The toddler came out of no where, running at full speed, and giggling at somebody behind her. It took every single tool in Bucky's arsenal to prepare for impact as she ran into him full speed and jumped into his arms. He let out a resounding "oof" at the impact, which made the girl laugh even harder.
She had to be three, maybe four, but she was small with bright, brown eyes and a toothy smile that nearly took his breath away.
Had he not become the biggest tool in history, in another life, Bucky would have wanted a daughter exactly like this. Someone to cherish and love and spoil with devotion and care only a father could give their daughter.
But treachery and ice proved one in the same in his life, and Bucky would spend the rest of his watching his friends raise their own children. He couldn't be a father. He had too much baggage and bad shit to carry on his shoulders without the worry of a wife and children too.
Of course these days having kids rarely meant that the couple were married. But Bucky was old fashioned, and as much as he fought it, he still had dreams of the white picket fence and two and a half kids. The incredible wife who'd be in his bed every night.
If course he wasn't so old fashioned that the wife had to stay home all day. She could work. But she'd be beside him every night. He'd fight tooth and nail to get that.
Bucky looked down at the little girl in his arms who was still laughing about what looked to be like her escape from whoever was in charge of her. There was something painstakingly familiar about her. And those bright eyes reminded him of his mother.
His mother had always complained that none of her kids, though she only had four, took any of her looks. They all looked like their father. Though she always had said that he was most like her than his sisters ever were with the way that he cared for Steve so much.
He missed his family so much.
The little girl had stopped laughing and was staring at him with such adoring eyes that it almost made him tear up a little. In the distance, most likely a floor away, he could here some yelling for someone named "Gianna". Super soldier hearing, Steve had called it. He briefly wondered how a small child wandered on to the elevator or got down the stairwell all by herself, but let it go. He looked down at the little girl.
"Are you, Gianna?"
The little girl nodded.
"Is someone looking for you?"
Another nod.
"Who," he asked the toddler who had started giggling again, and holding her hands to her belly as if this was the funniest game ever.
"Nonna."
Before the war, Bucky knew and spoke only one language. English. He had picked up a little French and German with the Commandos, but when he spoke it, he mangled it. After Hydra and while he was on the run, he was shocked to know how many languages he actually understood and spoke. It was just another reminder that his life and that his mind had never been his own.
Another example of his baggage.
The little girl spoke Italian, and probably English, and was running from her grandmother.
"Why are you running from her," he asked, and damn if he didn't smile a little. This tiny human who he could hold in one arm, was looking to be a riot, with her dark bouncy curls and bright eyes that still reminded him of his mother.
"Nap time. I don't seep, wifout mama."
Yep, a total riot. The way she got all serious when she shook her head from side to side, as if to prove how serious she was. She was not going to take her nap unless her mom was present and accounted for. And nobody, not even her grandmother would make her do it. "Where is your mama?"
"I dunno," she shrugged her tiny shoulders and fingered a lock of hair by his ear. "You have long hair wike me."
"I do," he'd been meaning to cut it. But everytime he got near a pair of scissors, a voice came through his day dreams that stopped him.
"It's a good look."
"And you stwong. You onwy howd me wif onwy one awrm."
He smiled at her logic. She was pretty tiny, but he guessed that he was bigger than the average human male she was used to seeing. Probably bigger than her own father.
He'd been living in this facility for four months, and had never seen this child before.
Speaking of, he should probably be looking for her grandmother.
"We should find your Nonna."
She only sighed, resigned almost. And damn if her dramatics weren't the most precious thing, another reminder of his own dear mother. "Otay. But I not napping!"
He only chuckled.
If people stared at him as he passed by with a little girl in his arms, he let it go. It made him self conscious, as it usually did when people stared at him. But the sight of him carrying a toddler probably was a sight, and well, she was amazingly adorable so there was that.
The ache in his heart reminded him of everything he would never have, and the little girl in his arms a reminder of all he ever wanted.
Again... In another life without baggage.
As they walked, he day dreamed of his own made up family. Two sons and two daughters, resembling their own mother with a blank face, but she was beautiful no doubt. They'd go fishing. Or to the little girl's dance recitals(those were a thing how, apparently). Or they go to their school plays. Or attend Sunday Mass. Anniversaries, graduations, births, grandchildren. All of it passed through his mind's eyes. All of the things he'd never have.
If only he hadn't gone to war. The little girl with his mother's eyes would be his. That family would be his.
And yet, he wouldn't change a thing. Fighting had always been in his blood. His own father was a veteran. The United Stated getting into what they now called World War Two was inevitable. Hitler was a bad SOB, and needed to be stopped. He signed up before the draft full of cockiness and ego, he now knew. He'd go over sees, kick some Nazi ass, and be back before supper time. Granted the time line was a little hazy, but back then, in his mind, he was invincible.
"Don't do anything stupid until I get back," he'd told Steve. And the Punk had ended up rescuing him!
Even then he could have gone home after the torture brought on by that damn Zola. The man didn't even deserve the "Dr." title he used. His own ego though forced him to stay. He'd be damned if after the war was over, Steve got to come back home and take the credit.
He should have let him.
The little girl was babbling about nothing as he carried her down the corridor, and poking at his arm. Apparently it didn't scare her, and she almost seemed to be examining it. He'd be forever grateful for Shuri making his new arm. While he'd prefer to have his own human arm, the new arm she created to replace the old one, was a constant reminder to him of his new beginning.
And it was more advanced, stronger, and easier to conceal, but that was another story.
"I poke it wif a pencil. Mama say aways poke wif pencil fiwst," she said poking at his arms.
"A pencil," he asked amused.
She nodded with all the seriousness of a three year old turned thirty-one. "A penil." Then she started laughing again.
The kid was a riot. Her shirt started bunching up from her giggling so he helped her pull it down as he pushed a button on the elevator wall and waited for the car to open.
He expected to the casual observer, they may have looked like father and daughter. The girl wasn't scared of him and it did his heart good. But there weren't many casual observers on this floor of Avenger associates.
It wasn't that nobody ever came up and talked to him. Or that they were even scared of him. Well they weren't scared of him anymore. It was just that he prefered to be alone.
The three years he was on the run, which Steve called, the Great Ghost Hunt, he'd gotten use to being alone. And he still preferred his solitude. Sam had said it was normal. Tony too after he was done trying to kill him, which again was another story for another day. But they had all agreed that he had a need for civilization and people to continue to break through his conditioning, and they had unanimously agreed that he needed to be living either in Avenger's tower or the compound. So he picked the compound.
And while Steve was his best friend growing up, and still a really good friend, he and Tony had been getting really close. Tony too knew torture and returning to civilization trying to make a change to his tortured soul. They bonded over weights, cars, and Bucky's natural curiosity over anything science related.
The car opened and he pushed the button for the floor above. The girl was yawning now and twirling a lock of her own hair. Funny, his mother said that he used to do that when he got tired as a child. Seemed a lot of kids were one and the same.
Though he'd never seen Morgan do it. She usually demanded a juice pop. Speaking of...
WHAT...AN...INVENTION!
He'd gotten use to modern food. No more boiling and hello microwavable dinners! Tony even called him a food slut because he'd try anything and everything at least once. Sushi was the best. And Mexican food. And Chinese.
Yeah that was definitely his stomach that just growled. He'd find the little girl's Nonna and then find Tony. Chinese sounded delicious, and he still didn't trust Friday with getting his order right.
As the car got closer to the top floor the yelling increased and another voice added to the fray.
"Gianna," a younger more panicked voice met his ears. "Gianna, baby, where are you?!"
The sleepy girl turned in his arms and murmured, "Mama?"
He rounded a corner and then another and then walked up a small flight of stairs, which Tony had said, gave the area some style, and almost ran straight into a beautiful woman with long brown hair and achingly familiar eyes.
"Gianna! Oh thank God," the woman wrenched her daughter from his arms and held her tight before looking up at him and... "Thank you so... JAMES?!"
And he knew. When he'd been on the run during The Great Ghost Hunt, he'd never gone by Bucky, but never had the heart to create a different identity after having being in Hydra's power for so long, so he'd just gone by James. It gave him a sense of himself, while also not alerting anybody's radar with his odd name.
There were a million James' in the world. Probably not so many Buckys'.
A week, maybe three years ago, in Italy, where'd he gone to rejuvenate his spirit and enjoy the hot Italian sun after years on ice. And a woman with dark glowing hair, who was depressed after a break up. They'd used each other and parted as amicably as they'd joined. And only left each other with a name.
"Holy God in heaven. Jane?"
And then he just, KNEW. The bright eyes of his mother. The smile. The curls. The dainty hands. The laughter.
She started laughing as she held the child asleep in her arms. "Oh my gosh. I knew you were here, but I completely spaced out that you were YOU." She stopped laughing and rubbed the child's back. "I'm sorry. It's not funny. I searched for you everywhere but never found you. And then, well," she motioned with her head."
He swallowed hard. He had too much baggage for this. The little girl didn't seem to mind, but she also was as hard headed as his father it seemed, with her running away from things she didn't want to do. As hard headed as him it would seem.
"I'm sorry," she was saying. "You shouldn't have to find out like this. I knew they found you. I put two and two together long ago, James. But they kept your whereabouts so secretive that I couldn't break through all the red tape. Not unless I told them why I needed to get to you."
He could only stare. She continued.
"I want you to know, I'm not expecting anything from you, but you deserved to know." She nodded to the sleeping girl again. "We're doing good on our own." She smiled and his heartbeat kicked up a notch. That smile he remembered well. He remembers watching it at as he moved over her again and again, always full of awe and wonder.
It was a smile on a face that haunted his good dreams ever night and chased away his nightmares.
She had never winced at his scars.
She had only looked up at him in awe.
She had melted a little of his frozen heart in the seven days he had known her.
And in those seven days they had made something miraculous.
He couldn't seem to find his voice and it occured to him that she might be taking that the wrong way.
And she did.
Her smile fell a little. "Well. Anyway. It was good to see you again." And she turned to walk away.
No.
Don't.
"Wait," he finally managed to croak out. "Wait don't go."
She stopped and her shoulders dropped. As if she'd been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for too long and she probably had. She'd been raising their child, assuredly by herself. And she'd done a damn fine job, if he had anything to say about it.
And he did.
And sure, he had his baggage, but this was his child. And he was his father's son regardless of anything he'd ever been through. And if he didn't step in now, who take her to her first baseball game? Or dance class? Or whatever the hell she wanted to do.
And Jane needed support too. Someone to lean on when the child was sick and only wanted to be held by her mother. Someone to take turns with when the bad dreams or thunderstorms kept her up. Someone to talk with about their child's exploits.
Because all children were unique. And sure, she could find someone else, but nobody would know or understand their child, like her own parents. Know how funny or smart or beautiful she was.
Or what a gift she was.
He held his arms out. "Let me take her. It's my turn to hold her while she sleeps."
She turned slightly, "James, you don't have to. We're ok. Really."
She was a stubborn little thing. And damn if it didn't melt the frozen corners of his aching heart. "No WE'RE NOT, ok. But trust me when I say that we will be. Now give me our daughter."
She handed her over to him gently, rubbing her back, as the little girl's head found the crook of his neck and her tiny fists curled into his shirt. Clearly too comfortable to wake up. She let out a little sigh and settled once again.
He held her with one arm and wrapped an arm around Jane, careful to keep his voice quiet, "Now.. I'm sure you know how to get Friday to order your correct Chinese food order. So why don't we go to the living area, order Chinese, and you can tell me how you came up with the name Gianna. I've never heard of that name before. What's her middle name?
"Montgomery," he must have looked at her strangely because she giggled than shrugged. "I guess she doesn't have a middle name. Her name is Gianna Montgomery-Foster. After my mom and dad's side of the family."
"Hmm," he hummed and scratched his day old scruff a bit.
"We can change it, " she interjected quickly.
He shook his head and laughed. "I'd like to add Barnes at the end but other than that, I'm good with it."
"Oh," she seemed confused and a little curious.
"Yeah, Montgomery was my mother's maiden name. Winifred Montgomery Barnes. And since she actually looks like her, it fits."
Jane's eyes widened and her face broke into a smile. "Wow. That's pretty cool actually. It's like fate, almost."
And for once Bucky had to believe that fate had been kind to him after all. Because here in the moment, a little piece of himself was asleep in his arms, and he was content to stay that way forever. Just him, Jane, and their amazingly, beautiful, riot of a daughter.
And Jane knew how to use Friday to get their food order correct. So had she not given him the greatest gift of all, he'd probably had kept her just for that.