Steve couldn't breathe.

"Will she wake up soon?" he croaked.

"She suffered postpartum eclampsia. She could wake up today, tomorrow, in a week, or perhaps up to three years," the doctor murmured quietly. He could feel his phone vibrate in his hand, but he paid no attention to it.

"Can I see her?" he whispered softly, hiding the tears that left his eyes.

"Of course," she said, walking away.

With his muscles made of lead, he rose, a heavy feeling falling on his shoulders.

When he opened the door, the smell of strong antiseptic filled his nostrils along with the familiar smell of vanilla, something that always clung to Natasha's skin.

His eyes fell on the body that lay on the white sheets, red hair being the only color in the room. Her skin was pale, rosy cheeks no longer there, the beeps of the machine being the only thing that let him know she was still alive. He neared her side, taking her cold fingers into his, eyes never straying from her comatose form.

His fingers trembled as he sat beside her, every breath he took shallow and unsteady. He could still hear her laugh, the way her sharp wit could cut through even the thickest tension, and now all of that was replaced by sterile silence.

He didn't notice the footsteps that echoed through the hall, nor the single hand that rested on his shoulder.

"She'll wake up," Clint murmured, fingers squeezing his shoulder, "She's strong."

Steve nodded, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. Strong. Natasha had always been strong, but even steel could bend under enough pressure.

He didn't know when Clint left, nor when the sun set on the horizon. However, he did notice the sun's rays that brought the fire from Natasha's red hair, the orange glow encasing her skin. The sight was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

"I'm sorry, Nat," he whispered, squeezing her hands before he left. The weight of those words lingered in the air long after he was gone.

---

Cries filled the room, nurses flitting about trying to soothe the newborns. However, one baby caught his eye.

The child was quiet, his tiny body swaddled in a blue blanket, blonde hair glowing while his all-too-familiar green eyes took in his surroundings.

James Rogers.

The nurse brought James towards the window, a smile on her lips. Steve could only stare as his son blinked up at him.

His son.

Steve smiled and raised his hand, pressing it against the window, recognizing his child. He could feel the bond form between them, the bond of father and son. For a fleeting moment, the heaviness in his chest eased.

The nurse walked back, returning James into his glass cradle.

"That's a cute one," an elderly lady said, her hand gripping a black cane, "Is he yours, young man?"

Steve could only smile, "Yes, ma'am."

"Where's his mother?"

His heart clenched rather painfully inside his chest, and he returned his gaze to James. "His mother is in a coma."

Feeble fingers rested on his. "I'm sorry, young man. I'm sure she'll wake up soon. After all, nothing ever keeps a mother away from her child," she murmured before walking away.

He smiled sadly to himself, walking the opposite direction towards Natasha's room with heavy steps. He wished Natasha was there beside him, like the many other couples there. Wives leaning against their husbands, smiles of happiness lighting up the corridor.

He could feel the gray clinging to his skin, the world no longer bright like it once was.

---

One week later

Steve watched as his son slept, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. Each soft exhale was a reminder of the life he and Natasha had created together, a life that tethered him to the present.

His thoughts wandered towards a conversation he and Stark once had.

"Yeah? Well, it's time for me to tap out. Maybe I should take a page out of Barton's book and build Pepper a farm, hope nobody blows it up," Tony murmured, his remote-controlled car pulling up.

"The simple life," Steve spoke.

An unfamiliar emotion passed through Tony's features, "You'll get there someday."

Steve could only shake his head, "I don't know, family, stability. The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out."

Little did he know that all it took was one night with Natasha.

A soft coo came from James, as if reminding Steve that he was also part of the plan.

Steve could only smile.

The hospital loomed in the distance, something he had seen for the past week. He had been visiting Natasha along with James, hoping she would wake up soon.

Several members of the team had also paid visits, Tony upgrading her room to something more lavish and roomy. The gesture, sentimental and uncharacteristic, hadn't gone unnoticed by Steve.

A tiny whimper came from James, his tiny lips parting for his bottle.

He pulled the warm bottle from the baby bag and raised it to James's mouth, who sucked it greedily.

"Don't worry, James. Mom will wake up soon."

---

The nurse yawned softly as she made her final rounds to her patients before handing them off to her colleague.

Eyes fell on the clipboard in her hand, letting her know of her next patient.

Natasha Rogers.

With quiet steps, she entered the lavish room, exotic flowers decorating the yellow walls. It screamed wealth, letting the nurse know of the utmost importance the patient had.

A young woman lay on the bed, her red hair spread against the pillow, pale skin emphasizing the fiery hair.

The nurse had heard of this particular patient. Mostly because the young woman had a handsome visitor that came every day.

Young nurses giggled and gossiped in the lounge about the handsome stranger that came to visit. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and a body every girl wanted to see, the women giggled.

The older nurse could only shake her head. All she could think of was the sadness that young man carried, yet as a nurse, she could only check the woman's vitals and make a little bit of small talk.

"You're a pretty one, ain't ya?" the nurse said, as she checked the saline solution bag.

Normally the elderly nurse wouldn't expect a response, but what happened next nearly sent the poor woman to the emergency room. She could already imagine what her report would say.

Diagnosis: Heart Attack.

"You think I'm pretty?" the woman croaked, a tired smile on her lips, green eyes still hidden beneath her eyelids.

The nurse stumbled back, one hand on her chest as she stared at Natasha, now stirring faintly in the bed.

"Ms. Rogers?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Where... where's Steve?" Natasha rasped, her voice hoarse but determined. Her green eyes cracked open, searching for the man with golden hair and sapphire eyes.