Blackhawks Child: Hey, not that cruel ;)

Unbeta-ed work, as usual…Enjoy :)

Criminal

5.

He looked so white, lying in those sheets with the beeping machines all around him. Natasha hesitantly touched his unmoving hand. It was cold, colder than she'd like. Next to her, Wanda stood in shock, eyes rived on the man's form. Ever since Natasha had arrived on the premises, the young woman had been deadly quiet. She had left her deal with the specifics, but followed them to the hospital and sat next to her close to the man's bed.

Natasha knew Wanda and Clint had history, but she hadn't realized how deeply she was attached to him.

"He saved my life," the teenager suddenly said after half an hour of complete silence. "My brother and I were prisoners. We were trying to escape. He was covering the exits, but there were too many snipers. I was lucky. My brother wasn't. Mr. Barton carried his body out of that place and helped me burry him. He swore he'd help me from now on. And he held onto his word. Brought me to America, kept an eye on me, saved me from myself." Wanda paused, swallowed hard, and went on: "I never thanked him."

Natasha didn't leave her lover's body out of sight as she asked absentmindedly:

"Were you prisoners of the same human trafficking ring than Maria Fury was?"

Wanda blinked and glanced at her.

"Maria Fury?" she repeated slowly, and frowned lightly. "I'm not sure…there was plenty of people there." She swallowed. "I'd rather not-not talk about it."

The redhead nodded in understanding. Stark was right when he had said Clint deserved a fucking medal for his action. And she hadn't listened. She had doubted him. What he had done was wrong on so many levels, but at the same time…At the same time, she wished she had had someone like Clint as a child. Someone like him to rely on. He was always there for her and the one time he needed her to stand by his side, she had messed up. What had she brought him in return?

"He loves you, you know?" Wanda whispered. "He says you keep him grounded." She paused. "I'm sorry, that's not my place to say."

The clock kept ticking and eventually Wanda had to leave. Natasha had left her daughter with Stark, knowing he wouldn't leave her out of his sight until she returned. Later, when the nurses arrived to warn her visitors were to leave, she raised his lifeless hand and brought it to her cheek.

"Wake up," she whispered into his palm. "I will forgive you everything. Even if you killed all those people, it doesn't matter anymore. Just wake up, please."

The beeping machines were her only answer.

Steve found her sitting next to her lover's bed, her hand holding his. She looked exhausted and pale, worry painted all over her face. At her feet, a baby carrier contained her daughter-Jordan, fast asleep.

He evaluated her with a hint of morbid curiosity. The infant really had her mother's features, he could tell already with the curve of her cheek and the full lips. Reddish whips of hair were growing over her bald head, and her button-nose was certainly inherited from her father. Tiny hands clenched and unclenched the purple cover she was under. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear her soft breathing pattern.

It hurt, Steve thought bitterly. Three years of trying for nothing. And when he thought he would finally get a family of his own with Sharon, it had only been another disappointment when the boy turned out to be another man's son.

And then, he heard his ex-wife had moved in with that arrogant asshole, and here was that beautiful little girl. He didn't know who to curse most of the time; Natasha for leaving him; Barton for taking his ex-wife from him; or himself for not trying harder. He hadn't been proud of his behavior the few months before their relationship definitively crumbled down; but had the fault been entirely his? He still remembered how closed up Natasha was becoming, how she drifted whenever he invited her to come closer. She had completely abandoned them a long time while he was still trying. Had she stayed…the thought stuck in his guts like an unwelcomed bug- that little girl would have been his.

"What are you doing here?" Natasha suddenly asked, and Steve was struck by how worn out, how defeated and angry it sounded.

"How is he?" he asked in turn. Natasha didn't tear her eyes away from Barton's unmoving face so he still couldn't see her face, but he did notice that her shoulders tensed further.

"What is it to you?" she shot back dryly but quietly, probably not to wake up her daughter. "You'd rather have him buried to the ground than holding on to his life in that bed."

"There's a difference between wishing something and seeing it happen," he replied calmly, although he couldn't deny not having Barton in his live would render it a lot, lot easier. Still, he wouldn't wish being beaten to death in his own living room upon anyone. The work sounded too much like a professional job to be just a burglary turned wrong, like the officers had written it off. When she didn't react to his words, he added, figuring he might as well go to the point. "I came here to see if this could be related to the case. Did you two ever speak of it?"

This time when she turned around and stared at him, Steve nearly wished she hadn't. Red, dry eyes set on him with a deadly calm and her hands were clenching and unclenching, as if wondering if she should rip his throat or make him eat his own tongue first. She stood up and took a step forward, which made him take one backwards.

"No, he had nothing to say about your precious case because we don't discuss professional at home." She spat bitterly and returned to her lover's side.

At first, Steve wanted to insist. She had gone home for lunch, had return early in the afternoon and the call had come barely hours later. They just had figured out a theory. And her protests sounded too forced and angry to be honest. The Natasha he knew would have never dared lie to him and had he pushed, she would have given in eventually. But this Natasha was far different. She looked ready to pounce on him and tear him to bits if he dared suggesting she was wrong. He was about to push his interrogation when the baby girl sniffed and whined.

The woman's attention immediately shifted on her daughter, anger and aggressiveness switching to gentle and cooing. He watched as she crouched next to the crib and pulled out the baby to hold her against her chest. Jordan calmed down nearly immediately, her hands clutching at the collar of Natasha's shirt. The woman pressed a kiss to her daughter's temple, still whispering in her ear. As she turned around, she gave Steve another harsh glare. The man knew he should retreat; but he wasn't ready to leave it there yet.

"Why are you so…loyal to him?" he demanded. Natasha glanced back at the immobile form on the hospital bed, her daughter still 'uh-ing' contently in her arms.

"Have you ever been with someone who made you wonder what had you done to deserve to be so…at peace?" she asked quietly. "Clint had been my rock from the moment I met him." She absentmindedly shifted her daughter in one arm so she could run a hand through his growing hair. "He respects me. He cares for me." Pause. She swallowed heavily. "During a field mission, I was hit in the chest. I nearly didn't survive. The doctor told me that Clint nearly strangled the surgeon. The guy had given up on me and had a golf meeting later that day with some senator. Clint called a friend of his who worked in that same hospital and made him take over. That guy managed to bring me back. The surgeon was suspended." For a brief moment, she glanced at Steve. "Without Clint, I wouldn't even be standing here."

She returned her attention on her lover.

"I was out for a full week after the operation. He never left my side. And when I woke up, he was sleeping on the chair, holding my hand." she smiled slightly. "That idiot nearly lost his business because of me." Natasha stopped her petting and slowly caressed his cheek. "I think one of the reasons why we make love so often is because he needs to feel me alive. I know when he'll wake up…" she paused and sighed. "Actually, that's none of your business. Go away, Rogers. I won't ask you again. Leave him out of this, leave us out of this." Her voice darkened and strengthened as she met his eyes with a knowing glint and added in a deadly calm tone: "Just leave and let us be. Or I won't be held responsible for my actions."

Clint was staring with that expression, grave and wondering and awed at the same time. He always eyed her so when she puzzled him. She glared at him.

"So what, no excuses?" she snapped dryly, crossing her arms. She was wearing her black suit and had her hair tied back in a tight bun. He looked comfortably dressed in his black jeans and reddish Tee. His hair was messy, his eyes slightly tired, his chin scruffy with growing hairs. He was halfway sitting on some dark stone, shoulders slumped down and head leaning forward. She hated and loved him when he stood that way; innocent and playful at the same time.

"There's not much I can say anymore," he replied with a shrug in his deep voice, intense eyes never leaving her. Even though she was pissed at him, he still made her shiver by just watching. "Maybe just, that I'm not mad at you."

Natasha felt her body tense. Mad at her? He should be mad at her? She's the one whose world was turned around!

"You're one-" words left her as she couldn't find a proper formulation. All he did was grin slightly.

"You're gorgeous when you're angry, have I ever told you?" Fucking grin, fucking eyes, fucking him. He drove her crazy with little nothings. She was supposed to be angry, not flattered. He became more serious: "I don't blame you Tasha. This wasn't your fault. I should have talked to you about this from the start."

This time, Natasha definitively felt confused.

"What are you talking about?"

Clint shrugged again.

"Our last conversation didn't end well." He said slowly. "I wish it had, but life always have the last word."

He rose from his seat. Now, she could see the light grey stone he had been leaning against.

"Is this a joke?" she asked, suddenly very still.

Clint moved to stand by her side and glanced at what she was watching. He snorted next to her.

"Guess I was expecting a monument, something grander, you know. But in my place, ya can't be real choosey. The bow is a nice touch though." He added and crouched to brush the top of the tombstone. "I like it."

"Clint-"

He rose again to face her. This time, his smile was sad.

"Take care Tasha. I love you, don't you forget that, kay? And keep an eye on Jodie for me."

"Clint-" she tried again but couldn't keep going on. Not with a grave with the name of her lover on it, when he stood right by her side.

Until he wasn't.

And when she looked around, she was alone.

Natasha woke up with a start. The first thing she noted was that she wasn't in her bed, but in the nursery, lying next to Jordan's crib. She glanced around, heart beating hard against her ribcage. Everything was dark and quiet, even though the curtains hadn't been drawn. The alarm next on the drawer indicated three in the morning. She slowly rose and stood on her feet. Unsteady. The fear and uncertainty kept plaguing her as she slowly remembered last days' events. She and Clint had a fight. Clint had hidden some important things from her. She had sworn she'd think things over during the day, but then Wanda called and…

She swallowed heavily, remembering why she remained in the nursery in the first place. It was just a dream, she repeated to herself. It's okay, he's still alive. Barely, but still alive. And still…she couldn't return to their room. Not yet. Not without him.

Natasha slowly rose from the floor, wincing as a slight pain crossed her back. That was what she'd earn for sleeping on the ground. She picked up her phone and checked for any missed call. Nothing from doctor Banner, which could only mean Clint was still under. She couldn't decide whether it was a good or a bad thing. Next to her, Jordan suddenly decided she needed attention and made a small noise. Natasha picked up her daughter and held her close to her chest. She then went to the living room and sat on the couch, moving the baby into a more comfortable position.

Natasha realized that feeling Jordan's light weight pressed against her neck felt…comforting. The baby smell, the soft skin, the content 'muh' and 'uh' she made nearly brought her to tears. Clint had been trying to get her to speak lately and had assured her he was making progress. The woman wasn't sure Jordan understood what her father was trying to make her do, but some sounds did resemble words and would thrill her lover. For a man who hadn't wanted to become a father, he had fallen into the role very fast.

Her phone rang, immediately upsetting the baby, but Natasha ran to pick up.

"Hi, Miss Romanoff?"

Bruce Banner, Barton's medic, also the man who had once brought her back to life. The redhead closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. She had made the doctor swear he would call should anything happen to Clint in her absence.

"Tell me," she urged.

"His vitals are stable." Banner paused, hesitating, but Natasha was done and made a strange, inhuman growl, to which he hurried to add: "He's waking up."

The return home was tense and quiet. Natasha didn't say a word the whole drive and kept her eyes on the road. Clint didn't try to speak, knowing that she needed to gather her thoughts. A couple weeks had gone by, during which he had needed to go through light physical therapy and a lot of rest. This wasn't unfamiliar to him; during his tour in various dangerous places under Fury's commands, he had been in various stages of hurt in the hospital. The main difference was the redhead's occasional presence by his side.

He had heard from the nurses that she had stood vigil the whole time he had been unconscious. Yet, now that he was awake, Natasha was barely speaking to him. Clint had no doubt she was still pissed at him. Heck, he had been pissed at her each time she had hurt herself on a mission. But he usually tried to talk to her. He didn't dare ask though, because she had a lot of reasons to be angry, and he didn't want to trigger another episode if he could avoid it.

It wasn't until they were home that she ordered him to sit and not move. Clint had obeyed, watching her move around the house, prepare lunch –spaghettis, what else –nurse Jordan, and in short ignore him. He watched her tired body language, her tired eyes, and the slight slowness in her movements. He still had the pleasure to change Jordan –and boy was he sincere since he thought he'd never change his little girl's nappy again –and keep her entertained until she was ready to sleep. There again, he was left alone for a moment.

When she returned, Natasha was ready for bed. She had changed into his T-shirt and boxers, hair loose over her shoulders, eyes far too bright to be indifferent.

"Am I supposed to take the couch?" he asked halfway joking. He would stay there if she asked him to.

But she motioned him to stand up, stepped into his personal space, wrapped her arms around him and hid her face in his chest. And remained there unmoving, for a long time.

He didn't dare breathe, didn't dare move, fearing that one sound might break the moment. Her shoulders started trembling and her grip tightened, so he tentatively, nearly cautiously, held her in turn. Natasha was so small, he realized. She always stood so strong and determined, he sometimes forgot she could be breakable. She was human too, and the past week had played with her limits. That she was allowing herself to show any type of weakness to him, even after what he'd done, impressed him…and made him fall in love all over again.

When she pulled back, he swallowed heavily and looked at her in the eyes. Her beautiful, wary, tired eyes. And he hated himself for being the cause of it.

"Let's go to bed," she said. He followed obediently.