i usually don’t write out prompts, and i never write baby fics, but i’m in a rare mood tonight, so i’ll write out a short prompt just because i compromised myself by thinking about clint holding a baby oh god ok here i go.
The first time Clint holds his baby, he stops breathing. He’s never really interacted much with little babies like the one in his arms before—sure, he’s watched Simone’s kids, and he’s gently roughhoused around with them before today, but this is an actual baby that he’s holding. And it’s not even just a baby, this is his baby. This is a baby that he and Natasha created, and he’s not sure he’s ever loved anything so fiercely before.
He looks up and over at Natasha with alarmed, emotional eyes that he usually doesn’t let anyone aside from her see. Exhausted, she’s lying back against her hospital bed, and her cheeks are almost as red and as sweaty as her hair is in this moment, but she’s watching him intently.
"Jesus—" He can’t get much more out without stopping himself. If he keeps talking, he doesn’t know what he’ll say. He and Natasha have never been particularly good with words, anyway.
"She’s healthy. She’s perfect," Natasha says breathlessly, her own voice catching in the back of her throat. "She’s really, really perfect."
Clint looks back down at the tiny little girl in his arms, the tiny little girl who he had a part in making, and he lets out a quiet laugh because that’s the only sound he can really muster up at this moment in time. “Yeah. She’s perfect.”
"I was going to suggest Hydra for a girl, but I feel like the joke falls a little flat now that she’s here," Natasha replies with a smile that’s just the slightest bit tearful.
"You’re not funny," Clint answers, but he can’t stop smiling. For all he cares, Natasha could suggest naming their little girl Tony Stark, and he wouldn’t be able to get this grin off his face. As he studies his daughter’s face, his chest tightens up with an intense swell of emotion he’s only ever felt for Natasha. He wants to protect this little girl. He wants to give her a safe world to live in. He wants to avenge every possible bad thing that could happen to her in the future but hasn’t yet.
But he doesn’t do that. Not yet. There will always be plenty of time to avenge. Instead, he stands up and passes his daughter to Natasha, and he sits back down in his chair, watching the two women he loves more than anything interact in a way he’ll never be able to replay again. Tonight, he’s not an Avenger. He’s not an agent of SHIELD. He’s not even Hawkeye. Tonight, he’s a father.