This is one of my favorite chapters :)

Chapter 12: New Faces

Their house had walls now. Real walls, that Wanda could see before her from where she and Victor stood at the end of the driveway. Someday soon, they would live inside those walls. Her excitement threatened to boil over and explode from her every pore in bursts of chaotic energy. "They've made a lot of progress, haven't they," Victor remarked.

"They sure have." Wanda reached out and tapped the back of Victor's hand to ask if it was okay to hold hands. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed tightly. "When do you think it'll be ready?"

"The estimated completion date is early February."

"That's so far away."

"It'll be here sooner than you know it, darling."

"Oh, are you the folks building this lovely new house?" a voice called. Wanda turned around and saw a woman in a purple blouse with dark hair pinned up in a loose twist approach them.

"Yes," Wanda said with a smile. "Do you live around here?"

"I'm Agnes, your neighbor to the right." She pointed to the house right beside their lot. "I'm so glad to see someone finally filling in this lot. It's been years since they tore down the old place that used to be there. Hopefully, the termites don't come back for this one," she added with a jaunty laugh.

Victor's grip on Wanda's hand tightened in fear and his eyes widened.

Agnes lightly smacked him on the shoulder, which only made Victor recoil harder. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

He immediately let go of Wanda's hand and started rubbing at the center of his forehead. She watched Agnes's brows furrow and stepped between her and Victor. Wanda refused to speak for her husband, so she flashed her best neighborly smile and abruptly changed the subject. "What's the neighborhood like? Give us the inside scoop."

"It's great here! It's a bit of a small town, so everybody knows everybody. There's a pool, a movie theater, shopping center, and great schools," she raised her eyebrows knowingly at that last remark.

Wanda chuckled. "We won't need to look into that just yet."

"Of course. I thought I'd bring it up, just in case. But we grown-ups have fun around here too."

"Oh, I'm sure. My husband and I have been exploring the area a bit and it looks like a wonderful place to live."

"Oh, it is." At the mention of Victor, Agnes glanced his way once more. He was still rubbing at his forehead. Wanda never tried to stop him unless his skin began to abrade. Agnes, courteously, didn't comment, and instead told Wanda, "I can't quite pinpoint that beautiful accent. Where are you from?"

Wanda blushed ever so slightly. She'd spent enough time in America that her accent had faded a bit, but she didn't think it would ever disappear entirely. And she didn't want it to. "Sokovia," she explained. "I lived there until I was eighteen."

"How cool."

"Thank you. Where are you from?"

"Massachusetts, originally."

Wanda attended a Twinless Twins event in Boston, which was the only reason she knew the name of the state. There were so many and she hadn't gotten around to memorizing them all yet. "Cool."

"Well, I must be going, but it was wonderful to meet you two. I can't wait to see the house when it's finished."

"Me neither. Nice to meet you too!" Wanda waved politely as Agnes continued down the sidewalk towards her house, then disappeared inside. Well, at least she knew they had a friendly next-door neighbor, even if her personal boundaries needed a little work. Victor took a deep breath and removed his hand from his forehead. "You okay?" Wanda asked.

"Yes. Agnes was…unexpected, is all."

"Some people are just naturally handsy, but I'm sure she's learned."

"I hope so."

"Want to take a walk? Pretend like we already live here?" she proposed.

"I'd love to."

~0~

At Dr. Raynor's advice, Bucky took himself out to lunch one Saturday afternoon. All his friends were busy, but he didn't have the energy to drive down to the city to see any of them. Nightmares still woke him a few times each week—nightmares which he still hadn't mentioned to his therapist—and this past week had been particularly bad. He hated spending too much time in the house alone (it made the dreams worse), so going out to a local place was his only option. The nearest place open for lunch was only a few miles away. It would've taken mere minutes by car, but Bucky wanted to eat up as much time as possible. He gave Alpine some goodbye scratches, threw on his navy coat, and walked all the way there through the brisk autumn chill.

When he arrived, he grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a soda. The place was relatively uncrowded; he and Steve used to come here for dates occasionally. Bucky glanced longingly at the table for two in the corner where they used to sit; then he tore his gaze away because his eyes started to water. He sipped forlornly at his soda and checked his phone just to look like he was doing something other than fighting off tears.

The guy behind the counter came back and took his order. Bucky got Steve's usual sandwich order, only without mayo. He thanked the man and took another sip of his drink. His eyes wandered down the length of the bar, from napkin holders and coasters to the salt and pepper shakers off to his left. The salt shaker drew his focus.

Bucky would bet money that Steve's fingerprints were on that salt shaker. They were definitely on the one at their table, or at least they used to be. Hopefully, in the many months since Steve had been here, they washed the shakers well enough to clear them of prints. Bucky didn't want to think about how filthy they'd be if that weren't the case.

"Who did you lose?"

Bucky startled so hard he nearly toppled the barstool. He tore his eyes away from the salt shaker to see who had spoken. An old Asian man sat two stools down, watching him intently.

"What?" Bucky asked, both to ensure he was the intended target of the man's question and to make sure he'd heard correctly.

He nodded his head towards the salt shaker and said, "You look as if it reminds you of someone you cannot have. I know that look."

Bucky opened his mouth to formulate a response, but his mind completely stalled. No one had ever read him as clearly that, but this man spoke as if he knew the feeling intimately. "I—uh…my…my husband," he finally admitted. He braced himself for a potential homophobic reaction—the man was plenty old enough to cling to archaic beliefs—but none came.

Instead, his eyes softened. "You are so young."

"Yeah, he, uh…he was sick."

The sympathy in the old man's eyes deepened impossibly further. "I am so sorry."

Bucky had heard that a thousand times, but it felt more meaningful coming from this man. He'd dropped enough hints to suggest his own brush with grief, and Bucky had initially assumed it to be a spouse, at his age, but something told him there was more to the story. "Did you lose somebody too?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes," the man said solemnly. "My son, RJ."

Bucky's eyes widened in realization. Not a spouse, but a son. This man was painfully familiar with the reality of losing someone too young. He thought immediately of Sarah and Joseph, Harry and Edith Barton, Bob Lang. And now this man.

The man continued, "He had cancer as a teenager…Ewing's sarcoma. The treatments couldn't keep up."

A lump the size of an orange materialized in Bucky's throat. He ran some quick numbers in his head. For a man this age to lose a teenaged son, it must've happened decades ago. At the same time, he knew Ewing's treatment protocols hadn't changed in at least that long. Most of the chemos they'd put him on were discovered in the sixties, meaning the same treatments that failed to save RJ were the ones that saved Bucky. He didn't know what to do or say with that knowledge. It felt rude to say, "That's the same kind of cancer I had," when he was sitting here alive and this man's son wasn't. His phantom arm twinged with a pain he'd never felt before.

"I'm so sorry. That sounds terrible," is what eventually came out of his mouth when he swallowed the lump.

The man merely nodded and redirected his attention back to the salt shaker. "Why does that remind you of your husband?"

"Oh, uh. He put salt on pretty much everything," Bucky explained. Inexplicably, as he told this stranger about Steve's habit, a smile broke onto his face. "We kept, like, three salt shakers in our house."

The man smiled. "For me, it is red bean mochi that reminds me of RJ. It was his favorite."

"That's great." Bucky paused, not knowing where exactly this conversation might lead. "What's your name?"

"Nakajima. Yori Nakajima."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Bucky. Bucky Barnes." If Mr. Nakajima recognized his semi-famous name, he gave no indication of it. He must not be a soccer fan. Not knowing what else to say but wanting to demonstrate to this man how much he appreciated his kindness, Bucky requested, "Let me pay for your lunch."

"That's very kind of you, but I cannot accept."

"Please, it's the least I can do." Bucky had never been a parent, certainly never one who lost a child, but he knew plenty of them. He knew enough to understand how grateful they were for opportunities to talk about their beloved children. "Let me do this, for RJ."

"Very well. But you must promise me one thing."

"What?"

"I buy next time."

That…wasn't what Bucky expected to hear. Maybe it was an age difference thing, or a cultural difference thing, but that was by far the most forward request for friendship that he'd ever received. His first instinct was to say no, that he couldn't commit to spending more time with this man, but he quickly realized that he wanted to see Mr. Nakajima again. He'd lived with his grief probably longer than Bucky had been alive, so he definitely had advice to offer. "Okay," Bucky agreed. "You can buy next time."

~0~

"Okay, SuperDad, have a nice day." MJ pecked him on the cheek before leaving for work. The nickname arose after Parker's first week looking after both Carol May and Lanyon. He blushed every time he heard it—although it had been hard-earned. The first day he watched Lanyon, he alternated calling Betty and Bruce pretty much on the hour to double-check that the baby's every behavior was normal and that his own every move was correct. Now that he'd been doing this for two weeks, his confidence had increased tenfold.

He'd learned a lot in the past two weeks. Carol May always got fed first because, while Lanyon was perfectly content to sit and watch, she pitched a fit whenever she saw another baby eating when she wasn't. Their one-month age difference meant their nap schedules were offset by just a bit, but Parker always managed to squeeze in some LEGO time when they were both down at the same time.

His favorite part of the day, though (and the babies' too) was playtime. Both were old enough to lie on their front side, and Carol May could even push up on her hands to see around her better or to reach for a toy. She also loved to roll over, and giggled joyously every time she did so. Lanyon always watched her with fascination. He hadn't quite gotten the hang of rolling over yet.

Parker stretched out on his stomach on the other half of the baby blanket, meeting eyes with both Carol May and Lanyon. "You guys ready?" he asked with a quirk of his eyebrows.

"Ga!" Carol May exclaimed. He took that as a yes. Parker reached behind him and grabbed two little mirrors, placing one in front of each baby so they could see their own face. He smiled as their eyes widened in amazement. This was his first try with the mirrors, and he was eager to see how they reacted.

Carol May's fingers were already on the mirror, poking at her reflected features, but Lanyon was just staring, mouth agape. "Yeah, you are pretty handsome," Parker told him. Lanyon turned his deep brown eyes to his face as he spoke. The kid was so damn attentive, seemingly watching and listening to Parker's every move. Carol May spent most of the day in her own little world, and only listened when she felt like it. He and MJ were in for trouble if this trend continued. Maybe Bruce and Betty would return the favor and help handle her fierce independence when she got old enough that it challenged him.

Carol May reached out a hand and grasped his finger. Parker army crawled closer until his face joined his daughter's in the mirror on the floor. Her eyes lit up, and her hand moved to rest on the reflection of his cheek. "Yeah, that's daddy's face," he agreed. "Do you think we look alike?"

It might've been an involuntary movement, or just Carol May exercising her head muscles, but Parker swore he saw her shake her head no. "You're right. You look more like Mama." He turned his attention back to Lanyon, who was still staring mesmerized at his own reflection. Parker knew they were far too young to understand that the mirror showed them their own face, but it was still good for them to explore it as if it were a new person.

"That's you, buddy," Parker said, pointing to the reflection. "See?" He bopped Lanyon on the nose, and his hand appeared in the mirror doing the same thing. Lanyon copied him, poking the nose of the reflection. "That's it," Parker encouraged. "You're so smart."

Carol May looked over at Lanyon and decided he was more interesting than the reflection. She pulled at the ground with her arms and managed to turn herself just enough to look at him without craning her neck. Lanyon stuck his tongue out and giggled when he saw it in the mirror. Carol May copied him, then rolled over, reaching up for Parker. He checked the time. They were probably getting hungry.

"Okay, baby girl. Hang on one minute while I get your bottle ready." Their fridge was full of bottles, labeled carefully with MJ and Betty's initials. Parker knew nothing disastrous would come of switching the milks, but he still wanted to be extra careful. He warmed up one of MJ's and double checked the temperature before picking up Carol May and cradling her in his left arm. He'd barely gotten the bottle towards her mouth before she was reaching out to hold it herself. She didn't quite have the coordination to do it on her own, but Parker always let her help. He wasn't looking forward to the day she could do it all by herself, because then he would barely get to participate in feeding her at all. He'd be a bottle warmer, and nothing more.

Lanyon continued to explore the face in the mirror while Parker fed Carol May, but he grew bored when the bottle was half gone. He shoved the mirror away and started pushing at the ground with his hands and feet. Parker knew what he was trying to do. Carol May had done those exact same motions just before she figured out rolling over. "You can do it, buddy," he encouraged.

Lanyon gave one more push, and flopped over onto his back. He looked so stunned to be facing a new direction that Parker feared he'd start crying, but he burst out in giggles instead. "Way to go, Lanyon!" he cheered. "Your mom and dad are going to be so excited to hear that you rolled over all by yourself."

The baby clapped his hands and kicked his feet joyously. Carol May slapped Parker's hand to bring his attention back to her and the now-empty bottle. Parker burped her and took her into the nursery for a nap. As soon as he let go, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and closed her eyes. Eagerly, Parker raced back to the living room to congratulate Lanyon again.

He picked him up and gently swung him in a circle. "You're amazing!" The baby giggled. "You think maybe you could do it one more time so I can get a video to send to Mom and Dad?" Parker planted him back on his tummy and grabbed his phone. Lanyon stared at the device and didn't move a muscle. "Camera shy, are you? That's okay." As soon as Parker slipped the phone back in his pocket, Lanyon rolled over again, giggling even louder this time. "That's how it's gonna be. I see. You hungry?"

He reached up his arms and made grabby fists. Parker warmed up another bottle—Betty's this time—and sat with Lanyon as the boy suckled. While Carol May ate like she'd never see food again, Lanyon always took his sweet time. Parker appreciated that. Once he finished, Parker used a fresh towel to burp him and set him down in the pack n' play in the corner. He didn't let them nap in the same room in case the second one fussed while going down and woke the first. Lanyon was clearly exhausted from all the exercise; he was asleep within minutes.

Parker sent a quick text to Bruce and Betty: "I couldn't catch it on video, but Lanyon rolled over for the first time!" He made himself a sandwich and watched a TED Talk with earbuds in so as not to wake the babies. Since they were only fifteen minutes long, they were way easier for him to watch than regular television. He didn't like to start an episode knowing that he'd be interrupted halfway through. In the two weeks since he started parenting for two, he'd watched over a dozen of them. The most interesting ones, he sent to Tony, who always sent him a few good ones in return, along with a demand for more baby pictures. At this rate, his phone's storage was going to fill up in a matter of weeks.