Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,' by the wonderful Njchrispatrick. It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them.

When Director Nick Fury told Steve Rogers that he was going to be getting a special visitor, he had no idea what to expect. The whole situation he found himself in was...overwhelming to say in the lest. In fact, that was an understatement. Waking up in another time, a world so foreign that you wondered if you were dreaming, was not something that was merely 'overwhelming.'

After a while, he found partial solace in the private gym at SHIELD headquarters. When he was lifting weights and pummeling punching bags, it distracted him from the world around him. If it worked back in the forties (the words felt foreign in his mind, cold and metallic), then surely it would work now. Surely, it would distract him from the looming reality of what his life now was. Usually, he would say, 'the best way to face a problem is head on, with a shield and a gun.'

Not now.

Right now, what he needed was time.

He chuckled under his breath. Time. Wasn't that ironic? Frozen in the icy Atlantic Ocean for seventy years, unconscious and unaware, and the only thing he was asking for was time. Time to mull things over. Time to come to terms with what happened. Time face the reality that all of his friends and family were likely dead, that he was just a name for the history books, a face on a curled, yellowing page, probably long forgotten. The thought drowned his mind in veritable sorrow, sorrow that could only be escaped through distraction.

punch.

From what he could tell, this world was vastly different from his own. Their morals, their ideals, they were different. For lack of a better word, he would say people were generally more...loose. When he ran out of the falsey forties room, he saw and heard things that he couldn't believe. The clothes that people wore, clinging to their bodies like a wet shirt, were shocking. The way people talked, the language worse than a garbage disposal, made him want to admonish them into some common decency. But, that wasn't his place. Times had changed.

punch.

Now he was the one stuck in the past, stuck in a time when things were different. It wasn't the others who needed to change. And it wasn't him who needed to change. What needed to happen was a compromise, a way that he could finally have what he wanted. Some peace. Some time to himself. Maybe a small apartment in Brooklyn, away from all the military operations that surrounded him. Even though he knew he would come back, like a dog attracted to a bone, some time away, some peace, some quiet, would do him a world of good.

punch.

Lord knew he needed it.

And when he kept exercising, pushing his limits, until sweat dripped down his brow and pooled at his collarbones, his thoughts kept straying to the 'special visitor' that Fury said would be in to see him. The vagueness of the Director frustrated him. How hard would it be to tell him the name of this person, this mysterious visitor who was apparently beyond being identified?

punch.

It left him to wonder, to stew. Just another mystery of this strange new world for him to solve, another thing to add to the overflowing bucket of 'what the heck' in his mind. It wouldn't take him long, he could tell that the resolution to his wonderings would arrive soon, most likely knocking at the door. The thought made him smirk. That would certainly be the first time someone had knocked on his door in a while. The last time he could remember that happening was…

No.

Steve flung the punching bag away from him with such force that the chains snapped. With an almighty crash, the bag careened into the wall, flumping to the ground. He didn't care. He wouldn't let himself be dragged into another torturous memory. Those memories only reminded him of what he couldn't have. What was lost to time. Those were not the things he needed to dwell on right now. He could dwell on them later, slowly let them trickle out over time, until the ocean threatening to charge through his defenses was nothing but a pathetic little dribble.

Panting, Steve grabbed his water bottle and flopped back into the only seat in the gym. It wasn't comfortable by any means, but it was better than the floor. He took a few sips of the cool liquid, only to be interrupted by a soft knocking at the door.

He glanced up, expecting to see a SHIELD agent. What he saw instead made his heart skip a beat.

Standing in the doorway was a thirty-something man with a face identical to his, down to the smile lines around his eyes. It was like looking in a mirror. Steve's mind went blank. There was no doubt that this man, this stranger was related to him. It would be stupid to think otherwise. Resemblance that close is uncanny, it didn't come without being related. The only question was how they were related.

In the back of his mind, a flower of hope began to bloom. Maybe there was a chance that he would have someone, something, to link him back home, even if it came in the form of a totally unknown relative.

That man stepped forward, his body language screaming nervousness. For some reason, there were tears glistening on his cheeks, his eyes red, bloodshot. Steve couldn't surmise what he could have been crying about.

"Uh, hi."

Well.

That certainly wasn't the introduction he had been expecting. Nor was the accent. The man was clearly, obviously, English. How he ended up in America, as an agent of SHIELD, was another question.

"Hi. I'm Steve." What? That was the dumbest thing he could have said. It was obvious that the man knew who he was. "Sorry, you already know that."

"Yeah, I do." The man smiled apologetically, before his face lit up with realisation. "I'm Harry, by the way. I know for a fact that you don't know that." Now a real smile stretched over his face. It was startling how similar their smiles were. Steve could see his father in the way the man's eyes crinkled and his mother in the way his lips peeled backwards in happiness. What he was happy about was another mystery, though Steve has a hunch it was to do with family.

"I take it we're related, then?" No point delaying it any longer. The now named man, Harry, blanched. "Wanted to talk a bit first, huh?"

"Yeah, I was hoping for that." Harry turned around in a circle, dragging his fingers through his hair. "God, I'm awful at this. When I heard they'd found you, I didn't know what to do. I may have sprinted here. The thing is, now that I'm here, I have no idea what to do. Is that weird?"

"Not at all. I think that we both find ourselves in strange situations."

"You've got that right." Steve fought a chuckle at the slightly biting tone of Harry's voice.

Steve shifted on his seat, before standing. Sitting down while Harry was standing just didn't feel right. "So...what exactly is our relationship? I know we're related, it's obvious. I'm just not sure how." He stared at Harry's face, noticing that they were at eye level. "Unknown cousin? That's my best guess."

"It's a bit closer than that, sorry."

"I don't see how it can be closer. Do you mind explaining?"

Harry grimaced. Steve would have seen the discomfort, the anxiety, from a mile away. He knew the look of fear of rejection when he saw it. "You might want to sit down for this."

"I'm sure it can't be all that shocking."

"Well, if that's the way you feel." Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was obviously psyching himself up, "It's funny, I've been waiting for years to say this. The words are just stuck...you know, like there's a filter in my throat. Like whales have. I'm sorry. That isn't at all relevant to the conversation. I'm going a little bit off the rails. I'm not usually like this."

Steve shook his head in sympathy. "If you need to wait, I am perfectly fine with that. I understand how hard these things can be."

Harry's response was immediate, defensive. "That's the thing, you don't. I think I'm the only person to find myself in this situation, ever." Harry's eyes widened. "No, I didn't mean to be rude. Please don't hold that against me. And I don't need to wait. I'm going to spit this out right now, get it over and done with." He took another deep breath, sucking in the air like it was a lifeline. "Okay. You sure you don't want to sit down?"

"I am quite sure I can take whatever you have to say to me."

Harry hesitated for a second, before the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm your son. Peggy took some of your sperm and gave it to a sperm bank. I'm the result of that. Tadaa?" Harry gave some pathetic jazz hands, before stuffing them back in his pockets.

Steve blinked. "I'm sorry? Peggy did what?" He wasn't sure what he'd just heard. "Could you repeat that, I think I just hallucinated." Harry was claiming to be his son? Just what stories had he been fed?

"She took some of your sperm. I'm your biological son. You can ask her if you want." Harry was pleading, full on begging.

Steve didn't budge, though the desperation colouring Harry's face was impossible to fake. And if it were true, it would explain the extreme closeness in appearance. No. Peggy wouldn't do something like that. True, he had always known that one day he was going to have children. It was one of the few things that was a constant in his life, one of the few things that he knew he could rely on. Hope was consistent like that. But to take his sperm, without his knowledge, and give it to whatever a sperm bank was? That didn't sound like something she would do. It didn't sound like something anyone would do, no one that he knew.

The only thing he could do was find out more information. If Harry was lying, if he was an imposter, Steve wouldn't hesitate to throw him out. If he were telling the truth, though, maybe it could be a chance. A chance to have someone close to, a chance to form that familial bond he missed so much, ever since his parents died. Then, when Harry was done telling the story, he would go to Fury and ask for more details.

"Tell me more." It was a mere whisper. Yet those three words caused an instant change in Harry. His back straightened, his eyes brightened, and in that moment, Steve saw something spark inside Harry, something that he himself kept incredibly close to him.

Hope.

"Do you want the whole story, or the abridged version." Harry paused, seemingly puzzled with himself. "This is a lot easier than it was before. Everything's just popping out."

"How about you give me the key plot points first, and then we can discuss it more in depth later." Steve was beginning to get a strange warm feeling in his chest. From what he could gather so far, Harry was usually far more composes than this, a far cry from the babbling man he was now. For some reason, it was oddly endearing. What was more odd, though, was that the man in front of him was slightly older than himself. That was going to be a tough one to get his head around if it turned out that Harry wasn't really his son.

And despite himself, he was beginning to think it was true. Too many things were lining up. The story was logical. Harry definitely wasn't lying. If he was, Steve would know. If there was one thing he was good at, it was spotting liars. The war had taught him that. Every time he looked at Harry, there was something that began to stir inside him, something he couldn't explain. The feeling wasn't bad, though. Quite the contrary. In fact, if he had to describe it, the words he would choose were 'pleasantly warm.' Like a hot water bottle was heating him from the inside, keeping all the cold out.

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yeah, that's a good idea. I don't know why I didn't think of that. Can you give me a minute?" Perplexed, Steve nodded. Harry dashed out of the room, moving incredibly quick, barging through the doors, which flapped around on their hinges. It wasn't possible to move that speed without the Serum, he knew that much. Now, there was almost no doubt in his head about whether Harry was telling the truth.

And, if he was being honest, he did like the name Harry.

Before his thoughts could wander any further, Harry crashed back into the room. A chair was clutched under his arm, hard and plastic, but a chair nonetheless. He wasn't puffed in the slightest, his cheeks not even flushing a slight red.

"I got a chair. So we can both sit down." He plonked it next to Steve's and flopped backwards into it. Steve sat down in his own, with far more decorum that Harry seemed to possess. There was something charming about how utterly flustered Harry was, though. The gesture of getting a chair was also nice, so Steve wasn't complaining. "Okay, where do you want me to start?"

"Let's start at the very beginning."

Harry's eyes lit up. "A very good place to start." He seemed to be waiting for Steve's own eyes to light up with a similar realisation. They didn't. Steve just remained very puzzled. "Nevermind, it's a movie reference. Anyway, the beginning. Well, my parents were having trouble conceiving, so they went to a sperm bank after exhausting all the other options. My mother, Lily, was certain that she wanted to carry her own child, you see. After going through a few options, they decided on your sperm. Lo and behold, I was born. A year later, they were killed," his eyes became slightly glassy, though he kept speaking, "and I was never told the truth of my parentage.

"Time skip to 1998, and I found out you were my biological father by doing some detective work of my own. Met Nick Fury, became an agent here, and the rest, as they say, is history." Harry smiled hopefully at Steve, who was still digesting the information that Harry had just gabbled out faster than a hyperactive turkey.

The story rang true. But, there were a few tests that Steve still wanted to do. If Harry was truly his son, then he would likely have the Super Soldier Serum running through his veins. Sure, he'd already seen it in action, but he needed (not really, he was already believing Harry, and was sure that the complete shock of it would sink in later) to test out his capabilities.

Two hours later, Harry stood next to Steve, barely exhausted, grinning like mad. This was more than he could have ever asked for. His veins were zinging with excitement, with happiness, with contentment. He turned to Steve and grinned.

"I...thank you."

Steve looked up but didn't reply. Instead, he pulled Harry into a hug, whispering into his ear, "I believe you."

That was all Harry needed to hear.

And, for once, he was truly happy, content, and willing to just go with the flow. He had family. He had a father. He may not be James, but he was family. And Harry took every chance at family he got.

No exceptions.

This took longer than expected. I hope that everything was to your satisfaction. I've never written Steve before, so things are going to be a little rocky to start out with. I've really tried my best.

If you want to, feel free to join my discord server. We discuss fanfiction, there are story updates, and I do take requests. The link is below. It is a bit broken, but I'm sure that if you want to join you will be able to make it.

/Kb9zJgV

Sincerely,
Mariadoria