#edit: TUMBLR HAS FORCED ME TO SHUT UP. I CANNOT MAKE ANYMORE POSTS OR REBLOG ANYTHING RIGHT NOW. ALL I CAN DO IS BOOP.

[macabre-changeling]

FYM EVIL BOOP?

>:3

[shreddedparchment]

Man and Wife Pt.09

The Surprise Visit

04/23/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 11,982

*Masterpost in Notes      Warnings: violence, language, a smidge of angst, pregnancy cuteness, pregnancy scariness, pregnancy cuteness again, spilled tomato sauce

A/N: So, I asked myself; Do they want it now? Or should I make a third pass of edits? I thought you guys might say, “NOW!” so, I’m posting it now. I’ll edit again tomorrow however, so, heads up! I hope you all like this one. You asked for less angst and I give less angst but there’s still some because come one, it needs to be there, story wise. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo P.S. I’m so sorry I didn’t respond to the comments for part 8! I love y’all!

“Excuse me? Miss! Shit. Hold on.” The chair squeaks loudly as Bucky rises, making himself as small as possible as he lumbers towards the redheaded waitress who’d just left you.

Your heart shakes as you watch him chase after her; tall, strong arms, milky skin. She’s beautiful. You force yourself to focus on Bucky instead. You know why he’s up and you remind yourself that he’s here with you.

Your lips curve up into a small smile as you watch Bucky try hard to be as nonthreatening as possible but still the waitress gasps when she turns around and falls against the register. Bucky holds his hands up and you can tell that he’s apologizing. His cheeks flame red and you feel a twinge of deep affection at his cuteness but also the sting of pain because people are still afraid of him.

He tucks his metal hand behind him, holding it away from the waitress as he gestures towards you and then moves back as the woman sidles along the counter and back into the kitchen of the small sandwich shop you and Bucky had come to for lunch.

You reach down to tug your shirt more tightly over your still teeny tiny bump. You’re not really showing yet. Everyone who doesn’t know you might think you’d just had a big lunch. But to your friends, they see you and they know instantly.

You’re still small enough that your shirt fits loosely around you but because you know the baby’s in there, you fuss over your stomach. The jean cut-off shorts are shorter than you normally wear but Spring seems to be heating up quickly and your hormones must be raging because you’re hot a lot of the time now.

You fuss with your shirt more, thin black and white striped shirt with three-quarter sleeves, making sure not to let the loose cuff around your forearm dip into your ranch. A small stack of sliced tomatoes just waiting to be dipped beside it.

You grab one, holding it carefully between your thumb and index finger, dip it lightly, and savor the flavors as they fall across your tongue.

Moaning with contentment, your stomach fluttering as your hunger pangs grow stronger, Bucky turns towards you at the sound. Even all the way across the shop he can hear your whispered cry of satisfaction.

He smiles at you, watching you chew, then turns back to the redhead as she holds out a small white bowl for him to take.

“Thank you!” He says, too excited but he hurries back towards you and slides into his chair, making it squeak against the floor again. “Here you go, kitten.”

He places the bowl of pickles beside the one with tomato.

“Thank you.” Being this happy with Bucky again…you hadn’t thought it would be possible. You watch him pull his plate closer but after every adjustment he makes to his food, he reaches over and fixes something on your plate. Or he grabs you a napkin and places it on your too exposed legs. Or he pushes your pickles closer. Or he assess the fullness of your lemonade.

You finally chuckle. “Bucky just eat. I’m fine.”

He stops, staring at you as you shove another tomato into your mouth, quickly followed by a plain dill pickle slice and you can almost see the swell of pride as he sits up straighter, breathes in deeply, and then relaxes.

“Okay.” He sighs and finally takes a bite of his sandwich.

The walk into the park is nice. Bucky shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans to keep from reaching over and taking your hand.

It’s only been two weeks since you and he “made up”. Things aren’t exactly right yet but they’re on their way and you’re happy. Well…you’re happy until-

“You’re Bucky Barnes, right?” A cool sweet voice stops the two of you in your tracks.

You told him that hat wouldn’t hide him.

“Er…yeah.” Bucky replies, staring at the young brunette. She’s petite, tiny compared to him but the curve of her body tells you she’s woman enough.

“Can I take a picture with you? My cousin has such a crush on you!” She gushes not sparing you a glance.

“Oh um, okay.” Bucky replies nervously and you quickly move aside as the girl settles into the crook of his right arm.

You swallow hard, trying not to let this upset you. She’s a fan. No big deal…right?

But you can’t watch as two more girls hurry forward, friends of the first apparently. You turn away from them and keep walking.

It’s silly. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing and completely unexpected, but you’re crying as you walk away. The ache in your chest cannot be silenced.

His jogging feet shift along the cement pathway, creating a consistent scrape, scrape, scrape, sound as he catches up with you.

“Sorry about that, I-Y/N?”

You look away from him as he leans forward, trying to get a look at your face.

“Are you crying?”

“I think I wanna go home now.” You mumble, your voice thick around the lump in your throat.

This isn’t your first date with Bucky. For the first he’d really stuck to the cliché. Movie, dinner, and then drinks after, though that had been tea for you and a soda for him. When you’d asked him why he wasn’t going to have a real drink, he shook his head.

“I don’t drink anymore.”

“But…you can’t even get drunk?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks, moving to stand in front of you to stop your progress.

Angrily you wipe at your cheeks, hating your body for betraying you like this.

Bucky’s head scans the people behind you. “Is it because of those girls?”

You say nothing, afraid of sounding stupid or worse, like a jealous wife. It’s only when Bucky’s warm hands burn through the sleeves of your shirt that you look at him.

“Y/N? Please don’t shut me out. You’re upset. Tell me why.”

He’s right. You shouldn’t keep this to yourself. Not like before.

“Is it really okay f-for me to tell you?”

“Of course, kitten. If I’m doing something or if I’ve said something-”

“I don’t like you taking pictures with hot girls.”

Bucky looks over your head again, searching for his fans.

“Hot?” He asks, confused. He takes a moment, he’s so silent that you think maybe you’ve angered him but when you look at his face, you see the pucker between his eyes as he thinks. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You ask, still staring up at him.

“Okay.” He nods. “No more pictures with fans. Female fans.”

Your mind explodes with glee and then you can see the reality of what you’re asking him. You can see the forums and comment sections of articles and pictures of Bucky with male fans. You can almost hear the disdain on tumblr and Instagram as his intense fan base spouts hate because his controlling wife is so jealous that he won’t take pictures with girls anymore.

“No.” You sigh, shaking your head. “No, Bucky, you can’t do that. They’ll hate me.”

“Who will?”

“Everyone.” You rub your belly, protective of the little one within. You know it’s stupid to fear these faceless people. They don’t actually know who you are, but they know he has a wife. You hate the idea of anyone sending you negative vibes with the baby coming. “I just wanna go home.”

You stare at his chest, unwilling to look up and see the disappointment in his face. Hot hands cup your cheeks, strong thumbs—one cool, one blazing—rub rough circles as they wipe away tears. The gesture does what he wants, it makes you look at him.

“I love you, Y/N. Please don’t doubt that.”

“You’re expecting too much from me, Bucky. You cheated on me. I saw you in bed with someone else. Our bed. I can’t erase that or how it made me feel. I already thought I wasn’t good enough for you-”

He growls but it’s not directed at you, he steps closer, all care of who may be watching flying out the window. “I love you. I’m sorry that you had to see me that way. It’s not something that I ever thought I would do—I won’t make excuses because I can’t but please never say that again.”

“Say what?”

“That you aren’t good enough for me. You are so good, Y/N. Too good. It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.” He suddenly straightens up and sees that a few people are watching. He renews the distance between you and sighs. “Are you free next Wednesday?”

You’re so fucking free. Since quitting your job, you’ve taken on some editing gigs to tide you over but you’re officially out of a job. You nod.

“I want you to meet my therapist. I want you there at my next session.”

“For what?” You wonder, excited that he wants you at something so private but also worried that the doctor will tell you that you’re the reason everything went wrong in your marriage.

“Because I want you to see me, Y/N. And I want you to see the way I see you.”

“Hello again, Y/N.”

“Hello, Dr. Garza.” You take your seat to Bucky’s right. He’s already sitting but he pulls a pillow over for you so that you can lean back against it on the long black sofa. “I’m okay, Bucky.”

“Sorry.” He says and pulls his hands back between he knees. He looks so handsome in his dark gray jeans and bright red t-shirt.

As you fix the pillow, you look up at the doc to see her watching Bucky with keen eyes. You’ve been here three times already and you definitely understand Bucky much more. You see his self-hatred and that alone breaks your heart.

You heard all about his worries for you and can see yourself through his eyes a bit better but mostly that just makes you feel like you’re weak and still—despite his reassurances—ill-suited for him.

“Why are you fussing over Y/N, Bucky?” Dr. Garza dives right in, no waiting and you still beside Bucky, looking to him as you and she both wait for his answer.

Bucky blushes. “I…just want her to be comfortable.”

“What made you think she wasn’t?”

“Nothing. I guess I-I feel guilty.”

You’re in utter awe at the way Dr. Garza can pull these words out of Bucky. He’s getting better at telling you things clearly. Speaking his truth. There are way fewer misunderstandings between the two of you. Less bickering though women are still a problem. And men.

~~~~~~~~~~

You struggle in the aisle, reaching up high to try and grab the large box of paper. Buying in bulk is a necessity. Since you’re on your own now, you have to pay for the expense of printing out manuscripts on your own.

You groan, pushing yourself up higher on your tiptoes and manage to get the box to the edge when it suddenly comes barreling towards you, twenty pounds of premium no-smudge paper. You let out a squeak of fear, throwing your arms up over your head but curling in on yourself to shield your tummy from harm.

The box never lands. You feel hot heavy breath hit the top of your head and strong body heat wrapped around your right side. Relief warms you; Bucky had saved you!

Only it wasn’t Bucky. Just a man. No one you know. He’s taller than you, not as tall as Bucky, a soft body—this guy is like you, he doesn’t work out. His blonde hair is long, though nowhere near as long as Bucky’s. His startled brown eyes stare down at you with worry.

“Are you okay, miss?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

“Hey!” Bucky’s voice cuts through the aisle and you jump, startled by it. Almost as if you were caught doing something wrong.

He’s at your side instantly, moving between you and the man who saved your head. You watch his face and see him glare death at your rescuer.

“What happened?” He asks, then turns his eyes on you, full of concern.

“I was trying to get the box and it fell.”

“I just caught the box, man. She’s okay.” You can hear the tremble in the man’s voice and feel bad for him. Today, Bucky has made no attempt to hide his metal arm. He’s wearing an old black t-shirt, the sleeves cut off and a pair of gray joggers pants.

Bucky takes the box from the guy’s hands roughly, standing much too close to you—not that you mind too much. He looks really fucking good in that shirt and those pants—clearly displaying his claim.

“Yeah, thanks for saving my wife, bud.” Bucky’s words are kind, but his tone is a downright threat.

All sweat and stutters, the man nods, gives you a nervous smile and when Bucky drops the box of paper into your cart, the man jumps then turns and scurries away.

“That wasn’t nice.” You tell him. “He was just trying to help me.”

“I know he was.” Bucky says, and in one of the only moments that you let him show you affection, he reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear, slipping his hand around your waist. “I thanked him.”

“You threatened him, Bucky.”

“You’re impossible to resist protecting. You bring that out in people, you know that? Especially guys.”

“Don’t be stupid.” You scoff and turn away from him to push your cart into the next aisle. He falls in step behind you.

“I’m serious. It’s like people can’t help it.”

By people, you know that he means Henry. You can hear the drag in his voice as he tries to sound as nonchalant as possible.

You stop, turn to face him, leaning against the cart so that the long handle pokes into your back.

“Bucky, I only slept with H-” His eyes are ice-fire, searing and angry. “-with him because I’d known him for so long. I used to like him. I wanted to be with him at one point. I’m not going to sleep with some random guy I just met.”

Of course, the irony of the sentence you just spoke is not lost on you and Bucky’s eyes soften. The fire of rage extinguished as he laughs once.

You laugh too. Squeezing your eyes shut before you open them again to watch him smile.

“No.” Bucky agrees but he moves towards you and turns you around so that you start to walk again, pushing the cart. He leans in towards your ear, his hands and arms right beside your own on that cart’s handle. “Not again, huh?”

You give in, the moment too good to pass up. You lean back, letting him walk with you, relishing in the comforting warmth of his hard chest. “Never again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why?” Dr. Garza wonders.

You try not to look at Bucky when he’s baring his soul. He doesn’t need the added pressure of you staring at him.

“Because of what I did. Sleeping with P-” He stops, like you did in the office supply store, knowing that hearing her name will bring you pain. “-with that other woman.”

“Y/N?”

You look up, surprised to be addressed when all the sessions before had taken place as if you weren’t sitting in the room with them.

“Yes?”

“How does Bucky’s fussing make you feel?”

You swallow hard, hesitant about speaking the truth.

“There are no secrets in this room, Y/N. We don’t hide how we feel. We speak it aloud. From what I understand, you’ve always had a problem with telling Bucky how you’re feeling?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid.” You admit, staring at Dr. Garza and only her. You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you though, his body angled towards you.

“Of what?”

“Of making him angry. Of-fighting over nothing. Of being a nuisance?”

“You’re not a nuisance, Y/N.” Bucky rushes to say. “How can you-?”

“Bucky.” The doc says sternly, and he clenches his jaw, shutting himself up. “Let’s not interrupt Y/N when she’s talking. I want you to really hear her, okay? And wait until she’s finished before replying.”

Bucky nods.

“Why did you feel that way, Y/N? What made you think that you’d be a nuisance to Bucky?”

You laugh once, a scoff more than anything, but it isn’t bitter, just an exclamation of exasperation. A duh. “Look at him.”

Even with his face all scrunched up, body curled toward you as he fights his urge to reach out to you, he’s visual perfection. Guy that look like Bucky don’t date girls like you, much less marry them. Or so your experience has taught you.

“Bucky is the most handsome man I’ve ever met. And he married me? It’s-I’ve pinched myself a million times trying to see if it was a dream.” You shake your head.

“Is that the only reason that you married Bucky?”

“No! Of course not. His…I didn’t even like him when I first met him. I thought he was a pervert.” You admit, and this time you smile.

“Why?”

Bucky’s also smiling and he meets your eyes. The two of you laugh and Bucky clears his throat. “We sort of met in an unconventional sort of way. I tripped and went headfirst into her chest. She was wearing this low pink V-cut bathing suit. It was pleasant for me. Not so much for Y/N.”

Your cheeks burn. “I didn’t fall for him until he showed up with a bandage for my foot. I’d skinned it when I was walking around the lazy river ride, with the tubes? I’d been limping around on it and Bucky found me. Apologized for the way we met, and then dressed my foot.

“I knew who he was. I’d been a fan before. His story, although I’ve learned more details recently about his experiences, it moved me. So, when I met him, I wasn’t afraid of him like some of my friends in high school had been. All I saw was this sweet guy trying to apologize for shoving his face into my boobs.

“It was that more than anything that drew me in. He was so careful with me, so easy with his smile. I really did fall in love with you that day, Bucky. And when I agreed to marry you, I-I knew that it would be hard, but I never expected this to happen.”

And suddenly, you’re crying, your chest burning with pain and remorse because you did it to him too. You hurt him the way he hurt you. And yours…it feels worse because from what he’s said, the woman he’d slept with had been convenience. She’d just been there.

Henry for you had been deeper. A buildup and culmination of four years of pent up attraction. Emotions had been involved there. You’d liked Henry.

“So,” Dr. Garza says carefully. “How does Bucky’s fussing make you feel, Y/N?”

You turn to look at her, tearing your eyes away from Bucky as your tears continue to pour, rapid falls carving salty divots.

“Guilty. I hurt him too. I should have done more. I should have told you that I don’t like being away from you for days on end. I should have told you that when you leave me in the mornings, it feels like you’re choosing other people over me. I shouldn’t feel that way because I know that Steve and Sam are important to you. But it was too much. You were gone for days and then you still chose to be with them over me when you were finally home? And I should have told you that it was hurting me.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Bucky’s face is contorted with agony, his right hand reaches out for your left and you take it, you squeeze it. You hold on for dear life because this man is everything. He’s your life, your family, your home, and he’s hurting too.

“I should have told you that I wasn’t well.” He speaks in a whisper, the room already so quiet, it’s easy to hear him. “You had already done so much for me—I wasn’t having nightmares anymore. I was able to get through the day without a spazzing out, but I still wasn’t safe for you. I was still terrified of hurting you.”

“Why then? Why did you sleep with her?”

Bucky shuts his eyes and hangs his head, squeezing your hand tighter.

“It’s like you handpicked her to check all of the boxes for everything that I’m insecure about. I know that I’m not athletic. I can’t fight someone off. I can’t lift a twenty-pound box over my head. My muscles are soft and I’m not as fierce as you wish I was.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N. Just.As.You.Are.” Bucky insists, gritting his teeth as tears fall from his eyes too. They pool at the edges then spill over, falling on your hand. “I-For a moment I did wish that you were stronger, that you were l-like one of the agents I work with if only because I can’t bear to leave you unprotected. I told you the other day that you bring an instinctive urge out in people to want to protect you and in me…the thought of anything happening to you fills me with so much dread that sometimes I can’t sleep at night.

“Every moment that I spend away from you feels like a lifetime. I am not at ease unless I know that you’re safe and that is on me. It’s not a responsibility that I should have tried to put on you. I love you, just as you are. You are all that I want. Every single moment I spent with that woman was torture. I just needed to stop thinking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it, clinging to your hand as if his life depends on it.

For a few minutes the two of you simply cry together.

“Y/N?” Dr. Garza pulls your attention back to her. “Do you believe that Bucky loves you? Truly?”

You look back at Bucky and the blue in his eyes seems to swirl and melt, pained adoration flowing from them as he stares right back at you. You nod.

“Yes.” You weep, inhaling a shuddering breath.

“Bucky? Do you believe that Y/N loves you?”

He’s already nodding. “Yes. I do.”

You don’t know why that makes you so happy. Your chest tightens and then bursts with relief. You scoot closer, and Bucky already knows what to do. He leans in, the two of you kiss, just a quick fierce peck, before he pulls you tight against his chest.

Your weak arms, wrapped around his torso, squeeze him harder than you’ve ever squeezed before. And you know that this doesn’t fix things. You know that there is still going to be so much struggle and hard work to overcome. The thought of Bucky sitting next to a beautiful girl still fills you with terror just as another man saving you from harm must fill him with agony.

It’ll be a work in progress but for the first time since you agreed to give Bucky a chance again, to go on a date with him, you feel confident that he will choose you and not because of your baby, but for you.

The idea of going back to the apartment, of moving back into that place where your world ended, is unthinkable. You don’t go back.

At six months pregnant, you and Bucky are doing much better. You see him nearly every day. His presence at Casey’s is starting to grate on her nerves but she’s a good sport about it and tries not to glare at him too much.

Physical contact has returned too. Bucky can take your hand and you don’t pull it away. He can hug you, rest his hands on your belly over your shirt, and it’s alright.

He talks to the baby. A mystery because both you and Bucky have decided to wait until the they’re born to find out if it’s a boy or girl. It doesn’t really matter either way. You’re both just happy to have them coming.

Since that day in Dr. Garza’s office however, you and Bucky haven’t kissed again. You’re not sure who among the two of you is resisting. You don’t know if you would tell him no again, and Bucky doesn’t try.

It’s been weeks since Bucky’s gone out on mission. He’s doing it for you. You know he is. Sometimes, when he’s visiting at Casey’s, he gets a phone call and moves to your window to stare out at the front of the building.

He does it again today. He’s laughing, his lips pressed against your bump as the baby in your belly moves. “Ooh, that was a fart.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Bucky protests. Refusing to believe that his baby is farting all day in your belly.

“Yes, it was.” Another small bump pops up, right against his lips. “Eeewwwwwww! The baby just farted into your mouth!”

Bucky throws his head back and laughs, his hands placed on either side of your tummy, the white t-shirt stretched taught over your swollen belly. He’s laying to your left, leaning over your thighs so that he can caress his baby comfortably.

You chuckle with him, your laugh quieter as you enjoy the vision and sound of his melodic laughter. A deep baritone, smooth and easy.

His phone rings, and your laughter dies almost instantly. Bucky’s trails off slowly as he reaches into his pocket to fish out his phone.

The shift in his eyes as he reads the name on the screen would be imperceptible to anyone but you. A hardness ices his blues. He kisses your belly one more time then scoots to the edge of the bed as he swipes his fingers across the heated glass.

He’s on his feet, moving towards your window as you push yourself to sit up straight against the headboard of your bed. Your hands move along your tummy, smoothing the wrinkles of your shirt.

“Hello?” Bucky looks at you and smiles as the other person on the phone talks quickly.

You return his smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes.

He mouths, Sorry.

You shake your head.

“No.” Bucky says sternly, turning his back on you to look out the window. “I said no, Steve. I’m not going.”

You can see the tension roll down along Bucky’s wide shoulders. He holds the phone with his metal hand, his right held up against the windowsill as he squeezes the wood. Steve must be trying to convince him to go on whatever mission they’re about to run.

“Bucky-?” You probe, intent on telling him to go. He’s been by your side long enough. He has to do his job. He might not like it all the time, but it’s in his blood. And you’ve learned more about Elias and this fight is personal for Bucky.

Bucky had confessed not long after that breakthrough session with Dr. Garza that Elias was Swiss. He’d been found by an unknown party in the back room of the same Siberian Hydra facility where Zemo had lured him, Steve, and Tony to.

He’d killed all the other Winter Soldiers before they’d even arrived, save for one, hidden in a back room behind a secret door; Elias. Fucking Hydra and their secret doors.

The difference between Bucky and Elias is that Bucky at his core is inherently good. He wants to help, save, build, and love. Elias had been plucked from some criminal group, already an elite trained assassin, and made more deadly with Super Soldier Serum.

The Avengers have been chasing him across Europe for the better part of a year. Now, with your one-year wedding anniversary weeks away, Elias had snuck into the States and after you and Bucky reconciled, have been pursing without Bucky’s help.

“I’ll come look at the tapes, Steve, but I’m not going. I’m right where I should be.” He says, almost angry. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up and you sit up straighter, resting only your right hand on your stomach as Bucky turns back towards you.

“You have to go?” You know he does.

“Yeah. It’s getting late anyway.” Bucky sighs, clearly hesitant to leave your side. “But I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Bucky,” You reach out for his hand and he takes it. As you sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed to sit, he sits beside you. Right beside you, and your heart flutters. He intertwines his fingers with yours and you love it so much you sit and enjoy it for a few silent seconds.

“I don’t wanna go.” He assures you.

“I know that.” You sigh lightly and pull your eyes away from his hand tangled with yours. His own eyes are searching, his rose-pink lips slightly parted. “But you should go with them.”

“What?” He’s surprised. Why? You know why.

“You should go with them. You’ve spent the past two months with me. You haven’t gone on any missions-”

“Because I want to fix this. I want to show you that you’re all I want.”

“And you have, babe. But I don’t want to feel like I’m taking you away from your own life. You had one before you met me, and I never wanted you to feel like I was trying to make you give that up. I just wanted to be included.”

He looks down at the floor by your feet, a pained frown overtaking his features. You let his hand go and reach up to wrap it around the back of his head, gentle fingers trailing into the short soft tufty hairs at the nape of his neck. He shuts his eyes, his face relaxed of all stress with your touch.

“And you have included me. I know why you tried to keep me at a distance now. We can work through that. It won’t be easy but I’m willing to try if you are.”

“Of course, I wanna try.” Bucky sighs. “But what if I come back and I’m…that night we fought, when I yelled at you-what if that happens again?”

“It might. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

He meets your eyes, blue fire boring into your soul. He scans your face, memorizing the shape of your brow, the plump of your lip, the curve of your nose. You do the same. He’s so damn beautiful. Even in his pain and uncertainty, he’s not perfect. And you love him for it.

“Next time.” You sigh, giving up. As his left hand finds your belly, and his right arm wraps around your back, he nods. “I’ll go to the next one. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Bucky’s been gone for a hot minute. The night is late, and you can hear the emptiness of the rooms around you. Casey always stays with Sam the night before a mission, not that you blame her, but you also hate the solitude of the empty house.

You move back down the hallway, headed back to your room after having to pee for what feels like the tenth time tonight. You caress your tummy but yawn and speak. “Move off my bladder, ducky, mommy wants to sleep.”

With half-lidded eyes, you meander back into your room, sit on the bed, and yawn once more. You reach over to shut off your lamp when a shift in the dark corner by the very same window that Bucky had stood by earlier today catches your eye.

“Bucky?” You ask hopefully, stupidly, because if Bucky were here, he would have come found you in the bathroom or he’d be waiting on the bed. Why would he be hiding in the corner?

Your heart stops and restarts at supersonic speeds as a large looming man steps forward wearing tattered brown rags that might have been a uniform of some sort at some point, a ripped vest with the distinct marks of previous bullets hitting the armor, and no shoes. His skin is dirty, covered in patches of black tar? Dirt, dried blood, and his blonde hair stands at hard odd angles, crusted with grime.

Your eyes quickly find his bright green eyes, piercing, the color of lethal toxin set ablaze. You get no comfort in his green like you do in Casey’s. You can feel the hate radiating off of him, the ill-intent, the violence to come.

Your left hand flies to pull open the drawer of your nightstand, Barnes sitting just inside.

As your right hand flies for the gun, a disgusting dirty one grabs your wrist, squeezing so tight you cry out. You let your instinct drive you and pull your left leg up hard and fast, driving it between the man’s legs.

He groans and drops your hand. You grab the gun, but you don’t get to lift it as the full force of his back-hand swing throws you clear over the bed. You don’t think. You just curl. You wrap yourself around your stomach as your body falls hard against the wall then onto the floor. Something is broken. You can feel it. A finger? Your whole arm? You’re a body of bruises already from one single stupid hit.

Gasping you pull yourself up weakly, Barnes still clutched in your left hand. It takes all the strength in your body to pull yourself up to sit, to lean your arms on the bed and aim. You pull the trigger and it echoes around you filling the air with the acrid burn of gunpowder and the rust of blood.

The man cries out as he reaches up to grab his shoulder. After a long glare at you, his green eyes full of enmity, he disappears through your bedroom doorway. You don’t hear his exit, but you hear the front door burst open.

How long you stay like that you don’t know. You’re shaking, terrified, crying, hurting, and frozen. It feels like hours before you’re finally able to move.

You cry out as you straighten up and then curl in on yourself as you move around the bed, limping because you’d hit your right foot hard against the wall. You’re still sobbing as you find your phone, your hand still a vice around Barnes.

With your phone held tight in your right hand, and the shaking index finger of your left hand, you scroll through the names on your phone and look for The Perv. Barnes’s metal hits the edge of your phone because there is no way that you are letting it go.

He picks up after one ring.

“Hold on, Steve. Y/N? What’s the matter, baby? Can’t sleep?” You’re not unaware of how relaxed and happy he sounds, finally around his friends after devoting himself to you so wholly these past two months. However, you can’t help the wracking sobs that tear through your lump ridden throat at the sound of his voice.

“Y/N?!” He yells, the worry making his voice rise.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“Bucky?” Nat.

You’re finally able to find your voice after a few unending seconds of loud, harsh sobbing that tears at your throat. “Bucky!”

It’s like his life is over. The sounds you’re making fill him with a fear that he’d never known he could feel.

Compared to the fear of you leaving him, this is worse. The terror in your cries turns his heart to lead and it falls into the pit of his stomach.

He’s running before he even knows where he’s going but there’s only one place you can be. What if you were kidnapped? What if you’d been taken away from him by force?

The nearest exit is the glass doors to the balcony by the living room. He throws them open and leaps, falling three stories without fear. He tucks himself in as the ground rushes up to meet him and he rolls then springs back up onto his feet.

Bucky’s legs have never moved so fast. He’s struggling to breathe when he reaches town. Three a.m. means the streets are deserted, only a car passes him as he flies along the pavement. Your front door sits wide open, several people are standing in your walkway, others are standing on their stoops, glancing towards your and Casey’s house with looks of shock and concern. Bucky doesn’t stop.

He shoves people aside; something must have drawn them out of their homes. What?

The sounds of sirens begin to fill the air as Bucky takes the stairs four at a time. He slides on the top floor landing but turns into your room and nearly falls to his knees at the sight of you howling with tears, kneeling, your bare right foot bright red, turning purple. Your left hand, the heel of your palm pressed against your forehead, is curled around Barnes your pinky twisted into a painful position. It’s broken.

Your entire body is curled protectively around your stomach and as Bucky heaves and struggles to breathe, his shoulders rising and falling violently as he moves towards you, you turn to him and open your arms like a terrified toddler.

Bucky drops to his knees, and pulls you close, holding you tight as you wrap your arms around his neck, almost choking him in your desperation, and bury your face against his thudding pulse as you continue to cry.

He tries to speak but his voice seems to have left him. Instead he breathes out a ragged croak. He shuts his eyes and wills his heart to stop pounding so hard. He inhales deeply through his nose, the gunpowder from the gun sharp and stinging, he can also smell a hint of blood in the air.

He runs his hand along your body, searching, but the faintness of the smell already tell him that the wounded is long gone.

“I’ve got you, kitten.” His voice is still strangled, struggling to come out louder than a whisper. It doesn’t matter however; the timber of his voice seems to relax you. You keep your arms wrapped around him tightly, but he can feel you melt against him.

Running feet pound up behind him but Bucky is so familiar with the gaits that he doesn’t turn. He does however scoot his metal arm underneath your knees and with ease he lifts you up. He turns with you in his arms as Nat, Sam, and Steve stumble to a stop by the doorway.

Steve moves inside, Sam following as Nat holds back, disappearing into the darkness of the house to check the rest of the rooms probably.

“Is she-?” Steve begins.

“She’s okay.” Bucky assures him. “She needs Cho.”

Sam is out the door, his hand on his ear. “Get the jet. Call Helen, tell her we need her in the med bay A-Sap.”

Bucky could have carried you to the compound, but he would prefer the safety of the jet too. He’s silent the entire ride back, his arms holding you carefully, and with you in his lap he’s able to place his hand on your tummy. He rubs it gently, grateful that you’re in one piece if only slightly broken.

Your racking sobs have turned into quiet sniffles and Bucky’s heart aches but also soars at the way you cling to him for comfort. He leans in and kisses your head, offering as much as he can.

As the jet lands, Sam moves towards him but reaches for your left hand to relieve you of your gun.

“Don’t.” Bucky warns him, but Sam tries anyway.

Bucky can feel you tense up and feels your hand wrap around the gun harder. You try to move your pinky and it makes you whimper. With a hiss Bucky gets to his feet and walks towards Sam, a threat in his eyes.

Sam backs up a step holding up his arms to show Bucky he means no harm. “Sorry, Y/N. Sorry.”

Bucky sidesteps him and moves off the jet, into the elevator, and all the way down to the med bay.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Come on, baby, open your eyes.” His voice is so tempting and warm, you reach for him.

Something isn’t right. Your pinky won’t bend. You groan, your right foot also hurts and feels too tight.

“Bucky?” You whisper, your voice hoarse. Why is it-? “Bucky!”

You shout, sitting up so quickly your back cracks and protests against the sudden movement. Your mind floods with the scramble for your gun, the sharp pain of a harsh hit, the crumble of your fall, and then the panic as you called Bucky and all you could do is scream for him.

“I’ve got you, kitten. I’ve got you.” Bucky's arms are around you, and you quickly wrap yours around him again. He repeats those words, over and over, rubbing your back over the soft, over sized pink cotton shirt you wear to bed. “I’ve got you, kitten. I’ve got you.”

You stay there, in his arms, unwilling to let go because the fear coursing through your body is paralyzing.

When Bucky speaks again, his voice is proud, he squeezes you once and then resumes rubbing your back. “You shot him.”

He already knows who it is that attacked you? “Who?”

“Elias.” Bucky sighs, his voice tells you that crinkle between his eyes is prominent. “We think he noticed my absence. He and I have more in common than I’d like to admit. Maybe not fundamentally but he was made like me. Only difference is he enjoyed it.”

“The other Winter Soldier?” You whisper, realization hitting you smack in the face—no, that was Elias’s hand. You must look like a walking bruise.

“So, he came after me?” Your fearful hitch makes Bucky push you back a little if only so that he can stare into your eyes with anxious blue steel.

“No. I think he was looking for me. He followed me there and was probably curious. When he saw you-”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Did you reach for your gun first, or did he hit you first?”

“I reached for the gun. He stopped me, hurt my wrist.” You pull your arm up and look at the skin, bruised, swollen slightly too. “I was worried…about our ducky and I just reacted. I didn’t think. I kicked him and then I grabbed the gun but then he hit me, and I remember hitting something hard,”

“The wall.” Bucky says.

“-and got up and shot him. I couldn’t even hold up the gun, Bucky I’m such shit to protect our baby. I had to rest my arms on the bed to keep them steady. What if he’d hurt our ducky?”

“You did amazing, Y/N. You fought him off. And the baby is perfect. Helen says that she’s never seen a baby so healthy and perfect, but she called Dr. Carroll for you and she checked you over too.”

“Dr. Carroll was here?” Shock widening your eyes.

“She was.” Bucky smiles, reaching up to tuck your hair back, caressing what feels like a massive bump that stretches along the entirety of the right side of your face. “She said she understands now why the baby always seemed to have a heartrate much faster than normal. She seemed kind of impressed when I told her I was your husband.”

You watch as Bucky’s eyes grow distant for a moment. It’s scary, that wall he hides behind. You haven’t seen it in two months and there it is.

“What, Bucky? Did she say something?”

“No, I just…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little surprised.” Dr. Carroll reaches down to press the small wand of the much more competent ultrasound machine to your exposed tummy.

“Why?” Bucky asks, his eyes peaked with interest as he watches the screen for his baby. He can already hear that quick thrumming. His little one’s heart! He could kiss the stupid screen for giving him this moment.

His elation is quickly followed by sorrow. He’s missed so much already.

“Ooh, there!” Dr. Carroll sounds a little too excited to see the baby. The image is stunning, 3D, and Bucky can already see that the baby has your nose. The rest of him or her, looks a little like it’s still forming. He can see eyebrows, patchy, like they’re still filling in, shut eyes, big ones. The chin is too small still and the cheeks still not puffed like he’s seen some babies get.

“Is that our baby?!” He asks excitedly, forgetting his sorrow.

The baby suddenly twitches and Dr. Carroll smiles then chuckles. “They like your voice.” She says, explaining the sudden movement.

“My voice?” Bucky doesn’t understand why, or how the baby would even know to distinguish his voice as something to like. He’d missed out on the baby’s first four and a half months. At six months, with only a collective two and a half months of hearing him and the first month of that sparingly because he was always away on mission, he finds it hard to believe that the baby knows to like him.

“Yeah. See.” Dr. Carroll adjusts the wand so that the baby is on display on its side, profile clear and that is definitely your nose! “Try and say something.”

“Uh, hey little one. I’m er…I’m your daddy.” Bucky says nervously.

The baby twitches again, kicking their little legs and at the same time, Bucky can see the kick on your stomach. Bucky’s eyes water. How is it possible that the little one knows it’s him? He looks at you and leans his forehead against your temple. Your face, swollen, beaten, and asleep looks peaceful, despite the purple and red-blue marks on your right side.

“I told you our ducky wasn’t farting.”

Dr. Carroll is silent as the thrumming continues to fill the room. When Bucky finds it weird that she still hasn’t said anything, he looks up at her, sitting up straight again. She’s staring at him and you, her eyes narrowed slightly.

“How long have you two been married?” She wonders.

“Almost a year.” Bucky tells her. “Just under two months left.”

“I didn’t think she had a husband. She never mentioned one when she first came to the office. I felt so bad for her, nervous thing that she was, I figured it was a one night stand or—something worse with how terrified she was? I tried not to ask. But she took two pictures.”

Bucky nods. “She gave it to me a few weeks ago.”

Then because curiosity overwhelms him, he asks, “Why didn’t you think she was married? Why did you jump to the conclusion that she must have gotten pregnant under different circumstances?”

“Well,” Dr. Carroll removes the wand and Bucky is almost heartbroken to have the thrumming stop. However, if he strains his ears hard enough, he can hear its little murmur. “She just seems so-”

“Helpless?” Bucky offers. Dr. Carroll laughs, just a huff, as she nods.

“Yes. Plus, no ring.”

“Huh?” Bucky asks, confused now. And then it dawns on him what she must be talking about and even though he makes the connection she explains anyway.

“No wedding ring. She wrote ‘Mrs. Y/N Barnes’ on the paperwork for the office but lots of unwed mothers do that, just in case they may be judged.”

Bucky feels like an utter ass for realizing, just a little under two months before your one year wedding anniversary, that he has yet to get you some FUCKING wedding rings. He sinks into his seat as Dr. Carroll cleans up and Bucky’s still staring at your wounded face when she pats his shoulder.

“Congratulations, papa. You’ve got a strong, healthy bun in the oven, and a momma who can kick ass to defend her baby.”

Bucky gives her a tight smile because she’s right. You might be passed out right now, the shock probably pushing you into unconsciousness, and you may be timid sometimes and unathletic and an adorable bookworm, but you are strong. You’re so smart and a survivor. And you’re perfect, just as you are.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs his thumb over the ring finger of your left hand, but you don’t notice the movement. You can only stare at his nervous expression.

“I never got you wedding rings.” He explains, blinking slow before meeting your eyes in fear of upsetting you. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Bucky…” You smile, ignoring the way it makes your face sting. “I don’t need rings. I know you love me. And I love you, so much.”

You see a set of defiance in his expression. He disagrees about the rings and you’re not sure if it’s because a wedding ring on your finger might somehow deter big men trying to help you? Or maybe he wants to make sure that you know that he isn’t ashamed to broadcast that he’s married? Or perhaps it’s his old fashioned notions which he tries hard to hide, that are telling him that if he wants to make it really official, he better get you a damn ring.

Sometime during the day Bucky winds up beside you, laying with you, arms wrapped around you with your head pillowed on his strong fleshy bicep. A knock on the door pulls the two of you awake and as it opens Bucky looks towards it as he tightens his hold on you and you bury your face into his chest because the light that streams in from the bright hallway shines bright in the dark recess of your recovery room.

“What?” He asks, somewhat rough with his tone, his voice muffled and making his chest vibrate as he speaks.

“We caught him on camera, fleeing towards the Canadian border. It’s time to go.”

You don’t like the sound of that one bit. You don’t like the way he’s talking to his friends either. Something’s not exactly right with Bucky still. However, you have no time to delve into that because Bucky sighs and carefully gets up.

“Y/N, I gotta go.”

You want to hold him close, keep him here in your arms. But you can’t. So, you sit up as he sits and pulls his shoes back on.

“Please tell me you’ll be safe, and you won’t try to do anything stupid like retaliate for last night?”

“I can’t make any promises, kitten. The goal is to get him in alive but after last night-”

“Bucky,” You say, chastising him and wishing more than anything that you could tie him down and keep him here. “We’re here, waiting for you. You can’t do anything stupid because I can’t raise this baby on my own, you got that?”

Bucky looks at your tummy and hurries back onto his feet. He takes hold of its sides and presses kiss after kiss against the swollen tummy. “I’ll be back, ducky, I promise.”

He looks up at you and for a moment you forget the upset. You forget that Bucky cheated on you and he forgets that you did too. You forget the ignoring and the shutting out all for just a few perfect moments of staring into Bucky’s eyes before he runs out and puts his life on the line again.

The danger you felt last night, the trauma you’re sitting with here now, it’s all part of his chosen experience but also forced on him too.

“I promise.” He whispers and as much as the moment wipes his and your debts clean, it doesn’t last. He leans in to kiss your forehead, the awkwardness keeping him from really kissing you goodbye.

Bucky feels like a failure. He feels inadequate. He feels like he let you down. His disappointment is a black hole, consuming any and all positivity from your recent reconciliation.

He has you in his life. Maybe not how he wishes you were, but you hadn't asked him for a divorce which had been his worst nightmare. Losing you and his baby and you also shunning him and refusing to let him see his ducky is his idea of hell.

Yet, despite the pit of despair he's fallen in from having failed to catch Elias, he smiles. Sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with his hair a greasy curtain from not showering for several days and his skin coated with the filth of the mission, he looks across the jet, at empty seats. Sam and Steve at the front letting Bucky have his space so that he can decompress.

The smile is small due to the memory of the first time you used the term ducky to refer to the baby growing inside you. His baby. His perfect little angel. Like you.

It's been almost two weeks since he left you to chase Elias with Steve and Sam. The bastard had led them on a winding chase, jumping back and forth over the Canadian border.

Your pinky will still need lots of time to heal and your ankle had only been sprained. You should be up and walking around without the need for crutches. Your bruises will probably be almost completely faded. He sighs, a heavy worried breath as he pulls his phone from his pocket.

He looks for your name, scrolling slowly with his flesh thumb. He stops at My Kitten and swipes his finger across the name. When he presses it to his ear, it's already ringing. You answer after two rings.

“Bucky?!” Your voice is like a salve on his fretting heart. He shuts his eyes, the sound of you beautiful even with the worry thick and heavy, and enjoys the moment, knowing that even though you've moved out, you still love him.

“Hey.” He whispers, his voice weak and exhausted. He can’t even remember the last time he slept. “God, Y/N. It's so good to hear your voice.”

There’s silence on your side and Bucky reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Baby?” Bucky probes.

“Where are you?” Your voice cracks and Bucky knows you’re crying. He hates the thought of you with tears streaming down your cheeks.

“What's the matter?” Bucky demands, sitting up straighter, more alert. Sam turn to look at him and Steve steals a glance.

“Ugh, nothing! I’ve been crying over everything lately. This baby is kicking my hormonal ass.”

Bucky's heart leaps, his eyes relax, and he slouches against the synthetic leather seat. With a wide smile he presses the phone closer to his ear, wishing he could hug you tight and kiss your tears away.

“Oh. I’m sorry, kitten.”

“You should be! This is all your fault.” You’re not crying anymore and for once this is something Bucky is definitely happy to take the blame for.

“Bucky where-?” As your voice cuts out, he pulls the phone away from his ear. Lost signal.

“Damn.” He grumbles quietly.

“Lost signal again?” Sam asks, amusement in his voice.

Bucky glances up at him and then looks back at his phone as he opens up his messaging app. “Yeah. I’ll just text her.”

Sam shakes his head. “I told you to just ask Tony for one of his new phones. We get signal everywhere.”

Bucky frowns as he types a quick message telling you he's on his way and should be home in an hour.

“Mmmm.” He acknowledges Sam's suggestion but otherwise ignores his advice. He doesn’t like asking Tony for things.

“Was Y/N okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed with worry.

Bucky looks at his reflection in the glass and nods. It still throws him for a loop at how protective the team is over you. After the break in at Casey's, even Tony was frantic to get the townhouse upgraded with top if the line security.

Sam was ecstatic.

“Yeah. Yeah, she's just…the baby's making her hormones go a little bonkers. She was crying so, I got worried.” Bucky flips the phone a few times leaning forward once more to place his elbows on his knees again.

“You guys still doing okay?” Steve probes carefully. He's surprised Bucky is so calm, and Bucky can see the caution in Steve's storm blue eyes.

After what happened at Casey's, after feeling the beastly fear of losing you—to Elias, not the cheating—somehow, he can hold onto that and it manages to outweigh the buzzing in his brain.

“Yeah. We’re good. I just-” He blinks slowly then looks at his phone as it buzzes.

My Kitten: I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you. And the baby won’t stop kicking! My heart is pounding and our ducky is flipping out. LOL!

Bucky smiles again, running his fingers over the text. “-I can’t wait for her to come home.”

When the jet finally lands, Bucky knows that it isn’t likely, but he goes to his room. He’d been unable to contact you until today, but he’d hoped that you had chosen to stay on the compound.

The room, as he had expected it to be, is empty. No one has been in here since the last time he’d slept here which had been before he’d nearly fucked everything up by sleeping with Penny.

He wants to see you and he wants to see his ducky, but a shower might be better first. He’s disgusting.

He’s slow as he walks to his apartment door, reminding himself the whole way that he cannot fall asleep. He can’t let himself give in to his exhaustion. No matter how many days he’s gone without sleeping, he needs to see you first.

Falling against the door, his forehead pressed against the cool and carefully painted metal, he shuts his eyes and clumsily presses his right hand’s thumb to the teal green panel. It beeps and the door clicks. With a groan he pulls it open and stumbles inside.

He only makes it three steps when he realizes that something isn’t right.

The large shared living and dining room light is on. Although the entryway is dark, there’s light spilling out of the kitchen too.

There’s a sudden shattering of glass and a gasp. Bucky races towards the kitchen, dropping his bag by the door.

His heart nearly stops then begins to pound as his eyes take in the most magnificently gorgeous sight he’s ever seen.

“You’re home!” You gush and Bucky can almost count the sparkles in your eyes. You’ve never looked so happy to see him and it feels like finally the world has been put right. “I’m-I was making some spaghetti. I…dropped the sauce. Serves me right for not making it from scratch, right? And…now we’re out of sauce. But I can run to the store! I’ll get some more, and we can have spaghetti and meatballs. I took the recipe out of that little book you keep in the drawer by the sink.”

His mom’s recipe!

“Shoot, I should clean this first.” Bucky scrambles forward, throwing his flesh arm out towards you in a stupidly dramatic ‘stop’ motion.

“No, wait. I’ll do that.” He flips his hand over and instead motions for you to move towards him with two flicks of his fingers. “Come here. Be careful. Don’t step on the glass.”

He looks at your feet, you’re barefoot and beautiful. Is it possible to fall in love with you further?

You take a gingerly step towards him, but Bucky moves towards you, stepping on the smooth black granite flooring where there is no sauce, and as soon as you’re within reach he wraps his arms around your waist. He takes care to support your belly and lifts with ease, twisting you back around towards him and the entrance to the kitchen.

He can smell the pan overheating. If he doesn’t turn off the stove there’ll be a fire, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the fact that you’re here, in the apartment. Finally, home.

“Let me look at you.” He sighs, and you smell so damn good, like fresh Freesia and clean linen. It’s like your dress was infused with the scent because you’re wearing a sleeveless dress, blue skirt with a white and pink floral pattern, the top—just above the curve of your pregnant belly—a sharp block waistline separates the white top.

Bucky can see that the bruises on your face are almost fully faded. Your pinky is still in its tiny splint. Your ankle still wrapped but looking much less swollen, and there are minuscule red spatters of the sauce on the white but you’re perfect and you’re beautiful and he really wants to kiss you but you’ve got that nervous look in your eyes so he can’t so instead he pushes your hair back and pulls you into his chest.

You wrap your arms around him and it’s like he’s flying. “Does this mean you’re coming home?”

The silence that follows this hopeful question worries him but then you’re sniffling, and he chuckles, pulling back to look at your sobbing face.

“Ugh!” You actually stomp your foot and Bucky really wants to fucking kiss you! “Stupid hormones. Yes! I’m home. I’m home.”

When you wrap your arms around him, he pulls you close once more while waves of heat waft towards him as the pan you’d been cooking with bursts into flames.

Bucky’s trying to coax you into the bedroom, but you don’t make it any further than the entrance of the hallway. He’d already showered and you’d already washed the dishes even though Bucky had told you that you didn’t have to do them, but with all the joy of finally coming home, you can’t make yourself move towards that stupid room where your life was torn apart for a little while.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, adjusting his metal hand so that he can intertwine his fingers with yours instead of letting you pull your hand out of his like you’re trying to do.

“I don’t think I can go back in there, Bucky.”

“What?”

You can see the disappointment on his face. He has to understand though, you can’t make yourself go back in there when what you saw ruined you forever for the beautiful bedroom you’d had before. You’ll sleep on the couch before you sleep on that horrible bed.

“I-I just can’t.”

“Y/N,” Bucky begins, moving closer, pulling your hand up to hold against his chest. “Do you trust me?”

With my life? Yes. With other women?

“Don’t answer that.” Bucky shuts his eyes tight and laughs without humor at the stupidity of his question. “Will you please, trust me? With this?”

You consider his expression, the gentle pleading, the worry, the blue of his eyes and his freshly washed hair. God, he smells like a rainforest waterfall with the slightest hint of cucumber.

“Okay.” You give in, unable to help it. His dark grey t-shirt, the black sleep pants, the damp tendrils of hair sticking to the sides of his face, it all mixes into an irresistible cocktail of manly perfection.

His face blooms with ecstatic happiness and he pulls you towards the bedroom, your bedroom, adjusting his strength when your feet start to resist.

“I was hoping you’d come home some day and when you did, I wanted you to be comfortable and…I made a stupid mistake, Y/N. An unforgivable one and somehow you forgave me.”

“Bucky…I made that same mistake-”

Bucky shakes his head. “But if I hadn’t pushed you away so hard you would have never been driven towards him. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving to you that you forgiving me was not a mistake and hopefully this can begin to make amends.”

He pushes the bedroom door open and you’re immediately assaulted by the lighter palate. The room is dimly lit, silver lamps with black sconces on burnt chestnut-brown beside tables cast diffuse yellow light on the golden taupe wallpaper. The pictures of you and Bucky rest around the lamps and on new dressers one to the left of the bed and one to the right in the same burn chestnut-brown as the bedside tables.

The bed itself, rather than pushed up against the wall to the right of the room lays straight ahead, with the large windows on either side, currently covered with shiny black thermal curtains. It’s just as big as before, king size, with a white patterned upholstered platform bed frame. The sheets are soft gray with new plush pillows in black cases to match the black high thread count comforter. At the end of the bed is an elegant art deco bench also in white and black.

Immediately to your right however is the pink chair that Bucky had bought for you, on it a small stack of clothes that you’d left there months ago. And to the left the full length black mirror you’d examined your bruises in once upon a time when Bucky had rushed to kiss them to apologize for putting them there in the heat of passion.

Your eyes are streaming with tears again, obviously, because the baby seems fit to make it so that you cry at the drop of a hat and Bucky completely redid your bedroom. He replaced the darkness of your room and made it bright.

Bucky assess the look of surprise and happiness on your face then smiles and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Welcome home, baby.”

You’re propped up on your new bed, chuckling as Bucky recounts the moment that Sam realized he’d forgotten to open his wings after a particularly high jump. It actually sounds really freaking dangerous, but the way Bucky tells it, you know that nothing happened.

“Anyway, that was probably the only good part about the mission.”

“No Elias?” You ask, fretfully rubbing your tummy over you’re the soft white spaghetti strap top of your pajama set.

Wanda had given them to you just after your discharge from the med bay and you’d saved them for this very moment. For when you and Bucky could be together again.

“We saw him, almost caught him a couple times but he keeps slipping us. I’m not sure what to do anymore. How to catch him? I’m so tired of chasing after him.” Bucky admits, focusing on your tummy as his own hand bumps into yours and he quickly catches your hand, brings it to the base of your stomach, and holds both you and your ducky there.

“So, then stop?” You hate how tired he looks. You hate that the circles under his eyes are so dark. You reach up and stroke them then slip your hand into his hair to push it back away from his face.

“I can’t. We can’t. He’s too dangerous. And after what he did to you, I need to get him off the streets, Y/N. I won’t relax until he’s locked up where he can’t get to you again.” Your heart flutters with the intensity of Bucky’s determination.

In response, your ducky kicks and the shirt over your tummy moves. You chuckle, forgetting all your worries with the baby’s kick.

“Is our ducky excited?” Bucky wonders.

“No. Not really. Just…you-” You stop, biting your lower lip because you don’t know if you want to admit how much he still makes you nervous.

“Me?” Bucky asks, wondering, also nervous.

“You make my heart flutter sometimes.” You admit in a rush. “The baby responds to that feeling in my stomach, you know? Those tumbles?”

Bucky grins. “Oh, I know those tumbles.”

Your face must look worried or confused—because you are. Is he thinking about you when he talks about tumbles in his stomach or someone else?—because Bucky is quick to push himself up a bit higher, closer to you. He sighs wafting tart mint against your slightly open lips.

“Hey…” You can see the anger within his eyes. Anger directed at himself. You know it because you feel it whenever you think about what you did with Henry.

Suddenly he’s scrambling off of the bed. “Bucky?”

“Hold on, baby. I’ll be right back.” He rushes out into the hallway and you can hear him thumping around the living room and then two minutes later he’s hurrying back towards you.

He steps up onto the bench at the end of your bed then falls to his knees and crawls across the mattress towards you. He drops back down onto your right side, resting on his metal elbow as he opens his flesh hand. Inside rests a small shiny black box with a velvet covered pearl on top. There’s a small seam straight through the middle that tells you it opens to the sides.

Your breath catches because you know what’s in the box without needing to open it.

“Bucky…I told you I don’t need rings. I know how you feel, and I-I hope you know how I feel?”

“I do.” Bucky assures you. “I know. But I could never forgive myself if I didn’t do this for you because our marriage is just as valid as everyone else’s. The people who date for six years before they tie the knot and us, for two weeks? We deserve to celebrate the way everyone else does. I never want you to doubt how much I love you and this is just that, a reminder. I will never hurt you like I did again, Y/N. You are my love and my life and my only salvation in this long-ass life that I’ve lived. Plus, I’m kinda hoping the ring will help other women to see that I’m taken.”

It’s not like you hadn’t thought about that yourself but it’s so silly. “That doesn’t stop all of them, Bucky.”

He knows you’re right. He doubts whether anything could have stopped Penny, but it gives him some comfort. It helps him remember too that somewhere in the world there’s someone waiting for him, someone who needs him. There’s someone who wants to see him and spend time with him and love him.

“Open it.”

You do. Inside of the pretty box rest two rings, both platinum, but one large with sleek brushed metal at the center and shining silver on the edges; Bucky’s ring. The second is much smaller, feminine in its beautiful vine and floral design and within every leaf and every flower petal is a single diamond. Tiny but altogether, they shine brilliantly in the soft glow of the room.

Bucky takes his and slips it onto his right ring finger, then he takes yours and waits for you to press your left hand on his.

You bite your lip as you watch him slip it onto your finger. Then he sighs. Content.

“It’s beautiful, babe.”

The baby kicks again and Bucky smiles wide while you chuckle. He reaches down to the base of stomach and takes hold of the hem of your shirt. “Can I?”

You nod. Carefully he lifts the shirt and with a bit of self-consciousness, you try to hide the stretched skin marks that litter the base of your belly.

“Our d-ducky grew kinda quickly. And I haven’t been as vigilant as I should be with the cream.” Not that it always helped. But Bucky doesn’t seem to notice your stretch marks. He’s too busy watching your baby kick over and over as your heart flutters the longer Bucky stares.

He leans in and kisses your tummy, skin to skin, searing hot kisses as the baby goes wild.

He looks up to meet your eyes and if you’re honest, until this moment, things hadn’t felt right. They’d been on their way and the two of you had been trying but it’s not until right now, when Bucky’s steel blue eyes darken to silver as he holds your gaze, that things feel good. Finally, things are right.

Unwilling to lose the moment, Bucky leans up to press his lips softly against your own. You whimper, having missed his kiss so desperately. His hand slides from the top of your exposed stomach to your side then up, up, up, until he’s wrapping rough calloused hands around your soft bare back to lay you down carefully as he strips you and then himself to express his serenity at finally having you home.

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