Hello! It felt weird not to post anything on a Thursday after promising three chapters a week, so I thought I'd at least give you something to tide you over until the sequel premiere. The chapters of this story are not going to flow in any sort of order, but I wanted to lead with this one because I think it actually gives relevant context to the storyline of the sequel. Some of these, like this chapter, take place during or even before the prequels, while others take place during the sequel or beyond. I am having so much fun exploring these incredible parents and I hope you all enjoy it too.

Yankee Doodle:

Sarah rested a hand over her belly. She hadn't really started to show yet, but she imagined it wouldn't be long. They already knew the sex, had picked out a name, and started plans for designing the nursery. Joseph wanted a jungle theme, but Sarah was inclined toward something…sweeter, like Winnie the Pooh. Fortunately, they still had plenty of time to decide. She hoped this baby didn't come early, both because of possible complications and because she wanted to enjoy this feeling of life stirring within her for as long as possible. It had only been a few months since she'd known, but she was already in love.

She hadn't told anyone at work yet, or any of her friends. Having this beautiful secret between her and Joseph was magical, and while she knew she couldn't keep it forever, she wanted it to last just a little longer. She wanted him to stay a little longer too, but he was being deployed for six months, set to return just in time for her due date. Another reason Sarah didn't want this baby to come early.

The night before he departed, he insisted on reading to them from one of his favorite books: The Stevensons. A biography of his favorite historical family, beginning with Adlai Ewing Stevenson I, Vice President to Grover Cleveland. Since they started dating, Sarah had learned far more about this man than she ever wanted to. She used to jokingly say she would dump him because he wasn't as good as Stevenson. It had taken some creativity and a lot of convincing by Joseph, but they were naming their child after him and Joseph's favorite president, Ulysses Grant. When he proposed using those names, Sarah had been the one to twist them just enough to suit their child.

Addison Lyssa Rogers.

~0~

She lost Addison only a week and a half after Joseph left. When her belly didn't stir all day and she started bleeding, she went straight to the OB. Where once had been a beautiful fluttering heart was now a sickening stillness. She couldn't even contact Joseph until thirty six hours later, after she'd bawled her eyes out to a near-stranger, gotten a referral for counseling, and scheduled a D and E. He cried too, almost as much as she did, and vowed he'd try his best to get home. Sarah didn't know what else to say.

He didn't make it home. The best he could do was phone calls in the days following the procedure, when Sarah sat alone in their apartment both physically and emotionally hollowed out. She was glad she hadn't told anybody yet. Enduring her coworkers' glances of confusion at her somber state was way better than enduring their looks of pity had they known what transpired. Sarah just did her job as she always did, shooting a hardened glare at the sign pointing toward the maternity ward whenever she passed it. She didn't cry about it again until months later when Joseph came home.

It took them another three months to decide to try again. This time, they picked out no name and told themselves they'd request not to reveal the sex when they got to that point. But they didn't even get that far. Sarah never even felt this baby move before it was gone. Nor the one after that.

After that, Joseph asked her earnestly if she wanted to stop. She immediately said no. Sarah wanted to be a mother—a mother to her and Joseph's child—more than anything she'd ever wanted before. But she also knew that another miscarriage might break her. It was a risk she was willing to take.

At every ultrasound, she held her breath, practically expecting to hear bad news after years of nothing but. She followed every piece of advice her doctor fed her to a tee, terrified that at any moment the little life inside of her might snuff out. When the baby reached Addison's age as robust and healthy as could be, she cried. It was nice to cry happy tears for once. She made it to twenty weeks, and Joseph wanted to know the sex. Right around that time his contract with the army ended. They had a long discussion about how they wanted to handle things going forward. Sarah knew she could never give up nursing for long, but she was also adamant that this child grow up with at least one parent who was physically present more than a few hours a day, especially during these early years. Joseph agreed to get another job and keep it until Sarah returned to work after maternity leave, then he'd transition into being a stay-at-home dad. At twenty five weeks, they picked out another name, but agreed not to speak it aloud until they could hold him in their arms and whisper it right into his ear.

She told all her coworkers when the suspicious looks had gone on for several weeks. Being medical professionals, they could all tell she was pregnant, but were too polite to bring it up without her announcing it first. They congratulated her with big smiles on their faces, and Sarah shuddered to imagine what they might do or say if this ended anything like her previous pregnancies. Some of her patients brought it up as a topic of conversation, when she got far enough along that there was no other possible explanation for the size and shape of her belly. A few asked his name, but she refused to tell them, claiming they hadn't picked one yet. Joseph bought a crib, which he put together the same afternoon. He finished tightening the last bolt mere hours before her water broke.

Six weeks early.

The fear was instantaneous, and persisted even as doctors at the hospital assured her that thirty two weeks was plenty of time for the baby to be strong enough to survive and thrive. Throughout the entire process, Sarah could think of nothing but this child, this last hope of motherhood. He must have wanted to make a grand entrance because, while Joseph had finished the crib late afternoon the previous day, he didn't make an appearance until evening Independence Day festivities were well underway outside.

His cry drowned out the fireworks. Sarah had done a rotation in the maternity ward in nursing school, so she'd heard plenty of newborn cries. Her son's sounded more distressed, more pained, than any of them. The murmurings of the doctors and nurses soon told her why.

"This doesn't look good."

"His abdomen's distended."

"Something's wrong."

"We need to take him to imaging, stat."

Without another word to her or Joseph, they whisked him away. Sarah immediately burst into tears. After so many years of trying they'd finally succeeded—or had they? She'd carried this baby nearly full-term, only for there to be something wrong with him. Had she come this far only to lose another child, having come so tantalizingly close that she heard his cry?

"Joseph, what are we gonna do?" She wrapped her arms around him and started full-on sobbing. He returned her embrace. People continued to check her over, but she paid them no mind. She was fine, but her baby wasn't, and she cared for nothing but him.

"It's gonna be okay," Joseph assured, rubbing her back comfortingly. She could still hear the fireworks outside, only now they mocked her.

"I—I didn't even get to hold him," she cried softly.

"You will."

At some point, a doctor returned to explain what was going on. "Scans showed a mass in his small intestine," he said matter-of-factly. "We won't know for sure what it is until we remove it, but I'm fairly certain it's a meconium ileus, which is indicative of a condition called cystic fibrosis."

Sarah clutched her husband's hand like a lifeline, letting this information sink in. The doctor handed Joseph a stack of pamphlets and said he'd be back when he had more news. Sarah didn't want him to go, to leave them holding not their son, but a couple pieces of paper telling them everything that was wrong with him. Everything about the situation was perverted and wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Where is he now?" she asked before the doctor could leave. "Where is my baby?"

"They took him to surgery to remove the mass. He's in good hands." With a curt nod, he closed the door behind him. Sarah crumpled.

"I never even got to hold him," she sniffled. For months, she'd dreamed about this day. Having a little bundle placed in her arms so she could see her baby's face and let him hear her voice. That was supposed to be a baby's first experience, her son's first experience. Instead he knew nothing but pain. Not a mother's warm embrace and loving words, but a cold operating room and people cutting into him.

"Is this my fault?" she asked in a near-whisper. Maybe she should have stopped trying after the third miscarriage and accepted the message her body had clearly been trying to send her. Because she'd been too stubborn to quit, she'd doomed a child—her child—to a life of illness.

"No," Joseph avowed, holding her tighter. "No, this isn't your fault."

Sarah wanted to believe him. She wished she could believe she wasn't to blame. But she couldn't.

~0~

When they finally offered her the bundle, she was almost afraid to take it, knowing what she'd done. But Joseph's hand on her shoulder and her own burning love for this baby won out. She cradled him in her arms and marveled at the little life she and Joseph had created. He was so tiny, made to look even smaller by the white dressing dominating his abdomen and the tape holding a nasogastric tube in place on his face. Still, Sarah gazed at him reverently, in awe of the strength her son had already demonstrated in his short life.

After what happened to their first child, they'd debated using historical figures to influence their name choice. Sarah was somewhat superstitious about repeating the pattern, afraid that choosing such a name would doom them to repeat the tragedy, but Joseph insisted. "It's a strong name," he assured. Ultimately, his persistence won out. Sarah hadn't spoken the name aloud since they agreed on it, too afraid to get attached in case this ended the same way her previous three pregnancies had. But now he was here, and he deserved to know his name.

She traced a finger delicately on his uncovered cheek and whispered, "Steven Grant Rogers." Just saying the name brought a smile to her still tear-stained face. "It's nice to finally meet you." He opened bright blue eyes and gazed up at her, washing away all of her regrets. Joseph watched the two of them, eyes shining with love and relief. "I can't believe you're really here."

"He's our little Yankee Doodle, born on the fourth of July," Joseph remarked. "The little guy probably planned it out."

Sarah chuckled. Born on Independence Day. Her Steve was already setting himself apart. She had a feeling this kid had a fierceness to him, and she couldn't wait to see it in action.