Steve and Bucky wait, one sitting and tapping out a nervous rhythm with his shoe, the other pacing – quick, slow, quick, slow – as his mind continues to whir. He turns, corner of his lip pinched tightly between his teeth, and he catches Steve's light blue eyes wholly trained on him.
"You gonna keep staring at me forever?" he asks with an amused brow cocked. "Wanna take a picture?"
"All I've had is pictures," he deadpans, ducking his head a bit bashfully. "Sorry. It's just…"
"Yeah," Bucky capitulates, halting his pace to pivot out of the way of a rushed nurse. He rocks back on his heels and leans into the wall opposite Steve, gives his friend a wistful sort of smile. "Five years, huh?" He shakes his head, still unable to grasp the monumental shift in his reality.
"Yeah," Steve mutters blandly.
A moment more of silence flows between them. Though, silence isn't quite right, the halls echoing with sheer chaos around them. It's a bit startling for them both, Bucky's world for the past two years or so – well, not including the five that he simply didn't exist for – being spent predominantly on a farm, nothing but quiet acreage and goats surrounding him. And Steve… he'd gotten so used to the utter lack of people everywhere that being in the middle of so many now – and sensing the confused and terrified rush of them all – has him more on edge than he was even in the midst of the battle.
"Man," he hears, a staggered utterance in a voice so damn familiar, so damn missed, as Sam strides over with a cardboard tray filled with coffees. Steve watches with a grin as he passes one off to Bucky before flopping heavily down into the chair beside him. "This place is nuts. Don't think I've ever seen this many people in one hospital at a time before. Though, I guess that's a good thing right about now. Sort of."
Steve shrugs. "Haven't really seen this many people period. Not in a long time." Sam turns and shoots him a tender, soothing grin. And he sighs in response, feeling his shoulders droop just a bit. "People are… probably just losing it a little bit… right now."
"Tell me about it," he intones with wide eyes. He takes a sip of steamy coffee and goes on to say, "I'm glad we ditched the tac gear before coming here. Not sure how much more that might freak people out." He looks up at Bucky, notes the concerned scowl on his face as he stares down at the cup in his hand. "Still no word?"
He shakes his head, but says nothing, leaving it to Steve to be the ever-enduring bearer of positive thoughts. "She'll be fine," he tells them both. "She's been through a hell of a lot worse."
Sam sees Bucky's jaw clench at that, the muscle rippling along his cheek and up to his temple. And he clears his throat just to clear the sudden thickness in the air. He turns to Steve, leaning over the spindly wooden chair arm between them. "So… how's it feel?"
Steve's brows twist together in confusion.
Sam chuckles lightly. "For once, you're not the man out of time. Waking up after… years. Looks like you get to be the one to give everyone else the low down on what's changed." A sly smile rolls over his face. "Just the key points. Did Beyonce make it through? She release any new stuff? How 'bout Swifty Pants?"
Steve laughs, low and sincere, a rush of warmth billowing in his chest. "Hasn't really been a lot of new music," he says with a grin. "Or… well, I never really kept up with new stuff before anyway, so…"
"What about you?" he asks, bumping his shoulder into his friend's. "What have you been up to?"
"Well, actually, I've been running a support group. Down at the community center. Just a few nights a week." He gives a small shrug. "Took a page from your book, I guess."
The corner of Sam's mouth ticks up, crooked smile forming and very nearly cracking into a wide, proud grin. Then a rush of nervous aides – one in tears, the others all wild eyed and harried – blows past them, and just like that, the gentle expression vanishes as he's brought swiftly back to reality. This new, only barely familiar reality. He looks down at his coffee and offers a solemn nod. "I bet people really needed it."
"Yeah," he breathes out. "Yeah, I mean, I wish I could do more. I could do more, really. But with Ava – " He stops himself short, sidelong glance ticking up to see Bucky, catching him stiffen, his expression setting as his breath seems to still.
"Ava, huh?" Sam says amid a low, suggestive whistle. "Well, well, well… do tell us more about this Ava."
He ducks his head, eyes shining brightly, small grin rising unbidden. "Well… she's one of the most amazing people I've ever known." He settles back into his chair, brows tugging together as he reaches into his back pocket, only just now thinking about his phone that typically resides there. "She's smart. And funny. And…" He pulls out the phone, frowning when he sees that the screen's cracked, but quickly shaking off the disappointment, realizing it probably would've been completely destroyed had it been anything less than Stark tech. He powers it on, swiping quickly past the precious screensaver in search of a more recent photo. "Did I mention smart? She's too damn smart. And stubborn."
"And cute?" Sam asks, positively squirming in his seat as he watches Steve flick rapidly through the camera roll.
He nods. "She's beautiful. Dark, curly hair. Big, blue eyes." He stills on an image from just about a week ago, a toothy grin offered as Ava's head pops up from over the lip of a giant picture book. He tilts the phone so Sam can see, wide, almost goofy smile painting his face as he does so.
Sam looks, brows furrowing for a moment as he susses it all out. But it's plain to see who this kid is. Who's kid this is. He glances up at a terribly nervous-looking Bucky, shifting his weight foot to foot across from them, notes the same blue eyes reflected on the screen in front of him. The same chin, complete with tiny dimple. Same smile even, though he's not getting that from the anxious man before him right now. "Ava," he breathes out, a realization buried within the knowing tone.
Steve nods. "Ava Grace Barnes." And he shifts towards Bucky, holding the phone out at arm's length.
He hesitates – almost painfully – to reach for it, unsure if he should. Unsure if he can. His brain begins to slowly turn once again, having stuttered to a stop the moment he heard her name uttered. And a sudden awful chill rockets up his spine at being offered a look at the little girl – his little girl – through the cracked screen of another man's phone.
For the first time since returning… since coming back to life and stepping through a wizard's portal… since fighting, once again, for the lives of the people he loves, as well as the ones he's never met… since standing idly by and watching as Steve filled out the paperwork for his wife's admission to this hospital, the feel of her cold, clammy hand still ghosting along his fingers… for the first time since all of this bullshit began, he actually feels scared. Petrified. So frozen in fear that it takes all of his strength just to unfurl his arms from around his chest and reach a single hand out to accept the gift being offered.
The moment his eyes land on her – dark curls pulled into drooping pigtails, giant grin shining in a self-satisfied manner – he feels his stomach clench and his chest ache. She's… well, she's beautiful. Right there in front of him, outlined on a tiny, cracked screen is a reflection of him. And Tessa. A mix of her wild hair and gently sloping nose, long fingers curled around the cover of a book. And his bright blue eyes, dimpled chin… the carefree smile he knows he once had, long, long ago. She's a perfect mix. She's… perfect.
The screen goes dark, phone shifting to sleep, and Bucky blinks, swallows thickly, and thrusts the cell back at his friend. "Do you," Steve starts, the worry line between his brows caving as he watches the agitated man before him shuffle back against the wall. "Do you want to see more?"
Bucky folds in on himself, shoulders pulling forward as he once again wraps his arms tightly over his center. His gaze scrapes along the floor, the pattern of the worn tile beneath his feet indiscernible through a newfound sheen of tears. Through a haze of untold regret.
"Buck?" Steve prompts from across the way, concern clear in his tone.
But before either of them can say anything more, before Bucky's forced to look up into Steve's worried stare and breathe out words he can't even bear to form in his mind, the doctor finally returns with news.
000
She doesn't hear the young woman shifting beside her, awkwardly trying to get comfortable in the impossibly uncomfortable wooden hospital chair. But as her senses slowly waken – that part so inherently Tessa, pulling, searching, seeking familiar energy in this peculiar place – she feels her.
She feels Wanda.
Her eyes snap open, the events of the past days, weeks, months… years spinning back to her in a whirlwind of unfathomable memories and unanswered questions. She jolts in the bed, a pounding playing in her head as she turns – winces slightly – and locks onto those big, beautiful eyes that she hasn't seen in so damn long.
A wide, unabashed smile pulls across Wanda's face as she rises from her seat and lurches forward to gather Tessa in her arms. Tears spill down her cheeks as a light and melodic laugh burbles out of her, followed quickly by a gentle chastisement – "Don't hurt yourself!" – as she leans forward to keep the desperately clinging woman from falling out of the hospital bed.
Tessa nods into her, her own eyes filling with tears as well. Her fingers dig into Wanda's shoulders, gripping with glee. With despair. "You're here," she mutters finally, pulling back and sitting on her haunches so she can gaze up at her long-lost friend. She releases one hand, moving it to run her fingers languidly through the long, thick red hair before her. "You're here," she repeats simply, hiccupping out a bright and airy laugh.
Wanda nods and pets down Tessa's untamed curls, twists a chunk of the hair back behind her ear as she offers a solemn yet smiling stare. "I'm here."
Heavy footfalls sound in their periphery – thick and purposeful, put on to keep from sneaking up on anyone. "Hey, Wanda," blows in through the open doorway, an achingly familiar voice that had been steadily fading, the deep tenor waning, from Tessa's consciousness like a record played too many times. "I got couldn't find a latte, so I just dumped a bunch of milk in…"
A breath catches in her chest when she sees him, an odd strangled sound pulling from somewhere deep within when Wanda slowly steps aside to reveal her husband. Here. Alive. Wearing the red Henley that Steve had helped her pack away all those years ago… the same one she'd worn until his scent had left it completely, forcing her to fold it up along with all his other things – as though he'd someday still need them – amid yet another tear-filled goodbye.
He takes a slow, almost nervous step forward, smile splitting his face and crinkling the edges of his eyes as he reaches out to deposit the two coffee cups onto the table near the foot of her bed, not even registering Wanda's quick swipe of one as she ducks from the room. "Hi," he says, an almost sheepish note to his voice.
Tessa pulls in another – admittedly shaky – breath and feels her muscles tense, nerve endings fire. Her frozen body comes back to life in an instant and she flings herself wholly forward, tumbling from the corner of the bed in an odd and awkward leap, flying straight into his strong and waiting arms.
He lets out a short, "Oomph," as her chest collides with his, laughs deeply – a rumble she can feel move easily from him and into her – as he catches her, holds her tight, hikes her a little higher to get a better grip. He buries his head in the crook of her neck and breathes her in, grins wildly at the almost maniacal grip she has on him – arms about his neck, legs about his hips. "You feel good," he mutters into her soft, cool skin as her thighs tighten around his middle, her arms constricting around him so that it's almost hard to breathe. Another soft chuckle billows out of him and the sound alone is almost enough to break her. "You're strong," he says, running his vibranium arm beneath her for more support. He pulls away just a bit, just enough for her to see that beautiful, teasing smile. Those brilliant bright blue eyes. "You been chucking haybales in the city?"
Without thinking, she sputters out, "Been carrying around a 4 year old," in a joyous, tear-filled voice.
His muscles tense, breath stilling for a moment as something in his gaze shifts, softens. His lips pinch together into a tight, fond grin.
Her face falls, the sudden realization hitting that she doesn't fully know what happened, doesn't entirely remember the end of the battle… nor how far it stretched, how long, how… "Is she okay?" she asks, the heart monitor at her bedside rising swiftly in tempo. Her eyes tick over to it, trace along the wires – and the thick IV pulling at her arm – that she hadn't even realized were connected to her.
Bucky takes a large step towards the bed and sets her atop it, her legs and arms loosening just a bit as he settles her back, reaches up with cold vibranium fingers to sweep the hair from her face. "She's fine," he tells her with a soft smile. "She's still at Stark's. Steve went to go pick her up."
Stark. Yes that's right, they had left her with Pepper. And… Stark. "Oh God," she breathes out, eyes blowing wide. "Tony… is Tony…?"
He nods, same tender, soothing smile playing on his lips. "He's fine, baby. He's already at home. You're the one everyone's been worried about. Been out for a day and a half."
She breathes a long sigh of relief, her lids fluttering shut as her head drops to his shoulder. "Good," she mutters into him, her arms going slack and falling to merely drape at his center, still winding around him – don't let go – but the power bleeding from her grip.
"Good?" he asks with a small chortle. He tugs her close, shifts just enough to drop a lingering kiss into her hair. "I was worried. Hell of a stunt you pulled."
She wiggles closer to him, craving his warmth, noting just now how freezing she is, how drained she truly must've been. Her nose presses to his neck and she pulls in his scent, smiles to herself at the fact that the shirt he's wearing might be bathed in it yet again. And that she might be able to steal it back, wear it on her naked body, press him to her in ways she hasn't been able to do in five damn years. She opens her mouth to speak, a few soft mumbled words spilling out, almost unintelligibly. "Worry too much."
He hears her just fine, hears those same words she's issued out at him – sleepily while zonked out at the kitchen table after working herself to exhaustion, heatedly whilst in the very middle of one too damn many pointless fights, jokingly while poking fun at his abiding, heartfelt concern – too many times over the years. "I missed you," he breathes out into her, dropping a slew of kisses to her crown.
She pulls back, a look of utter shock cloaking her features. "You missed me? It's been… a day for you!" she metes out, actually giving him a small shove.
He laughs as he gazes down at her, his arms refusing to unwind from around her middle. "I guess that's fair," he admits, expression remaining light despite a sudden cloudiness rolling across his gray-blue eyes. She tries to open herself up enough to feel what he's feeling, to sense if the slight, sullen change is from the worry he just spoke of… or something else. But her powers still feel so depleted, the only energy she's able to gather being that stunning and familiar signature. James. Jamie.
She looks up at him with still-glassy eyes, can't seem to keep either the fatigue nor the tears of relief – of joy – at bay. "It's been five years," she murmurs plainly, never shifting from his deep, ocean gaze.
He nods slowly, solemnly, grin morphing into a subtle frown. "I know, baby." He blinks his eyes tightly shut and drops his forehead down to hers. "I'm sorry, doll. I'm so, so sorry."
Her eyes close too, the press of his skin against hers, the feel of his fingers kneading at her hips, the deep, low tenor of his voice… it's all that she needs. Her head shakes, just a bit, never wanting to lose the warm press of him. "No," she breathes out into the small space between them. "No."
His hands tighten on her hips, tugging her closer still. Fingertips sneak beneath the gaping fabric of her hospital gown to graze along the skin beneath. "I told you I'd never leave. I said…"
"No," she repeats, this time a bit louder.
"Everything you had to do… go through on your own…" A deep, sorrowful sigh spills out of him. "I can't… I'm just… so damn sorry."
She issues out a soft, "Shhh," the tender, placating sound being a practiced mother's trick. Even her touch – she realizes with an air of sudden mindfulness – is the same she uses with Ava, fingers softly winding into his hair, tips pressing and lightly scratching at his scalp. Was this something she'd done with him before? Something that started there and then became the way to calm their little girl? She can't remember. It all seems so long ago. "You're here now," she tells him, almost coos. "You came back."
He snorts out a laugh, eyes popping open and giving her a rather incredulous look as he pulls away to stare down at her. "You brought me back," he says, brow raised high. He brings his flesh hand up to the side of her face, thumb gently wiping away a nearly dried tear track before resting idly on her cheek. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkles once again, smile so bright it's almost blinding as he mutters plainly, "My hero."
She barks out a laugh and drops her hand from his hair, bringing it to his cheek in much the same way as he presses to her now. His thick stubble scratches into the flesh of her palm, so sweet and familiar and… wonderful. She makes a mental note to never again chide him for not shaving, never again ask him to change anything about this most perfect face before her now. "Five years," she muses again, tone wistful, almost dreamy.
"Still just as beautiful as the day we met," he mutters vaguely, fingers slowly tracing along her temple.
"Liar," she snorts out with an amused cadence.
He shakes his head just a bit before leaning into her wide open palm and twisting to press a long, lingering kiss into it. "I'd never lie to you."
"Li-ar," she overenunciates with a crooked grin. Her eyes narrow almost accusingly. "And you hated me when we first met."
He raises a terribly chiding eyebrow, hand finally falling from her face, dropping down to her thigh. "I have never hated you," he says with a no-argument intonation as he tugs the hospital gown down a bit to help cover her chilled skin.
Her smile starts to fade, his words piercing into her. The intense, honest declaration that he never has – and never would – hate her, causing her breath to catch as a slew of memories pours into her subconscious. Memories of the last few years. Memories of Steve… of his hands on her body, his fingers traversing her skin, gripping tight until bruises popped along her thighs and bottom, subtle marks they'd find later and laugh about. Memories of the two of them wound together in bed – in the bed that she had once shared with Bucky – his leg thrown haphazardly over her hip, her arm flung casually across his neck as they slept. Memories of Ava – Ava Grace Barnes – being rocked to sleep in Steve's strong arms, calmed by the soft, subtle coo of his voice that only ever broke past his lips for her. Memories of her wretched cries after waking from a nightmare or taking a little tumble – papa! – calling out for him.
"I love you," she says suddenly, the words rushed and fervid. "All along… I loved you. Every minute. I swear… I loved you."
His expression shifts and settles, takes on a somber cast to meet hers. "I know, baby. I know."
"I just…" She stops short, choking on the words, on the sentiment, on the heavy feeling of guilt coiling in her gut. "I never… I…"
He pets down her hair, his warm palm back at her cheek as he now issues out the soft and trailing, "Shhh." Her eyes close and a deep, penetrating tremble pulls from her core, emanating out to cause her whole body to shake and gooseflesh to burn at her skin. "Hey," he mutters, tone low and tender. "Hey, why don't you lie back down?"
He gently guides her further back onto the mattress, lifting her legs up onto the bed before tugging the starched sheet and scratchy blanket back over the top of her. She looks up at him as she settles her head into the pillow, a heaviness washing over her and weighing down her limbs. "It's been five years," she repeats dully, eyes studying the unchanged facets of his face. Even etched with worry once again, he looks so… young. So much the same. "I'm… not the same."
He gives a short nod as he tucks the blanket in around her, all the way up to her chin. "I know," he states, dropping down to the edge of the bed, not at all surprised to feel her curl close and coil around his hip.
She scrambles to poke her left hand out of the cocoon he'd put her in, reaches out and lays it atop his thigh… just to touch him. "I… changed."
He sweeps a long lock of hair back behind her ear and gives a genuine yet oddly pained smile. "Be hard not to in five years."
"I…" she starts again, not sure what to say. For weeks now, she'd be reluctantly preparing for this moment, this reunion. Reluctant because thinking it might be real, hoping it might actually occur, felt like the weightiest sort of jinx. She'd done her best to shove away all the fantasies, all of the pretty painted dreams of what this moment might entail, so that it would hurt just a little bit less when they inevitably faded to dust and ash around her.
But here it is, real and true. Here he is, solid and warm and… just here. And she realizes all at once that she's utterly unprepared for what this means. Utterly devoid of the right words to say, to explain, to… reintroduce who she's become.
"I… practice medicine," she says, her face twisting into a confused grimace the moment the words hit her ears.
He laughs, nods. "Yeah, I heard."
"And… I've been running," she states, deciding to just let go and let the odd tidbits of information circling in her mind spill out as they will. "A lot. But also… I learned how to cook. A little."
His eyes light up. "Yeah? So what are you gonna make me?"
"I can finally bake chicken," she intones with so much sincerity that it causes a pure, beaming smile to pull across his face. She returns the grin, feeling like a weight is slowly being lifted from her chest as he stares down at her with that love that she's so desperately missed, so completely craved for five freaking years. "I'm a mom," she breathes out then, allowing herself to get lost in his brilliant, tender gaze. "I'm… mommy," she mutters, her heart clenching when she sees his eyes lift and lighten to a pure, cerulean hue.
He nods, sputters a bit as he chokes out, "Yeah. I know."
Her brows twist suddenly, forehead crinkling in confusion. "Did you meet her?"
He shakes his head, takes a moment to steel his nerves, the very thought of meeting his daughter making his legs go weak and face go numb. "No," he says, clearing his throat around the swift swell of emotion. "Not yet. I've been here with you."
She smiles and releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Good, she thinks to herself. Good. I want to see your face when you do. Her hand tightens around his thigh, giving a quick, firm squeeze. "Her name is Ava," she states simply, smile evident – even to her own ears – on her voice.
His face goes placid, brows splitting apart, the muscles around his jaw relaxing. And he nods again – "I know." – before emitting a soft, shallow laugh. "Guess we really didn't make it very far in that book."
"You're the one who said it was perfect," she declares with a raised brow. "Doubt you would've changed your mind anyway."
"Yeah," he chuckles. "Because I'm the stubborn one in the family."
"Oh," she intones thickly, eyes widening. "No, baby. I'm not even the most stubborn one in the family anymore." He lets out a light, reverberating laugh… airy and joyous and beautiful. "I'm not kidding," she goes on, so madly eager to keep that titter afloat. "Last week, she looked me right in the eye and took a crap in her pants."
"Oh God," he chokes out, nearly doubling over. "What?!"
She shakes her head and puts on a very serious glower. "At this rate, she's not going to be fully potty trained until she goes off to college."
The thick, boisterous chuckles slowly fade and that dreamy look returns to his face. "Sounds like she's just like you," he mutters softly, smile never waning.
"Hey, I shit in the toilet," she says, sounding terribly affronted. "Most of the time." He laughs again. And her expression settles into a relaxed grin that matches his perfectly. "She looks just like you," she mutters then, raising her hand to his face, tapping her thumb lightly in the perfectly placed dimple in his chin. "And she smiles like you," she goes on, feeling a tingling warmth gather in her gut as she watches his eyes – his soul – pool with emotion. "She likes things to be… a certain way. Her toys, her books… everything has to be put away just right." Her head gives another slight shake to-and-fro, even whilst pressed into the pillow. "She did not get that from me."
A light hum pushes past his lips, his eyes ticking off for a fraction of a second before settling on her once again. "Tell me more," he demands with a crooked smile.
"She loves to read," she goes on, not needing even the slightest moment to think before issuing out more facts about her baby – their baby. "Or be read to. And… James," she ekes out, tears perking at the corners of her eyes as his name slips so easily from her lips. "She is the best snuggler."
"Yeah?" he asks, the word barely a breath, an amazed sort of whisper.
She nods. "She's so… warm. Like you." A single, almost accusing brow, rises high. "She has your metabolism. I swear I hear, snack, mama, more than anything else from her. You're never gonna believe what her first word was." She pauses just long enough for him to venture a guess, but quickly sees that the question has only left him with more inquiries, crippling him with the inability to even venture a guess about this little girl who he clearly doesn't know at all. She tamps down the sadness beginning to pull at the surrounding joy, works to shove it far, far away, as she states with a grin and a wiggle of her eyebrows. "Banana."
He ducks his head and chuckles deeply. "Banana?"
"No way would my kid's first word be banana," she chimes. "Cookie maybe. Twizzlers. Skittle. Snickers. Just plain candy, even. But banana? Nah, babe. That's all you."
His head bobs in a slow, almost methodical nod, and he swallows thickly before looking back up and locking onto her bright emerald eyes. Her face looks a bit blurry, a bit indistinct, and he blinks out a couple of giant, wet tears to bring her into focus. "I can't wait to meet her," he chokes out, giant smile tugging at his face. Joy – and a listless sort of melancholy – gathering and knotting into a tight ball in his stomach as he says once again, "Tell me more."