Chapter 10: The Battle is Won, the War's Just Begun

AN: this is the aftermath of the battle and the shockwaves that occur. For one, Steve's little secret isn't going to be a secret very much longer.

If you all were gearing up for the battle I have this to say, I suck at doing battles and fight scenes. I think like an artist or in terms of cinematics I cannot write a battle that doesn't sound like, "and then this happened and then he did this and this" I hate that! So no battle; just the aftermath, Oh and Shawarma! I hope you like that!

Anyway, I've delayed you enough

On to the fic

There was debris everywhere; dust, and crumbled and broken stone and concrete, and glass and brick. Rebar and I-beams lay on top of the remains; where beautiful buildings once lay, now there was only a ruin; desolation. It was an all too chilling reminder of that terrifying day, sky clear and sun shining, when thousands of people's lives changed forever. The dust was settling in the street and on cars, and if it weren't for the fact that Steven was walking towards Nelyo, whose armor and sword was covered in purple blood, and Huan, whose once pristine white gold coat was splotched with the same blood and gore, caked with dust, especially around his muzzle, Steven would have thought he was walking in a living nightmare. Maedhros spotted him quickly and saw him walking in a daze. Yasha seemed to materialize from nowhere to walk up to the pair of battered warriors. Huan barked and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he sat down in front of Yasha to let the young man bury his face in his fur. Nelyo had no more than touched Steven's arm before the younger man's eyes lost their glazed appearance, and sharpened with relief. Suddenly Maedhros found himself holding Steven in his arms, his sword still clutched in hand, covered in gore, and resting on Steven's back.

"it's over," Maedhros said softly, as Steven clung even tighter, "thank Eru, you're safe!" suddenly Maedhros sagged in Steven's arms, his own exhaustion finally acknowledged once the haze of battle faded from his mind; leaving him dull and weary.

"We won," Steven said faintly, all the joy and exhilaration of victory drained out of him from the sheer weight of grief and exhaustion in his bones. His words may have rung a little hollow, but they were no less true. They had won! Steven looked up from Maedhros' shoulder and saw Huan's tired form still panting as Yasha sat down to rest against the giant hound. There was a sense of pleased victory in the way the hound held himself, the way his tongue lolled out of his mouth and his lips seemed to pull up in a self-satisfied and wolfish grin. There was gore all over the hound's face and neck, and Steven would bet his next paycheck that there would be videos surfacing on the internet of a giant wolf or hound throwing around Chitauri soldiers like ragdolls, or ripping them apart with a single bite. It was almost frightening how big he was; as big as a pony he would have to guess. And now that he looked at him, muzzle and chest covered with gore and blood, Steven could actually give credence to the story of his famous battle with Morgoth's giant wolf, Carcharoth.

Steven looked over the hound's shoulder and saw the forms of the Hithlum Rangers, their once clean leather and cloth armor of grey, browns and green, dirtied by the gore of battle and dust; they wandered through the rubble helping people out of battered cars, or out of the rubble of broken buildings. Steven knew when they had come to the battle field, it was most likely to give air support and protect their prince, but now that it was over, Steven knew they would stay to help clean up the mess. Arthadan was rumored to have entered the fray, leading his own guard into the thick of it to try and reach Steve. Híraklion had only reached the core of the battle just in time to see Tony's suit streak up the side of his tower and through the portal. Now that the Chitauri were all dead, Steven felt nothing but numb looking at their corpses littering the ground.

Maedhros pulled back and gave Steven an encouraging smile.

"Come on," he said, "let's go find the others." Steven gave a weak smile in return but looked back towards the once gleaming new Stark Tower.

"I think I heard Tony mention something about Shawarma," Steven answered with a tired grin. Yasha's head snapped up and he looked at his brother hopefully.

"Food," he asked with a pleading look in his eye. Steven grinned back, his smile brighter and more genuine.

"Aye," he said with a chuckle, "food."

Maedhros wiped the gore off his sword with the edge of his cloak, and sheathed it. He looked over at the pair and smiled himself.

"I could eat," he said.

The little shop they find the Avengers congregated in is surprisingly still intact. There is glass all over the floor from the broken windows, and a few pieces of furniture were overturned but it was actually intact. Steve was resting in his chair, looking every bit as worn out and tired as he did after any one of the big battles during the war. There was dirt and grime on his uniform, and Steven even saw that there was a big gash in the left side of the suit. Even Thor looked a bit worn, but was happily munching on his food. Yasha saw the food on the table and quickly grabbed a chair and dragged it over.

"Ah, food," he moaned, "Real food, I'm starving!" with little grace or apology he grabbed one of the unclaimed baskets and started devouring the food on it. "Do you know what it's like to subsist on SHIELD rations for almost two weeks," he asked around the food in his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. Natasha and Clint seemed to simultaneously shudder, and Steve looked up from his food and lifted his head tiredly off his fist.

"Try and live on K rations for six months straight," Steve mumbled back, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. They brightened a bit when he saw Yasha dig into his food, and a sad but contented smile pulled across his lips. Steven stepped through the broken door, his boots crunching on broken glass as he stepped, and made for the same table. Maedhros followed but Huan stayed by the door. Steve looked up just in time to see Maedhros duck under the threshold and step into the room. All semblance of exhaustion fled from his face when he saw Maedhros' fiery copper locks, and his bloodied armor and cape. He slowly stood up and gaped at the tall elf. The others turned when they saw him stand and set eyes for the first time on Maedhros Fëanarion, former High King of the Noldor, and the dread Lord Prince of Himring Hill. "Maedhros," Steve said softly, hesitantly, with hope shining in his eyes. A slow and joyful smile pulled across his lips, as Maedhros unclipped his sword from his belt and set it on the table, before gliding around the tables and chairs, and over broken glass without ever making a sound, to pull Steve into a fierce hug.

"Don't you ever pull that stunt again," Maedhros wept into Steve's hair, and Steve eagerly nodded into the taller one's chest.

"You're an elf," Thor said once Steve pulled away. "You're very big for an elf." Maedhros grinned at Thor's comment before he threw back his head and laughed. The sound was rather deep for one of his kin, rolling out of his chest like low and distant thunder, but still with the clear ringing of bells. Once Maedhros' laughs settled into rumbling chuckles, he looked at Thor with his ancient eyes and wide smile.

"That is because I am Quendi," Maedhros explained, "one of the Noldor. My grandfather was Finwë Noldóran, the first High King of the Noldor." Thor's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and his eyes widened in shock. Steve grinned happily between the two of them, before he introduced him.

"Thor, this is Nelyafinwë Maitimo Russandol Fëanarion, Maedhros the Tall," Steve said with a hand towards the elf, "Third High King of the Noldor, the son of Curufinwë Fëanáro, son of Finwë, the first High King; The Lord Prince of Himring Hill, protector of the eastern marches Beleriand, and Lord of the House of Fëanor." Thor's jaw dropped with every title that ensued from Steve's mouth, before he finally bowed lowly with respect.

"You're from Arda then," Thor said, and Maedhros smiled, pleasantly surprised that Thor knew of his home world. He regally inclined his head in response, before pulling his head up high. "I've only heard about the people of your world. Father says it is forbidden to go there. That it is protected by powerful spirits, celestial beings called the…uh."

"The Ainur," Maedhros finished for him, "the most powerful being the Valar, the Powers of the World."

"Yes," Thor said with a reverent smile. He bowed again, "it is truly an honor. The tales of your people's heroism and courage reached even the halls of Asgard. Some of your greatest tales are even sung in there halls." Steven smirked and waved a hand to clear away the glass on the floor. Once it was cleared Huan happily trotted into the room, his nails clicking on the floor as he walked up to stand beside Maedhros. Thor startled when he looked up and saw himself face to face with the most massive hound he had ever seen. "Is this…" he asked and before he could ask, Steve interrupted him.

"Huan," Steve cried with a wide grin on his face. Steve quickly threw his arms around the neck of the massive beast and hugged the hound. Huan's tongue lolled out of his mouth as he whimpered happily, his tail wagging.

"That is a big dog," Clint said with wide eyes.

"The Hound of the Valinor," Thor said reverently, and bowed again. Huan bobbed his head before he sat down and laid himself down beside Steven and Yasha's table; resting his massive head on his equally massive paws. "Loki would have been so happy to meet you," Thor said sadly, before he registered Steven's presence. "Ah, Knight of Winter, come to feast with us?" Tony shook his head at Thor's form of speech and went back to his post battle binge.

"Actually, yes," Steven said, accent firmly in place, "I'm starving." Tony looked over his shoulder at the woman still sweeping glass and waved a finger at Steven, Yasha, and Maedhros.

"They're with us," he said, "give 'em the same order."

"Make that a double," Steven said with a polite grin, "please."

"And some scraps for Fido here," Tony added. Huan lifted his head and glared at the Billionaire, his lips curling into a snarl. Tony flinched and pointed at the large hound. "Shouldn't he be on a leash?" Yasha and Maedhros let out an ungraceful snort.

"Do you want to try and put one on him," Maedhros asked with a cocky smirk. Tony looked back at the giant hound then the exceptionally tall elf before he rolled his eyes and nodded his head.

"I can see your point," Tony said and went back to his food. Thor pats Huan on the head and went back to his own feast. Steve sat down and dug back into his food a little less sullenly than before. A few minutes later a server brought the three additions their order and after a little pause to thank God they were all still alive, they dug in.

Steven dug into the carb rich food with a vengeance, quickly devouring his first sandwich and moving onto the wraps. He guzzled down his drink before taking his second and sipping at it, before we went back to the meat and carbs. He was quickly making a dent in his order when he felt eyes on him. He looked up and found that all of the Avengers including Natasha were looking at him with unrestrained shock. Steven looked over at Yasha and then Maedhros, slowly chewing on his large mouthful of food.

"What," he asked as he rolled the food to one cheek. Their silence was a little unnerving and had made him very self-conscious and uncomfortable.

"You have quite an appetite," Clint finally said, and Steven finished swallowing the mouthful before giving him a winning smile.

"You might even give my good friend Volstagg a challenge for fastest eater," Thor said with a cheerful grin. Steve on the other hand looked almost aghast at the amount Steven had eaten so quickly.

"Where do you put it all," Steve asked. Steven took a large mouthful of his drink, rinsing out his mouth and swallowing the last of it down before he answered.

"My abilities have some drawbacks," Steven explained, "my electrical powers require a lot of energy stored in my cells, and if I don't have the energy stored like normal, I burn through calories. I have a metabolism that runs about four times faster than an Olympic athlete, in normal circumstances. In a full on battle, I need a lot of energy." Steven looked down at his slightly looser clothes, and ran a quick estimate. "In this case, I just burned through all of my fat reserves. I should be fine if I get the calories in me, but I might need a slight boost later. Right now, I just really need to eat." Steven turned away and tucked back into his food.

His body was working overtime to deal with bruises and cuts, not to mention light burns from being clipped by weapon fire. He wasn't kidding when he said he burned through all his fat reserves, but he had burned through all his stored energy before that even. He was quite literally burnt out. He didn't have a drop of spare energy left in his cells, and he really didn't like it. Putting on a little fat would help, but he needed time to siphon off energy and build it back up in his cells like normal. He hadn't felt this burnt out since his little crusade in Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet bloc. The fastest way to get it back he found out was by getting blasted by a HYDRA weapon. It left him jittery and charged but overall it didn't harm him. After all he was designed to contain a lot more energy than even the Tesseract could give him, and his powers made him very hard to kill.

He looked up at the others and found Yasha eating calmly but slowly, and Maedhros had managed to finish his second wrap without anyone noticing. Elves may not need a lot of food over long periods but every now and then, they needed a big fuel up to last those long periods. In a way they were more like him, and that was comforting.

He looked back at his meal and slowly made his way through it. He missed Steve's look of horror and sympathy, sent his way; not knowing that Steve just felt more than contempt for this ex-assassin he had become.

The minute that Steve is able to relax is when he realized that something was wrong. He didn't know what it was. It was nothing concrete, just a feeling that persisted through the newly minted Avengers meal, and moving towards helping with the cleanup. Steve was always of the opinion, even when young, that if you made a mess, you clean it up. And the Avengers just made a huge mess of midtown Manhattan. Steve had stripped out of the top half of his uniform and began helping remove rubble and debris from the roads. Thor was helping with the big stuff, picking up large chunks of rubble and buildings, while Tony started getting the funds together to give humanitarian aid to the newly displaced or even homeless people. Simply put it was a mess, and Steve was trying to do his level best to help fix it.

Even though it felt like when he and the team would liberate towns during the war, helping with the cleanup, giving out food, clean water, even clothes, this held a note that made it different. This wasn't some war torn city or town in Europe during the War, this was his home. This was New York. His city, his home town, and that realization made him more than a little sick to his stomach. It felt the same though. Every person he passed as he was pulling rubble out of the street and into trucks thanked him, just like in the war. Old men that were probably younger than him were calling him their childhood hero, and saying that they knew he would win. It felt strange, but good. Tony was getting the same thank you' s and hugs while Bruce was relatively unnoticed as he helped in the first aid stations set up at multiple points throughout the devastated parts of the city.

At first he thought it was nothing, just a light dizzy spell when he stood up from moving another hunk of rock. He shook his head to clear the fog, and took a step towards the aid station, figuring he was just dehydrated or had low blood sugar. Suddenly it felt as if all his blood had rushed out of his head, and not only did he suddenly feel dizzy, his vision started to go gray around the edges. He had felt these sorts of symptoms before when he was about to faint from one illness or another, so he took several stumbling steps towards a large piece of rubble to lean on it for support. If someone saw him now they would have thought him concussed or drunk, he was stumbling so hard. When he finally had the stone work to lean upon, Steve felt like he had just run a thousand miles at top speed. His limbs were shaking, his head felt like it was filled with cotton, and he ached all over; especially in his back and around his abdomen. He was so disjointed he didn't even hear Tony walk up.

"Hey, Capsicle," Tony said, his voice seemingly coming from very far away. "I just got the final funding so we can get all this Chitauri stuff properly…" Tony looked away from his phone and suddenly saw Steve's face. He was pale and also flushed at the same time, his eyes were unfocused and slightly dilated and he was trembling faintly all over. "Cap, are you alright?" he asked reaching out to touch his shoulder. Steve flinched slightly and looked up at Tony, his vision still blurry and gray. He blinked hard and shook his head to get rid of the fuzz, and that seemed to help.

"Tony," Steve asked his voice faint and a little sluggish. Tony put his phone away and looked Steve in the eyes. They looked responsive but sluggish as if drugged, and they were still dilated slightly. Tony took Steve's shoulders in hand and slowly ran his hands up the man's neck and felt around his skull. "whadda ya doin'," Steve asked his Brooklyn drawl coming out slow and slurred.

"What happen, Cap," Tony asked, "did ya get cracked on the head?" Steve shook his head slowly, his blinking slow and lazy, almost tired. "You're lookin' a bit pale." Steve looked up lazily at Tony before suddenly it feels as if a knife has just been jabbed into his gut. Tony has just enough time to see Steve's face go positively ashen as he sucked in a sharp pain-filled gasp through his teeth, before he collapsed, sliding to the ground, his breathing shallow and fast as his eyes rapidly dilated with pain. "CAP," Tony called out, as Steve's legs buckled, quickly grabbing the bigger man around the shoulders to ease him to the ground. "Cap, talk to me. What's wrong?" Tony asked searching Steve's deathly pale face, even the flush was gone; his lips bone white. His gaze was vacant and distant, unfocused; A thousand yard stare, and it frightened Tony. Tony looked up and around before calling out, "HELP! It's Cap, he's hurt!"

Bruce who was at the aid station with Nat and Clint, suddenly looked up at Tony's cry. The others do the same just as Bruce's instincts kicked in, and he rushed to Steve's aid. As he rounded the large piece of rubble he saw Tony kneeling in front of Steve, who was still in half his uniform, his legs askew, leaning against the stone. Bruce quickly took in his symptoms as he knelt beside him. His breathing was shallow and fast, his pallor was chalky and almost wax-like. His lips were pale and his forehead was covered in a fine layer of sweat. His eyes were wide and glassy, the pupils dilated, and if it weren't for the fact that Steve was breathing, Bruce would say he almost looked dead. He could see that there was a great deal of pain in his wide eyes, and he could see tears running down the Captain's face. But it is when he looked down and saw what was staining the Captain's pants and the ground beneath him, that Bruce felt his own face pale: Blood, and a lot of it.

"Natasha, call for a chopper and a medic," Bruce shouted over at the red-head. Bruce turned back to Steve with worried eyes.

"What's happening," Tony asked frantically, "is he hurt?" Bruce ignored him in preference of talking to Steve while he was still conscious.

"Steve, what happened? Are you hurt? Where'd they get you," Bruce asked, as he took in Steve's appearance, and assessed his condition. He placed his hand on Steve's forehead, and found it cold and clammy. Steve suddenly seemed to focus and register his presence, turning his glassy and pain filled teary eyes on the doctor, a horrible realization filling them as he did so.

"Baby," Steve whispered, his voice faint and weak, "the baby!" suddenly it seemed as if those words had sapped all his remaining strength. His glassy eyes rolled back into his head, as he went completely boneless and passed out. Bruce is confused by the words and starts to look for any injury that could be the cause of all that blood. The wound on his left side is shallow and cauterized, probably from a Chitauri weapon, and was free of blood. Most of the blood seemed to be situated at the crux of his thighs, staining the crotch of the bright blue pants dark with bright red blood. It is with a horrible and sinking realization, that Bruce realized what Steve was trying to tell him as the medics arrive and begin to pull him onto a stretcher. Bruce grabbed the shirt of the medic to get his attention.

"You need to get a Numenorean physician from the Hithlum Ranger to treat him," Bruce told him, "and a midwife." The medic pales and nodded quickly sending his partner off to do just that as he and another medic wheel Steve's stretcher towards a QuinJet for transport back to the Helicarrier.

"Bruce, what's going on," Tony asked as he and the others scrambled to follow the stretcher towards the QuinJet. "What's wrong with Steve?" Thor saw the team scrambling towards the jet with Steve on the stretcher, and rushed to follow.

"What happened to the Captain," Thor asked. Bruce took a seat near the stretcher and saw the medics cut him out of the suit. Thor saw the bright red blood staining Steve's thighs, and turned just as ashen. "By the Fates, what happened?" Thor and the others turned to Bruce. The doctor took in all of the Avengers looks of concern and fear, before he finally found the words to answer.

"I think Steve is having a miscarriage," he said sadly and softly. His response is met with silent shock. You could have heard a pin drop as they all tried to come to terms with this information. Tony and Natasha looked sick. Clint had a look of quiet horror, and Thor, he had a face etched in immense sorrow and grief. Bruce barely heard a thing, as he looked back at Steve's ashen face; absently noting the Medics call in the emergency.

"Captain Rogers is bleeding heavily from the nether region," the medic explained, "suspect a spontaneous abortion." A moment later a different medic rushed onto the jet, this one dressed in the garb associated with the Numenorean healers and Physicians: a cool gray tunic over a pale gray blue shirt, the normally billowing bells wrapped tight with a pair of leather vambraces and his hands covered in that faint blue glow of Hithlum's advanced shield technology, this time acting as a second skin or sterile gloves. His trousers were a mat black of dyed doe skin, and his boots were tall black and silver things with soft soles. This whole ensemble was covered in a white apron to protect the cloth. His hair is long, and as black as night, pulled back in the Numenorean style with braids and metal clasps. The tips of his ears a slightly pointed, but, while nowhere near as obvious as Stevan's were, it was plan to see that he was Numenorean. The man took one look at Steve and went as pale as milk. He looked at the assembled Avengers with fear in his silver gray eyes.

"Has anyone told the King," he asked. His answer was looks of confusion from most, and head shakes from the rest, mainly Clint, Nat and Bruce.

"What king," Tony asked as the jet ramp closed and they took off.

"King Arthadan," the healer said, "Captain Rogers is his heir." This announcement was met with only silence before Tony broke it aptly.

"Oh, Shit!"

"Steven," Jonathan called his brother on a restricted frequency, his voice no more than a harsh whisper. "Steven!" Steven tapped his earpiece with a sigh.

"Yeah, Jonny," he answered. Yasha looked up from his gun cleaning with surprise. Steven sent his brother a reassuring smile, and returned to the call. "What is it?"

"I think you guys better get back up here, ASAP," Jonathan said nervously. Steven picked up on the tone and nervousness, and sent his brother a worried look.

"Why," he asked, "what's wrong?"

"It's Steve," Jonathan answered, "something happened. He's on his way back to the carrier for emergency medical attention." Steven paled and shot Yasha a near frantic look.

"What. Happened," Steven asked harshly. Jonathan swallowed back some of this fear and answered, and it couldn't have been any worse.

"The medics are saying he's bleeding profusely," he said. "They think he's having a miscarriage." Steven went milk pale, and looked at his little brother with sudden pity and sorrow.

"Oh, God," he exclaimed softly.

"Steven," Yasha asked, with wide and panicked eye, "what is it? What's going on?"

"Stevie," Jonathan said, "you better get up here. Bring Maedhros if you can, just get up here." Steven felt his eyes water as he ended the call.

"Copy," Steven said and swallowed hard, dropping his hand from his earpiece. "We need to find a QuinJet." Steven stormed off towards the aid station, knowing that there would be on near there.

"What happened," Yasha asked, running to catch up. He grabbed Steven's shoulder and whirled him around to look him in the eye, "What. Happened?" Steven swallowed around his dry mouth.

"Steve's headed back to the Carrier," Steven answered, "they think he's having a miscarriage." Yasha suddenly went pale and his knees threatened to buckle out from under him. He clutched Steven's coat for support, and felt his eyes widen in fear, and water with grief.

"Is he," Yasha asked hesitantly, "is he…"

"No, he's fine, but we need to get up there," Steven said and turned back to the station. Sure enough there was a QuinJet sitting beside the tent, and Steven found some very welcome and familiar faces around it. Maedhros and Huan were standing near the jet talking with none other than Arthadan himself. The Numenorean King was still dressed in his war attire, but had stripped off some of the outer layers, such as the armor, leaving him with a very simple yet regal appearance; with nothing more than a small circlet to denote his rank. When the two approached Arthadan saw them out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at them with a wide and happy smile; a smile which fell to nothing when he saw their haggard and frightened faces.

"What happened," Arthadan asked, once he was close enough to talk without shouting. Steven breezed on by, bee lining it for the ramp of the jet. Arthadan watched him pass then turned back to look at Yasha.

"Steve was taken back to the Helicarrier for medical attention," Yasha answered, his eyes wide and full of tears, "they think he's having a miscarriage." Arthadan felt the blood drain from his face when he paled, turning to look at Maedhros' equally stunned and horrified face.

"We're coming with you," Arthadan announced as Yasha moved towards the ramp. Maedhros nodded and followed, Huan hot on his heels. They had barely stepped on the ramp when the engines whirred to life, and all of the systems came on. The trio quickly rushed up the ramp, Huan squeezing in as Steven took the controls in hand and the QuinJet lifted off the ground. There was a commotion below as the pilot realized that his jet had just been commandeered, and Arthadan heard little more than a startled shout as Steven gracefully and expertly lifted the jet and raised the ramp. Arthadan looked over at the others and saw varying faces of worry and grief, but on Steven's all he saw was cold determination. Arthadan knew without a doubt that they would get on board and nothing would happen to Steve if he could help it.

The minute Steve and the others touched down on the Helicarrier, the medics were in motion. They quickly were met by doctors and other medical personnel as they rushed out of the jet, down the ramp and into the hangar bay.

"What's his pulse at," the doctor asked, "has anyone attached a fetal heart monitor?" the response he received was less than encouraging.

"Heart rate has dropped to under fifty beats a minute;" the Numenorean healer responded, "blood pressure is inconsistent. Pulse is weak and thready. His breathing is rapid and shallow. Pupils are heavily dilated, and unfocused, complexion is pale and waxy. He's not responding to aural stimuli, and his first responder indicated that he seemed to be in pain before he passed out." Tony and the others stumbled out behind the army of doctors that swarmed their Captain. The genius inventor couldn't take his eyes off the bright red stain coating Steve's inner thighs, but didn't miss the fact that the doctors had finally attached monitors to the Captain. Just as the healer had said, Steve's heart rate was weak, and his blood pressure kept spiking at odd times. The other monitors were strapped around Steve's lower abdomen, which had a slightly more significant mound than he had realized. Tony felt sick. He threatened to hit this guy, called him insignificant, and a lab rat, all the while not knowing he was carrying a baby; a baby that might not be alive anymore.

"We got fetal life signs," the doctor said, "two fetuses, both in distress." The doctors quickly wheeled Steve into an elevator and the team blindly followed. The doctor quickly grabbed a portable ultrasound machine and squeezed some jelly onto the transducer. A second later it was pressed onto Steve's belly just below the navel. The typical whooshing sound followed and Tony and the doctors were all riveted to the screen. Tony saw the blurry image slowly come into focus and saw two little forms curled up on the screen. He heard a stifled gasp behind him and saw Clint's sad and pale face; eyes glued to the screen. Tony grabbed he archer's hand and gave it a squeeze, before letting go. He turned back just in time to see the doctors mark the screen, circling one baby in particular.

"He's gonna be okay, right," Tony asked, and the healer looked over his shoulder at him. The sad look in his eyes told him all he needed to know. A second later the monitor went haywire and all hell broke loose.

"We've lost vitals on fetus 'a'," the Healer announced, just as the doors opened and they rushed Steve out of the elevator and down to the infirmary. The Avengers quickly followed, and rushed down the hall towards the large infirmary doors. The doors opened and the stretcher entered to a flurry of motion. The group moved to enter but where quickly stopped. One of the doctors turned around and pressed a gloved hand onto Tony's chest.

"You can't be in here," she said and her tone brooked no arguments. She nodded towards the doors behind them. "Wait outside."

"But," Tony started, only to be shot down.

"Out," she barked, and gave Tony a light shove out the door. The doors closed in his face, leaving the team standing there looking through the glass doors as they stripped Steve out of his bloody undergarments. Tony looked back at the group and saw all the looks of shock and grief in their eyes. Tony turned around and moved to stand in front of the large glass picture window to the right of the doors. The team followed him like a group of baby ducklings to watch the doctors hoist Steve off the stretcher and onto the medical bed. The healer quickly draped a sheet over Steve's lap, but that didn't erase the sight Tony and the others caught of the bloody gore leaking out from between Steve's legs. A second later Steve's legs were up in a set of obstetric stirrups and his legs were splayed wide.

The healer took position between Steve's thighs all the while glancing back and forth between the monitors and the ultrasound image. Tony saw it the moment the Healer knew; his shoulders drooped and his face became a picture of sorrow. Tony looked at the monitors and saw why.

"Steve just lost a baby," Tony said. There was a solemn silence that followed before the healer looked towards the windows and pointed at them. A second later the nurse pressed a button by the window and the glass went opaque. Fully aware that they were not wanted to be loitering in the halls, Tony turned towards the others. "There should be a waiting room just down the hall," he said. He couldn't even look them in the eye, as he turned and walked a few doors down and into the waiting room. He sat down in the chair closest to the door, and buried his face in his hands for a second. After gaining his composure, he whipped his hands down his face and settled his hands folded between his knees.

He looked up when he heard the heavy footsteps of their resident thunderer, and saw Thor and the others make their way inside. Natasha and Clint took the love seats on the wall to his right, in perfect sightline of the door, while Bruce took the chair opposite of them. Thor settled into the large arm chair opposite of Tony and sat his hammer down beside him. Between the group of heroes was a glass and steel coffee table, littered with freshly stacked magazines of varying topics. Tony picked up a copy of popular science and opened the pages.

There was no use idly fretting. But that didn't mean that Tony's leg wasn't jittering up and down while he read. Or that he wasn't really reading because of the sinking feeling in his chest that they might just lose their Captain today.

Once the window was frosted the healer turned to one of his fellow comrades with orders.

"I need you to put me through to the King," he said. "Arthadan needs to know."

"Why," the doctor asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. The healer rolled his eyes at the man's lack of knowledge.

"Because Captain Rogers," he said, "is the Crowned Prince of Hithlum. Arthadan is his only next of kin. If you had bothered to check his records, you would know that," he berated the man. He sent the man a look of disgust before turning to a nurse. "Please try to contact the King," he asked more politely, "he's the only one who can give consent on behalf of the prince." The nurse nodded and rushed over to one of the communication screens to try and get a call through. Just as she opened the call function, though, the screen changed to a video call. On it was the masked assassin and King Arthadan. "Your Grace," the healer said startled. Arthadan looked haggard, and worried; his face lined with deep lines of worry and concern.

"Barandir," he said with a sigh of relief, the lines of worry melting off his face to make him look much younger. "How is he?" the King asked. Barandir felt his own face morph into one of grief, his own eyes showing the age that his face did not, and his shoulders sagging under the burden of his news.

"We lost one, your grace," he said, and Arthadan's face morphed into a picture of grief. His eyes widened, and his brows raised in shock, his mouth slightly open, before his face crumpled under the weight of grief; his eyes closing and lips pulled tight, as his head bowed. When he raised his head his shoulders were sagged low with sorrow, and his eyes radiated pain.

"And the other," Arthadan asked, his voice hoarse and quiet. Barandir slowly closed his eyes and took a fortifying breath, so that when he opened them there was a confidence in them that he didn't exactly feel, but needed to show.

"If we act now, your grace," he said, "there still might be a chance to save the other one." Arthadan looked haggard and old under the burden of this decision.

"And how is Steve," he asked. Barandir let out a calming breath before he answered.

"I won't lie, my King," he said his brows pinched in concern, "he's lost a lot of blood. But he has a better chance of surviving than the child does, if we don't act quickly." Arthadan looked away and chewed on his lips for a moment before his jaw tightened and his lips thinned as a look of resolve came over the Man. He looked up with firm determination in his eye before he spoke.

"Do it," he ordered, resolve in his eyes as well as desperate hope. "Do whatever you have to, but try to save the child. If Steve's life is at risk, put him first, but try; try to save the babe." Barandir bowed his head sagely, and placed his hand over his heart.

"You have my word," he said, "I will to my utmost to save them both." Arthadan sent the healer a fragile smile.

"Thank you," he said, "I will there soon. We'll talk then." and with that he ended the video call.

The healer looked to his colleagues with iron determination in his gray eyes.

"What are you waiting for?" he barked, "let's get to work."

TBC…

Endnote: okay that took longer than I thought. This was actually harder to crank out than the other chapters. Maybe it's because I had a more concrete outline to fall back on. Okay I will try to get the next few chapters out faster but no promises.

Next up: becoming a father.