Chapter Text
Everything hurt. There was a fuzzy edge to all the pain that spoke of a ton of drugs going through her system. Her hand brushed her belly, she could feel the swell of her pregnancy, even if it didn’t really show through her clothes yet.
As she reached past that evidence of life, to her left leg, where the pain was centered, a familiar, calloused hand took hers.
“How are you feeling?” Clint asked.
“Horrible,” she mumbled. The thumb of her free hand making a circle with the second finger and then flicking out.
“You don’t have to sign,” he said. Then, “I love you.”
She pushed his fingers of the hands that were clasped together into the ‘I love you’ sign. He snorted.
She opened her eyes and looked at Clint. He looked wrecked, “When did you sleep last?”
He shrugged, “yesterday.”
“You are a silly boy,” she said, she reached across and patted the pillow next to her head.
He rested his head on the pillow, against her shoulder, “you were in surgery.”
She shifted. A nurse came in, “Oh good! You are awake. Now your boyfriend can stop threigting people.”
“Were you doing that Clint?”
“I…” he trailed off.
“I’ll get a doctor, he can talk to you.”
When the doctor came in he said, “You can go now Mr. Barton.”
“No,” Chris said, “He stays.”
“He isn’t your husband.”
“He is my domestic partner. I’m on his health insurance. He stays.”
“Fine,” the doctor said, but he didn’t seem happy, “Your feimer was shattered just below the point of your hip, you had a unstable break in your pelvis on the left side.”
He talked for some time and finally said, “I don’t know if you will be able to carry to term. Mr. Barton knew that part already. Actually he knew all of this and he didn’t take it well at all.”
“They threatened to sedate me,” Clint said quietly.
“They probably should of, Darling.”
That got the Doctor to smile, “other people close to Hawkeye have been treated here. We were prepared,” the doctor paused and then asked, “how is the pain?”
“I’m in quite a bit it is burning. Nerve pain.”
“There may be nerve damage,” the doctor said flipping up her gown and showing her the incision, “Mr. Barton says you are a Physical Therapist?”
“Yes,” she said.
“You could still lose the leg,” he said, “this pain could be permanent.”
“Well you are a Debby Downer,” Clint chirped.
“He is giving me the worst case,” Chris said, “He isn’t saying anything I didn’t already know.”
Clint’s hands flashed *he asked me about ending the pregnancy*
“You are deaf?” the doctor asked.
“No, my mother is,” Chris said, then signed to Clint *talk after*
“Do you need more pain killer?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” Chris said, “and something for Hawkeye to sleep on? I know him. He isn’t going anywhere for a little while.”
*****
He didn’t leave her side. When she woke again from that hazy drugged sleep of hospitals, Clint was stretched out on a reclining chair. He was on his side, facing her with his arm thrown out, loosely, his right hand resting on her shoulder. His left was fisted under his chin.
He looked peaceful and she didn’t really want to wake him, but she reached up and touched his hand. When he opened his eyes she said, “hey.”
“Hey,” he replied, “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” she rasped.
Clint shifted and sat up. He poured a glass of water and put a straw in the glass, holding it out for her. The look on his face, like he was holding out the Holy Grail, made her smile.
“I can hold it myself,” she said gently.
“But…” he trailed off.
She took it from him. And promptly spilled some on herself. Clint took the cup back. She drank the whole cup and then said “Thanks.”
She sank back into her pillows.
Clint ran his fingers through her hair, “I’ve been there.”
“I know,” she said, “I was with you last time you had the flu and you spent two weeks talking about how much your pelvis hurt.”
“I don’t want you hurting,” he said.
“I don’t think you get a choice in that,” she sighed.
“I bought an elevator,” he said in a rush.
She blinked at him.
“I mean, I’m having it added to the building,” he said, “I don’t want you to feel like I need to take you anywhere you need to go. I want you to feel like you can come and go as you please. Even if…”
“Even if I can’t ever walk again?”
Clint pulled back at her words.
“You don’t want to have to pull a wheelchair up a flight of stairs to get me to bed.”
He shook his head.
“And if you are away, how do I get up the stairs?”
His eyes were gleaming with hurt and unshed tears.
“And a baby? How do I-” her voice cracked and the words came to a stop.
Clint shot out of his chair and gathered Chris to him. Or as close as he could with her leg in traction. She sobbed into his chest. Clint let his tears fall into her hair.
“I think the Doctor it right,” he said voice think with tears, “I think you need to heal and I think we try again once you are stable.”
“But, Clint, you-”
Clint pulled back and looked directly into Chris’ eyes, “But me, nothing,” he said forcefully, “I need you to be alright. I need you to get better. I don’t need to be a father.”
I knew he was lying. He did need to be a father. He had never thought about wanting a child before, now he wanted to have a baby.
But he had an injury like Chris’ and it had thrown him for a loop. It had left him in a bad place. He didn’t want the woman he loved to go through the same emotional damage.
He needed her to be alright.
A baby could come later.