Two hours later, Nat had taken to pacing the length of the bathroom, leaning on the broken counter during her contractions, which were now intense enough to warrant a small cry of pain at the peak of each one. They were approximately three minutes apart and about two minutes long, though she was only guessing, since she was still trying to conserve her battery power on her phone.

The only sign of life on the other side of the wall was the occasional tremor as someone shifted a piece of debris too violently, followed immediately by a burst of crimson light as Wanda stabilized it.

Steve had tried to call her several times, but Natasha had only answered once, telling him that she was fine, but that she really needed to save her battery power for when she started pushing.

By now, it was evident that she would be delivering these babies by herself. Despite the fact that the thought still sent a jolt of fear through the former assassin's heart, she had come to terms with the idea, and was now allowing herself to daydream about her babies' faces.

She had told Steve that she didn't care what gender they were, and she didn't, not really. As long as they were healthy, that was all that mattered. Still, she couldn't help but imagine two little boys, little red heads with Steve's eyes, her lips, and Steve's nose.

To be honest, she wasn't quite sure she'd be able to handle girls. Steve, of course, would be wonderful. They'd be Daddy's little princesses, and he'd be as overprotective of them as he was of her.

Of course, they'd never get dates; Steve would scare away any significant other they chose.

If the twins were girls, Natasha would love them, obviously. They would mean just as much to her as they would to Steve, but she wasn't really sure she would know what to do if they were "girly girls".

She was raised in a school for assassins, after all. What did she know about dolls and dresses and ponies?

But then, she allowed herself to imagine a picture perfect scene of two little red-headed girls, both like tiny versions of herself with Steve's eyes. In her mind's eye, she saw herself sitting on a little bed, one girl on the floor between her legs as Nat braided her red curls, the other sitting on the bed with her head on her mother's shoulder, waiting for her turn to have her hair done.

The mental image was so perfect that it filled Nat's eyes with tears. No matter what her children were like, no matter what gender or personality, she silently vowed that she would do everything she could to be the mother that she never had.

Natasha's musings about her future children were interrupted by another intense contraction.

She waddled over to the decimated sink, clutching the edge of the counter and taking deep, steadying breaths. A low moan escaped her lips as the pain intensified, followed by a sharp cry as it reached its peak.

Finally, after about two minutes of pain, the tension in her belly broke, and the pain eased.

Panting, Nat straightened herself, placed one hand on the small of her back and the other on her belly, and resumed pacing.

Frustrated, Steve slammed his fist into the wall, putting a hole in the plaster.

"Woah, woah, Steve," Sam intervened. "Look, I know you're stressed, but there are better ways to release your frustration than beating up walls."

"Like what?" Steve snarled. "Tony won't let me help. He said I was going too quickly and endangering Nat. But look how slow he's going! We have to get to her now! Can't he hear her in there?"

Sam shook his head in bewilderment.

"Can you hear her?" he asked.

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Enhanced hearing was an effect of the serum. She's panting, and moaning, and crying out in pain. She's suffering, Sam, and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing! I can't even hold her hand!"

With that, he punched the wall again, leaving another large hole in the plaster.

"Okay, stop," Sam said firmly. "Cap, I know you're worried, but this is not the best way to handle the situation."

"I just… I don't know what to do, Sam," Steve confessed, his voice breaking.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.

Sam, having never seen his strong, stoic best friend this way before, sat down next to him and hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder.

"Steve, listen," Sam sighed. "I know this isn't really what you want to hear right now, but why don't you go run some damage assessment. I know you don't want to leave Nat, but it'll help get your mind off the situation. We'll call you if anything changes. I promise."

Steve looked up, intending to tell Sam that there was no way he would leave Nat's side, before he realized that his friend was right. No matter how much he might want to, he couldn't hold his wife's hand and tell her everything would be alright. He couldn't be there for her right now, so there was no use sitting around and annoying everyone while he could be helping.

"Fine," he surrendered. "But you have to call me the second she calls Bruce, okay?"

"I will," Sam reassured.

Still unsure about leaving his wife, Steve stood and left the room.

Steve threw himself into the job, doing everything he could to avoid thinking about what was going on upstairs. He was met with varying degrees of success, for a while.

After about an hour, just as he was starting to convince himself that he'd done the right thing and Natasha was going to be fine, a bloodcurdling scream rang out across the compound.

Steve, despite having never heard his wife scream before, instantly recognized her voice and sprinted as fast as his serum-enhanced legs would carry him.

"Bruce!" he exclaimed, bursting into the room. "What happened? Is she okay?"

"I don't know," Bruce stuttered. "She hasn't-"

Just then, his phone buzzed, and Nat's picture appeared on the screen.

"Natasha?" Bruce asked, picking up on the first ring. "What happened?"

"A… really bad… contraction," she managed. "Bruce… I really… need… to push!"