After Steve's asleep, Tony untangles himself from him and stands up. He's not happy about leaving Steve here by himself. Even if he's asleep now, he could wake up at any time and he shouldn't be alone, not after what happened yesterday. Unfortunately, someone has to take care of the kids, and today that person is Tony. All their friends have been amazing with their help. Pepper and Bruce watched them last night, while Tony stayed with Steve in the healing tent. Today, Clint and Pepper are combing forces to watch all of the kids together, while Bruce and Natasha see to their own duties. Now, though, it's time for Tony to do his duty. There are only two places they could be, at this time of day: Natasha's tent or Tony's. And Tony's has the best clothesline in the tribe, so that's where he checks first.
The kids are all outside when he gets there, but they're uncharacteristically subdued. Even Wade, the most evil of the whole bunch, is quiet. They're playing marbles, he notes as he gets closer, and they're not even trying to hurt each other with them. Even Carol is there, propped up against her pram, one marble clutched in her little fist, and she's cooing. He regards them all suspiciously, at first; whoever these little angels are, they're not his children. Then he thinks, of course, they're not stupid. They may not know the details, but they definitely know something's wrong with Steve.
This is confirmed when Wade glances up and sees him. He tosses his marbles aside and runs over, reaching up to clutch at the bottom of Tony's shirt. Peter's right behind him and Jan toddling after the boys. The rest of the kids, Maria, Happy and Phil, hover awkwardly a few yards away.
"Where's Papa?" Wade asks.
Tony sighs and kneels down to look at them, his wonderful children. He makes sure to look Wade in the eye most, because of all of them, Wade's the most likely to understand. "Papa is sick," he explains. "But he'll get better. What I need you all to do is be extra nice to him, okay? Give him lots of hugs and be good for him, alright?"
Wade and Peter both nod, like they understand, and Jan says, "Papa," very seriously, so Tony thinks it'll be okay. Wade, at least, will get the job done, and the others will follow his lead. That's one thing you can say about Wade: he's destructive as all get out, but he listens when it really matters.
"We can watch them for a bit longer, if you need," Tony hears, and he looks up to see Pepper watching them.
Tony smiles gratefully and stands up to go hug his sister. "You're fantastic, Pep," he tells her. "Thank you so much for the offer, but I got this, really. I think it'll be good for him to have them around, you know? At the very least it'll distract him. But if you could do me another favor and keep an eye on him during the day I'd really appreciate it super a lot."
"Of course, Tony," she says. "How is he?"
"Oh, you know," Tony waves a hand, trying for casual like this whole thing doesn't tear him up inside. "Thinks it's all his fault, wants me to hate him, doesn't want to talk about it. Pretty much what we expected."
"It'll be okay," Pepper tells him. "He'll be okay."
"I know," Tony says, and he does, really. "It's just, it was so close, you know? But it'll be fine, really, we'll just deal with this, and then we'll make sure it never happens again. It'll all be fine."
She opens her mouth like she wants to say something about that, but Tony's not sure he can stand to hear what she thinks needs said, so he cuts her off.
"Anyway, thanks again for watching them. I'm gonna take them to visit, now. Reassurance, you know?"
"Okay," she agrees, but he can tell she's going to make him talk about it eventually, even if not now. "If you need anything, though, you know where to find me."
Tony smiles, so grateful to have a girl like this in his life. "Yeah, the bedroll next to mine."
He grabs up Carol and starts to herd his little monsters toward the healing tent. He's got a plan, he does: take care of Steve, keep his family from falling apart, make sure this never happens again. It'll work, it will, because Tony needs it to.
Steve wakes to something landing heavily on his chest and Tony yelling, "Wade, I said gently!" Sure enough, when he opens his eyes, the heavy thing on him is his eldest child, grinning at him madly. Peter and Jan are on the pallet with them, too, and Tony's standing over them, holding Carol and watching with a sad, sweet smile.
"How do you feel?" Tony asks.
Steve feels pretty much like he just killed their baby, but he can't say that, not with all the kids in the room. Instead he forces a smile, too, and says, "Less sore. Or at least, I was, until this monkey jumped right on me."
Wade begins to make monkey noises, then, and of course, that sets Peter and Jan off, too. Even Carol joins in, cooing in her little voice. They don't really understand, he knows, but they love him, and no matter how much trouble they cause on a daily basis, they're the most perfect thing he's ever done in his life. The baby, the one he lost, it could have been another wonderful thing in his life. But it never will be, now, because he was so worried about his own comfort that he didn't even realize he wanted it until it was too late, until the baby was gone.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," Tony tells him. "The kids missed you."
"I can tell," Steve says. They're all over him, clinging and touching, much more than usual. He scared them, he knows, and it's just one more thing to feel guilty about. Poor Wade, especially. He's old enough now to understand that his Papa on the ground bleeding was a very bad thing. He was so brave, too, running to get help. He's a good kid, really.
"They were pretty down all day, but now that they've seen you, they'll probably get rowdy again," Tony tells him. "Do you want me to take them outside?"
Steve looks at the little faces around him, the flailing arms. Wade's got a smudge of dirt on his cheek and Peter just wiped his nose on Jan's shirt. Carol's contenting herself with sucking on Tony's fingers and getting drool all down his hand. These are his children, and they're noisy and messy and sometimes they misbehave terribly, but they're his. The baby, he misses it. He barely knew it was there before it was gone, but he misses the person it could have been. These little brats, though, they need him, and he can't let himself fall apart.
"No," he says, and Tony smiles at him softly. "No, they can stay."
It's not that easy, of course. As much as Steve tells himself that he's okay, there are still times when the whole thing hits him out of the blue, and it's all he can do to hold himself together. He goes back to work two days after the miscarriage, helping in the fields, cleaning and mending for the house, keeping the kids in line. It keeps him busy, keeps his mind off of it, which can only be a good thing. Sometimes, though, Steve will see something, a nursing mother, maybe, or the kids playing outside, and it'll all come back to him. When that happens, he usually goes and lies down for a while, until Tony or one of the kids comes to find him.
He thinks about the baby every day, even on the good days. He's angry, at first, at himself, mostly, for failing both the baby and Tony. He's angry at Tony, too, sometimes, because Tony won't admit that it was Steve's fault. Tony never gets angry back, though. He just keeps on being kind and gentle, and sometimes playful if he thinks Steve is up for it.
Honestly, Tony's been a godsend through this whole thing. He never says anything when he finds Steve lying on the bedroll in the middle of the day, just staring at the tent wall. He just curls up with him, or sits and strokes his hair. He helps with the chores, too, as often as he can, which takes some of the pressure off of Pepper to make up for Steve's lack of productivity on his bad days. And every night, as they're falling asleep, Tony holds him and tells him he loves him, and that the miscarriage wasn't his fault. Steve doesn't believe that, probably never will, but it helps to hear it, anyway.
So it goes on like that, the good days and the bad. Steve aches so badly some days he thinks he won't survive, and but other days he's mostly okay. Not good, but not bad either. He thinks the stress will to Tony eventually, that he'll just snap one day and tell Steve to get over it. He never does, though.. Tony's a solid presence by his side every single day. It helps, and Steve appreciates it, but it all the support in the world doesn't mean he's okay.
One day, about two months after the miscarriage, Steve gets a visit from Ororo, one of the middle-aged camp women. Steve's met her, worked by her in the fields once or twice, but they've never had an actual conversation together. She comes over just as he's hanging up the last of the washing.
"Hello," she says kindly.
"Hi," Steve says. He dries his hands and smiles at her. She seems nice enough, and she is a visitor, after all, so Steve has to be at his best. He looks around, not quite sure what to do. It's been a long time since they've had visitors here; usually most socializing is done after supper. There's a nice green patch of grass right in front of the tent, far enough away from where the boys are playing that they won't be accidently kicked or sprayed with mud.
"Would you like to sit down?" he asks.
"That would be lovely," Ororo answers, and Steve leads her over to the grass, snatching up Carol on the way. Children, Steve has found, can only help in social interactions. If they're good, they provide a nice backdrop and a point of conversation. If they're bad, and his kids almost always are, they're a good excuse to end the discussion early. Steve has gotten out of more than one awkward conversation because his kids were acting up.
Once they're both settled, and Carol is tucked up against Steve's neck, making bruises, Ororo says, "I was sorry to hear about your miscarriage."
Steve inhales raggedly. He's not sure he can handle this conversation. It's been a while since his last really bad day, and this could cause them to start up again. "Th-thank you," he forces out, hoping she'll drop it and they can talk about the weather instead.
"I know it's probably the last thing you want to think about," she continues, "but I think it might help you to know you aren't alone. Others in the tribe have lost children, as well, both before and after birth."
"I'm sorry," Steve says, and he is. This shouldn't happen to anyone, and knowing that it apparently happens often doesn't make him feel better at all.
"It's not your fault," Ororo tells him. "You didn't cause any of it, not even your own miscarriage. I know you don't believe that. I didn't either, when I lost my baby. It's true, regardless."
"What did you do?" Steve asks desperately. "How did you keep going?" Surely she has an answer, some magical way for Steve to just move on.
Ororo shakes her head, sadly. "There's nothing you can do, except keep going. I did exactly what you're doing now. I simply existed, for a while, feeling guilty and angry. Nothing helped, not for a long time. Then one day, I realized I was ready to try again, to have another baby. It didn't erase the hurt, and the new baby could never replace the one I'd lost, but it did make things better."
"But what if I kill the next one, too?" Steve asks in a small voice. "I don't think I could do this all again."
"You're stronger than you think, Steve," she tells him, standing and brushing herself off. "The best thing you can do is to try again. And if the worst happens, you will survive it. Your husband and children love you, and they will never blame you. As long as you remember that, you'll survive, no matter what."
Then she's gone, walking gracefully back across the camp. Steve watches her go, thinking. A baby. Hmmm. He's not ready yet, he knows, but someday soon, he might be. He has less bad days, now, than he did at the beginning. Maybe eventually he'll have none at all, and then everything will be okay again. Maybe, just maybe, a new baby would help with that.
Carol starts fussing, most likely hungry, and Steve stands up and takes her into the tent. He listens to the sounds of his children playing together outside while he feeds his youngest, and thinks, for the first time in a long time, there might be hope.