For Clint, this moment felt like time stopped. It felt like he was having an outer-body experience. It felt like he couldn't quite breathe properly. Mostly because he had come to hold his breath without realising it. It didn't feel like a baby. He looked like one, just a really fucking tiny one. He had all baby features. Looking him over, holding him he was about to break if he made the merest of movements, Clint took in his son's tiny nose, his little mouth, his ears, his eyes, those tiny eyelashes. He looked at the fingers and that hand that had all the markers of being human, but it wasn't big enough. He was overwhelmed, and there was no control over any of this situation. It was why he was fighting it. He wanted to stay in the denial arena, because he knew how to navigate shit there. This? This was so out of his depth, he was floundering. But Lorenzo wasn't going to let him keep playing an ostrich. He continued to flounder even then, kind of holding the kid like he was highly fragile vase that might explode into a million pieces if he breathed too hard.

It was the eyes that did it. Up to that moment, he hadn't considered the fact the baby had eyes. That would so so fucking stupid if he said it out loud, but it hadn't crossed his mind to check what Lorenzo was pointing out. He hesitated at first but as soon as it was out there, his gaze was drawn there. It was true. Those family eyes, the ones passed on to them via their grandmother. Ironically, had skipped the generation of their father. Their father's eyes had been dark, almost black. Evil eyes, on the fucking vile cunt that he was. They matched his soul. But the blue eyes went on to Lorenzo and Clint both. Richie, too, and Renz had passed them to Holly. Now it seemed Clint had passed them to his son. His thumb brushed the baby's cheek. "I've got no fucking clue what I'm supposed to do with this, Renz," he finally admitted out loud, gazing at the baby in his arms. Or hands, to be more accurate.