November 13, 2000, Malibu

Tony Stark was not hungover. Tony Stark didn't get hangovers, especially not after a single day's partying. He didn't have a headache nor did he feel sick. He was fine.

'Sir, your blood alcohol levels are staggeringly high. Would you like some water?'

'Coffee please, JARVIS. You know I'm allergic to water.'

'Of course, sir.'

Tony sighed as he pushed himself into a seated position. It was a really good party, even if most people had to leave before 3am. He'd have to have another one soon or he'd go insane.

'JARVIS!' He shouted, getting the AI's attention. He'd only had the robotic butler for a few days but was very quickly getting used to him. 'Get my schedule for next weekend ready. I need to organise a party.'

'Very good, sir.' JARVIS said. 'Should I let your guest in?'

'Guest?' Tony said, looking at the ceiling, where he always imagined JARVIS to be. 'What guest?'

'The woman waiting outside your door.'

Tony perked up, eyes glinting. Woman? Maybe the blonde from last night, or the brunette? He wasn't picky, he would be happy to see either of them.

'Don't worry, JARVIS. I'll answer the door myself.'

He headed downstairs, ignoring the dozens of condolence cards he had been sent over the last month. People seemed to forget his father wasn't actually dead yet, although the doctors only gave him a few more weeks. Tony supposed the cards could be about his mother, but none of the writing seemed to suggest it.

'Sir, your guest is leaving.' JARVIS informed him, causing Tony to pick up speed. He didn't want to miss whoever was at his door. 'She's left something on your doorstep.'

Tony's speed increased even more. He ignored his increasing headache- he did not have a hangover- as he raced down, practically slamming into door to get it open.

He stepped over the bundle on the step, ignoring it for a second in favour of looking around for his visitor. He didn't see anyone, not even when he walked out of the driveway to look down the street. He sighed, walking back into his house and almost closing the door on the bundle.

Then the bundle started crying.

Tony froze, spinning slowly, as if the baby will disappear if he takes time to look at it. This apparently was a bad idea as the baby soon started wailing, Tony instantly turning to pick him up. He held the baby the way he had seen his parents do it, whenever they had a photo shoot.

'Shh, shh, its okay, its okay.' He muttered, slowly rocking the little boy from side to side. He shut the door with his foot, wincing when it slammed and the baby cried louder. Hr tried not to shout as he continued, rushing the baby through the house. 'JARVIS! Explain!'

'It's a baby, sir. A little over a month old.'

'I know that.' He snapped, rocking the baby again. Part of him wondered why he was doing this, why he hadn't instantly taken the boy to an orphanage but the majority of his mind was instantly against that. 'Where did he come from? Why is he crying?'

He had made into his lab now, holding the baby in one arm and turning on some of the machines.

'There is a letter on his blanket, sir. I believe he's crying because he's cold.'

Tony nodded, placing the baby down for a second to take off his jacket. Once he had the baby wrapped up again, and not crying, he pulled the letter off, scanning over it.

Dear Tony,

As I'm sure you've figured out, this is your son. He was born October 9th and needs you to look after him. I can't and you know why, so you're all he has. He doesn't have a name yet, so it's up to you to decide. Don't search for me, don't even tell him my name. I don't want to be a part of his life, sad as that makes me.

Look after our son.

B

Tony face fell slightly, realising he had already guessed what the letter told him. His son, he had a son. He knew instantly who wrote the letter and curse his own flirtatious and competitive nature. He looked down at his son, watching his little face staring at one of Tony's brighter experiments.

'JARVIS, order me some baby supplies.'

'Yes sir. Would you like this to be a private transaction?'

Tony paused, looking down at the baby in his arms. The boy was staring up at him now, green eyes twinkling as he smiled. Tony realised he couldn't let anything happen to him. There was already rumours that his parents accident wasn't an accident. He wouldn't let that happen to his boy.

'Yes. Completely secret, I don't want anyone knowing he exists.'

'Very good sir.' JARVIS responded, as Tony sat down on a stool and rocked his son. 'Could I ask about a name, sir?'

'Howard.' Tony said, almost instinctively. Since the accident, his father had never been too far from his mind. 'Howard Edwin Stark. Clear my schedule for the next month or two JARVIS. Tell people I'm grieving.'

If he did have a hangover, he had most definitely sobered up.

April 22, 1998, Asgard

'I always wanted to be an uncle. Took you long enough.'

Thor turned to glare at his brother, Loki merely raising an eyebrow back. Thor was ignoring the crib newly installed in his chambers in favour of pouting while Loki tried to keep his own child still, holding Fenrir down in a vain attempt to get the nots out of his fur.

'Be quiet, Loki. I am in no mood for your jokes.'

The year old wolf in Loki's arms squirmed as his father tries to scratch behind his ears.

'I am not joking, brother.' Loki said, hitting his son lightly on the nose. 'But this jape of yours is going on to long. Why won't you hold the girl? Have you even named her yet?'

Thor glared, as lightening cracked in the background. Fenrir whined and Loki glared back, trying to calm his boy. Thor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hadn't called the storm, not every work of the weather was his doing.

'She'll be named for the mother who died birthing her. The strong, beautiful mother who I had to trade for this weakling.'

Loki sighed, letting out a deep breath and setting Fenrir down. The wolf cub instantly ran to the crib, jumping onto his uncle's bed to get a better look.

'Alfhilda? You hate that name, Thor. Besides, she's two days old Thor, the medics have only just let her out of their sight. You cant expect her to be strong straight away.'

'Why not? You were.' Thor said, eyes hardening. He would not allow his brother to trick him into loving the girl. 'The medics say she will be sickly for some time.'

Loki had made it over the crib, letting his niece hold onto his finger. He waited for the thunder to die down before replying.

'She was born too early Thor. She will grow fine and reach maturity at the same rate everyone else does.' Loki pulled a face into the crib, getting a giggle from both children. 'She's your daughter, whether you like it or not.'

'She is small and weak.' Thor scowled, looking out of the window, still refusing to face the crib. 'I doubt she'll survive the winter.'

'Oww! Kia, no!'

Thor turned slightly, seeing Fenrir backing away from the crib and rubbing his nose with a paw. Loki is leaning over, moving his sons paw away to get a better look. Even as he did, a girl, appearing in her early twenties, almost identical to the Trickster, ran in.

'What'd she do? What did Kia do?'

Loki glared lightly at his daughter, picking Fenrir up. 'You're supposed to be looking after your siblings, Hel. Not hanging around here.'

The goddess blushed as her father stood, linking arms with her and heading out the room.

'Wait!' Thor shouted, ignoring the small wails beginning to come from the crib. 'Where are you going? Who's Kia?'

Loki turned his head back, smirking slightly. 'Well, brother, it looks like your weakling daughter broke my sons nose.'

Hel's mouth opened and she tried to lean past her father to get another look at the crib. Loki simply pushed her in front of him.

'Who's Kia, brother? Who are your children talking about?'

Loki handed Fenrir down to Hel, pushing her in the direction of his quarters. 'I do believe my children decided to name your daughter themselves. I must say, I prefer it to Alfhilda.'

Thor scowled after his brother, the wailing and wind behind him growing louder. He headed back towards the window, seeing if he can make the storm lessen. Maybe if he did, the baby would stop crying.

He stopped the storm. The baby kept crying.

Thor dropped his head into his hands as the wind blew around him. He wouldn't go to the crib, he just wouldn't.

Oh, dammit, he would.

He approached slowly, as if the child would attack at any moment. He glanced again at the door, willing Loki to appear out of nowhere and pick up the girl. No such luck.

'Okay.' He said to himself, peering down at the crib. The baby continued to cry but looked up at him curiously. 'It's alright. You're alright.'

The curious look went and she was crying again. Thor groaned, awkwardly bending down to pick up his daughter. It wasn't that he had never held a child before, just never one so small. He didn't expect the fierce rush of protectiveness he got, nor the love that poured into his heart.

'You're alright. You're safe, Kia, your father's got you.'

The girl- who Thor supposed he had started to call Kia- looked up at him, the tears drying in her eyes. The wind died down as she smiled, Thor walking her towards the windows. Kia smiled at the stars, a warm breeze surrounding them.

'I won't let anything happen to you.'

July 7, 2002, Indonesia

Natasha Romanoff didn't believe in luck, Clint Barton did. This had lead to several arguments between the two in first week of their daughter's life.

'We are not calling her Lucky, Clint!' Natasha hissed, keeping her voice down as the girl had only just gotten to sleep. 'She'll be mortified. No references to lucky, please.'

Natasha had said the same thing sixteen times since she had given birth. Clint had replied the same way each time.

'Nat, we some how managed to have this baby without anyone finding out. That is incredibly lucky.'

She glared again, the look causing him to stop, his head bowing. Natasha smirked to herself, her head moving back onto the pillow. They couldn't get a doctor, fearing the news of their child would get out, so Clint had been forced to deliver the baby, using very rudimentary medicine.

'Doesn't matter how lucky it was, Clinton. We are bot called our daughter that. Or Lucy, or anything like that.'

Clint pouted, slumping in his seat and staring at the two girls. His baby is resting on her mother's stomach, a faint smile on her sleeping face. They had been terrified when Natasha realised she was pregnant, trying to think of thousands of ways to keep it a secret.

Their luck had come when SHIELD sent them on a two year mission, only three months into Natasha's pregnancy. The aim was for information so they had set up hidden cameras and microphones everywhere they needed them, then retreated to a cabin in the forest, far away from prying eyes. No one had seen them and no one knew the child existed.

'Well, then, what name do you like? If she's getting my surname, makes sense you chose the first name.'

Natasha laughed softly. Clint had argued against the baby having his name but she had too much in her past for her to dump it on her daughter. Clint, although not always a hero, was a villain for far less time than she was. The baby would have his name.

'What about Sophia? It means wisdom.'

Clint nodded, pulling a chair up to her bed and picking up the little girl. She barely stirred as her position changed, leaning against her father easily.

'It's nice. But what about Sophie, instead? It'll mean the same thing but its a bit shorter. Simpler.'

Natasha smiled, taking Clint's free hand. She liked the idea of simple. 'Okay, Sophie it is. But a name doesn't help us figure out what to do with her.'

'We raise her.' Clint said, as if it was obvious. 'We still have eighteen months here, Nat. If she's not old enough then, we'll find someone to care for her until she is.'

'Old enough for what?' Natasha frowned, lifting herself onto her elbows.

'Old enough to keep a secret. Old enough to look after herself. Then she can come live with us on the Helicarrier or wherever we are at the time.'

Natasha shook her head, running a hand over her daughters tiny head. 'It won't work. Anyway, that's no way to raise a child.'

Clint shook his head, transferring the baby to Natasha's arms. After a week, this action had become almost instinctive, Natasha shifting instantly to hold her correctly. They were good parents, Clint thought, and no one would ever convince him otherwise.

'It will work, Tash, I promise you. This is our daughter, our little Sophie. It'll work because we'll make it work, she'll make it work. How do think she'd feel if we abandoned her? Just left her in an orphanage somewhere?'

The former Russian knew straight away that she had lost the argument. Clint hated orphanages, more than everything but the man who taught him to shoot. Unless she could find Sophie someone to live with, someone Clint trusted and could visit every other month, she would never be able to give her up. Not that she really wanted to.

'I know, Clint, I know.' She smiled slightly, kissing Sophie's head. 'I just don't want her hurt. There's so many people after us, how could we look after her? What if we're called away on another mission like this?'

'We'll take her with us.' Clint smiled, far larger than Natasha's. He pressed a kiss to Sophie's forehead, then to Natasha's. 'Come on, Nat, have a bit of faith. Our girl's the luckiest in the world, she'll be fine. When I'm away, you'll look after her and vice versa. If we both have to go, one of us will take her, whoever's best. It'll work Tasha, I promise you.'

She looked at him, half cradling his baby while she still held her. She didn't want to say no, couldn't say no. Not when Clint was begging. She didn't know if she loved him but she couldn't break his heart.

'Okay.' She muttered, head falling forward to press against his. 'We'll make it work.'

The luckiest girl in the world stayed nestled between her parents, sleeping on.

November 7, 2001, Egypt

...calm down, calm down, calm down...

Bruce repeated the mantra over and over again as his wife gave birth. This was not good, he could feel the Other Guy straining against every defence he had, every technique he used to stay relaxed.

...please, please, don't, you'll make it worse...

Then there was a baby crying.

His head whipped up, eyes a mess of green and brown. A baby, his baby, and it was crying. It sounded healthy and all Bruce wanted was to rush in there and hold them, Betty and the baby. But the doctors were stricter in the slums and, until they knew Bruce had no diseases, they weren't letting him anywhere near the baby, or Betty.

The crying stopped and the green in his eyes increased. He bowed his head again, in case someone were to look, someone were to see.

'Mr Banner?'

He had to look up again, running a hand over his face in an attempt to hide his eyes. The nurse is speaking Egyptian but he wouldn't be a very good doctor if he didn't know the patients' language. He and Betty have been in Egypt eight months, long enough for him to pick up the tongue on a mediocre level.

'Your wife has given birth to a son. He's very healthy, just a bit tired out. I'm afraid you still can't see him, we're still running your blood tests. But, if you give us a moment, you'll be able to see little James.'

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, nodding his thanks to the nurse. She smiled, walking along the corridor and away from him. The pressure in his mind is ever increasing, wanting to see its son, wanting to see Betty.

Bruce would always be disgusted that the Other Guy considered James his son. If there was anything good in the world- not that Bruce had an overwhelming amount of evidence to suggest so- the baby would be normal, no anger management or split identity issues in sight. Bruce just wanted his son to be human, not a freak or a monster.

...not like you...he'll never be like you...

He wondered, not for the first time, if it would be better if he just left. General Ross would be tracking him down and would probably arrive within a week. If he left, Betty would be safe and James would be raised in one place, without fear of soldiers coming to get him. It would be better for everyone.

But Betty would have killed him if he even thought of leaving so he didn't. Just stayed, dragging his wife around the globe with him. It was fun, he supposed. In a life-endangerment kind of way.

The crying started again and he had to close his eyes, fingers gripping the armrests in a vain attempt to stop himself from exploding. Doctors were rushing around him, a stampede of voices and footsteps, all at once. Ferrying medicine from one room to another as fast as they could.

'Bruce! Bruce, help!'

He looked up, eyes wild and florescent. It wasn't doctors stampeding but soldiers. Not medicine they were holding but Betty and James. They were taking his baby.

It took him mere seconds to change, the ceiling above him crumbling in as every muscle he had expanded, his skin stretching painfully. At that moment, he didn't care about the pain, he just wanted his son back.

The soldiers holding Betty and the baby sped up, dragging his wife with them. Bruce's son was crying more and more, the sound echoing off the breaking walls. Bruce watched all this through the Other Guy's eyes, saw the world tinted with green.

...save James, keep him safe...

For the first time ever, the Other Guy listened to him, heading straight out of the hospital. Normally, the screams and yells around him would have distracted him but he was too focused, too worried about his son to care about anything else.

...my son, not yours...my son...

The Other Guys burst out or the hospital, heading straight for the soldier holding James. In one swift movement, he had the baby in his hand and the soldier dead at his feet. Bruce, inside his mind, had retreated, refusing to look, refusing to even think about it. The actions weren't his anymore.

The Other Guy kept James close to his chest, cradling him with just one hand. With his other hand he attacked the soldiers, hitting each of them away with enough force to kill them instantly. When all were gone, he finally looked down at his son, disappointed by what he saw. There was no green in sight, even James's eyes, staring up at him, were pure brown. This was Banner's baby, not his. Although, his primitive mind reasoned, Banner was him, so James was his.

'Bruce?'

He looked up, knowing the name was meant to be his. Betty was stood there, her hair all over the place, her eyes red and her leg bleeding. She was staring at him, walking slowly towards him. He pulled James closer to his chest, scared she'll take the baby from him.

'Bruce, give me James. Please, Bruce, he needs me.'

He backed away from her, holding his baby even closer to him. He was still gentle and the baby was still calm.

'Bruce, please.' Betty muttered, within reach now. 'Give me the baby.'

She was panicked, he realised, staring at her. She stared at him, breathing heavily. She should have stayed calm. If she had been calm, he might have been.

'Bruce!' She shouted, stepping right next to him. 'Give me James!'

He reacted, she flew backward, he heard a snap. Banner, in his mind, stirred slightly but the Other Guy was running before he could wake, getting as far away as he can.

iFve Months Ago, Manhattan

Steve Rogers was alone. The gym had emptied over an hour ago, the owner saying he would return to lock up. Steve still had three hours before anyone would turn up to break his reverie. Which was good because he didn't really want someone seeing him break a dozen punching bags.

He wasn't having a good week. It had started with him trying to reenlist in the army, only to be rejected. The man behind the counter hadn't given a clear reason for the rejection, citing some vague law in the six-hundredth page of the army rule book. He'd been shepherded out of the building within seconds, the workers claiming they had dozens of people to talk to, despite the building being almost deserted. The only reason he could think of was SHIELD. They did say they'd be keeping an eye on him.

With nothing to do, and with a slight sick curiosity, he had visited the Smithsonian, heading straight to exhibition about him and his friends. That had been a very bad idea.

If seeing Bucky and the other Commando's pictures and stories hadn't upset him, seeing Peggy's did. Not only did seeing her break his heart- especially as the display clearly stated she had died a year ago- but seeing the three smaller displays next to hers was devastating.

Directly next to Peggy's display was one about Steven Rogers Jr. Steve had almost walked past, thinking it was just another piece about him, when he saw the dates. This boy had been born seven months after he 'died'. His son, his and Peggy's son, and he had died a year before Steve made it out of the ice.

The display explained how Steven was America's golden boy, joining the army by the time he was twenty. Apparently, part of the Serum had passed down to him, slowing his aging after he reached eighteen. So, when he met Melissa Murdock, the army's best pilot, he looked and felt closer to her twenty seven than his own forty six. Within five years, they were married, Steven's daughter born when the man was fifty four.

Then the fire had happened.

The family of three had been living in the countryside with Peggy, playing happy families. Despite only physically being in his forties, Steven had with the army for almost fifty years and his wife was slowly getting older than him. He deserved retirement. The four of them had lived happily until, in November of 2011, their house was set on fire. Everyone, the whole of America, agreed it was foul play and mourned the loss of Agent Carter, America's golden boy, his wonderful wife and their sweet daughter.

The next day, Steve had gone to the graveyard. Five graves stood in a row, right in the center of the grass. His, Peggy's, Steven's, Melissa's and little Elizabeth's. Flowers littered the graves, mostly on his despite him being 70 years 'dead' and now reported alive again. He had taken half the flowers off his grave and placed them on his granddaughter's, staring at the dates with tears in his eyes. She was twelve when she died, far too young.

He had left the graveyard before anyone saw him crying.

So, a week on, he was in the gym, taking his anger and depression out on punching bags. It wasn't helping him.

Behind him, the door opened and he turned slightly to look. A teenager, based on the height, had walked in, hood drawn up and backpack clutched to their chest. They moved to the boxing ring, sitting down on the edge and pulling out a phone. Steve watched them for a few more seconds before turning back to the punching bag. The teenager glanced between their phone and Steve several times as the soldier hit the bag.

'Excuse me?' She said, for it was definitely a she. Steve turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

'Are you talking to me?'

The girl ran a hand through her short cropped hair, knocking off the hood as she did so. Whoever she was, she must have lived rough, based on the dirt on her face. 'Um...yeah. There's no one else in here.'

Steve smirked, stepping away from the bag. The girl's southern accent was interesting, to say the least. She must have been a long way from home. 'What can I help you with?'

'Well, I'm looking for my grandpa. You seen him?'

Steve chuckled slightly, leaning on the ropes of the ring. 'We don't get many granddad's in the gym, I'm afraid. Why do you think he'd be here?'

'News said so.' She shrugged, holding up her phone. 'See. "Recently resurrected Steve Rogers, father of the late Steven and grandfather of the late Elizabeth can be frequently seen at Colbert's Gym, Manhattan". Says right there he's my grandpa.'

Steve took the phone, reading over the article. It had pictures of him, Steven and Elizabeth, lined up next to each other. He had to admit, this girl did bear a striking resemblance to Elizabeth. 'It also says Rogers' granddaughter is dead. Little problem there.'

The blonde shrugged again, taking her phone back. 'Guess not dying runs in the family.'

She smiled and he knew that smile. It was Peggy's smile, a smile he would know anywhere. He smiled back, holding out his hand.

'Steve Rogers, at your service.'

Elizabeth took his hand, nodding happily. 'Lizzie Rogers. Nice to meet you.'

A/N: This is a rewrite of the original story but will hopefully be better, will definitely be longer and should be part of a series. Hope you enjoy it.