"Она имеет свою красоту, (she has your beauty)" Bucky said quietly, his arm wrapped around Natasha's shoulder as they watched the new Barton get her first bath from one of the nurses.

"Клинта там тоже (Clint's in there, too)."

"What are they talking about?" Clint whispered to Steve, his eyes never leaving his newborn daughter on the other side of the nursery window. He had almost lost out to the temptation to throw a warning glance to the pair, but he just couldn't look away.

"Not a clue," an equally distracted Captain replied. He gently tapped on the glass to get her attention, but she merely poked out her tiny tongue as if in response to his attempt.

"Да, я вижу отношение развивается в ней уже (yes, I see the attitude developing in her already)," Bucky chuckled darkly.

"Эй, неплохо. Вы не разрешили забрать его, хорошо? Пусть он этот день (Hey, be nice. You're not allowed to pick on him, alright? Let him have this one day)."

"Я люблю говорить с вами этот путь. Держит их догадки. Мы должны просто остаться, как это и посмотреть, как долго, прежде чем они обозленный (I like talking to you this way. Keeps them guessing. We should just stay like this and see how long before they get pissed)."

"Okay, I'm getting pissed," Clint scowled, finally turning towards Steve, "they could be saying anything right now and we're just standing here like a couple of idiots."

"Быстрее, чем я думал (Faster than I thought)," Bucky smiled with a nod of satisfaction. "Alright, no need to get your panties in a bunch, Barton. We were talking about the little miracle in there, and how we can't believe you could help make something so adorable."

"Oh, well that's...hey! Now hold on just a minute-"

"You know what," Steve broke in, "I'm going to check on (Y/N). At least I know that I'll get a conversation in English."

"Steve, you know that she speaks thirty-one languages, right? She's just about ready to make Wakandan her thirty-second with T'Challa's help." Bucky laughed, looking at his friend with shocked amusement.

"No."

"How do you not know that?" Clint joined in, fully laughing now with Nat and Bucky.

"It's never come up?"

"Steve," Nat smiled widely, "she spoke fluent Italian on our mission in Rome last year. Did you think she was just reciting an Olive Garden menu or something?"

"Yeah, man, you were there!" Bucky turned back to Natasha, putting his arm around her again to lean in closer, "теперь мы знаем, где тройни получают гению (now we know where the triplets get their genius from)."

~~~

"Hey, sweetheart, how's my girl feeling?"

Even though you had just finally had the chance to close your eyes and find just a few minutes of sleep, the sound of Tony's voice brought a smile to your face through your exhaustion. With a small groan of discomfort that he heard and jumped to respond to, you rolled to look at him with a hand up to stop him from worrying, despite knowing that it was a moot point to try. "I'm good, Dad. Should be back in business by tomorrow."

"Like hell."

"What? I'm fine," you argued. "I only had to pop out one. Nothing to it. I don't even have to take care of her this time."

Tony sighed and gave you a skeptical look, shaking his head as he crossed the room with a chair in hand to take a seat next to your bed. He looked as tired as you felt, but it wasn't clear as to why. For the first time in a long time, things had been going well in the team and in the world in general; no major battles or conflicts that needed team, and everyone had been getting along perfectly in anticipation of this day. "Okay, physically, you feel good, got it. What I need to know is how that brain of yours is doing," he explained softly, taking your hand in his. "The last time you did this, you had a pretty hard time and scared the hell out of everyone. I want to protect you from that if I can."

"You'd protect me from a hangnail if you knew I had one."

"Do you?" he smiled widely, grabbing both your hands now to inspect them closely. "Those things can get infected, you know."

"Stop," you groaned, pulling away. "You're too much, you know that?"

"Yep."

The two of you let your awkward laughter die away, sitting quietly while you watched his thumbs trace gentle lines over the top of the hand he had kept ahold of. You felt as if no matter what you would say to him, he wouldn't believe you if you told him that you really were okay; your bout of postpartum depression with the triplets was so violent and destructive to you that it was something that he had feared since the day he found out you were doing this for Nat. He watched your every move since that day, and now that the time was upon you when it could strike again, he felt more protective now than he may have ever felt before.

"Really," he finally spoke softly, his voice uncertain, "are you okay?"

The door to your room pushed open just an inch or so, a gentle knock announcing the arrival of yet another bouquet of flowers to be added to the small greenhouse that you had amassed already, most of them from Barton and threatening to overtake the room. "Excuse me, (Y/N), can I bring these in?" the hospital volunteer carrying them asked softly.

"Of course, Helen," you greeted, "come on in."

"You're on a first-name basis with the staff already?" Tony asked in a whisper, watching her.

"Dad, look at how many bouquets there are. Helen and I are practically best friends after she's delivered so many."

"Right." He stood and approached the elderly woman with his hand extended, his eyes cautiously studying her every mannerism and move, "Helen, I'm Tony. Mind if I ask you a few questions? Good," he continued without allowing her to reply, "tell me, what are your thoughts on Captain Rogers?"

"Dad," you interjected, but he didn't balk.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," she smiled genuinely, shaking his hand in greeting. "Well, he's the nicest young man that I've ever met. Quite the catch, (Y/N)," she nodded, looking past Tony for a brief second.

"Yes, he's a dreamboat," Tony scoffed, "but what I'm more interested in is if you have any knowledge or strong feelings about his history. You know, ground-breaking science experiment, bully hater, Nazi punching, that sort of thing. Does the name Hydra ring any bells?"

"Dad, stop it right now."

"I...I'm not sure..." she stammered, taking a cautious step back. "I don't have any idea...no recollection, no..."

"What's your last name, Helen? Social security number? Does the name Schmidt mean anything to you?"

"That's enough," you scolded, getting up to stand between them, "Dad, you're done. Out." You pointed him towards the door, waiting for him to take a first step towards it before turning back to a slightly shocked Helen. "I'm so sorry. He's just nervous and unbelievably overprotective."

The woman took your hand in hers and patted it with her other, conveying a sense of maternal instinct that you had never felt before, even from the short time that you had known your own mother. "It's okay, dear. I remember when you and Captain Rogers had that terrible accident a few years back. I saw your mother, and I must say, I was less than impressed. But when I read in the papers about what had happened to her, my heart just broke for you."

"Thank you. It was a pretty shitty time for all of us."

"Language," she smiled, patting your hand again before releasing it, "I know that your husband would disapprove."

"You're kidding, right? He's got everyone fooled, Helen. Don't believe that righteous boy scout act for one second. You can take the boy out of the Army, but never the Army out of the boy. Believe me, I've tried."

~~~

The next day, just as you had predicted, you were more than ready to get out of the hospital and back home; getting back to your routine with your own kids and work was exactly what you needed after so many months away from the action of the team. Your body and mind yearned for a good fight or at least a little skirmish or just anything to make you feel like you hadn't lost your edge.

Over the next few weeks, Nat and Clint settled into their own routines with new parenthood, needing your help only rarely when baby Aleksandra wouldn't respond to them during a crying spell and you seemed to have the magic touch that was key to them all getting any sleep. When you sat with her in the darkness of her nursery, when she fell silent other than the gentle rhythms of her breathing as she finally slept, your mind was allowed to wander; it had begun to wander to darker places than that which surrounded you now, just as Tony had feared would happen. You had promised him that you would tell him if any of those feelings came back, and you promised yourself that you would talk to him in the morning. With a gentle hand and a soft kiss on her forehead, you put Allie into her crib and left her to sleep.

The closer you came to your own room, the less that you wanted to step inside just yet; your mind was too active to let you sleep, and with the thoughts you were having, it was likely to just end in a nightmare anyway. The triplets' rooms were just down the hall from yours, so you stopped at each one, opening the door silently to see them sleeping soundly, and you couldn't help but feel the pangs of jealousy as you admired them in their peacefulness.

You then made your way down to the gym, stopping in the locker room to change into your workout gear. Slipping on your uniform for the first time in far too long, you stopped at the large mirror before exiting, looking back at yourself but not recognizing the reflection; you hadn't been this persona in so long that you felt like you were losing it. You knew it was your hormones shifting and creating this fallacy, but it was a strong voice in your head to try to fight it. You could hear Clint and Steve finishing their own workouts so you waited, trying to pull yourself out of your mind so that you could focus on the work you needed to do; so you could focus on literally anything else.

When you heard the two men leave, you made your way onto the mat and began punching the heavy bag with every ounce of strength you could muster until the first one ripped at the seams, spreading the sand everywhere. "Son of a bitch," you mumbled, taking the remnants down from the rafter and grabbing another bag, showing it the same lack of mercy as the first until it too broke under the strain. "Cheap piece of crap."

"Hey, those are going to start coming out of your paycheck," Steve broke in, still standing by the door and watching you, having not left yet like you had thought. "Rough day?"

"Mmm hmm," you barely answered, feeling a choking lump building in your throat at the mere sound of his voice. Steve was your safe place, and being so close to you when you were feeling so vulnerable was making you break further. "Yeah," you tried again, starting on a new bag.

He stood silently now, leaning against the door frame with crossed arms and a furrowed brow while his mind raced. There was clearly something going on, and he was going to figure it out before either of you would be let out of the room.

"I'm not crazy..." you muttered with a shaking breath, missing an easy strike; it was something that Steve had never seen from you, and it brought him to quick attention. "I'm not..."

"(Y/N)?"

"I don't want to do this again, Steve," you managed, missing another hit with a curse under your breath. "I don't want to be this person again. I told Dad that I was okay. He's going to think that I lied to him. He's going to think..." you faded, wrapping your arms around the bag as your tears finally won the fight and your breaths began to hitch, "...and you..."

He finally pushed away from the wall and took the few steps to cross the floor to reach you, but when his hand made contact against your back, the sensation dropped you to your knees and into a full panic. You feared how he would see you, having been through this before and seeing you still too weak to win.

"Honey, look at me." When you only turned away, he decided to take matters into his own hands, not allowing a single second to repeat itself from the last time. "FRIDAY, ask Tony and Bruce to meet us in the infirmary."

You felt his arms slide beneath you and your body lifted tightly against him, keeping your eyes closed as he carried you, never once arguing with his plan. Steve would know what to do, you had convinced yourself; Tony would take care of you, like he always had. You had to let go to what they needed to do in order to make it through this again. Even with his strong arms around you, you felt like you were falling, and your panic only grew until your heart felt as if it would explode from your chest.

"Put her on that gurney," Bruce ordered, rushing in through one of the far doors at the moment that Steve brought you through another. When he met you there, he began to quickly look you over, taking your face in his hands to forcibly make you look at him. "(Y/N), slow it down. You're hyperventilating. Steve, grab me a mask."

You didn't even flinch when the tight rubber strap snapped on your arm; you barely blinked at the sting of the needle pushing into your vein and the cool sensation of the medication finding its way in. All you knew now was that relief was soon to come, and you cursed yourself for relying on this way to do it.

"I'm sorry, Steve."

"There's no reason to be, honey. We were ready."

Tony finally burst into the room, his feet hitting the ground so hard that the echo in the room was almost painful in its volume. "Hey, what's going on?" he panted urgently. "I was in the other building, I'm sorry it took me so long." He stepped to your side and knew the answer immediately, his expression dropping and tears quickly building at the rim of his eyelashes. "Baby, you were supposed to tell me, remember?"

"I'm sorry...Dad..." you replied softly, feeling the effects of the medications hazing your brain, "I'm...failure..." He might have said something in reply, but within seconds of Bruce pulling the needle away, you were asleep.