A/N: I apologize for putting the author's note at the beginning of the chapter. HOWEVER, I have to put one up to warn newcomers that this is a continuation—the fourth installment, truth be told—of a series I have been calling the Of Time series. They are stories in the Captain America/Avengers sections of movies on FF (and can be found in the My Stories tab on my profile page). Because it is a continuation, I have to warn you also that the character of Holly Rogers (née Martin) and her actions and interactions in this story are not going to make any sense if you haven't read the previous installments. Therefore, I am going to suggest you read them, as this is AU from the MCU continuity, and I have made a few changes that may catch you by surprise later on in the text. Starting with this opening chapter. I know, it's a lot to ask you to read three additional stories before this one, but I don't want you to get too lost.

That being said, allow me to throw in the disclaimer before we get started: I don't own anything from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Honestly, nothing. I also don't own any other pop culture references made in the text, either.

Also, this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others', and therefore harder to coalesce with someone else's. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

I believe that covers everything. Now, if you're ready to read, please continue...

The summer heat on the first of August shimmered around the property, the setting sun pulling it away bit by bit. The slate blue house, set a ways from the main road, basked in the evening glow, the trees surrounding it thick and heavy with the lack of breeze. Inside the domicile, though, it was cool and comfortable...temperature-wise at least. The calm and quiet, only disturbed by the low thrum of music coming from the record player, was about to be broken. It was inevitable those days; it was always inevitable in a house that sheltered an infant.

Dinner had been eaten already, the two adults in the home stationed in the kitchen. One, the wife, had finished tapping at her phone, emailing her publisher about the first week's sales of her novel; they were steady, and looked poised to rise once the reviews came out. The father, a tall, strong fellow, raked a hand through his blond hair before scanning over the last report sent to him. Being the head of the world's foremost task force warranted very few breaks, even when he was on paternity leave. Leaning against the counter, he slid a finger idly over the screen of the tablet he had. Moving away from his emails, he began the nighttime lockdown protocols for the property as his partner sidled over to the sink, filling the basins with water.

And then, it started. Sad crows turned into harsh wails within seconds flat, and the peace was gone.

Steve Rogers, once called Captain America and now known as commander of the Avengers, glanced up from his tablet, shooting a look at his wife. Holly was elbow-deep in washing the dishes, a task she'd hoped to complete before the cries started. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be, and together they exhaled slowly as the cries picked up. Scrubbing hard at the stuck-on cheese on the plate in her palms, she blew the stray strands of hair falling from her ponytail out of her eyes before glancing up at him. Pausing in her task, her mouth curled down in a frown for a moment, and she bit her lip.

"'S your turn," Holly pointed out, softening it with a weary grin. With her parents now back home in Minnesota (having stayed several day to help them all settle), it was up to them to begin navigating their new family life. The pace that had been set since the day they'd returned from the hospital was still flowing, though she did know that it wouldn't be that easy later on. Particularly after she went back to work in a few short weeks; folding all routines into one would be a challenge. For that moment, though, it was enough to tackle the house along with the child. Her arms shifted, swirling the soapy water a bit as they moved. Flicking a glance down once more at the tablet in hand, the blond man paged through the security cameras, confirming with sight exactly what they were hearing when he got to the one trained on the living room. Steve put down the device and nodded, leaving the kitchen and the remaining chore of the day in her care. Through the arch and short hall, he walked into the living room where the bouncing seat holding their son was positioned. At about a week and a day old, Grant Rogers was not able to bounce much at all, but he seemed to enjoyed the battery-powered rhythmic shift of the seat, and while his eyes weren't able to focus terribly well, he did stare up at the swinging toys hooked up to it often. Right at that moment, though, he was not pleased with any of it. His small face was screwed up in sorrow, the agony of his life announced to the world. Kneeling down, his father tutted under his breath at him, inwardly hoping that he would calm quickly for bed.

"Okay, buddy. I'm here. Daddy's here," Steve crooned, unbuckling the restraint and lifting the newborn from his perch. Patting his back lightly, he walked them both into the kitchen, fetching up the bottle his wife had warmed prior to starting the dishes. Casting a look to her, he crossed back to the sink, allowing Holly to lean over to plant a peck on the crying infant's head. The utter heartbreak on his little face made her own expression twist sadly, but as she had stated, it was Steve's turn to take care of him. And he would do so, even as he winced in sympathy for the little guy. Taking the baby upstairs to his nursery, the bigger man tried to settle him down. Moving him so that he was resting along his forearm, he held the bottle to Grant's lips. The newborn was having none of it, refusing to latch and continuing to cry loudly. After a couple more tries, he placed the bottle on the dresser, at a loss for what to do.

"It's bedtime, pal," he murmured, taking the chance to get the baby into new pajamas, thinking it could help. When he was changed and the crying continued, he shifted his son until he was upright and laid his head against his shoulder. The shrill wail in his ear was piercing, but he was undeterred. Even as his appeals fell on ignorant ears. "C'mon, help me out, Grant."

As he paced the room, rocking his son a little as he went, he mulled over the options presented to him. The little guy, for once, wasn't hungry before bed, and his diaper was clean (smell test and double check confirmed it). What else could he do, short of asking his wife to come upstairs and take over? Making a third circuit around the small bedroom, he began to hum slightly, the vibrations in his chest and the tone of his voice pitched to soothe the baby. The wails turned into shorter cries, and he sensed that some of what he was doing was working. Stumbling upon another idea, he almost rejected it. Except...except when Holly did it, Grant seemed to soak it in. Going over the the gliding rocker, he sat down, clearing his throat and lifting a shoulder to himself.

"May as well try," he mumbled, adjusting his son to rest more comfortably in his arms. Looking down at the baby, he spiked an eyebrow as the little one's cries rang sharply again. "How about this, fussy-pants?"

Shifting in his seat, the rocker began to glide underneath them as he cleared his throat. Singing wasn't something he did terribly often, but with a howling baby to try and get to sleep, he was willing to give it a go.

"Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbh...mo sheoid gan cealg, mo chuid gan tsaoil mhór," he sang, his lower pitch floating out of his mouth. The lullaby from his childhood was pulled up from the depths of his mind, the language of Éire tripped over carefully. The memory of his mother singing it to him whenever he'd gotten sick, or scared, her thin arms curling around the small boy that he was and rocking him (much the same way he was for his son) floated up as he went. His voice was a mite shaky, a little unsure, but grew stronger the longer he went. As he uttered the lines about the white fairies waiting for the little one and how he would be by his side to protect him as he slept, the crying began to peter off. Repeating the chorus twice, Grant finally calmed, the tears of his earlier angst lost as he relaxed in his father's embrace. The lull of Steve's voice and the glide of the rocker pulled the young one deeper and deeper, until finally he fell asleep. Finishing the song, Steve took in a deep breath, the trailing whisper of words dropping away as he slowed the chair and prepared to stand again.

Looking up, he felt his face redden. Holly stood in the doorway, her wavy hair loosened from its ponytail and her arms crossed over her chest. Evidently the dishes had been finished before he could get the little guy down, and she had chosen to seek them both out. Her lips turned up in a grin and her dark eyes sparkled mischievously as she met his gaze. Despite the flush on his cheeks, he managed a smile for her, raising a single finger to his lips to forestall any comment on her part. Nodding agreement, she waited as he deftly rose from the chair, going to the crib and bundling their boy into his nighttime swaddle. His dexterous and close wrapping caused a little yawn to course out of the baby as he slept, but otherwise he remained in dreamland. Clicking on the monitor, he flapped his hand at Holly wordlessly, beckoning her to back out of the doorway. Fan turned on and curtains shut, he finally exited the room, the door clicking almost silently in place behind him.

"Wow," his wife exclaimed softly, stepping forward and sliding her arms around his waist. "I married a triple threat. You can sing, act, and kick ass."

"So long as you don't tell me I gotta dance. For an audience, at least," he stipulated, his fingers brushing languidly along the back of her shirt. Soon enough she turned, gesturing for him to follow her back downstairs. His palm rested against the small of her back as they traipsed down the steps, the record still playing through the speakers. Shrugging off the impromptu performance he'd given, he mumbled, "And it was just...it was nothing. I mean, it put him to sleep."

His last words were meant as a joke, his lips curling to indicate that she should indulge in the humor, too. However, as they both took a seat on the couch, he could see from the shake of her head that she was not having any of that.

"Right. It put him to sleep, thank God," she replied bluntly. She loved their son, of course, but she was grateful for anything that could help the little guy get to bed faster. Nestling into Steve's side, she turned and looked at him. "I really liked it. It was pretty."

He canted his head. "Just somethin' Mom sang to me when I was little."

Reaching up, she combed through the strands of his hair, meekly stating, "I wouldn't object to an encore."

At once he shook his head, a tremor of nerves shooting through his veins.

"Nah, it's...I really didn't do it justice. Honestly," he attempted to excuse himself. Bashfully, he dropped his gaze to his knees, picking invisible lint off his jeans. "You don't want to hear that mess again."

"It wasn't a mess. It was nice," she asserted, batting her eyelashes at him playfully. "Please, sing it again."

That time he didn't verbally answer, instead just looked at her. Sitting up straighter, she dropped the act and tapped his bicep teasingly.

"Tell you what: I'll sing you one, too, if you do," she said, brokering a deal. Off his spiked eyebrow, she raised three fingers up, the salute easily made. "Promise."

The eyebrow rose a little higher. "Not really a fair trade-off, at least not for you. You were actually in a choir."

Holly scoffed audibly at that. "Yeah, in sixth grade."

Steve cupped a palm in the air. It was more experience than he'd had. "Still..."

"Oh, please. You've got experience, too," she said. Instead of confirming where his thoughts went, which was to his USO tour, she instead offered, "What, you think your occasional shower serenades can't be heard?"

Resting her head on his shoulder for a moment, she glimpsed the tick in his set jaw as she nuzzled his neck. Generally, she didn't revert to such tactics, but that day, she was not above doing so. She truly wanted to hear him again; his voice was one of her favorite things about him, and when he sang, it was all the more compelling to listen to.

"Come on, please?" she begged, craning her head back to pout a little at him. Spying that, he rolled his eyes, taking her lower lip between his thumb and forefinger before squishing it slightly. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to frown at him, but he did not relent until she giggled. The stony set of his countenance slid away, his bright eyes shining in the lamp light of the room. Sighing, he squared his shoulders, dipping his chin once in a nod.

"I'm chalking this up to being tired, agreeing to this," he grumbled, shaking his head as she clapped her hands in pleasure. Scratching his neck, he swallowed and sat up straighter. "Just...don't make fun of me until after we go to bed, okay?"

"Steven," she said, her reprimand and rolling eyes not really soothing him. His free hand clenched along the arm of the sofa, and his gaze raked over the bookshelves surrounding the entertainment center. A deep breath filled his chest, then another, and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. Seeing the real discomfort in his face and the tightness in his shoulders, Holly sat forward, taking his left hand between both of hers and rubbing it. Tipping her head to the right, she suggested, "Closing your eyes might help."

Inhaling sharply, he bobbed his head once more before taking her advice, eyes shut tightly as he drew the courage to start again. It shouldn't have made him nervous; as she had pointed out before, he'd had moments of humming a tune in the shower, or under his breath when a good song was playing. One of the most important parts of his job was his ability to speak, to project his voice and use its nuances to be understood beyond what was being said. But giving a speech and singing a ditty were two very different things in his mind, and doing one made his stomach clench more than the other. Carefully, he let the Gaelic slide over his tongue, the language his mother taught him allowing him to lose himself in the music and let go, a little.

The last strains of the lullaby tripped over his lips after several minutes, the tune disappearing under the one playing on the record player (which had been ignored, for the time being). Slowly opening his eyes, he could feel the burn flushing from his face to his ears, though when he caught Holly's gaze, he saw no censure there. A pleased sigh was breathed out her mouth, and she lightly clapped her hands together again, the applause just for him.

"Uh, well, that's it," he finished, fingers lacing together in his lap and his shoulders hunched when she'd stopped clapping. "I'm no Sinatra, but you already knew that."

Laying a hand on his back, she brushed over the material of his shirt, her genuine smile not fading in the slightest.

"Don't," she countered, not wanting him to get down on himself. "You sounded nice. Even better the second time."

She'd never made her liking of his voice a secret, not since they'd first gotten to know one another. The richness and the baritone slide of his register changed a little when he sang, bringing to mind when coffee was sweetened with sugar. Her thanks came in the form of a peck on the cheek, and his half-smile came to his lips, the pink in his face slowly draining away. Muttering how he would have to translate the lullaby someday for her, he tipped his chin up, letting a smirk grow as his gaze narrowed.

"Now, you."

Blinking, she sat back, a finger running over the scar on her brow as she pulled out her phone and glanced at the clock.

"Oh...it's getting late, and we should probably—"

"Ah, ah," he cut her off, pointing a finger at her before snatching her phone away. Setting it down on the coffee table, he shot her faux stern look. "You promised."

She deflated then, though her lips quirked in amusement. "Figured I'd give it a shot."

Her dark eyes wandered away from him, considering a point on the far wall as she browsed through her mental library of music. Before she could make up her mind, Steve held up a hand again.

"I have one stipulation," he interjected firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Nothing from that musical you're obsessed with, alright?"

She frowned at that, snapping her fingers in dejection.

"Darn. That one song Burr and Hamilton sing to their kids is a good one, too," Holly grumbled, and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Even so."

Clearing her throat, she thought for a few seconds before she turned her head partially away from him. Eyes shut, she furrowed her brow as she recalled the lines of her choice. She was a natural alto, with some mezzo soprano leanings (having choral performance majors as roommates in college had helped at least classify her range), and she let the smokey tones flow forth. Obviously not trained, she still managed to hold her own; it could've been worse. Beside her, Steve took in a sharp breath. Her chosen song was something from his day, having become a standard in its own right in the new, modern era they lived in. The echoes of Billie Holiday and Bing Crosby trembled across his memory, along with the tone set in a later album by Mr. Sinatra, the beat his wife took slowing the song significantly. It did not detract from the lyrics, though, and as she sang about the very thought of her love, he found himself swaying in his seat.

When she finished a short time later, she opened her eyes to the sight of her husband, gaze darkened a fraction and hands reaching for her. She accepted his touch, scooting close to him again.

"That wasn't a lullaby," he breathed, the pad of his thumb stroking the line of her jaw as he cupped her chin.

"Never specified that it had to be," she retorted, smile returning briefly as her lids lowered. Bright eyes dropped to stare at her lips for several seconds, before he leaned forward and kissed her. Gently, slowly, he sipped at her lips, a quiet sigh muffled as it coursed out of her mouth. Several minutes passed in that way, lazy kisses petering off slowly when the record finally ran out music and the needle moved away. After the last one, she braced her forehead against his, the touch calming and anchoring them both as they sat in the sudden silence, the ticks and creaks of the house interrupting it rarely. Patting his knee, she murmured, "Well, we aren't gonna be selling out Radio City Hall anytime soon, but I don't think we did half bad."

"Guess not, doll," he concurred, a lopsided grin forming on his mouth. Squeezing his arm, she snatched up her phone from the coffee table, muttering how it had been a long day for both of them, and that going to bed would be a good idea. Both of them got up, each going about the task of closing the house for the night. Steve saw to it that the AI connected to the security of the homestead was linked in, verbal confirmation given as Holly physically locked the front and back door, turning off the record player as she went. Performing a final sweep of the basement (which yielded nothing but the truth that the laundry had to be done the next day), he eventually trailed after his wife, joining her in their bedroom and swapping his clothes for sleepwear. The baby monitor was cranked up, stationed on her side for the night when they both slipped under the covers, lamps snapped off after he shared a good-night kiss with her.

The bliss of sleep was enjoyed for a few hours, only to be shattered yet again. The distressed little wails of their son came through at around four in the morning, shaking them both out of their slumber.

"Your turn," Steve mumbled, the hand he'd laid on her waist in sleep withdrawn as he shuffled back. Groaning, Holly scrubbed the crust out of her eyes, going first to the dresser to swap shirts. Exposing the line of her back, she failed to notice her husband's appraising gaze as she did so. Her nursing shirt pulled down, she turned back to the nightstand, fetching up the monitor and shutting it off, a final cry cut off as the device was silenced. Catching Steve blinking sleepily at her, she leaned forward, planting a kiss on his forehead, the softness of her lips against his skin making his lids close in contentment. A grin curled the corners of her mouth, staying with her even as she left the room, hastening to the baby's crib as fast as she could.

"Coming, Granty. Mommy's coming," she cooed to her child, ready to have her time with their boy despite her exhaustion. Humming under her breath, she readied the little guy for his feeding, and though the Gaelic was impossible to replicate on her tongue at that hour, the hum of the tune easily flowed, the stillness of the night returned in short order.

A/N 2: So begins In Due Course.

See, told you it was AU, what with Steve Rogers having a wife and son...

I had mentioned, in the author's notes of my previous story, By First Light, that I intend the structure of this installment to be a little different. This is a taste of what is to come for the future—instances in Steve and Holly's new life as parents, as well as the developments of the world around a team led by a new Captain America and what happens with them. Yes, I will be including the Avengers, some old and some new, as the story progresses.

Will it be fluffy? Oh, yeah. Will it be cutesy? Yep. Will it have periods of action and drama still? Yes, on occasion, it will have those elements. Will there be allusions and build-up to things from the canon time-line of the MCU? That is my intention, though given that this is an AU, it will not follow canon to the letter. Tonally, I intend for this fic to be a little lighter; the load of the last few installments has been heavy, and after two years, I want it to be a bit smoother (particularly after the previous installment, where nearly every chapter I cranked out had a minimum of 7,000+ words). If none of this is your cup of tea, that is perfectly fine. I wish you well on your reading endeavors. If you are still interested, I look forward to continuing the journey with all of you.

I know it was a shorter chapter this time around in comparison to the past, but just remember, this is only the beginning. Also, be warned that March is going to be a very busy month for me (very, very few days off for me. Yay work and money, boo lack of free time). I will try to update every week, but do not be surprised if updates come every week and a half or so. I will try hard to stay consistent.

The song that Steve sings is an Irish lullaby called, "Seoithín, Seo" (sometimes written "Seoithín, Seotho." I recommend the Shauna Mullin version on YouTube; very beautifully done). And the song I imply that Holly sings is, "The Very Thought of You." Many jazz singers have covered the song since its creation in 1934, but my go-tos for it are Frank Sinatra and Michael Bublé. Nope, I don't own either song. Also, yay Hamilton references. :)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!