Warning: This chapter contains a brief commentary on miscarriage. Comic canon.
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The Rogers
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Romanogers Floor.
Another residence, another young mother. A completely different reaction.
Natasha stood before the mirror in her dressing room, styling her long auburn ponytail extension, soft curls framing her face — a perfect rendition of Megara's signature look. The lavender Greek gown flowed over her now curvier body as she fastened the purple sash at her hips, its golden pendant glinting softly. The hem of her dress brushed her strappy sandals, while a thigh-high slit added understated elegance. Beneath the neckline, her nursing bra, now two sizes larger, fit snugly.
The Redhead's chest tightened, emotion rising in her throat. How did I deserve this?
Once, motherhood had been an impossibility. The Red Room, the secret KGB Academy where Black Widows were forged, demanded warriors, not mothers, condemning them to a cruel destiny. A serum designed to perfect their bodies enhanced their immune systems to boost their health, causing pregnancy to be treated as an illness — one that would be automatically terminated. Nothing could've been more heartless. Believing the choice would never be hers, the Spy had resigned herself to that fate.
But her Soldier changed everything. More than earning her trust and love, he had given her something she thought unattainable. The unique combination of the Super-Soldier serum and his DNA counterbalanced her enhancements, allowing their son to be carried to term without complications. James was an unexpected gift, proof that life still held beautiful surprises. And with Steve — her right partner all along — Natasha was living a life she'd only ever dreamed of in movies. Every change in her body felt like a victory, a testament to her new role as a mother.
Adjusting the final details of her outfit, she paused to reflect on how far she had come. She felt… whole.
Outside, in their bed, her husband sat comfortably in jeans and a fitted T-shirt, their son nestled in his lap. Already dressed for the occasion, the redheaded baby was an endearing sight in a soft orange onesie, mimicking the sunlit hues of the gods of Olympus. A hood adorned with blond curls, a red necklace with a dangling golden rubber thundercloud, and a printed white diaper completed his Baby Hercules ensemble.
"You do look adorable, kiddo! But let's not tell Uncle Tony or Uncle Bruce that Daddy said that, alright?" the father said with a playful grin, recalling their friends' earlier antics.
James responded with a happy coo, his tiny hands flailing clumsily in the air. Leaning down, Steve peppered his chubby cheeks with a series of dramatic kisses. Each giggle from his son brightened his expression. "Mwah! You like that, huh?" he murmured, blowing a raspberry on the baby's soft belly. The sound sent the little boy into a fit of delighted squeals, his laughter filling the bedroom and warming his father's heart.
A soft voice broke the moment. "You two having fun?"
As she waited for her husband's reaction, Natasha shifted on her feet, smoothing the fabric of her dress. A faint blush revealing her nerves. The confidence she carried so effortlessly as an agent — and now as a mother — seemed to falter, giving way to the hesitant self-consciousness of a woman wearing a beautiful dress for the first time in months, standing before the man she loved.
He glanced up, and his breath hitched.
"How do I look?" she asked quietly, her voice betraying both curiosity and nervousness.
Light spilled from the dressing room, framing her in an ethereal glow. She looked like she'd stepped straight out of the Disney movie they'd watched in preparation for the party.
"Wow… Nat… you…" he stammered, his voice trailing off as his jaw slackened.
She was stunning, as he always thought she was, but today, there was something even more special. A rare softness, a delicacy more pronounced than she had ever shown to him alone — a stark contrast to her bold, sharp public persona. It was unexpected and utterly captivating.
"Are you always this articulate?" she echoed Megara's playful wit, though the shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth softened the teasing tone.
James let out an excited gurgle from his father's lap, his chubby arms stretching eagerly toward his mother.
"Иди к мамочке, солнышко," she cooed softly in Russian, stepping forward to scoop him into her arms. As she pressed a kiss to his temple, her earlier uncertainty began to melt away.
Steve's gaze never wavered. The way she moved, the way she held their son with such ease and tenderness — it was mesmerizing. His eyes, wide with love, drank her in as if committing every detail to memory. Finally, he found his voice. "You're… breathtaking."
Her lips quirked at the compliment, though doubt flickered in her expression. "Is it too much? I think Pepper might've gone overboard." Natasha gestured vaguely toward the hairpiece, her shrug small and uncertain. Yet it was the vulnerability in her green eyes, barely masked by a playful smile, that struck him the most.
He shook his head, his voice low but certain. "Well, Mrs. Rogers, you're giving the Greek goddesses a run for their money."
Feeling her cheeks warm, she gave him a small, genuine smile. Walking around the bed, she settled beside him, her gown flowing gracefully as she adjusted the baby in her arms. "Ты голоден, мой ангел?" she murmured sweetly, her hand gently brushing over James' soft hair as she began to nurse.
The Blond leaned back slightly, watching them with quiet awe. His Redhead — shy, maternal, and impossibly beautiful — was a vision in lavender. And with every passing second, his earlier resolve to avoid the silly costume crumbled entirely.
Seeing her cradle their son, murmuring soft baby-talk in Russian always made him fall deeper in love with her. His thoughts drifted to his own mother, a young widow who had struggled through poverty and illness yet poured every ounce of love she had into him. His chest tightened as he thought of how his father had missed out on this quiet, sacred joy — watching the woman he loved care for their child.
A wave of gratitude swept over Steve. Their perfectly healthy son was a blessing — a miracle the sickly kid from Brooklyn could never take for granted. Humbled, he reflected on how God had guided him to this moment, granting him more than he could've ever dared to hope for. Natasha had made him a husband; James had made him a father. The idea of denying them anything, even something as simple as a Halloween family photo, seemed more ridiculous than the costume itself. She didn't even need to ask.
With a resigned grin, he walked over to the chaise lounge and pulled out the Hercules outfit. As he began to strip off his clothes, he caught the amused smirk on her face.
"I'm really enjoying the show," she quipped, her eyes twinkling. "But you know you don't have to wear it, right?"
"Mm-hmm…" He shot her a playful, knowing look as he undressed. "Halloween was a lot simpler back then. Some kids went door-to-door asking for pennies or sweets. But Ma never let me go, so Bucky and I sat on the front steps in cardboard masks we made ourselves. If it wasn't too cold, and if I wasn't sick. We got fruit, nuts, and some homemade treats when we were lucky. Hard candy? That was a rare luxury. I only got it once." Now down to his black briefs, he slipped on a pair of fitted gray athletic shorts for modesty before starting on the costume. His voice carried a hint of nostalgia. "Sometimes we went to church parties, but I couldn't really participate in the games — too fragile, I guess. No bobbing for apples for me. But Ma… she'd always tell stories from her youth — tales of spirits and old Irish superstitions. She talked about púca and cailleach — Gaelic words for mischievous ghosts and witches. Oíche Shamhna is Halloween. Did you know it came from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain? She told me that."
"That's lovely. I didn't know you spoke Gaelic," she said gently, her voice laced with curiosity.
"I don't, really. Just a few words Ma used now and then. I guess having James… has made me think more about my childhood," he admitted, his tone reflective. "Even though I couldn't do everything the other kids did, I have some fond memories. But my father… he never saw any of it." His gaze drifted back to his wife, his features softening as he watched her with their son. "And I don't want James to ever miss out on having me there."
Her green eyes glistened with quiet understanding as she looked at him. "I feel the same way. I want him to have everything I didn't. To grow up surrounded by love and memories… even the little things, like silly costumes."
Just then, the baby let out a loud burp. The mother cradled him closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Good boy."
Narrowing his eyes in playful agreement, the father chuckled. "We're doing our best, aren't we?"
"Always," Natasha replied firmly, her conviction clear.
Her gaze then lingered on him, and a small smile tugged at her lips. The Hercules costume fit him almost too perfectly. As he adjusted the cuirass molded to his chiseled torso, the leather straps framed his broad shoulders. The bronze cuffs gleamed faintly with each movement, while the tunic, unapologetically short, showcased his muscular thighs. Warrior sandals completed the ensemble, and Steve looked every bit the Greek demigod.
Once James drifted off to sleep, she gently laid him on the bed, arranging the pillows protectively around him. Moving beside her husband, she adjusted the final touches — the thick belt cinching his waist, emphasizing his V-shaped silhouette, and the cape cascading elegantly down his back. Reaching up, she smoothed the headband on his forehead, her fingertips threading gently through his soft blond hair as she settled it into place.
"There," she murmured, smiling with pride.
The tender gesture drew him closer, his hands naturally wrapping around her waist as the space between them disappeared. "You look absolutely beautiful, Mrs. Rogers."
Her hands rested on his chest, the warmth of his gaze enveloping her. "You don't look too bad yourself, Mr. Rogers."
"I never thought it possible, but you're even sexier now." His tone was rich with affection and barely concealed desire as his fingers traced her soft curves, more pronounced than before.
A flush warmed her cheeks, spreading a rosy warmth across her skin. "No need for flattery," she brushed off the compliment with a light quip, though the sparkle in her green eyes revealed how much his words meant to her. "Bobbi already told me. I'll have to work hard to get in shape later."
"This shape," he murmured, his hands gliding from her waist along her sides and shoulders before cupping her face gently. "You couldn't be more perfect." His thumbs brushed her cheekbones as he tilted her head slightly, his gaze smoldering. "My hot wife." His voice, husky with that familiar longing that never failed to make her knees weak. "The most beautiful mother." He leaned in, kissing her softly at first, but the warmth quickly deepened. "Mine." His hands slid back to cradle her waist, pulling her against him, a silent reminder of the space they shared — where she belonged.
"Yours," she gasped softly as his teeth grazed her lower lip, her voice a breathless murmur.
When he nipped at her ear, his voice dropped to a teasing whisper. "I'm even wondering when we can have the next baby," he spoke playfully, though his warm gaze revealed the sincerity beneath it.
"Steve," she breathed, the sound light but filled with emotion, as if the single word carried everything she couldn't quite put into words.
Still holding her close, he let his lips trail down her neck, brushing over the sensitive skin as his hands gripped her hips with gentle firmness. Her breath hitched, a soft tremor running through her as his low, tempting voice sent a shiver through her. "You know… for the next one… we could just practice a little."
"Steve!" This time, his name carried playful exasperation as she chuckled breathlessly, swatting at his chest with a light punch, though the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her amusement.
"What?" he said, his grin widening. "Just a little practice. To stay sharp."
As expected, new parents with a four-month-old baby had little to no time for themselves. The realization that she couldn't remember the last time they'd been alone together immediately made Natasha feel guilty. She began softly, "I know, this isn't fair to you, I'm sorry I've been—"
He silenced her with a kiss, light but filled with understanding and affection. When he pulled back, his gaze held steady, a quiet reassurance in his blue eyes. "Hey, I'm joking, sweetheart," he murmured, cupping her chin. "I mean, I always want you, okay? But I don't ever want you to feel pressured. If I'm tired, I can only imagine how you feel."
She exhaled deeply, leaning her head against his palm. "I'm happier than I think I deserve… but also more exhausted than I've ever been," she admitted. "And you know the kinds of missions we've been through."
"Tell me about it," he replied, his smile softening into something almost rueful. "When Clint warned me, I thought he was exaggerating. But it's the weight of love and responsibility we feel for James." Pressing a kiss to her temple, his voice carried a blend of love and concern. "I just want you to know this — I love you, and I want you, even more than I did before. Okay? But we're in this together. We're a team."
The lines on her face eased, though a flicker of uncertainty still lingered. "I miss you too… us. I don't want you to think that I don't. You just left me breathless."
"I know, my love," he said, holding her securely into his arms.
Letting herself relax against him, she closed her eyes with a tired sigh. "But right now, I want sleep more than anything. Does that make me a bad wife?"
"Of course not, Nat," he replied without hesitation.
Before she could respond, he scooped her up, her startled laugh filling the space between them as she instinctively held onto him. "Steve!" she exclaimed, her voice breathless as her Hercules carried his Megara in a bridal hold.
Grinning down at her, he crossed the room in a few confident strides and placed her gently on the bed beside their sleeping son. She sank into the mattress, the softness enveloping her like a long-forgotten comfort as she watched him settle beside her.
"I've been reading a few articles Dolly sent me about new parents," he explained. "This is just part of the normal life we always wanted."
Natasha blinked, caught off guard by the mention of Dr. Dolly Noonan, her longtime OB/GYN. The doctor's dry Irish humor and attentiveness in answering Steve's endless questions during the pregnancy had cemented a surprising rapport between them.
"And I might've done some research," he added calmly, lacing his fingers through hers. "A lot of women feel insecure after having a baby, and I don't want you to feel that way. Not for a second."
"You did this for me?" she murmured, her voice barely steady as tears threatened to well up.
"Sweetheart," he said, brushing his thumb across the back of her hand in a soothing gesture. "James is my son too. But you're the one doing the heavy lifting. The least I can do is learn how to help — or at least not get in your way too much."
A quiet laugh bubbled out of her. "You being you and being by my side is all I need."
"Nowhere I'd rather be, Nat," he said, his voice dropping lower, steadier. "I grew up watching my mother struggle alone, working so hard just to give me what little she could. I don't ever want you — or James — to feel that way. Not for a single moment."
Her chest tightened at his words, and she slid her arm around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. "How did I get so lucky?" she whispered, her voice quivering with unspoken gratitude.
He held her close, resting his chin on her head as his embrace tightened. "I was thinking the exact same thing. The sickness, the war, the ice… Every hardship in my past brought me here. To you. To James. To our family."
She leaned back slightly to look at him, her expression softening. "I think this is true for me too. But, at the same time… it feels like my past doesn't belong to me anymore. Not now. Not with James."
"Nothing else matters," he said simply, his tone carrying an unshakable conviction.
Her lips curved into a gentle smile as contentment settled over her. "Nothing else even comes close." Since her pregnancy, the Soldier and the Spy's superhero exploits had faded into the background, eclipsed by the deeper adventure of family.
He chuckled, his fingers trailing gently along her temple as he brushed back a stray lock of hair. "Ma used to say I was God's blessing to her. Now I understand."
"Me too," she whispered, her words carrying a quiet, heartfelt agreement.
"She was my everything, my hero. And that's how James will see you."
"You'll be his hero too, trust me." she said, her voice warm with a certainty that felt like a promise.
It wasn't Captain America she was talking about, and he knew it. His expression softened, love shimmering in his eyes. "I can't wait to find out. Together."
"Always," she whispered, her heart swelling with a love deeper than she'd ever known.
As if sensing the moment, their little Hercules stirred, his squirming soon followed by the soft cry that signaled the need for a diaper change. The mother moved fluidly, scooping him up with practiced ease. Her voice was soothing as she spoke, "Мама здесь, малышок."
The father watched her, his chest rising and falling with a contented sigh. A playful smile tugged at his lips as he raked a hand through his hair.
"You'll have to wait for your turn, Wonder Boy," Natasha teased, adding another playful Megara quote, her tone bright as she pressed a tender kiss to the top of James' head.
Steve's voice softened, filled with adoration as he gazed at his wife and son. "For you, Nat? I'd wait another lifetime."
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Author's note: I don't think a woman needs to be a mother to feel complete, but I think that should be her choice.
If you want to know the full story of how Natasha managed to carry a pregnancy to term, read Can We Hear It Again? which I just updated.
Russian: Иди к мамочке, солнышко (Idi k mamochke, solnyshko) Come to mommy, sunshine. Ты голоден, мой ангел? (Ty goloden, moy angel?) Are you hungry, my angel? Мама здесь, малышок (Mama zdes', malyshok) Mommy is here, little one.
REFERENCES:
FANFICTION: Can we hear it again? by ym4yum1 — Natasha's pregnancy.
MARVEL COMICS: Black Widow Vol 2 (2005) #5 — Natasha's past.
MOVIES: Hercules (1997) — [Megara to Hercules] Are you always this articulate? (…) I prefer Wonder Boy.