Life
There are days when things are still bad, even years later.
Y/N wakes up to a storm outside, the windows open and the air whipping around, and no Bucky in bed. She gropes at the sheets, eyes still closed before she comes to that realization that he’s not in bed with her.
A sigh passes her lips, exhaustion tugging at her. Really she just wants to roll over and fall asleep. But Bucky wouldn’t leave her if she wasn’t in bed. He would search her out and make sure she was okay.
Especially lately.
They’re coming upon the five year anniversary of when Rumlow nearly killed them both, and the dreams that plague Bucky and Y/N occur nearly nightly. So, she sits up and lets her feet find her slippers as thunder rumbles in the sky.
She moves slowly through their cottage, worn wooden floor beneath her feet creaking gently. A soft glow of light leads her to the kitchen where Bucky stands in the near darkness of the room as one candle flickers, bent over the countertop, hands braced hard against the stone.
He’s only wearing boxers. Every line of his hard body is tense and bunched, looking every bit like he’s expecting to be attacked. Some instinct tells her to keep her distance for the moment and so she pauses in the doorway.
“Baby?” she calls softly, trying not startle him. Bucky’s back is covered in thin sheen of sweat and when he turns there are purple circles under his eyes. “Buck…” A terribly worried tone coats her voice.
A long moment passes as they just stare at each other. “Sorry,” he says, ducking his head. Shame radiates from him, her heart seizing when he refuses to look back up from the floor. “Nightmare.”
Her mouth becomes a thin line. “Nothing to apologize for.” Y/N steps a bit closer. “Wanna talk about it?”
Cool air swirls past them from the open window before another crack of thunder sounds. He surprisingly nods. Usually Bucky’s very resistant to telling her something upsetting. Which in turn is just something else they’ve been working on lately in therapy. “It was different this time…Will he ever leave us alone? I just…I want us to be normal.”
She steps closer and closer until he can wrap his arms around her, until he can ground himself with her touch. “He’s dead. There’s nothing he can do to us anymore.” Her fingers splay over his back as she massages the tight muscle carefully.
“I know,” his nose presses into her hair. “I know.”
They had stayed in NYC for four years. Enough time for Y/N to graduate from law school and for Bucky to build a reputation. He had retired officially a year ago and asked Y/N to move away with him. The city that never sleeps was a lot for them to handle along with their trauma. And so they had. They had moved to upstate New York and stayed there. When they had first found the little cottage it had been hard to leave. It’s perfect and quiet and safe. But somehow a dead man, one that had tormented them both when alive, still managed to invade their space. Somedays it was Y/N pacing in the middle of the night in sheer panic. Tonight it just happened to be quiet fear from Bucky. Somedays it was almost like having a third occupant in the house, Rumlow carefully just always out of sight, hiding in the shadows.
Y/N presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone. “What happened? Tell me what happened in the dream?”
He shakes his head slowly, sadly, and then suddenly drops to his knees, pushing her nightshirt up to lie a kiss against the small bump of her stomach. “We had the baby and we were so happy when we brought him home. But that same night the baby was crying and you weren’t in bed. I went to check on him and when I got there…Rumlow was already there. He had our baby is his arms. Rocking him carefully…and then he looked over and smiled at me.” His voice drops, “I don’t remember what happened after that. All I know is that I never found you.”
Her fingers thread through his hair. “He’s dead. He can’t touch us or our baby.” His hair is damp against her fingers with sweat and he shakes just a little. “I know it’s hard to remember sometimes. I know it’s been a part of our lives for so long, this fear and panic…but he can’t hurt us anymore.” Something inside her warms when Bucky presses another kiss to her belly. She’s hardly even showing yet, just a small round bump, the promise of something.
“Doesn’t feel real,” Bucky mumbles into her stomach. “Feels like he’s still here.” And then the truth comes out. “I don’t feel like I’m able to protect you or the baby. I never have been able to. I’ve always been selfishly unaware when he hurt you.”
A part of her heart chips away as she tightens her grip on his hair. “Oh, sweetheart, you did your best. We both did. You did what you thought best and that’s all I could have asked for. Besides,” she intones, “We won. We’re here. He couldn’t pull us apart and I’m only here because you were there to save me.” Y/N leans over him and presses soft kisses against his hair before sinking down next to him on the floor. His hands settle around her hips as she sits, nervousness radiating from him.
“Careful doll.” His voice is soft. “Please.” Bucky leaves his hand on her belly, fingers rubbing smooth circles as she settles herself in his lap when he leans back against the kitchen cabinets. Darkness surrounds them, lightening licks across the floor, “We’re okay.”
“We are.” She puts her hand over his, “And we’re having a baby.” An excited squeal coats her voice, “A baby. Me and you. And we’re gonna be great parents.”
He presses his forehead against hers and tries to stifle his anxiety, his worry that he wouldn’t be enough, like always. “You aren’t alone.” Y/N whispers to him suddenly. “You have me.”
A smiles tugs at his mouth. “I know. We’re doin’ alright, huh?”
“Yeah,” she grins. “We are.”
Y/N pecks his lips once and lets him sit on the floor with her for as long as he likes. Only when he’s calm and reassured does he pick her up, blow out the candle, and carry her to bed.
~
“Girl,” she grunts hard, gipping Bucky’s hand. “She’ll be a girl.”
Bucky doesn’t respond for a moment as she screams and tightens her hand on his until he winces. “It’ll be a boy, doll.” The contraction passes.
She whips a fierce glare over at him. “I’m having a baby,” she roars. “One you put inside of me. The least you could do would be to agree with me.”
Almost on reflex he says, “Well doll, I’m already holding your hand.” It’s meant as a joke but right then probably wasn’t the time.
The nurse laughs as Y/N throws his hand away from hers, tears now streaming down her face. “Fine. I can do this-,” She cuts herself off as another contraction starts and then slowly passes. “-myself.”
“We’re ready to start pushing,” the doctor says.
“Baby,” Bucky murmurs. “Give me your hand. I’m sorry. You’re right. She’ll be a girl.”
She only curls her fist in the sheet defiantly and pushes when the doctor says to. The nurse winks at him when Y/N starts crying in earnest half-way through the second push. “Please, babydoll?”
Her hand fits inside of his before she starts pushing a third time. “Don’t leave me.”
“Never.” Bucky brushes his mouth over the back of her hand, encouraging her lowly and apologizing about his opinion over the sex of their child.
Right when he thinks he’s probably going to lose his hand her grip is so tight, the doctor says, “Last push!”
Y/N looks over to him in pure panic, big, watery eyes seeking out his. “I can’t do it. I can’t. How-how am I supposed to raise a baby? Who let me do this? I don’t-I can’t-,”
“Doll,” he says calmly, smile on his face, “You aren’t alone. I’m right here with you. Now push one last time. Bring our baby into the world.”
Her eyes clench closed and she gives one final, large push, a scream passing her lips. Something changes, she can feel it. And then…crying. “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. You have a little girl.”
The baby is pressed to Y/N’s chest as she wiggles and cries. Y/N doesn’t even look up as she gently presses her fingers against her child’s small form, and whispers, “I told you so.”
The only thing Bucky can do is laugh, tears in his eyes.
~
“Y/N?” Bucky holds their baby, newly home from the hospital in his arms. Y/N can hardly convince him to ever put her down. Although she knows why he doesn’t. He’s so afraid something might happen to her. “Y/N?” he calls again. “Where are you?” He’s been searching all though the house for her.
Eventually he finds her in their bedroom. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” her voice cracks with some ignored emotion. “Lemme see my little girl.” Almost reluctantly Bucky hands her over. “Oh look, Buck.” Bucky climbs in bed beside them and looks down at his daughter. “Look, look at her eyes.”
His arm loops around her back as he pulls both of them close, “Just like her mama’s.”
“Mine could never shine like that,” Y/N whispers, resting her head against his shoulder. “Why do you have your shirt off?” A noise akin to a purr leaves her as she nuzzles her nose against his skin.
Bucky kisses the top of her head, “Skin to skin, remember?” They’re both silent, awe radiating from them as they stare at their child. “Why’re you hiding out in here, babydoll? She needs to be fed before everyone gets here.” Steve and Sam and a few of their other friends are supposed to come and visit the new baby today.
With that she breaks into tears. “They hurt. My nipples are chapped and fucking raw and it hurts, Buck. And I feel so horrible about hiding but-but-but,” she sniffles, voice hitching as his heart breaks for her. “We might have to give her the milk I expressed earlier with the bottle because-,” A fresh wave of tears start, “But I’m afraid she won’t latch again if we give her the bottle and I feel so bad and-,”
“Sweetheart,” he cuts her off, a smile of his face. “It’s gonna be okay. The bottle will be okay.”
“I’m a bad mother,” she whispers, staring at her daughter’s face, one finger tracing her round cheek. “I’m so bad at this. I can’t even feed my baby.”
“You think you’re a bad mother because you’re sore? Y/N, its okay. It will be okay. Besides, it gives me a chance to feed her. She’ll latch again when you’re ready. She will,” he repeats when her bottom lip trembles. “Want me to go get the bottle so she can eat?” Y/N nods sadly, letting Bucky shift away from her. Before he can get up through her fingers catch at his arm. “Y/N?”
Grace has fallen asleep in her arms. “You were wrong.” Her voice catches in her throat, giving Bucky time to panic about what he might have been wrong about. Maybe she was regretting her choice to have a child with him. Her fingers graze his cheek. “You’re already a wonderful father. You’re so patient and reassuring. And I love you so much. I’m so glad we made it.” She glances at Grace and then the ring on her finger. “We made it.”
Realization clouds his features. “We made it.”
“We did. We’re here.”
Before he can go get the bottle he pulls his girls into a hug. It’s long and silent and good and everything he’s been through in his life seems worth it all of the sudden.
Bucky thinks it’s the end when the feeling of worth it overcomes him. Of finally being worth it after all these years. He feels it in his soul. It’s only years later when he’s being attacked on all sides by his three giggling daughters and Steve’s and Sam’s sons that he realizes it wasn’t a one off thing.
It’s a continuous feeling of home and belonging and safety and being good at something. It’s a feeling that changes and reshapes and bends but at its core is always the same. He likes being a dad and a husband. He’s good at it.
At the center of it all is Y/N, always smiling at him, picking him up off of icy roads and skipping school and patching him up and kissing him and saying I love you. Even when sometimes he wakes and forgets that Y/N has remembered or that Rumlow is dead, she is there whispering worth it’s and I love you’s.
And when he thinks his heart can’t get any fuller, Y/N tells him she’s pregnant with their fourth. A full, wild house echoes around them as they stand in their cluttered, crazy bedroom, smiling at each other. He wouldn’t have it any other way. The fullness and happiness having been something he’s craved his whole life.
And to think…if his mother hadn’t thrown him out that fateful morning, accused of something he can’t remember, he would have never went down to the boxing studio, hell bent on being able to fend off his old man’s punches, directed toward him or anyone else. He would have never opened that office door and met the love of his life, his only girl, his savior, Y/N.
He never would have found his home.