A/N: Ever since TTDW came out in theaters, I've had a heck of a time reading my way back through all the fics that have been written by this fandom. I wasn't planning on making my own contribution, but the story just formed in my head. I hope you find it interesting enough to give it a shot!


Chapter 01

Steve Rogers paused for a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow with the damp handkerchief in his pocket. He gave himself a breather too, for he normally did not run like hell for nearly an hour in the humidity New York summers were famous for. He took a deep breath and released it, before continuing to bound up the stairwell.

As soon as he received the call telling him of Jane Foster's passing and of his orders to leave for the hospital immediately, he'd done exactly that without a second to spare. He was still in his gym gear as a result, but none of that mattered. A teammate, a friend, was in dire need of help. Truth be told, Steve hadn't a single clue what he would do or say when he saw Thor. The Captain had a suspicion he'd been tasked with this partly because if the Norse God of Thunder lashed out or became violent, he was the best suited of the Avengers to control or survive such an onslaught.

Waving the thought away, Steve reached the fifth floor and pushed against the door as it acquiesced with a loud screech. His eyes darted around to take in his surroundings, heavy breathing coming through his nose.

"Excuse me, sir," he flagged down a janitor walking in the opposite direction, "might you be able to tell me where the maternity ward is located?"

The man raised an eyebrow at his appearance and pointed. "Yes, it's-"

"Thank you, sir."

He gave him a nod and dashed in the direction his finger was pointing. The Captain's head swiveled as he slowed down to a brisk walk to read the placards and arrows on the walls. A left here, a right there, a turn-around when he went the wrong way, and then another left. When he saw a man crouched next to a woman in a wheelchair both gazing attentively at the bundle in her arms, he knew he was in the right place.

In five long paces, he reached the front desk.

"Jane Foster." He stated with more curtness than intended, "There was a man here very recently looking for her, about 6'4-"

"Yes," the eldest of the three nurses behind the desk replied in a sad tone, "the poor man looked so distraught and lost. All he wanted was to know was where she was."

"We offered to call in the chaplain but-"

"Is he there now?"

"No," a man answered, "I went to go check on him a few minutes ago. He wasn't in the nursery either."

Steve sighed and dropped a fist on the counter with resignation. Where could a grieving new father be?


It was half-past four in the morning and there were not enough words in the world to properly describe the many emotions currently plaguing the Norse God of Thunder. There was "anger", that unwanted companion who shows his face when things turn contrary to expectations- Jane had gone behind his back and asked the people at SHIELD central command to withhold news she had gone into labor until the mission he'd been assigned to was complete. "Rage", that Nick Fury and his cronies had actually complied "for the sake of the mission" as one had blubbered when Thor hoisted him up by the collar. "Hurt", that Thor had missed being by Jane's side the moment the woman he loved dearly finally brought into their lives the twin boys she'd been carrying in her belly all these long months. And then there was "grief", that boundless, ancient emotion that tears at the heart and buries itself deep in the soul of the unsuspecting.

Oddly, these feelings and the many more that went unnamed did not bring confusion to his mind. Rather, Thor found his body stunned, as if waiting for someone, something, to snap him out of his stupor and explain to him, to tell him, how he was supposed to react to the sleeping babes in the room down the hall when their mother, his beloved, was lying lifeless just beyond the doorway he could not bring his legs to step though.

So he stood alone.

The longer he remained so the more he grew disgusted with his behavior. He'd seen bodies on the battlefield, their blank eyes devoid of light. All that carnage, all those images. Many a time he'd been responsible for delivering violent deaths, sometimes with Mjolnir, sometimes with only his hands. Why should this be any different? Especially in such a sanitized and quiet environment where there was no danger of an enemy taking advantage of his lapse in focus?

Thor summoned what remained of his depleted courage and took a hesitant pace forward, and then another, until he was forced to blink rapidly to bring clarity to his vision.

He was not passing though the door, he found, but moving past it. No, he refused to see her. Not like that.

Never.

Instead, Thor stumbled down the corridor and grasped at a door handle, for no reason other than it seemed like the right thing to do. The room was empty and he quietly shut the door, before moving towards a simple folding chair. He sank into it and let his body lose form, one arm in his lap and one grazing the floor. One leg jutting out and the other at a lazy angle.

And then...

Nothing.

He merely listened.

The atmosphere was calmer than he was used to. Then again, Thor had never had reason to be at a hospital at half-past five in the morning. All the appointments he had accompanied Jane to were scheduled during the day. The last one had been made to inquire why the boys were late in arriving. To his understanding, (because Thor from very early on made sure to verse himself well with the available literature on maternity, which to his astonishment was quite plentiful in Midguard) it was common for twins to have an early delivery date. But it was nothing to worry about, the doctor had assured them. In fact, they would be wishing they had used the extra time to get more sleep. The doctor had chuckled at his comment. So had Jane.


Steve peeked though the window of each door as he passed by it. If there was no window, he knocked, took a look inside, and then moved on. So far, the first twenty or so rooms yielded no Norse God of Thunder. The Captain decided the best thing to do at this point would be to finish up scouting the rest of the maternity ward and perhaps the rest of the floor before calling in to HQ to report.

He continued at this pace for another ten minutes. Had it not been for the dawn and its' first rays trickling into the rooms facing east, Steve would have missed the edge of a familiar shoe in the 39th room. As those running shoes were custom-made and issued to select SHIELD "employees", it could only mean one thing.

Thor.

Steve reached for the door handle and paused, briefly squeezing his hand into a fist as if to prepare himself.

Habit told him to knock before entering a room, so he did.

"Thor?"

Despite the lack of response, Steve knew the search was over. For a god, the man was dressed simply: jeans, a black t-shirt and a gray zip-up hoodie. Not knowing what else to do, the Captain closed the door behind him. He stood there awkwardly and slightly frustrated. Should he walk over, place a hand on Thor's shoulder and say everything was going to be alright? No, that would probably result in him getting punched clear though a wall. Quite frankly, he'd be lucky if he was still in one piece.

"Friend," Thor spoke suddenly, "I wish to be alone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Steve quickly replied, "I'll be silent, if you want, but I'm not going anywhere."

Silence.

Steve admitted he did not know what he should do next, but whatever it was, it definitely involved getting Thor out of this small room, or at least somewhere that wasn't so solitary. True, his friend was grieving, but being alone in a situation such as this... surely it wasn't good for the soul.

An idea struck him.

"Have you seen them yet?"

Thor blinked, and even against the dimness slowly dissipating against the rising sun, Steve caught a flash of confusion pass that bearded face.

It was at that moment the reality of Jane's death hit the Captain.

They hadn't been close friends at first, but what friendship begins that way? They started out as acquaintances due to sharing the same employer and because one of his colleagues happened to be her boyfriend. One day during lunch at the SHIELD cafeteria, she'd been sitting by herself next to a window looking down upon the city. Steve thought this a good opportunity to ask Jane a question that had been bugging him for over a month: how did helicopters work? He didn't ask Tony, as the man was rarely ever around and the same applied to Dr. Banner, who was somewhere in Central America at the time.

Three hours later (and very much over their lunch break), Steve found himself invited to join her and Thor that evening. Jane said it was a wonderful learning experience to have to explain how things worked to Thor whenever they went out on the town to "explore the culture and society of Midguard", as the god later phrased it. She figured having Steve tag along would kill two birds with one stone, but Jane saw his reservation and quickly understood his hesitance. "Don't worry," she smiled, "you wont be a third wheel."

And that is how he'd been introduced to Darcy.

The memory brought a sad smile to his face. It was through those weekly get-togethers that he had gotten a better understanding of the modern world and become good friends with Thor and Jane.

Steve sniffed.

"C'mon." His voice left no room for negotiation: this man would see sons Jane had given her life to bring to this world.

Steve reached an arm around his friend and lifted Thor to get him standing. Even with the Captain's enhanced strength, the Norse God of Thunder was a heavy fellow.

Out of the room they went, around some corners (and questioning looks, whether it was because of his sweat-stained clothes or the fact that he was assisting a man with the frame of a professional football player), but before too long they were inching their way towards the chorus of crying newborns.

"Hear that?" Steve breathed out, "I bet your boys are leading the pack."

The trudging brought back the all too real recollection of helping wounded buddies escape the torrent of enemy bullets through mud and rain. This man, the one he was trudging with had a wound that was not visible and would probably never heal.

"Look," Steve edged his friend to the large window, "look at all the babies here. Something of a sight, don't you think?"

He was relieved to see that for the first time his friend exhibited something other than a withdrawn demeanor. Thor actually looked interested.

"Wow, they actually helped us a bit," Steve had to smile. " See? They placed 'em right in front of us."

True enough, there they were: two babies wrapped in light blue blankets all too eager to find out which of the two had the more powerful set of lungs. "Thorson" was all the two placards read. The Norse God of Thunder leaned in and placed his forehead against the glass, taking in the sight.

It was a striking contrast, Steve observed: the sons wailing, the father quiet.

"They..." Thor began. He pursed his lips and lowered his eyes, leaving the sentence hanging and unfinished.


A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. It started off on a bit of a somber note, don't you think? Worry not, for it'll pick up from here. R&R ladies and gents!