May, 1951

In which there is a late night conversation...

Steve came awake to Peggy moving beside him, searching for the edge of the covers to throw them off, and the sound of a baby crying. "It's okay," he said with a yawn, patting her on the back. "I think it's my turn. I got it."

"Thank you," she mumbled sleepily.

Steve rolled out from under the covers, yawning again as he padded down the hall. "Hey, Little Buck," he said, opening the door to the nursery. James stopped crying, distracted by the sound of his voice, though his little eyes still glistened with tears as he blinked sadly up at his father. "Oh, come here, buddy," Steve said, scooping him up out of the crib and tucking him in against his chest. "You must be pretty hungry to be making all that racket, huh?" James sniffled in agreement. "Don't worry," Steve soothed, patting his back. "Daddy's got you."

He carried James down the stairs and into the kitchen, patting his back and bouncing him a little. James had just started whimpering again as they reached the fridge. "Sh, sh," Steve said, opening the fridge and squinting against the light pouring into the dark kitchen. He grabbed one of the bottles sitting in the door. "There we go," he said, shifting James down into the crook of his arm. James latched onto the bottle eagerly, and Steve smiled and kicked the fridge door shut. "That's better, huh?"

James made a squeaky sound that Steve took as an affirmative, and Steve smiled wider and walked into the living room. He settled back on the sofa, holding both bottle and baby carefully. "There we go," he said again. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his son's forehead, then just sat there for a while, marveling as he often did at the tiny little person in his arms.

When James finished with the bottle, Steve stood up and shifted him back upright, patting his back and bouncing some more as they walked. "Aw, look at you," Steve said. "Burping without spitting up on me." He grinned and touched a finger to his nose. "That's my big boy."

James giggled, and seemed more inclined to make little gurgling noises and blow spit bubbles than to go back to sleep.

"Oh, you wanna talk, huh?" Steve said. "Okay. Let's you and me talk in here so we don't wake Mommy up, alright?" He moved back to the couch, stretching out flat on his back this time and laying James down on his chest. "Whatcha got?" he asked, wrapping one hand securely over James's back to keep him from sliding off.

James squeaked.

"Really?" Steve asked, arching an eyebrow.

James responded with a series of bubbly noises and a hiccup.

"You don't say?" Steve said with a smile.

James lifted his head and blew a spit bubble that seemed to startle him when it popped.

"And then what happened?" Steve asked, reaching up a thumb to dab the drool off James's chin.

They kept on in that vein for a little while, until James's little noises started coming softer and sleepier and Steve felt his own eyelids starting to drift shut. He laced his fingers together across James's back and started to hum, one of the old Irish lullabies his mother used to sing to him.

When Peggy woke up, she was alone in bed, so she sat up and slipped her dressing gown on before moving down the hallway. The nursery was empty, so she headed downstairs for the living room and stopped in the doorway, one hand over her heart as she smiled happily at the scene in front of her.

Steve was stretched out across the sofa, his head pillowed on one of the small cushions, and James was lying on his chest, tucked securely under his father's large hands and resting his little head over Steve's heart. Both of them were snoring softly. They were glowing faintly in the early morning light coming through the window, and Peggy just stood there for a while and watched them, drinking it in.

As if sensing he was being watched, Steve lazily blinked his eyes open, smiling drowsily when he saw Peggy. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Morning," she replied, moving over and leaning down to kiss him. "No, no, don't get up," she said when he shifted. "Have we not learned by now that we let sleeping babies lie?" she asked with a smile.

"We have," he agreed with a smile of his own, readjusting the way his arm held on to James, but settling back into the sofa.

"I'll make breakfast," she said, kissing him again and standing up.

By the time breakfast was ready, James was awake. He had recently discovered his feet, and often found great amusement in kicking them about. Depending on how much like his namesake he was, he might also be finding great amusement in the grunting noises he elicited from his father whenever his foot connected just a little too forcefully with his stomach.

"Stop kicking Daddy, you naughty boy," Peggy cooed, scooping him up and nuzzling her nose against his. James giggled and Steve smiled, rolling around to sit up.

"You want me to hold him while you eat?" Steve asked as they moved to the table.

"No," she replied, sitting down. James was starting to look a bit cross—it was his breakfast time as well. She untucked her robe and the front of her nightgown and settled him in against her chest. "I'm getting quite good at eating with one hand," she said with a smile, picking up a fork and taking a bite of her eggs to prove it. "Although," she added. "I've not quite mastered one-handed jam and toast just yet."

Steve laughed and reached for the plate of toast. "Strawberry?"

"Yes, please."

Steve unscrewed the jam jar and picked up a knife, then handed her a plate with two pieces of toast absolutely dripping with strawberry jam. She smiled and took a bite. He did know her well.