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winvterstan · 2 years

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One in a trillion

Summary: Bucky is sterile.

Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was.

There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

And yet, a positive pregnancy test.

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Word Count: ~15k

Warnings: Pregnancy related sicknesses, blood, pregnancy related anxiety, talk of abortions, smut (only under the heading week 20 so you can skip that part if you'd like), lots and lots of fluff, protective Bucky

A/N: The long promised pregnancy fic. This was a true labor to write. Please let me know what you think!

Week 6 - Discovery

She stares at the test in her hands, disbelieving.

Something heavy floats up from her belly to rest heavily in the back of her throat, but she refuses to cry.

A little pink plus to change everything staring back at her.

What would Bucky say?

What could he say?

They had been together for years, linked at hip and heart, never separated for long. Was she not a bit jaded, she might call them soulmates.

They weren’t married, had decided long ago that it didn’t matter, they didn’t want to go through the ceremony of it. They were together and that was all that mattered, matched in soul and purpose.

A piece of paper proclaiming it to be true didn’t make it anymore real.

But marriage is different than a child.

A child is complicated. A child is something that they’ve never talked about, have never even considered. The possibility isn’t supposed to even exist.

Bucky is sterile.

Or, so they had been told, that was basically what he was.

There was a one in a trillion chance of them ever conceiving, completely impossible.

With odds like those, why bother with contraception? Why bother with pills and implants and condoms if they didn’t have to?

So they never talked about it. They never thought that they had to. Somehow, through everything they shared, adoption and being a parent had never come up either.

An absurd laugh bubbles up to her lips suddenly, they thought they knew everything about each other. And yet, this. This glaring hole of importance, this blind spot in their all knowingness of their universe together.

She paces the bathroom for minutes, maybe hours, her shadow chasing her along the tile under the glow of the overhead light. Eventually, she comes up short, staring at herself in the mirror above the sink.

Does she look different? Did knowing make one look so haggard with worry? He would be able to see her anxiety, but would he know the source?

Would some minute change in her biology reveal the truth to his enhanced senses? He was so watchful of her, so careful, surely he would look at her and know everything.

She turns from the mirror abruptly and goes to the kitchen, positive pregnancy test still clutched in her hand, gets a glass of water, and then leaves it on the counter to sit on the couch.

Sweat coats her palms, her thoughts racing and leaping to conclusions not reached by any kind of logic.

Would he think she cheated on him, with chances like those? Would he believe he’s the father, with chances like those?

He would believe her, she’s sure. Bucky has never disbelieved her in anything.

She’s still clutching the test between her fingers when the door to their apartment opens.

Bucky smiles at her as she swallows hard and meets his eyes, not returning the grin. There’s no point in hiding it, no point in dragging it out.

“We need to talk,” she whispers and his smile fades away, like the sun behind a cloud.

Bucky twists his fingers together, metal and flesh, and listens to the clock on the wall tick away the minutes of his life. It’s been three days since Y/N had told him she was pregnant, three days since she said she needed time to think, that they should both take time to think.

Three days since his heart dropped out of his chest, since he left to stay with Steve while she took the time she needed.

To think about what, he had been too afraid to ask, too consumed with guilt and panic. Guilt that this is his fault, panic that she won’t want him around anymore.

Maybe she’ll break it off with him.

Maybe she’s too afraid to tell him she doesn’t want that thing inside her, the thing he unknowingly planted there and left to fester.

Maybe she does want it, maybe she realized the taint of the father could not transfer to something that would also come from the pureness of her, sun drenched and overflowing with love. That even he can’t make a monster out of a new life.

Maybe she does want the baby, but maybe she doesn’t want him around, some deep buried maternal instinct already shouting at her that she’s chosen wrong, that he’s wrong to have a child with.

But she checks in with him once a day via text message, otherwise he would have lost his mind after the first day, worried, anxious, sick without her around in a way that screams co-dependence.

Y/N has never minded his clinginess and so he hadn’t worried about it. Not until this, not until now.

It was good while it lasted, he supposes, this time he was allowed with his heart, the love of his life, the very center of his soul. He should have known that he wouldn’t be allowed to keep her forever.

When has he ever been allowed to hang onto anything good anyways?

He’s always been the cruel universe’s plaything, his life a puppet on a stage.

“Have you actually talked to her about any of this?” Steve asks, his arms crossed over his chest, Sam mirroring him where he leans against the kitchen counter.

“She said she needed time to think,” he repeats, gazing down at his wrist, at the tattoo of her initials etched there in dark ink, tracking his metal thumb over it delicately. The miracle tattoo that they had been surprised stuck to him at all. He remembers the way she grinned at him, offering up her own wrist to the artist for a tattoo of her own.

“And I didn’t want to take that from her,” he finishes, blinking away the memory. He won’t take anything more from her than he already has. The look on her face when she had told him had not been one of joy, or even neutrality. Instead, fear had been written on her face.

Naked fear, terror, as she told him in a trembling voice, her hands shaking.

Bucky, I’m pregnant.

“And you took this immediately to mean that she wants to end things with you?” He looks up sharply, glaring at Sam. “I’m just sayin’. Did she actually say that to you or are you interpreting ‘needs time to think’ as ‘I want to break up’?”

“What else could she mean? Its my fault she’s pregnant and-,”

“Takes two to tango, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, squeezes his fingers until they go white and bloodless, until his bones start to ache. If he snaps his own wrist with metal fingers, how quickly would it heal? He releases his hand, blood stinging as it returns to his hand. “You didn’t see the look on her face, like she was staring down death. I didn’t think I could...I thought I was infertile.”

He pauses, and shakes his head, “Which is what I told her. She thought I was sterile. She probably would have never if she knew-,” Hotblooded anger traces a betraying finger through his chest, warming him from the inside out, “I didn’t think I could do this to her.”

I didn’t think I could lose her this way.

“We all thought that,” Steve agrees before a silence stretches between the three of them again. “Listen, I don’t think she would have...I love Y/N but I have to ask...I don’t want to suggest-,”

Steve stops, stares down at his socked feet, clearly not sure how to continue and regretting having tried to begin.

“Spit it out, Steve,” Bucky snaps, suddenly acutely aware of what he’s about to ask.

He sighs and bites the bullet, “It's just so unlikely, Buck. Is there any chance it isn’t yours?”

“None,” he snarls, the thing in his chest that bloomed protection and love rearing up, the thing that caged his heart waiting to pounce in a bout of defense. “Absolutely none.” She wouldn’t do that to him, she who wears love and devotion on her face like a beacon. Bucky pauses and reigns his anger in, blowing out a hot breath. Steve is just trying to help, he tells himself.

“I know her,” he murmurs. “She didn’t. Its just karma fucking with me again. Too good to be true. One in a trillion chance, and it happens. And now she has to make this decision, whatever it is. Because of me. I should have insisted we use condoms,” He pauses, watching for a moment as Steve’s ears go pink.

Sam rolls his eyes, “C’mon, man, this isn’t something you did, it isn’t fate, it's just something that happened. You gotta deal with it now, one way or another. Sitting around here, moping to us isn’t going to help anything and it really isn’t going to make her feel like you aren’t already jumping ship if she isn’t thinking about breaking it off.”

Bucky’s eyes jump away from Steve’s spreading blush to focus on Sam. “What the hell are you talking about, Sam?” He growls, testy and edgy, worried about Y/N more than he ever has been before, reverting back to the anxious, worried person he had been years ago. He hasn’t felt this anxious since he first met Y/N.

Sam softens a little, “Look, Bucky, I’ve seen how she looks at you, like you’re some kind of miracle walking. And while I don’t personally understand or share the sentiment at all, I don’t think she’s going anywhere.” He shrugs, “And if you’re here with us, you aren’t there with her. Maybe she needed time to think, but you don’t know about what. The longer you’re away, the more it might seem like maybe you’re realizing something too.”

Before Sam has even finished speaking, Bucky has grabbed his jacket and keys and is slamming Steve’s front door shut behind him.

Whatever she’s thinking about, he won’t let her believe she’s unwanted, that he won’t stand by her no matter what.

Bucky finds her on their living room floor sorting through their old photographs. He quietly toes his boots off by the door, snapping the lock into place behind him.

Some of the pictures are recently taken polaroids, printed cell phone photos, and professional shots, mixed in with pictures that the Smithsonian had given him a while back, old, faded, yellow. The Howlies, his mother and sister, him and Steve, Brooklyn, home.

One of the more recent polaroids features him lying in bed, arm slung over his eyes, grin peeking out from under his elbow. Sun is slanted over him, the sheet slung low on his hips.

It makes him a little sick to look at, his own happiness, what he must have looked like to Y/N when she took the photo. He remembers her naked and smiling, perched delicately beside him as she held the camera up.

He swallows thickly and starts toward her, purposefully heavy in his steps so he doesn’t startle her.

She has two piles going and for a moment Bucky thinks she’s picking his out of the stack, separating their things already, before he circles the couch and realizes he has no idea what categories either of the photos could be going into. He sits behind her on the couch, watching over her shoulder for a moment as she decides on the photo in her hands, a printed groupshot of Sam, Steve, and Natasha at a bar in Manhattan.

It goes into the left pile, on top of a picture of the street he grew up on.

He’s still frowning at the piles when she glances back and up at him. A smile shifts onto his lips almost immediately. He can’t help it, not when she’s looking at him like that, like he shifts the balance of her whole world, like he wrote the stars into the sky. “What are you up to, doll?”

She transfers a picture of the two of them together at the top of the Coney Island ferris wheel to the pile with the group shot. “Organizing. I want to hang up our pictures but some of them aren’t exactly...for the public eye.” To illustrate her point she holds up the next photo, a semi-nude pinup photo of her that had been a gift to him during their second year together.

She slides the photo on top of the shot of him in bed.

“Gonna put some of them up in the living room, the rest we’ll keep to ourselves,” she winks, a gentle smile on her face. The knot in his chest loosens just a little with the knowledge that she saw them together far enough into the future that she would bother hanging up their photos. “But hey, you’re back.” Y/N wiggles back so her side presses into his leg

“Think I wouldn’t, doll?” he asks, trying for lightness.

“Well,” she says, turning to face him fully, elbows on the couch cushion next to him, her eyes clear and curious. “You were gone for three days.”

Bucky presses his flesh thumb to the hinge of her jaw, tracing a path down her cheek before settling his thumb in the center of her bottom lip, delicate in all endeavors Y/N. “Ya didn’t ask me to come home. I was trying to give ya the space you wanted.”

She leans into his palm, settling her chin there and tilting closer, closing her eyes against his flesh so he feels the flutter of her lashes against his wrist. A tiny kiss is pressed to the pad of his thumb gently. The trust she places in him always manages to surprise him just a little, her whole heart given over to him without hesitation. “Yes, and you did,” she agrees. “You’re so frustratingly accommodating sometimes. But I didn’t want to tell you to come home before you were ready. I thought maybe you needed some time too. It's...a lot to take in. It’s a shock, I know. Neither of us expected this.”

A cold finger traces up his spine suddenly, an unnamed, unknown fear sinking talons into the fleshy, soft parts of his soul that Y/N has managed to pry open. Its stupid, he thinks, considering he’s one of the most dangerous people on the planet, but it never occurred to him that he could lose her to something that he’s done.

Bucky had promised himself he’d never do anything to make her leave, would never let anything take her away from him besides by her own will, would never let harm come to her, that he would protect and care for her as long as she allowed.

The one promise he had granted himself to believe he could keep, he had inadvertently broken.

The dread and guilt rise up again, and nearly swallow him whole, biting cold teeth into the meat of his ribs.

“I’d do anything you asked me to, darlin’,” Bucky leans down, pressing his forehead to hers, desperate for contact after days spent apart. “What did ya think about while I was gone?”

She reaches up to take his other hand, slotting their fingers together against the sofa. “I thought a lot about you, and how much I missed you. Thought about what we should do.”

He whispers her name, fingers tightening on hers carefully, shame clawing its way up his throat to settle heavily on his tongue. “Listen, doll, I-I swear I didn't know. I-we...everyone thought I wouldn’t be able to...if I had thought that there was even a chance I would have insisted we use protection. I should have anyways but-,”

But when one of you was sterile and you were only sleeping with each other, what was the point?

He takes a deep breath, squeezing her hand, “I just want you ta know I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

“Bucky,” she says gently, pulling away from his hand on her chin to look up into his eyes. She searches his gaze for a long moment before something like understanding filters in. “Help me up?”

He immediately tugs her up from the floor, one arm circling her waist as she settles next to him on the couch, pressing herself as tightly as she can to his side, crossing her legs over his lap. Bucky nudges his nose against her temple, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin, relishing the contact, not sure if it might be ripped away. “Honey, do you think I...what? Blame you for this?” Y/N ducks her head, forcing him to meet her eyes as she slowly reaches up to cradle his face between her hands, thumbs sweeping over the shadows beneath his eyes. Bucky doesn’t sleep well without her anymore, the last few nights hell.

His silence speaks for him, betraying every guilty thought he’s had since she told him, every self-accusation and recrimination swirling in his mind for the last three days.

Eventually, when she doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, waiting patiently for a response, he nods slowly against her hands, averting his eyes but not able to make himself pull away, her skin against his is like air to a drowning man.

More than needed. Necessary.

He pats her thigh nervously where her legs rest in his lap, wondering if he’s about to have his worst fears confirmed.

“No,” she says, pinching his chin between her thumb and index finger, forcing him to flick his eyes back to her, demanding in that soft way of hers. She pulls herself closer to him, her other hand finding the back of his neck, forcing him to press his forehead against hers. Eye to eye, focused on nothing but him, she says. “No. I wanted to think, with a clear head, about whether I - about what would be best for us. For me and you. I’ve never thought about kids with any kind of seriousness and-,”

Bucky swallows, nodding against her as he smooths a comforting hand over her thigh, trying to calm her, trying to soothe himself too, tuning out whatever she’s actually saying, much too nervous to actually listen to her.

Maybe she hadn’t been thinking about blame, he thinks, but he was right either way - she’s thinking about her future now, about whether belonging to a hundred year old formerly brainwashed ex-assassin is really the best life choice she’s ever made. “You gotta do what’s best for you, Y/N,” he hears himself murmur from a distance, interrupting whatever she had been saying.

He winces at his own words. God, when had he turned into such a fucking mess again?

“Bucky,” she says, her voice a quiet demand, digging her fingers into the collar of his shirt to shake him gently. “I know where your head is at. I’m not going anywhere. Don’t take all that guilt and let it weigh on you. This isn’t something to bear guilt for, this isn’t your fault. This is something we did together. It's something we gotta figure out together. I just...I just needed to know what I really thought about it, without you around to cloud my judgement.”

He swallows around the gravel in his throat, focusing on the warmth of her curling around him, not letting him back down, not letting him retreat.

It’s exactly what he needs. No one else is able to manage him, and manhandle him when needed, like her.

But she said together.

They would do this, whatever it was, whatever he had missed her saying, together.

“Do I cloud your judgement, darlin’?” he manages to ask with a weak chuckle, tentative relief flooding him, drowning his blood in cottony warmth, together running circles around his mind.

She presses her nose to his cheek, one hand moving to cup a palm against his neck, “Yes, you know you do, dummy.” Y/N swallows against him. “Tell me where your head is at.”

“Though you were breakin’ in off, sweetheart,” he admits.

“Not yet,” she quips.

“Yet?”

She tucks herself under his arm, nestling close and Bucky obliges her by pulling her impossibly closer. “Never,” she corrects. “Never. Only if you really piss me off.”

For a moment, he’s reassured. This is a solvable problem, one they would work out together. She isn’t sending him off into the dark alone yet. “Well if accidentally getting you pregnant doesn’t do it, probably nothing will,” he snarks, self deprecating.

A smile unfolds against his neck when she buries her face there. Relief floods him at the feel of her smile against his skin, before she nips gently at the pulse in his throat. “Shut up, you ass.”

A laugh startles out of him. “Alright, darlin’.”

Bucky pulls away from her to meet her eyes again, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb, before he takes a deep breath and says, “Listen doll, I just want ya to know I’m not going anywhere, whatever decision you make. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you tell me to go.”

She glances down, taking his other hand in hers, pressing her thumb into the center of his metal palm, comforting despite the feeling being slightly removed from himself. “I wanna know what you want to do,” she says, almost shy about it.

He’s already shaking his head, “It’s you that’s going to have to be pregnant, Y/N. Or it’ll be you that’ll have to go through an abortion. You’re gonna have to do all the heavy lifting here, no matter what. It's your body, it's your health. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Never, he could never do that to her. Not after everything that had been done to his body without his consent. Bucky would never demand anything from her.

“I know. Bucky, I know. I know you wouldn’t do that to me. But I still want to know what you think, even if we don’t have the same ideal situation in mind.” She smiles at him. “Speaking of health though, I spoke to Dr. Cho and Bruce about this. Nice to have such smart people on speed dial. Maybe you wanna hear what they had to say first?”

His brows furrow, mouth tilting down, wondering why she’d spoken with them at all. “Why? What’d they say?”

She gives him a tight smile, anxiety immediately returning with a vengeance, worming its way into his heart, choking the air out of his chest. “What, doll?”

“Well, I had a few questions about carrying if that’s what we decide to do. Because...I assume it won’t be a normal pregnancy,” she squeezes his hand, reassuring and warm. “And they confirmed and said that if I decide to carry it might be a difficult pregnancy. Might be,” she emphasizes. “There may be complications but they aren’t totally sure because…well because this has never happened before.”

The anxiety again already firmly lodged in his throat melts into dread, horror, a cold hand dragging it down into the pit of acid that is his stomach. Before he can ask she continues on, “Meaning that it might be high risk for me and for the baby. Because of the-because of the-,”

“Because of me. The serum,” he murmurs, unable to look her in the eyes suddenly. He may have passed it on to the baby, and by proxy Y/N.

You did this to her, whispers the cruel voice that makes him doubt, that still taunts him despite the years and progress he’s made, despite the man he’s become, the voice that he hasn’t heard in years, happiness eating away at it. You did this to her. You’re going to kill her just like they killed you.

“Yes. A little supersoldier could be a bit to handle. Though they’re not sure if it would even be an issue since there’s never been a super kid before. It’s also possible everything will be totally normal. Totally fine.”

She giggles, smiling a little, but Bucky can’t laugh, can’t think of anything other than the world ending, of losing Y/N.

All he can hear is Y/N saying high risk and complications like they weren’t earth shattering words.

All he can think of is the word might and how everything might be totally fine, but it also might not be.

“What would we need to do?” He asks, not sure why. He should just tell her no, that his opinion is to get rid of it and be done with it, that nothing’s worth the risk of something happening to her.

“Rest,” she answers calmly. “Lots and lots of tests, lots of doctor’s appointments. Minimal stress. Probably a strict, heavy diet.”

“Heavy?” His brain feels itchy, like there’s some thought he can’t quite pull at, a ribbon to unravel. A web spins out in front of him, too many threads to follow, all the possibilities in front of them. Complications and fears are certain, joy and wonder a thing that remained to be seen. Probably everything good he’s built would fall down around him, crumble into ash.

He’s never been a lucky man, so why would he be now?

“Lots of calories, I mean,” Y/N says easily, “Think about how much you eat compared to a normal person.”

Bucky nods, like this is a completely normal conversation for them to be having, like it wasn’t possibly life altering. Like her life wasn’t being drained away before his very eyes.

It's quiet for a moment, the only sound the noise of traffic in the street below. “I don’t want anything that puts you at risk,” he says suddenly, words spilling out of him in a violent torrent, words he hadn’t planned to say. “I don’t. I won’t tell you to do this, not when it could be so dangerous. God, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you. I-I don’t want to gamble with your life for this, for-,”

For what? A child?

Nothing was worth losing Y/N over, especially not something that was currently nothing more than a couple of cells.

Bucky starts to stand, wants to pace, wants to run, wants to put his fucking hand through a wall for always being his own worst enemy.

“Hey,” she grabs his hand before he can move away from her. “Buck. It's gonna be okay. I’m going to be okay. We haven’t decided anything yet. And if we decide to keep it, we will have the best care, the best of everything. You won’t lose me.”

His voice is hoarse when he responds, “You can’t promise me that.”

“No, but neither could any woman who’s ever fallen pregnant. And we’re much more privileged than most when it comes to medicine and resources. You know the whole Avengers enterprise is going to be involved once they find out.” She keeps a firm grip on his hand, her mouth a delicate frown. “But we’ve never talked about kids before. Do you even want children? Do you want to be a father?”

“No,” he grinds out, almost a snarl. “Absolutely not.”

But already there’s an image in his mind that he can’t seem to dispel, a future so distant and unlikely it might as well be a dream. A little girl that looks just like Y/N, soft baby giggles, birthday parties and holidays, tiny smiles. Y/N in a lower case font.

He shakes his head, wants the image gone.

Y/N shifts then, pushing him back into the couch, her knees bracketing his thighs. “Buck, look at me.” His eyes snap to hers, fondness and love and understanding staring back at him. Everything he doesn’t deserve. “Nothing is set in stone yet. We’re just talking and I’m okay.” Lifting his flesh hand, she presses a kiss to his wrist, to the place the miracle tattoo had stuck, her initials, the beginning and end of his story.

Bucky catches at her other hand, thumbing over her wrist where a matching tattoo rests, his initials written on her skin in tiny letters.

“C’mon. Humor me,” she smiles, kissing his wrist again.

A long sigh leaves him, his chest deflating when she leans her forehead against his own, her thumbs tracing the underside of his jaw when she cups the column of his throat between her palms. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Bucky whispers against her, hooking his arm behind her back to draw her closer. “I helped take care of Becca when she was a baby, liked it even. Guess I did want them at one time, but then I got shipped off to war and it never mattered. I was never going to get the chance.”

“You have a chance staring you in the face right now, Barnes,” she says, stroking her hands through his short hair, feathering the ends lightly, tugging until he tilts his head back and she can look down into his eyes. “It’ll probably be our only chance. This way at least. It’s...apparently something close to a miracle that we managed this at all.” She smoothes her hands over his hair again, fingers nervous before she tracks her thumbs under his eyes. “So it's important we get this right. It’s okay to want this.”

Something clicks into place then, slots together in a moment of clarity. “You wanna keep it,” he says softly. “Darlin’ do you want to keep it?”

There’s a long pause, tension and worry thick in the air between them. Her mouth twists to the side, a pained smile. “I think I do. But I can’t do this without you. I don’t want you to hate me for this.”

Is she worried that he’ll leave? That it’ll change how he feels about her?

She’s his touchstone, the center of his galaxy. Nothing could change that.

“I’m with you, Y/N,” he murmurs. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Especially not when you need someone on your six.”

She would need more than just someone on her six. He would have to enlist help from Steve and Sam, Natasha and Tony. Bruce and Helen Cho were already a given.

Somehow, in the space of seconds, the idea is firmly planted in his mind.

They’re having a baby.

“But do you want this? Are you going to resent me for the rest of our lives if I want to do this? I don’t want things to change between us, because it's not worth it to me then either. You’re the most important thing to me.” Before he can even open his mouth, she’s pulling back and pointing a finger in his face. “Be honest with me, Bucky Barnes. We’re a team.”

He hooks his hand behind her neck, bringing her forehead back against his. “Yes,” he says with a sudden conviction, “Christ, doll, I’d follow you anywhere. I want what you want. I always wanna be where you are. I want to do this with you. It won’t change anything.” He pauses, “Fuck, I’m afraid but I’m with you.”

He holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to reply. “But I have a few stipulations.”

“Anything, Buck,” she breaths, some of the tension melting out of her shoulders.

“You always come first. Always. If it comes to that, we are choosing you. I won’t lose you.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, honey. It won’t come to that but okay.”

“You have to follow every single instruction that we get to a tee.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it. No cutting corners, I know how you like to find loopholes around things.”

She grins, trying to hold it back, “So are we having a baby?”

He allows just a little bit of hope, happiness, to creep into his chest, the image of a baby girl with eyes the same shade as Y/N’s swaddled in pink back in his mind. “Yeah, Y/N. We’re having a baby.”

The way she smiles at him could end wars.

Week 9 - Fear

Bucky isn’t exactly entirely on-board with the pregnancy, she knows, not convinced it isn’t about to be the end of everything he holds dear. His uncertainty and fear are palpable in the weeks following their decision to keep the baby, eating up any room he might have in his mind for happiness or hope or excitement.

And he should be excited, at least a little. There’s a veritable miracle growing inside her, completely by accident. Something that should have been out of the realm of possibility for them.

But there’s still blame blooming between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite let go, guilt that he’s made a mistake, and a fatal one at that.

Y/N is determined to make him see the possibility, the good of the thing that’s happening.

“I’m going out,” she announces to a dozing Bucky, hand already on the doorknob, purse in hand. He looks peaceful stretched out on the couch in the afternoon sun, arms crossed over his broad chest. She almost feels bad for disturbing him.

He’s immediately awake and on his feet, reaching for his jacket tossed over the back of the chair. “Where-,”

“Alone,” she adds.

“Absolutely not, doll,” he growls. “No.”

She rolls her eyes at the alpha male attitude that suddenly guided his every move. While he;s normally protective of her, the instinct has gone into overdrive recently. “Yes, you dummy. It’s a surprise for you.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t need it. Forget about it.” Bucky snaps, voice still low and gruff. She wonders if he realizes what he’s doing. Y/N knows it's just how his worry has been manifesting lately.

She pouts at him, drifting away from the front door and toward him. She doesn’t fail to notice that he’s poised on the balls of his feet, as though to spring after her if she makes a run for it. A laugh tugs its way out of her mouth. “What can I do to convince you?”

“Convince me to what? Let my highly vulnerable partner go out alone?”

“Your age is showing old man.”

He rolls his eyes as she presses a hand to his bicep. “Seriously. This is important to me. You can’t keep me locked up in this apartment forever.” He doesn’t answer, clearly thinking that he could if he really wanted to. “What if I take another super person with me? Sam or Steve? Natasha maybe?”

“You would rather Sam and Steve go out with you?” He asks, fidgeting with barely suppressed anxiety, hands fluttering.

“Only because I’m picking something up for you, stupid,” she says affectionatly, trailing her fingers along the inside of his forearm, tracing over her initials on his wrist. His hands still almost immediately, stress easing out of his spine, lungs expanding to take a full breath. “It’ll be okay.”

He swallows and tugs her close, arms closing around her tightly, “You’ve been so dizzy lately-,”

“That’s what the assigned super person would be for. To catch me when I pass out,” she jokes.

Women normally experienced fatigue around week 9, but Y/N’s was extreme as was predicted. She sleeps much more than she used to, dizzy, disoriented and tired when she’s awake.

“Not funny,” he murmurs against her hair, but she knows he’s relenting, relaxing against the warmth of her body, against his need to please her. “Fine. Call Steve.” She leans up to kiss the line of his jaw, trailing her hand over his stomach, feeling the muscles clench beneath her fingers. “Thank you, Barnes. Maybe I’ll do something nice for you when I get back,” she winks at him.

Steve makes it to their apartment in 15 minutes, an amused smile on his face as Bucky demands, threatens, Steve to text him if anything happens, repeating her recent medical history, how she’s been feeling lately, that if he let anything happen to her Bucky would kill Steve himself.

“We’ll only be gone a couple of hours,” Y/N promises, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Please don’t worry too much.”

The look Bucky shoots her tells her that she’s just requested something impossible.

She giggles and grips Steve’s elbow, Steve shutting the door in his oldest friend’s face before he can start lecturing them again. “God he’s overbearing,” Steve gripes. “Used to be just the same with me when I got sick. He’s always been such a mother hen.”

“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it. You probably deserved the mothering though. You don’t know when to quit.”

“Gee thanks, kid,” he rolls his eyes, guiding her out onto the street where she directs him down the block.

“How likely is it that he’ll just follow us anyways?” She asks, looping her arm fully though Steve’s, leaning her head on his shoulder after glancing back at their apartment building.

Steve shrugs, tugging his baseball cap lower over his eyes. “Not high. He hates upsetting you and I think he trusts me to at least be able to monitor you for a few hours.”

“Thanks, dad,” she snips back at him, relishing in the way he rolls his eyes at her. Ever since she met Bucky, Steve has also become a permanent fixture in her life, much like the rest of the Avengers. Though it had been infinitely apparent when Y/N and Steve first met that Bucky was anxious for them to meet, almost like he was waiting for them to compare notes, waiting for a consensus from experts in all things broken to evaluate his worth, back when Bucky’s confidence could be best described as shaky.

Back when anxiety and nightmares were waking monsters, back when trigger words were to be feared.

But the consensus was still reached, Yes, Bucky Barnes is worth loving. The only conclusion that would ever be had.

She tugs Steve into the first bookstore they pass, quickly locating the pregnancy books. Her hope is that getting Bucky some pregnancy and child rearing books might help put him at ease, settle his racing mind.

If he knew, generally, what to expect over the entire duration of her pregnancy, then, she hoped, it might alleviate some of the worry he felt. Steve isn’t helpful in the slightest in selecting a book, but he does provide a soothing presence and catches at her elbow when a dizzy spell takes her and she sways on her feet, his hands firmly on her shoulders, asking if she’s okay.

Twice he dutifully makes her sit down, carrying over stacks of books for her to look through and discard instead. “Bucky would kill me if I let you stand the whole time,” had been his only comment.

After an hour, and a selection of three books, Steve suddenly speaks, breaking the silence between them, the crisp rustling of pages.

“He really wasn’t happy about this, huh,” She had been taking a break to rest her eyes, incredibly tired and only away from the apartment for an hour. Y/N blinks, watching Steve scan the shelves.

“No,” she agrees easily, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes, “He never is but especially not these days. Bucky’s very good about knowing when he’s being too overbearing and I’m good at compromising. Just protective of me I guess.” She hands Steve a pink book, some kind of new age thing for overly anxious expecting parents. “What do you think of this one?”

Steve tucks the book she offers under his arm without looking at it. “Seems good.” He looks to be working himself up to say something and so she waits, resting her elbows on the arms of the leather chair she sits in. “No guessing about it, is there?” He meets her eyes, “He’s crazy about you. Has been since he met you.”

Embarrassment wiggles in her belly and she has to look away. “Think so? I’m pretty gone for him too.”

“Yeah, not really any mistaking it. And for the record,” he clears his throat, a little awkward suddenly, “I’m really happy for you guys. I know how he can get but he’ll come around to seeing this as a good thing, a hopeful thing. Like with everything, he needs an adjustment period.” He pauses, “Never thought this would happen...didn’t think it was even possible but, if it happened to someone I’m glad it was to you and him.”

She looks up, meeting his gaze, “Thanks, Steve. Means a lot coming from you.”

“C’mon,” he holds out a hand to her. “I’ll take you to lunch and get you back to mother before he has an aneurysm.”

Steve insists on paying for the books, despite it being her idea, her gift of a path to solace and peace for Bucky. But he seems to be trying to make up some slight to her that she can’t even begin to guess at, and so she lets him.

When they return to the apartment after a quick lunch, Bucky is pacing the living room, eyes landing immediately on the books she and Steve carried as soon as the door opened, head cocking to the side.

He devours them in hours.

Week 12 - Morning Sickness

She’s still leaning over the toilet, throat burning, empty stomach clenching around nothing, when she hears the front door open and close, shoes being kicked off.

The purposefully heavy footsteps of Bucky Barnes tromp down the hall, the sound comforting in its own right, tension bleeding away from her shoulders where she’s slumped on the floor.

The bathroom door creaks.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky says softly, squatting down next to her as she closes the lid and flushes the toilet. His brows are drawn together in concern as he reaches out to touch her cheek, the back of his hand dragging over her forehead, surreptitiously checking her temperature.

Y/N immediately seizes his other hand and presses it against her forehead, sighing at the feel of the cool metal against her clammy skin. Nearing the end of her first trimester, she has to wonder how much of her raised temperature can be attributed to just being pregnant versus some kind of serum kicking around inside her.

Her temperature is never high enough to be considered a concern, just high enough for her to always be overheated and shivering, just high enough to make Bucky fret.

“How ya feelin’, baby?” His voice is gentle.

“Fine,” she murmurs, eyes falling shut as Bucky’s flesh hand tentatively moves from her forehead to her belly, pressing softly to the tiny beginning of a baby bump. “Really I am. Better now, just a little tired,” she says, covering his hand with her own, trying to reassure him with a gentle squeeze.

“Sure? Sorry, honey, shouldn’t have left ya here alone.”

She scoffs, peaking an eye open at him. “You were only gone for fifteen minutes.”

He has only gone down the block for coffee.

“Long enough, doll,” he says, fully settling beside her on the floor until she’s ready to move.

Bucky moves his hand away from her, dragging her shirt up a little to trail protective fingers over her belly again, brows knitting together. Sometimes she has to wonder how much he can tell just by touching her. She knows he can feel her heartbeat with ease, maybe he senses other things too. “I’ve been thinkin’...maybe it would be better if we moved into the compound for a bit, just ‘til you aren’t sick all the damn time.”

She’s already shaking her head, hates the idea. “Might be like this the whole time, Buck.”

“Even better we get a move on now.” His tone is light, joking, but she can hear the worry underneath, the ever present anxiety that something was about to go wrong.

Things had gotten better after Y/N bought him the pregnancy books, some of Bucky’s anxiety melting away, replaced with cautious hope and vicious protectiveness. He felt better, she could tell, knowing what symptoms to expect when, and what remedies could help. He had begun chatting regularly with Bruce and Helen about what may be exacerbated by the serum, by the baby.

While Bucky’s normally protective of her, the possessive careful nature he harbored has only grown stronger. It would almost be overbearing if she didn’t find it so endearing, and maybe just a little bit hot. Something inside her preening that he chose her, that he’s only ever like that with her.

He’s become almost primal in his obsession with her, with caring for her.

The first few weeks hadn’t been so bad as he adjusted to the idea of a baby and obsessively read the books she had gotten him. It had been a good transition period, no changes to her body affecting her just yet.

And slowly, he came around.

Asking her about her diet, about vitamins, about when they should start seeing an OB. She catches him speaking to her still non-existent baby bump more and more, when he thinks she’s sleeping. Everything she does becomes carefully cataloged. What she did and for how long, what she ate and when, if she exercised, how she felt.

As soon as she developed morning sickness, as soon as she started sleeping more, fatigued in a way she had never been before, all bets had been off.

Some strings had been pulled, likely by Tony, and she quickly found herself the patient of the best OB/GYN in New York. Y/N suspects part of the enthusiasm of the doctor taking her on as a patient might stem from the fact that she’s carrying the first and possibly only supersoldier baby.

Bucky had recited information about her habits that she hadn’t even realized he noticed or noted, anxiously listing off questions that hadn’t even occurred to her during their first appointment.

She hates the appointments, if for no other reason than they’re annoying and time consuming. Most women only went once a month during the first trimester, but she was not to be so lucky.

Bucky’s already such a nervous mess that she agreed to go once every two weeks, if only so he’ll settle, stop fluttering around like a nervous bird for at least a couple of days.

And that was before he suggested that they also see Bruce or Helen once a week, to make sure absolutely nothing is missed, that there’s as little risk as possible. “Besides,” Bucky had said, patting her knee gently as she scowled out the window of the car on the way back to their apartment from the compound, “they specialize in people like us. If someone’s gonna catch somethin’ wrong with you or the super kid, it’ll be them.”

“I just hate being poked on so much,” she sighed, rubbing at the inside of her arm where several needles had been stuck over the last few hours. “And I’m not special.”

“Sure you are. Likely you’ll feel the effects of the serum a little, since you’re having more severe symptoms. And I have something that’ll help with that bruise, doll,” he had said, worryingly rolling up her sleeve to examine the discolored spot, one hand still on the wheel. He had frowned, “Looks like it's already fading?”

“Maybe the supersoldier juice is helping for once,” she had said, patting her belly. “Instead of making me throw up.”

Bucky had looked a cross between stricken and amused. “Maybe.”

Now, though, on the bathroom floor at the end of her first trimester, she shakes her head, “No. I’m comfortable here. I don’t want to be at the compound all the time.”

“You’d be monitored around the clock-,”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

“Ha,” he deadpans. “Seriously though, Y/N, maybe we should think about this. There’s better security. You could wander off and I wouldn’t have to worry. Medical facilities literally down the hall.”

“More people,” she counters. “And they’ll all have so many questions and want to touch me, especially when I start to show…”

She trails off, watching his eyes go hard, that protective edge swimming in the blue. “Nice try,” he says. “All I’d have to do is make an example of some poor junior agent and everyone would know better.”

“And scare off all my friends.”

He groans, frustrated. “We’ll table it for now.”

“Good, now help me up,” she holds out her hands and Bucky immediately stands to tug her up gently, hovering in the doorway as she washes her hands and brushes her teeth. When she finishes and turns she can tell Bucky hasn’t tabled the issue at all. “What?”

He swallows, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Look, darlin’, it may not seem like it lately, but I really am trying not to go completely psycho overbearing on you but...you’ve lost weight when you really should be putting it on, especially considering the extra calories you’re supposed to be getting.”

She grips the edge of the sink behind her where it presses into her back, “But I’ve been sick too-,”

“Then maybe you aren’t getting the-the nutrients you need!” It’s almost funny, if it weren’t for the anxiety radiating from him. He scrapes his hands through his hair, pacing in and out of the bathroom door. “I mean I - are we - am I doing something wrong?”

Y/N steps forward and captures his hands, stopping him in his tracks. “Tell me what you’re worried about? What specifically?” He opens his mouth to answer when she continues softly. “I need you to relax just a little bit, baby. We should be enjoying this time. My morning sickness should be going away soon. I’m fine, we’re at some kind of doctor at least once a week, they haven’t missed anything. I don’t want you to look back at this time and remember it badly.”

“Maybe-,”

“James,” his eyes snap to hers. “No. Everything is okay.” She pats his hand, “If anyone was concerned, we would have been told. Really, the morning sickness has been bad, but nothing that some women don’t experience anyways. We - me, you, and baby - are all okay. I promise.”

He still doesn’t move out of the doorway, running his hands through his hair as he sighs, mussing it until it stands up in little tufts. “I’m sorry, doll, I’m just so...this is something I don’t know anything about. Y’know I’ve stared down death more times than I can count and nothing has ever scared me like this.” He pauses and looks as though he wants to reach out to her but doesn’t. “Look I’ve just...I have this idea in my head now, of what the future is going to look like. Me and you, and a baby. Everything just feels so fragile and I’m doing my best not to be the one to break it.”

A soft coo leaves her, completely unbidden, as she steps forward and wraps her arms around him. “You aren’t about to break anything. We aren’t breakable.”

He presses his hand to her stomach again, “No, but you are. That’s what’s making me so crazy. And I can’t do anything about it. I can take down terrorist organizations but I’m powerless in this,Y/N. I don’t like feeling like...like you and baby could disappear.”

“Bucky, honey, I have news for you. You are going above and beyond. We’re okay. It's not time to worry yet. I’ll let you know when it's time to worry.”

Week 20 - Cravings

Midway through her pregnancy she finds she’s ravenous, hungry for everything. And Bucky is more than happy to provide for her, pleased that she’s eating enough.

He’d read somewhere that five small meals a day was the best method to keeping a consistent flow of calories, and so that’s what they do.

Bucky cooks and she’s more than happy to eat.

He manages to keep everything healthy and high in calories. And it all tastes fucking fantastic.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” She asks with a moan from her place on the couch, balancing a plate on her belly, larger than it should be at this stage in her pregnancy. Their baby is apparently growing quicker than a normal child would, and the conversation had started to come up at their appointments about the possibility of an early induction, or a scheduled c-section for both her safety and the baby’s.

Surprising everyone with how far he’s come, Bucky had only nodded and squeezed her hand. Listening intently but not worried.

Bucky turns from the sink to gaze at her, smiling. “A couple of times I think.”

She pouts, “And you aren’t going to say it back?”

“I love you, Y/N,” he answers immediately, placing the last washed dish on the rack to dry. “You done with that?”

“Yes,” she sighs contentedly, leaning her head back against the couch, a different kind of hunger growing in her now that she’s eaten.

She feels Bucky take the plate, his flesh hand tracking over her forehead gently, checking for an abnormal temperature. Satisfied that she’s at her normal overheated temperature, he moves away quietly, clearly thinking she’s about to fall asleep.

Cracking an eye open, she watches him at the sink again, broad shoulders hunched as he scrubs her dish, muscles coiling in his flesh arm. A smirk pulls at her lips as she stands with some effort and creeps close to him.

“You know, darlin’,” he says without turning, “ta me you’re about as quiet as a bull in a china shop.”

She frowns at his back. “Can’t you pretend for a second?”

He snorts and shrugs, “Anything for you, doll.”

So she resumes her creep to him while trying not to laugh. Pausing behind him she goes completely still and holds her breath.

She wants to be able to sneak up on him just a little bit but when he starts to turn with a frown she knows she’s worried him instead. Y/N wraps her arms around him then, squeezing his sides gently, Bucky giving an exaggerated jump for her benefit.

“Did I get you?”

He chuckles, “Suppose so. Please don’t just stop breathing though, Y/N.” He presses his hand over hers where it drifted to his stomach.

“I can feel you flexing,” she accuses, digging her nails into him a little. “You already know what I want so that’s playing dirty.”

When he turns and cradles her face between his palms he’s already grinning. “You’re just so predictable these days, baby. Need me ta feed you and fuck you.”

“I could manage without you, Barnes,” she grumbles, trying to pull away, not appreciating his teasing suddenly.

“Uh uh,” he hums, “don’t do that, Y/N. Its hot as fuck, baby.”

She tries and fails to hide her smile. “Even all round like this,” she runs her hands over her belly.

His gaze darkens just a little, biting his lip as he gazes at her, “Especially now.”

Desire suddenly floods her, need invading every cell of her body. “Help a girl out then?”

Bucky sweeps her up in his arms easily to carry her to their room, kicking their door shut with one foot before he deposits her on the bed carefully.

“Easy,” he says, keeping her in a sitting position at the edge of the bed, “you’re not supposed to be lying on your back.”

She rolls her eyes, and tugs her shirt upwards, struggling with the fabric, “Just take your clothes off, Barnes.”

Bucky barks out a laugh, kneeling in front of her instead to nudge her up so he can tug down the sweatpants she wears. She stares at the top of his head, the slope of his nose and angle of his brows. She wants to reach out and stroke his hair but she’s still struggling with her bra clasp. “Are these mine?” he asks, slipping the sweatpants off one ankle at a time.

“Mine don’t fit anymore, ass,” she says. “You feed me too much.”

“I was just going to tell you how sexy it is, ass,” he murmurs back at her, tugging her panties down next before he stands and steps back. “I like seeing you in my clothes,” his voice comes out as a growl that has his ears immediately turning pink.

The bra finally slips down her arms and she tosses it to the floor. “Maybe I like how possessive you can be,” she says, raising a brow.

His pupils are blown wide as he looks at her, lust darkened, lashes concealing the depths of his eyes.

She bites her lip, trying not to feel self conscious as she leans back to balance on one hand and spreads her legs, her other hand dipping between her thighs with a soft whine. “Don’t leave me high and dry here, Buck. I wanna see you.”

The blush spreads from his ears to the tops of his cheeks. He looks absolutely adorable.

Bucky peels himself out of his shirt, tossing it to the ground before reaching for the zipper of his jeans. Her mouth waters, watching him strip out of his clothes, watching golden skin and taut muscle appear.

While he’s busy with his boxers she moves to kneel in the center of the bed, wobbling a little as she settles back on her calves, a warm hand reaching out to steady her. “Careful,” he murmurs.

“Always,” she whispers, eyes trailing down to his half hard cock as she licks her lips. “C’mere.”

He joins her on the bed, pressing his lips to hers, lets her push him down so she can straddle his hips. She digs her fingers into his chest, hooking one finger into the chain of his dog tags when she grinds down on him.

Pregnancy has sent her libido through the roof, what Bucky had said was true. All she wanted to do was eat and jump his bones.

She grinds down onto him again, sighing, her pussy already wet just thinking about how well he would fill her.

“Lookit you,” he says, hungry hands trailing over her widened hips, her belly that’s just big enough to be considered a proper baby bump, her swollen breasts. “So fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart.”

“You too,” she murmurs, leaning over him to kiss him, to kiss his pouty mouth. “So pretty.”

He chuckles against her, fingers trailing down to press between her thighs, slipping through her folds. “You’re so damn wet for me.” He drags one hand up her spine, cool metal fingers coming to rest against the back of her neck, bringing her closer as he dips one finger into her dripping core.

She whines, his thumb only barely brushing her overly sensitive clit.

He teases her entrance with a second finger before slowly pushing into her, curling them to seek the place inside her that makes her see galaxies. She sighs against his mouth, trailing her palms down his chest and over his nipples, balancing on one hand so she can tug his hand away from her cunt and kiss him at the same time.

“Want you to fuck me. Don’t need anything else,” she whispers against his neck. “Please, baby.”

Bucky brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck clean with a groan. “Don’t think so, doll,” he murmurs. “I think you should come on my fingers first.”

She licks her lips, gaze fastened on his pretty pink lips, the same color high in his cheeks. So pretty and warm, the color of a summer sunset. She leans down and brushes her nose against his cheek, inhaling the scent of his skin, clean, like city rain and smoke, lustful, like arousal and cooper tinged blood.

They would have a strong baby, she knows, because whatever filtered version of the serum that’s managed to affect her these last months is rather heavenly. She can smell so much more, taste more, feel more.

It’s good for moments like these, when she can feel everything he does to her in hypersensitive reality, horrible when the new blanket he buys is scratchy and she can’t explain why and it makes her cry.

She especially loves how he smells, and doesn’t know how she’ll cope when it goes away.

Now though, she doesn’t want to listen to him. Not in the slightest. She doesn’t want his fingers, she wants to feel the heavy drag of his cock inside her, wants to feel so connected to him she can’t bear the thought of being separated, so close she thinks she can see what his soul is made of.

She needs him buried deep inside her, wants to consume him and be devoured in turn.

With a grunt, she sits back and snatches up both of his wrists, shoving them back above his head with a huff. “No.”

When she meets his eyes, they’re wide, pupils dilated so far the blue has almost entirely disappeared. “Jesus Christ, doll,” he whispers.

“What?”

“What? You shouldn’t have been able ta manhandle me like that.”

She scoffs, “You let me do that.”

“No. I promise you I didn’t.” He smirks, “That’s hot.”

“Oh,” she whispers, giggling a little with the new found gift. She squeezes his wrists, “This okay?”

“Fuck, yes.” His voice is husky. “Yeah, this is perfect.”

She laughs louder then, releasing his wrists. “Just want you. Nothing else. Please.”

“I’m inclined to burn the world for you right now, honey. I’d bring it to its knees for you.”

She’s so glad in that moment, that he’s back to himself, that the anxious mess he’d reverted back to at the beginning of her pregnancy has melted into the man she knows. “You know,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his as he grips himself in one hand and guides himself to her entrance. “I’d do the same for you, James Barnes.”

He grips a handful of her ass, then guides her down with a hand on her hip.

A breath leaves her when he’s fully seated inside her, so deep it's a little hard to breathe. She sits back and swirls her hips, Bucky's hands roaming up her body to cup her breasts roughly. A shuddering sigh makes her eyes flutter back. Even with her heightened temperature he still feels so warm to her, like he’s burning her from the inside out.

He pinches her nipples, rolling the sensitive flesh between his fingers, urging her on.

Y/N moves in earnest then, rocking her hips against his. Bucky groans and digs his heels in to meet each thrust, slamming into her, making starbursts cloud her vision. He feels so good inside her, drags against her walls in the most delicious way.

She tries to extend the moment, make the full feeling last, but as soon as Bucky’s fingers touch her swollen, sensitive clit, she feels her walls contract around him. She tries to clamp down on the feeling but her orgasm is already washing over her in a hard wave, a wild moan passing her lips that only makes Bucky thrust harder into her, chasing his own high.

He sits up suddenly, holding her close to his chest, whispering, “Move, baby, c’mon, move, ‘m so close, sweetheart. Please,” he begs.

She can’t deny him anything so she does, sloppily moving her hips against him until he spills into her, shaking hard, one large hand splayed across the small of her back, the other pressing against the back of her neck, keeping her nose buried against his throat.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispers, biting lightly at her pulse point before knocking a kiss against the side of her head. “Like you were made for me, honey.”

“Don’t move,” she whispers, burying her nose against his neck, inhaling the heavenly scent of him again and again, filling her lungs.

He chuckles and shifts, his cock still heavy inside her. “It's more than just strength, huh? This why that blanket was so upsetting? ‘S okay. I get it. Everything can feel harsh.”

She sighs contentedly, only answering, “You smell so good.”

His only answer is to tilt his head back.

Week 28 - Baby Shower

Steve and Bucky are still carrying boxes into their apartment when Y/N collapses onto the couch with a groan, closing her eyes as the tension comes off her back.

“Hey,” Bucky says, immediately abandoning Steve by their front door to kneel next to her, “What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t sound panicked, worried sure, that would never go away, but not like he was about to demand that they go to the hospital right that moment.

“Your kid is kicking my ass,” she moans into the pillow.

Bucky chuckles, stroking his thumb over her cheek. He presses his other hand over her belly softly. “Quit kickin’ your ma,” he says.

The thumping against her ribs immediately abates and she takes a breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Thank you.”

“Lemme get the rest of these boxes, sweetheart. And then I’ll take care a’ you,” Bucky says with a laugh, lips ghosting over her forehead.

“Baby doesn’t like being away from you,” she murmurs, covering Bucky’s hand with her own. “That’s what I get for letting you talk to my belly all the time.” They had been separated by duty at the baby shower for most of the day. Still, it’s almost painful to be separated, even if they were still in the same room. And clearly the baby doesn’t like it.

He laughs again, kissing the top of her head before following Steve back down to the street where Nat waits with the car.

The door snaps shut and she finds herself alone for the first time in weeks. The apartment is warm with spring air, with the scent of new life.

She stands with some difficulty, larger than she should be at this stage.

Knowing she’ll give birth early scares her more than she lets Bucky realize. Anxiety makes her head swim with possibilities, of not knowing when it would happen or how, of not knowing if the birth would be more difficult than is usual. How painful it would be.

Despite all Bucky’s worrying and fears, her pregnancy has been relatively normal, her symptoms more exaggerated maybe, but nothing she couldn’t handle, especially when aided by the serum.

It was likely the only reason the baby hasn’t broken one of her ribs.

Other fears were creeping in now too, the closer to the end that they got.

When she wasn’t pregnant anymore, would Bucky still look at her the same, be as on-board with having a child as he is right now? Would the sleepless nights and difficult days make him drift away? Would he still find her attractive?

She shuffles down the hall, trying not to let the niggling worries consume her, murmuring to her belly as she waddles along, one hand against her back. The door to the nursery is open, the walls a calming pale yellow. There are still tools on the floor from where Tony had been upgrading some kind of advanced baby monitoring system and security.

Almost everything is in place though, everything draped in shades of gender neutral sunshine and mauve brown. They had decided to wait to find out the sex of the baby and Bucky had fallen in love with the idea of a sunshine room, bright and warm. And she couldn’t deny him that vision.

“Y/N?” Bucky calls, front door slamming closed.

“In the nursery,” she says softly, knowing he’ll hear her, flicking on the lamp by the door, the baby giving a gentle tap to her bump.

Bucky curls his arms around her suddenly, having moved silently down the hall, kissing the back of her neck softly and making her jump. “You okay? It was a long day.”

She leans back into him, “A good day though. Baby will be very loved.”

“Already is. Not sure we have room for all the shit Tony bought,” Bucky chuckles against her neck, pressing a kiss to her heated skin. “Think the room is ready?”

“Mhm,” she hums, turning in his arms. “We need to pick names though, honey.”

“Ah, we have time.”

She bites her lip, “But we don’t. I could pop any day-,” Y/N stops and takes a shaky breath, feeling stupid when her throat tightens suddenly.

Fuck. She’s going to fucking cry.

“Hey,” his voice is soft when she closes her eyes and a few tears sneak out, Bucky’s thumbs tracking over her cheeks, brushing the tracks away. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking her head, she tries to pull away. “Nothing. Sorry I’m ruining a good day-,”

“You aren’t ruining anything. Remember how anxious I was at the beginning of this thing? It’s okay if it's your turn now, baby.” Bucky pulls her close, tucking her into his chest as best he can. “Scary stuff coming up, something I can’t help ya with. You can be scared, but let me be here for you, like you were for me.”

Ironic, she thinks, how they’ve switched places.

She sniffles and glances up at him through webbed lashes. “I’m just scared I won’t be able to do it. Birth. Which is so stupid. It’s biology, baby will come out one way or another but-,”

A huff of a laugh leaves Bucky and she glares at him trying to squirm out of his arms. “Hey, quit that,” he nips at the shell of her ear. “‘M not laughing at you. It’s not stupid. Fear doesn’t have to make sense.”

She grips his fingers against her belly, turning again to look around the sunshine room, remembering all the love she had felt at the shower. How everyone wanted baby to be named after them, how the child is already loved by the world’s greatest, and how that’s scary in itself.

“Think you’ll still want me after baby is here?”

“Doll?” Bucky asks, a note of panic in his voice. “What-?”

“I’m afraid you’ll...I’ve just heard…men sometimes don’t find their partners attractive anymore after the birth, that they don’t want anything to do with the baby after-,”

He spins her around, cradles her jaw between his hands to desperately search her eyes, before he crashes his lips to hers.

Bucky kisses her like a man drowning, pouring love she didn’t know could well so deep into her. He’s furious in his love for her, it makes the tension slip out of her bones. He pulls away, pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks and chin and nose, still cradling her head between his hands. “You should know by now, Y/N. I’m no ordinary man. You’re my fucking soulmate. I’m not going anywhere.”

All she can do is stare at him, pressing her fingers through his. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. “God, I promise. You’re the bravest person I know, baby. You can do this. We can do this. I’ll be there through the whole thing, and I will be there after. For you and baby. For as long as you let me.”

Week 34 - Birth

Her water breaks while they’re out getting bagels at the shop around the corner from their apartment. Y/N had been about to ask if they could go home to eat, that she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to lie down.

She’s wearing a loose dress, hand tucked inside Bucky’s, when she feels something gush down her legs.

Shock makes her go still for a moment, afraid to look down. It can’t be. She isn’t ready.

Bucky hasn’t noticed yet, still talking to the women behind the counter about cream cheese.

She slowly looks down, blinking at the fluid pooled around her feet. That can’t be from her, she thinks distantly, separated from her body suddenly.

Y/N opens her mouth, meaning to tell Bucky they might need to go to the hospital or the compound or somewhere that is not a bagel shop. But as soon as she does, her knees wobble and give out.

Before she can collapse a pair of arms catch her, hauling her back to her feet. “Y/N?” Bucky’s voice, warm and concerned in her ear. A pair of blue eyes catching her gaze.

“I can’t do this, Buck,” she hears herself whisper, before a hand wraps around her wrist and tugs her away from him.

It’s the man who held the door for her when they arrived, his hand had brushed her shoulder with a tiny prick.

Bucky’s eyes go hard instantly, flicking away from her. “Get your fucking hand off of her,” Bucky growls.

“Don’t think so, Winter Soldier. Why don’t you let her go?”

“Excuse me?”

Bucky reaches for her, but her hand is suddenly ripped out of his entirely and she’s deposited in a chair by the strange man. The panic already swirling around her mind intensifies. She can’t have the baby without Bucky. She looks down at the hem of her dress, tissue paper wet against her thighs and knees and calves.

Swallowing hard, she tries to make the fog clouding her mind disperse as she reaches down and cradles her belly. It feels like she has cotton in her ears, like everything in the world is very far away.

When she looks up, she’s shocked to find the shop in a disarray, patrons under the tables staring at her with wide eyes. The barista is shouting something as the man grabs Bucky by the front of his shirt saying something with a snarl, his mouth inches from Bucky’s ear.

There’s blood on Bucky’s shirt.

Dripping from his nose.

The other man looks far worse, but that doesn’t matter.

Because her self-proclaimed soulmate has blood on his shirt, the gray Falcon shirt that she had gotten him to annoy him.

It was worth it for the disgruntled look on his face and the way Sam almost cried laughing.

It doesn’t matter that the man clearly has a broken arm, broken glass in his face.

Because the last time she had seen Bucky with blood coming out of his nose had been when the trigger words still held power over him.

His fist goes arching through the air again, determined, and she suddenly finds herself between them, his fist landing on the center of her palm.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” she snarls, the sting in her hand tiny as she pushes him backwards with a violent shove that lands him across the room, sound and color suddenly crashing back into her consciousness.

Bucky catches her when she stumbles back. She can hear sirens now, the girl coming around the counter to grab her other arm, saying something to Bucky. She leans back into his chest, “Who is that?” She whispers. “Bucky?”

“An old friend from Hydra. Heard we were having a baby.” He kisses the side of her head, “Nice catch, doll. Think I had him though.”

Of course he had. He had handled much worse, but there was still blood on him and so she couldn’t have let it lie.

Bucky lets go of her to haul the man off the floor and shove him against the wall.

“Why don’t you sit down?” The girl asks as police flood the room suddenly, followed closely by Steve and Sam in full superhero garb.

“What’s going on?” She asks as Sam puts an arm around her shoulders, sending the girl off with an officer.

No one answers her.

The rage simmering just below the surface of Bucky’s tightly controlled facade starts to break. “-more of them around somewhere. He fucking injected her with something-,”

“-how-,”

“I can fucking smell it on her, Steve!” He’s running his hands through his hair. “To induce labor. They said the earliest she might go into labor was 36 weeks. She’s only at 34, its too fucking early-,”

She realizes then that she’s closed her eyes, that she and Sam are outside, that she’s being loaded into an ambulance. But she can still hear Bucky and Steve as though they’re next to her.

“We’ll take care of looking for the rest of them if there are any. You need to go with her. She can’t be alone for this. You’ll never forgive yourself if you miss it.”

“He tried to take her from me,” she hears Bucky’s snarled response. “They deserve to fucking die.”

Steve sighs, “If it is them then this is the most botched thing I’ve ever seen Hydra attempt, Bucky. It might not be them. Go be with Y/N. We’ll take care of it.”

“Sam,” she grabs at his hand, “Sam, please. Not without Bucky. I can’t.”

She takes a deep breath, feeling returning to her body in slow shakes, and she realizes that the pain in her belly is a long contraction. “We gotta go, Y/N.”

“Not without Bucky.” She grits out, wondering how much time has passed between the water on the floor and now? How much time had passed before she looked up and realized what was happening in the shop? Enough time that Bucky has been bleeding, that the shop had been smashed to pieces around her.

Another wave of dizziness spins through her mind.

What had she been injected with? What if it was hurting baby? What if she couldn’t push? What if she couldn’t get the baby out? What if-?

Another contraction splits through her, making her cry out.

Sam is yelling something, his hand still inside hers. Steve and Bucky are still arguing.

“James Barnes,” she shouts, the words ripped out of her throat. “Come with me right now or I will never speak to you again-,” she’s cut off by yet another contraction, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Now,” Sam says, letting go of her hand, “Go now.”

The ambulance doors are slammed shut and her heart breaks.

Never.

Bucky has never not answered when she called for him.

Alone.

Would she really have this baby all alone?

“Y/N?” Bucky’s voice.

She’s hallucinating too now, tears streak down her cheeks.

“Y/N?” He asks again, cool metal fingers against her forehead.

Her eyes fly open to meet Bucky’s worried blue gaze.

“Doll, I am so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry. I got too comfortable,” he cradles her face between his palms gently. “I should have realized before he ever laid a hand on you.”

She wonders again what she was injected with, why she hadn’t realized someone had been in the ambulance with her.

Why did he seem like a dream?

“Bucky?”

“I’m here. Not goin’ anywhere,” he sweeps his thumbs over her cheeks. “I got you.” He smiles suddenly, “And you got me too, huh? Didn’t know you could move so fuckin’ fast. Although I’ll ask you not to intervene in a fight while you’re pregnant.”

She sighs, feeling sweat drip down her neck. “Couldn’t let ‘em hurt you again.” She touches his cheek, feeling more than delirious, her breaths coming in heavy waves. “Remembered before, when the trigger words still worked.” Y/N swallows back sudden tears, “Before you were mine. You had a bloody nose. You would have nosebleeds when they said the words.”

“I’m okay. It’s not like then, not anymore.”

“You made me worry, you ass.”

“I know,” he strokes her hair back. “I’m sorry. We’re almost to the Tower. Helen and Bruce and a couple of the other docs are going to meet us there. Hold on a little while longer.”

Another contraction rolls through her and Bucky reminds her how to breathe. “What if I can’t do it?”

“You can,” he whispers, clutching her hand hard. “You can do it. We’re going to meet our baby today.”

She feels the ambulance stop moving, the world spinning again. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers. “Don’t. Promise.”

“Promise,” he whispers. “Never.”

By the time they reach the medical facilities, she’s entered active labor. Someone is telling her that she needs to push but she can’t remember what that means, can’t remember how.

Bucky doesn't let go of her hand, growling that they needed to take a blood sample, that she was injected with something.

“Barnes, can you get her to focus?” A voice snaps. “She-,”

“Watch your fuckin’ tone.”

“We’re trying to get your kid here safely.”

“We are trying to get Y/N through this safely,” he snarls back before pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting down, forcing her to meet his eyes. She feels a prick on the inside of her elbow and blinks slowly, starting to turn her head to find out what it was.

But Bucky grabs her chin, forces her to keep looking at him. “Don’t look at that, Y/N. Just look at me.” Someone is propping her legs up and open. “Baby is moving fast, honey. We need you to push.”

He’s so calm, she thinks. Wasn’t he supposed to be the anxious one?

Bucky looks unshakable, solid, in control.

She nods and looks to the end of the bed, watching the doctors fluttering around like nervous birds. They’re between her legs, talking about her like she isn’t there.

“Hey,” Bucky says when she starts to cry. “Just look at me. You don’t have to look at them.”

“I’m scared.”

It’s happening so fast, too fast. She doesn’t have any time to adjust, she thought she would have time.

“I know. But I’m here. Wish I had somethin’ as pretty as you to look at every time I was scared,” he smiles at her, his gaze steady. “You can do this, sweetheart. I’m already so proud of you.”

She nods.

“Remember how?”

She nods again, disoriented, not really sure how she’s come to be in labor. But she can do anything as long as Bucky is looking at her like that. Like she was about to pour the moon into the night sky.

“We need you to push now,” one of the doctors says, a little demanding.

Bucky’s jaw flexes at the tone, but doesn’t look away from her. She grits her teeth and pushes through a contraction, pain like she’s never known licking up her spine.

“Good girl,” she hears through a haze of pain, Bucky’s voice wrapping around her protectively, a warm blanket against the agony, a kiss pressed to her forehead. “Breathe. Keep going. Good.”

She only has to push for twenty minutes, Bucky’s hand never leaving hers. His eyes always on hers.

And suddenly there’s a before and an after.

Before her baby and after.

A cry cuts the air, Bucky going limp next to her with relief. “Thank fucking god,” he whispers, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. “Christ, thank god.”

She smiles.

Y/N looks around, the haze settled over her still not dispelling, confused. The light in the room is different. She pulls Bucky’s wrist to her nose and inhales, anxious suddenly, empty and afraid.

How much time has passed? She thinks maybe she passed out. Why does she keep losing time?

“Where’s baby?” She asks.

But Bucky isn’t listening to her, another doctor is speaking to him about her blood panel. He’s calm again, holding her hand. “-normal otherwise. It should be out of her system in a day. No lasting damage-,”

She tugs on Bucky’s hand hard, something primal in her telling her to start screaming until someone answers her about this. “Baby?” She demands, Bucky finally turning to look at her.

Y/N can tell by the look on his face that she had been asleep seconds before.

Before he can answer, Bruce is approaching the bed, something swaddled in his arms. “Sorry,” he says. “We wanted to make sure she was okay and clean her up a little.”

“She?” Y/N whispers. “A girl?”

She’s not sure if Bruce answers her, suddenly not able to focus on anything other than the baby deposited carefully against her chest, close to keep her warm, skin to skin to bond. Small and soft, already asleep like she hadn’t just ripped the world apart with her arrival.

“Buck,” she whispers when he carefully reaches out to caress her cheek with one flesh finger. “A girl.”

There’s a soft smile on his face, one she doesn't recognize. A new type of love that’s only just started growing lodged in his eyes. “A girl,” he echoes. “We have a daughter.”

“Is she going to be okay? Are we?”

“Yes,” he says, fierce, before the sharpness melts out of his voice again. “They said you’ll be just fine. Nothing that could hurt you or the baby.”

She nods, leaning her head against his shoulder, forcing him to slide an arm under her shoulders and hold them close. “She’s so beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N.”

Exhausted, she leans up to kiss his cheek. “We agreed on Becca.”

“We did.”

“Still think so?”

The corner of his mouth ticks up, and he presses his forehead to hers. “If it's s’okay with you, doll.”

“Becca,” she says firmly. “Becca Barnes.”

“Everything still looks normal for both of them. Y/N is likely going to be disoriented for a couple days but she’s fine.”

Bucky nods, eyes fastened on his daughter where she lies in her bassinet. “Thanks.”

The doctor leaves and Bucky’s gaze flicks to Y/N where she sleeps, her chest rising and falling steadily, slowly.

She had fed Becca for the first time and promptly fallen asleep, exhausted from the entire ordeal. Bucky had been amazed as he watched them, already so in tune, how easily the baby had latched and fed from her, suckling at her breast for much longer than most other babies would.

He doubts everything else will be as easy as that first feeding but it soothed him anyways, to know they were both safe and healthy.

Guilt eats at him now, for letting his guard down, for letting anyone get the jump on him. He tries to force down the feeling, remembering the way Y/N had darted in front of him, the way she sounded when she said don’t fucking touch him.

The center of her palm is bruised from catching that bastard’s fist, from literally hurling him across the room.

Steve was right, Hydra had never done anything so botched. The man had been a rogue agent, desperate, hoping to get back in someone’s good graces. He can’t begin to guess whose.

But Bucky remembers him, remembers him standing in the room while electricity snapped toward his head.

He swallows, pushing that memory away, doesn’t want to think about it with his daughter so near, like his memories might taint her.

Still.

It grates on him.

Becca fusses and he gently lies a hand against her belly, shushing her until the wrinkle goes out of her nose and she settles again.

He’s yet to hold her, afraid of how small she is, how very breakable.

Despite being early, even by her enhanced standards, Becca is a completely healthy, normal baby.

“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs. “I know they’ve been pokin’ around on ya a lot.” Becca’s eyes blink open, searching, like maybe she recognizes his voice. “Gotta make sure you’re okay, y’know? You’re special. Don’t just say that ‘cause you’re my kid. We don’t know how this is gonna go.”

He traces her tiny cheek, soft beyond anything he’s ever felt before. “Everything’ll be okay though. You got a whole team of heroes that would go to ground for you. And your ma? Don’t get me started on her. Not someone to bet against. And me too, ‘course. I’d do anything for you.”

Becca coos at him and he smiles.

“Have you held her yet?” Asks a sleepy Y/N.

Bucky turns to find her sitting up, watching them. “Hey, you’re up,” he murmurs affectionately, eyes sliding back to Becca. “No. She’s just so little.”

“She’s a baby, of course she’s little.” When he still doesn’t move, she nudges again. “C’mon. So you can bring her here to me. Said she’ll have to eat more often than other babies right? She might be hungry again.”

Becca would fuss or cry if she was hungry, he knows.

And he knows, he knows he could just wheel the bassinet over. That he really doesn’t need to pick her up, but he wants to, has been waiting to do it for months.

Slowly, he reaches for Becca, supporting her head, cradling her gently until she’s settled fully in his arms.

He’s rooted to the ground, completely in awe. Becca yawns, tiny pink tongue darting out, soft little baby coos vibrating against his chest. She doesn’t fidget like he expects her too in unfamiliar arms, but settles right in, eyes closing again.

She looks just like Y/N.

Y/N in lowercase font just like he predicted.

Bucky sucks in a hard breath, a love so wide and deep spearing through him he isn’t sure how to process it. When he looks back to Y/N, she’s laid back down.

She winks at him, her voice hazy again when she speaks, “Not so hard huh?”

And like that she’s asleep once more. Bucky walks carefully to the armchair, staring down at the miracle in his arms. It’s hard for him to remember now that she is, an accident and miracle, as unlikely as anything in his life.

A one in a trillion chance.

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