By early Monday afternoon, Holly and Grant Rogers were discharged from the hospital, both declared fit and healthy enough to go home. A crash course on childcare was given to both mother and father, Steve actually taking notes yet again to embed the information into his mind. It would be impossible for the couple to become experts in less than two days, but they were not about to send them out with a basis of knowledge built on what they'd already learned. Calls to both Helen Cho and Carol Watson were made, an appointment for examination scheduled for Holly by that Wednesday made with the latter and the former implying that she would be there as well. However, in New York City, their business was otherwise finished once the birth certificate was signed off.

With both mother and child deemed healthy enough to leave, Steve scrambled to get things assembled and ready for the journey home before the last paper was signed. Though they had the hospital bag, he did not think there was enough for their son, despite the fact that the drive back to their house would only take approximately three and a half hours. As well as that, they would have no assistance until later; Holly's parents had flown into Albany, and he had to send special permissions via JJ to allow them directions and access to their property so that they could meet them there. First, he returned the Audi they had borrowed to Tony, sheepish apologies waved off in favor of confirming that the car was, at least, as clean then as when it was taken before. Assuring him of that, the blond man went forth with his tasks, Stark tagging along out of curiosity (and possible blackmail opportunities, he'd confessed, shrugging off the sharp look that was thrown at him). The hasty purchase of a baby seat for their Buick was followed by the acquirement of a cheap, temporary diaper bag filled with the essentials. Some new receiving blankets, decorated with ducks and elephants, had joined the mix. Before he could stop himself, a small, stuffed bear was swiped through as well. Arriving back at the hospital with all this, he gladly endured Tony's rolling eyes, as the end result was the beam on his wife's face. She was waiting for them at a back entrance, baby in her arms and all attention from prying eyes and the paparazzi being diverted by decoys near the front (agents sent by Nick Fury aiding them in the endeavor). Their bags from the Tower were collected and in the trunk already, and after some finagling with Grant and the car seat—helped yet again by a nurse who had accompanied them to the lot—they were all strapped in and ready for the road. The drive was peaceful, only interrupted by a call from Holly's father, telling them that they'd arrived at the house and would have it opened for them by the time they got back.

As soon as they pulled into their garage a few hours later, the back door flew open, and suddenly Steve and Holly were smothered with the embraces of Lisa. Paul's greeting was far more subdued, but the unmistakable pride and joy in his face was easily spotted. He even favored Steve with a hug, glad to see the man who had given his daughter happiness and a family of her own (only after first giving one to Holly, of course). Once Grant was retrieved from his car seat, though, a whole new wave of adoration burst forth. The tiniest Rogers was almost drowned in the affection his grandmother was giving him, but he managed it quite well. After all, her sure, steady grip on him as they moved into the house was as good a place as any to snuggle up and fall asleep again. Between her, his mother, and Grandpa and Daddy, there would be no lack of attention given over the first days of his life.

Those first two days at the house were spent adapting to the rapid changes of the previous weekend, with Lisa helping her daughter find a rhythm in caring for a newborn amidst the other duties of her life. Steve also followed her lead, determined as ever to be his wife's steadfast partner. Little by little, both man and woman were improving, providing for their baby boy and caring for him as they were being shown, the grandmother and grandfather supporting them as they went—even at three in the morning, when Grant awoke screaming his distress to the world and they had no idea what to do.

The appointment on Wednesday went smoothly, for the most part. Thus far, both doctors had determined that Grant's health remained steady, and at a few days old, there was not much else they could expect. His habits were still developing, some of them raising speculation, but they would have a clearer idea around the six month mark. Watson had given Holly another exam, and imparted some instructions of post-partum self-care that she would have to adhere to for a minimum of six weeks. A pediatrician was called in, a Doctor Boyden, who would be on hand for Grant's care in the coming months. The middle-aged fellow with the dark hair and darker eyes seemed confident in the baby's current progress, his care and calmness soothing both child and parents. With everything appearing to be well, Steve and Holly were able to leave Saratoga Springs with some relief, their boy safely bundled up in the back as they laced their fingers together over the middle console. It was not long before they were home again, Steve kissing his wife's cheek before joining up with his father-in-law on the other side of the garage. Holly made her way inside, putting their son down in his crib to sleep yet again.

The quiet of the house settled, long minutes passing in which the brunette woman stared down at her little boy, a finger trailing over the grain of the rail as she watched him sleep. A distant voice hummed, the retreat of feet down stairs bringing her back into the present. Turning on the monitor, she clipped the receiver to the belt loop on her pants before wandering down to find the source. Tracing it to the basement, she went down to the bottom of the steps, catching sight of Lisa as she adjourned to the laundry room.

She stood for a moment, watching as her mother unflinchingly sorted whites from colors, not hesitating over the garments in the least. One load was dropped in the washer, the other piled atop the dryer to follow later, the task a simple one, in her experience. The younger woman felt a swell rocket through her heart, and she eventually cleared her throat, alerting the older woman to her presence. Silver-blonde hair whipped around as Lisa turned, with her greeting her daughter with a warm smile as she scooped up the empty basket at her feet. Before she could say a word, or ask how the appointment with the doctors went, her daughter opened her mouth.

"Thanks for coming here and helping," Holly said, unable to contain herself any longer on the subject. Though she'd only been out of the hospital for a short time, her mother had been taking the lead in setting the house to rights and assisting them both with Grant. Her dad would pitch in his two cents on occasion, but mostly he contented himself with doing the outdoor chores (which both she and Steve gotten behind on) and cuddling with the little guy when he was done. The younger woman had prided herself on being self-sufficient, but the newest addition to the family—while expected—required her to obtain aid. It had been planned from the outset that her parents would fly in and help, but she didn't think that she would need so much help, or that Steve would need it, too. Tugging on the end of her loose braid, she continued, "I know it's not easy for you guys to leave home. Especially with it being right in the middle of the busy season for Dad and—"

The laundry basket landed on the ground with a light thump, and she suddenly was pulled into her mother's arms. The fierce hug cut off her gratitude, and she felt the lump in her throat tighten as the older woman held on.

"You're my daughter," Lisa stated simply after a few moments, squeezing her gently. Drawing back, Holly had to swallow hard as she glimpsed the watery glitter in her mother's eyes. She known, deep down, that she and her husband could rely on her family for support, to come when they needed them, but sometimes, it was lost in the drone and buzz of their everyday lives. It could be buried due to their daily strife, but it would not vanish or be lost to them for good. Hugging her hard once more, Lisa released her after a few moments, palms on the younger woman's shoulders and her bearing solid. "You couldn't make me stay away if you tried."

She winked then, before scooping up the abandoned laundry basket and turning towards the stairs.

"Particularly when there's a grand-baby here for me to spoil."

Holly could only cough and chuckle, following her mother back up the stairs to help with the next chore.

The first visitors to the house arrived that afternoon, a couple of grocery bags in hand and subdued grins on their faces. As they were both in between missions, Bucky and Natasha took advantage of the time off, insisting on checking up on them and seeing how the little guy was faring. The rest of the team would, no doubt, be cycling through over the next few weeks (something that Holly found herself both grinning and grimacing at, at turns; playing hostess with a days-old baby would not be particularly ideal, but they'd get through it) when missions permitted them. They brought with them take-out containers from a diner in one the nearby towns, a growing favorite among the base workers. Steve almost fell upon the offerings, and Holly was so grateful that none of them had to cook. The six adults congregated in the living room, their repast enjoyed as both ex-assassins caught up with Lisa and Paul, listening to stories as they were traded back and forth (enduring Lisa's nudge at her husband's side when they had declared themselves officially involved; evidently, everybody could pick up what was going on around them in those early months).

Bringing forth Grant after they'd finished eating, Holly turned between the pair, the question of who would like to see him first dying on her tongue as soon as Natasha lifted her hands. Her bemused grin turned more genuine as the redhead cradled the little guy, Russian endearments tumbling over her lips as she held him. Catching the ring of eyes staring at her display, she rolled her eyes and snickered.

"Sweet," she intoned in English. Glancing between the father and mother of the baby she was holding, she continued, "Just remember that when he starts screaming for no apparent reason in the middle of the night."

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes, but the glint of amusement in his gaze was obvious. "Appreciate the input, Romanoff. Very helpful."

As he and Bucky made their way to the upstairs office, most likely to discuss the business that would need to be attended to with Steve being on paternity leave for two weeks, Holly and Natasha were left to their own devices. The brunette had no doubt that the ex-agent might have wanted to go along with them, but when she spotted the pleased glimmer in her gaze as she chucked the baby lightly under the chin, she decided not to press the issue. Lisa, content with the calm that had taken place, declared that she and Paul would go out to the garage and see if the Buick needed to be taken care of (her dad insisted on giving it a once-over while they were there, changing the oil and such for the vehicles as needed), and soon enough the pair of women were left in silence. Save for the snuffling little breaths that Grant was giving. Smoothing a finger over the baby's brow, Natasha glanced up after a few moments, looking Holly directly in the eye.

"Quite a difference, two years makes," she said plainly, nodding to her and to their surroundings. Following her train of thought, the younger woman allowed herself a snort.

"Got that right," she agreed, leaning back into the couch cushions. "We've come a long way from you semi-threatening me. All of you semi-threatening me."

Natasha blinked then, her ocean-colored eyes holding an edge of chagrin even as she smiled.

"Wasn't meant that way. Not too much," she amended. It was true; all that time ago, back when the two women had had their encounter at the batting cages and bumming around the gas station, it wasn't supposed to be a threat to the brunette. Certainly a warning for the future, but it was a friendly one. Lifting a shoulder, she murmured, "Think of it as vetting you out, and you meeting the challenge."

Holly took that into consideration, along with the memories of the times they'd met afterward, and her mouth quirked.

"Allies," she mumbled, recalling the term that the redhead had given their association. Squinting at her, she wondered if that was the truth. After all, though she knew for a fact that they weren't terribly close, she had come to count on Natasha for a few things, had shared in too much for it to be simply that. Taking in a deep breath, she asked her, "Think I might be able to call you friend one day? It would be better for a mother and aunt to be on good terms."

Natasha's smirk curved more, became a true smile.

"I certainly think we can work something out," she replied, dipping her chin before focusing on the little one now stretched in her lap. "How about it, solnyshko? Think we can act like a big, happy family, and tolerate each other? If you agree, keep laying there."

The baby squirmed a little, his tiny limbs jerking, but he otherwise remained in place, resting in Natasha's lap. The two women shared a glance and grin at that.

"Smart choice, Granty," Holly giggled, rewarding her son with a peck on the cheek. A few more minutes passed before the two men upstairs returned, the pair of them having reached an understanding for operations during Steve's absence. Catching Bucky staring at her (later on, he would admit that the sight of his girl with a baby was a little fascinating), the female Avenger made up her mind on something.

"Here, you should have a turn," Nat offered, taking Grant up and half-turning towards her partner. At once, Bucky's hands rose, palms out to stop her.

"I don't know..." he trailed off, diffidence in his face as he looked between them all. It had been a long time since he'd held such a young child, and he didn't know if it was something he should do. Spying Steve's furrowed brow, the remark that was on the tip of his tongue, it was another voice that drew him back, pressing down on his doubt.

"You won't hurt him," Holly murmured softly, her gaze unwavering as she met his. Trust was there, trust that he would not actively injure her son, and it shook him to his core. Swallowing once more, Bucky nodded, taking his claimed spot in the arm chair before allowing his arms to fall open. Smoothly, Natasha rose, about to instruct him on how to hold the baby, but was cut off when he leaned forward, supporting the head firmly while cradling the little guy's body. It seemed almost natural for him, and Holly blinked.

"Done this before?"

"With my sister," he said in a low tone, the blue of his eyes seeming to fog over then. His sister, the youngest of the family...a distant memory of light eyes just like his, hair a shade or two darker than his own, and a brighter smile all flashed in his mind. The flash then centered on the image of her being much smaller, wrapped tightly in a yellow blanket, laying in his lap as an older feminine voice admonished him to be careful.

"Rebecca," Steve supplied, looking as though he, too, were lost in memories. She'd been very much like a sister him as well, had recalled her chasing after them as well as Bucky's other siblings in their childhood. Very vivacious, very boisterous, and as the only girl, she was quite spoiled by her mother. Still was a sweetheart, though, in spite of all that, and Bucky had doted on her (when he wasn't busy pulling his butt out of the fire, of course). It saddened him to think of her being gone, too. Of the Barnes children, with the exception of Buck, she had endured the longest, having passed away only six years before he'd been thawed from the ice. He didn't know if his friend ever looked into what had happened to his family, but he knew that Rebecca had great-grandchildren out there. Perhaps one day, he could meet them.

"When my mom came home after having her, she, she let me hold her," his friend was explaining slowly, his fingers twitching at the sleeve of Grant's onesie to make it lie right. Peering down at the baby, he quietly muttered, "She seemed so small."

The baby in his grip opened his mouth in an O as he yawned, and Bucky let the corner of his mouth curl. One of his metal digits came up, was placed at the crook of Grant's fist, and the little one immediately latched around it, unflinching as his tiny grasp tightened around it. Unbeknownst to him, Barnes had started to rock a little in his seat, and Steve grinned.

"You're doing pretty well, all things considered," he confessed, just as his son screwed up his face and let out a long wail of discontent. Alarm raced across Bucky's face, and he unconsciously turned to his friend, silently begging for his help. Sighing, the blond man stooped and took his boy up, his wife rising to inspect the child as well. "Well, you were, anyway."

The couple conferred over the baby's state, ultimately determining that he was hungry. Relinquishing Grant into his mother's care, Steve shot a glance to his friend, flapping a hand in the air to downplay the disturbance.

"You've got time to brush up on your skills," he said, confident that it would be the case. Bucky raked a hand through his hair (cut again so that it would fit better in the cowl of his uniform) and shrugged.

"I highly doubt I'll be playing baby-sitter anytime soon," he said, smirking ruefully as the crying continued. His gaze tracked Holly as she brought Grant upstairs for his feeding, and he blinked before turning his gaze back to his friend. "But I'll definitely be keeping tabs on the kid. He carries your punk blood; he's bound to get into trouble at some point. He'll need all the back-up he can get."

A light grin punctuated his point, and Steve could do no more than roll his eyes. And from her silent perch on the sofa, Natasha could only give them a bittersweet glance.

"Thank you, Uncle Bucky," the blond man grumbled, a glimmer of humor dancing across his irises despite that. The two friends shook their heads simultaneously, before the crack of the back door opening and shutting, plus Lisa's voice commanding them at Paul's behest to give him a hand outside, drew them out of their private reveries. As they passed, Natasha reached out and crooked her fingers around her lover's arm. Looking down at the beauty on the couch, the two shared similar sad grins before they separated, with Bucky bending and pecking her temple before doing as he was bid.

xXxXxXx

Paul Martin was not sure how he'd heard it, through two floors and several doors (not to mention insulation and the like in the spaces between), but he'd heard the distant cry of a child.

Blinking in the darkness of the downstairs room he and Lisa were staying in, he had a vague sense of panic. One of his kids was crying, he had to get up, had to help his wife...until he remembered where he was, what time it was. His children were adults, the youngest was twenty-eight, and had one of her own...the newborn calling out wasn't one of his. Shaking his head, he peered in the dark at Lisa, who in turn was rolling on her back. Her tired voice cut through the dark, the insistence that it was his turn making warmth and a frisson of sadness lace through him. Instead of rousing her to set her straight, he merely muttered that he would go and take care of it, her thanks muffled into her pillow as she rolled over to face the wall. How easy it was to fall into old habits, he mused, even after not indulging in them for well over twenty years.

Swinging his legs over the side, he ambled over the ugly rug (how did Holly still have that thing? Last he saw of it, it was rolled up in a closet somewhere) and out of the room. The cold of the tiles distracted him from the soreness of his joints and the pops of them as he walked, loosened up by the time he reached the first flight of stairs. Silently, he lumbered up to the ground floor, the lone light over the kitchen stove on still at that hour. The cries upstairs were growing louder as he went to the right, and the fast tread of others' steps echoed down the stairs. Hissed whispers were passed under the wails, and he smirked to himself as he started to go up the staircase. Holding back a yawn, he listened intently as he got closer and closer to the nursery. A hushed croon came from a feminine voice, his daughter muttering something to her husband as he paused on the top landing.

"I know, I just..." Steve's voice trailed off, and Paul could vaguely hear the muted thump of his feet crossing back and forth over the floor. "Hold on."

"Why are you—?" Holly's confused inquiry was cut off when he ambled around the corner, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. His daughter was in the chair in the far corner, the apron-like nursing cover looped around her neck. Steven was in front of her, his hands still adjusting the periwinkle blue cloth to sit right. The wails of his grandson were quieted, as he was now occupied and hidden beneath the cover. In the low lamplight, the older man could also make out the low hum and outline of the pump engaged on the other side, preparing a future bottle for the baby at the same time.

"That's why, doll," Steve muttered, hands dropping to his sides and a light smattering of pink over his cheekbones. Evidently, he hadn't been as silent in his ascent as he thought himself to be; his arrival had clearly been heard.

"Dad," Holly gasped, sitting up straighter in the rocking chair, the nursing cover slung about her falling more into place. Red flooded into her face, no doubt a little embarrassed. To his credit, Steve tried to shield her, angling his body a little more so that he would not get an eyeful of anything—not that it would happen anyway, what with the cloth and all.

"Hey, Paul," his son-in-law said, raking a hand through his hair. "Sorry, uh..."

Raising a palm, the Martin patriarch cut off his apology.

"Been there, done that. Three times," he reminded them both, earning sheepish grins for his efforts. Training his dark gaze on his daughter, he wondered, "You all set, there?"

"I think so. Yeah," the young woman affirmed, checking beneath the cover for a few seconds and noting that both baby and pump were in place. Nodding, he turned his eyes towards Steven, holding his gaze for a moment before gesturing at him.

"C'mon, son," he beckoned him to go with him. Spying the fellow's reticence, he pointed out, "You can't both feed him at the same time. Not yet, anyway. Unless you went through some new developments yourself."

The flush grew darker, and the blond man shook his head.

"No, sir," he responded, scratching the back of his neck. Turning back to his wife, he began to ask, "Are you—"

A hand came up, her fingers flapping for him to depart. "I got this; you go on. Just remember, next time's your turn."

"Steven, come on," Paul called out softly, and his son-in-law's shoulders relaxed minutely, a low sigh crawling out of his nose.

"All right," he conceded, following the older man out into the hallway. With a final look cast behind to Holly, he closed the door until only a sliver of light could be seen between it and the door jamb. Dipping his chin, Paul led the way down the stairs, a slow yawn curling out of his mouth. Scratching idly at his side through his shirt, he glimpsed his son-in-law plodding behind him, catching him staring up the staircase for a few moments. Clearing his throat, he gestured for the blond man to come with him into the kitchen.

"Since we're up, might as well have a drink," he explained himself, turning on the overhead light and blinking rapidly to dispel the dots across his vision. Leaning an elbow on the counter, he caught the grin Steve had barely suppressed.

"Beer's on the bottom shelf of the fridge," he suggested, hooking a thumb towards it. He wasn't feeling particularly inclined to having hard liquor, but knew they could both stomach something like that. Falling upon his proposition, Paul retrieved two bottles, twisting off the tops with alacrity before handing one over to him. Both men settled against the center island, bottles clinking together in a salute before tasting. The first sip of ale brought to mind hints of citrus and floral elements, the hops dispersing them well.

"Not bad stuff," Paul commented, after the flavors of oak and peach swirled over his tongue. It was no Surly Cynic or Summit EPA, to be sure, but it certainly held its own. He needed to give more Nebraska brews a try, if that was what he could look forward to (Hank had gotten him far too deep into his brewing venture, and there was no turning back). Steven swallowed another mouthful, nodding in agreement.

"Gift from an old teammate. Said I would need it," he remarked, smirking ruefully to himself. It was something of a surprise, when Natasha brought in the airmailed present from Clint from her car that afternoon. The note attached had welcomed him to fatherhood, and the micro-brew was meant to ease his way through the transition. Mostly a joke, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Paul snickered, rotating the bottle between his hands. "Despite the sobriety, huh?"

The blond man could do no more than tip his chin up, taking another swig of beer rather than answer verbally. For a time, the two merely sipped at their drinks, the silence around them not uncomfortable. Soon enough, the commander cleared his throat, his thumb tapping against the glass bottle in his hand.

"We really didn't mean to wake you," Steve apologized once again, canting his head in the direction of the nursery.

"Don't worry about it," the grandfather responded, brushing it off. After all, he had stated before that he had been in the same position, three times in his life. Not only that, he had other grandchildren, all of which had spent extended time with him. The corners of his mouth turned down in a brief frown as he considered something, and he murmured, "Just seems like the poor kid is always hungry. And trust me, every one of mine ate like crazy back in the day, but Grant is takin' the cake."

Another rueful smile curled Steve's lips, and he shrugged.

"That might be my fault. Half of me, half of my metabolism," he explained, a finger tracing invisible patterns on the counter top. It was a tad over-simplified, but it was the most comprehensive he could be on the subject. Particularly as his boy was too young to allow any testing to be done in that regard for confirmation. "He's getting enough for the moment, but the doctors are speculating that he'll have to start on formula sooner than is typical just to keep up. Helen, Doctor Cho, will be keeping an eye on everything, along with the new pediatrician."

Paul's eyebrows rose slightly. "So long as they treat him well in the process, and not like a test subject."

Steve's fingers tightened around his bottle, face turning stony and his eyes like chips of ice.

"He's my son. I won't let that happen to him," he swore, the set of his jaw hard as his heart thumped in his chest. It would be a hard road to tread; even after the birth, he had seen the looks the doctors and nurses (the ones not assigned to Grant and Holly) had given them, had heard the whispered questions about if anything had been saved from the process, and the perturbed glances given when it was revealed that nothing was. It was a risk that they could not take, as efforts to recreate the super-soldier serum had not truly abated, and even something as trivial as a tiny prick of his boy's blood could lead to worse things. Grant would be no one's lab rat. Exhaling sharply, he ground out, "Ever."

"Good, because I'm sure his mother would probably have something to say about it," Paul muttered as he took another swig of beer. He knew his daughter, knew how loyal and defensive she could be of those she loved. The little boy upstairs would have more than one shield from the worst of the world.

Some of the steeliness in Steve's form seemed to relent, and he chuckled, "No joke."

The remainder of their beers were had in silence, with Steve taking both bottles to the sink to rinse out after they'd finished. The brew sat heavily in Paul's gut, and he reckoned that it would still be sitting there when he finally went to sleep again, but his introspection ended when he noticed his son-in-law bracing his hands along the sink's edge, the water long since turned off. He looked straight out the window for a minute or two, turning back to face the room with a sigh. The older man said nothing, just waited as Steve's jaw quirked slightly. Soon enough, his patience was rewarded.

"You know, I'm still in awe about...about the whole thing, really. For a long time, I didn't think that I could ever have this," he confessed to his father-in-law. His gaze ran over the room to fix on a point above the arch leading to the rest of the house, his voice softening as he went on. "All of this. And now, with Grant here..."

Paul nodded sagely, his own gaze growing distant and hazy in memory. "It scares you, just as much as it makes you happy."

The abashed smile returned, though it faded rather quickly as Steve exhaled sharply. "I'm guessing this isn't something exclusive to just me."

His father-in-law smirked at him then. "Sorry to say, you have something in common with a good number of us mere mortal men. Probably will be even worse for you, given...everything."

"Yeah," he grunted, acknowledging the harsh truth under that statement. Tapping his thumb against the counter's edge, he looked directly at his father-in-law, his eyes searching his face for answers. Loosening his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he inquired, "How do you...how did you figure it out?"

Leaning a hip against the counter, Paul combed through his hair, the memories of fatherhood suddenly fresh and clear as when they first happened. Teaching Hank how to ride his bike (and then later showing him how to fix the chain when it broke), assisting Heather with a diorama for school...reading Holly fairy tales at bedtime, despite working sixteen hour days and being exhausted...it all came back to him. What also came back to him was his initial mindset during those times, and he could not help but be honest.

"Son, I couldn't begin to tell you. I did the best I could, and I like to think that it was better than a lot of other alternatives." Shrugging his shoulders, he crossed over to Steve and clapped a hand on his arm. It did not banish the twinge of deflation decorating his features, but it helped soften it. Drawing himself to his full height, he declared, "So long as you love him, you'll find out what's best."

A slow, careful grin bloomed on the blond's face, eyes crinkling the corners as he digested all that had been said.

"Thanks, Paul."

The grandfather dropped his hand from his arm, flapping it in the air. "Eh, thank me by trying to sneak in one of my names for the next one."

The flush came back into Steven's face, only that time it went straight to red. "Oh, uh...that, that might not happen for a while. But, um, we, we'll discuss it. Someday."

Chuckling under his breath at the flustered look of the other man, he rolled his shoulders back and shook his head.

"Calm down, Steven. Just teasing. All I'm saying is, Paul would be a good middle name, at least. Or reuse James. Especially as that would have a double use."

Eyes widening, Steve snorted. "Noted."

The muted tread of feet along the hallway floor upstairs alerted them to the young mother of the house's movements. In a few moments, she was down the stairs, her baby swaddled in his blanket and resting in the crook of one arm. A bottle with milk was in her other hand, and a weary grin was on her lips as she nodded to both of them.

"Is he...?" Steve started, crossing over to her at once, concern in his tone. The slight shake of her head made a bloom of relief flutter through him, and he let out a low breath.

"All settled and ready to sleep again," she told him and her father. Stepping around her husband to get to the fridge, she stored the bottle that she had pumped on one of the shelves, ready to be withdrawn at a later time. Turning back to them, she hefted Grant a little higher, the swaddled bundle of child brought towards the two men. "Quick, say good-night."

Complying, the grandfather of the young one went to him, his much larger hand carefully smoothing down the little guy's skewed hair.

"One for me, one for your grandma," Paul stated, two pecks dropped on the crown of Grant's head before he moved towards the basement door. Waggling his fingers at the young couple, he muttered, "Good night, everyone."

"Night, Paul," Steve bid him, Holly's echo following shortly afterward. The basement door latched with a low click, and the patter of his feet melted away after a few seconds. Turning his attention back onto his son, barely fighting off sleep in his mother's arms, he went to them. With one hand cupping under the bundle of his boy, he bent and kissed his cheek. "Night-night, buddy."

As one, the couple walked out of the kitchen, lights turned on and off as they moved back upstairs. Once back at the nursery, Steve stopped just outside the door, watching fondly as his wife took their son to his crib, rocking him a little as she tread over the carpet.

"Sweet dreams, Baby Boy," Holly whispered, a last kiss given before she lowered him to the mattress. With him secure in the crib, she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, blowing out a breath as she looked up at her husband. "Now, let's go get three hours of sleep so we can do this all over again."

A scoff shot out of his mouth as he followed her back to their bedroom, his hand splayed in the small of her back. Grant actually had no major troubles with sleeping thus far; once he was down, he would stay down for a long time. Acknowledging the jest, he spiked an eyebrow.

"I thought next time was going to be solely my turn."

"Empathetic 'we,'" she explained, pausing in the doorway of their room and facing him. A muted giggle coursed out of her throat as she rose up on her toes a little. Meeting her partway, Steve accepted her kiss, grinning when she pulled away and licked her lips. "Mm, you taste like hops."

"Blame your old man," he excused himself, ushering her into the room fully before shutting the door. "He insisted."

"Sure, sure. Dragged you kicking and screaming into that one," she sassed, climbing in on her side of the bed.

"I may be scarred for life," he riposted, turning off the overhead light and crossing over to his side.

"Well, dads do that," his wife pointed out, waiting for him to turn up the sound on the monitor and crawl under the covers. Once he was situated, she shuffled over to him, letting her head rest upon his chest. "At least he didn't walk through the living room in just a towel while your friends were over."

Smiling up at the ceiling, he pulled up the covers around them. "Remind me to ask for that story in the morning."

"Ha," was the witty retort. After a few moments of her lightly tracing over his shirt, she muttered tiredly, "As a favor to me, don't do that to Grant, okay? I mean, he'll probably already be in therapy by the time he's five, but there's no need to pile on."

Snorting at the idea, while still admitting that it would most likely become truth in a short amount of time, Steve curled his arm tighter around her. His free hand reached over, switching off the lamp and shrouding them in darkness.

"I'll do my best, a chroí," he murmured then, eyelids falling shut as she nestled against him. Lost in dreams, it seemed that only minutes had passed before another tiny crow echoed in the monitor. Grant's cries began to increase after a few seconds, and so he forced himself to get up. Carefully, he shifted his wife off of him, pulling his pillow down to rest under her head. Breathy mumbles dropped from her lips, though her eyes remained firmly shut. Moving as swiftly and as quietly as he could, he made his way back down the hall, scrubbing his hands over his face as he went. Going into the nursery, he could see the first slivers of dawn starting to lighten the sky behind the closed curtains. Still, he turned on the lamp on the dresser, his sleep-rough voice whispering to the newborn in an attempt to sooth as he went to pick him up. The answer as to what had distressed the young one was fairly obvious as he approached, and he swiftly took the baby to the changing table. His hands still trembled a little still, even though he'd had quite a bit of practice in the last few days. Mentally remonstrating himself to be as gentle as he possibly could, it took him two tries before powder and a clean diaper were applied. Grant's cries became more like whimpers as the zipper of his pajamas was drawn back up, his little fists curled around the hand wrappers to prevent him from scratching his face. Steve's voice was a continuous hum, coaxing and cajoling him through the whole process, though his insides still quaked. Wishing to help his son become calm again, he sat them both down in the rocker, the gliders sliding easily with his movement. Resting back into the cushions, he looked down at the tiny infant, so small in his arms, and the little one stared right back. Grant's brow seemed to furrow, as though he were studying his father just as much, the slate-gray of birth in his irises making his gaze unfathomable. Soon enough, it dropped; he was too young to hold it for very long at all. Steve's broad finger brushed over the tiny whale on the chest of the pajamas, the warmth and solidity of the child he was holding anchoring him. Paul's words from earlier were circulating through his mind, reverberating a little louder with every pass.

It couldn't stay in there, couldn't be withheld any longer. Inhaling deeply, he looked down and opened his mouth.

"Hey, son. I know it's a little early in the game to have a heart-to-heart, but, well, for once I'd rather not trust to my terrible timing." The self-deprecating chuckle rumbled in his chest, and Grant merely gave a snuffling breath, little legs shaking. Cuddling him closer, he attempted to express himself better, for his own peace of mind if for nothing else. "Life is...life is more than you can imagine right now, and more than even I can, at times. But I can promise you that I do and will love you. I can't say that things will always be good, or even that I'll always be around. But how I feel about you? That won't ever go away or change, no matter what happens." The rush of feeling he had for the tiny creature, for the little boy that was part of him and part of Holly still took him by surprise, but he would not trade it away for anything. Not that he finally had it. "You have my word. And I, I hope that's enough, at least to start with. We've got a long road ahead, and I certainly want to see where it goes. You with me, buddy?"

Grant, whose eyes had closed by that point, merely sneezed, and Steve felt the corners of his mouth curve.

"Yeah," he sighed, bending and pressing a kiss into the babe's hair. That was good enough for him. Several minutes were lost in rocking and breathing, the churn in his mind finally settling. Soft, fast breaths puffed out of Grant's nose, alerting him to the fact that the infant had fallen asleep again. Slowly, Steve got out of the rocker, taking his boy back to the crib and his swaddling blanket. Wrapping him up went a little smoother than changing the diaper had. More beams of sunlight streaked outside the curtains, the pale color of them picking it up even as he turned the lamp off. Treading out the door and closing it silently, he tiptoed down the hall, intent on getting at least another hour or two of sleep.

However, when he stepped back into the master bedroom, he paused on the threshold, looking on as Holly leaned forward from her perch at the foot of the bed.

"You should be asleep," Steve reprimanded her, the sparkle in his eyes giving it away as the joke it was. Well, partial joke; as much as their son appeared to sleep fairly soundly, there was no guarantee that it would remain that way, and they both needed all the rest they could catch in between those times. She tilted her head to the side, meeting his words with a sly smile of her own.

"You're a little hard to ignore, Steven Rogers," she stated simply, the affection in her gaze lining her irises. Coming into the room, he shut the door behind him, striding over to her.

"Just a little?" he asked facetiously and diffidently, kneeling down and shuffling into the V of her legs. Arms wound around each other, his about her waist and hers around his shoulders.

"Uh-huh," she responded, toying with the short hairs at the back of his head. Tipping her head in the direction of the nightstand, she continued, "Especially when you choose to have a moment with the baby right next to the monitor."

He flicked a glance to the device, the white and gray plastic churning out mere white noise now, and he hummed under his breath.

"Heard all that, huh?" he queried, a little embarrassed. Not for saying what he had said, no; he was embarrassed that his pronouncement had an unwitting witness. Speeches were one thing, composed lines and rousing words given to motivate others could be given without feeling that way; when it was heartfelt, his true sentiments spoken, he couldn't act stoic and stiff.

"I heard enough," she professed, the pads of her fingers trailing up and down his neck. Truthfully, she had fallen right back into sleep when he was first roused to take care of Grant, but the serious, firm tone of her husband's voice had drawn her out. The tender, sweet promises made from his heart had filled her with such depth of feeling that she could barely articulate it. Instead, she leaned forward to plant a peck to his forehead. When she pulled back, her dark eyes latched onto his. "You'll keep your word."

Steve's gaze was unwavering as he looked at her, his palms squeezing her sides. "I swear I will."

"Good," Holly declared, reaching down and taking his hands in hers. For a moment they merely looked at one another, the silence of the early morning filtering around them. Soon enough, the sounds of the day—Lisa rising to help her start breakfast, Paul taking up residence in the living room with the paper, and the two of them fitting themselves in the new flow of their lives—would echo in the house, accompanied by the eventual waking of their boy, and they treasured the peace of one another's company. Considering all the changes that they'd had in the last two months, in the last two years, in that time, she felt herself straighten in her seat, her chin tipping up with surety. Well, at least minimal surety; even if she was a little afraid, she wouldn't let it get the better of her. Not that morning, at least. "We've got this. We'll figure it out together."

Bright eyes traced over her face, and Steve shuffled even closer, wrapping her in his embrace again. Resting his head upon her torso, his turned head allowed him to look at their dresser. The picture frame perched atop it, that had been perched atop it since they'd moved in, stood out against the grain of the furniture. The blue paint and words etched around it had faded a little, the sunlight that caught it during the afternoons aiding the process. The photograph within had brightened, too, but time had not taken away anything from it. Her face pressed against his, both sharing a look of happiness, and (in his own eyes, he could see it now), a glimmer of hope for the future.

"Yes, together," Steve agreed, her confidence feeding his, no matter if it was feigned or not. For better or for worse, they would find a way, for themselves and for their son.

A/N: And that, my friends, is the end of By First Light. Ahead of the typical posting day, as well. Holy cow, this has been a journey. One that I have enjoyed taking. And, at its 330,000+ word count, it is the longest story I have ever written.

Frankly, I would not have gotten this far without all of you guys. Every single one of you, from reviewers to silent readers, have given me encouragement, motivation, and aid at every turn, and there is no possible way I can adequately thank you all for that. I hope that, if this does not suffice, it will at least be a start. :-)

As I have stated before, this is not the end of Holly, Steve, and their family, nor the new Avengers' teams. The first chapter of the fourth installment (holy crap, some of you are saying) is up as well. It is entitled In Due Course, and can be found under the My Stories tab of my page. I will explain more of what my plans are for it in the author's notes there, but I do hope that you will all go check it out.

Last notes pertaining to the story—Natasha calls Grant "solnyshko" which is a Russian endearment meaning "sunshine." And the beer Clint sent Steve is based off the Nebraska Brewing Company's HopAnamoly. I'm personally not a beer person, but I know people who have tried and liked it, along with Surly and Summit's stuff (Minnesota brews, y'all).

In comic canon, Bucky did have a sister named Rebecca, and as an older brother, he had experience dealing with little ones. He's just figuring it out, again.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any pop culture references made in the text.

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