Because March 10th marks Bucky's birthday...here's a bonus chapter.
Chapter 7: Help Along the Way
Alpine helped. Alpine helped a lot. Having him around gave Bucky something else to worry about besides his own grief. He took his new job of keeping the cat out of trouble in stride. Alpine loved to explore more than anything, and Bucky took to tailing him around the house just to make sure he didn't get trapped like Jack's cat often did, find anything potentially dangerous, or get into something he shouldn't.
He also very much enjoyed a good cuddle. It didn't take him long at all to warm up to Bucky, much to his surprise. Whenever Bucky sat down to watch TV, Alpine would hop up onto his lap and demand to be pet. They were, he liked to think, a match made in Heaven.
The Saturday morning after he brought the cat home, Alpine was on one of his wandering sprees. This one took him into Steve and Bucky's bedroom. Even though Steve hadn't slept here in months, Bucky still thought of it as theirs. He followed the cat as he circled the bed, then dropped to his hands and knees to watch as Alpine crawled beneath it. They'd never stored anything under the bed; it collected too much dust. Alpine quickly grew bored and instead headed for the closet. Bucky never kept anything of his in there; his clothes didn't hang without left sleeves. Everything in there was Steve's.
He thought he'd left the door closed, but there was just enough of a gap for Alpine to shove his nose in and disappear inside. Bucky swung the door open and saw the cat settle on top of the bright red cardigan, which must've fallen off its hanger. Alpine rolled over and meowed happily. A brief moment of panic overcame him when he thought about all the cat hair that would end up irreversibly tangled in Steve's clothing. Almost as quickly, a wave of grief washed the panic away. It didn't matter if Steve's clothes got cat hair on them. Not anymore.
"You like that sweater, huh? Does it smell like him?" Bucky asked. Alpine didn't answer. He let his gaze travel across the dozens of other things stored in this closet. Josiah had helped him go through all the medical supplies in the second bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom, but they hadn't touched this closet. Bucky hadn't wanted someone else digging around in their bedroom like that. Well, now was as good a time as any to go through it all.
Bucky designated a 'keep' and a 'give away' pile on the bed and started into the stacks and rows of clothes. Immediately, he recognized that he should have given himself more time to psychologically prepare. This was not a task to be undertaken casually. Almost everything he uncovered brought with it a dozen memories or more. However, he knew that if he dropped the task, he'd never work up the courage to come back to it, so he plowed forward, letting his gaze drop to Alpine still curled up at the bottom of the closet whenever he needed the reassurance.
The only easy decision he made that day was putting every set of hospital sweatpants right in the 'give away' pile. Those weren't memories he cared to recall. He also got rid of all the smaller sized clothes they'd had to get once Steve started losing weight again. Steve was always cold those last months, and more often than not he'd wanted to cuddle with Bucky to keep warm. All the clothes from that time only reminded Bucky of protruding hipbones and bony elbows jutting into him uncomfortably.
The 'keep' pile didn't materialize until he reached a stack at the bottom of a drawer of shirts Steve hadn't worn in probably a year. These were the ones he'd happily announced were tight across his chest and arms when he first bought them, the ones Bucky had lewdly remarked might rip if he flexed just right. He couldn't bear to part with a single one of them. In fact, he tore off his own shirt and switched it out for one of Steve's workout shirts. The left sleeve wasn't tailored to him, obviously, but he found he liked the symbolism. Wearing Steve's shirts emphasized the missing piece of his body and his heart.
Bucky unfolded each of them, smoothed out the wrinkles, and let himself stew in whatever memories it aroused for a few minutes. The white shirt with the old SHIELD Pharmaceuticals logo on it that Nick had given him right before the company rebranded with a newer logo. Bucky used to laugh at him for being a walking drug advertisement in more ways than one. Next, he found the shirt from a pediatric cancer charity 5k they'd run with the soccer team, then the 'Hello, my name is Yankee Doodle Dandy' one Bucky forced him to wear at his birthday party every year. He'd just given Nick the okay to plan the party for this year, and he shuddered at the prospect of not getting to force Steve into this shirt again this year. None of their traditions would be the same without him.
Bucky shook his head, shelving those feelings for later. He continued through the pile. There was the workout shirt he'd been wearing that day he collapsed in front of Mr. Hodge's house. He stuck that one in the 'give away' pile. Next came a series of different solid-colored shirts. White. Navy. Black. Gray. Steve had never favored an extravagant fashion style. Neither did Bucky. He stuck all of them in the 'keep' pile.
His jeans, khakis, and button-downs, however, Bucky couldn't wear so easily. They lacked the special magnetic strips that allowed Bucky to do up his own clothes without spending fifteen minutes wrestling one-handed with buttons. Steve had owned several pairs of the same style and color, so no particular pair contained any specific memories. Bucky placed them all in the 'give away' pile. The red cardigan that he wheedled out from under Alpine, however, he kept, along with Steve's brown leather motorcycle jacket.
Naturally, the items in the deepest recesses of the closet were those he'd worn least often: the bright blue suit from Parker's wedding, and his wedding tux. Bucky didn't even touch those. He forcefully slid the hangers back towards the wall and returned all the shirts from the keep pile to their place in the closet to cover them up. Then he knelt down and took a crying break with Alpine in his lap. The cat pawed at his empty sleeve.
~0~
Natasha helped. She'd miraculously known exactly what to say and do to get Parker back on track. After she left, he called his parents and talked to them about how things were going. The words left his mouth as easily as ever. They made an arrangement for one or both of them to come over to help with the baby and around the house on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. Parker and MJ loved the break, and Alex and Russell loved the opportunity to spend time with their granddaughter.
Watching them with his daughter fulfilled something inside Parker that he hadn't even known was missing. His own grandparents had died before Parker was even born, and he'd been so young when he lost his own parents that he didn't even remember their stories about Grandma and Grandpa. Ben talked a little bit about the Mom and Dad he shared with Parker's dad, but not often. Parker was glad that his daughter at least got to meet her grandparents, and would probably grow up being spoiled by them—along with the rest of the family. He was honestly kind of scared to see the types of things Tony considered appropriate birthday gifts for an infant and toddler.
Speaking of Tony, Parker had apologized profusely for not checking in on him sooner. Tony, in classic Tony fashion, insisted he didn't mind, that he understood Parker had more important things to do. "Tony, you are just as important," Parker struggled to convince him. Hopefully, each time he said it helped Tony cement it in his own mind. On Friday, with Alex and Russell babysitting while MJ took a nap, he finally got around to visiting his friend in person.
Tony looked great. His movement remained restricted by his healing sternum and incision, but other than that he appeared to be thriving. He eagerly showed Parker the Smartwatch controls to his new device and explained exactly how it worked. Parker managed to follow maybe sixty to seventy percent of what he was talking about, but he caught enough to know that what Tony had created was both immensely complicated yet also insanely user-friendly.
"Wow, Tony, this is like…a Nobel Prize-worthy achievement."
"I don't know about that, but it is pretty cool," he admitted. Parker knew better than to argue with Tony about deserving more credit. "How's the little munchkin?" he asked eagerly. "I want pictures."
"She's…everything," Parker said wistfully. Being a parent was the most exhausting thing he'd ever undertaken in his entire life, but at the same time the most fulfilling. "Everything she does that isn't crying is the most amazing thing I've ever seen."
"That's great. Now show me the evidence. I haven't seen the kid in two weeks!"
"Okay, okay." With laughter building in his chest, Parker dug his phone out of his pocket. His entire camera roll was just Carol May, with a couple pictures from the store to check with MJ that he was buying the right brand of things. Tony practically snatched the device out of his hand once he'd unlocked it. The latest picture was one MJ had taken secretly: Parker asleep on the couch with the baby on his chest.
"This is the best thing I've ever seen in my life," Tony said. He looked at Parker with profound warmth in his eyes. "You are such an amazing father."
Parker knew how rough Tony's relationship with his own father had been for the first sixteen years of his life. Watching a healthy relationship develop between Parker and Carol May must mean the world to him. Doing a better job than Howard Stark was setting the bar pretty low, but Parker liked to think he'd be reasonably good at this very important job.
"Are you gonna make it to the party Nick's planning?"
"It's exactly one day before I'm technically cleared to drive, but I think I'm just going to go for it."
"Tony, don't risk anything," Parker said sternly.
"I'm not, I'm not. I'll ask the ol' medical team if it's okay. If not, I'm sure my dad knows chauffeurs."
"You could also just ask one of us to take you."
"Are you going?"
"Yeah. MJ and I agreed that I would go and she'd stay home with Carol May. We wish we could both make it, but we can't leave Carol May with someone else for that long. She knows how important this is for the Avengers so she offered to stay home."
"That's nice of her. I imagine Bruce and Betty will be in a similar situation."
"Oh yeah, how are they doing? The baby's due soon, right?"
"Monday."
"Wow. That's in three days."
"Yep."
"Their kid and Carol May are gonna be the same age," Parker said happily. "That's so cool."
"Yeah, it is. Betty's doing great, last I heard from Bruce. He's more nervous than she is."
"I was definitely more nervous than MJ. But then again, she's more level-headed than I am about literally everything, so that's not surprise."
Tony chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right. How's the LEGO project coming? Natasha was telling me about it."
"It's great. Having that time to just turn my brain off and follow instructions has been really helpful."
"That's great."
It really was. Ever since he started the Lego project, he'd resumed eating normally (well, as normally as a newborn parent ever did) and the words no longer stuck in his throat. He was still grieving, but he wasn't drowning, and that was the best he could hope for.
~0~
Bruce helped. That had been his job since Betty was put on bedrest. He helped cook, clean, shop, do laundry, and fetch anything Betty requested. Helping Betty helped Bruce; his anxiety was always lessened when he was actively working to reduce whatever stresses his life contained at any given moment. Taking care of business around the house served that purpose.
But when Betty went into labor, there wasn't much he could do to help. It was a Sunday afternoon, the day before the baby's due date. He took her straight to the hospital, per the doctor's suggestion, and from there he did little but let his hand be crushed and offer words of comfort which Betty assured him weren't actually meaningless.
He didn't even think to tell anyone about what was happening until the second hour of labor. Betty hadn't said anything, and he'd been preoccupied worrying about her, so it wasn't until he picked up his phone to check the time that he saw a text from Tony asking if the baby was on its way yet, and it reminded him that there were other people invested in the situation. "Do you want me to call your parents?" he asked Betty. They lived in Ohio and wouldn't be able to meet the baby on its birthday, but he figured they'd at least want to know.
"Your mom first," she told him. "Then the Avengers, then my folks."
"Okay." Betty didn't have the best relationship with her parents, but she didn't talk about their tension often. Bruce knew it was because she didn't want to complain when Bruce's relationship with his father had been far worse, but she never explicitly said so. She cared more about this baby's relationship with Bruce's mom and friends than she did about their relationship to her own parents.
Bruce called his mom. "Is the baby coming?" she asked immediately. She knew the due date, knew there were few other possible reasons for Bruce to call her on this day.
"Yeah," he informed her.
"Are you excited?"
"Yes," he lied. Well, not exactly. Of course he was excited but at the moment his nervousness overshadowed that. Bruce had no idea how to be a father. His only example in that role had been his own father, a physically abusive alcoholic who was almost solely responsible for Bruce's first suicide attempt. How was he supposed to look after his own child when that was all he had to go on? What if he messed them up the same way his dad messed him up?
"Stop spiraling," Mom told him. "I know you're spiraling. You are going to be a great father, Bruce, and you have the best extended family a person could ask for to give you advice when you don't know what to do."
"Okay, okay." He knew he could rely on his friends when he needed them—especially Parker, who was about a month ahead on this whole process—but he didn't want to lean on them too heavily. Bruce wanted to be a good father based on his own instincts, not just others'. Hopefully, those instincts hadn't been quashed into nonexistence by his father's abuse.
Suddenly, a nightmarish vision of a belt hitting flesh played behind his eyes, only instead of Bruce on the receiving end, he was the one holding the belt. His breathing picked up speed and he slid down against the nearest wall.
"Bruce?" Mom's voice on the other end of the phone sounded muted. "Bruce, take a deep breath."
Bruce gasped to follow the order. He'd never been good at reigning in a panic attack once it started. One voice did, however, manage to partially snap him out of it: Betty's. "Bruce!" He heard her loud and clear through the door that separated them. Bruce said a rushed goodbye to his mom, hung up the phone, and turned back into the room.
"No panic attacks today," she told him sternly. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of our lives." She squeezed his hand.
"Okay."
"We're doing these breathing exercises together, you hear me?"
"Okay."
He should've felt stupid, breathing alongside his laboring wife, but the rhythm actually helped him more than any breathing exercise meant for panic attacks ever had. Or maybe it was just that he was matching Betty, not trying to maintain the rhythm all on his own. The process lasted well into the night; Betty didn't even reach full dilation until nearly midnight.
"What do you think the sex is?" she asked. They'd elected to keep it a surprise, but had a named picked out for both.
"I think it's a girl."
"You're wrong."
"I guess we'll see."
Bruce was wrong, as it turned out. Lanyon Kyle Banner was born in the wee hours of the morning on Monday, June twenty-first. Exactly on his due date. "Punctual to a fault, just like his dad," Betty remarked.
Bruce had never been more proud of anything in his entire life.