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Act I: Bittersweet Symphony “Alice”

As you carry Bucky's child, Steve grows closer to you when he insists on supporting you during the pregnancy as a final favor to his fallen best friend. Just when the time draws near for you to meet your daughter, you come to realize your feelings for your confidante have grown into something more.

CONTENT WARNINGS: pregnancy, descriptions of labor WORD COUNT: 6.4k

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“That’s the last box,” you told Nat as she hauled in a large cardboard container, which was full but light (it held your sheets and pillows).

You were finally moving back into the city and out of that cold, harsh compound upstate. Steve had insisted you wait until the worst of your morning sickness subsided, as moving was taxing work, but it gave him time to start making preparations. While you puked up your first trimester, the Cap did research on everything related to pregnancy, a topic he was woefully uneducated in.

A strong, manly 40s man never talked about uteruses, breasts, or periods. That was “lady and doctor stuff.” Men weren’t even allowed in the delivery room to watch the momentous first seconds of parenthood back then. Nowadays, Steve got the impression that those views were considered archaic. If you needed a birthing partner, it was going to be him, and he was going to be prepared for it.

It was all for you, but it was also all for your child’s father. “I couldn’t save you,” he said in silent prayer to his friend one night after you’d gone to sleep. “I can save them. Or at last protect them, and I will.”

You were reluctant to let him live with you until Stark offered up a two-winged penthouse in the middle of SoHo, so that Steve could have one side, and you the other. It was only when the good Captain agreed to give you space whenever you asked for it that you agreed to cohabitate with him. You had to admit to yourself that the idea of having someone nearby to help you through this was comforting, even if a little annoying at the same time.

The place had to be the most expensive living space in New York aside from the FRIENDS apartment. The two mirror-image bedroom wings branched off a main parlor with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows overlooking Manhattan. The kitchen was over to the left, a large sectioned-off part of the main room with an island, stocked to the brim with food and appliances. Opposite the kitchenette was a small two-step pit that led down into a sitting area with two sofas and a lounge chair facing a wall that had a built-in flatscreen that took up three-fourths of the space. The damn room even had a piano over by the doors that swung open onto a small balcony.

Steve and Tony had spent the three weeks you were taking to slowly endure your ‘baby sickness’ putting in every fancy appliance the suite could fit. Having gotten through the first three chapters of What To Expect When You’re Expecting, Steve decided to go ahead and furnish your bedroom with feather-down pillows, large blankets, a rocking chair by the window, and enough flowers to sink a boat.

The book itself unnerved him a bit, as it seemed to emphasize every other sentence that anything could become a complication: stress, sorrow, depression…all of these were things he knew you were vulnerable to. He knew this because he felt each one like a punch to the chest every day. If he could do anything to ensure that you felt comfortable and safe, he would do it, even if it meant buying crazy-expensive bedding because it was specifically advertised to help ease comfort during pregnancy.

You were trying to help as much as you could with the move-in, once a little bit of your strength returned. You needed Nat to help you convince the others to let you help carry boxes. Tony, wise-ass that he was, had said “sure, you can carry boxes!” before placing the smallest makeup box he could find into your hand. “Take breaks if you need to!”

“It’s a pretty great place,” said Nat, a twinge of jealousy in her voice. “Can I couch-surf?”

You didn’t want to admit that even the limited amount of energy you were allowed to exert during the move was starting to wear off. One thing you decided for yourself was that you weren’t going to be a weak, helpless little vessel the entire time. You were pregnant, not disabled, and not lazy. There was no way you were going to let Steve baby you, either. The only reason you accepted his offer to stay in the apartment was because of the agreement to two separate bedrooms. You just got the feeling he would annoy you and overdo it.

Nat and Tony left with the movers before dusk, leaving you and your new keeper to unpack and settle in.

“How are you feeling? Up to a meal?” he asked, watching you flop onto one of the sofas with a sigh of relief.

“I…maybe?” you asked, struggling for a moment to decide whether or not you would have preferred dinner or a shower. “If you’re going to make me eat, which I imagine you are, just something light, please.”

Steve wasn’t much of a chef himself. While Stark had stocked the cabinets with some pretty rare ingredients, he gave up on the idea of something complicated quickly and chose instead to throw two entire boxes of pasta into water and heating up a whole bag of meatballs.

“You call this light?” you asked skeptically as he set down a portion for you the size of your head. “Who do you think I am, Michael Phelps?”

He was embarrassed, but only for a moment when he saw you crack a smile. For the first time since your wedding, you were starting to laugh. The sight was ridiculous, and only matched in absurdity by the even larger mound of food on Steve’s own plate.

The laugh felt like you were letting pressure out of an over-inflated tire. So much weight fell away, if only for as long as you were cracking up. It was so infectious that Steve couldn’t help but join you.

Once you both collected yourselves, Steve tucked a napkin into his collar and went to take a bite. He paused with a forkful of pasta mid-air. “I can see why Bucky was drawn to you,” he said suddenly. “Your laugh is…well, it’s musical.”

You shrugged, not picking up on the subtle signal. “Well, considering I have a magic singing voice that heals people, I would hope I sound musical!”

“Hearing you laugh, seeing you smile,” he went on, “it gives me some hope that we’ll be alright.”

He was looking at you in a way that reminded you a little of Bucky. In Wakanda, while he was undergoing post-deconstruction therapy and observation, whenever you were around, his eyes would get a little wider, and even when he had no reason to, he always had a slight grin curling at his lip, as if he knew how fortunate he was just to be next to you.

The idea that Steve felt the same way about you was more frightening than flattering. Suddenly, you felt your mood shift, and it was all you could do to get up and walk quickly into your new bedroom, shutting the door before breaking down into tears.

Before becoming pregnant, nine months seemed like a long time to you. Yet you found yourself practically blinking your way through the second trimester.

Perhaps the therapy was working. You and Steve both decided to begin group sessions that Nat had brought to your attention: one for you that consisted of people who were pregnant with children conceived with those lost, and one for Steve that was made of new fathers whose partners had been taken.

While it was true that Steve was not your baby’s father, Nat brought up the good point that Steve was clearly moving into the position to take on the responsibility, something he was insisting upon.

As you began to grow, and the reality began to sink in, you were surprised at how quickly you found yourself letting your guard down, allowing Steve to do what he felt he needed to in order to best help you and honor his fallen best friend. He always gave you the space you needed, but as the weeks passed, you were needing less and less alone time. He was becoming the closest you had to a best friend in no time.

Was it the extra hormones from the baby doing that, triggering some evolutionary instinct to keep a protector and provider close? No, you could still take care of yourself. You suspected it had more to do with Bucky. Being close to Steve was to learn yet more about your husband. He told you new stories about their boyhoods in Brooklyn. You had no idea Bucky was allergic to strawberries until Steve brought it up casually.

In a way, you were taking advantage of one another, your shared bond over Bucky was the glue that held you together.

Steve was making himself a sandwich in the kitchen one morning when you came in with a question.

“Eh, Steve?” you asked softly.

He looked up with a smile. “Good morning! I trust you slept well?”

The baby had started kicking. It didn’t hurt or startle you much; it felt more like little nervous flutters to you most of the time. Still, they seemed to be most interested in tap-dancing against your belly at midnight. “Perfectly,” you lied.

“I saw on the calendar your ultrasound is today,” he mentioned. “When should I tell the town car to get you?”

Great, he’s already brought it up, you thought. “I was actually wondering if you would go with me to the appointment?”

He smiled again and looked honored by your proposal. “Me? You haven’t asked for me to be there at your other appointments.”

You began twiddling your thumbs nervously. “Well, today I’m going to find out the sex, and I guess I want you to be the first to know.”

He replied with an enthusiastic ‘yes,’ and several hours later, off you went to the doctor’s office. Located in a large medical building that held all manner of healthcare offices, from dentists to urologists, to even a few plastic surgeons. Stark gave you the option of being examined in the medical bay of the complex upstate, but you immediately shut the idea down. You didn’t want to feel like an alien being probed at Roswell. Having this little being floating around in your womb was already a strange enough feeling. Dr. Madeline Vu knew her patients so well, she kept the speculums in a bun warmer and lined the stirrups with tiny foot pillows.

The GYN’s office was comforting, strategically decorated to be gentle and calming in pastel colors, soft cushions, and light piano music coming from a stereo mounted on the wall. An old boxy television set was mounted on the opposite wall, silently playing Look Who’s Talking with subtitles. You rolled your eyes, having always loathed that movie.

More like Look Who’s Not Talking For Much Longer.

“I mean, come on, there are about five-hundred better movies about babies!” you mumbled grumpily after signing in and taking a seat in the corner with Steve. You knew it didn’t matter. You never waited long here. The Doctor usually brought you back to a small set of benches behind the admin desk, where you would be a little less likely to be recognized by an Avengers fan. “I’d rather watch Rosemary’s Baby!”

Steve didn’t get the reference. Luckily, you were quickly called back into an exam room.

Dr. Vu asked you all the usual questions while Steve stared at a diagram of a pregnant uterus on the wall with hyperfocus in his eyes. Huh, so that’s what that…uh…membrane does.

“And would you like to know the sex?” asked the Doctor as she prepped the ultrasound machine. You nodded.

“Not that it matters, but I would like to start thinking about names.”

You pulled your blouse up, exposing just enough skin so that Dr. Vu began smearing ultrasound gel over the bump that was no longer ignorable. Christ, when did this pop? you thought, getting a good look at your swelling abdomen.

Good Old Steve was mesmerized by the screen as Dr. Vu began the ultrasound. It hadn’t occurred to you that for all the technology he quickly had to become accustomed to in the modern age, ultrasound tech was one of the odd in-between areas of study that had existed in the 40s, but was considered as newfangled as Howard Stark’s flying car. Steve could fly a quinjet, but he didn’t know what a fetus looked like from in utero.

The sight was sure something to behold for both of you. At five months gestation, it was clearly a human, yet there was still something vaguely alien about its form. Maybe it was the big head, or how the image looked like found footage from a horror movie, but you felt a little uneasy for a moment, looking at some creature you knew nothing about growing inside of you.

“That’s something, isn’t it!” Steve mumbled. He was every bit the strong, level-headed leader, but in the dark room, he was letting his guard down. It was something he was attempting to do more, at the advice of his group therapist.

“Yeah…” you said dreamily, conscious of your hand reaching out for something to hold on to, until you found Steve’s. You were surprised at how soft his skin was, and how gently he responded by closing his fingers around yours.

Dr. Vu smiled. “One last chance to back out of knowing the sex!”

Steve looked confused. “Why would you not want to know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Some people have patience and like to be surprised at the birth. I’m not one of those people.”

The doctor laughed. “Alright, then, you’re having a little girl!”

“Gee!” Steve exclaimed almost reflexively. “That’s great! Congratulations.”

You smiled as a warm, peaceful feeling washed over you. You wanted her father in the room with you. You wanted him to know everything. We’re having a daughter, Buck!

Yet you were happy Steve was there. At least you had a hand to hold. A big…strong…warm hand…a hand that felt as if it fit perfectly with yours. You looked from the screen to his face, illuminated in a shade of blue light, and couldn’t help but notice how cute he looked, fixated on the image of your baby girl.

You felt a flutter inside you…but it wasn’t coming from the kid.

“Well, so much for naming her after her father, then,” you joked, snapping out of it. “I’ll actually have to think on the name for a minute!”

Another two months went by, and no names struck your fancy. You were otherwise preoccupied with something else that was consuming every waking thought (when it wasn’t hyperfocused on whatever the Craving of the Day was): you were pretty sure you were getting a crush on Steve.

Sure, there were times where he irritated you a bit with his cavalier micromanaging but that was just who Steve was naturally, and you learned to let it roll off your shoulders the first time he walked into the parlor without a shirt.

That morning, you’d only half-listened as he went off a checklist from that blasted baby book you were beginning to hate. Steve was treating it like the Bible.

“Uh…have you had a teeth cleaning yet? The books says you should go at least one extra time before--”

“--last week, Steve, You were there, remember?”

You hated dentists, so Steve had insisted on sitting with you for moral support. He looked a little embarrassed at the lapse in memory. “Right, sorry. And I looked into that llama-zee class in midtown, they have one starting up next week.”

“I told you I don't really buy into that stuff…and it’s lah-mah-zz.”

“Oh, right, we argued about that,” he said, his voice trailing off. “You’re so stubborn…” he added with an affectionate tinge.

You smiled and laid a hand on your belly. She was kicking furiously now. You got the feeling she’d be a formidable physical presence, like her father. She felt sturdy and athletic as she ran laps around your womb, refusing to give you more than a few hours of rest at night.

If only you could come up with a name! But you were too distracted by your changing feelings, which not only were entertaining you and your pregnancy hormones, but was also adding a layer of guilt to your soul. Only seven months had gone by. You couldn’t possibly be ‘over’ the earth-shattering loss of your husband so quickly? It made you feel shameful. You couldn’t say a thing to anyone about it, even if it was plain as the nose on his face that Steve was falling in love with you too.

While initially it was clear his motivation was to somehow repay a perceived debt he felt he had to his best friend’s memory, Steve was feeling himself in need of you both physically and emotionally. He fought it down, of course (after all, you had more than your share to deal with already), and never made a deliberate move on you…but you soon realized you wanted him to.

One night, you were humming to yourself while reading by the window in your room. The effect of your song on the baby was tranquilizing, and it was the only way to get her to rest. You hoped this pattern continued after she was in your arms. It was the same effect your voice had on Bucky while you and Princess Shuri worked on his cure. Weeks and weeks you spent recording different tones, rhythms, words, and songs while the princess played them in Bucky’s tank and reading the neuro-scanner results.

You didn’t notice Steve coming in until he greeted you. “Hey.”

Looking up, you closed your volume of Through the Looking Glass and smiled. “How are you doing?”

“Just got back from Group,” he answered. “Group” was his word for the team of six-or-so men who all had lost their partners or children in the Snap who met uptown once a week to check in.

“Any breakthroughs?” you asked chipperly. You were feeling pretty good tonight. After the morning sickness had ebbed, things had actually been running smoothly for the most part.

Steve’s face remained series. “Yes, actually.”

He kneeled next to your rocking chair and laid his hands over yours. “Y/N, would you marry me?”

You weren’t sure you heard correctly, and pregnancy had thus far only seemed to sharpen your senses.”I…what?”

He bit his lip. “We talked about the idea of moving forward, and letting our pain go without feeling guilty about it. Y/N, I love Bucky like the brother I never had, but you…”

Your faces drew closer as he lost his train of thought. Your lip quivered as you thought of some way to respond that was appropriate. Staring down that pair of big, blue, sincere eyes, you felt parts of you melt. Your baby hormones were having a new effect on you: your libido was rising to new levels.

“I’d be a good husband to you and stepfather for her,” he promised. “I hope I have shown you proof of that so far.”

Your jaw was open. You didn’t know what to say, or even what to think.

“And I understand how strange the circumstances are, but if you and I--”

“--no,” you answered.

His face didn’t betray any instant disappointment he may have felt. “Oh,” was all he could manage.

“Steve, please don’t think I’m not falling for you,” you said quietly, letting yourself be honest with your feelings for once. “I…am.”

He perked up. “You are?”

Nodding, you put a hand on his cheek, which was hot and soft. He put his own hand over yours, imploring you to keep yours against his face. “Yes, Steve. But isn’t this wrong? Isn’t it…you know…betraying him?”

You indicated the photo of you and Bucky on your wedding day, both dressed in violet and gold, beaming into the camera, wrapped in one another’s arms and oblivious to the dark, foreboding fate that was about to cast its shadow over your smiles.

Steve took his free hand and hovered it above your bump, waiting for your permission to touch it. You nodded in consent, and he placed his large, firm hand just under your navel.

“Sorry, I’ve been humming. She’s sleeping right now.”

“Y/N,” Steve went on, “maybe I was a little rash just now. But, do you think someday we could…?”

“I have no idea, I’m still trying to deal with these feelings I have while growing a baby,” you said softly. “Please, give me time, and know that in the meantime, I do hold a torch for you.”

Steve let go of the hand you had against his cheek before nodding in silent agreement. Admitting to your crush lifted at least a little weight off of your shoulders.

Meanwhile, Steve was still running his hand across your belly. One thing he would never admit to, even now, was how much your pregnant body turned him on. Every time you entered a room, Steve could only hope seeing your beautiful, full breasts and round abdomen wouldn’t give him an erection. He was still a gentleman, at least around you. Steve knew his mother raised a more respectable man than that.

Yet, his animalistic brain wanted Bucky’s baby to be his. He wanted to make your body his, to be truly worthy of being your primary support and protector. It was becoming a semi-regular event that he would feel the need to close his door and fuck his palms in the shower after only eating supper with you. How did you look on your wedding night, the night this baby was made? With the fireplace flickering beams of dim orange light across your naked flesh as Bucky sweated and heaved over you--?

---Darn it, Steve! Stop it!

He decided to go to confession the next day, which was something he hadn’t done since he was a shrimp in Brooklyn, losing fights in alleyways. Bless me Father, I have sinned, it’s been eighty years since my last confession…

“But,” you added, “you can kiss me if you want.”

You didn’t expect him to be so reluctant to touch your lips. He was almost like an innocent schoolboy when he finally did kiss you. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might not ever have had the chance to have sex with anyone in his life, past or present. Still, the kiss was warm and tender, and it ended all too soon when you dropped your book, imploring Steve to reflexively pick it up and hand it back to you while reading the cover.

“Through the Looking Glass?” he asked. “I never read it, but isn’t it a children’s book?”

“I always loved it, so I revisit it sometimes,” you explained. “Alice in Wonderland was my favorite character--”

Alice!

“--oh!” you exclaimed excitedly, laying your hand over the one Steve had on your bump. “Steve, I know what her name will be!”

You didn’t want a baby shower. After all, did you need one? A big party full of people pitying you for carrying a dead man’s child? With Tony Stark as a benefactor, you wanted for nothing, and now that he was a new father of a daughter himself, anything he got for little Morgan he ordered for you as well.

Instead, Steve looked up the funny concept of a ‘babymoon’ and had Stark arrange for a short, peaceful trip up to New England with just six weeks to go before ‘B-day.’ At first, you were reluctant to travel so close to your time, but the quinjet ride was quick and smooth.

A small cabin by a lakeside awaited you, a picturesque little setting that was as still as stone, and yet teeming with life and energy. While you unpacked in the bedroom, Steve chopped wood for the fireplace and gathered kindling. With his super soldier strength, you had enough wood to last an entire winter by the time you’d put away your last sock.

You still had six weeks with the bump, and Dr. Vu said you were maybe a week or two behind the curve in how things were developing (which indicated a likely late birth), but you’d brought an emergency suitcase and left it in the car just in case. One of the last things you did before the car trip was research the nearest hospitals, and you’d found one about twenty minutes down the road (a small one to be sure, but it did have a birthing center). You could tell Steve was on edge regardless of how much you planned.

Throughout your pregnancy, you’d been fairly even-minded in spite of the raging hormones. You felt like having a therapy regimen in place already helped things, but having a stable physical support team in place gave you added peace of mind. Even at your emotional worst, you were just weeping over commercials of SeaWorld, or angry that your favorite flavor of ice cream was a seasonal-only brand.

Still, so much of the time you found yourself wishing Bucky was beside you. You couldn’t begin to imagine how he’d be handling things, but oftentimes the hazy dreams you had in that realm halfway between sleep and awake, you wove your theories. He’d be surprised at first, perhaps a little overwhelmed, but like Steve, you knew he’d be thrilled to step up and start this new phase of life with you. Not that having kids was something you’d brought up with him. Your wedding was a bit of a whirlwind decision made with the notion that the impending battle would rob one or both of you of your lives.

Well, you hadn’t been wrong there.

Meanwhile, your crush on Steve pushed onward in spite of all of the guilt you felt. You were hopeful when you saw that the cabin had only one large bed, only to be sorely disappointed when the good Captain announced that the couch was a pull-out, and that the bedroom would be yours alone.

“I thought…” you began to say before your voice trailed off weakly.

“What?” asked Steve, hauling his black suitcase onto the kitchen table like it was light as a teddy bear.

You shrugged, “I thought we’d share the bed.”

He smiled, raised an eyebrow, and looked down as his face began to turn pink at the suggestion. “Don’t…err…don’t think I didn’t think of that, but…no. I can’t share the bed with you.”

Your face fell. “Why not?”

When he looked up and saw that you looked offended, he threw up his arms defensively. “It really has nothing to do with you! It’s just…it’s what I was raised with, you know? I always thought I was being progressive when I settled for ‘wait until engagement’ as a boundary.”

You sighed. “Did you propose to me so we could have sex, then?”

“No!” He whipped around the table and pulled you into his arms, taking the breath out of you. “No…Y/N, don’t think like that, please. It isn’t true.”

He pulled away and looked down into your watery eyes. “I believe you,” you whispered. “But I don’t think marrying you is right.”

Steve looked wounded, but resigned. “I have always respected you, and that will never change, Y/N. I hope you know that even if you always feel that way, I’ll be whatever kind of friend you want me to be, and I’ll always go by what makes you most comfortable. If you want me to keep my distance from you and from the baby, I will.”

You shook your head. “I don’t WANT you to keep your distance from us, Steve! I just…wish you didn’t come with a contract, you know?”

The sun was beginning to set out over the treeline, and a few beams of leftover dusk shot in through the window, illuminating Steve’s crestfallen face.

“It’s who I am, Y/N,” he admitted. “And sometimes I feel like I live by everyone’s needs but my own. Yours. Bucky’s. The Team’s. Let me have this one.”

You bit your lip and looked out the window, the orange sun nearly blinding you as the shadows grew. “Of course I will.”

Choosing to let the conversation die in spite of your protests, you took your suitcase and went to close the door to your bedroom. “That said,” you added, turning in the doorway, waiting until he looked up from his task unpacking one more time, “these pregnancy hormones are killing me, so one way or the other, I’m getting it. I’ll just have to get myself off, so don’t think you’re saving my soul or anything by doing this.”

The stunned look on Steve’s face at the mention of your solution satisfied you, and you gently bade him goodnight and shut the door behind him.

Steve’s firewood hunting had not been in vain, for the weather was frigid that week, even remarkably so for mid-winter in New England. Oddly, there was no snow on the ground. Instead, the dirt under your feet was ice-solid and dry as bone. You would have preferred a vacation in summertime, so you could swim and relieve some of the pressure on your legs and back from the pregnancy. At least there was an outdoor hot tub off the porch facing the water.

“Are you sure I can use one?” you asked with skepticism. “Like it won’t…cook the baby?” You snorted at your own words, realizing how insane they sounded.

Steve laughed in reply, coming out of the bathroom in a laughably conservative bathing suit in neon blue. “The book said as long as you don’t stay in for more than fifteen minutes, and make sure you hydrate afterwards, it’s okay.”

You were wrapped in a fluffy pink robe, fiddling carelessly with the belt. “You should know, I didn’t bring a suit. I never got one at the maternity store.” You hadn’t seen the point if the latter stages of pregnancy for you were going to be in the cooler half of the year. You could have used Stark’s pool, but you also had the excuse of being too embarrassed to wear something so form-fitting as your baby bump began to take over the rest of your figure.

Not giving Steve time to reply, you shed the robe, showing off your pregnant, naked glory to the uptight Cap. His eyes nearly fell out of their sockets.

Lord, she’s beautiful, he thought. In a strange way, he felt his kinship with Bucky strengthen. He knew he was feeling everything Bucky felt upon looking at your flesh, and he understood everything about what his friend saw in you as he stood in Bucky’s place in front of you.

You got the notion of his positive reaction, so you coyly turned away and walked outside, quickly stepping in the hot tub before the freezing night air nipped at your skin. Fortunately, there was not a breath of wind to add to the chill.

The water felt incredible. Steve had kept the temperature to a recommended 100 degrees Fahrenheit. It was still hot enough to relax your muscles, overworked from carrying the extra weight.

When Steve joined you, he still looked a little embarrassed at his bashful behavior. He was acting like a shy young man, newly an adult and inexperienced to boot. He wasn’t erect, which secretly disappointed you.

“Feels great,” he said awkwardly, looking out to the lake. “I bet in summer that lake feels good too.”

Oh, small talk. Fun. Guess we won’t address the elephant in the tub.

All week, he had been keeping a few extra steps away from you, always insisting on the most beige of activities to pass the time when the weather wasn’t cooperative for hiking. You were about to throw his deck of playing cards out the window. It was driving you and your needy hormones crazy.

“I bet it does.”

The seconds of tense silence that followed were so unbearable, that the pressure building up under your skin didn’t take long to reach a head. Apparently, it was having the same effect on your companion. His skin was turning red, and not from the hot water.

Something remarkable happened a second later. You made eye contact and found the exact same words at the exact same time, and both of you chose to express yourselves in the moment.

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

You both were stunned back into awkward silence at your tandem confession. What to say? Was there anything to say?

“Is it still wrong?” you asked weakly. “Would he mind?”

He shrugged. “I just don’t know, Y/N. It’s never something we considered.”

How to move on from death was not something anyone wanted to consider.

You were beginning to feel a shift in feelings from Steve, like he wanted to forgo his code of honor and make love to you. Perhaps he was already cracking inside and waiting for the time to be right. Perhaps if you gave him a little more slack, or flirted a little harder, he’d be having you before dawn.

Perhaps he would at that…if you didn’t feel your first contraction hit you like a moderate punch to the stomach moments later.

It didn’t make sense. Dr. Vu had said you were on track for a delayed birth. Yet here you now were, six weeks early and in the four-room birthing center at what had to be the smallest hospital in America. Steve had called Tony while driving you through the woods, and he immediately sent for Pepper’s GYN, as the natal ward was so small that the on-call doctor was unreachable. “What kind of Our Lady of the Sacred Malpractice Hospital is this?!” Tony had shouted into the phone, causing the poor administrator to lean back and hold the receiver far away from his face.

Once labor started, it escalated quickly, scaring you and making you think something was going wrong. It felt like increasing amounts of hot coals were being stuffed into your abdomen, and they were squeezing together to form a giant vise that was bearing down on your uterus. As you were checked in and given one of only two beds in the labor room, Steve presented himself with the utmost calm, even if inside he clearly had no idea as to what he was doing.

You began running a fever, sweating bullets as you tried to relax in between bolts of pain. The Cap was always at your side, gently dabbing the sweat off your forehead while you were still, and letting you crunch his hand in between yours when the contractions came again. It was fortunate that his bones were basically organic steel, or you may have broken his hand with the grip you had.

Pepper Stark’s OB-GYN arrived just after dawn, when your contractions were coming just over a minute apart. A quick exam, and he promised that you’d have a baby in your arms by lunchtime. Meanwhile, for you, the prospect of this agony going on for another six hours was miserable to even consider.

By 9:30, you were crying and hyperventilating with every hit of burning lightning as it came, and even Steve was beginning to show signs of sympathy pain, his own skin beading with sweat.

“What does the Baby Bible say about when the dad goes into labor?” you joked once you felt the pain recede once more.

Steve hardly chuckled, but at least he was smiling again. “I don’t know. I skipped all those parts.”

“Why?”

He paused, looking at you softly. “Why should I have? I’m not her father.”

You rolled your eyes. “Steve, you’ve been more of a--”

Another contraction socked you in the bowels, and this one sent you screaming, alerting the doctor and only nurse on duty for the whole floor. Once it ended, Steve helped you sit up as the nurse took a look at your vitals on the beeping machine by the bed.

“Okay, it looks like once we go back up again, you’ll need to start pushing for me,” said Pepper’s doctor, a middle-aged woman with a wrinkled face. “You’ll be a mommy by ten!”

You looked at the clock on the wall. It was already 9:50. Jesus.

“It’s too soon,” you breathed in panic, “I can’t do this.”

Steve snickered. “I think it’s a little late to take it back now.”

You began crying quietly. “I wish James were here.”

“Me too, Y/N.” Steve admitted tenderly, his voice barely audible amid the scuffling in the room of the doctor and nurse getting ready for the big moment.

You never used Bucky’s legal name unless you were angry with him. In a major way, you were. How dare he miss this? How dare he even leave you this way?

“You’re stronger than you think,” said Steve. “It’s almost over.”

You began to feel the agonizing pain return and lurched forward, fighting back more moans and yells as the doctor knelt between your immobilized legs. “It’s time to push, Y/N. I know it’s hard, but keep going for as long as you can!”

The following few minutes went by in a pain-induced haze. Searing agony splitting you in half, Steve propping you upright with his arm around your shoulders, the doctor encouraging you with optimistic chanting. Your attempts to push were feeble and pathetic…yet still enough to bring her out into the open air, screeching and writhing like a freshly-caught fish.

At 9:59am on the 9th of February, Alice Jane Barnes made her debut to the world as the newest Avenger. She looked exactly like her father, with lots of rich brown hair. A little small, but still in perfect, thriving shape, she calmed down quickly in the crook of your arm, Steve sitting behind you and looking at the new arrival in awe.

Once you were sure your new daughter was in skilled hands, you finally let sleep take you. Steve insisted upon it, and promised to go pack everything in the cabin so that you all could return to New York as soon as you were discharged in the morning.

As you fell unconscious, Steve couldn’t help but linger a moment in front of the nursery, where little Alice Jane was sleeping soundly, sighing woefully to himself before choosing to shake off his feelings of seemingly-unrequited love.

You would need him now more than ever before. There was no use further complicating what was already a complete upheaval of everything he thought he knew.

The moment Steve saw Alice in your arms, he knew he wanted to be a part of your family forever.

He also knew that it would be too much to hope for.

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simplyholl · 15 hours

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Yet you were happy Steve was there. At least you had a hand to hold. A big…strong…..warm hand…..a hand that felt as if it fit perfectly with yours.

Omg I love this moment!

All the pining!! This is so good! ❤️