"Then find out what you want, Nat, please. There's two weeks left for that."

Clint's voice was still too quiet and stripped off emotion. If he allowed himself to feel right now, he'd be already gone, away from her for hours or days, before she could see him fall apart. He couldn't do that. For as long as he somehow managed it, he had to keep it together.

Especially when she was the one failing at it, when he could hear her falter, see the emotion stir in her eyes and just prayed that she would last for another few minutes. He still had to get her home somehow. His own hand felt detached from his body, like a stranger pulling strings, when he placed it on her cheek, just holding her, trying to tell her he got it, when she came to the core of the problem.

Or was it? He could have told her it wasn't. Difficult but not impossible. If she really decided to want a kid someday, it actually seemed they had a pretty good shot, at least with some doctor's help.

That wasn't the real question, not for him. For him, it was wondering if she would be any more ready in a few more years. If he would be ready, that really was secondary. It couldn't matter, he couldn't allow it to matter. If he let himself think about it, he couldn't get her through these two weeks.

He couldn't be the one to influence this so very fucking important decision for her. What if it was her only chance? Then he wouldn't be the asshole to spoil it for her, no matter how he felt about it.

"That's all that matters to me, Nat. What you want to do. I'll be with you either way."