Your superdick reversed my chemical sterilization. We're pregnant.
Steve read the message twice, sputtering a little. He had pulled his phone out discretely to check it when it buzzed during the meeting, but he wasn't hiding his shock very well. Bucky had gone in to see the doctors after the fourth straight morning of waking up early to vomit, and they had both been so worried that it was a result of being out of Hydra control for a year. Secretly, he had been panicking that maybe her version of the super soldier serum was making her sick now; that maybe it had always been unstable and it had just never been noticed because she spent all that time on ice in cryostasis. He had been expecting something awful, some new traumatic crisis for them to deal with. He wasn't prepared for this.
"Hey, you okay, Cap?" Tony asked in a low voice. He had put one hand over the microphone and the other on Steve's shoulder as he leaned over, but Steve just shook him off. He was already pressing the call button and scooting back in his chair so that he could put his elbows on his knees and let his head hang down. His chest felt tight and he felt dizzy and he was pretty sure he was going to have an asthma attack, serum or no serum.
And yeah, maybe this was not the best time, but Steve wasn't really thinking about the press reporters in the room in front of him, or the director on the other side of Tony at the table, or Natasha sitting on his right. Steve was only thinking about Bucky and how they had never bothered to use protection because Hydra had done everything in their power to make sure that their asset would not become combat ineffective with a pregnancy. He was thinking about holding her hair back in the mornings and rubbing her back in small circles while she heaved, and wondering how he didn't put two and two together.
She picks up after the second ring, but before she can say anything, Steve is talking. He is trying to keep his voice down because there aren't enough elocution lessons in the world to keep the Brooklyn out of his voice when he's right and truly pissed, when he's scared and nervous for her, and he at least has the sense of mind that he doesn't want the microphones to pick it up.
"If ya punkin' me, Jaime Barnes, I'm never talkin' to you again."
She paused, taken aback for a moment, but quickly answered, "'M not."
"That's. . ." he felt relief mix in with all those other emotions and he wiped his hand over his face and took a deep breath. "Then that's good, that's great. Bucky, I'm so happy, I've always wanted this, you know that."
"You sound mad."
"Well, damn it, Buck, that's 'cause you ain't never had a damn lick of class. You don't text a guy to tell him he's gonna be a father, and even if you had to, ya shouldn't make your opening line a fucking 'superdick' joke!"
The sudden silence in the room was deafening. Steve looked up from where he had been staring at the carpet between his feet to the open-mouthed stares from the reporters. Beside him Tony was gripping his shoulder hard and trying not to laugh. Natasha pulled her own phone out and checked it. Steve flushed in embarrassment, reddening from his hairline down past his shirt collar. He was never going to hear the end of this.
". . .You're still in that meeting, aren't you," Bucky said, and she sounded so smug that Steve could have cursed at her if he didn't love her so much. "Isn't it being broadcast live?"
"Oh, look. 'Superdick' is trending on Twitter," Natasha informed him, her voice a flat monotone despite the upward quirk of her lips.