"Alright, that's it," Kay Szymik said, the resolution in her head agreed upon out loud. Holly Rogers's eyebrows rose, scrunching back the scar upon her forehead. That first Friday in December found Kay in the archives department of the Avengers base, her chin propped up in one hand and her fork trailing through her chicken salad as she listened to Holly talk. It was their normal routine, one they had struck up when the women had both discovered they would be stationed there after the events in Sokovia, and one they kept up with for well over a year. They caught one another up on their personal lives, starting with the most obvious of Kay's bright blue hair being shorn into a pixie cut. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one that she was actually quite pleased with, and Holly concurred, fingers patting absentmindedly at the low bun gathered at the nape of her neck. The conversation had since moved onto their separate Thanksgiving escapades, with Holly telling about the sweet friendship her baby had already struck up with Scott Lang's daughter. When she told about Nick Fury actively taking care of the kids as well, Kay had leaned forward in interest, stowing the knowledge away for later perusal. That day was the only one they could make that week, as Kay was neck-deep both in a couple of different testing projects as well as doing some follow-up on search and rescue efforts beings performed in Italy. The Inhuman rarely had to balance work between her two different departments, but when they hit at the same time, they hit her hard and made it impossible to pin her down for long. Holly, as her friend, knew this, and could only how much more difficult it would be for Sam, given how the two were dating. Still, she'd finally gotten things locked down, and was able to make the trek to the little office on the lower levels of the base.

The last few minutes, though, the other woman had retreated into her mind, mulling something over and debating internally before reaching a decision. Having caught Holly in the middle of a bite, she chewed as fast as she could before she could inquire further.

"What?" the brunette asked, mouth still partially filled with noodles.

"I'm officially abducting you for the night," the blue-haired agent declared, jabbing a forefinger at her as she finished chewing and swallowed. "We're gonna go out, hit the bars—"

"All three of them in one night? I don't know," Holly intoned sarcastically, smirking and shaking her head. The nearest town to the base did not boast much of a night life, and it was well-known to everyone working there. If one wanted to have a good time that wasn't almost exclusively family-friendly, one had to head out to Albany, Saratoga Springs, or Gloversville. Kay was not deterred by her interruption, and so ignored the joke.

"—And have some fun, take a break from all our duties," she completed her speech, hands flat on the desktop. Her black eyes were boring into her friend's, imploring her to see the necessity of the situation. That Holly was loyal and a devoted mother was beyond question. However, Kay did not want her to fall prey to the idea that she would only be that from that point onward in her life. It had happened to a few of her acquaintances, all good people but losing themselves in the course of changing their lives. As well as that, she herself had come off a personal week from hell, being run ragged to help get equipment and armor updated while simultaneously trotting across the globe and back to stabilize endangered civilians. An evening away from it all would do them both some good. Denial spiked in Holly's irises, though there was also a bit of longing there, too. Seizing upon it, Kay patted the desk, turning her palms up and tempting her again.

"A girls' night out. You need one, I need one. Let's do it."

For a long moment, the brunette sat there, eyes wavering as she considered the proposal. As her face creased, Kay had a minor tremor of worry float through her, that she would ultimately say no. Soon enough, though, Holly tipped her chin up, a slow grin curving her lips.

"I...I suppose it couldn't hurt. Let me talk to Steve, let him know."

Silently celebrating in her head, Kay leaped upon the chance to hammer out the details with Holly, messages and texts traded with others who would possibly be interested. Excitement began to pour out of the younger woman as well, her adjustment to the plans they were making dawning on her little by little. When they parted company, they made the resolution to meet up at the Rogers' household before heading into town, and things would progress from there.

Once back home, and even after she'd fed Grant some dinner and was in the midst of changing, Holly did feel a few moments of worry.

"You sure you're okay with this?" she called out through the bathroom door, her struggle to change clothes and apply make-up cut off from her husband as he sat in their room. Having phoned Steve earlier (technically against the rules, but what her supervisors didn't know wouldn't kill them, and it had been quick, anyway), they already hashed out the fact that she would be leaving him and the baby for a few hours. A little part of that seemed unfair to her, in her own mind; he had yet to go out with the boys beyond extra training or needing to stay behind to monitor a mission. As well as that, she knew he would also be worried for her safety. She would be putting herself out there, out in danger if anyone was of a mind to try anything. On his side of the door, Steve cast a weary, indulgent grin at the panels.

"Yeah. You wanna go, sweetheart, then go," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture that would have told her it was her decision, if she were able to see it. He wasn't going to order her to stay at home; he knew better than to imply that his wife could or could not do what she liked. And, worry though he would about her, he reckoned that she would not be totally alone. Her friend was a trained agent, and she had self-defense courses on her side. She was about as safe as she could be out there (without him going with her, of course, and he knew better than to shoehorn himself into the plans that were already made). Rising from his seat on the mattress, he strode closer to the partially-shut bathroom door, leaning against the wall and laughing to himself as he heard her humming. Clearing his throat, he crooned, "Get all dolled up, paint the town red. We'll be all right."

And they would be. Grant was not difficult to care for, at his age, and Steve was well-equipped to deal with anything that could be thrown at him. Scratching the back of his neck, another thought occurred to him, and he tapped a thumb against the wall.

"Just do me a favor: if you swing through town and hit Roscoe's at any point, bring home some pie."

A laugh rebounded off the walls of the bathroom, catching him and making him chuckle, too. He wasn't about to apologize for the request, though; the diner had a fantastic reputation among the base workers for a reason, and the pie was delicious.

"That, or chili cheese fries. We'll see how I'm feeling," she promised him, the clatter of something being set down by the sink hard on its heels.

"I'm good either way," he told her, shrugging to himself. A couple of shuffling steps came, and the door swung open. The admiration in his expression increased as he swept his gaze over her get-up. The sweater dress and leggings she'd donned in place of the work outfit she'd picked earlier molded to her body, her long hair pulled out of her face into a ponytail (something she did more and more often, as having it in her face annoyed her). Sliding his gaze down to the chain and dog tags (his, and a territorial spark flood through him at the sight) resting on her chest, he felt his lips curl a touch more. "Well, ain't you a dish?"

She shrugged and rolled her eyes at his words, but the tiny smile she wore could not be suppressed. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her soundly for a few moments, interrupted only by the blaring ringtone spewing out from her phone. Breaking away from his embrace, she tripped over to the nightstand and retrieved the device, feeling the hot slide of her husband's gaze on her form as she read the message. It was Kay, telling her that they had arrived. A blaring honk from a car horn followed soon after, making her jump. A croaking cry came from down the hall, and Holly tutted under her breath as Steve grimaced. The pair of them exited the bedroom, with her snatching up her purse and keys from their spots on the dresser while he gathered up Grant from his crib, calming the little guy down again.

"You two have fun," he told her when he met her on the landing of the stairs, the baby resting against his shoulder as he rocked him slightly. Shrugging her coat on and zipping it up, she flicked her fingers through the air.

"It'll be three. Nat's coming along," she elaborated, catching him off-guard. As was she; she had not expected Natasha to agree, thinking perhaps she would want to stay with Bucky and relax at the base if she weren't busy with a mission. Instead, she had expressed a desire to join them, apparently needing a girls' night as much as they did (Wanda was unable to come, having been dropped by a fairly heavy cold in the last twenty-four hours and wanting to rest up). Tilting her head as she thought, she also noted, "And Jane said she'd tried to meet up with us at some point in the night, so hopefully four."

A furrow came to Steve's brow but it was (mostly) feigned. "Oh, now I'm concerned."

"Too late to turn back now, hon," she said brightly, kissing him on the cheek. Pecking Grant on the head, she chucked him and his father under their chins, giggling at Steve's rolling eyes before meandering to the back door. "See you later."

Waving good-bye to both her men (and feeling her heart give a little thump when Steve lifted Grant's fist to wave farewell back), she hunkered deeper into her coat as she rounded the garage to where Kay had parked her Jeep. Sliding into the back seat, she gave happy nods to the two companions already in the car. Kay's green parka was open as the heat blasted through the vehicle, and Natasha even had her black peacoat unbuttoned. Once the car was turned around and they were hurtling down the road, she followed their example, pulling down the zipper of her coat as Kay made an announcement.

"Now that you're here, we can start the festivities," she extolled, reaching out and tapping at the volume button on the radio. Switching from the station to the CD player function, she enunciated, "A night out deserves its own soundtrack."

The grind and drive of pop music began to crawl through the speakers, filling and bumping through them as the tires ground along the salted roads.

"A mix CD? Wow, we're taking this all the way to 2005, are we?" Natasha teased, bright eyes sliding to her left. Kay lifted a single finger from the wheel, her dark eyes narrowing the tiniest margin.

"I'm deducting brownie points every time you mock the night's proceedings, Ms. Romanoff."

The redheaded beauty laughed outright at that, the musical sound working in concurrence with the music.

"Didn't say a word," she said demurely, pretending to lock her lips and throw the key. Form her vantage point in the back, Holly laughed, settling in and preparing for whatever the night had to offer them.

xXxXxXx

"You know, I can take care of my son on my own."

Sam and Bucky turned their heads at that pronouncement, placid expressions on their faces. After their girlfriends had taken Steve's wife out for the night, the pair of men found their way to the Rogers' house. Reports had been filed for the day, and there was no mission on the docket for the night, so they had taken it upon themselves to have a night in, just the men. Scott had to cry off, as he had a Skype date he could not reschedule (again, he'd muttered, and so they let him off the hook). The Vision had made the trek down to the city, intent on meeting with Stark and giving Peter his monthly evaluation to assess his progress. Descending upon the slate-blue homestead, they brought in some take-out from the cafeteria on the base; ribs and chicken wings, whose quality rivaled that of any chain barbecue establishment. Of course, they weren't about to do anything extreme while they met up with Steve; there was Grant to think of, after all. However, the pair of fellows still were determined to do something with their free time that did not involve backbreaking training bouts or experimenting in the private, communal kitchen to the detriment of everyone around them (a Barnes and Wilson concoction could have been used as torture implements, if they so chose, Natasha had declared when she'd had to endure such a thing one evening).

"Never said otherwise," Wilson shot back at his friend, leaning back into his end of the couch and stretching out his legs. That was a point he wasn't about to dispute; Rogers was more than capable of handing the baby on his own. Flapping a hand at the scattered take-out boxes and the bowl of chips that had been strewn about the coffee table, he told him, "I'm just here for the food, the beer, and what you've got saved on the box."

Fetching up the bottle that had been resting on the floor, he tipped it in salute to the commander before taking a long pull from it. Steve gave a low hum, eyebrows furrowing as he considered his friend's words. He was seated on the opposite end of the couch, Grant in his lap and faced toward the television set. The little guy was resting comfortably against his stomach, eyes wide and taking in the change of atmosphere when his mommy wasn't around.

Glancing over to the armchair, Steve cupped his free hand in the air at Bucky then. "And what's your excuse?"

"Friendship," the brunet intoned, dipping his chin. Wilson snorted loudly at that, rolling his eyes. The stoic demeanor dropped then, with Barnes shrugging and sipping his beer. "And the fact that both your girls managed to take mine along on a bender; I've got nothing better to do."

Scoffing loudly, the remark went unanswered by Steve for several minutes, the three grown men occupied with watching the baseball game that was queued up on the television. Steve watched the game, the plays being made and the calls tossed around. As the commentators spectated on the screen, so to did his friends, predictions tossed back and forth as they gnawed on chicken or chips. Something inside the commander felt eased; initially, and for clear-cut reasons, Sam and Bucky did not get along in the past. (To be fair, it was difficult to build a rapport with someone who had actively tried to kill you several times in a two-day time span, brainwashed or not.) Still, rapprochement had been reached, and the pair worked admirably well together, a tenuous friendship building as the days went on.

Though most of it was thinly veiled with insults and obscene hand gestures, more often than not. And just as he mused upon that, one hand gesture was flipped at Wilson when Barnes got tired of his arguing over the pitcher's performance, the other man brushing it off with one of his own. The baby hummed around his pacifier, tiny fingers curling around his father's as his tiny feet kicked out.

"These are your uncles, kiddo," he lamented in a mock-whisper to Grant, bending slightly to murmur it into the infant's hair. "A couple of fat-heads, right?"

Bucky scoffed, and didn't even bother to look at him. Instead, he spoke directly to the baby. "So says the knucklehead that's your father."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

Sam cleared his throat, pointedly coming into the conversation again. "Name-calling aside, there anything else we can do besides dickin' around here while the ladies are out?"

Barnes took a long pull from his beer, spiking an eyebrow. "What, the game's not enough for ya?"

It was a pre-recorded game from the end of summer, one that they had all missed—Sam and Bucky due to a mission, Steve due to being thrust into parenthood and concentrating on that. There were several saved to the recorder, all being worked through slowly. Granted, Steve had checked ahead as far as scores and stats went for particular teams, but he still wanted to see how it all played out.

"Well, if you really wanted, you could take a crack at the honey-do list Holly's got for me. There's a busted drawer in the kitchen that needs to be fixed," Steve suggested lightly. He glanced up at Sam, affixing a grateful grin that morphed into the smirk it really was. "You'd be a real pal."

The look he got in return was baleful, at best. Scoffing loudly, the other man snatched up another handful of chips from the bowl, chewing loudly for a few moments.

"I'm not even married, and I've already got a bit of my own to worry about," he retorted eventually, brushing the crumbs from his fingers before drinking some beer. Spiking an eyebrow at Steve, he finished. "Take care of it yourself, pal."

"Huh," the blond man murmured, lifting his boy when he started kicking a little harder. Holding him up to let him bounce on his legs, he turned over a thought in his head. Soon enough, he gave it voice. "Thinkin' of changing that anytime soon?"

It was a fair question, in his mind. After all, despite the minor hiccup back in April, Sam had been dating Kay exclusively for over a year and a half. From what he understood of his friend, he was commitment-minded, at least to a point. And Kay, well, from what he could see, she was very good to Wilson. Curious as to his answer as well, Bucky sent his teammate a sidelong glance, watching as he shifted in his seat and kept his focus glued to the television set.

"It's...been discussed," he conceded, a small smile cropping up as two pairs of eyebrows rose at his pronouncement. That was the truth; in the last month, he and Kay had talked about the future, where they wanted to go with one another (last spring's bump in the road had jarred them, made them see that they had to get on the same page, and fast, if they wanted to be together). Holding a hand preemptively, he continued, "For now, we're good where we are."

Nodding, the commander's blue gaze slid to the other side of the room, Wilson's following it. Under intense scrutiny now, Bucky's plain amusement drained away, and he hunkered down a bit in the chair.

"Not even near that territory."

"Fair enough. Oh, come on!" Steve's concession was interrupted by one of the outfielders attempting to glove toss the ball to second, which the fielder then fumbled. With the first and second bases successfully occupied by the time it was picked up again, the three men in the house all groaned audibly at the display. The baby squeaked out as well, little arms and legs jerking. Patting Grant lightly on the belly, Steve nodded at him. "You're right, buddy, that was awful."

"Damn straight," Bucky concurred, giving his nephew an approving nod. "The kid would make a better fielder, and he can barely sit up by himself."

"That, and the only spitball he could throw would be a literal one" Sam offered, though his gaze turned thoughtful. Scanning over the baby, he tilted his head to the left. "But with a little practice, maybe he could take on the league."

Steve sank back into the cushions of the couch, his contemplative gaze falling upon his son. The little guy was obviously too young to even consider the notion, but...he was half of him, half of his restructured genetic make-up. If Grant could throw a ball even slightly as well as his father could toss a shield, Steve thought he would have a fantastic chance at the major leagues. The boy's uncles were also looking at him, his big blue eyes blinking as he flashed a gummy smile and rocked back against his father.

"Could start now," Bucky ventured, swinging his leg down from the arm of the chair and getting to the floor. Digging into the basket of toys on the other side of the chair, he found a fluffy, white ball. Tossing it underhand, and incredibly gently, it landed squarely on the baby's lap. At once, the little fella snatched it up, bobbing it into his face and mouthing at it after spitting out his pacifier. A humorous snort shot of Barnes' nose, and he murmured, "Good catch, kiddo."

Wilson gave a concurrent nod, and he pushed the coffee table out of the way to join Barnes. Together, they rifled through the toys, finding any and all that were even remotely ball-shaped. One by one, they started chucking them up at the baby, the little guy giggling and cooing in delight as the soft toys bounced and ringed around him. On occasion, Grant would grab at one, then another, and he kicked happily, cheeks rounding in a pleased grin. Steve, enduring the barrage while keeping an eye out for any toys making a beeline for the baby's head, gave the little fella a gentle poke in the side, another giggle shooting out and making his smile broaden.

"How 'bout that, son? We'll train you up right, and you'll be on the Dodgers soon enough," he declared, a proud edge coming into his voice. Grant gave another smile, a little drool running down his chin, and his father swiped at it with a clean corner of his own shirt.

"Not the Yankees?" Wilson asked innocently from his spot on the floor. The flat, nearly hostile look the commander shot him made him raise a hand in surrender (Bucky rolled his eyes at his friend's behavior, but said nothing). Shaking his head, he muttered, "Okay, okay, I was joking. Although the Nationals wouldn't be bad as a second choice."

About to dispute that, Steve reeled it back in when he actually considered the statistics of the team. That, and how he'd enjoyed seeing them play when he had the rare chance to do so in D.C.

"...Maybe," he allowed, twitching the leg of his son's footed onesie before his friends gathered up the tossed toys and resumed 'training' the future athlete, all of them thoroughly occupied in the endeavor.

xXxXxXx

Holly let out a loud laugh as she helped Natasha escort Kay from the bar, coats and gloves thrown on haphazardly before exiting out into the cold, December night. A few errant flakes were dropping, heralding a storm that was destined to spill through the early hours. All in all, it had been a great time out. Better than she had been supposing it would be, at least. Instead of driving all the way out to one of the bigger cities, they did stick to the nearby village, the bar and grill near the center of town the chose venue for the evening. It was a little run-down, but more towards the homey end of the scale, where the booths and tables looked well-used and well-loved, as opposed to decrepit. Toward the back, a small stage was set up, tiles plastered to the floor for a tiny area dedicated to dancing. A good number of the citizens had found their way to the bar that night, the joint packed in anticipation of the live band that would be playing later on. Fairly priced drinks and decent food were lauded by the staff, and the trio indulged as soon as they found an open spot.

Once coaxed into it, the Black Widow was able to let go and relax, listening and trading stories as easily as the other two were. Holly, having stuck to a pint and a half of cider, would later recall the surprising amount of personal dirt that Kay and Nat had on their respective partners, and she knew for a fact that the ones they'd pulled out of her about Steve would be stowed away in their minds as well. (She had not delved too deep into the realm of drink; the last time she'd gone too far with Natasha, she'd ended up riding a mechanical bull. She wasn't about to risk the ex-agent sending embarrassing footage of her stupid behavior to her husband yet again.) Jane had put in an appearance for a few moments, needed to be at the base early the next morning for a conference with Dr. Selvig. As the hour grew later, and shots were had, the remaining ladies had found their way onto the dance floor as the band playing for the night struck up several good songs. She deeply enjoyed being able to spend a few moments as just another young woman, alive and enjoying herself as others were. Still, incredibly late nights were something she could no longer do (and hadn't ever really done, except in emergencies), and she knew she would have to get back home before sunrise, at the very least.

As she was the one completely sober by the time of departure, Natasha was the driver, her own chuckles reverberating in the cab as she drove Kay's Jeep. The mix CD played on, the trio indulging in singing and wailing to keep themselves up and awake as they made their way along the back roads to the house. A Spice Girls song ended, and one of Lay Gaga's ad started on the opening notes as the redhead negotiated the turn for the driveway, crows of disappointment ringing around as they realized that they wouldn't be able to continue it before parking. It was easily let go, with all three woman clambering out of the cab and towards the back door (Natasha insisted on resting somewhere quiet for a little while before heading back to the base, and Holly was willing to accommodate her and Kay in that regard).

Punching in the codes and creeping in through the door, Holly led the way through the kitchen, coats, purses, and boots dropped by the table as the other two women followed her example. Her low buzz was wearing off, leaving tiredness in its wake as she strode through the arch and into the living room. She halted, taking in the sight before her as Natasha and Kay flanked her. Their men had all crashed out sometime before they'd arrived, the television churning on. The end of a serial crime drama episode was playing, the blinking of cop car lights flashing along the screen drowned out by the overhead light. Bucky was in the armchair, as was his custom, though he had appeared to have tried to fold himself into it. In the end, one leg was crooked over one arm, his metal appendage following suit on the other, and his head lolled awkwardly into the back cushion. Sam was sprawled on the floor, face-down and his arms curled around a throw pillow the he was nuzzling into. His legs were spread wide, and Holly had to step over them gingerly to get around to the front of the couch where her husband was dozing. Steve was upright, legs stretched out before him and his torso sinking back into the cushions. Looking down at him, her eyebrows rose at his posturing; his neck would get a kink in it, from the way his head was resting. What really struck her was the ring of soft toys around him, some on the sofa and a few in his lap. One arm was curled protectively around Grant, who had fallen asleep on his father. A little snuffle came out of him, his pacifier bobbing, and then his tiny eyes blinked open, head lifting enough so that he could see her. The little guy's face lit up as he saw his mother, and she couldn't help herself.

"Hey, Baby Boy," she stage-whispered, plopping onto the cushion beside her snoozing husband and resting son after brushing some of the toys onto the floor. Reaching out for him, she was met with some slight resistance from the sleeping father holding onto him, but with her whispers of it being alright, she soon enough got Steve to unconsciously relent. Scooping Grant up, she made sure to plant a peck in his hair, directing her alcohol-infused breath away from his face. Steve, meanwhile, continued to sleep; sometimes, he could be woken up by the barest sound, but he was evidently in his 'dead to the world' end of the spectrum at that moment. Glancing back at the girls, she gave them a playful wink before turning back towards him. Holding up Grant with one arm, she tapped her finger against the end of her husband's nose. When he frowned and jerked away in his sleep, she went further, taking his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger. Giggling, she raised her voice a few notches before tugging on it. "Stevie, sweetie, we're back!"

The combination of her touch and her voice finally jerked Steve totally out of slumber. To his credit, he didn't go very far, but he did have to catch himself before he tipped to the side. Her announcement broke through to Bucky and Sam as well, both men awake and groaning against the overhead light as they did so. And, to her fiendish delight, Natasha and Kay were barely choking down chortles at the display. Scrubbing at his face, he sat forward fully, raking his finger back over his scalp as he woke up.

"Holl. Honey, you're..." With sleep blinked fully away, his gaze focused intently on her. His eyebrows flew up in shock, and his spine stiffened. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

Pink flooded Holly's face, her free hand coming up to comb through the loosened strands. Where she had left the house with her long tresses secured back in a ponytail, she'd returned with them decidedly shorter. The brown waves were only an inch or so above her shoulders, enough to pull back if she'd needed to, but otherwise much shorter. It had been parted to the right, twisted and teased ever-so-slightly. The astonished look on her husband's face heated up her cheeks and made her heart thump, more in nervousness than anything else.

Stepping up to the couch, Natasha leaned over the back and patted her shoulder. "I cut it for her."

"Said she was sick of it being so long, so snip-snip," Kay blurted then, dark, almond-shaped eyes nearly glowing as she settled against the wall.

Reflexively, Holly clutched the baby closer, his mild cooing calming her.

"D'you not like it?" she asked her husband, scrutinizing his expression. The shock was wearing off, little by little, and being replaced with something deeper, darker. Red started to burn the tips of his ears, and he shifted in his seat.

"I, I..." he paused, clearing his throat and glancing around as their friends listened in for his answer as well. "I do, but you let Nat come at you with scissors?"

The redhead hooked a thumb over to the agent leaning against the far wall. "Kay wanted to dye it."

That drew Sam's attention, shaking his head at his girlfriend as he rose up from the floor. "Kayla Nari."

Confronted with the use of her full first and middle names, and the minor disapproval all around, the blue-haired agent raised her hands in a gesture of defense and mock surrender.

"Hey, she said no, and I respected that," she stated implicitly, a frown blossoming then. Holly had no doubt she was thinking about harshly her suggestions had been shut down, but there was nothing for it. The haircut was enough; dyeing it the fire engine red she'd wanted Holly to try was too much.

"C'mon, this is probably the least worrisome way the night ended. Particularly one that I've been involved in," Natasha pointed out, striding across the room and perching primly on the arm of Bucky's chair. She looped an arm around his shoulder, planting a peck at his temple as his metal hand settled on her thigh and he let out a slow sigh.

"Well, you did get into that argument with the bartender at Walter's. In Russian," the blue-haired agent asserted, going over to Sam and letting him pull her back against his chest.

Bucky, now intrigued, spiked an eyebrow at his girl. "What's the story behind that, sugar?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. "The guy had some very strong opinions about the Avengers. Specifically me, and what I may or may not have abandoned since leaving Mother Russia."

"He gave us all shots when they stopped shouting," Kay interjected yet again, a pleased dip of her chin following. "All Stoli."

Cradling the baby closer, Holly muttered, "Some of us had more than others."

Knowing precisely whom was being talked about, Kay chuckled, hooking a thumbs-up in the air before directing it back at herself. From behind her, Sam exhaled slowly, his head dropping to burrow at the base of her neck. Natasha was not as concerned; she been privy to many a party, and helped many a drunk person before (in various ways), and the younger woman was not all that bad, truth be told. Even if she had tried to make it her mission to drink them all under the table in the pursuit of letting loose for a few minutes.

"She's young, she'll learn," she said, flapping a hand in the air. Sam snorted while Kay laughed again, shifting in his arms.

"She's thirty; I think that's a lost cause by this point," he proclaimed, feeling as Kay gripped his t-shirt hard. A minute ripping sound tore through the air, the collar suddenly a v-neck when it had not been before. Tipping his chin, he mumbled, "And on that note, let's get you home, baby."

Holly turned her head toward the window, just able to make out the swirl of snow beyond the panes from the spill of the living room's lights, and then drifted over to her husband. Following her line of sight and thought, Steve coughed once, canting his head at their friends.

"Might as well stay, all of you. It's late, and we have the space," he said, gesturing towards the upstairs office and the door to the basement. Affixing a look on both Barnes and Wilson, he stated bluntly, "You guys get to duke it out over who gets the bed or the futon, though."

The new captain and the Falcon stared at one another for several long moments, silent arguments made with twitches of the mouths and inclining eyebrows. After awhile, Bucky breathed out sharply, jutting his chin at the basement door.

"You know what, you take the downstairs room," he told Wilson, pushing himself out of the armchair and threading his fingers with Natasha's. Tilting his head toward the young woman in the other man's arms, he elaborated, "Privacy and your own bathroom in case she..."

Kay turned a menacing, bleary eye onto Bucky, understanding what he wasn't saying in spite of her state. "I'm not that drunk, thank you, Mr. Terminator."

The impact of her words were somewhat lessened when she appeared to trip on air, sidestepping into her boyfriend and just about knocking them both to the ground. Meanwhile, Barnes' features were flat.

"People are never gonna stop comparing me to movie characters with robot parts, are they?"

"Nope," was Wilson's immediate answer, followed by Natasha's shaking head and tiny grin (and Holly racked up a few mental points for the ex-assassin understanding the reference).

That pronounced, the couples started to separate, heading off to their rooms for the night. Steve went about the business of putting Grant to sleep in his crib while Holly tripped off to find pajamas for the others to borrow. Bucky had left a few shirts of his at the house after he'd officially moved to the base, so he and Sam were covered in that regard, but the girls were a little trickier. Digging through her drawers, Holly managed to find a couple of her pre-pregnancy shirts that would work, along with a spare set of bottoms and sweatpants. With those divvied between Natasha and Kay, she left them both to it, with Sam bundling Kay into the spare room downstairs and Bucky rifling quietly through the closet in the office for spare blankets and pillows. The flutter of activity calmed significantly by the time Steve and Holly made their way into their room. Changed into pajamas themselves and firing up the baby monitor, they crawled under the covers. However, Steve was not of a mind to go right to sleep. A single lamp was kept on, and he leaned on his elbow, looming over her as she relaxed on her back, her buzz completely gone by then.

"When did you find the time to do this?" he wondered, blue gaze skittering over her hair, his fingers following soon after. The ministrations were careful and gentle, and Holly nearly sank into it. Knowing he wanted an actual answer, though, she sighed.

"Before we even made it to the bar," she stated quietly, pushing a little more of the part away from her face. Lifting a shoulder, she went on, "We were in the car, not too far out. I was talking about how cute Kay's pixie cut is, and about wanting to get a haircut soon myself, and then Nat convinced her to turn the car around, saying she could take care of it at the base. And, uh, she did."

She mimed the scissors motion with her left hand, and Steve gave a halfhearted chuckle. That Natasha did, and then some. Having prior experience with having to fix herself up (saved her a fortune whenever she felt like changing her look, since she'd learned how to do a variety of cuts and treatments on her own time), Nat had instilled trust in Holly, trust that she could get the job done alright. The result was more so, in her eyes, but it wasn't her eyes that she was concerned with at the moment.

"Pretty impulsive," he murmured, cutting through her musings and eyebrows arching a fraction. Holly hummed, brow furrowing as she shrugged again.

"Not really. I mean, having Natasha do it was, but I've wanted to get it cut since before Grant was born. I just...seized the opportunity." Pausing, she dropped her focus onto the bedclothes, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. "Tell me, is it bad, really?"

She knew how much he'd liked her longer hair, how much he'd like to touch it and comb through it.

"No," he assured her, the tenor of his voice causing her to meet his gaze again. Her breath hitched slightly in her throat as she spotted how dilated his pupils had become. Fingers combed through the strands, a handful gathered at the base of her skull. Eyelids drooped, and he tilted her head back a fraction. "I, I like it. I really do."

Hearing the catch in his throat, her mouth curved into a grin, her eyes half-lidded. "How much?"

Steve blinked, a slow, feral smile stretching his lips as he leaned down, and thus he answered her question rather thoroughly, if not verbally.

xXxXxXx

Saturday morning dawned, and while she was alone in their bed, Holly did not feel lonely in the slightest. Glancing at the clock, she knew that Steve must have gone for his usual early run, no doubt accompanied by Sam—if not Bucky as well. He was welcome to the additional work-out; she certainly felt like she'd gotten enough of one in the small hours, she cheekily thought. Rolling out of bed, she picked her way over to the closet, fetching up the flannel shirt and shorts she typically wore to bed, a snatch of song hummed under her breath. Fingers combed through her shorter hair, taming it after the mussing it had received, and privately called the night a success. Nodding at her personal victories, she slid on the shorts and buttoned up the flannel in time for a crow to come in over the monitor. Going down the hall (and peeking through the sliver of the office next door to find it and the futon empty), she crept through the nursery, greeting her baby boy with smile and a kiss, soothing his croaks with her care and touch. Heavy steps creaked on the stairs, and before she knew it, she felt hands wrap around her waist, Steve pulling her back against him. The scent of sweat and heat rolled off of him, but she nestled back into him, his kisses on her cheek and neck welcome. After receiving her share, she turned and held their son up to him for his dose of morning greetings, Steve nuzzling Grant's cheek and chuckling as the baby giggled.

After changing Grant and getting him into a clean outfit (little navy pants and the baby baseball jersey her parents had gifted him, at Steve's insistence), she pattered down to the first floor, the spring in her step commuted into bouncing her baby and cooing nonsense at him. Steve, having accompanied her down the stairs, broke off, citing the need to straighten up the living room before joining them as the excuse. The kitchen was already occupied, with Bucky at the table, perusing the New York Times app on their tablet while his girl was stationed by the coffee maker. Stirring sugar into one cup and creamer into the other, Natasha set her gimlet gaze on her, the ocean in her irises lighting exponentially. Her focus darted over the telltale signs on Holly, and a smirk bloomed on her lips.

"Told you it would be fine," she muttered as Holly strode over to the cabinet beside her, the formula tin pulled from its spot. The younger woman had expressed her concerns about the reception her new cut would receive, particularly since it wasn't done by a stylist, but the Black Widow was of the opinion that she had nothing to worry about. Due to her private examination, she was proven entirely correct (the red and purple mark peeking out under the collar of the other woman's shirt was the most telling evidence of that). Snickering low, Holly shuffled Grant to lay a little higher against her shoulder, his pacifier bumping into her as he nestled nearer her neck.

"Alright, chalk up a point for yourself, Ms. Romanoff," she informed her compatriot, going about the business of fixing a bottle for her son. A sly grin was on her face; yielding the point was done easily, given with how right she had been about it all.

"Already done," the redhead stated, her smirk growing warmer as she sidled over to the table, two mugs in hand. Setting one before her partner, she slid into the chair next to Bucky, hushed whispers in Russian passed between the pair as they nursed their cups of coffee. Holly took a spot at one end of the table, crooning softly to the baby and feeding him, her husband coming in and planting a tender peck on her temple before taking a load of trash over to the can. The basement door burst open then, with Sam escorting a haggard-looking Kay through the hall and into the kitchen. Blue spikes ringed around her head as her face remained pressed into his shoulder, the woman relying on her boyfriend to get her to the table and properly seated. Exhaustion and a form of nausea flitted over her features when she finally turned to face them all. She may not have been totally wasted the night before, but she did have enough to merit a significant hangover, and it was plainly evident that she was in the midst of those churning seas. Resting her elbows on the table, she cradled her head, Sam rubbing soothing circles along her back. Black eyes opened slightly, and she darted a look around to her companions.

"Food, pills, water. In any order," she sputtered, her voice gravelly. Weariness ringed her bloodshot eyes, and she pressed her fingers into her temples. "Preference is towards pills first, though. Please."

Holly bit her lip, shaking her head against the slight humor of seeing her composed friend so disheveled. Popping out of her chair, she bounced and rocked Grant as she crossed the room to the cabinet nearest to the sink. A glass came down and was filled rapidly, with Steve passing her the Ibuprofen bottle from the shelves above the refrigerator (from the first-aid kit stationed there; they had several in the house). One-handed, she worked the pills out of the bottle, palming them and grabbing the glass as well. Sam took the water from her when she came over, letting him set it down before Kay as she placed the pills beside it.

"Here's two, the third's being worked on," sh promised her friend, resuming her seat as the other young woman swallowed down the Ibuprofen and a hearty slug of water. Immense relief seemed to swim over her then, and she relaxed into Sam's side, her chair scooted closer to him to accommodate it. Bucky and Natasha had been keeping a silent eye on the display, but they visibly perked up at the notion of food coming their way. Well, at least until skeptical glances were shot in the direction of the missus of the house.

Sharpness pinched Kay's face as well. "By who?"

"By someone else," Steve spoke over Holly as he made his way to the pantry, his voice low in deference to the state of Kay's head. The blue-haired woman nodded slightly, another spark of relief floating over her features.

"Oh, good, nothing will be burnt, then," she breathed, and the others had to stifle unbidden bouts of laughter. Holly's lack of ability with breakfast food, with exception of cereal, was nearly legendary at that point. The baby in her arms let out a tiny chuckle, and Holly pouted playfully at them all.

"Hmph. Grant always appreciates my breakfasts," she harrumphed in impish defense of herself, holding up her son and letting him push against her legs to bounce. From down the table, she spotted Sam smirking and snickering to himself. Shooting him an inquisitive stare, he lifted a shoulder at her.

"Yeah, he does, because his generally comes from—"

A cuff rebounded off the back of Sam's head, cutting his words off effectively. Steve stood beside him, the necessary items for making pancakes in one arm, and the other hand jabbing a finger in his friend's face.

"Don't ever finish that thought," he groused, unapologetic as Sam scrubbed at his new injury.

"Out loud," Bucky muttered after that, the amusement on his face wiped away when Steve circled the table and cracked him one, too. "Ow!"

At once, Wilson and Barnes were on their feet, following Steve to the stove, smacks and slaps traded even as they helped him retrieve bowls and pans from the cupboards. The brunette glanced over at them all, a minute giggle breathed out her nose before she smoothed her expression out.

"Dorks," Holly pronounced, almost imperiously. The curve of her mouth, though, took out any possible sting the word may have carried. "Dorks that save the world on occasion."

"I know," Natasha concurred, her stoic demeanor softening as she looked at the brunette. Reaching over, she smoothed a wrinkle on Grant's onesie out, and concluded, "We're all a bunch of weirdos."

The emphasis, the inclusion of her into the circle, struck Holly to the core. Unable to help herself, she returned Natasha's smile, the even footing she had obtained settling in her mind as she pressed a kiss against her son's cheek.

"That we are," she agreed, the blue-haired agent to her left lifting her water glass in commiseration. A silent toast went around the ring of women, their men oblivious to it as they poked and jabbed each other in the process of making breakfast. Strange ones they may have been, but as the pancakes were plated and the flow of conversation shifted around the table, Holly had to conclude that she preferred it, if strangeness had brought her there.

A/N:...I dunno. I was feeling a girls' night vibe for this chapter, and I went with it. It was fun for me, at least. And the guys plotting Grant's future in baseball is just an added bonus, haha.

Personally, I have nothing against the Yankees or the Nationals. In my headcanon, Steve is a diehard Dodgers fan, despite their move to L.A., and will remain so until he shuffles off his mortal coil. And because of that love, he conversely hates the Yankees. To me, it's just baseball, and it's whatever. Football is where I get particular about my teams.

Double update day today: I have also posted a new chapter in Four Seasons as well. Check it out if you feel so inclined.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any other pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Jeep, MLB teams, etc.)

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

EDIT: Reposting this chapter due to the site's weirdness last week during the typical posting day. I just want the date to be more accurate. No worries, Chapter 12 will be coming on Monday/Tuesday, as is typical. I have decided to start a Twitter account specifically for my profile for this site. I will use it to promote chapter updates and such for my stories, in the hopes that I can keep you all in the loop that way. My Twitter handle is PhanProTweets, and I would love it if you followed me. I don't want site issues to prevent you guys from knowing what's going on, and I hope it will all work out.