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The quiet of the evening was broken by an unhappy wail. Most people in the building wouldn't hear the indignant squall, but most people didn't have Steve's sensitive ears either. The child and its mother lived just upstairs from him, and he couldn't help but hear the stress and exhaustion in the mother's voice as she comforted her baby.
Last week, Mrs. Reilly across the hall had taken it upon herself to tell Steve about some of the newer residents of their building. Whether her information was accurate remained to be seen (Natasha would undoubtedly have a dossier waiting for him the next time he drove up to the Compound because, well, Natasha), but her smile faded when she talked about Elizabeth. "Betsy's such a sweet girl, just lovely. Poor thing lost her husband in the Snap. And she didn't even know she was expecting! I can't imagine how she's managed." Mrs. Reilly geared up to continue gossiping before her phone rang and she excused herself with a cheerful wave, leaving Steve to wonder about the newest additions to their building.
***
Betsy had just dragged the sheet over her shoulders when her son began to cry. It had already been a long day at the hospital, and she knew he'd fallen asleep too easily. Betsy threw the covers back and tried to stuff down her irritation as she scooped Steven from his crib to rub his little back. His cries turned to yowls as he wiggled down to his preferred nursing position. She took her water bottle from the nightstand, settled back into the pillow and stroked her son's downy blond head. Steven's chubby little fingers patted her breast when he latched on and began to eat. His blue eyes drifted closed as his mother began to sing.
"Baby mine, don't you cry
Baby mine, dry your eyes
Rest your head close to my heart
Never to part, baby of mine"
***
It took a moment, but Steve recognized the song from Dumbo. He and Buck had chaperoned the younger Barnes siblings to the theater when the film was released in 1941. "Baby Mine" quickly became a favorite among the young mothers in the neighborhood, and even solemn Sarah Rogers had hummed it a time or three during rounds. Steve smiled at the thought of modern mothers singing the old tune to their babies, and stretched out on his bed with a sketchpad. An image of a rocking chair took shape on the page as the rest of the song washed over him.
***
Betsy gently unlatched Steven so he could switch sides. Maybe once he had a full belly they could both get a few hours of rest. She drained her water, booped her blue-eyed boy on his nose, and started her next song, unaware of her audience.
"Over in Killarney, many years ago
Me mother sang a song to me in tones so sweet and low,
Just a simple little ditty, in her good old Irish way,
And I would give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day.
Too ra loo ra loo rah
Too ra loo ra lai"
***
How did this young woman know these old songs, Steve wondered. Sarah had sang a version to him from infancy, particularly when he was ill. The film Going My Way had introduced the Irish song to the not-so-Irish public in 1944, and Steve had thoroughly enjoyed watching it again a few weeks ago. He hummed along to his neighbor's voice, thankful for the gift of music drifting through their shared building.
"Is tú mo chuisle, mo chroí, mo Stíofán," the unseen mother said, and he could hear her steps and the squeak of a rocking chair as she continued the intimate concert. Steve sighed and rubbed at a spot on his chest, the Gaelic tugging at his heart. You are my heartbeat, my love, my Steven. Sarah had said that so many times - in prayer during long nights of illness as she kept watch, murmured into his hair when she hugged him after a failed double date, and whispered as a goodbye when she'd been transferred to the TB ward. Steve drifted off to the woman's lullabies for her own Steven, comforted by her gentle voice, and dreamed of being safely wrapped in loving arms again someday.