Author's Note: …Hi, everyone. It has been awhile since we've made a full journey into the Of Time universe, huh? Well…we're doing it again, my friends.

It's not so much as a Part Six as a…Part 5.5. Kind of how Captain America: Civil War should really have been The Avengers 2.5, but I digress.

We are taking another leap into the Of Time series, fast-forwarding a couple of years into the future to do so.

For the newcomers: as I have stated, this is part of my established series for Captain America called the Of Time series. Due to that, I will recommend you read the five main stories prior to this one. Otherwise, there will be plot points and characters mentioned, plus motivations, that will not make sense and are not necessarily canonical. Truth be told, it has not been canonical since roughly the end of Age of Ultron on, so that is something to keep in mind. To eradicate confusion, please read those stories first.

Lastly, I will iterate that this story is UNBETA'ED. Nowadays, I have a more typical 9-to-5 schedule, but it can still vary enough that having a beta reader is not feasible. Therefore, I edit, proofread, and alter my stories myself. If I have made any errors, there are my own, and I apologize.

That's enough for now…onward to the story…

October 3rd, 2020

A sigh poured out of the young woman as she checked the list on her phone. In one arm, she balanced her youngest child, the small girl clinging to her like a koala. Around her shoulder, her purse straps were looped, and she had the plastic straps of store bags cutting into her forearm. She grimaced as her back ached, the weight borne with little grace. Her other hand was filled, her son's small palm gripping hers as they walked. He had taken her admonishments seriously when they had entered the mall, not letting go of her hand except to hold onto the sweatshirt she had tied around her waist.

She would not have put it past him to run off if he had the chance, inquisitive little bugger that he was, and so she had to phrase it as "so important" and "setting an example for his sister, since he was older." The sense of duty in the child seemed abnormal, but the young mother chalked it up to the father's influence.

After all, Holly Rogers didn't think she could expect any less from the son of the former Captain America.

Taking the Saturday off from managing her bookstore (the gift of the lease given to her by Tony Stark was building, slowly), she had wanted to go to the mall outside of Gloversville for a few things. As much as she and her husband loved the village they lived outside of, it did not have much to offer for shopping variety. She needed to get a couple new pairs of pants for Grant—the boy was growing all the time, and was among the tallest of the four-year-olds in his preschool class—as well as finding a gift for her nephew's upcoming birthday. He was still in that age range that enjoyed action figures and Legos, so she felt better about the selection to be had at the mall.

The time had shown that they had been wandering around, and having made purchases, for a couple of hours by that point. The child in her grip grunted, nestling her face against her shoulder as her son tipped his head back.

"Mommy, can we go home?" Grant asked, her hand being tugged as well. Looking down, she smiled at the speaker. Blue eyes peered up at her, and his lip went out in a small pout. "I'm hungry."

"Hungwy," crooned the toddler in her mother's arm, agreeing with her brother. Holly darted a glance to Iris, grinning tiredly as the child brushed blonde strands out her dark eyes and failed to tuck them back. Looking from her back to Grant, she let out a slow exhale.

"I know you both want to get outta here." She squeezed her son's palm, and nuzzled her daughter's hair. "Just a couple more minutes. Mommy has to stop in that store to pick something up."

She nodded to the store at the end, the one with a big red W above it (Grant was already learning his alphabet, and was proud that he knew what the letter was). Eagerly, he picked up his pace, recognizing the store as well. Mommy had talked about getting candy there after Halloween that year, though Daddy had said something about sugar being the last thing Grant needed more of.

Maybe Mommy would get him some candy, anyway. Daddy liked it, too, though he liked to pretend otherwise.

"Whatcha gettin' now?" the boy dared to ask his mother. She squeezed his palm again, helping guide him around some of the people walking

"Something just for mommies to use," she told him, and he frowned.

"Hmph," he grunted. It wasn't something his mother told him often, but the few times he could remember being told that something was for grown-ups only, and that he would understand when he was older, he had felt irritated.

Holly looked down at him again, the dark brown waves of her hair shifting as she watched him march along with her. As antsy and excitable as he could be at times, Grant really had been on his best behavior on the trip. Iris, too, had been sweet, rarely crying or demanding of anything other than getting something to eat earlier. Meltdowns did not happen often with either of them, but she knew her children could be capable of such displays.

That they weren't after trudging up and down the mall for so long made her proud and pleased.

Pausing in her steps, she waited until her son met her gaze again, curiosity flooding his bright irises.

"Tell you what, Grant: you and Iris have both been so good today, how about we get some ice cream on the way home?" she asked him, the corner of her mouth lifting. Iris raised her head, the promise of a treat making her squeal with delight.

Grant, too, was beaming, swinging his and his mother's arms back and forth in his excitement.

"Really? Okay!" he said, hopping from foot to foot. Holly smiled at her children, warmth filling her throughout.

"Okay, so you both just gotta be good until I get my mommy thing, and then—"

A loud, horrible bang echoed through the open air of the mall, the high ceilings and wide walls allowing it to travel rapidly. Grant and Iris had been startled by the noise, but what truly had Holly cringing were the screams that started to build. The crowds around them split off, some people running in the direction of the exits, and others heading to the nearest stores in a bid for safety. Gates began to slide down left and right, some people diving under benches and behind kiosks. Unable to process what was happening, Grant felt something curl around his stomach and hoist him up. Holly started to jog, wanting to get her children away from whatever it was that was threatening the mall.

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest. Two years of peace, two years of quiet with her husband retired and their family settling into the home had lulled her into a false sense of safety. All her times spent in school, running drills for attackers and shooters came flying back into her mind. She had grown up in dangerous times, when people brought guns to movie theaters, clubs, and schools and killed with no remorse. And with her husband being who he was...she should not have thought that retirement might mean the world would let them be.

It was never that simple.

Turning a corner, Holly pressed her back against the wall, gasping for air. The hard wheezes were not enough to drown out the shouts and screams, nor did they distract her from the wails of her daughter. Grant, having shifted to cling as well as he could to her, was likewise breathing heavily, his innocent gaze darting to her.

"Mommy?" he whispered, his voice shaking with unshed tears. Holly opened her mouth, more gasps flying out, when stomping steps started to echo. Swallowing hard, she dared to peek around the corner. Her heart simultaneously froze and sank. Several men—and a couple women, judging by their builds—were strapped into black tactical gear. Some were holding guns, others had them strapped and holstered in. Hard helmets capped their heads, and their faces all had black paint smeared over them. They had halted in one of the atriums a fair distance away, hauling up people and holding them midair. One old man was in a burly fellow's grip, being shaken as he demanded answers.

"—Saw her go this way," the fellow's voice ground out, the growling echoing and reverberating as he demanded answers. "You see a brown-haired bitch with two brats run by?"

Ducking back around, Holly's gaze shifted frantically around wide hall, landing on a nondescript door. It was her best option the nearest exit was too far away, and she knew the risks were climbing the longer she stalled, or kept running through the mall. Hustling over to it, she put her son back onto his feet, telling him to grab her sweatshirt as she pried the door open. The panels gave way, and Holly pushed through the door then, Grant shuffling alongside her and Iris. She slammed it shut behind them, and took stock of their surroundings again. It was an old service hall, gray concrete broken up by the odd door or two. Several carts lined the hall as well, some filled with scraps from store remodels and another with mannequin pieces. Quickly, she put Iris and the bags down, instructing Grant to hold onto his sister. The two children watched as their mother shoved a trash-laden cart in front of the door, blocking access as swiftly as she could. Huffing and puffing, Holly braced a hand on her stomach as she tried to catch her breath. She did not pause for long, instead turning back to her children and holding out her arms to them. Carrying a four-year-old and a toddler would be no sinecure, but she knew she would be able to get them to safety faster that way. The purse was picked up, too, though the shopping bags were left behind.

Trying to run, Holly could only manage an abbreviated jog, her determination to get her children somewhere safe bolstering her. A twist and a turn later, she was in another service hall, though there was a door close at hand. Biting her lip, she came to the fast conclusion of hiding them inside, if it were open.

The black-garbed people were looking for her. She would not let them have her boy and girl.

Grant was put back onto his feet, his worried whimpers mingling with his sister's as Holly wrenched at the door handle and shouldered the panels. After a few thumps, it finally yielded, the light from the hall flooding in. Quickly, she seized Grant's hand and pulled him in with her and Iris. Kicking the door shut with her foot, Holly looked around the room while trying to breathe properly again.

Boxes were stacked up on shelves, each one labeled for one of the grossly-overpriced stores they had avoided that afternoon. The shelving units jutted out from the walls, creating a small alcove. Putting Iris and her purse down, Holly grabbed the lip of an opened box, tugging it down and spilling its contents across the floor. Hastily, she shoved the clothes into the alcove, making a cushion. Ushering her children over, she sat Grant down first, resolution hardening within her as she made Iris sit on his lap and instructed him to hold her. He complied, but his little sister was not pleased.

"Mama!" Iris cried, struggling in her brother's arms to get to Holly as tears dripped down her cheeks. Trying his best to hold onto his wriggling sister, the young boy groaned.

"Mommy," Grant tried to say, only to be met by his mother's finger being placed over his lips.

"Shh!" she hushed him, her voice no louder than a whisper. Turning, she dug around in her purse, pulling out something that looked like the tin she had mints in. It was small and black, a bright red light on it flashing when she pressed a button on the side. Pressing it into his hand, she murmured, "Grant, you stay here with your sister. Hold onto this. Do not make a sound or come out, no matter what you hear."

"But, but—"

"I have to go, make sure they don't hurt either of you," she explained, cupping his cheek then. Looking him directly in the eyes, she pushed down her fright and told him, "Wait here until your dad comes, okay? Wait for Daddy."

The deep fear in his eyes was impossible to overlook, and she had to choke back a sob at the utter terror and confusion her children were feeling in that moment. Biting her lip, she paused until Grant nodded, mumbling a promise to hide until their father could come. Knowing that time was running out, Holly surged forward, clutching her children in her arms once more.

"Love you, Grant," she said to her son, a peck dropped in his hair before she planted one in her daughter's too. "Love you, Iris."

When she let go, she felt the devastation ripple from the two children, but she would not linger. Every second spent there put Grant and Iris in further danger, and she would rather die herself than do that to them. She scooted back, snatching up her purse and hastily ducking out the supply room door.

"Mama," she heard Iris sob, her heart wrenching as her boy shushed her. She felt cracking in her soul as she turned the inward lock, and her son's voice crowing low broke her heart into smaller pieces.

"Shh, Rissy, shh."

Silently shutting the door, Holly took in a shaky breath, listening for any signs of the attackers. Shouts and screams could be heard in the distance, boots stomping along as well, and she inhaled deeply. In one swift motion, she brought up her purse, slamming it onto the door handle. After another couple of swings, the handle broke off, effectively locking the door and preventing the unknown attackers from getting in. She was never more thankful that her bag was always filled to bursting and heavy those days (two toddlers and a reading habit meant she had so many objects in there). Hurriedly, she snatched up the handle, jogging away from the door, tears flooding into her eyes as she ran. Hurtling through the halls, she found herself lost in the warren of back hallways. Dodging around, she could hear the nearby tramping of boots, and her stomach dropped.

At the end of the hall, an emergency exit door was propped open, three more men rushing in. The small spark of hope in her had died when she saw the tactical gear, and the three of them halting upon spotting her. The tallest of the three pointed at her, and they all rushed over to her. Her fear made her instinctively back up a few paces, but she forced herself not run back. She needed to keep her children safe; she would not let whoever these people were find them. As they drew closed, she widened her stance, a familiar voice whispering at the back of her brain to put herself in a stronger position for defense. Her breath stuttered when she spotted something else upon the approaching men: though tattered and shredding, the remains of a patch, half the top of a skull and a worn tentacle or two was stitched into the shoulder plating.

HYDRA, even after all that time, was still there, lurking in the shadows and threatening all. Her lips thinned as her heart pounded in dread.

The lead fellow, his black-painted face splitting as he grinned grimly, palmed a walkie-talkie that had been clipped to his belt. Depressing the button, he spoke into it, revealing their location and their discovery. Instructions to detain came back, the wiry garble grinding on her ears. Holly frowned, but otherwise stayed still (even though every synapse was sparking and screaming for her to run).

"Where are the kids?" the tall fellow asked, staring her down. Her insides quaked, but she feigned bravado, lifting her chin. Did they really think she would give up her children that easily?

"Fuck you," she grunted, practically spitting on him. The fellow in front of her rolled his eyes, not phased by the cursing at all. Instead, he strode closer, hand darting out swiftly. Catching her by her throat, he squeezed. It was enough to threaten, but not harm. On impulse, her free hand grasped his wrist, and her chin rose, sharp breaths floating out her nose.

No, he would not harm her, no matter how much he wished to.

"Answer me," he grumbled, thumb pressing in a little more to accentuate his point.

"I did," she spat as best she could. Narrowing her eyes, she continued, "I said, FUCK YOU!"

Before it could register with either, her knee came up, smashing squarely into his privates. For the briefest second, she felt elation; she was glad the man had no cup on in the tactical gear. As he groaned and bent, and before his compatriots could grab her, she rapidly swung her purse, clipping the man along the jaw. He yelped as he fell, though he did manage to grab the purse as he went. She went down as well, though she took advantage of the fall by rolling away from another would-be captor. The purse split, the contents scattering on the floor. Hastily, she snatched up two things she always carried with her for protection: the collapsible bat she had been gifted years ago, and a canister of pepper spray.

The second fellow, only a couple inches taller than her, surged forward, only to screech and fall back in pain. Holly had just thumbed the button on the end of the bat, extending it, and it plowed directly into the man's nose. A sickening crunch was heard, and as he stumbled back, she felt her throat constrict. Unlike her husband, and his friends, she was not used to the sound of breaking bones, and it made her sick to think about. She had little time to spare for the thought, though, as the first fellow was recovering from his temporary wounds and the third was not willing to sit idly by any longer. Wildly, she brandished her bat, trying to keep them far enough away to release the spray from the canister. Old training kicked in, Clint Barton's voice commanding her to drop her knee there, drive back her elbow here.

However, she was one woman, and an average one at that. She was no Avenger, unlikely the majority of her acquaintance those days. Her fighting skills left much to be desired. Soon enough, the bat was taken out of her grip, the canister of pepper spray only emitting one blast before it was likewise knocked away. Sputtering and coughing along with her assailants, she attempted to run through the tear-inducing haze, she tripped over her own feet. Crawling along the floor, she felt hands wrap around her ankles, pulling her back into the fray. Flailing, she tried to punch the grabber, but instead felt the shock of electric prongs sting her side. The intensity of the pain was enough to shake her into unconsciousness, the fight ending with little ceremony.

All three fellows glanced at one another, tears from the spray dissipating as they wondered at her. For being only a civilian, she had put up more of a fight than they had anticipated. The third fellow pocketed his stun gun while the second finally removed his gloved hands from around his face.

"Bwode my fuggin' node..." he moaned, revealing the smear of blood and the bend of the appendage. The first fellow shook his head, shifting to accommodate his aching parts as well.

Gesturing to Holly's prone form, he grunted, "Grab her, we gotta get out of here."

The third man raised his chin, flicking a look over the barren hall. "What about—"

The first man cut him off, shaking his head hard.

"How much do you want to bet reinforcements for her are on the way now?" he asked rhetorically, seeing the understanding dawn on his compatriots' faces. From the moment the operation began, they knew time would be of the essence. If anybody fell in the process, they would be left behind, it was at that level. Readjusting his stance and wincing, he muttered, "This was supposed to be a fast job. It's taken too long. Screw the kids; she's the one they really need, anyway."

The second man nodded in agreement, swearing under his breath as the sensation pierced his broken nose. The other two looked to one another silently before picking Holly up. She slumped as one gathered up her legs, and the last supported her shoulders. Running fast, the first man radioed out to the other operatives, informing them that the person of interest had been detained, and it was time to move out.

In the storage room, Iris burrowed against her brother's shoulder, her sobs turning to sniffling as the seconds ticked by. The loud yells and screams, the stomping boots, all had faded in the last few minutes, leaving the two children in relative quiet. Grant had one arm wound tightly around his sister, humming and rocking her like his mommy did whenever one of them was hurt. Despite wanting to be a big boy, Grant could not help but cry, too. He was so afraid, so scared that something had happened to Mommy.

Where did she go? Why didn't she stay with them? They were scared, she knew they were scared. And she was scared, too. She had to protect them, she said, from somebody. They must have been bad, he concluded; only bad people would want to go after them like that. He wanted his mother so badly, but remembering her frantic words, he clutched the tiny device she'd given him, his thumb pressing the button on and off.

"Daddy, come fast," the little boy whispered, maintaining his mantra as time crawled on. Daddy would fix it, Daddy would save them.

After all, Daddy used to be a superhero.

He would find them. He would help Mommy. Everything would be okay once Daddy got there. Grant knew it.

It just had to be.

A/N 2:…So, we start a bit intense, huh?

Again, to the newcomers, I did tell you I would be diverging from canon, so the fact that Steve Rogers is married to Holly and has two children with her should not be a surprise at this point.

Honestly, I feel like I'm falling a bit into a trope here, having Holly get captured and needing to be rescued…but I blame the comic book genre for perpetuating that one. Heroes have to go and save those in peril, right? And one can't argue that she's not in peril.

However, this was one of those ideas that will not leave me alone or fade. I have truly been sitting on it for over a year and a half at this point, and I am ready to get into it.

You may have also noticed I rated this story M. That's because things are going to get more intense, and frankly, I don't want the trouble of rating it T and then having someone report me for the cursing and the future events. If it doesn't merit the rating, I'll change it, but I would rather play it safe for now.

No Steve yet, but trust me, he's coming…

Due to my work, it may take me a while between posts, so I will have to ask for your patience in the meantime. You can always check out my Twitter, PhanProTweets, for any updates since sometimes this website can be a little spotty with the delivery system.

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

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