Chapter 12: Aftermath

AN: this chapter is mostly going to be about what happened right after the battle, how life was changed, and how life moved on. It's a lot of Steve's soul-searching and learning to become his own person and dealing with the fact that he is suddenly now a father to a newborn.

This is going to deal with the side of Steve getting back to real life now that the world knows that Steve Rogers is alive, and you know what that means: bureaucracy. Fun! (Sarcasm) so I hope you like.

side note: I hope you all are staying safe. Wash your hands, and practice good hygiene.

On to the fic

Leaving Andrew in Yasha and Captain Buchanan's care while Steve went to central park to oversee Loki and the Tesseract's departure was harder than he ever thought it would be. Just placing him in the arms of someone else felt like ripping a piece of his soul out of his body. His arms ached to hold his baby, but he had some things to do before he really came home. First and foremost of those things was making sure that the Tesseract was finally out of the reach of power-hungry men, then saying goodbye to the team. It was harder to say goodbye than he had thought. Over the course of two days they had gone from hating each other, to tolerating for the sake of the job, to trusting their fellow team members to watch their backs, and then to being friends he trusted with his most personal secrets, and to even holding his newborn son.

Steve smiled wryly, as he swung his leg over the chassis of his new bike. A few days ago they were at each other's throats, and now he trusted them to be in the presence of his baby. Some he even let hold him. Steve's grin turned wistful as he remembered Natasha's eyes full of wonder, all but begging to hold his little boy. But now having seen the two Asgardian's leave in a swirl of blue light, he felt that heavy weight that had settled between his shoulders when he saw the dossier Fury had handed him lift. He felt lighter and happier than he had ever felt before in his life. It wasn't perfect. Bucky wasn't there to hold his hand throughout the delivery, like he had for him, and Peggy and the guys weren't there to be the family he had always wanted; Peg at his side, his mother's ring on her finger, and the guys a gaggle of doting uncles. It was better than he had ever could have hoped for when he had woke up in that fake hospital room and realized something wasn't right. Seventy years separated him from that dream future and reality, and to be honest reality was actually pretty good. He had a father figure that he had never looked for standing behind him in support, a son who was a pretty cool cat, and a nephew in all but blood to help him get back on his feet again.

The support was there, and he was glad for it, because if it wasn't, Steve would have been a mess. Depressed wouldn't even come close to describing how he had felt before that safety net built itself around him. He was, and probably would be, scared and lonely, and so confused and lost that he would take anything handed to him that felt normal, familiar, and safe. But he had that, and so when Fury had offered him a permanent position at SHIELD, he turned him down. Said he needed to settle in more before making such a leap, and besides he was not ready for missions not with a baby at home. He was not retiring, oh no, just taking an extended holiday as Peggy would say. A few years rest to get his head back on straight, raise his son, and maybe finish his degree while he was at it. A big grin pulled across his face as he thought about that. Thank God for the G.I. bill. He was gonna go back to school on the Army's dime.

Maybe the future wasn't gonna be so bad after all.

The papers that sat before him were about as daunting and unbelievable as any he had ever seen. Steve looked up at the accountant with dubious shock.

"This is my back-pay," Steve asked, his eyebrows climbing ever higher on his forehead. The army paymaster gave Steve a tight smile, more like a grimace as if it physically pained him to hand over those papers.

"Your back-pay, pension, and personal investment accounts," he confirmed and looked at the accountant to his left. Said accountant was smiling like Christmas had come early and Steve was his present. Though, in a roundabout way, Steve supposed that with the amount of money he was about to make with his commission Steve's accounts must have seemed like a dream come true to the thin man.

"In… investments," Steve stuttered, swallowing hard and blinking in shock. The accountant grinned, and despite the shark-like appearance of the smile, Steve felt more at ease with the man than the Army man sent to settle their debts to Steve.

"You invested in war bonds during your time on tour, yes," he asked. Steve nodded his eyebrows still quirked in confusion. The man softened his grin, and pulled out a piece of paper from within the stack of papers, and pushed it in front of Steve to get a better look. "Well, Howard Stark was the executer of your financial affairs; that is correct?"

"Yeah," Steve said as he scanned through the document. "I asked him to handle my accounts once the royalties started coming in. I was too busy to handle them, and he was a businessman with people that could handle that, so I asked if he could do it for me until I had the time." The man beamed at him as he thumbed through his papers for another document.

"A very wise decision," he said. "As I doubt anyone else would have fought to not have you declared dead." Steve blinked and swallowed around his suddenly dry mouth.

"I'm sorry, what," he asked.

"Howard Stark advocated for your continued existence," the accountant said. "The Army wanted to have you officially declared dead after about twenty years; Mr. Stark disagreed and fought this. As the executer of your estate in your absence he was able to make investments on your behalf. Once your War Bonds had matured, Howard cashed them in and placed them in investments. Very wise investments, I might add." The accountant finally found what he was looking for in the documents and handed the papers over to Steve. "The results of these investments were later handled by my company after his subsequent death, as it was stated in his Last Will and testament. As of this last financial Quarter, you are currently a major shareholder in Stark International." Steve's jaw dropped when that statement registered in his mind and he looked down at the papers in his hands. Sure enough Steve vaguely recognized the official document stating the number of shares he owned in Stark Industries.

"How large of shareholdings," Steve asked with numb shock.

"Roughly 25%," the accountant answered with a pleased smile. "Your account holds so much because my company was wise enough to know that Stark Industries would recover after Tony's shutdown of the weapons manufacturing, and reinvested while others sold. As such your account is one of the largest at our firm, not to mention the most profitable. Old Reliable the partners call it." he chuckled, and Steve returned it with a slightly hysterical giggle of his own.

"And the back-pay," Steve asked. "Why is that so high?"

"Interest, pay raises," the Army Paymaster answered, "as well as the pay-raise that comes with regularly scheduled promotions."

"Promotions," Steve asked with raised brows and a dubious tone.

"You didn't think you would have stayed a Captain after all these years, did you Rogers," the man asked.

"I assumed," Steve answered with a shrug, "I guess I was wrong. What rank?"

"Technically," he said, "you receive the pay equivalent to a brigadier General, but you were promoted to a two-star for political reasons a few years back. The suits in Washington thought it would be a good political move to give a missing presumed dead War Hero the official promotion to a Two Star to get in good with the public. Now I have to deal with this mess," he grumbled.

Steve giggled, and shook his head in ironic dismay.

"A Captain-General," Steve said, "they made me a Captain-General. I guess it sounds better." Steve grinned at the Paymaster, and the gruff man cracked a smile. Steve cleared his throat and looked back at the accountant. "How much is in my estate?"

"Not including back-pay," the thin man said, "roughly 50 million in liquid assets and another 100 million tied up in investments such as Stark Industries, and other shareholdings in various companies." Steve's jaw just about hit the floor.

"50 … million," he croaked. Steve ran a shaky hand through his hair, as he blew out a trembling breath. "That's a lot of money!" the accountant smiled, and preened a little before he spoke.

"Howard Stark started with a few thousand from your Bonds investments as well as your royalties," he said. "He invested it rather wisely in things I do believe he felt you would approve of, as well as within his own company. Those investments had large returns and have brought large interest. Bank investments have accrued interest as well, and a trust was created shortly before Howard Stark's death to prevent the funds from being used by anyone but yourself and the holder of the trust." Steve looked up from the paperwork, with curiosity.

"And who is that," he asked. The man looked down at his notes, before letting out a small noise of triumph when he found the name.

"An Arthadan son of Amandil is labeled as the head of the trust fund," he said. Steve smiled wryly. "You know him?"

"Arthadan son of Amandil is the Lord of my house, the House of Arthadan," Steve said, "He is also the King of Hithlum and the Numenoreans. It doesn't surprise me that Howard would make him the holder of my fortune."

"Well," the accountant said, "it seems Captain…"

"Just Steve," he said when the man seemed to falter.

"Steve," he continued with a smile, "it seems that you have no real need to continue being employed by… well anyone. With a reasonable budget you could live comfortably off the interest of your liquid assets or your investments. Needless to say, it is my duty as an accountant to help those that have suddenly come into a large amount of money find out what to do with said funds while living within a reasonable lifestyle and means." Steve's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"Sir," he said, "I wouldn't be able to spend all this money even in a hundred years, and this doesn't include my family fortune in gold, silver, Mithril and jewels that lie within the Vaults of Ondolindë and my ancestral home in Ireland." Steve looked at the man with overwhelmed helplessness. "But I don't want it to all just sit in some bank or Vault collecting dust. Is there anything I can do with it, reasonably?" the accountant looked surprised for a moment before he looked at the Paymaster. The Army man just gave him a smug look of pride before turning to look at Steve with nostalgic fondness.

"Most multi-millionaires create Charities or charitable foundations to give their excess money to those in need," he said. "Would you be interested in something like that?" Steve beamed with relief.

"Yes," he said.

"What sort of vocations do you wish to advocate, or perhaps a social cause would be more what you want to advocate," he suggested. Steve thought for a long minute. He thought about Bucky and their dreams of a better future. He thought of the soldiers that came home from the Great War broken and with no one to help them back up. He thought about how hard it was to get money for school, and how much he wished he had a patron to help. A slow smile drew across his face as his mind was made up.

"I saw a lot of soldiers from the Great War, the first War," Steve explained, "go through life broken, or sitting in the gutter begging for help. My dad was lucky, he had family, but a lot of times that isn't enough. I went to a lot of field hospitals during my tour, and I saw these guys, beaten and broken, missing pieces, and I knew they might just end up like some of those guys in the gutter, on the streets after the first war. I always wanted to help them. Bucky did too. He wanted to be a doctor," he said. He looked up his eyes melancholy, the pain still fresh. "He was gonna change medicine he always said, so guys didn't have to come back broken. He can't do that, but maybe I can; in his name." the two men's eyes got misty and their smiles softened. "A charitable foundation in his memory to help soldiers get back on their feet would go a long way toward keeping his memory alive, and not just in the history books. He was real, and the world deserves to know what he wanted to do with his life. I want to honor that idea, in his name."

"The James Buchanan Barnes Memorial Foundation," the Paymaster said, "it has a nice ring to it." Steve's answering smile was a brittle thing, but it was there.

"Yeah," he said, "sounds about right." Steve took a fortifying breath before he continued, "maybe a scholarship fund too, for underprivileged kids to go to Art school, or any other school in the arts. I always wished that someone would do that. There aren't a lot of patrons for the arts these days." Steve thought for a moment then added, "Maybe I could donate some to schools in Brooklyn, you know; spruce up the schools, clean up the old neighborhood." The accountant took notes and Steve waited patiently before dropping the last one on him. "I would also like to donate a large sum to the NYPD. Those guys could always use some better training or more funds… always did back in my day." The soft smile on the men's faces told him that Steve had gotten it right. He may not know what to do with all this money for himself, but for others, he would happily spend some of his fortune if it made someone's life easier.

The next few weeks Steve spent split between helping with the clean-up and helping the officers that he had met during the battle. Each was in need of help in their own way. Some needed bills paid, and had been pulling double shifts when the battle hit the city. In Steve's opinion each and every one deserved a medal, and a little help at home. Technically he couldn't give them all gifts as a thank you, changes in the law had prevented that, but that didn't mean that Steve couldn't anonymously donate to the families.

One officer's family needed some bills paid, and Steve, knowing that the man could no longer do so, being killed in action, settled the family's accounts with the bank and paid off the bills for a few months. Steve didn't stay to tell the woman, but he watched discreetly as the bank manager told her that the accounts were settled, and bills paid, courtesy of an anonymous benefactor. The look on her face made him think of his own mom; and the pure relief and overwhelmed gratitude on his face brought a soft smile to his lips.

Another family, whose husband was hospitalized and would be for a few months, was in need of a new car, after theirs had been destroyed in the battle. That one was an easy fix. He went to the husband and asked what car they would want, discreetly asking what they needed, and a favorite color. Steve went to the best reviewed and rated car dealership, went through the lot, then went inside and simply did it as he knew others had done back before the war: he ordered one. The brand new, navy blue minivan was delivered right to the officer's home to the shock and jubilation of his waiting wife. It was titled in both her and her husband's name, all insurance and paperwork dealt with, along with a note under the window-wiper explaining that it was a gift from an anonymous benefactor who saw their need. He had needed to have a long chat with the commissioner about him giving that gift, but after Steve explained that it was a gift from one fellow former soldier to another, who needed it, the older man relented.

Most of the officers he just spent an hour or two helping them fix a few things around the house. A crooked fence here, a bit of new paint there, some plumbing repairs and leaky roofs fixed; Steve did the little tasks with ease, knowing that those little things could pile up when you needed to work to keep the lights on and the heat running. Steve just asked them where he was needed, and after the looks of star-struck awe faded he was pointed in the direction of those little tasks.

Steve spent a few weeks doing this before he finally called it good, and spent more time at home with his son, than out helping others. Maybe if he had been home more he might have noticed it quicker, but suddenly Steve picked up his son who was only a two weeks old only to realize that Andrew was holding himself up on his own; something that he should not be able to do. Steve double checked his growth and development with the normal ones documented for babies, even taking into account his elvish father, Andrew's growth was more akin to a babe of several months not a few weeks. With a sinking feeling in his heart, Steve realized just how Bucky had felt when the doctor had told him his son would be grown within a few months. He felt despair and helpless rage. He wanted his son to have a normal life, but he knew that, with resignation and sorrow, that was simply not to be. Steve took Andrew to the Healer, the same one that delivered him, and explained his fears.

A few hours later the Healer, Barandir, confirmed it. Steve sat sad and resigned in his chair, in the exam room, holding a sleeping Andrew close to his chest.

"How long," he asked dejectedly, his eyes far too old on his face. Barandir smile sympathetically, before he answered.

"If my calculations are correct," he said, "Andrew is growing at a rate of around a year for every month. He is half elven, so there is some consolation. He will stop growing once he reaches physical maturity. Best guess, about two years," he said. Steve sighed and pressed his cheek against Andrew's head. He closed his eyes and held him for a long moment.

"How did this happen," Steve asked softly. Barandir took pity on him and answered.

"It is not uncommon for similar cases like this to occur with our formula," he said, a gentle look on his face as he sat down in front of Steve. "The best I can figure, the formula is still in his bloodstream, and taken into account the fact that he has the Serum in his system as well, it is most likely interacting with the formula and causing this accelerated growth." Barandir placed a comforting hand on Steve's knee, "this would more than likely have happened whether or not we gave him that large dose, but it was a deciding factor. He's fine otherwise. I know it hurts that you will have so little time with him as a child but some things cannot be predicted. The only thing you can do is decide what to do with the time you are given." The healer smiled, "he'll be alright."

Steve smiled back, weakly, and prayed Barandir was right.

At a month old, Steve was starting to doubt that the Healer's words were true. Five days before, Andrew had woken up screaming, and Steve had rushed to his side to discover the reason. He picked him up and held him to his chest, letting the still wailing babe cry into his shoulder as Steve placed a hand on his bottom. His diaper was dry, and he didn't smell, so Steve assumed he must be hungry. Steve rocked Andrew in his arms, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he quickly grabbed a pillow and blanket, before he strode over to his rocking chair and gingerly sat down. Steve settled his baby in his arms, letting the pillow support his weight a little as he unbuttoned his nightshirt. Once his chest was free, Steve winced slightly as the cloth brushed over the sensitive nipples, and raised Andrew up to latch. Steve had been a mostly bottle fed babe, but his mother drilled into his head the importance of actual nursing from the breast, so much so that he felt it more natural to just bring Andrew to his swollen chest to nurse. Not only that, it felt better to nurse. If Steve went too many days without expressing, his chest was swollen and ached, and if he heard a baby crying somewhere, as he had often when doing his charity work, he would leak; much to his embarrassment. So if he was at home, he'd just let Andrew latch and be done with it. He found that he rather hated the breast-pumps, as they made him feel like a glorified milk cow, and they left a red ring around his breast that he didn't like explaining when others saw it. But the damnedable thing had its uses, such as getting rid of the excess milk for later use by the babysitter while he was helping with the cleanup. So when Andrew spat out the nipple after only a second, Steve was concerned. Steve rocked Andrew in his arms to quiet his renewed crying, to no avail.

He raised Andrew to his shoulder and pats him on the back, knowing that it never failed to sooth him before, and again Andrew calmed only to start crying again a few seconds later.

"Sweetie, what's wrong," Steve asked, as he rubbed and thumped Andrew's back with gentle pats. A few minutes later, Andrew was still wailing, but this time they were weak hiccupping cries into Steve's shoulder. Steve continued to pat his back and rock in the chair as they continued. "Shh, hush, hush, it's alright, baby," Steve soothed, pressing a kiss to Andrew's red cheek. Suddenly Andrew went still, and Steve's heart seized in terror, before Andrew let out a long belch, and sighed. Steve unwound in relief and relaxed into the chair. He grinned as he rubbed Andrew's back and rocked him back to sleep. "There, sweetie, it's just gas. It's alright," Steve cooed. Steve slowly stood and gently set Andrew back in his cradle, before climbing back into bed, believing that was the end of it.

The next five days proved that to be very untrue. Andrew had woken up every hour to cry and wail, while Steve tried desperately to sooth his obviously gassy stomach. He rocked him and laid him on his shoulder to burp and belch, only for the process to start all over again. There wasn't much Steve could do, but grit his teeth and muscle through it. he'd go to his charities, help with the cleanup, exhausted, but functional, leaving Andrew at home with the babysitter, some milk and some milk supplements should that run out before he got home. Once home the babysitter would tell him the same thing: Andrew was a little colicky but mostly settled. He only seemed to get bad after she'd leave and Steve put Andrew down for bed. And after nearly five days of no rest, both Steve and Andrew were looking a little worse for wear. Steve's eyes couldn't focus for more than a few moments, and he was sure that he saw black bruises under his eyes. He was haggard and pale, and overall, looked like his mother after a too long shift.

It was to this sight that confronted Natasha and Tony, when they both decided to visit. Steve opened to door and saw the blurry form of red before he blinked and saw Natasha's hair. Her lips were pulled into an amused smirk. Right next to her was a form he didn't expect to see at his door: Tony Stark. The eccentric billionaire genius took one look at Steve's blue black bruises under his eyes, his red eyes and unfocused gaze, and the haggard state of his normally immaculate hair, and blinked in surprise.

"Wow, cap," he quipped, "I didn't think you'd let yourself go this fast." Steve groaned half in frustration and half in exhaustion, as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Whadda ya want, Stark," Steve said tiredly.

"Steve, are you okay," Natasha asked softly, a concerned look flitting across her face as she took in his state. Steve opened his mouth to answer only for Andrew to cut loose a shrieking wail. Steve winced and seemed to sag with resignation.

"No," Steve admitted softly, "Andrew has colic. He keeps crying. I can't sleep," he whimpers softly. Natasha noted the desperate exhaustion in Steve's eyes before her own features harden with resolve.

"Come on, Stark," Natasha said as she dragged Tony into the apartment. Steve followed them in confusion, closing the door behind him.

"But," Tony said and winced when Andrew screamed even louder. Natasha quickly went over to the crying baby, lying in his cradle, and picked him up. The moment he was in her arms he stopped wailing and started softly sobbing.

"How long's he been like this," she asked, and saw Steve's glazed eyes staring at her on the couch. "Steve!" Steve jolted and his eyes came back into focus.

"Huh," Steve asked, blinking his eyes hard to focus.

"How long has Andrew been colicky," she asked again.

"Bout five days," Steve answered, "it's mostly gas. He's fine when I leave and the babysitter says he's just a little fussy, but once I lay him down for bed, he starts wailing and burping. I don't know what's wrong. He…" Steve paused to open his mouth in a jaw cracking yawn, "excuse me. He's fine when I hold him, and he might get about an hour of sleep, but if I put him back in the cradle he starts crying again. It's like he's in pain!" Steve sobbed and dropped his head in his hands. "I'm so tired, I can't think straight enough to help him." Natasha shot Tony a look over Steve's hunched shoulders, looking at Steve and then at the baby. Tony shook his head, and Natasha glared at him before he slowly nodded. Natasha smile sweetly at him and the billionaire inventor shuddered a little in fear.

"If you want, Steve," Natasha said, "we'll watch him for a few hours so you can get some sleep." Steve's head shot up and looked at her with a look of honest gratefulness, and hope.

"Really," Steve asked. "You'd do that?" Natasha nodded with a small smile.

"Sure," she said, "what are friends for?" Natasha shot Tony a look, and the billionaire plastered on a camera smile, when Steve looked at him.

"Yeah," he said flippantly, "what's the worst that could happen?"

A few hours later, Tony regretted those words when Andrew began wailing and crying before throwing up all over his shirt and face. While the billionaire was not amused, Natasha and a still tired but not overly so, thanks to the four hours of rest he got, Steve Rogers burst into near hysterical laughter. Steve picked Andrew up and cleaned him off before giving Tony a washcloth to clean his face and pointing him in the direction of the washer and drier. The pair left an hour later once Tony's shirt had dried, with promises to get someone else to come over. But it seemed that their promise was not needed, for Yasha and his brother Steven knocked on the door an hour after they left for a visit of their own. One look at the still red-eyed and bruised lids of Steve was enough for Steven to push Steve back into the apartment and into in couch.

"What's wrong," Steven asked, and when Steve blinked the exhaustion out of his eyes he saw the genuine concern and sympathy welling in his deep blue pools of eyes. Yasha already had Andrew in his arms, and soothing him even before another crying fit could start. Steve sighed and flopped back onto the couch, boneless and weary.

"Andrew has colic," he said, "he hasn't been sleeping at nights, and he keeps crying. I think it's his stomach. He keeps burping, and today he threw up on Tony." Steven's brows climbed to his hairline before an impish smile pulled across his lips.

"Tony… Stark," Steven asked with a muffled chortle. Steve smiled a little and nodded. Steven on the other hand pulled his lips into his mouth to keep himself from falling into helpless laughter. Yasha let out a barely dignified snort, and cleared his throat to hide it. Steven looked at Steve and saw how tired he was. "When was the last time you slept?" Steve shrugged.

"I got a few hours while Tony and Nat were here, but I'm still tired," he answered. Steven looked at his brother and sent him a look of concern. The two shared a long look before Steven pulled out his phone.

"Steve you need to rest," he said and held up his hand when Steve looked up and opened his mouth, "and you won't get that while Andrew is sick." Steve's brows furrowed with worry, and Steven plowed on, "I don't think this is just colic, if it was he wouldn't have thrown up on Tony. He also wouldn't be fine for those hours while you're not home. Now," Steven said as he thumbed through his contacts, "I'm going to call a friend; he's a Healer, and a doctor. I've known him for years. He'll come right over to give Andrew an exam."

"Doc's still make house calls," Steve asked in surprise. Steven shook his head.

"No," he answered, "he's one of the exceptions. He's an old fashioned doctor. I think you might actually know him. His name's Fingon Elfstar." Steve's brows shot up in surprise.

"You know him," Steve asked, and Steven nodded, "and he'll come over?"

"It might be a few hours, but he'll come," Steven answered. Steve sagged in relief and before he knew it he was fast asleep.

Steve woke to the doorbell ringing. Well, it was more that he was startled awake, than slowly coming out of his dose, but Steve was running on less than four hours of sleep for the past five days. It was understandable that he was tired and startled awake easily after becoming used to waking at the slightest sound of his baby crying. So when he woke he looked at the door with blurry eyes and saw that Steven was already opening the door to let the doctor in. he looked exactly how he remembered him: his hair a dark wave of carefully controlled curls tamed with thick braids, bound with silver and gold cords; his long nose regal and fine on his long face. his wide mouth and thin lips were pulled into a pleasant smile, his deep-set eyes soft and warm under his thick black brows, and a shade of blue not too dissimilar from his own. Combined with his fine cheekbones and angular jaw, his face had a regal look that Steve remembered on the face of none other than Fingon the Valiant son of Fingolfin. It was no wonder so many had said they looked exactly alike; their features were so similar that they could have been brothers. The only difference was that Fingon the Valiant's jaw was a little squarer; his lips were a little plumper, and his eyes shone with the light of the Trees. Overall they looked the same, and it was that familiarity that set Steve's mind at ease.

The elvish doctor smiled faintly at Steve's tired face, before he set his bag on the floor beside the couch.

"So, what seems to be the problem here," he asked, his voice light and lilting with that strange accent Steve had now come to associate with native elvish speakers. Steve smiled faintly through his exhaustion and looked over at Yasha, who was gently thumping Andrew on the back every now and then.

"Andrew," Steve said, "my son, I think he has colic. He keeps crying, and he can't sleep at night. He'll burp and pass gas but it only last about an hour before he wakes up crying again." Steve dropped his face into his hands and smothered a sob, before rubbing his face to clear away some of his exhaustion. When he looked back up Andrew was in the doctor's lap as he carefully listened through a stethoscope to Andrew's gut. After a moment, he looked up at Steve with a slight frown.

"What does he eat before this starts," Dr. Elfstar asked. Steve yawned hard before he groggily answered.

"Some breast milk I leave in the fridge before I go to work, and a milk substitute, a formula I think," Steve said, "if that runs out. It usually does. The babysitter says he has a healthy appetite." Steve smiled wanly as the doctor set Andrew down and stood up to go to the cupboards. "First door next to the sink," He instructed and the elf opened the door and removed the tin of formula with a slight smile. That smile quickly vanished after he read the label.

"How long has he been taking this," he asked, and Steve groggily thought back to when he first bought it after he realized that he would need more than frozen breast milk to last Andrew through the day when he was gone.

"Maybe about two weeks," Steve answered. Dr. Elfstar frowned and looked down at the can again. "Why, what's wrong?" the doctor sat the can down and looked over Andrew again with a critical eye. After a few minutes examining the baby, Dr. Elfstar set him back down and looked at Steve with a calm but serious face.

"He hasn't had any other problems other than the gas and upset stomach," he asked, and Steve shook his head. Fingon frowned and furrowed his brow slightly in thought, before he looked back up at Steve with a look of calm reassurance in his deep blue eyes. "I think Andrew might have developed a slight allergy to the milk substitute. Nothing serious," he reassured when Steve's eyes widened in fear, "but it has irritated his stomach, and it's not that uncommon, in fact. It mimicked the symptoms of colic or lactose intolerance, which is why most don't realize it or catch it. It's been known to happen with Numenoreans, which is why they stick to breast milk and not formulas." Steve breathed a heavy sigh of relief, almost collapsing back into the couch boneless in his gratitude. Fingon smiled warmly at Steve, and his eyes twinkled with mirth like brilliant sapphires.

"So he's okay," Steve meekly asked, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Fingon smiled wider, and nodded.

"Just stick to Breast milk and I think he will be right as rain in no time," the doctor said. Steve looked up at the others and saw his relief mirrored in their own eyes.

"Why don't you go lie down, Steve," Steven said softly. Yasha looked up from his seat in an arm chair, Andrew resting quietly on his shoulder, and smiled softly.

"Go get some sleep, Ada," Yasha said, "We can handle him for a few hours." Steve tiredly nodded and dragged himself off to bed, stripping down to his boxers and undershirt as he went. He collapsed into bed and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Steve woke to the sun rising and to a quiet house. He slowly stretched and sighed, lying languorly across his bed, with a content smile drifting across his face before he slowly rose, and gently padded towards the living room. The sight he found was enough to give him a warm feeling in his heart. Steven was resting peacefully in his armchair, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes and covering most of his face, while Yasha was sprawled across the couch his hand slowly rocking the cradle set beside it, and inside said cradle Andrew was fast asleep, looking for all intense and purposes like a little angel. Steve smiled warmly and leaned down to press a kiss to Andrew's head, before gently brushing Yasha's hair away from his mouth.

TBC…

End Note: sorry about the abrupt end, it's just that the rest of the planned chapter didn't seem to fit with the flow of this, and this end felt better than a random time jump. I'll add the part I cut out to the start of the 14th chapter to make the flow better.

That's all I have on poor Steve and his single parenting troubles, but more will come. I hope you all liked the little cameo from the first story I added to round this out.

Also I'm getting a little burned out with this genre and fandom, but I have so much left to do that if I quit it will feel like a waste. I got a late start on this because of weather, and I've not had a lot of drive to continue it. I love your guys' comments and reviews, because they give me more drive to keep going, but I don't know if it is because it's such an obscure crossover I'm doing or that my tags are really bad. I'm just not getting the reads I would like. So please! Comment, subscribe, and leave me kudos! All of those things make me feel so much better about myself and my writing. I just love those long comments, and I adore the little two word reviews, because they feel so honest.

So please, read and review! They make my muse sing!