Chapter 3: "I'm Your Son."

AN: this is a chapter I have been looking forward to for a while. It is the aftermath of Steve's little breakout and him finally meeting his son. This one is more about Steve gaining a support system and a loving family that wants him, and not the Captain.

I hope you like.

On to the fic

The man, Nick Fury as he introduced himself as, ushered Steve back towards one of the large cars. At first Steve was dubious that all those soldiers, agents, would fit. But after one of the suited agents opened the door, he saw just how roomy it was. He gingerly climbed into the back seat and sat down by the left door. The door was shut with a soft thunk behind him and another man took the space on the right side. Steve leaned back in the seat like he was in a cab and tried to take stock of just what was going on. He was in the future, nearly seventy years if Fury was to be believed. He'd survived the crash and was frozen solid until they thawed him out like a side of beef. He missed the turn of the millennium, by quite a few years, and was now in a world so changed that he hardly recognized his own city. He felt overwhelmed and tired, and everything below the belt was sore.

Steve frowned and pressed a hand to his lower abdomen. It didn't feel any different but for some reason it felt sore and tight; like he'd had too many crunches, or like it felt right before a cycle. And when that thought popped into his head he suddenly went pale. The baby! Steve looked up franticly and surreptitiously pressed the hand tighter to his belly searching for the bloat he had felt just before the mission. Sure enough it was still there, and Steve let out a sigh of relief; dropping his head back onto the back of the seat.

"Buckle up, sir," the agent in the driver's seat said. Steve gave him a confused look through the rear view mirror, and saw the indulgent smile in his eyes. "Your seat belt, buckle it up." Steve looked down and saw there was a buckle on his right and on his left he saw a belt that came over the shoulder. He looked over at the Agent in the opposite seat and saw him demonstrate. He pulled the strap with a metal clip over his shoulder and inserted it into the clasp, creating a chest and lap belt. Steve cautiously grasped the metal clip and pulled it across his lap and pressed it into the clasp. He felt a low click and after a few inspecting tugs, he pulled the belt tight across his lap and over his shoulder; just like the other agent's.

"Didn't have anything like this in your day, sir," the agent in the opposite seat said. Steve looked up and gave him what he expected was a slight deer in headlights look. The smile on his face was pleasantly amused and Steve cocked him an embarrassed smile.

"Oh we did," he said with a smile, "it's just, they were only lap belts. This," he said as he tugged on the chest strap, "this is new." The agent in the driver's seat smiled and turned on the car. It didn't rumble a few times before it turned over, but rather it simply started; coming to life with a gentle rumble rather than the throaty roars of the cars he was used to. It was different, and so was the ride back to the building he had just broken out of. For one, it was rather quiet, and two: he didn't feel every bump and pothole on the road. It was kinda nice, actually. It figures that the car companies would finally make a car that had better suspension than those old jeeps and army trucks that rode worse than a wagon with a few springs.

Steve sat quietly in his seat as they drove into an underground garage and pulled up to a door. Steve watched the agent unfasten his belt and copied the procedure, but before he could figure out where the door handle was the driver had already opened his door. Steve blushed but smiled gratefully as he exited the car; letting him close the door before escorting Steve to the double doors. It turned out that they were elevator doors, and Steve watched with childlike fascination as the agent pressed a button and the elevator moved, all on its own; no operator or lever at all. The ride up was short and quiet, but before he knew it they had arrived on their floor. Steve followed them out onto what appeared to be a hospital floor. If a hospital looked like it had glass windows instead of walls and lots of fancy looking equipment all around.

The agents led him down this glass hall hospital, which they told him was their medical and lab floor, towards what looked a bit more like what he expected from a hospital: white painted walls and desks, and doctors milling about in white lab coats. Except he didn't see any nurses, or at least not the ones he recognized as nurses at first. When he thought of a nurse, his mind always went to his mother; all dressed in white with a paper cap on her head. She always looked like she was wearing a white coat with no sleeves cinched at her waist over a plain dress. His mother always like a little color and had worn the rich dusty blue underneath it well. These nurses didn't even have the white paper caps anymore, or even the white smocks, but rather pale green or blue, or sometimes pink linen shirts and pants with white shoes. They didn't remind him of nurses or his mother, but he supposed that if they were comfortable and could do their job, that was all that mattered. But still he missed it, just a bit.

They led him towards a private exam room near the end of the hall, but before they got there, they were blocked by a dark haired young man arguing loudly with a doctor. At first Steve thought him a patient, until he saw his clothes, all black tactical pants and shirt that reminded him of nights spent around a fire in occupied Europe, and at once realized this man was a soldier. The group stopped and shifted nervously as the obviously very angry, or rather frantic, soldier screamed at the doctor in front of him.

"I don't care about your damn policies, or HIPAA," he screamed, and Steve noted the quite thick Slavic accent under a Brooklyn-esk drawl. The young man looked positively frantic, with his hair askew and his eyes positively wild and red, as he gestured wildly about with his hands. "He's family, I have to see him!" the young man seemed to wilt a bit looking defeated and so lonely. "Please, doc. He's all I have left! I have to see him."

"Oh crap," Steve's guard cursed quietly, "Yasha's on the crusade." Steve looked at his guard and the rest of his escort and they all looked hesitant, some might even say scared, at the prospect of having to get past the soldier in front of them. They all collectively flinched when the soldier, Yasha, jerked his head up like a dog hearing a whistle and turned his head to them. Suddenly Steve felt like he couldn't breathe, as his eyes widened in shock and he felt his face go white. Yasha looked so much like Bucky it hurt. They had the same shape to their eye-sockets and cheek bones, making their eyes and brow look the same, but Yasha's eyes weren't Bucky's icy blue but rather a brilliant silver blue with a luminous quality he had seen in only a few others. One of whom had helped Steve with his plans. He was longer in the face than Bucky, and had a slightly different chin and jaw line, but he had a dimple in his chin just like Bucky and the same dark brown hair; it was even parted the same way. The essence was there, but mixed in with the rest it was jarring. Suddenly with perfect clarity, Steve recognized that cut of the jaw, the shape of the chin and mouth, hell even the slant of his nose was the same. It wasn't Bucky he was seeing in Yasha's face, though the resemblance was remarkable, it was Fëanor.

The last Steve had knew, Fëanor had only one living son, Adrian, and he would only be barely above adulthood, and far too young to be anyone's father. But Steve couldn't explain it other than this young man was Fëanor's grandson. Heedless of the escort around him, Steve walked up to the young soldier with open curiosity and shock. Yasha on the other hand, just stood there. The deer in headlights look was gone, but the open awe and joy on his face made him look that much younger in Steve's eyes.

"Who are you," Steve asked. The young man looked at him with tear-filled eyes, hope shining within them like a brilliant fire. He was about Steve's height and slightly broader across the chest and shoulders; Not very noticeably but enough for Steve to see, and catalogue.

"Russian experiment project no. 3," Yasha said blankly his voice dull and mechanical, "sample no. 7038-32B." then after a moment his eyes looked up into Steve's and suddenly Steve saw himself in those eyes, hoping for acceptance wanting a place and belonging. He swallowed hard and with tears in his eyes Yasha said, "I'm your son."

You could just about have heard a pin drop, that's how quiet it suddenly got. The escort stared at Yasha with newfound awe and Steve could see out of the corner of his sight the doctor go stiff and panicked. But none of that mattered to Steve; all that he could care about was the young man standing in front of him with new clarity. Yasha had Fëanor's eyes, and fiery spirit, and he had Steve's smile. He was so shocked that he didn't even realize his mouth had opened and he currently resembled something like a fish.

"How," Steve asked his voice barely a whisper, "when…oh… oh God. Oh, my God," Steve stuttered as the weight of Yasha's statement caught up with him: he had a son! And as quickly as the shock came over him it was replaced with incandescent joy. A wide teary smile pulled across his lips as he finally saw himself in the boy standing before him. It was subtle, nothing overt really; something that you wouldn't see unless you were looking for it. It was in the way he stood, straight backed and his chin high, proud; in the cut of his shoulders, the lines of his hands, clenching and unclenching at his sides: the same thing Steve would do when he was stressed. "My son! Ai, Yonya, ná vanë!" (Oh, my son, thou art fair.) Steve sobbed and placed a gentle hand on Yasha's cheek, feeling the softness. 'Ilvana,' he said. (Perfect) Overcome with joy Steve lunged forward, startling the agents and the doctor, their witnesses, as he wrapped his boy in a bone crushing hug, sobbing and smiling. Suddenly his whole world wasn't gone, he had a piece of it right here in his arms; living and breathing, and crying against his neck. Steve pulled back and took Yasha's face in both his hands, seeing the bright wide smile on his face and the tears running down his cheeks. Like his mother once did to him when she was so happy he was alive after a bout of the flu, Steve laughed and rapidly pressed kisses to Yasha's cheeks, nose, forehead and then hair before pulling him in and pressing his lips to that dark crown and swaying back and forth as he let his tears run into the locks. Yasha clung just as tightly, his face hot against Steve's neck as he shuddered and shivered through his own shock and tears.

"Ada," Yasha said softly against Steve's chest. And didn't that just make his heart leap like a gazelle for joy in his chest. Oh, how he never thought he'd hear those words from another living being directed at him. "I never thought I'd get to see you," Yasha confessed and Steve hugged him just a little bit tighter, hearing how broken it was. "But you're here! You're here at last!" Yasha let out a shuddering breath, and with tears in his eyes, Yasha whispered against Steve's neck, "I love you, Ada." Steve suddenly felt weak in the knees and he clutched to his baby boy, all grown and strong long before he ever saw him, praying that he never had to let go.

"I'm here, yonya," Steve murmured against Yasha's crown or hair, and pressed his lips tightly against the head. "I'm here, and I ain't goin' nowhere!"

When the two finally part it isn't because they want to, but because they need to. Doctor that Yasha was talking to before Steve had interrupted his fit, cleared his throat and smiled tightly but good naturedly when the two looked up from their curled positions against one another. Yasha smiled in a slightly embarrassed manner, before he reluctantly pulled away. Steve slowly let go of his little boy, and turned to the doctor.

"Captain Rogers," he said softly, "if you would please follow me, we'll do our exam and you two can get to know each other after." The doctor gave Steve a genial smile as he gestured to the room opposite himself. Steve looked at Yasha and saw the pleading eyes and couldn't say no.

"Yasha too," he asked, and when the doctor gave him a hesitant look, Steve pleaded, "please, doc, he's the only family I've got." The doctor suddenly found himself under the full weight of Steve's pleading puppy dog eyes, and couldn't bring himself to say no. He reluctantly nodded and motioned the pair towards the room. "Thanks, doc," Steve beamed.

"Yasha," another man said timidly, and the pair turned to find a relatively young man with dusty blond hair and blue eyes standing behind them.

"Jake," Yasha said with a winning smile. He pulled the young man closer, as he wiped the tears from his face. "Ada, this is Jake. He's my best friend. We were in the Army together." Steve couldn't help his shock, but he quickly shook it off with the oncoming swell of pride he felt for his son. Jake stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Jake Cowens, sir," he introduced himself as, and Steve took his hand with a smile, giving it a good hard shake. "Yasha and I were in the Rangers together. We met at base one day when I was a fresh faced recruit and we've been pals ever since." Jake laughed, "We stuck together in the army, and he dragged me with him to SHIELD when we got out." Steve smiled, proudly, until the name suddenly rang a bell.

"Cowens," Steve asked, "you wouldn't happen to be related to Richard Cowens?" Jake smiled wide.

"Yeah, he was my grandpa," Jake confirmed with a wide smile. "He was in the 107th back in the war. Got hurt at the Bulge and went home. He's the reason I joined the army. He told me about you when I was growin' up, said you saved his life." Steve grinned.

"Yeah," Steve said, "he was one of the lucky ones that made it out of that place alive. I'm glad he got home alright. Is he… still around?" Steve looked hopeful but Jake shook his head.

"He died the day I turned 18," he answered, "I joined the army the next day. I wanted to make him proud." Steve hung his head slightly with sorrow before his head snapped up when the doctor cleared his throat. Steve smiled sheepishly when the man jerked his head into the exam room, and nodded.

"Well it was nice meeting you, Jake," Steve said, "Maybe we can talk later." Jake nodded and turned away but not before resting an encouraging hand on Yasha's shoulder. Yasha smiled as Jake passed but his eyes immediately turned to Steve with a happy gleam. Steve returned the smile and nodded his head towards the exam room. Yasha quickly followed behind Steve into the room, shutting the door as he entered.

Steve climbed up onto the exam table and folded his hands in his lap. The doctor smiled genially and took a seat in the stool in front of him. Yasha, full of nervous energy and happiness, stood beside Steve and rested a gentle hand on Steve's tense shoulder. Even the mere touch of his son seemed to pull the tenseness out of his child, and Steve felt himself relax just a little, even if his mind was still reeling from everything that had happened.

"Captain Rogers," the doctor began, and Steve stopped him.

"Please," he asked, "call me Steve." The doctor smiled at the captain's informal-ness and continued.

"Steve," he began again and this time continued with a more cautious tone. "Were you aware that you were… with child, when you went into the ice?" Steve's eyes widened slightly, before he cast his gaze down to his clenched hands in his lap. When he finally spoke his words were quiet and subdued.

"I didn't know for sure," he answered after a long quiet moment.

"Can you give me an approximate date of conception," the doctor asked, and Steve huffed out a laugh with a wry smile on his face.

"I can give you the exact day," he said, and looked up, his eyes sad but full of strength, "December 25th, 1944." The doctor nodded and then tapped something out on the strange typewriter beside him. When he looked up it was with a satisfied smile.

"That's quite specific," the doctor commented, to which Steve smiled wryly.

"It was an artificial… insemination," Steve explained, with some hesitancy, "the father gave his… sample," Steve blushed beet red and continued after clearing his throat, "and Stark did the procedure, with … Bucky's help." The doctor hummed in satisfaction before making not of this and moving on.

"So that would have made you around four to five weeks, to your best estimation," he asked, to which Steve nodded. Steve puzzled on the doctor's words for a moment before he spoke hesitantly with some confusion.

"Did the baby make it," he asked. The doctor sighed and chewed on his lip for a moment.

"That is a difficult question to answer," he said, "the short answer is, yes the babies survived, and no." Steve looked up sharply with widened eyes at the use of the plural. The doctor saw his shocked face and caught on quickly. "You weren't aware you were carrying multiples?"

"No," Steve said shaking his head numbly, and pressing a hand to his still taut belly. "How many," he asked weakly.

"You were carrying four," the doctor said and Steve's eyes widened in shock at this number, but he calmed himself and let the doctor finish. "We believe that they were a set of identical twins, but it's difficult to tell. Only two of the babies survived the reanimation, the rest were lost… miscarried." Steve felt his eyes water and well up before he squeezed them shut and let go with a sigh. The doctor rested a comforting hand on Steve's knee and catching his eyes. "I'm sorry," said sympathetically. "My colleagues and I have studied the scans and kept a close eye on the other two, but… it's our professional opinion that only one… might make it to term." Steve dropped his eyes and sniffled through his nose to try to clear it, and calm himself and swallow his tears. "You gonna be okay?"

Steve smiled brokenly and let out a laugh that sounded closer to a sob, but wretched it back under control before he could begin sobbing in earnest.

"It's just a lot to take in," he said, as he kept his breathing calm. The doctor smiled wanly and gave Steve's knee an encouraging squeeze before he let go.

"I have one more question," he said, "you can answer or not, only if you're up to it." Steve nodded, and wiped the tears off his face quickly.

"What's the question," he asked with a quiet and hoarse voice.

"Who's the babies' father," the doctor asked. Steve looked into the distance with a soft sigh, and faint smile.

He remembered a sly smile and sharp silver blue eyes, set on a face very much like his father's, crowned with a head of locks so pale a gold they looked like corn silk. He remembered a hound with a golden mane who sat nearly level with Steve's shoulder when he was sitting. He remembered a sharp tongue and quick mind, helping him scheme up an idea for ensuring his retirement. But Steve also remembered a soft smile on his face while he held his youngest brother in his strong arms. Yes, Steve remembered the best of him, but he also remembered the tales of his worst. When his soft gentle smile turned cold and cruel, and when his epithet turned from The Fair to the Cruel. Steve knew all this and yet it still made him sad to know him long gone, and naught but a memory from a long begotten Age.

"Captain," the doctor said, breaking Steve out of his reverie, "who is their father?" Steve sighed and clenched his jaw, and gone was the sorrow of a lost man. In its place was the grim determination of a man willing to do anything to protect his unborn child; even from the scorn of the past.

"His name was Turkafinwë Tyelkormo Fëanarion," Steve said with a blank voice, his eyes as cold as the ice they had taken him from, "Celegorm, in the Sindar tongue. He's long dead."

The doctor, taken aback by Steve's blank voice and cold eyes, nodded and let the matter drop. The doctor turned back to his notes before he stood up and handed Steve a vial and syringe in a clear packet.

"This was given to us by a Numenorean Healer," the Doctor said. Steve's head snapped up in shock.

"They're still around," Steve asked with hopeful eyes. The doctor had to smile at Steve's obvious joy over this news.

"Yes," he said with a laugh in his voice and smile on his face, "the Numenoreans are still around and they're here to stay. You'll receive all the information you need to know about them in your briefing packet before you go." Steve looked at him in confusion as he took the packaged Hypo syringe and vial of medicine.

"Go," Steve asked.

"it's called The Retreat," the doctor informed, "it's a place out in the country for agents that need mandatory leave, but still need to have an eye kept on them for a while. It's just for a few days, maybe a week or two; just until you get on your feet." Steve smiled gratefully at the obvious thought and concern that went into that plan, and nodded in acquiescence before he held up the package and vial with a raised eyebrow in askance.

"And this," he asked. The doctor laughed and began to explain.

"The Numenoreans formulated that for mothers expecting multiples," he explained. "I believe you might already know a bit about it."

"Yeah," Steve confirmed, "they call it um… they called it Elvish Breath. It's supposed to speed up the growth of an unborn child, and help boost their physical strength, especially for small babies. It's also given to preemies to get them to grow faster and strengthen their weakened immune system. If I had been born in Numenorean lands, my healer would have given me this," Steve explained as he held up the vial. "But I was born in Brooklyn, and Numenoreans were hunted at the time, so it was too risky for any healer to set up shop; even in the states." The doctor nodded.

"Our research indicates that Erskine began his Serum research after getting his hands on a vial and seeing what it could do," the doctor explained. "It probably explained why it worked so well on you and not on others." Steve nodded and mused for a moment, remembering what his mother told him about the formula.

"Yeah," Steve said, "it only works on Numenoreans, not regular humans. Mom thought that it had to do with our elvish blood, but there was no proof or research to back this up. The Numenoreans had been experimenting with it during the reign of Ar-Pharazon, but the Fall ended that pretty quickly. Almost all the research was gone. Some tried to continue the research, but… we simply didn't have the means here, so we didn't." the doctor smiled and moved to his notes. He picked up a pair of reading glasses and perched them on the end of his nose.

"The healer said that you are to inject yourself once a day for the first week," he explained, "then twice for the rest of the regiment. The amount is to be one half filled syringe, approximately 25ml of liquid; so about 12 to 13ml used. Do you know how to inject yourself," he asked looking at the Captain, his spectacles. Steve smiled. He thought it made the doc look more approachable, which was probably why he did it.

"Yeah, I do," he answered calmly.

"Good," the doctor nodded, and continued to explain, "These injections are to be done directly into the uterus as close as we can get to the fetus. Since they are twins you'll need to two this twice, with half in one and half in the other. We'll show you how, if you're not sure, and provide you with an ultrasound machine to do it accurately." Steve smiled and sighed in relief. He had no idea what this doctor was saying but if he was shown what to do once, he could it himself just fine.

For once he was glad for the perfect memory and recall the Serum gave him, because it was going to be a long day.

"One more thing, Steve," the doctor said breaking him out of his musings.

"Hmm," Steve hummed, and looked up again and saw the doctor smile warmly.

"Would you like to see them?"

Steve's face broke into a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with mirth and joy, as he nodded. Maybe today wasn't going to be so bad.

TBC…

Endnotes: ta-da, I hope you liked this. I have no idea what I am saying for all that medical mumbo jumbo, but I had to make it sound good.

I also liked the idea that the Super Soldier Serum was based on a formula the Numenoreans had created to save their children. Thanks for reading and please comment.

Kudos would be nice.

Next chapter: Hithlum