Part the Last. I hope you enjoyed this! Do let me know what you think!

+1.

The cries from across the room woke her, but Clint placed his hand gently on her shoulder, pressed her back down.

"Stay asleep, darlin'." He said something about changing the baby, and Natasha sunk gratefully back against the pillow.

She drifted along, floating on the edge of slumber, and each time she opened her eyes, she caught glimpses of Clint moving around the room as he cleaned their daughter up and tried to quiet her. The tiny child was fussy tonight, and she started whimpering every time Clint tried to lay her back down.

"Shhh," he whispered, obviously trying to keep his voice down. "I know you're tired, kiddo. Why won't you sleep?" He bounced a little as he paced, and Natasha smiled sleepily in their direction. She still wasn't used to the incongruous sight of Clint's arms, well muscled from years of archery, cradling the tiny form of their daughter.

"Bring her over," she croaked, then cleared her throat, trying to reclaim her voice. "Maybe she's hungry."

Clint brought the bundle over to the bed, sat down on the edge as he handed her over to Natasha. "I thought you were supposed to be sleeping."

Natasha brought the baby up to her breast. "And miss the show?"

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter as he sidled up to her, slipped behind her back and let her rest against his chest as she nursed. She relaxed into him, enjoyed this perfect, still moment.

She had been so worried that she would not be able to love this child, that she would look upon her and feel nothing except the vaguest affection or, even worse, nothing at all. She had no experience, not really, with the bond between parent and child. Her own parents had died before she ever could know them, existing now only as indistinct presences in her earliest memories, memories that may not even be real.

When she first found out about the baby all those months ago, her first thought had been to end it without even telling Clint. She'd always known that Clint wanted kids, a family; she saw the way he watched families in cities all over the world when he thought she wasn't looking. She had always just assumed that one day he would realize that he could never have that with her. It would finally sink in that she was physically incapable of having children, and then he'd leave her, and she would learn how to be okay with that because she's never wanted anything but the best for him.

But God or fate or a chemical imbalance had intervened, and she found herself huddled in his bathroom, taking test after test confirming the impossible, and she realizes now that she never would have taken those tests there, of all places, if she didn't want to be caught out, however subconsciously. She had her own place in the tower, and there was no good reason that she found herself wandering back to Clint's after her midnight visit to the drug store down the street.

Then, after they'd decided to try, decided to see if she could carry the child to term, Natasha hadn't really let herself think about what it would mean for her to be a mother. She'd never dreamed she would have to consider it, and she has never wasted her time pondering the impossible. Despite the assurance of Bruce and half a dozen doctors, Natasha hadn't really believed that she could have a baby, and even now, there was no good explanation for how she managed it, how she was holding the proof of the Red Room's failure in her arms right now.

She first let herself hope, really, truly hope, on a night when Clint took her to the diner instead of sleeping off his jet lag, and they'd realized together that the fluttering in her stomach wasn't gas after all. She'd been pretending up until that point, distancing herself from the inevitable miscarriage, treating her own life like it was just another role. But then, she felt the baby kick against her hand, announcing its presence to the world, and she'd seen the look on Clint's face when he felt it, too. Something inside of her had softened then, and for better or for worse, she'd opened her heart a crack and let hope seep in.

Even after that, she had been terrified that she would be unable to function as a mother, and even now she can taste that fear thick on her tongue. She would not have even risked it if it weren't for the constant presence of this man beside her, watching her back, like always.

And then, when the two of them became three, she learned that she did, in fact, love this tiny being, loved her with every fiber of her being. Natasha had never felt such joy in her life, hadn't even fathomed that such love existed, as when she held her daughter in her arms for the first time and ran her finger over the tiny features that were half her and half Clint. She was beautiful, perfect, and now Natasha wasn't terrified of not finding it in herself to love her, but not being able to keep her safe.

She probably always would worry.

The baby sighed and relaxed from her breast, and her pale blue eyes started to drift shut.

"Can you burp her?" Natasha asked in a whisper.

"Yeah, give her here."

Clint took the baby for a walk around the room, gently patting her on the back, and Natasha sunk back down below the covers, curling up around a pillow to watch her family.

It was definitely weird being a part of a unit that didn't go out and kill people. Even during downtime, even when they were doing nothing other than eating or watching TV, she'd had that spurious connection with Clint. But now, this was something completely different, new, uncharted territory. She didn't know how it was going to work, didn't know how she would balance her need to clean her ledger with her need to be there for every moment of this child's life.

But she was going to do her damnest to try.