if you would give me a chance, then maybe we can be friends."

I continued to look at him, trying to understand. After I did not answer for a while, he looked down at the floor and turned to leave.

"I do want to know you Clint" I blurted out in urgency. I could not loose him too.

He did not turn back around, but his shoulders relaxed, and his entire person seemed to have been lifted by some divine light.

He nodded his head, and then whispered something, barely audible, before he exited the room.

"I love you солнышко"

солнышко- a Russian term of endearment like sweetheart or darling.

Please comment letting me know what you think about the chapter, and answer one question for me: Would you like it if I wrote the next chapter from Clint's point of view, rather than Natalia's, in order to clear some things up?

Have a nice day! :)