A/N: Please read chapter one of "Reclamation" before this one-shot. Time to take a closer look at the OCs I never thought I'd love writing so much!

Bond of Grief (2012)

Tatiana never really wanted kids. It wasn't that she didn't like them—she did. In moderation. She just never really saw herself as much of a maternal figure, especially not when it came to raising her own children. It was nice to hold a friend's baby or watch their kids playing during visits, but Tatiana had always been content just as she was.

Her family, however, was another matter. Her parents had impressed upon her from a young age that getting married and having children was something everyone just did, that there wasn't really another option out there. They didn't start pushing until she was well into her twenties with no serious suitors, though. Then it seemed to be all they could talk about when she would visit them in St. Petersburg—have you and Mikhail talked about getting married, when are you finally going to tie the knot, are you sure you want him to be the father of your children… The inquisition would go on and on and on until she finally blurted out that none of that was even on her radar. She had been seeing Mikhail since they were at Durmstrang, but marriage couldn't have been further from her mind when she was in her twenties. It wasn't as if she had the biological clock ticking away that so many of her friends panicked over.

That statement was always met with the same thing: stunned silence, then outright rage.

How could a woman not want to have children?

How could their daughter not want to give them grandchildren?

Why couldn't she just be normal?

No amount of arguing would assuage their frustration with her choices, not even when she tried to tell them that at least her sister might be able to give them what they were looking for when she couldn't be bothered with it. Anya was always quiet during that part of the conversation, content to be left out of it, which was something that frustrated Tatiana to no end. Her sister had already been married for years by that point and had yet to have a child; she'd always assumed Anya was like her and didn't want any children, although they never actually addressed the subject, at least not with one another.

Tatiana did make a few concessions, meager as they were to her parents. She married Mikhail—not that that bore much weight when there was no baby to go with the ceremony. It wasn't a passionate affair, but then, nothing with Mikhail ever was. They were both far too practical to be bothered with such things; they loved each other and felt genuine emotional affection, but they weren't exactly the sort of people to go around flaunting it wherever they could. Theirs was a quiet romance, which both of them were quite content with, and they settled into the same routine as husband and wife that they had when they were just dating.

The questions never stopped. The pushing never ceased. Eventually, Tatiana gave up on her parents entirely. They went without speaking for years, right up until Anya and her husband were killed. After that, things changed. Tatiana spoke with her family again and occasionally went to visit, but they never brought up having children again. Perhaps it was the difficulty of knowing that they had lost one. Maybe they had simply learned not to take the only child they had left for granted. Whatever it was, they had never asked again, and she'd never brought it up.

Which was why, as she stood in the kitchen watching a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese bubbling in the oven, Tatiana couldn't help wondering at herself. When had she grown to view Bucky as her own? Certainly not when they agreed to take him in—that had been more of a gesture to a friend in need than a genuine desire to care for a child, teenager or not.

Bucky knew it. That much was painfully obvious. He'd been civil and understanding as Tatiana and Mikhail struggled to find the proper balance in their home once they had a new addition; it was more than she ever would have expected from one so young. Regardless, she knew that he'd had no illusions about what they were to each other: a means to an end. Bucky needed to go to school under the radar—Tatiana and Mikhail had the perfect cover for him. They wanted to help Winifred and George—Bucky and Becca were their top priority. It was the ideal arrangement, and it had worked well thus far.

To witness Bucky's devastation when he saw that article, though… Tatiana had never felt a stab of pain so all-encompassing in her life, nor had she experienced such a strong urge to take someone in her arms and comfort them. It wasn't maternal per se, but it wasn't at all like her either.

But now Tatiana and Mikhail were the closest to family that Bucky had left. It shouldn't have taken an assassination to make them realize that he was already a member of theirs.

/You are thinking too hard again./ Mikhail's calm voice drew her from her musings. Smiling halfheartedly, Tatiana shook her head.

/It's hard not to./

Mikhail hummed, his arm snaking around her waist as he settled his chin on her shoulder. He was a man of few words—always had been—but she knew what he wanted to convey and huffed bitterly.

/I don't know what to do for him,/ she whispered, glancing down the hall to make sure Bucky's door was still closed. It was hardly necessary: unless they called him, Bucky hadn't left his room once since the news broke. When he did emerge, it was with an air of wary exhaustion, like the world was just too much to face. Having lost a sister suddenly and tragically, Tatiana knew a little of what that was like.

/I do not think there is a great deal that can be done at this point,/ admitted Mikhail with a soft sigh. /He needs time to grieve for them./

Shaking her head, Tatiana demanded, /How? He's giving himself no chance to. That face…/ She paused, trying to find the right words. /He hides behind Yasha now. Why would Yasha Smirnov grieve a foreign dignitary?/

It didn't appear that Mikhail had an answer for that, both of them falling silent as they watched their dinner bake. Tatiana wasn't a fan of baked macaroni and cheese (or pasta at all, really), but she remembered Winifred mentioning it was Bucky's favorite meal and had spent an embarrassing amount of time that morning hunting down recipes rather than doing her job. If it was enough to put a smile on his face, even just for half an instant, it would be worth it.

Eventually, Mikhail straightened with a deep breath. There was a rare hesitation in his tone as he informed her, /The funeral is tomorrow./

/So soon?/ Tatiana couldn't help frowning at that, although she wasn't sure why she was surprised. One week was quick, but it wasn't unexpected: Winifred was a politician, and a well-liked one at that. It would be silly to think that they would wait longer than necessary to give her a proper sending off. Besides, it wasn't as though they knew anyone from the family was left to be picky about funeral arrangements.

/Services are first thing in the morning,/ confirmed Mikhail with a slow nod. It appeared to cost him something when he added, /I think it would be best not to attend./

Quirking an eyebrow, Tatiana inquired, /You don't think it would help him to at least get a chance to say goodbye?/

/I think he is not ready to say goodbye yet./

There really wasn't an argument for that—it was true enough.

Mikhail wasn't finished, though. /If we take him, there is a chance he will be recognized. He bears too close a resemblance to himself even in disguise. It would put him in unnecessary danger./

Unnecessary was a strong term, of which she knew he was well aware. After all, regardless of how her family had fallen apart, Tatiana would never have been held back from her sister's funeral. No amount of arguing or bitterness between her and her parents could keep her away. That had been her one chance to say goodbye to her sister and get closure.

But this wasn't a simple accident, and Bucky's situation was so much more complicated than that. So Tatiana didn't argue the way she wanted to, nodding in silent agreement. They were Bucky's guardians now, which put the burden of duty on them to have his best interests at heart even more than they had over the last couple of years. If that meant keeping him away from his own family's funeral, Tatiana couldn't imagine that Winifred or George would disagree.

If she hated herself a little bit for it, on her own conscience be it.

Mikhail didn't say anything else, but the way his hand lingered on the small of her back as he left the kitchen told her he knew all that had gone through her head. They had been together far too long for him not to, just as she was cognizant of his unarticulated response: Give it time.

It was easier said than done, especially when Bucky reluctantly left the safety of his room when called for dinner, just like every other night. His face was devoid of all emotion as he took his seat at the table, Winter cuddled close to his chest and quite content to be there, and nodded in vague thanks at the food set in front of him.

Like the last few days, he didn't eat. He didn't even bother picking up the fork.

Tatiana exchanged a quick glance with Mikhail, whose brow was furrowed slightly in consternation that he rarely ever showed.

It grew more difficult still when Natasha showed up at the door the following day, politely asking if Yasha was home since he hadn't answered any of her owls in the last week. There was nothing Tatiana could say—how could she impress upon Natasha that things were different when she couldn't tell her how?

That was when the excuses started: he's not feeling very well today. He had to take Winter to the vet. I sent him out for groceries, I'm not sure how long he'll be gone. He's been sick the last few days. He's out shopping for Hogwarts supplies with Mikhail.

Lie after lie after lie until Natasha stopped coming. So did her owls.

Bucky didn't seem to notice much less care about it, and his small circle of acquaintance shrank even further than it had when he was thirteen. It only served to make Tatiana more desperate to see a little of the boy he'd been a few weeks ago—not even the one she'd met in Romania, the one who hadn't spent so much time away from his family yet—so she started calling him out of his room more frequently. She'd set him to helping with the dishes or sorting through a few papers from work (all of which needed to be thrown out, but at least it kept him busy) or assisting with dinner. All the while, she kept up a steady stream of conversation, hoping he would answer back. She even tried in English, but it never really worked; most of his responses were reduced to grunts, nods, or one-word answers when he couldn't possibly manage in silence.

If she didn't know any better, Tatiana would have said Winter was surgically attached to him the whole time. If she wasn't in his lap, she was on his shoulder—if she wasn't there, she was curled up on his chest—if she wasn't there, she was perched on top of his head despite how the weight must have hurt his neck. Bucky never once complained, though. In fact, he grew anxious in any of the instances where Winter wasn't attached to him in some way, and Tatiana wondered (not for the first time) if he didn't need to see some sort of psychiatrist.

/He wouldn't be able to speak freely without giving away everything,/ observed Mikhail when she brought up the subject one afternoon after he got home from work. That had been a rough day—no amount of cajoling had successfully ousted Bucky from his room, nor had he eaten the breakfast or lunch she'd delivered to his door. She was getting to be an artist at baked macaroni and cheese, which was taking up every available inch of space in their freezer now.

/If it was a Muggle doctor, it wouldn't matter,/ argued Tatiana with raised eyebrows.

Mikhail shook his head. /If it was a Muggle doctor, he still wouldn't be able to say anything about the specifics of the situation. That's not closure—that's mind games./

Practical and collected as Tatiana prided herself on being much of the time, she hated him for being so sensible in that instant. Sighing, she allowed the slightest irritation to enter her tone as she insisted, /He needs help./

/Of course he does. And he will get it./

/You sound awfully sure of that./

Smiling slightly, Mikhail shrugged. /The boy is going back to Hogwarts. All the people he left behind will be there./

/He won't be able to tell them, though,/ Tatiana pointed out sadly. Even if she wasn't the maternal sort, it had never exactly been difficult to read Bucky, and the fact that he still missed his old friends wasn't lost on either of them. If he was supposed to be Yasha, however, he wouldn't have those friends anymore. /How could he even approach them?/

/Not as he once was, no,/ admitted Mikhail with a slight frown. /But maybe their presence will help./

Tatiana hummed but didn't answer, already considering the ramifications. Being around his old friends without being able to speak with them as he once had would be torture for Bucky—he was far too emotional that way. He would need to start over; he was the same person, drowning in grief though he was, so it wasn't impossible that he could make friends with them once again.

But would they recognize him if he tried?

That was a question for another day, and at this point, Tatiana wasn't sure she would mind so much if they did realize it was him. After all, his friends would be loyal to him; of that, Winifred and George had been absolutely positive when all this began. The problem was the Ministry: they were the ones who didn't allow correspondence, understandably so that it didn't fall into the wrong hands. Bucky's friends, though, they should be safe enough despite the niggling fear the idea of revealing his identity inspired.

Not that it was her decision. Only Bucky could choose to reclaim his friends or start over without them. Right now, it was difficult to discern which path he would take.

Of course, that didn't mean she couldn't nudge him along some. She wasn't his mother, but she was the closest he had now.

Time to step up, Tatiana.