Disclaimer: Marvel Characters are property of Marvel. Original Characters are mine. Just for fun, not for profit.


Isolation and Quarantine

"Daddy, Daddy, wake up! Wake up! It's breakfast time! Time to make me breakfast!" Bucky opened his eyes blearily and blinked at the clock on the nightstand. It was difficult to read the numbers with all the shaking as Brooklyn bounced on the bed around his prone body, but he could have sworn the first number was a 6. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, can we have pancakes? Pancakes with chocolate sprinkles and whip cream?"

"Maybe," he mumbled into the pillow. He hadn't been able to fall asleep right away when he got home. Worries and anxiety had kept him awake into the wee hours, and it seemed he had only just fallen asleep a few minutes ago. Rolling over, he grabbed Brooklyn mid-bounce and pulled her against his chest. "But first, you must escape… the Daddy Trap!" She squealed with laughter and wriggled against him. He held her a few moments longer as she pushed against his arm, then squirmed around so she was facing him and pushed with both knees and hands against his body. He relented, releasing her just enough that she could wiggle out of his grasp. "Oof, you're too strong for me," he announced. She grinned and held up both arms in triumph.

"Pancakes now?" she asked. He heaved a sigh, rubbing his face blearily with one hand.

"I guess," he relented. "That was the deal, right? Where's your brother?"

"Living room, watching animals," Brooklyn answered, jumping off the bed and scampering out the door. Bucky pulled himself out of bed with a groan. He walked into the living room and paused. Darshan was curled up on one end of the couch. Jameson lay beside the dog, his head resting on the dog as if he were a pillow. Balaur perched on the back of the couch behind them. All three had their attention trained intently on the nature documentary on the television. Jameson glanced over at his father.

"Morning, Daddy," he greeted him. "Balaur wanted to watch something with hunting." On the screen, a crocodile snapped its massive jaws over the head of an unaware antelope and dragged the animal into the river. Bucky stared at him, bemused by the situation. How long had the children been up already, and how had he slept through it? Shaking his head, he glanced down at his phone, registering wearily that it was only twenty minutes after six in the morning. He paused and frowned as he noticed he had a voicemail that hadn't been there the last time he checked his phone in the middle of the night. His heart skipped a beat as he saw that it was from the hospital. He had the phone to his ear listening as he slowly made his way into the kitchen. There wasn't much information in the message, just a request to call the hospital at his earliest convenience.

"Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes." Brooklyn was dancing in the kitchen, chanting. She tugged on Bucky's hand. "Come on, Daddy, let's make pancakes." He pulled his hand free, gesturing for her to wait.

"Hold on just a minute," he told her. "I know waiting is hard. I have to make an important phone call."

"Awww, but I'm sooo hungry!" she whined.

"I know, Babydoll. Just… give me five minutes, and then we'll make pancakes. Why don't you start getting together the stuff? We'll need milk, eggs, flour, butter, sugar, salt and baking powder."

"And whip cream and chocolate sprinkles?" Brooklyn added hopefully.

"That will be for after, when we're eating them," he reminded her. "But… why don't you grab some chocolate chips, too?"

"Okay!" Having been given a mission, Brooklyn began clambering on the counter to gather ingredients. Hopeful that it would keep her distracted for at least a few minutes, Bucky returned his attention to his phone. He called the number of the nursing station she had been on when he left the night before.

"May I speak with the nurse taking care of Nyssa Taylor?" he asked the person who answered the phone. "Room 4523."

"Hold on a moment, sir." There were a few moments of silence, then some hold music, and he watched Brooklyn pile flour, sugar, chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, baking powder, baking soda, powdered sugar, chocolate sprinkles, rainbow sprinkles, food coloring, cinnamon and garlic on the counter. The disembodied voice came back on the line. "Nyssa Taylor is not on this unit anymore. She's been transferred. Hold one moment, I'll transfer you."

"No, wait…" There was so much implied in that statement, and he wanted to know more, but the hold music was cutting in again. He sighed in exasperation. "Brook, we don't need all of that. And you still need the butter, milk, eggs and salt." Her eyes widened, and she jumped off the counter, darting over the fridge. He shook his head slightly. There would be time enough to sort out the ingredients they needed from the rest after he was done with his call.

"Unit 3500."

"Hi," Bucky said shortly. "I need to speak with the nurse caring for Nyssa Taylor."

"Yes, sir. Hold one moment." Bucky rolled his eyes at being asked to hold once more.

"Daddy, I got it all together. Can we start now?" Brooklyn asked, jumping up and down in front of him.

"We need a griddle," he reminded her. She nodded. Darting to the cupboard, she stared noisily unloading pots and pans from the shelves, scattering them on the floor as she looked for the pancake griddle.

"This is Cara," someone finally answered the phone.

"Hi, this is Bucky Barnes," he returned. "I had a message on my voicemail to call about my wife, Nyssa Taylor? And she was transferred to a different unit?"

"Yes, sir," Cara replied. "This is a critical care unit. Last night, your wife developed pulmonary edema and acute respiratory distress syndrome. Her lungs were filling up with fluid due to the virus, and she wasn't able to breathe adequately on her own. She was transferred to this unit." She continued speaking, but Bucky couldn't hear her over the clanging of pots and lids on the floor, accompanied by Brooklyn's cheerful commentary.

"Daddy, help!" Brooklyn requested from deep in the cabinet.

"Hold on, Brooklyn," he snapped. "Just… be quiet a minute, can you?" He paced down the hallway. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch anything you said after you told me she was transferred to your unit because of her lungs filling up with fluid."

"Yes, sir," Cara replied calmly. "We are treating her with diuretics to try and offload some of that fluid accumulation, and she is on a ventilator to make sure her body is getting enough oxygen." Bucky felt like all the air had left his own lungs. He sagged against the wall.

"Is she conscious?" he asked shakily.

"Not at the moment," Cara informed him. "It's our protocol to sedate patients while they are on a vent." He closed his eyes. She would hate that, being trapped in her own head and unable to block out anything around her.

"Can I… can I come see her?" he asked next.

"She is still in isolation," Cara reminded him. "I'm afraid visiting is prohibited." Bucky took the phone from his ear and glared at it. After a moment, he put the phone back to his ear.

"So, just so I understand you," he responded, making an effort to keep his tone even, "my wife's condition has deteriorated overnight to the point of needing to be on a respirator, but I still can't come see her?"

"That is what isolation means," Cara replied, but he could hear a note of sympathy in her voice. "But we aren't heartless. I will discuss it with my supervisor. With the proper precautions in place, you could come in for a brief visit. I have your number on file. Why don't I give you a call back once I've figured out how you can see her?"

"Okay," he took in a shaky breath. "Thank you for the update." He ended the call and realized that the noise in the background he had been trying to tune out was Brooklyn crying. "Shit." Her legs and butt were hanging out of the pots and pans cupboard, her upper half buried inside.

"Daddy, I'm stuck!" she wailed. Kneeling behind her, he carefully extricated her. She howled and flung one arm around his neck as soon as she was free, rubbing her head with the other hand. "Daddy, I hurt my head!"

"I'm sorry, Babydoll," he said sympathetically, kissing her on the head where she had been rubbing. "Do you need an ice pack?" She sniffled, then shook her head.

"It feels better," she told him. She sniffed once more, then leaned back to look at him, her face brightening. "Can we make pancakes now?"


Two hours later, with the twins fed and dressed, the kitchen reasonably cleaned up and the animals tended to, Bucky knocked on the door to the Bartons' apartment. Laura opened the door, looking slightly annoyed. As soon as she saw Bucky, her expression brightened, then shifted to concern.

"Bucky, is everything okay?" she asked.

"Can you watch them for a couple hours?" He gestured to the twins. "Nyssa's in critical care." Laura winced sympathetically.

"Sure, yeah. Don't worry about them," she agreed.

"But Daddy, I wanna go with you," Jameson protested. "I wanna see Mommy."

"Me, too!" Brooklyn chimed in. Bucky crouched down to their level.

"I know you do," he said, putting his arms around them. "But what Mommy is sick with, other people can catch, so the hospital has very strict rules about who can be near her. I'm lucky they're letting me visit. You just play with Gracie and Nate, and I'll be back to get you before lunch. Okay?"

"Saoirse will be here later, too," Laura mentioned brightly. Bucky frowned at her slightly.

"Where's Steve going?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Contract negotiations," she reminded him.

"Ah," Bucky responded, the word barely more than an exhaled breath. With everything going on with Nyssa, the other things had slipped his mind. He should be going to that, too.

"If you want to go to that, too, I can keep the twins here," Laura offered. Bucky took a deep breath.

"We'll see how I feel after the hospital," he hedged. Laura nodded understanding.


The protective gear they insisted he wear took several minutes to don, and they told him to keep the visit less than ten. He was covered head to toe, the protective suit topped with a cloth helmet with a clear plastic visor. He finally stepped through both sets of doors into his wife's hospital room. She lay still and small in the bed, looking pale fragile surrounded by machines, a massive tube going down her throat, motionless except for the rise and fall of her chest, each breath accompanied by a mechanical hiss. His vision blurred, but the protective gear kept him from wiping his tears away. He moved closer to the bed, taking in all the lines, wires, sensors and tubes going into and coming from her body. Most of the time, he was amazed by and thankful for how much modern medicine had advanced in the last century, but right now he loathed it with a passion. He wrapped his gloved hand around the limp one on top of the blanket, but could feel nothing other than that it was cold.

"This wasn't how this was supposed to go," he whispered, not trusting his full voice. "You're supposed to be getting better, not worse." She didn't stir; gave no outward sign that she had heard him. He looked down at their linked hands, resenting the layers of cloth that separated them. "You're supposed to get better so I can bring you back home with me. The kids miss you. Darshan misses you. I think even Balaur misses you. And I miss you. God, do I ever miss you." He took a deep breath. He wasn't sure she was awake enough to hear anything he was saying, but on the off chance she was, he wasn't about to stop. "I miss your smile, and your laugh. I miss your touch. I miss your sense of humor, and your enormous, loving heart. I miss… I just miss you. I miss my wife." His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reign in the emotions flooding over him. "I don't know when things changed between us. When we drifted apart, or how. I just want you home again. And even if you never do anything for the rest of your life other than sit in a rocking chair, growing old with me, you could never be useless." With everything she had accomplished in her life, he was flabbergasted that she could associate that word with herself. "I love you, no matter what."


He returned to Avenger's Tower in a fugue. He desperately wanted to believe that Nyssa would get better soon, and life would return to normal, but the realist inside him had to plan for every contingency. It also made him admit that things didn't look very optimistic at the moment. He was barely aware of his surroundings as he crossed the familiar lobby, heading to the elevator. Before he was halfway there, however, lights began flashing, and a set of walls sprang up around him, trapping him inside a space the size of a broom closet.

"What the hell?" he yelped.

"Sorry, Barnes." Tony's voice over the intercom didn't sound very sorry. "Got to keep you from tracking any viruses home. We have a new decontamination protocol."

"Seriously, Tony?" Bucky spluttered in exasperation. "I took precautions. I'm no more contaminated now than when I left."

"Can't take any chances," Tony replied. "Now, hold still. This won't hurt. I don't think." The inside of the booth suddenly lit up with blue and green lights so bright that Bucky was forced to close his eyes. He could feel his skin prickling and itching as it grew hotter and hotter in the tiny space. He felt a brief burning sensation traveling across his skin like scorched lightning and didn't bother suppressing the profanity that burst from him. The fiery sensation stopped abruptly, and the lights went out, plunging him in darkness. Slowly, the walls trapping him slowly lowered, retracting into the floor. Tony Stark was standing several meters away, digital tablet controller in hand. Bucky glared at him.

"Thought you said that wasn't supposed to hurt," he spat. The sensation had been extremely unpleasant, but was already fading into a memory, leaving behind no trace on his skin. Tony looked mildly surprised.

"Oh, did it? Well, it's still in the beta testing phase. I'll get those bugs worked out." He tapped on the screen of the controller a few times. "I just can't have exotic viruses tearing through everyone on the team. You understand." Some of the rage ebbed out of Bucky as he imagined his family and friends as sick as Nyssa. Tony didn't stop to commiserate, however, instead heading back towards the elevator. Bucky followed. He pushed the button that would deliver him safely home. "By the way, Fury wants to see you." Tony didn't even glance up from the tablet as he delivered the message. Taking a deep breath, Bucky pressed the button that would take him to see Fury.


Nick Fury was sitting behind the desk in his Avengers Tower office. His feet were crossed and propped on the desk as Bucky paused in the doorway. He tapped tentatively on the door, unsure whether Fury was aware that he was there. Fury waved him in, his attention trained on the television screen in the corner. As Bucky walked in, Fury pointed a remote at the screen. The images on it froze.

"Barnes, you ever watch these celebrity gossip shows?" Fury asked. Bucky couldn't suppress a grimace.

"I try not to, sir," he said sourly. He had seen a handful. Since the Avengers were relatively high-profile, they did end up in the gossip rags and those shows on occasion, but it was hardly ever flattering. He had decided early on that his two options were to pay attention to it and get upset, or ignore it. He usually chose the latter.

"Maybe you should," Fury speculated. He pressed play on the remote. Bucky winced as the blurry images resolved into a recording of his altercation with the reporter in the parking garage last night. Sinking down into a chair, he covered his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers to see himself lose his temper. The camera kept rolling right up until it got a close-up of Bucky's metal hand sailing towards the lens. It ended with a blur of shaky motion. Fury pressed pause with a chuckle. "I could watch that all day." Bucky glanced at him in disbelief.

"Sir?" He wasn't completely certain whether he was in trouble or not. Fury pointed at the screen, taking his feet down.

"That reporter is Ainslie Hamilton," he explained. Bucky looked at him blankly. Fury leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk before him. "She works for SHN, that channel that calls itself the Superhero Network." Bucky nodded. That, he was familiar with. Despite the name, that network was not a fan of the Avengers or their work. Instead, they put considerable effort into questioning everything the Avengers did, and putting them in the worst light possible. "Ms. Hamilton has been busting my chops for the past two years, targeting us with skewed stories. It's kinda nice to see someone calling her on her bullshit." Fury cocked his head to the side, focusing his one-eyed gaze on Bucky for the first time since he had entered the room. "Doesn't do much for our image, though." His visage was severe, and Bucky cringed inwardly, though his face remained expressionless. "I have been instructed by the United Nations to make sure you are appropriately chastised for that little display." Bucky dropped his gaze to his hands, folded in his lap.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly. He glanced up at Fury, whose expression hadn't softened.

"Consider yourself reprimanded," Fury instructed. He sat back in his chair. "And if there is a bonus that shows up on your next paycheck, it most certainly has nothing to do with this little incident. Understood?" Bucky's eyes widened.

"Yes, sir." Now Fury's face did relax, softening into something almost fatherly, though technically Bucky was several decades older.

"Look, Barnes, I understand you're under a lot of stress right now." His tone was not unkind. "How is Dr. Taylor doing?" Bucky looked away.

"I'd rather not discuss..." he forced out. He couldn't even finish the sentence, couldn't bring himself to say out loud what he feared; that he might be facing the worst possible outcome. Fury nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Fury replied sincerely. "She's an extraordinary woman. I hope she recovers." Bucky nodded automatically, numbly, staring off into space. "Unfortunately, I have some more bad news for you." He looked back at Fury warily. "You're not going to be able to go see her again," Fury said flatly. "The Tower is going on lockdown. Quarantine. Everyone here has likely been exposed since her return. Including me. So make yourself comfortable. Nobody is going anywhere for a while, until we determine if anyone is developing symptoms. Stark is working on new decontamination procedures for anyone who has to come in the building." Bucky snorted.

"Yeah, I ran into those already," he said sourly. "Still need some work." He shifted his weight in his seat. "How long are we going to be on quarantine?" Fury shook his head.

"The CDC is running the show on that. A minimum of a week, to start. Longer if any of us start showing symptoms." He folded his arms over his chest. "A little bird told me you've already tested positive." Bucky nodded, then shrugged.

"I've been exposed," he acknowledged. "I haven't had so much as a cold since they gave me the serum, so I don't think I'll get sick." Fury didn't seem impressed.

"So you're a carrier," he observed. Bucky glanced down and nodded begrudgingly. Fury sighed. "Then you're on house arrest. I won't presume to tell you what to do with your children, but you're not to come within six feet of anyone else. Understand?" Bucky nodded, sliding his chair back and giving Fury more space. Fury raised his eyebrows at him. "Good. Now, before you go. I have some reading material for you." Fury reached into a drawer and pulled out a stack of paper. He set in on the desk and pushed it towards the other side. Bucky frowned and picked up the stack of papers.

"What's this?" he asked, scanning through the first page. It all looked very technical.

"Your negotiated contract," Fury informed him. Bucky glanced up at him in startled confusion. "I negotiated on your behalf. Review it, and if you're satisfied, sign it. Then… maybe just mail it in." Bucky sighed.

"Yes, sir." Picking up his contract, he stood. "Thank you, sir."

"Great. Now get out of here." Fury waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "You're contaminating my office."


"Daddy, Daddy, watch me! Daddy, watch what I can do!" Bucky felt his face and gut tighten with annoyance. He turned silently and watched Brooklyn press her hands to one wall of the hallway, while she pushed her feet on the other wall. Slowly, she worked her way up the hallway wall until her back was pressed against ceiling. Bucky sighed.

"Just remember how I told you to fall so you don't hurt yourself when you hit the floor," he reminded her, then turned his attention back to cleaning up the supper dishes. Brooklyn's trick had been impressive the first dozen or so times she had done it, but she was going on nearly a hundred times at this point. He loved his children dearly, but after being cooped up with them with no respite for nearly two weeks, even the repetitive calling of his name set his teeth on edge. He hadn't seen an adult in person since his meeting with Fury. He still hadn't had so much as a tickle in his throat. Brooklyn and Jameson had developed symptoms a couple days after Nyssa was hospitalized. There had been about 48 hours when both children had been lethargic and feverish with a cough, and Bucky had done what he could to make them comfortable. They appeared to have fully recovered at this point. The twins were climbing the walls – literally, in Brooklyn's case – and there were times Bucky was almost starting to wish for the blissful oblivion of cryosleep. The news had nothing encouraging, either, with death reports and warnings to avoid going to public places. Nyssa had not been the first to bring the virus into the country, or even into New York City, but she was still one of the highest-profile victims. He was constantly getting requests for interviews or questions about Nyssa's condition. He had responded to the first few requests with a polite refusal, then a not-so-polite rejection, and now was just ignoring his phone. The highlight of his day was something he both anticipated and dreaded: a daily call to the hospital for an update on Nyssa's condition. The worst-case scenarios that had played out in the darkest places of his imagination had not come to pass, but neither had she made a miraculous, instant recovery. They had treated her with immunoglobulin infusions, antivirals, steroids. They had placed something called a central line – something he had had to give consent for over the phone – to give her nutrition directly into her bloodstream. That morning's report had been the most optimistic thus far: they were going to try to wean her from the ventilator and see if her lungs had recovered enough to breathe on her own. The nurse had promised to call him with an update, but he hadn't heard anything from the hospital since then.

"Daddy, what if butterflies were so big, they could pick up a person and fly away with them?" Jameson was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, one of his animal books open in his lap. Bucky paused and considered his son's question.

"Maybe we would have to ask them to join the Avengers," he replied humorously. Jamie nodded seriously.

"I wish I could fly," he sighed, looking back down at the illustrations. Bucky shook his head.

"I don't," he countered. Jameson gave him a quizzical look.

"Why not?" he asked. Bucky shrugged. Down the hallway, there was a loud thud as Brooklyn tumbled to the floor. Bucky glanced in her direction with concern, but she popped back up off the floor and immediately began clambering the walls again.

"I'm okay!" she announced, then grunted in exertion. Bucky half-grinned and returned his full attention to his son.

"I don't see any need to be that high. I'll leave that to Iron Man and Falcon," he replied evenly.

"But if you were a butterfly, you'd have huge, beautiful wings," Jameson argued, holding up his book to show Bucky the brightly colored insects. Bucky shook his head.

"Nah, I'll stick with black." A knock sounded at the front door, and Bucky's head swiveled that way with a frown. To say he wasn't expecting anyone was an understatement. Darshan whuffed suspiciously and trotted towards the door, regarding the entrance with his ice-blue eyes. Bucky opened the door to find an empty hallway. Frowning, he stepped into the hallway and looked from side to side, but nobody was there. He glanced down and noticed a brown paper bag sitting on the carpet in front of his door. He nudged it with his toe, but it didn't explode. Darshan sniffed at it, then turned his back on it and sauntered back towards the kitchen. Bucky picked it up, reassured it wasn't anything lethal. Inside, he found a headset with a sticky note attached. Avengers Reassembled, 2030 was written on the note in Sam's neat handwriting.

"What's that, Daddy?" Jameson asked with interest. A slow smile spread across Bucky's face as he regarded the slip of paper.

"It's an invitation," he replied.


It was almost quarter to nine by the time he finally got both twins to sleep, growing ever more impatient as the minutes ticked by. Brooklyn finally fell asleep, and he nearly sprinted back to the living room. Slipping on the headset, he signed into the network and started up the game. Avengers Reassembled was the name of the game that Double Helix had released. Immediately, an invitation to join a game in progress popped up on his screen. He pressed the button to accept.

"Oho, look who finally decided to join us." Sam's voice over the headset was teasing. "I was starting to wonder if you were thinking you were too good for us after all."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Wilson," Bucky replied, though he didn't bother to suppress the grin that spread across his face. "Had trouble getting the kids down. If you're lucky, someday you'll know what that's like."

"Oooh, them's fighting words right there." Scott's voice over the line took Bucky by surprise.

"You're here, too, Lang?" Bucky asked with a chuckle of disbelief.

"We were surprised, too," Tony interjected. "We thought he was going to be later than you."

"We're all here," Natasha's voice replied. From her tone, he could imagine her expression, with half a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. "So, are we going on this mission, or not?"

"Let's do it," Bucky said eagerly. "What's the scenario?"

"Nah, wait. First off, who are you playing as?" Sam countered challengingly. "Yourself?"

"Well, I ain't playing as you, Flyboy," Bucky countered. He heard a few snickers and a familiar chuckle over his headset.

"Hey, Buck." Steve's tenor sounded somewhat hesitant. "We're aiming to keep it light tonight, but I do have one favor to ask."

"Shoot," Bucky replied immediately.

"Can you give Phi an update when you can? She's worried sick about Nyssa, and the hospital won't tell her anything other than she isn't allowed to visit." There was a loud chorus of groans and protests from the headset.

"Jesus Christ, Rogers. We had one rule, and you broke it already," Tony said rebukingly.

"I know, I know," Steve said unrepentantly. "I just don't know how much it helps to ignore the elephant in the room. We all miss her, worry about her and want her to be well enough to come home." Bucky sighed. He had requested that no information be given to anyone but him, especially after his run-in with Miss Hamilton and her cameraman. It gave him a pang to hear Nyssa mentioned, but it wasn't like she wasn't always on his mind already. Having the support and sympathy of the others – silent or otherwise – did help to ease the ever-present ache of her absence.

"Yeah, I'll give Seraphina a call," he promised. "Now, what's the mission?"


He stayed up until the wee hours of the night. Running virtual missions in a game with his friends and teammates wasn't quite the same as doing it in real life, but it was a fair approximation. It had felt good to reconnect. Even being awakened by Jameson climbing into bed to snuggle with him at four in the morning only brought a smile to his face. He pulled the boy in close and went back to sleep.

"Daddy, when will Mommy be home?" Brooklyn asked at breakfast the next morning. It had become a daily question. Bucky sighed.

"I promise, I will tell you as soon as I know," he replied, just as he had every morning. "She's still too sick to come home right now." The daily update from the hospital had been less than reassuring. She hadn't tolerated being off the ventilator for long. Some of her lab numbers had improved, and they were going to try again today. Or something like that. He had already called Seraphina to apprise her of Nyssa's progress, and let her know he gave permission for the hospital to update her directly.

It was becoming a challenge to find diversionary activities. They couldn't leave the tower, and for the time being were even forbidden from using the Virtual Reality suite. They painted pictures and did puzzles for about an hour while Bucky made sure the kitchen was up to military spec. Brooklyn begged him to let her braid his hair. He sat down on the floor in front of the couch and let her tug on his locks for awhile. She was still very much a beginner, so the result was a series of sloppy twists starting over his left eyebrow and weaving cross-wise across his head, but it kept her occupied and happy for a few minutes, at least. Jameson took advantage of Bucky being unable to move and requested they paint each other's nails. His son chose a sparkly purple polish for his own nails, and Bucky carefully applied it to Jamie's tiny fingernails. Jamie then chose a bold red polish for Bucky, who sighed inwardly but held still while his son painted his nails – and a generous portion of his fingertips – crimson.

"There!" Brooklyn announced, tugging harshly one last time on Bucky's hair. "All done!"

"You look so pretty, Daddy!" Jameson informed him. Bucky smiled, feeling some of his annoyance melt away. Brooklyn began bouncing on the couch.

"Can we watch a movie, Daddy?" she asked. Bucky grinned.

"Sure. You pick the movie, and then I'll go make us popcorn," he promised. They had watched every animated movie available to them multiple times already, but Bucky didn't mind having the break. Animated movies had come a long way since he had first seen one, anyway. The twins settled on the couch and snuggled into one another.

Bucky was halfway through making the second bag of popcorn when there was a knock at the door. Bucky turned and gave it a quizzical look. Darshan whuffed from the living room and trotted over to the door. Bucky signaled him to sit and wait, and the dog obediently did. He opened the door to see Laura standing there with a hopeful smile and a casserole dish.

"Bucky, hi!" she said cheerfully. He frowned.

"Laura, what are you doing here?" he asked. "I'm a carrier. We're all still supposed to be under quarantine."

"Oh, I know," she said breezily. "But it's already run through my household. Lila and Nate were sick all last week. I had a cough, sore throat and fever on Monday, but it seems to have run its course. Now we're all feeling better, but we still can't leave that tiny little cracker box apartment. So, nothing much to do besides clean and cook." She hefted the casserole dish significantly. "I made some extra for you, since you're alone with your kiddos. Ah… can I come in?" He wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea, but Bucky stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. As she went by him, he caught the faint trace of ginger and coconut again, a scent he was starting to associate with her. Darshan whuffed suspiciously as she passed by him, but didn't move. Bucky hadn't given him permission. "You've always been so kind to me, and to my family," she continued, setting the dish down on the counter. "Especially since Clint…" She hesitated, then continued. "Anyway, it's the kind of thing my mother raised me to do. When people are sick, you cook for them, or for their family. Anything we can do to help. Makes life a little bit easier."

"So you just came to drop off food?" Bucky asked skeptically. Laura turned to face him, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"I mean, it's also nice to get out of the apartment," she admitted. "See another adult who isn't related to me." She glanced away, then back at him. "It's good to see you, Bucky. I'm glad you're doing okay." He softened.

"Yeah, we're hanging in there." He glanced towards the living room, where he could still hear the movie playing. Twin giggles told him the children were still distracted and entertained by the film. Laura's gaze traveled up to his hairline, her lips curving into an amused smirk.

"Are you… experimenting with some different hairstyles while you're on quarantine?" she asked teasingly. Bucky raised an embarrassed hand to his head, where he could still feel the bumps and snarls of Brooklyn's handiwork.

"Errr… the kids wanted to play beauty shop," he explained, flashing his brightly painted fingertips. Laura chuckled.

"You're so good with them," she remarked. "They're lucky to have such an attentive father." She was standing very close to him now, and he was acutely aware of her proximity. That, combined with the scent of her was making him slightly dizzy. It had been nearly two weeks since he had been this close to a woman, and much longer than that since anyone had looked at him the way she was looking at him right now. She reached out and touched his right arm, her fingers grazing the curve of his bicep just above the elbow. "You're a good man, Bucky. Any woman would be lucky… to have your time and attention." Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she swayed closer as her hand traveled up his arm to his shoulder. His hand caught the curve of her hip. Her lips floated tantalizingly close to his. He leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. She was soft, warm and willing in his arms, eagerly kissing him back. Hot desire traced a coil through him, but cooled slightly as it collided with the cold knot in the pit of his stomach. He broke the kiss off, though his eyes remained closed.

"Wow," Laura whispered faintly. He felt her fingertips trace along his cheek. "I never dared hope you felt…" Her voice trailed off as he shook his head abruptly.

"What are we doing?" he asked roughly, opening his eyes to look at her.

"Perhaps offering some comfort," she suggested, boldly meeting his gaze. "We've both been through a lot lately. And I know we're both lonely." Bucky frowned.

"I love my wife," he replied archly. In the moment, he wasn't entirely certain whether he was reminding her or himself.

"And I loved my husband," she shot back, her voice an angry whisper. "That doesn't mean we can't have… feelings for other people."

"I think you should leave," Bucky said flatly. "You shouldn't have come to begin with." Laura looked like she wanted to argue, the pink in her cheeks deepening to crimson.

"You wanted that kiss just as much as I did," she accused. Bucky silently crossed the room and opened the door. He stood and waited, not looking at her. With a sigh, she left, and he closed the door behind her. He stayed in the kitchen a few minutes longer to compose himself. His insides were churning with a maelstrom of unabated desire, frustration, guilt and anger. The anger was partially directed at Laura for tempting him, but mostly towards himself for his moment of weakness. He got a drink of cold water and downed it in one draught. Then he grabbed the bag of popcorn from the microwave and tore it open savagely, dumping it into the bowl. Turning to carry it to the living room, he paused. Darshan was still sitting at attention watching him, pale blue eyes striking against his dark coat.

"What are you looking at?" Bucky snapped. "Go lay down." Released from his sit command, Darshan obediently stood up and trotted off in the direction of his bed.


By the time Bucky had finished the bedtime routine and the twins were asleep, he was still chewing over what had happened in the kitchen. He sat down on the couch and started flipping through channels, looking for something to distract him from the events of the day. He had surfed through all 250 channels twice, finding nothing appealing, when the communications console began to chime. Bucky went to answer it. His heart leapt as he realized the incoming call was from Nyssa. He pulled a chair up to the station and accepted the call. The call screen transformed into an image of his wife. Her face was pale and greyish, with deep shadows around her eyes, and she was curled up on her side in her hospital bed, her digital interface blinking from behind her ear. A wan smile spread across her face.

"Hi," she croaked, her voice weak and hoarse. "I'm awake. I'm alive. I'm breathing on my own."

"Hey," Bucky replied, leaning closer to the camera on the console. "I'm so glad. Did they say when you can come home?" Nyssa's head wobbled slightly, side to side.

"Not yet," she said ruefully. "They say I'm not out of the woods yet. And I'm going to have to work with physical therapy to get my strength back. But at least I'm conscious." Bucky nodded, grinning. It was the best news he'd had in weeks.

"The twins will be glad to hear that," he assured her. "They're in bed now, but they've been asking about you every day. They miss you. We all do."

"Give them extra kisses for me," Nyssa requested. "Tell them I will work as hard as I can to get strong enough to come home." Bucky nodded.

"I will," he promised. Nyssa's forehead crinkled in concentration.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold focus for this," she admitted, touching the widget behind her ear. "I just wanted to see you again. I wanted to hear your voice. I love you."

"I love you, too, Nyssa," he returned. Her wan smile widened. The picture fuzzed, then the screen went dark. Bucky sat back in the chair with a sigh, then stood up with new resolve. There was only one solution to this situation he had gotten himself into. He would have to make it clear to Laura that what happened between them could never happen again, and there could never be anything between them. The larger problem would be how to keep Nyssa from finding out about it.


Thanks to DarylDixon'sLover, LadyAmazon, SomebodyWhoCares, karina001 and Qweb for reading and reviewing! I will admit that part of this has been working though my anxiety over the pandemic. I'm a nurse, so I'm right in the thick of it. However, I promise, promise, promise that we'll move on from it next chapter. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Everyone stay safe and stay healthy out there!