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kashi-prompts · 3 years

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Flowers For A Shinobi

Chapter 11: Soup

Word Count: 4,670

Pairing: Kakashi x OFC

Previous Chapter ❀ Archive of Our Own Link ❀

A/N: This is fuffy, right? lol

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"I understand," Kakashi nodded, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, picking at the fabric at the inside of his trousers. He remained stagnant with his usual aloof disposition, appearing as though he were disinterested in the conversation between himself and the Hokage. Within him, something stirred uneasily.

"So you'll do it then?" Tsunade questioned pointedly.

"Yes, I'll do it."

"Good," Tsunade looked back down at her paperwork, content with the elite-jonin's tepid response. Her fingers hastily returned to endorsing the stack of documents collecting dust on her desk, her blond pigtail sweeping across her shoulder as she leaned over.

"She's being discharged from the hospital today. I want you to start training her as soon as possible. She's rested enough."

"And if she doesn't want to be a shinobi?"

"Convince her with that charm of yours, Hatake," Tsunade pointed her pen at him, "she has so much potential. It would be a shame to waste it on a flower shop."

Kakashi scratched the back of his head stiffly, pressing the locks of his hair back down to the nape of his neck. Under his mask, his lips pursed, thinking of a counter-argument to present.

"What are you waiting for?" She questioned, cocking an eyebrow as she looked back up at him. "Go talk to her."

Giving up with a respective bow, Kakashi turned on his heel and headed for the door.

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Ayame combed her fingers through her hair, crudely attempting to make it presentable as she stared out her hospital window. The mid-morning sun drifted upwards in the sky, the clouds shielding the village selfishly from its warmth.

Instinctively, her fingers began weaving the strands of her hair into a braid. The act quickly reminded her of when she was younger, where her mother would sit her down and tenderly begin folding the strands to create a tight plait of red locks.

"It's too tight," Ayame would whine, tugging at the braid for her mother to remedy it.

"Pain is beauty," her mother would tell her indifferently, "You need to keep it out of your face while you work! It'll loosen as the day goes on."

It never did loosen, despite her mother's words. Tying off her braid now, she missed having someone else care for her as her mother had. The loneliness of this new village lessened as the years went on, but the underlying longing for her original home crept up on her ever so often. Not so much for the village as it was now, but the way she remembered it. Or maybe it was the people. Or perhaps it wasn't even that - but just the overall sense of duty she had there. At least she was doing something with herself.

Even so, she had left Rōtasuagekure for a reason, and quite sincerely, she reflected, she could never see herself leaving Konoha. Especially now.

"Hana-chan?" a petite nurse asked, popping her head into the small, sterile room.

"Yes?"

"I have your discharge paperwork," the nurse offered. She took a few steps in, observing Ayame already dressed in the same clothes she had come in with.

"Do I just need to sign?"

"Yes, here and here," the nurse indicated, "the doctor said you have recovered well. She really didn't have much to say otherwise."

"I'm feeling much better. Thank you for all your support," Ayame smiled, handing the nurse the pen and clipboard back.

Walking out of the hospital after two weeks left Ayame feeling strange. Almost as though her life had changed, never to return to the way it was before her admission. Her experience on the journey, or mission, rather, resonated in her mind. Looking back, she may not have felt it then, but it was certainly thrilling to be a part of something like that. She thought of the shinobi in the hospital, pleased that she had done something to help them. She examined her feelings towards helping them, remembering how she used to be one of Rōtasuagekure herbalist medics.

The slight chill in the air from two weeks ago had been replaced with a heavy, thick mist that hardly ever reveals itself except for after a cool shower on a hot day. Instantly, the moisture stuck to her skin as she began walking in the direction of her apartment. She breathed deeply, letting the dewy scent on each blade of grass mingle in her nose pleasingly. It was good to be out finally and feeling better.

"Oi, Ayame-chan," she heard.

Her heel skidded against the pavement at the sound of the familiar dull voice. As she turned around, her jade-green eyes settling on a tired-looking masked man. The memory of an unconscious body in the basement of her childhood home suddenly left her reeling. She blinked, watching him walk towards her with his hands that always seemed to be situated deep in the pockets of his uniform.

"Kakashi-san," she smiled, "how are you?"

"I am well," he stopped in front of her, looking down at her from his usual height. His cheekbones lifted in a small smile. A beat passed as her eyes traveled over the worn look in his eye.

"How are you feeling?" Ayame asked, folding her hands together at her waist.

"I'm doing alright," Kakashi admitted, "but more importantly, how are you feeling? Were you just discharged from the hospital?

"I was," Ayame gestured in the direction of the hospital, "I'm feeling better. Thank you. I heard the shinobi are doing better? And the flowers were delivered to Lady Hokage on time."

Kakashi nodded, smiling to himself, "yes. They're all doing much better. Thanks to you."

"I couldn't have done any of that without you," Ayame admitted, shaking her head. "I'm so grateful to have been a part of it."

"You handled your own," Kakashi emphasized assuredly.

Looking over, Kakashi smiled stiffly at her, clearly seeming unsure of himself. Seeing this, Ayame looked away, a few spring leaves floating through the breeze around her.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to see you while you were recovering. I was recuperating myself."

The memory of a pink-haired shinobi Ayame had seen before with Ino crossed her mind at his words.

"Kakashi-sensei carried you back to the village," a blur of pink hair had told Ayame. Her bright green eyes had smiled down at her as she drew Ayame's blood one morning. "You're lucky to be alive. He's a really strong shinobi. He's on the mend as well, but he'll probably be better before you are."

"I heard," she frowned, turning to look back at him. "I'm glad you're doing better, though. But I honestly must apologize for having to have you carry me all the way back here. You should have just left me there. I did my duty."

A light laugh bubbled up in her chest at her own snide comment. His single eye glanced back down at her with a soft gaze and shook his head, "I would have never left you there. You're worth more than that."

The breeze picked up again. Sakura blossoms dancing in the wind around the two of them. The pink tones of their petals were imitative of the fleeting rouge on her freckled cheeks. Noticing, Kakashi shuffled his sandaled foot and looked down the road.

"Were you heading somewhere?" Kakashi asked suddenly, his head tilted.

"I was just heading home," Ayame told him, composing herself.

"Mind if I join?" Kakashi asked, looking down at her with his one eye. A smile crept over her lips that she tried desperately to tame.

"Sure."

Turning on her heel, the two began heading away from Konoha's hospital, passed the mid-afternoon rush of citizens scurrying to grab something to eat before returning to work for the rest of their day. Ayame watched them walk by; the lingering eyes of a few young girls fell on the tall shinobi next to her. She wondered fleetingly if he had a girlfriend or some romantic interest on the side already. Surely, he would have mentioned it. Or an indicator would have arisen at some point.

But then again, Ayame was still unsure. She hadn't even thought of it until this moment. She glanced over at him, his profile straight ahead as they walked together.

She really didn't know much about him at all, she mused. It seemed as though he was still a stranger to her, despite this strange gravity pulling them towards each other. The brief time they had spent together felt more influential than just a day or two of ongoing conversations while they traveled.

"What do you think about living here?" the silver-haired jonin asked abruptly, glancing over at Ayame as she waved kindly to a little girl with a new bouquet from Yamanaka's.

"I love it here," Ayame shared, her voice a hum as she traced a finger along the wooden siding of the Dango shop. "Although I miss home sometimes."

"I can imagine. This wasn't your first home."

"But it is my home," Ayame vowed quietly. The Dango shop owner gave them a wide, knowing grin, offering a few sample pieces of Dango on a skewer. Ayame smiled thankfully, taking the skewer and popping the round treat in her mouth happily.

"Would you like one?" She offered, extending the skewer to him.

"I'm not much of a sweets man," the jonin admitted, lifting a hand to decline. "Plus, the medication they have me on for the amatoxins for my liver makes me pretty queasy lately. I haven't been able to eat much anyway."

Ayame frowned, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'll live," he shrugged, watching her toss the empty skewer in a passing garbage bin.

"I would like to talk to you about something," Kakashi said a few beats later. Next to him, Ayame felt a cold shock to her chest. She glanced over at him, his expression seemingly difficult to read with a mask and headband that covered the majority of his face. Despite such, she noticed his dark eye glance over at her to assess her reaction.

"Oh?" Ayame stammered through a chuckle.

"Yes," he nodded, his tone serious, "what do you think it means to be a shinobi?"

Ayame narrowed her eyebrows, looking over at him quizically. She wondered if this was some joke he was playing, asking her this question to see if she understood the importance of his role. But when she looked over at him, his profile remained straight ahead and composed. She, too, had been thinking of this while lying in the hospital bed.

"Well," Ayame began, folding her arms against the breeze as they walked, "I suppose a shinobi's only resolve is to protect the village and those who live within it."

"That's true," he nodded, pausing, "I agree. What do you think about that?"

"About shinobi protecting the village? I think it's important and valuable. Economically, the infrastructure of the village depends on the careers of shinobi to make money. But it is clearly more than that. A shinobi's occupation is valuable to the next generation to have leaders look up to and be protected by. Working for the Yamanaka clan has undoubtedly shed light on all this for me. But I would say, this past month especially strung the understandings together fluently."

She was rambling. When she let out a breath, she expected him to laugh at her wordy response. But when she looked over, he only nodded his head, seemingly appreciative of her narrative.

She continued, "And I'm sure you've created priceless bonds while working. I think, as a shinobi or kunoichi, you first begin learning to hone your own personal, individual skills. But I think it is more of a community effort than an individualistic standpoint. I mean, the village wouldn't run without you all. And those men would have died it not for you. So, as a shinobi, you have to put unity - and self-sacrifice - first. It doesn't seem to ever be about you. But about those around you. To learn to protect everything at any cost. For the sake of others."

"Any cost?"

Ayame looked over at him analytically, unsure of his question. "Yes, with your life."

"Right," Kakashi nodded distantly, his mind far beyond their wanderings over the wooden bridge. Ayame stopped, leaning over the overpass to look down. She noticed a few boys fishing below and stood to watch them for a moment. Kakashi stopped as well, looking up at the clouds above as he came up next to her.

"What made you ask me that?" Ayame questioned, looking over at him.

"I have some special orders," Kakashi said finally, turning to look at her. His elbow rested on the railing. The breeze swept across the side of his face, pushing the thick tufts of grey into his eyes.

Ayame quirked her eyebrow and smirked, "To quiz me on my patriotism to Konoha?"

"Not like that," Kakashi laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm just curious."

She stilled for a moment, feeling the wind in her ringing ears as she looked back down at the boys below. One had caught a red skipper, joyfully showing it off to his friend. The other cheered, dropping his wooden rod in celebration.

"It has been discussed that you have the potential to be quite a powerful kunoichi. The way you handled yourself against Daichi was clear evidence. I would say you have the ability to overcome the injury to your chakra. The more you train, the stronger you'll become."

"I don't think so," Ayame turned away suddenly, leaning over the railing and folding her fingers. What did she want? Her two desires mingled together, mudding themselves in her mind.

"I don't know, actually. It's not as though I grew up using my jutsu as you all did. I don't even have the proper academy background as even the youngest shinobi in this village have."

"Do you want to know what I think?" Ayame looked over at him again. His eyebrows shifted to his hairline, and the fabric around his mouth bunched into a smirk.

"I suppose you're going to tell me anyway, huh?" Ayame chuckled easily.

"I'm not forcing you to do anything," Kakashi began, leaning his elbow against the railing to look at her. "No one is. But you seem to appreciate the dedication and work it takes to become a shinobi. And what it stands for. I would give my life for those in the village. And everything about the way you handled yourself on this last mission tells me you would do the same, even if you don't know it yet."

Ayame nodded her head, looking out at the skipping fish. Another breeze brushed her flyaways from her hairline.

"I know. I understand. So I take it your orders are to recruit me?"

"No," Kakashi hesitated, "my orders are to train you."

"Train me?" Ayame turned, looking at him surprised and skeptical.

"If you want," Kakashi lifted his hands defensively with a smile. "I am a fairly notable sensei."

Ayame laughed again tenderly, placing her chin in her hand as she looked out over the horizon. She could feel his eyes on her, his elbow leaning coolly over the railing to face her.

"Can I think about it?" Ayame asked, glancing at him.

"Of course. I don't expect you to drop your life as it is and join a risky occupation like mine."

"I'm not sure if I want to join your cult," Ayame farced, smirking at him from the side. She heard him chuckle next to her, looking out at the river below. The breathy sounds of his laughter she had evoked caused a ripple of satisfaction to fade slowly into her skin. She smiled, sighing.

Ayame stood up straight, turning to him. The wind rattled his hair more, transforming it into more of a chaotic mess than it already was. She folded her hands at her waist, considering his last comment. She had thought about it endlessly in the previous two weeks, so his sudden request to have her train with him certainly shocked her.

"Don't doubt yourself," he added unexpectedly. She scoffed playfully, feigning confidence and turning her head away to hide her burning ears. When she looked back, his eye had transformed into a crescent moon, a genuine smile dancing across his cheekbones.

"I wouldn't have agreed to any of this if I didn't think there was a reasonable chance of you being a skilled kunoichi," Kakashi admitted, "trust me on that. You've proven yourself."

Ayame folded her arms again, another gust of sakura blooms rushing past them. She watched them land in the river, floating past the boys who returned to fishing for their next meal.

"Thank you," Ayame said finally. "I will think about it. And let you know."

Kakashi nodded his head, a smile hidden under the fabric of his mask.

"Well, I'm right over there," he pointed, a round blue apartment complex across the river. "If you need anything, just come here. I can see the bridge from my window."

As he walked around her, Ayame looked over at the tiny apartment building and considered his response. Just come here.

"And Ayame?"

She turned, surprised he was still even near her as her mind had begun to wander. Walking backward, he shoved his hands back in his pockets.

"Although I'm not exactly happy with the way you administered the antidote in the cache, thank you for saving me."

Her top teeth tried to tame the grin that crept across her lips. She rolled her eyes at him, "had I known you'd try to recruit me, I should have left you there."

"I doubt it," he winked.

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Beyond the gates of Konoha, deep within the Land of Lotus' muddied grounds, a pair of green eyes stared sharply at his work. Three vials of a glowing blue aura dripped slowly from a tube that traveled into the cracked ceiling above. He stacked two fists on top of one another on the desk, placing his chin in them to watch the liquid.

Drip, drip, drip.

The contents of the vials barely grew. The man grumbled to himself, shaking his head in disgust.

"I can't believe Daichi's gone," the green-eyed man sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. The room was no larger than a closet, with a metal desk placed in front of the man. A foul stench enveloped the room.

In a bed next to him, a woman with locks of blond, grimy hair laid placid against the pillow, throwing an apple in the air and catching it.

"Doesn't matter anymore," the girl said curtly, "He was arrogant and careless. He should have just ransacked the place, gotten the scroll, and came back."

"I should have never trusted him," the man said gruffly, "I should have just done it myself."

"Then she would have seen you," the blond pointed out, taking a bite of the apple.

"I don't care," the man stood, his soiled feet kicking the chair in disgust. "Better than her getting that scroll. I should have gotten the scroll first and then deployed everything. How senseless I am. Now look at this; we barely have anything."

He gestured to the vials on the chrome table and sighed heavily.

"Can't predict the future," the girl reminded him coolly with a mouth full of apple.

"But we can change it."

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The dark side of the moon tilted in the sky, its crescent shadow illuminating a golden sickle that threw off surprising light. The heavy breeze from earlier that day remained. The humidity level elevated.

A tuft of silver hair laid under a comforter embroidered with green shuriken. One eye remained open, staring at the tiled ceiling above. His stomach growled uncomfortably, causing a sigh to escape from him. Lifting a hand, the jonin slid it through his hair restlessly.

What had he done? How could he have recruited this girl to become a shinobi when it wasn't even her choice in the first place. Things were changing, indeed. Not everyone was destined to be a shinobi from birth.

A strong sense of guilt mounted in his chest, making the origin of his nausea unclear as to whether it was from his medication or the nagging feeling that he could be responsible for another lost person in this world if she were to enlist. It wasn't that he didn't trust himself to train her properly. But the what-if certainly stirred a sense of anxiety in him that was very unlike him.

Everyone he knew and cared for was a shinobi. Why did it bother him now?

Get ahold of yourself, he groaned to himself. It’s not your responsibility and you have orders.

Another sigh escaped from his lips as he swung the blanket off of him. In the window behind his bed, he observed the heavy moon in the sky, its contents decorating the pavement and river below in a soft glow. A breeze flew in his cracked window, tickling his nose with a familiar scent. A mixture of the grime from the river and the pleasant aroma of lavender blended in his overly sensitive nose. His eyebrows came together in confusion.

A lot of things smell of flowers, he reminded himself coarsely.

And yet, standing on the bridge was Ayame, her arms bundled tightly around a white sack that she held close to her chest. Frowning, he watched her for a moment, unsure if he was seeing her correctly. But the unmistakable scent of her freshly cleaned and braided hair caused his stomach to knot. Was she here for him? Or was she just going for a walk? At this time of night?

Looking over at the clock, Kakashi noted the time. It was nearly 11:00, and he couldn't help but wonder what she was doing. Regardless of if she was here for him or not, he decided to see if she was alright. Blinking once more, he watched her lean against the bridge with the bundle in her hands. Her head tilted towards his building.

She is here for me.

The breeze picked up, and the sakura flowers from earlier drifted across her view as her eyes unmistakably scanned his blue building.

Throwing his jacket and sandals on, he quickly flew down the steps and out the door of his apartment building. This may not be the perfect time to tell her, but he had to. He couldn't let her join. He couldn't bear to watch an innocent person become a warrior. Of course, she had potential, but ultimately it should be her decision to join. He had tried to keep his words neutral, but the dialogue in his head from earlier twisted itself to make him believe he could have skewed her decision.

Get. ahold. of. yourself, he told himself angrily.

His swift gait quickly replaced itself with the usual casual stride his legs typically paced themselves at. Absently, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged forward over the bridge towards the young girl.

"Ayame?"

Turning her head, he caught another intoxicating wif of the scented shampoo that clung to her hair. She smiled immediately as her eyes rested on him as he walked towards her.

"Kakashi-san," she greeted, the audible noise of his name on her tongue sounded like a content sigh. The sound tickled his already queasy stomach.

"Why are you out so late?" he asked quizzically, leaning against the railing himself. He glanced down at the bundle against her chest, and she smiled, standing up.

"I made you some soup," she stood, pushing a container wrapped in a white cloth forward. He looked down, thankful for the darkness surrounding them as he felt blood rush to his cheeks.

He tilted his head quizzically, unsure of how to respond to the kind gesture.

"You said you were nauseous," she explained quickly, waiting for him to take the parcel. "So I pulled together some soup when I got home. It's an old recipe my grandmother used to make for us when we were sick. It always helped me feel better. I hope it hel-"

"Thank you," Kakashi replied gratefully, taking the bundle. It was still warm in his hands. The gesture stunned him, and the warmth of the soup in his hands radiated through his entire body. Momentarily, he forgot what he had intended to tell her.

"I appreciate this," he held the parcel up, the silence growing awkward as he collected his thoughts.

"You're welcome," Ayame smiled at him.

Were her cheeks red as well? Oh god, he thought. He couldn't do this.

"Ayame, I wanted to talk to you about our conversation earlier," Kakashi began hesitantly. Her expression changed.

"Yes, I wanted to speak with you as well."

"You first, then," he offered, shifting his weight to his other foot.

He expected her to say no. To say she didn't want to join and instead remain an anonymous citizen of Konoha, utilizing her Kekkei Genkai as a means of generating precious flowers for the Yamanaka Flower Shop. He expected her to say, "thank you for the offer, but I decline," and then to walk away from him, only to pass by him at different times on the street in the near future.

"I think I'll do it," is what she told him instead. "I want to protect the village. I don't want anyone to go through what I went through or what those shinobi went through this week."

Kakashi blinked, blindsided by this woman yet again in less than 5 minutes.

"You do?" he asked, feeling his finger twitch nervously against his bundle of soup.

"I was thinking about it while I was hospitalized, to be honest with you," she admitted, looking away, "I didn't want to mention it. I also didn't think it was a possibility. I figured you had to be born here or something. But you said you had orders?"

Kakashi nodded, looking above her head as he processed her words. The image of his dream crossed his mind. The uncomfortable feeling of not being in control crept up his spine. He shook his head, composing himself.

"I do," he confessed with a nod, "from the Hokage."

Ayame blinked, clearly taken aback by his words. "The Hokage wants me to join her shinobi army?" She asked incredulously, her voice teetering on laughter.

Kakashi let his bones relax as she laughed, "she said you have potential."

Ayame paused, folding her arms loosely around her torso, "well, that's the highest compliment I've ever received. But what was it that you want to talk about?"

"Oh," he shrugged, "It's nothing. I just - as long as you are comfortable and understand-"

"I understand," she interrupted. He narrowed his eyebrows, surprised again by her definite tone. Her eyes glistened as she stared back at him.

Realizing, she replied, "I've weighed the pros and cons of it for two weeks in a hospital bed. I know what you are referring to. A shinobi's life cannot be easy. But I wouldn't say yes if I didn't think it was worth it. I couldn't protect my brother or my family. So I want to protect Konoha."

She waited for his response, her eyes tracing the line of his mask that hugged his cheekbones.

A smile crept over his lips as he bobbed his silver head in a nod, seemingly content with her response. Crickets sang in the brush below them, filling the void of silence. Her response eased the tension in his shoulders as he looked back down at her.

"Then we start tomorrow," he told her abruptly. "Meet me here at dawn."

"But it's nearly 11:30!" she protested, her lips twitching as she guffawed at him. "That is barely enough time for a good night's sleep."

Kakashi turned on his heel, raising his eyebrows in delight at her reaction. He chuckled to himself as he held the soup against his chest, walking away.

"Should have thought of that before you came here so late then!"

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A/N: Hello all! Thank you for reading. It really means a lot to me. I have been in a pretty dark situation/headspace lately and planning out and writing this fic has really helped me. Watching your story come together and seeing people enjoy it is an immense confidence booster. So I appreciate you all. I’ll be writing prompts in between too! <3

#Kakashi #hatake kakashi #Kakashi Hatake #kakashi x ofc #kakashi imagine #kakashi x original character #kakashi x original female character #kakashi/original character #kakashi/original female character #self-indulgent fluff #I love random fluff #i love them together #please #you don't understand #I can't wait #naruto fanfiction #Naruto Shippuden #naruto fandom

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viking-raider · 4 years

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A Soldier’s Daughter - Chapter IV

Summary: Their time in Kaer Morhen has come to an end, so Skye and Geralt leave the Witcher Stronghold, heading back to Temeria to get answers to Skye’s burning question.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/OFC

Word Count: 8,653

Previous Chapters: I II III

Rating: PG-13 - Witcher!AU, Language, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Surprises and Shocks

Inspiration: The Witcher on Netflix, with instances of the Games and Books.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think! Thank you to the marvelous @wondersofdreaming for the encouragement and beta!

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Their time in Kaer Morhen was coming to an end, there was only a month left before the first thaw of Spring and the path was clear enough for Geralt and Skye to make it back down the mountain and trace their steps back to Dorian in Temeria.

Skye was anxious about returning home to face her parents and find out the truth about her ancestry, she didn't know how to feel about the prospect of finding out she was a Quarter-Elf, but she knew Geralt's words in Roach's stable were right; no matter the outcome, she would still be herself.

“Morning, Geralt.” Skye smiled as he entered the dining hall for breakfast.

“Morning.” He smiled back at her, sitting across from her at the table, his steaming plate of breakfast already waiting for him. “Did you sleep well?” He asked, digging into his food.

“I did, and you?” She replied, picking up her own fork.

“I did.” He answered, nodding and giving her a soft smirk. “Are you sparring with Vesemir today?” He asked, washing his bite of food down with some ale.

“I am, right after I finish here.” Skye nodded, focused on finishing her breakfast so she wasn't late; Vesemir was a stickler for promptness.

Geralt nodded his head back and a comfortable silence fell over them as they finished eating, then went up to the training room with her. Skye frowned, as she stepped into the room and didn't see Vesemir there waiting for her, like he had been everyday for the last two months. Geralt smirked and grabbed a sword off the wall and faced her.

“You'll be having a different teacher today.” He chuckled, seeing her surprise.

“Oh, this should be good!” Skye laughed, grabbing her own sword. “I beat Eskel's butt four times already and I've kicked Vesemir's just as much. You think you can do any better, Geralt?”

“Oh, I assure you, I can.” He grinned, spinning the sword in his hand. “I'm not as old as Vesemir or as hot headed as Eskel can be.” He told her, stepping into the middle of the room. “Unless, you're scared?”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Skye teased back, moving to join him.

“Not really.” He shook his head, planting his feet. “I like that fiery nature of yours, though.” He smirked and raised his sword.

“Get ready for a fire storm then, Witcher.”

Geralt chuckled at her and stepped forward, swinging his sword in a tall arch and down, forcing Skye to step back and twist to the side to dodge it. She flared her eyes at him, twisted her sword and struck back at him, Geralt dropped his blade down, half dropping to a knee and blocked her blade from connecting with his leg. Not pausing, Skye yanked her sword back up, righted it in her hands and swiftly smacked his exposed shoulder. Geralt laughed, then swiped his thick arm out, knocking her feet out from under her.

“I know, he taught you to stand on those toes.” He commented, straightening up and extending his hand out to her.

Growling, Skye took his hand and let him pull her up back onto her feet. As soon as she was back on her feet, she hooked one of her feet around his ankle, pulled, and drove her shoulder into his chest, sending him to the ground.

“He did.” She grinned, proud of herself. “He also taught me that!” She giggled at him. “So, two for me and one for you.”

“Are you going to help me up?”

“No!” She laughed, backing away from him. “Took all my body weight to get you down there to start with.” She blushed, waiting for his next move.

“Smart girl.” He teased her, getting up.

They sized each other up and started again, blocking, circling and trying to trip the other up, the more they went at each other, the quicker they moved, finding their rhythm together. Skye started noting Geralt's proclivity of twisting his thick body to put more force behind his swings and sword movements. It amazed her that someone Geralt's size was so agile and fluid in his movements, they reminded her of a dancer or a ballerina, which made her snort.

“What's so funny?” Geralt panted, tilting his head at her, sweat on his brow.

“No, you'll cut my head off, if I tell you.” Skye shook her head, similarly out of breath and sweaty. “It's not very—Witchery.” She explained, slowly losing herself to a fit of giggles at the image of Geralt in a tutu.

“Come on, out with it, mouse.” He felt himself grinning at her, a giggle bubbling in his own belly.

“I'm not a mouse.” She replied, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

“You sound like a mouse, when you giggle, and you're the size of one.” Geralt informed her, licking his lips.

The sound of their laughter rang out in the training room, echoing out the open doorway and into the hall. The sound caught the attention of Vesemir as he was coming down from his private rooms and followed it to the open training room door. Peeking around the corner, Vesemir cracked a smile seeing Skye and Geralt standing in the middle of the training mat, their sweaty faces, red with exertion and laughter, their shoulders shaking as they continued to laugh at, and with, each other. It warmed the older Witcher's heart to see the two of them finally loosen up with each other, letting down guards, bias and protective walls, allowing their full personalities free.

“You reminded me of a sword wielding ballerina, when you fight.” Skye finally managed to laugh out. “All you need is a tutu and you'll be set.” She leaned on her sword as she laughed even harder, picturing Geralt in all his normal Witcher gear and a frilly pink tutu around his waist, in the heat of some dire battle with a fearsome monster of yore.

Geralt let out a loud laugh, getting the same basic image Skye had floating around her head. “People will undoubtedly fear me even more with a tutu on.”

“And be jealous of your fashion sense.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Shall we finish, Geralt of Tutus?” She asked, using the cuff of her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

“We shall.” He nodded, composing himself.

Taking a couple deep breaths, Skye composed herself as well and brought her focus back on Geralt, who had his gold eyes narrowed and trained on her. She shifted and planted her feet, gripping the hilt of her sword in both hands, her blade at an angle and the tip pointed at Geralt, taking note of every twitch and shift of his shoulders, arms, hips and feet, trying to take in all the information she could, so she could anticipate his eventual move. Skye's back tensed slightly as Geralt tilted his hips at an angle and bent at the knees, waiting for the attack that she knew was coming. Despite facing him and her eyes never leaving his, Geralt moved quite suddenly, he took two long strides towards her, surprising her. Skye just managed to lift her sword to block one of Geralt's blows, stumbling away from him, trying to give him a wide berth to recover herself and get back on the offensive.

But, Geralt kept coming at her, not letting up on her, just moving closer and closer to her, and kept the blows coming. One of his blows disarmed Skye, sending her blade skidding across the floor and against the wall, making her gasp. Skye took a step away from Geralt, tripping over the edge of the mat. Snapping forward, Geralt wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, saving her from falling flat on her butt.

“Wh-”

Eskel's voice started behind Vesemir, who spun around and slapped a hand over his mouth, giving him a look that screamed 'shut it'! Then, turned back towards Skye and Geralt.

Skye looked up at Geralt, eyes wide, as he looked down at her, both of their hearts thundering in their chests. Blinking once, Geralt lowered his head a hesitant inch closer to hers, before going for it and kissing her, full on the lips. Skye took a sharp breath through her nose, resting her hands on Geralt's broad shoulders, utterly caught off guard by his kiss, the warmth of his lips against hers, holding her firmly against his solid body. Both of their eyes closed, melting into each other, Skye nudging against him, returning the kiss and wrapped an arm around his neck. Vesemir and Eskel chuckled, rolling their eyes at the two, thinking it was about time they kissed. Turning, Vesemir dragged Eskel down the hall, giving the two love birds space and privacy.

“Vesemir didn't show me that move.” Skye said, pulling her head away from Geralt, cheeks warm.

“I hope not.” Geralt whispered back, licking his lips and the lingering taste of hers. “I've wanted to kiss you for a few days now.” He admitted, his cheeks warming a bit more.

“Was this your attempt to kiss me, then?” Skye smirked at him.

“No, actually, I didn't plan on kissing you.” He replied, shyly. “It just sorta...happened.”

Skye nodded her head at him, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “When do you..we..plan on leaving after the first thaw?” She asked, after they stood there quietly for a moment.

Geralt frowned at her, brows low over his eyes as he regarded her. “The next day or two afterwards.” He told her, tilting his head. “Most of the snow should be melted away, making the trek down to the main path and through the pass easier than it was, while we were coming up.” He explained to her, his arm dropping from around her waist and took a step back from her.

“You must be antsy to get back to your farm.”

“Well, my parents' farm holds a lot of answers to questions I currently have.” She replied, feeling the air around them shift and change, like their kiss never happened. “What are we doing after that?” She asked, trying to get that feeling back.

“We'll see, when we get there.” Geralt told her, moving away from Skye and putting back the sword he had taken for their sparring session, then quietly left the room.

Leaving Skye standing there, mourning for the loss of the sporadic moment that led to their kiss.

“You've earned this.” Vesemir said, on Skye's last sparring session with him, taking her short sword from her and putting it in a leather sheath, he had actually made himself. “So, it's only right, that it goes with you, Skye.” He told her, holding it out to her.

“Are you sure?” Skye asked, slowly taking it from him.

“You are one of the best female swordsmen I have ever seen.” He told her with a deep conviction and nod. “Takes someone with great skill to beat not only an old man, but two of the top Witchers in the Continent, and you've done those three things, many times over again.”

Skye smiled at him, securing the sword belt around her waist and the bottom strap to her thigh, feeling the comfortable weight on her side. “Thank you, Vesemir.” She said, throwing her arms around his shoulders and giving him a hug. “For everything. You've been a massive help to my sanity, more than you realize.” She whispered into his ear.

“And you, mine.” Vesemir smiled, hugging her back. “You've been such a spot of sunshine in this gloomy hole in the mountain.”

“Thanks.” Skye chuckled, biting her lip and feeling a bit emotional.

The old Witcher had become very important to Skye over the last three months at Kaer Morhen, he had given her something to look forward to, when she got up in the mornings, something to practice on her own time and focus on. Instead of wandering around the grounds of the old stronghold, twiddling her thumbs and losing her mind, trapped with him, Geralt and Eskel, day in and day out.

Not only that, but Vesemir, like he had with Geralt and Eskel, had become a father figure to Skye, though he was closer to being her great-grandfather several times over again. Nonetheless, he was more a father figure than Tarzad, for obvious reasons, and it was something Skye had desperately been missing in her life. Vesemir had become as fond, and protective, of Skye as he had with Geralt and Eskel, like a daughter he didn't expect he wanted, but was more than happy and proud to discover.

“You're more than welcome, Skye.” He smiled, hugging her back.

The next day, packed and ready to go, Geralt and Skye said good-bye to Vesemir and Eskel, who planned on staying another day, before setting out on the Path himself.

“I'll miss you.” Skye lamented, hugging Vesemir for the hundredth time.

“Oh, nonsense.” Vesemir huffed, shaking his head at her. “You'll be out of here a week and be glad you don't have to see my ol' worn face until next winter.”

“You're getting soft, old man.” She teased him, giggling.

“Hey, what about me!” Eskel faked a pout, making her laugh harder.

“Oh, I suppose, you too.” Skye sighed, dramatically, moving around Vesemir to give the younger Witcher a hug as well. “You behave, or I'll hit you with an Aard next time.”

“Oh good god, Geralt, don't teach this thing how to Aard!” He said with a dramatic gasp and looked to Geralt as he fussed over Roach's saddle. “She'll be the death of us all.”

“Oh, shut it!” She laughed, punching him in the chest.

“Gods, help! She's attacking me!” He tried to sound frightened, but only fell to pieces with a fit of laughter. “I'll miss you, Skye. You're as good a partner in crime, as Geralt.”

“The Continent help us!” Vesemir laughed, shaking his head. “You'll take care of her, Geralt.” He added, narrowing his eyes at the white-haired Witcher.

“Of course, I will.” Geralt frowned back at him. “I got her here in one piece, didn't I?”

“He did.” Skye smiled at him, sweetly.

Geralt met her eyes for a moment, then turned back to Roach. Ever since their kiss, he'd been hot and cold in turns with her, one moment he would easily laugh and smile at something she said or had done, then in another moment, sometimes a split second later, he would close her out again and go so quiet, it was as if he no longer had a mouth. Vesemir assured her he was just processing an army of things and he would come back around to her again, if she was just patient. So, Skye did just that, she didn't push him to answer or follow her, letting Geralt come to her on his own, while still trying to show him she was reaching for him.

At least, she hoped she was showing that and he was seeing and feeling it.

Good-byes said once more, Geralt boosted Skye up into Roach's saddle behind him, no longer loath to touch and be so close to him. She wrapped one arm around his waist as he directed Roach towards the portcullis of Kaer Morhen, and twisted her upper body back to wave at Vesemir and Eskel, before they disappeared around the bend.

“So, where to first, Geralt?” Skye asked, twisting back to face him and wrapped her other arm around his waist. “Back through High Rock?” She inquired, resting her chin on his shoulder to see the side of his face.

“No.” He shook his head, frowning and stone faced. “We're going all the way to Flotsam, before we stop in a town.” He told her, gripping Roach's reins tighter.

“That's almost a week and a half journey, don't you worry we'll run out of supplies by then?” She asked, concerned.

“No, we can get water from the streams we'll pass and I can hunt, if we run out of food.” He said, his voice toneless.

Skye could feel how stiff Geralt was as she hugged herself against his back and felt a sharp and icy spike going through her gut. Maybe, he was just trying to get to Dorian as quickly as possible, so they could get their answers and be on their way, to wherever Geralt wanted to start on his new year of Witchering. But, a teeny voice in the lurking darkness of her mind, was paranoid that Geralt was up to something much more complicated, that threatened to be painful.

“Okay.” She whispered, resting back and loosening her arms around his waist.

Geralt rolled his eyes shut, biting his lip and pushing his jaw out, he wasn't trying to be cold or distant, least of all, hurtful. But, the sprout in his gut had deeply rooted itself into him and he was scared to let Skye in, afraid something would happen and the horror with Renfri would happen all over again, and his attachment to Skye was stronger and more tangled than it was with Renfri. Geralt and Renfri had only known each other for a few days, when he found himself in love with her, it was such a whirlwind, that Geralt was still confused and hurt by it, on various points. One being the seeping paranoia that Stregobor was right, that Renfri had gotten into his head and convinced him he felt all those things. With Skye, He didn't start feeling the tingle until almost two weeks into knowing her, finding her a nuisance and troublesome beforehand, and even then, it took him almost two months locked in Kaer Morhen with her, and Vesemir's mercilessly pointing out the obvious to the Witcher, to admit he did indeed love her, hopelessly so, and Skye couldn't play mind games like Renfri had.

Vesemir had also been right, when he said that if he wasn't careful, he'd end up hurting Skye anyway. His old mentor had recently added on to that point, stating that if he did end up hurting Skye bad enough, he'd run him through with his own sword. Sighing, Geralt relaxed, dropping his head forward, he just couldn't win, could he. He didn't need someone needing him, much less needing them himself. Things like that, always went sideways and back fired.

“Have I done something wrong?” Skye asked that night, when Geralt all but ignored her attempts at conversation.

Geralt sighed again and shook his head at her. “No, Skye. You haven't, I'm just tired.” He told her, quietly, which wasn't a complete lie.

“Can I help?” She asked, slowly, biting the inside of her lip.

“I don't think so.” He said, poking at their camp fire, pushing a half burned log deeper into the pile.

Frowning at him, Skye laid down on her blankets and covered up, watching Geralt through the dancing flames, his eyes looked like they were melting in the matching fire light. It's what she dreamed up, once she drifted off, Geralt's amber-gold eyes, melting down his cheeks as they kissed, slow and sweet, his hands pressing all over her body, through her clothing, igniting fireworks in her nerve endings as his palms glided over them. It almost felt real and she was disappointed to wake the next morning on the cold hard ground, alone and untouched.

Flotsam came into view as Geralt and Skye stepped off the ferry that took them across the Pontar River, almost three days earlier than when they left it for Kaer Morhen, the melted snow and warmer weather making the traveling slightly easier on them and Roach. But, Skye still couldn't help the nagging feeling that Geralt was purposely rushing them more than usual, but kept it to herself. They stayed in Flotsam long enough to replenish some supplies, have an early lunch, then moved on again, passing through Biały Most in the failing light of the afternoon, before camping by the bank of the Ismena river that flowed between Biały Most and Dorndal.

The closer to Dorian and Skye's family's farm, the more antsy she got and the quieter Geralt became, it was almost as if they had absorbed the energy and adopted the feelings towards each other they had when they first set out.

“We'll be in Dorian in the next two or three days.” Geralt told her, slowly turning the spit he had constructed over the fire, a hunk of meat skewered on it.

Skye nodded and sighed, drawing in the dirt at her feet with a small twig, she hadn't been in the mood to talk for the last day, finding little point, with Geralt speaking even less. The air between them was tense and charged with their brooding, unaddressed thoughts and feelings, and concern of what they would learn and find, once they did get back to Nica and Tarzad's farm.

“Geralt?” Skye called, laying in the bed of the inn they had gotten for their last night on the road before reaching the farm in the late morning of the next day.

“Hm.” Geralt hummed back, stretched out on his blankets on the floor, as usual, when they shared a room.

Skye bit her lips, trying to collect the courage she had a moment ago back up, clearing her throat. “Would you--” She bit and cleared her throat again. “Would you—lay—with me?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a long silence in the room, before the shuffle of Geralt throwing back his blankets and the squeak of the floorboards as he stood up. He stood at the side of the bed for a moment, his eyes on Skye for a long moment, before turning to sit down on the bed's edge and slowly laid down on his back beside her. Skye sat up, getting a quick glance from Geralt, as she untucked herself from her blankets and used one to cover him up, in spite of it finally being Spring, the air was still cold. After covering him up, Skye laid back down beside him, both of them staring up at the ceiling in an awkward silence.

“Thank you.” She mumbled, unable to take the quiet any longer.

“Are you all right?” Geralt squeezed out, heart thundering.

“Just cold.” Skye whispered back, curling her cold toes under her blanket.

Blinking a few times, Geralt carefully rolled onto his side to face her and met her sideways glance, then slowly draped his arm over her waist and pulled her side into his chest. The warmth of his body blanketing her and turning in his embrace, Skye snuggled herself into his chest, tucking one arm between them and resting her other one over his side, lifting her head as Geralt tucked his other arm under it, pillowing her head with his thick bicep.

“Better?” He rasped, his strong fingers rubbing away the goosebumps rippled down her back.

“Mmhmm.” Skye nodded, eyes shutting heavily, the scent and warmth of Geralt's body lulling her to sleep, as was the safety she felt being wrapped up in his arms.

Geralt hugged Skye against him and rested his chin on top of her head, melting into her and the mattress. He hadn't slept so well in years, it was so deep and peaceful. He didn't remember the dream he had, which was a relieving change, since a large percentage of his dreams were of the monsters he had killed over his life as a Witcher. No Kikimoras swiping at him with countless legs. No Manticores trying to sting him or crush him with their lion-like jaws. No deafening screeches of a Wraith or blinding screams of a Bruxa. Just floating in quiet and peaceful darkness, wrapped around him like a warm blanket, or in Geralt's case, wrapped up in the warmth of Skye's body.

“Are you ready?” Geralt asked, glancing at Skye over his shoulder as they neared her family farm on Roach, later the next morning.

“As I'll ever be.” Skye replied, hugging her arms around his chest even tighter.

They came into the clearing of the farm yard, which looked almost exactly as it had,when they left it, over three months before. There were a few changes to the farm, several of the animal pens that had been in disrepair over Skye's life had been replaced and rebuilt, there was also a porch swing now and the broken barn door had been fixed.

“Seems my father has been busy.” Skye commented, sliding off the back of Roach, her boots squelching in the mud and muck.

“Seems like it.” Geralt replied, getting down as well, panning his eyes around the yard for any sign of her parents.

“Mama!” Skye yelled out, looking around as she walked towards the house. “Hush, Nillie.” She snapped at the braying donkey.

The door to the small cottage flew open and Nica came running out, tears already streaming down her cheeks, when she reached Skye, throwing her arms around her neck and squeezing her against her body, sobbing into Skye's hair.

“My sweet baby!” She wept, overjoyed. “I never expected to see you again, so soon. Is everything well?” She asked, holding Skye at arm's length.

“Everything is fine, Mama.” Skye assured her, wiping her eyes.

“Has the Witcher been good to you? He hasn't hurt you, has he?” She fussed over her.

“Geralt is very good to me, mama.” She answered, smiling over at Geralt, who remained standing by Roach. “He's a perfect gentleman.”

“Ger—the Butch--”

“He's not a Butcher, mama.” Skye corrected her. “That is greatly more complicated than you can understand. Where's father?” She asked, quickly changing the subject.

“He's gone to the market. Mona gave birth to litter of piglets last week and he's gone to sell some of them.” Nica explained, composing herself. “Why have you come home so soon?”

Skye bit her lip and looked away from her mother.

“You're not--” Nica lowered her voice. “Pregnant, are you?”

“Witchers can't have children, besides Geralt and I have never been intimate.” Skye shook her head, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “We need to speak to you about something, that we perhaps should go inside to discuss.”

Nica looked Skye over and over at Geralt, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Yes, of course.” She nodded, looking back down at Skye. “I'll put the kettle on.” She said, giving Skye another hug, before going back inside.

“Come on, Geralt.” Skye called over to him, motioning inside with her head. “She's putting the kettle on.”

“Are you sure you want me in there, when you ask?” He asked, lifting a brow at the open door.

“Yes.” She nodded, she would feel a million times more comfortable, if Geralt was there with her.

Nodding back, Geralt followed Skye into the cottage, dimly lit by tallow candles and the fireplace. It was furnished with a mismatch of furniture, threadbare rugs and drapes, but had a warm and homey feel to it. Skye helped her mother prepare the tea, before sitting down with her and Geralt at the dining table.

“So, what is it you've come to talk about?”

Skye took a deep breath and a fortifying gulp of tea, before answering her mother. “Are you aware that I have Elven blood?” She asked, wanting to get to the heart of the matter and not dally around it.

Nica's back went stiff and her eyes flared, startled. “Whatever gave you that idea?” She demanded, then looked to Geralt, eyes narrowing. “Did you put this in her head?”

“No, he didn't.” Skye answered for him, rubbing her sweaty palms on her legs. “Geralt and I went to Kaer Morhen after we left here, where he, and a few others, spend their Winters.” She started to explain. “While there, another Witcher, Vesemir, started teaching me how to use a sword.”

“What!?”

“You heard me.” Skye sighed, cupping her hands around her cup. “It was during that, that I learned, purely by chance and accident, I'm able to use Signs, namely a Heliotrop.”

“Only someone with a certain Mutation or Elven blood can do Signs.” Geralt said, softly.

“Skye does not have a mutation, unlike you.” Nica hissed.

“Mother!” Skye barked, slapping her palm down on the table top. “He isn't saying I have a Mutation. We know I do not, which only leaves the latter explanation.”

The anger went out of Nica like helium out of a balloon, and she stared down at her untouched tea. “It's true.” She muttered, not raising her head. “You do have Elven blood in you.”

“Why didn't you never tell me?” Skye sighed, heartbroken, and slightly betrayed.

“I was ashamed of it.” Nica replied, lifting her head and meeting Skye's eyes. “I was afraid that if it was known, that it would only cause endless trouble and hardship on you. After the Great Cleansing and the persecution that anyone of Elven blood endured, I was afraid of it's danger to your future. So, I kept it a secret, I'm the only one that knows of it, and I never dreamed that you would find out.”

“That's why I claimed Tarzad was your father, that way your blood could never be—“

“Wait, wait, wait!” Skye cut her off with a wave of her hand, a boulder sized lump in her throat. “Claimed he was my father?”

Nica nodded, her body drooping under the weight of the secret she had carried with her for the last twenty-one years. “Tarzad isn't your biological father.”

Skye's mouth dropped to the table, shocked. “What?” She squeaked out, tears welling up in her eyes and head spinning.

“Your—Tarzad—had been gone a year after joining the Temerian army, I became lonely, living here alone and isolated. I never expected or looked for comfort, but one day, who I originally thought was a man, came to the farm and asked for a hand out. So, I brought him in and shared some of my food with him. He returned several times over the following weeks and...we grew very close. “ She explained, ringing the tip of her finger around the lip of her tea cup. “One thing led to another and we became lovers. It was after our first intimacy, that I discovered that he was an Elf. But, I didn't care, I loved him. We were together several times, when Tarzad returned for a short time and he stayed away.”

“Tarzad resumed our marriage in his short hiatus, and I behaved as if nothing happened. When he left again, your real father saw me a few more times, before disappearing himself. It was not long after that, I learned I was pregnant with you.”

“How can you because that Tarzad isn't my real father?” Skye asked, desperate.

“Because, we were never intimate, when Tarzad was here.” She replied, biting her lip. “He has a certain—mechanical—issue, that makes it impossible to do so. Enos did not have such an issue, so he is the only one of them that it could be your father.”

Skye rested her elbows on the table and pressed her hands to her face, struggling to believe what her mother was telling her. She wasn't Quarter-Elf, like they had believed she was, she was Half-Elf, taking after her mother in appearance, which allowed Nica to pass Skye off as a Human, to lie to her, Tarzad and everyone else in Skye's life.

“Does Tarzad know?” Geralt asked, frowning at Skye and gently resting his hand on her knee, under the table.

“No.” Nica shook her head, looking pathetically at her daughter. “I never intended anyone to find out about Enos and myself.”

“Well, that seems to be out of the bag, doesn't it.” A voice called. “Wife.” Tarzad stepped out of the hall and into the kitchen.

“Tarry!” Nica gasped, jumping to her feet in surprise. “I can explain--”

Tarzad cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I heard all of it, so there's no explanation needed, Nica.” He told her, then looked down at Skye, who hadn't moved. “It doesn't matter either.” He added, softer. “I've claimed Skye as my own, and I stand by my word.”

Skye lifted her head, her and her mother blinking at each other, they had expected a fire storm of Tarzad tearing the house down in the fit of anger of finding out he had been lied to about Skye's parentage and his wife cheating on him with an Elf. Everyone, including Geralt, looked at the old Soldier with surprise.

“Really?” Nica gulped, stunned.

“Really.” Tarzad nodded, softly. “I could never give you a child of our own, one that you deserve. So, if this is how it's to be, then so be it.” He told her, resting his hand on Skye's shoulder. “You will always be my daughter, Skye. No matter what.”

Skye rested her hand on his and smiled softly at him, touched by his words, and nodding her head, unable to find her voice.

With the truth out on Skye being Half-Elf, things shifted between the three of them. Her mother no longer felt swallowed and consumed by the dark and looming secret over her head, Tarzad seemed freed by the revelation, having felt the strain. Skye felt freed by it as well and looked forward to leaving with Geralt the next day, going on their way across the Continent and seeing him slay monsters. They stayed the night on the farm, Geralt opting to camp out like he had the last time, and Skye stayed in her old room. The real issue didn't come until the next morning, when Skye woke and went out to Geralt's camp. But, instead of finding him and Roach, she found a dead campfire and her sheathed sword, with a note tucked inside of it, resting against a tree. Frowning, she slipped the note out of the scabbard and read the scrolling sentences.

'Skye,

I know you're going to be upset with me, when you finish reading this, but I've done it for your own good. Even though, Tarzad has claimed you as his daughter, by blood, you are not. Which, causes the Law of Surprise I took from him in payment of saving his life, null and void. So, you are free of me and the obligation to continue on with me as I travel the Continent as I do my trade as a Witcher. I hope you understand why I've parted with you in this way and can forgive me, someday. ~ Geralt.'

Skye blinked rapidly, her eyes burning and blinded by tears. “Geralt!” She cried out, turning in a circle. “This sick joke isn't funny! Come out, you little shit!”

But, the only sound was the chirping of the early morning birds and the leafy rustle of squirrels foraging for food. Anguished, Skye crumpled the note in her hands and screamed at the top of her lungs, hot tears dripping down her face. Nica and Tarzad came running, hearing her scream in the house, and found her on her knees, sobbing and rocking.

“Skye, what's happened?” Nica asked, dropping to her knees and cupping Skye's face in her hands.

She blubbered and held out the crumpled note that Tarzad took from her and read aloud. “He's left.” She trembled.

“This is good, isn't it?” Tarzad asked, frowning down at her.

“Oh.” Nice whispered softly, seeing it now.

“Oh?” Tarzad looked to his wife.

“You're in love with the Witcher, aren't you?” She asked Skye, softly, stroking Skye's raven hair off her flushed and wet face. “Oh, Skye.” Nica sighed, hugging her against her breast and soothing her hand over her back. “First love is always that hardest, especially with someone like a Witcher, they can't feel or love like we do, my darling girl.”

“I thought he had, mama.” Skye sobbed into her chest, hugging her shaking arms around her mother's waist. “I thought he had.”

Geralt made it to Anchor by mid-morning, having left Skye's family farm just after midnight, once he knew the little family was sound asleep. He felt conflicted and guilty for up and leaving her like he had, but he had done it for her own good, or at least that's what Geralt repeatedly told himself. The life on the road, being a nomad for nine months of the year, running into one dangerous situation after another, wasn't suited for someone like Skye, who had lived a mostly sheltered life on a farm in a major city.

Even though she had fared well on their long and grueling journey up to Kaer Morhen, they hadn't run into any of the trouble Geralt was accustomed to running into the rest of the year. He feared that while he was away dealing with some monster or another, leaving her behind at the nearest town, that some of the townspeople would turn on her for keeping him company or treat her as if he had taken her hostage. A young and beautiful girl with the likes of an emotionless and evil Witcher, wouldn't settle or bode well with people, whether they knew she was half-elf or not.

“She's safer there.” He said out loud to Roach, who tossed her head. “Don't judge me!” He snapped, frowning at the mare. “You know what it's like on the road!”

Roach snorted and shook her head at him.

“Fine, I could have told her to her face, but you know as well as I do, how stubborn she is. The first sight of what direction we were going in, she'd follow.” He continued to argue, feeling the throb in his chest. “I am a Witcher, I don't feel and I sure as fuck don't fall in love.”

Roach stopped dead in the middle of the road.

“Oh, come on.” He growled at her, trying to nudge her forward again. “Roach, stop being so stubborn!” He hissed, kicking her sides, but the mare refused to budge. “Oh all right!” Geralt roared, dropping her reins and swinging one leg over the other side of the saddle to slip down off Roach's back. “I love her! Is that what you want to hear?”

“I love Skye.”

Roach tapped a hoof on the ground, tossing her head and flaring her lips. Rolling his eyes, Geralt gathered her reins and continued on foot, grumbling under his breath the whole way. He stopped in Anchor overnight, before continuing on, trying to put as much space between himself and Skye that he could, more to prevent himself from turning back for her, than to try and dissuade her, in case she tried following after him, that's if she even managed to find out which way he had gone.

Which is exactly what Skye had done. After calming herself down and collecting her bearings, Skye took up the sword Vesemir had given her and decided to go after the Witcher, not caring how long it took her to find him again.

“Skye, wait!” Tarzad called after her as she started towards town.

“You're not changing my mind. Mama has already tried and failed.” Skye called back over her shoulder.

“I'm not going to stop you, child.” Tarzad told her, grabbing the back of her elbow and pulled her to a stop. “But, you can't follow the Witcher on foot, when he has a horse. You'll never catch up to him, come with me.”

Sighing, Skye followed after him and into the barn. Tarzad pulled one of the new horses he bought out of a stall and tossed a saddle over it's back. He had just finished saddling the shiny black horse, when Nica came into the barn, carrying a pack with her.

“What's going on here?” Skye asked, looking at them suspiciously.

“We know nothing we say will stop you from going after him, Skye.” Nica said, opening one of the saddlebags and tucked the pack inside. “So, we might as well help you be prepared to chase him halfway across the Continent, so you don't get yourself killed.” She explained, securing the bag closed. “There's three changes of clothing, food and water in the pack, it should last you a few days, if you ration it.”

“Here.” Tarzad came around the horse to her, holding out the reins. “Arthas is a good and strong horse, he should do you good to catch up with the Witcher's mare. Take this as well.” He pulled a dagger out of his back pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“It'll help you keep you safe, along with your sword.”

“As well as this.” Nica said, holding out a moderate leather pouch of jiggling gold pieces.

“I can't.” Skye shook her head at them, overwhelmed.

“You can and you will.” Nica told her, sternly.

“That dagger was my father's, his father had given it to him, and so on.” Tarzad explained. “I had hoped to give it to a son, but you're just as, if not more, than worthy of it.”

Skye choked up and hugged her arms around their necks. “Thank you for understanding.” She sniffled, pulling back.

“Love is a funny thing.” Tarzad smiled, hugging his arm around Nica's waist.

“Just be safe, Skye.” Nica replied, her bottom lip wobbling.

“I promise, mama.” Skye assured her. “I am the daughter of a soldier, after all.” She said, grinning at Tarzad.

“That you are, my dear girl.” He smiled back at her. “Now, up you go!” He said, stepping back and letting Skye lift herself into Arthas's saddle. “He's almost a full two days ahead of you.”

“I don't know where to start.” Skye said, as it all came tumbling on top of her.

“He's a white-haired Witcher, Skye.” Nica chuckled, shaking her head. “It's hard to miss him, even when you're not paying attention.”

“That's a fair point.” Skye snorted, nodding her head. “I'll go to Dorian first, see if he passed through and where to, if he did.”

“Sounds like a good start.” Tarzad agreed with her.

Skye rode Arthas into Dorian with all due haste and slipped out of his saddle as she entered the market, leading the Friesian by the reins through the thicket of people bustling around. It was luckily the second day of the Spring market, with the bluster of Winter over, neighboring farms could bring in whatever they had to sell, so they could buy their seeds or farm animals to get the Spring harvest started, in preparation for the next coming Winter. Skye picked her way through the crowd until she found a merchant she was familiar with, and also happened to be the town gossip line.

“Elza!” She cried, throwing on a giant smile as she stopped by the middle aged woman's stall of herbs and seeds.

“Skye!” Elza called back, standing up and throwing her arms around Skye's neck. “How are you, dear girl?” She asked, lowering her arthritic body back into her chair. “I heard you had gone off with a strange man at the start of Winter.”

Skye smirked at her. “I did, but I was wondering, if you've seen a Witcher around? Large, gold-eyes, white-hair, brown mare. Might have passed through the night before the market started.”

Elza drummed her fingers on the corner of her stall, considering and recalling. “Yes, I believe so. I believe a man of that description came through here, very early in the morning.”

“Do you know where he went?” Skye asked, antsy.

“Why would you be chasing after a Witcher?” Elza asked, narrowing her eyes at Skye.

“I have my reasons, do you know where he went?” She replied, growing impatient.

“Mhmm, he went out the northern gate.” She revealed. “Wh-”

Skye quickly turned away from Elza and picked her way out of the crowd, swinging up into Arthas's saddle when the sea of people thinned out and burst through the streets of Dorian, dodging around corners and side streets, towards the north gate of the city, towards Anchor. It took Skye nearly a day to reach Anchor, riding hard most of the day and not stopping when night fell around her, not wanting to waste any more time catching up with Geralt. When she did reach Anchor, a few hours before dawn, she questioned anyone in the streets that might have seen Geralt and Roach, before stepping into the tavern, spent and thirsty.

“What will it be?” The Barkeep asked, as Skye stepped up to the counter.

“Whatever is the warmest and a mug of mead.” She told him, rubbing at her dusty face.

“Are you looking for a room?” A woman behind the bar asked, looking Skye over.

“No.” Skye shook her head, even though she struggled to keep her eyes open. “I am looking for a Witcher, gol--”

“Gold-eyes, white-hair, built like a brick house and broody?” the woman interrupted her, nodding her head with a disapproving crease on her brow. “Yeah, he was here yesterday morning, for a short while, before moving on again.”

A measure of exhaustion in Skye's road-worn body vanished at the lady's words. “Did you see where?” She asked, minty eyes wide with desperation.

“No, I'm sorry.”

Just like that, Skye was tired and deflated again. “Thanks.” She mumbled to the woman and barkeep, taking her food and drink to a table, hunching over it.

“You lookin' for a Witcher?” A gravelly voice asked beside her.

Skye rubbed her gritty eyes and nodded her head, not looking up at the voice's owner. “Geralt of Rivia.” She told him, dunking her wooden spoon into her bowl of hot liquid of some sort that smells slightly fishy.

A body slipped into the chair in front of Skye, elbows on the table. “Why are you looking for the White Wolf?”

“He has something that I want back.” She growled, upper lip twitching at her meal.

“And, what would that be?” the Stranger pressed her.

Skye lifted her head and looked at him, her angry expression never altering as she stared straight into his eyes. She wasn't about to tell this punk that she was tracking the Witcher down for stealing her heart, then having the audacity to run off with it. That would have created more attention and trouble than she already had trying to locate and catch up to Geralt in the first place. So, Skye did the next thing that came to her mind.

“My gold.” She lied, coldly. “I employed him to kill a monster that's been harassing my farm, but the bastard took my money, and ran.” She explained to him, taking a slurp of her food; which was definitely a fish stew.

“I want it back.”

“You think a wee thing, like yourself, can best a Witcher?” The man snorted, grinning and dragging his eyes over her body. “That's rich!” He laughed aloud, slamming a palm down on the table in his fit; spilling some of Skye's early breakfast in the process.

Narrowing her eyes, Skye jerked the dagger Tarzad gave her out and stabbed the tip of it into the table; between the man's slightly spread fingers and made him go pale. “Yes, I do.” She growled, darkly, yanking the dagger out of the table and slipped it back into its sheath in her waistband.

“You're pretty handy with a blade.” He said, examining his hand, not a mark on it.

“I missed.” Skye huffed, chugging down some of her mead. “What do you want, anyway?”

“I overheard you talking to the innkeeper's wife about a Witcher that matched the White Wolf.” He told her, settling his eyes on her. “I happened to see him, on the road, as I made my way home.”

“Oh, and where would that be?”

“On the northeast road from here to Vizima.” He replied and slid his hand, palm up, across the table towards Skye.

“If I find out you're lying, I won't miss the next time I see you.” Skye warned him with a growl, pulling a gold coin out from her pouch and dropping into his hand. “Now, piss off.”

Smirking and closing his hand around the cold metal, the man nodded his head and stood, leaving Skye to finish her food in peace. Finishing her meal, Skye stopped by a merchant's shop to replenish her stock of food, knowing it was going to be a little bit until she arrived in Vizima and didn't want to run the risk of running out, then went on her way, finding the road, that was more a trail, between Anchor and Vizima.

“You think he'll still be there, when we arrive?” Skye asked Arthas, as she sat by the little fire of her camp that night, needing to rest before she fell over. “Why would he do that?” She sighed, looking up the gelding as he munched on the grass. “He kissed me and gave me so many signals that he loved me. I seriously don't believe he's emotionless, either.”

Arthas nickered and huffed through his flaring nostrils, still munching on the sparse grass.

Skye sighed and shook her head. “He's right, he doesn't have a claim on me, since the Law of Surprise doesn't count, but I thought, that since we love each other, that would have been enough. It would have been for me, if the roles were reversed.”

But, just like with Dorian and Anchor, Skye didn't find Geralt in Vizima, and had hit a dead end, no one had seen Geralt pass through the city, and with so many options and routes for Geralt to take on whim and fancy, his trail had gone hopelessly and discouragingly cold. He could have gone north to Houtburg or La Valette, or west to Dorndal or Ellander. She was sure he wouldn't be heading back to Kaer Morhen, not until Winter, that is, and that was eight months from now. She considered heading there and waiting out the long months until Geralt returned, explaining to Vesemir what had happened, but shook that off, she wasn't going to wait that long to confront the Witcher on abandoning her like he had.

So, Skye did something that was probably more than silly and desperate, she pulled a gold coin out of her pouch, designating heads for north and tails for east, then flipped it, the mid-morning sunlight glinting off of it, before it dropped to the ground at her feet.

Heads.

Picked the coin back up, she did it again, heads for Houtburg and tails for La Valette.

Heads again.

“Houtburg it is, then.” She sighed, storing the coin away and asked a man setting up shop for directions to the city, thanked him and mounted Arthas, going on her way and praying she was going in the right direction.

-- Chapter V --

107 notes · View notes

wonderlandmind4 · 4 years

Text

Delicate Stages of Life: 27

Time Heist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Summary: Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

Warnings: Language. Angst.

Words: 8005 k

A/N: (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. (gif not mine) Sorry for the wait!

Fingers glide over a slick flat surface, ripples cascading outward. Eyes flutter open, vision filled with the hue of a dusty orange haze; a setting sun. Slowly, Ana sits up, hands stroking through the water that never dampens her skin. Pushing herself up, she turns, immediately spotting the little girl. As she walks towards her, footsteps silent in the pond, the girl meets her gaze. She doesn’t speak, just takes a step sideways, placing her small hands against her own chest. Curiosity propels Ana forward, moving closer to the girl, searching her brain to recall her name.

“Gamora,” Ana speaks with a hushed tone.

She stretches out her hand for the child to take. Ana has so many questions to ask her, sitting on the tip of her tongue. Gamora shakes her head, a rueful tilt to her mouth, eyes glossy. She keeps her hands over her chest, a faint glow emitting between her fingers.

“How can I help you?” Ana begs. What was her purpose of being here? Of her constantly waking up in the same spot, in the same world, for years now? “I want to help you.”

“You’re not here for me,” She whispers ominously.

Eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

The child’s tiny smile falls from her lips. She moves one hand to press against the door behind her, holds out the other for Ana. When their fingers connect, a rush shoots through Ana’s body, suddenly she’s standing on the other side of the door. She blinks, the sensation rolling through her chest when she touched Gamora remains as she stares ahead.

Bucky, as in every dream, stands before her, the same little grin on his lips. “Annie.”

Ana immediately goes to him, her hands hovering over his face. She refrains from touching him just yet, not sure if he’ll fade away the second she does. The only time they were able to solidly feel each other was the night their daughter was born; she hasn’t been able to touch him since. She hasn’t been back in this world for months.

“Bucky,” His name spills on a choked sob, relief warming her body at the sight of his beautiful face. “Hi.”

Bucky raises his hand, barely brushing his fingers through her hair, light enough to send a shiver down her spine. Her heart sings with the ghost of his touch.

“I wish I could stay here with you,” Ana mumbles, copying his own gesture, her fingers grazing over his beard, hovering down to his chest. “I wish I could feel you.”

A solemn smile crooks his mouth. “I’m always with you. With Alex. She is so beautiful, Ana.”

Bucky saying their daughter’s name fills a part of her soul. It’s the same sensation she had when she first held their baby girl. Ana can’t resist any longer, pressing her hand firmly against his chest. She longs for him. She needs him, just needs to feel his body beneath her palm, if only briefly. Bucky tilts his head down, forehead resting against hers.

“I love you,” Ana weeps softly, beginning to feel him dematerialize.

Bucky cups her cheeks, thumbs wiping away the tears staining her face. “Just because I’m not here, doesn’t mean my love for you has faded.”

She grips his vest desperately, praying, yearning to keep him together in front of her. With every passing second, his fingers become lighter, feathers dancing over her skin, her hand sinking into his chest. Ana quickly grabs his right wrist, turning her face to kiss his palm, dust settling on her tongue, grains caught in the imprints of her lips.

“Be careful, Annie Doll.” Bucky’s warning echoes distantly. His form dematerializing into the air.

She can’t question what he means, too focused on attempting to breathe as ash fills her lungs. Bucky’s hand crumbles away. Her soul once again ripped from her body as her hand closes around nothing.

Waking with a shuddering gasp, Ana jerks upward, gripping the nearest thing with one hand, clutching at her chest with the other. Awareness comes quickly; her lashes and cheeks are wet, chest heaving, her fingers dig into the textured fabric of the couch. She takes her hand away before she can burn through another piece of furniture. Calming herself, she wipes her face dry, taking several deep breaths.

“Ana?” A concerned Steve hovers over her. His solid grip on her shoulder grounding her. “You alright? You with us?”

It takes her a second to answer him with a jerky nod. Keenly aware of all electronics flickering and buzzing around her, energy stinging her skin, she presses her hand to her chest, ceasing her powers. The air weighs heavily with loss, anxious anticipation, the fragile underline of hope. Emotional energy radiates from every person in the room. Tony doesn’t take his eyes off of her, brows furrowed, his eyes intensely attentive.

“I-I-” She stutters through pants.

“Sad mama?” Alex’s little voice pipes up, a question she’s been asking much too frequently. As if the toddler can sense the emotions around her. She’s sliding off Natasha’s lap, hurrying over to Ana. “Don’t be sad.”

Gathering her daughter into her own lap, Ana gently reassures her, hugging her close, reveling in the feeling of serenity only her daughter can give. Alex seems to accept this, lounging back against her chest and fiddling with her wedding rings. Ana lifts her gaze to Steve’s, his own keen on her every expression.

“This has to work,” She stresses, not caring of the desperation in her tone. “It has too.”

Steve leans forward, eyes intense on hers. “It will.” Then his jaw shifts, muscles clenching. “Because I don’t know what to do if it doesn’t. But it will work.” He puts enough conviction in his voice to make Ana want to believe him. Believe in the possibility.

“Well,” Bruce chirps after a stretch of heavy silence. He claps his large hands together, the sound echoing through the living room. Alex startles slightly. “Let’s get started then!”

All but Ana exit the living room. Hiding her face in her daughter’s hair briefly, another hand squeezes her shoulder firmly. When she lifts her head, Tony peers down at her, silent question in his dark eyes. Ana reaches up to pat the back of his hand, reassuring him.

While Tony tinkers with making Quantum suits and Bruce and Scott pour over their research notes on anything to do with Quantum Physics, Ana heads to the hangar several floors up. Alex skips happily behind her, softly singing Bucky’s lullaby.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone going with you? Steve at least?” Ana frowns once she’s sitting in the pilots seat of the Quinjet. She notices her daughter reaching for something on the control board. “Jamie Alexandra, what did I say about touching that?”

Alex snatches her hand back, sending her mother a cheesy smile, widening her blue eyes. God, she looks so much like Bucky when Ana would catch him eating out of the Nutella jar. Natasha locks her bag in a cupboard, then fondly ruffles the toddler's hair.

“This is something I have to do myself,” She replies, voice resigned. “I’m the only one who has any chance of convincing him.”

“Just...be careful.”

They lock eyes. Ana isn’t talking about Natasha protecting herself from physical harm, rather than protecting her heart and what she may find. Ana sees recognition dawn in her eyes. She dips her head in response.

“He’s never judged me on my worst mistakes...or non mistakes. I’m not one to judge him either. He gave me a chance despite my past, this is his.”

Pushing her hand through her hair, Ana sighs, accepting her answer. “Let me know when you get back home. If it’s really bad, I can try to help.”

“Thanks, I will.” Natasha turns to Alex, picking her up from the copilot seat. “You little miss monster, stay out of trouble.” She pokes her belly making the little girl laugh.

“I go too?” Alex asks with her innocent voice.

“Next time,” Natasha promises, kissing her cheek.

Following Natasha’s departure, the week brings moments Ana wasn’t quite prepared for. Though watching Alex run around in the grass, squealing and laughing as she chases after Nebula just minutes after she lands, fills her heart with joy. Rhodey and Tony have their own little reunion as Ana hangs back, relishing in a rare content moment.

Natasha successfully arrives back three days later with Clint in tow. Darkened, angry energy thickens the air, the sensation shoots through Ana’s bones the second she walks in the living room. It makes her knees weak, nearly giving out beneath her and when she meets Clint’s gaze, he dips his head in shame. When she recovers, Ana offers her help with the lift of her hands. The emotions rolling off him stings her fingertips.

“I don’t deserve your help,” Clint mutters brokenly.

“That’s what Bucky told me once,” Ana counters softly.

“That was different.”

“Is it?”

Clint huffs. “Don’t need to waste your powers on me, Feisty Cuffs.”

The old nickname makes her crack a smile. “Fine, will you allow a hug then?”

He relents. It results in Ana attempting to at least calm him, which makes him scoff before he playfully pushes her back onto the couch. When Clint officially meets Alex, his mood lifts significantly. When the little curious toddler begins to trace her fingers over the tattoos covering his entire left arm, Clint’s eyes soften with an all too familiar haunted gaze Ana recognizes.

Just one day later brings Bruce and Rocket back with Thor. His aura is worse than Clint’s, worse than anyone Ana has ever worked with; including Bucky. The god’s chaotic storm of energy and emotions leaves her breathless, overcomes her, and she frantically grabs Steve’s shirt to keep her upright as she falls. He’s quick to catch her, quick to take her from the room as she gasps.

Only an hour passes before she tries again with her rings on, greeting Thor with a spontaneous hug. He smells of sweat and stale beer, his long stringy hair and beard are unkempt, but Ana hugs him as tight as she can. When she pulls back, she cups her hands along his cheeks. His eyes- one blue, one gold- fill with tears, every ounce of his aura black, broken, guilt-ridden. Ana tentatively uses her ability, a slow morph of transmutation.

“They hate me,” Thor mumbles nearly inaudible. Ana is inches away from him and she has to strain her ears.

She offers him a gentle smile. “No one hates you, Thor.”

“You hate me.”

“Never.”

His bottom lip trembles before he tilts forward, face pressed against her shoulder. Ana hugs him like she did Clint, patting his back. A giggle echoes down the hallway, Alex appearing seconds later with Tony, her bunny clutched in her little hands. Smiling, Ana taps Thor harder.

“Would you like to meet my daughter?”

Without fail, Alex brightens Thor’s face with a genuine grin. She introduces her BunBun to him, chattering away and asking to braid his hair like her mama does with hers. Ana swells with adoration and pride, realizing that anyone who has the honor of being in her daughter’s presence always seems to cheer up, their energies turn lighter whether they’re sad or not. Vaguely she wonders if it’s just Alex and her cute happy demeanor, or if she had passed some of her own powers down to her child.

When Thor pretends to fall back from a fake self-inflicted punch from the bunny, Alex laughs uncontrollably, little crinkles forming by her bright blue eyes. Ana doesn’t focus on the possibility of what her daughter may have inherited from her or Bucky, just enjoys the sight of her little girl doing more for this makeshift family than she will ever know.

Tony, Rocket, Nebula and Bruce work tirelessly on building a Quantum Tunnel during the next few days. It’s a time machine and Ana insists on calling it an advanced dolorian much to Tony’s annoyance and Steve’s amusement. Halfway through the building process, Alex wonders in, her childish curiosity taking over as she plops down right next to Tony. Ana finally catches up with her daughter, halting in her steps.

Tony hands Alex a wrench, helping the little girl lift the heavy tool. He proceeds to teach her how to tighten a few bolts, chatting with her as if she’s a grown adult, the toddler nodding along as if she understands. Steve watches the scene a few feet in front of him, meeting Ana’s gaze before he makes his way over to her.

“Ya know, Bucky loved science and technology,” Steve states, a distant gleam in his blue eyes. He suddenly chuckles. “He was kind of a nerd.”

A pang clenches through her heart, but Ana chooses to make this moment a happy one. “Yes he was,” She laughs. “It’s one of the main reasons he loved living in Wakanda.”

“She’s smart, Alex is. Really smart for her age.”

“I think she has more Bucky in her than me.”

Steve must pick up on the slight waver in her tone, for he wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You ready for this?”

Sighing, Ana briefly rests her head against his chest. “I’m trying really hard not to get my hopes up, but yes. I am so ready for this.”

Clint offers to be the time traveling guinea pig after Scott nearly panics about doing it himself. The test run goes smoothly and the utter disbelief yet joyous expression on Clint’s face leaves every single one of them more optimistic than before. Ana feels the collective energy pick up, the grueling heartbreak, guilt, loneliness, the darkness that had a gravity which weighed them down is beginning to dissipate. It’s fragile, hope is fragile and one wrong move could snatch it all away, destroying any chance of bringing their loved ones back.

It’s what brings on a six hour brainstorming session the next day. Ana sits back against the wall of the conference room after she put Alex down for a nap. Being one of the only people, besides Scott, not to have some encounter with any of the stones, she decides to stay out of the conversation. Bruce reminds them of the limited Pym particles and how crucial each roundtrip is.

Nebula makes brief eye contact with her. Ana frowns at the meaningful look, until she abruptly remembers her fingers grazing over one of the stones on that damn gauntlet. Shaking her head subtly, Nebula looks away, focusing on Thor’s sorrowful rambling about the Reality Stone, or the Aether as Steve called it.

Tuning them out, Ana bites her lip, nervously tracing her collarbones with her fingers. She still has trouble recalling which stone she touched, if she did in fact touch it at all. Maybe it was her imagination and she has just been trying to justify where her dreams are coming from.

After Thor’s wobbly retelling of the Aether, and Rocket’s entire story of the Power stone on Morag and how he and the Guardians saved the galaxy from potentially being destroyed, Ana offers to order lunch. Really, she just needed a break from the stories and her own jumbled thoughts.

Once they finish eating, FRIDAY alerts Ana of a stirring toddler beginning to wake, when Nebula states her knowledge of the Soul stone. She mentions the planet named Vormir, just as Ana pushes herself off the chair she was lounging in.

“What is Vormir?” Natasha inquires, writing furiously in the notebook she hasn’t put down since they started.

“A dominion death,” Nebula answers ominously. “At the very center of celestial existence...it’s where Thanos murdered my sister, Gamora.”

Ana freezes midstep. That name, why does that name sound so familiar? A brief image of a little girl with beautiful green skin and markings around her cheeks abruptly flashes through her mind. Gamora. Gamora . Slowly she turns, facing Nebula.

“What?” Her voice comes out hushed. Nebula has never mentioned her sister before by name. “What was her name?”

“Gamora.”

“Oh my god,” Ana exhales, reaching out to grab the door frame for support. “Oh, my god, holy fuck.”

“What? What is it?” Clint sits up, eyes darting between the two women. “Did you know her?”

She fish mouths several times, trying to make sense of the connection she just put together. It couldn’t be. How is that possible? Ana shakes her head in disbelief, remembering that horrid day in Wakanda once more.

“My-my dreams…” Ana begins breathlessly, her heart racing. “I-I touched a stone. Nebula, the stone I touched...I think it was- oh my god . I think it was the Soul Stone.”

Nebulas tenses. “Are you positive it was-”

“Wait,” Steve interrupts. “You touched a stone!? When did you touch a stone?”

Ana glances at him. “In Wakanda...after you got hit. I tried attacking Thanos. I tried pulling his life energy out but he was about to use the stones on me. I-I grabbed the gauntlet, attempted to take the energy from the stones instead and my hand slipped. I stole energy from the Soul Stone !”

“Pause, think about this,” Tony cuts in, rubbing his temple. “How can you be sure?”

“My dreams!” Ana explains exasperated. Tony raises his eyebrows, confusion coloring his face. Right, he doesn’t know about her dreams. She sighs heavily, moving to sit in the same chair again.

“I’ve been having these dreams for the past three years,” She informs him. “They’re not normal dreams, it feels real, always feels so real, as if I’m actually there. Usually it’s the same with an orange sky, like a sunset. I wake up in a pond of water but I’m never wet. I always see this little girl before I-” Ana clears her throat, pressing her hand to her chest. “Before I see Bucky. I see him every time and every time I try to touch him he just...he fades into ash.”

Ana’s hands are trembling and she’s grateful she’s sitting down, for her legs feel like jello. “But, I see this little girl, this child right before then. I kept asking who she was, where we were. All she told me was that she was trapped. Until the night Alex was born.”

“You nearly died,” Natasha whispers, eyes wide as she remembers. “Your heart stopped.”

“I think that’s when it happened,” Ana continues. “When I passed out, I was back in that world. Like I was physically there! I spoke with her again, she said her name was Gamora. And Bucky. I- I could touch him. I was able to touch him without him instantly crumbling. That hadn’t happened before. He told me-”

She tilts her head, mind falling back into the memory, the feel of Bucky’s cool touch lingering on her cheek. The warmth of his lips pressing against hers. She shakes her head. “He told me it wasn’t my world, and he knew Alex was a girl before I did. I touched Gamora, I touched Bucky. He knew...they both knew.”

Blinking herself back, Ana meets Nebula’s shocked face. “Oh, my god, it’s real. That place, that world. It’s real. I think it’s some sort of Soul World. Call me fucking crazy, but I think maybe their souls are trapped .”

“You’re right,” Rocket pipes up after a long stretch of stunned silence. “It does sound fucking crazy. But, not impossible?”

“I’m with build-a-bear on this one,” Tony inputs. He’s been staring intently at her since she started talking. “You have to be absolutely sure about this, kid.”

“I am, Tony! Hear me out,” Ana urges. “Before Bucky and I got married, I connected our energies. Basically, I connected our soul energies. I touched the Soul stone, which I’m assuming I contracted some amount of that energy as well. Nebula, you said Thanos-

“He killed my sister there.”

She dips her head in sympathy for Nebula. “It makes sense...her soul being trapped within it. It makes sense why I keep seeing Bucky there, because to do what he did, Thanos would need to take away souls as well with the stone. Every stone had its own purpose.”

“Call me crazy too, but what you’re saying makes sense,” Clint shrugs. He looks up at Steve, who nods in confirmation.

“So, what does it all mean?” Scott questions, scratching his head.

“Mrs. Barnes,” FRIDAY’s voice cuts through the room. “Your daughter is now wide awake. As I have sensed the importance of your meeting, I have opted to play her favorite movie for now. She is currently content to view it safely on your bed.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY, I’ll be right there,” Ana responds, rubbing her eyes. She stands up, steadying herself to make sure her legs have stopped shaking. “It means, Scott, I think you’re right about this time heist. I think this might actually, truly work. Their souls are trapped and if we can reserve it-”

“You can’t just bring a body back, it’s soul needs to be brought back too,” Bruce adds on, excitement in his voice.

“Exactly! I hope...but yes,” Ana says. “We can talk about this later. I have to get Alex before she decides to get into the nutella jar by herself.”

Ana makes it to her room before she allows herself a moment to breathe. Resting her forehead against her door, she counts her breathing, attempting to settle her heart, attempting to tamper down her building hope. Because if she hopes too much and reversing what Thanos did doesn’t work, it will crush her. She doesn’t think she’ll survive a second round of failure.

The brainstorming session finally comes to an end, everyone exhausted by dinner time. Too tired to cook, Tony orders pizza. Alex is giggling uncontrollably as she tries stealing one of Thor’s pieces while he dramatically catches her doing it. Ana has barely touched her food, her mind reeling over the revelation she had earlier.

Had she been dreaming of a Soul World this whole time? Was that what the door was for? The entrance of said world, but then why was Gamroa not on the other side? Did Ana truly die for a few moments the night of her daughter’s birth? Had she entered that world, and that’s why she could physically touch Bucky? Was that why Bucky was so adamant about her leaving?

“I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

Did he mean the longer she stayed, the closer to death she really was? Her soul has been reaching out to his for the past three years. Bucky had been calling her name from that world for three years. Bucky’s soul has been watching over her from that world.

“You upset about my choice of pizza? I’m offended.” Tony’s voice pulls Ana out of her head. He sits next to her, purposely pressing the side of his body to hers.

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t touched your food.”

“Oh. I’m not very hungry,” She shrugs.

Tony appraises her, peering over the top of his glasses. “You’ve always been more powerful than you let on.”

“Pulling energy from an Infinity Stone doesn’t mean I’m powerful to begin with.”

“The fact that you were able to touch a stone without it killing you says the opposite. But I was talking about soul connecting.”

Picking the label off her beer bottle, Ana shrugs. “Bucky and I were connected long before that.”

“You’re downplaying your abilities, you have been for years, Ana. You don’t think I kept tabs on your energy readings since your brother’s funeral? The power knocked out within a ten mile radius. FRIDAY alerted me three years ago of an incident, your readings were off the charts, nearly reaching Thor’s level. Scarred the lawn I see.”

A sickening curl wraps around her stomach at the mention of her brother. Ana pushes her plate away further. Tony keeping up on her ability levels wasn’t a secret, the fact that he knew about her outburst was though; Pepper or Steve must have told him how it happened. Tearing off the beer label, she crumbles it, dropping it on the table.

“I don’t believe that,” Ana scoffs. She takes a long swig of her beer just to avoid the intensity in his eyes.

Tony hums, picking up her discarding pizza. “Regardless, I think you always had connections with soul energy, being an Empathic Energy Alchemist and all. Touching an Infinity Stone amped it up by thousands, connected you to a world on a different existential plane. It’s solid proof, and I gotta tell you, hearing that makes me feel better.”

“What?” She blinks at him as he takes a big bite. “Tony-”

He holds a finger up while he finishes chewing. Ana glares until he’s done, then steals her beer to take a drink. “I know the time heist will work, your confession only solidified it.”

“Glad to be a help, I guess.” She deadpans, snatching the bottle back.

His expression abruptly turns serious, lowering his head closer to hers. “You listen to me, kid. I know exactly how powerful you are. I’ve known you for 14 years. I know, I’ve seen how deeply emotions and energy affects you, it either debilitates you or you dangerously absorb it. When this happens, if this works and we bring everyone we lost back, it will affect you. I need you to be prepared. I need you to be ready to feel the world. You have to be prepared to, not just feel Barnes coming back, but everyone.”

The severity of Tony’s tone, the way his gaze vehemently holds hers, causes Ana to read between his lines.

“Tony,” Ana begins gravely. “Are you implying I could get hurt?”

“I’m simply warning you to be careful. I can’t predict if something bad will happen or not, but if it does, I’m asking you to prepare yourself. Don’t hold anything back, but please don’t take on that energy if it’s too much for us to handle.”

“Too much to handle?”

“According to the Jolly Green Giant over there, the stones have enough gamma radiation to light up a continent. I’m more worried about what that could potentially do to you. Reversing what Thanos did won’t be a success if I lose you in the process.”

His words mull over her brain for several seconds. “Are you asking me not to help?”

He hesitates. Tony takes off his glasses with a forlorn sigh. It’s in that moment Ana sees how the stress of the past weeks affected him, how exhausted he truly is. How his anxiety is barely rolling off him, tampering his own emotions down for her sake. Ana places her hand on his shoulder.

Tony sighs again before he answers, cupping her cheek. “Yes, I am. Just worry about yourself, for your daughter’s sake.”

Ana moves her attention away from his face, spotting Alex sitting next to Steve at the table. The two year old is attempting to eat a full slice, holding the pizza up and making a mess of herself, tomato sauce staining her little cheeks. Alex rips off a bite, chewing triumphantly and allows Steve to help her put the slice back on her plate. He’s trying not to laugh, due to the fighting grin on his face as he hands over her sippy cup. Ana’s whole world is in the bright blue eyes of her little girl.

“Okay,” She agrees belatedly, eyes sliding back to Tony. “Okay. I promise I won’t actively try to help.”

“And there is it, that stubbornness I’ve missed so much” He quips, dropping his hand and knocking hers off his shoulder. “And don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing just now either. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Laughing, Ana defends herself. “I honestly wasn’t trying to. You don’t hide your anxiety from me as well as you think you do. I can’t help it if I try to calm you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Eat your dinner, pain in my ass.” He ruffles her hair as he stands.

“Favorite pain in your ass, you mean.”

Tony steals her beer in retaliation.

It’s a Friday morning when the team walks in the hangar wearing the Quantum suits Tony made. Ana had been fussing with Alex’s hair the entire time everyone else got dressed, trying to quell her anxiety. Today is the day the Time Heist will be executed, hopefully without flaw. Keeping her fingers busy as she braids her daughter’s hair helped, just barely.

Upon agreement not to help where she didn’t have to, much to Ana’s displeasure, she’s chosen to stay behind. Bruce went over the panel system for the portal with her the day before, and runs through it one more time. The system is synced up to their time travel watches; all Ana has to do is press a button to activate it. She’s connected to their coms in case of an emergency and has to pull anyone back before their two minutes are up.

Natasha comes over to pick Alex up, complimenting her hair. “Look at this pretty braid! Did you do that to match your Auntie Nat?”

Alex nods enthusiastically. “Mommy did it!”

“Your mother did mine too,” Natasha pulls her French braid over her shoulder, touching the tail end of it to Alex’s braid.

“Yeah, after you couldn’t make up your mind,” Ana laughs. “I was halfway through pigtails.”

“When have I ever worn pigtails?” She scoffs.

“You asked for them!”

Natasha winks in good measure, hip checking Ana. She fondly rolls her eyes, handing Nat the time watch from the case Tony kept them in.

“I wanna go.” Alex pouts, pulling Nat’s face and attention back on her.

“You gotta stay here this time, little monster. But I’ll be right back and I promise I’ll play with you.”

“Otay,” The little girl sighs sadly. Natasha boops her on the nose then kisses her cheek. “Auntie Nebla!”

Alex launches herself into Nebula’s arm as she passes by, the woman with reflexes quicker than Steve’s catches her. Ana breathes a sigh of relief, shaking her head as she looks up. Your daughter, Bucky , she thinks. She swears she hears a phantom chuckle.

“I wish she’d stop doing that,” Ana groans.

“Takes after her father. I hear super soldiers like jumping off things,” Natasha teases.

“Ha, ha, funny,” Steve shoots at her as he makes his way over.

“Be careful, both you of,” Ana pleads, pulling Nat in for a hug. “You and Clint watch each other’s backs, got it?”

“We always do,” Natasha squeezes her tightly before letting go. “It’ll be the quickest two minutes ever.”

“Tash, lets sync up,” Clint says, pulling her away, not before handing the pot of coffee from the kitchen to Ana and winks.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with an empty pot, Barton!?” She calls after them.

“Fill it for when I get back!”

“I swear, this group of people.”

Steve shrugs, a smile teasing his lips briefly. “Hey, I know you’re nervous, but it’ll be quick on this side. We know what to do.”

“I know you do,” Ana responds, reaching out for his hand and squeezing. “Doesn't mean you can’t be extra cautious.”

He nods, returning a tight grip before taking his own watch from her. Ana passes the rest out to the team, each bidding a short “see ya later”. Nebula reluctantly hands Alex back, tenderly smoothing back any frizzled hair.

“We’ll be back shortly,” Nebula states, her eyes gleaming with guilt. “Then we can undo what my father has done. I hope assisting in this will be the greatest achievement I’ve done.”

“I have no doubts.” Ana expresses firmly.

“Alright, chop chop, we’re literally on a time crunch,” Tony snarks, pushing Nebula along.

“Rude,” Ana snips, knocking his hand away when he tries to ruffle her head.

Tony smirks then beckons her onto the platform with them. Taking Alex with her, Ana climbs the few steps, standing between Thor and Scott. The antsy, nervousness of their mission settles over her, making Ana roll her shoulders to release the tension in her muscles. Alex gently pats her hand on her mother’s cheeks.

Meeting his eyes across the circle, Tony nods at Ana. He puts his hand forward, curling his fingers into a fist, shrugs one shoulder. Steve follows, as does the rest of the team, watches all matching up to their jump points. Thor nudges Ana, shooting her a goofy smile as he grabs her arm. Taking the hint, she puts her own fist in front of her. Alex suddenly leans forward, trying to mimic them, causing a round of soft chuckles. All at once, they drop their arms back to their sides.

“Three years ago we lost,” Steve speaks up, determination laced in his tone. “All of us. We lost friends, we lost family, loved ones. We lost a part of ourselves. Today we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each, no mistakes no do overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know, that doesn’t mean you should know what to expect. Be careful, look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives and we’re going to win.” He suddenly meets Ana’s gaze, tilts his head down slightly, before looking over at Tony. “Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

Ana has to take a deep breath to settle her nerves, her palms sweating and she has to readjust Alex in her arms. The toddler waves, earning ones in return, even cracking a few smiles on otherwise stern faces. Rocket offers his fist to the little girl, who eagerly bumps her fist against his. Ana steps off and in front of the control panel. This is happening.

“Ready?” She checks, scanning the dials for the fifth time in front of her. “On my count. In three, two-” She swears a collective steady inhale happens right before.

“See ya in a minute,” Natasha quips with her charming smile.

“One.”

Ana nearly slams her hand on the button. The machine moves and shifts panels into place, helmets of everyone’s suits coming up to protect them. The panels rotate before spanning out and with a quick flash, they’re gone.

“Magic!” Alex giggles, clapping her hands.

If it weren’t for her excitable daughter, Ana would be crippled with worry. Instead, she claps with her, keeping her eye on the timer. Longest two minutes of her entire life.

She puts Alex down, shaking out her arms and wiping her hands on her jeans. No words come through her ear piece, which Ana takes as a good sign. She keeps her daughter entertained for the next minute and a half by pretending to search for her stuffed bunny, checking under the panel desk and her own shoe. Finally, only thirty seconds remain.

“Hey, little Bean, want to see your aunties and uncles come back?” Ana questions airily, keeping her tone happy.

“Yes!” Alex shouts, almost running up to the platform. Ana halts her.

“Wait! You have to stay right here, okay? Where it’s safe.”

She nods, moving back to the spot Ana points to, right next to the control panel. Alex bounces on her toes, eagerly anticipating the return of the team by her form of “magic”. Moving back to the panel, Ana hovers her hand over the return button, eyes keen as the seconds tick down. When five seconds hit, she inhales deeply, hoping everyone succeeds.

3...2...1.

The moment she hits the button, everyone reappears, some staggering behind a split second behind. The panels rotate with their arrival, relief weighing in Ana’s bones. Alex holds up her arms, a silent plea to be picked up and brought to the platform. Ana is about to do just that, when an ominous energy makes her tense. This new feeling, it’s foreign, dangerous, threatening. She quickly scans the platform, her eyes halting on Nebula.

Then, a heart wrenching grief twists sharply throughout her body, punching through her gut. Ana presses her hands against her chest. Shivers run her blood cold, the feeling eerily familiar to the day everyone vanished.

“Mama?” Alex whines softly, tilting her head. Ana clumsily pats her little cheek, her eyes moving from Nebula to the empty space next to Clint. Her heart skips a beat.

“Did we get them all?” Bruce questions hurriedly.

Rhodes holds up a silver orb. “Are you telling me this actually worked?” He sounds ecstatic.

Clint drops to his knees, head tucked to his chest, fists clenched and shaking. Ana cautiously moves forward, hands trembling. The air of loss stings her skin, and she understands, she figured it out, but she can’t voice it just yet. She needs confirmation; maybe, just maybe Natasha is running behind.

“Clint,” Ana chokes outs. “W-where’s Nat?”

The haunted, broken look in his eyes as he slowly meets her gaze, the tears staining his face, is all the answer needed. He looks to Steve then, failure pouring from his body despite the stone clutched in his hand.

Clear blue skies mock the heaviness in the air. A gentle breeze brushes over Ana’s skin though she hardly feels it. Her mind is oddly blank while she peers over the lake, sitting on the edge of the dock, fingers digging into the wood. The numbness beginning at her fingertip snakes its way deep into her chest.

Natasha is gone. Her best friend is gone. Her friend who always felt more like her sister, gone. Natasha had just been standing on that platform. Her trademark little smirk and excitement in her green eyes, and two minutes later, she was gone. The spot where she should have returned empty, cold. She had just been there .

“Do we know if she had any family?” Tony inquires solemnly.

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah,” his voice cracks. “Us.”

It didn’t take long for Ana to gently coax Clint off the platform, leading him back through the compound. He hadn’t said a word since returning, not after they changed out of their tactile clothes, not when Ana attempted to offer him a glass of water. Didn’t acknowledge a single one of them until he stood and made his way to the docks in the back. Bruce went after him, quickly followed by Steve, Ana, Tony and Thor. Now, she swallows thickly at Steve’s answer, gritting her teeth as her eyes begin to prickle. Her body still feels numb.

“What was that?” Thor demands behind her.

“I just asked him a question.” Tony replies, a hard edge to his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re acting like she’s dead,” Thor rambles. “Why are you acting like she’s dead? We have the stones, right? As long as we have the stones we can get her back, right Cap? So stop this shit! We’re the fucking Avengers, get it together!”

Ana dips her head as the voices grow louder behind her.

“We can’t get her back,” Clint finally breaks his grieving silence. “It can’t be undone. It can’t.”

Thor chuckles humorlessly. “No offense, but you are a very earthly being. This is space magic we’re talking about.”

“I know I’m out way outside of my pay grade here, but she’s still not here is she!?”

“That’s my point!”

“It can’t be undone.” Clint reiterates. “Or, that’s at least what the red floating guy had to say. Okay, so maybe you should go talk to him! Go grab your hammer and you go fly and talk to him!”

The painful guttural in his voice makes Ana flinch, a tear escaping as she looks over her shoulder. Clint catches her gaze, his own eyes dry now, but the guilt, the heartbreak shines through.

“It was supposed to me.” He chokes out, turning away. “She sacrificed her life for that goddamn stone, she bet her life on it!”

Bruce suddenly rips a bench from it’s bolts off the dock, aggressively throwing it across the lake. Ana watches land on the other side of the bank. Her fingers curled around the dock glow dimly, the wood singes for a moment before she reels in her powers. Flexing her fingers, the glow fades.

“She’s not coming back,” Bruce states. “We have to make it worth it. We have too.”

“We will.” Steve promises.

The quiet that stretches between them is long, heavy, fragile. Ana finally stands at one point, finally gathering Clint against her for a hug. He reluctantly returns it, face hidden in her hair. She reaches her hand out to Thor, transferring a bit of her own energy to him, whatever positivity she can scrape from the bottom of her own metaphorical barrel despite her own heart shattering with the death of Natasha.

“You know,” She tentatively speaks up. “Alex has been wanting to play with your hair.” She tells Thor. “I bet if you go back in and ask she’d be delighted.”

Sniffing, he offers a watery smile. “I shall do that then.”

Clint detangles himself from Ana’s arms, cupping both sides of her face. He tenderly kisses her forehead, lingering for a split second; conveying his brokenness, his grief, his guilt, his gratitude in knowing what she was subtly attempting to do.

“Don’t go wasting your energy on me now, you hear me?” He murmurs, his green-blue eyes boring into hers. “Take care of yourself, don’t worry about us.”

Frowning, Ana remains silent. Arguing against it would result in defeat. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Another tear catches in his eyelashes before escaping. Clint drops his hand and follows behind Thor without another word. Tony silently checks on her, Ana falling into a tight hug against his chest when he opens his arms. They hold onto each other longer than necessary, silent tears soak into his shirt as her body trembles.

“Steve?” Ana whispers, after she and Tony broke apart.

Immediately he shakes his head, dropping his face in his hands, a broken sob muffled in his palms. Ana rubs his back in soothing circles, the only comfort she can offer him for now. A big, warm hand settles carefully on her shoulder, her hand lifting to rest against Bruce’s knuckles. When she peers up at him, he jerks his head toward the compound, a nonverbal sign to allow Steve some alone time.

She agrees, but not before affectionately brushing back a stray piece of Steve’s hair, and gently patting the top of his head. He catches her elbow in a soft squeeze and turns. Ana opens her arms before he leans into her briefly, giving her a quick sort of hug. The bruise on his cheek has darkened, standing stark against his tears. She releases him, offering a rueful half smile before she walks away.

They’re back in the conference room two hours later, everyone minus Thor, Clint and Nebula. Heads are either hidden in folded arms on the desks or tilting back against the chairs. Ana has opted to wear her rings to stabilize the turmoil of energy surrounding her, especially after Alex kept asking where her auntie Nat was.

Having to explain to the toddler that her favorite person had died nearly broke Ana. Her daughter is a curious little thing, oddly attentive and smart for her age. Alex began asking where Bucky was not too long ago, leaving her mother to say that her father had always been watching over her, gone but never forgotten. In a place they couldn’t reach. Ana tried going along those lines of explaining Natasha’s absence, and how she wouldn’t be coming back.

“But, she pwomised to play with me,” Her little sad voice with her pouting lips made Ana tear up.

“I know, baby girl,” Ana had consoled, gently kissing her forehead. “I know, Jamie. I’m so sorry, love.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Alex asked again. Tony had stepped in to help Ana, breaking it down in a simpler manner. Later he told her he had to explain to Morgan when she was three why the little field mouse she always fed had suddenly died. Ana was grateful for the help and another parental experience.

True to her word earlier, Alex had been distracted by Thor offering his hair up for play. The odd thing was right before that, when the little girl ran past Nebula, she flinched, backed away and ran to Rhodes. Another strange incident occurred before they gathered in the conference room; Alex had refused to be held by the other woman.

The weird moments she mulls over get interrupted in her mind when she abruptly recalls what Steve had said on the dock in response to Bruce.

“How?” Ana whispers.

“How what?” Tony counters picking his head up. His eyes are bloodshot.

Whoops. She didn’t mean to say that out loud, but since she did she continues.

“How are we going to make it worth it?” She clarifies. “You guys lost the tesseract. You just said that earlier, and your trip to the 70’s was a bust. How do we make sure Nat didn’t die for nothing if we can’t even figure out another place to get the Space Stone?”

The quick look shared between Steve and Tony does not go unnoticed by her.

“I grabbed enough Pym particles for a roundtrip for two, but that’s it. Wherever it is would be the final chance to retrieve it. Absolutely no room for mistakes.”

The snark of Steve saying that the first time and failing dies on her tongue. Instead, Ana huffs, narrowing her eyes. She stands, moving closer to the screen projecting where the stones have been spotted in their timeline.

“Well, anyone have any ideas then?”

Steve heaves a weighted sigh behind her. “Italy.”

The second the word reluctantly leaves his mouth is when it clicks in her brain. Italy. Italy. Azzano, Italy.

“194-”

“I’m going.” Ana demands, spinning around just as Steve finishes the year.

“-Three. No.”

“I. Am. Going.”

“Absolutely not.” Both Steve and Tony refuse.

She shoots Tony a heated glare before focusing back on Steve. “Funny, because the way I see it, you both failed at getting the Space Stone, twice. I have yet to give it a try-”

“It’s too dangerous!” Steve snaps, slicing his hand through the air as he stands. “This is World War Two territory, Ana. Not some-”

“Choose your words very carefully, Cap .” Ana seethes, stepping closer. “You don’t think I know the possibility of what might happen, of who I might run into? I know the risks. Fuck dangerous. This is bigger than that!”

The flaring of his nostrils, the clench of his jaw, the hands on his hips, Steve is livid. The energy of his emotions radiates off his skin, a turmoil of fear, logic and anger. He exhales slowly.

“Think about Alex,” Steve attempts, his tone forcibly calm.

“I am !” Ana retaliates fiercely. “I always am. This is too big of an opportunity. We have the chance to bring him- to bring everyone back, and cowering in fear from that time frame isn’t going to do that. Now-” She stabs a finger in his chest. “ You aren’t going alone. You need help. I am going.”

Silence settles with tension between them. Steve looks helpless, but admits defeat by hanging his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s got a point,” Rocket supplies. “Fresh pair of eyes. Powers would be useful in a tight situation.”

Ana preens with a saccharine smile.

“Fine.” Steve grumbles. “Tony, how quickly can you make her a suit?”

Tony puckers his lips like he’s sucking on something sour. This was probably exactly what he meant when he was asking Ana not to help or put herself in a situation she shouldn’t. He narrows his eyes at her before breaking his stern expression and huffing a laugh.

“Already made.”

“Perfect!” Ana claps her hands once. “It’s settled. Italy, 1943.”

*******************************************************************************************

AN: Again, sorry for the wait. I struggled so hard writing this chapter, but i am very excited for the next chapter, which I promise will be updated much sooner. Thank you for sticking with me. Thank you for reading and thank you for your patience! Sorry I suck. Also, if you’re American.... VOTE ON NOVEMBER 3RD. Vote. Vote. Vote. Drabbles: Twenty-Six Drabbles: Twenty-Eight

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @buckyland @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick @eurynome827 @elatedmarvel @shesalatesh @paintedgreywriting @buckaroo-blue @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin @crushedbyhyperbole @jaxthebookworm @gamorazenn @happinessisaloadedgun @je-suis-prest-rachel @thiccstuxky

#delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life #bucky barnes x ana rios #bucky barnes x ofc #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfiction

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magpiemorality · 4 years

Note

Another request, if it's okay ofc, Canon or AU both are fine, Deceit and Remus both being interested in Patton and trying to gain his affections and being dramatic rivals. Patton is a bit obvious to it all at first but it ends with him cheerfully saying he likes them both so they both can become his boyfriends, they don't have to fight

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 AO3

Warnings: cursing, judgemental characters, a character dismissing polyamory as an option

***

“I just don’t know what to do!” Patton flopped down on his bed, keeping his phone up by his ear and pouting at the ceiling.

On the other end, his best friend Remy sighed before replying. “Maybe you could just go and do something about the situation instead of always whining to me about your crazy lucky love life?!” he suggested. “Because gurl, you’re lucky! My dry spell has been over a week now and I’m starting to go mad-”

Patton giggled and tuned out as Remy kept on complaining about his own lack of a dating life, twirling a curl around his finger and chewing on his lip thoughtfully.

It was a pretty heavenly dilemma to have, really. It was just so gosh darn upsetting that Patton had to solve the whole thing by making a decision, instead of just riding the euphoria forever.

The dilemma was this: Patton had two potential boyfriends and he was only allowed to choose one.

On the one hand; Dexter O’Reilly was drop dead gorgeous, and climbing the social ranks fast by essentially just building his own and declaring it lord of them all. He was mysterious and exciting and surprisingly sweet, and he was a total bad boy. Patton’s parents would never approve (the fact their wholesome Mormon beliefs didn’t approve of most of his life choices notwithstanding…) but that just made it all the more exciting. Dex would be the type of guy that turned Patton from Sandy at the beginning of Grease; to Sandy at the end of Grease, and he was sorta tempted by the idea of a change. Being perfect all the time was a bit of a drag after a while.

On the other hand there was Remus Duke. One of the defensive end’s of the football team, he was big and strong and, well he was a football player. Patton was a cheerleader. It was practically the law. And Remus was always smiling, always living his life loud and proud and defending his ideals no matter what it took. More than once Patton had heard of him getting into a fight because someone had said something rude to one of his friends, which should not have been as hot as Patton had found it, but gosh, loyalty was sexy okay?! Don’t judge him. Remus was not quite as much a bad boy as Dex was, but he filled the criteria nicely enough.

Patton was completely torn.

“-babes you’re not even listening to me, you complain about your dynamic duo all the time and you won’t even listen to me bitch about all the boys that don’t want to date me?!”

“Gosh, sorry Rem. I just- I can’t help myself!”

There was a moment’s silence before the sound of a cup being sucked nearly dry nearly burst Patton’s eardrum. “Hey, that’s not fair you promised not to do that without warning again!”

“Babes, deal with it. Now I gotta go get ready for class, but I’ll speak to you soon. And Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“Sort your head out soon. Rumour on the blog discord has it that Duke isn’t gonna wait for Prom anymore and wants to pop the question by Spring break. If you’re gonna pick him you’ll want to let the other one down gently before that happens, ‘kay?”

“Mm.”

“Okay babes, ciao!”

“Ciao, Remy,” Patton mumbled, dropping his phone by his head and letting out a loud groan. Easier said than done. Especially when it wasn’t just his head that had high stakes in the matter; his heart was going all in.

***

“Mr Duke, will you please focus?!” Dammit, had he been zoning out again? Fuck. Remus lifted his hand with an apologetic grin, turning back to the experiment his group had running on the counter in front of them.

“How does she always know?” Toby muttered, eyeing their Chem 3 professor suspiciously. “I was totally covering for you dude, I swear. I know how you get.”

Remus shot him a grateful smile, swirling the contents of a test tube until the mixture was evenly dispersed. “I know, it’s all cool. She’s just some kind of teaching cryptid, probably. Never doesn’t know every single thing happening in class…”

“So what was it today? You need to run it off later?” Toby offered once they’d started the bunsen burner and set the timer, sitting back to watch and wait for the reaction. “Bad or good?”

“Oh, kinda… both? No running necessary, bro, thanks, but maybe, maybe some house rules mariokart after practice. It was Patton again.”

Toby winced in sympathy. “Our itty bitty pretty cheerboy has got you bad, Duke. What is this, year two, month three?”

“Something like that. Do you think I should go back to the plan to wait for prom season? It’s just… that would be easy but then I’m wasting time and I already missed the winter formal chance and now there’s this other guy-”

“Wait what other guy?” Toby asked, leaning forwards to check the timer quickly. “There’s another guy?”

“Yeah, the fancy one. You know the one, he’s got the birthmark all over his face?”

“Huh, I thought you only liked the pretty ones-”

“Hey. We don’t make those jokes, remember? We’re better than that now. And besides, he’s not another guy for me, he’s another guy for Patton. They spent loads of time together over Winter break, and he’s like, super weirdly popular or something. Like a mob boss. He probably has way more to offer Patton than I do… Ow!” He glared at his friend, rubbing his shoulder. “What was that for?”

“For shit talking my best friend. Besides dude, this could be your motivation, right? You need something to get you moving, because shit if you aren’t gonna do it on your own…”

“Harsh, but fair.”

“So think of it like a competition. You’re good at those.”

Remus blinked, tilting his head. The timer went off before he could reply, so they tabled the conversation. He brought it back up again when they were on the field stretching before practice, eyes straying frequently over to the gym wall where he knew the cheerleaders were inside doing their own practice session.

“So, about that competition idea… What did you have in mind?” He asked, attempting to be casual and failing.

Toby grinned. “Alright, here’s the plan.”

***

“Here’s the plan,” Dex told himself sternly in the mirror. “You are going to go up to Patton and ask him if he wants to get coffee. You are going to go up to Patton and ask him if he wants to get coffee. Shit, no, he prefers tea…”

He sighed, walked in a frustrated circle around his room and came back to the mirror, pushing his hair back and starting again. “You are going to go up to Patton and ask him if he wants to get tea. With you! You are going to- oh what is the point?” This whole exercise was useless. It hadn’t worked for the past three weeks- why would it work today? He was going to pass Patton on campus and give him the usual strained smile and mumbled greeting before hurrying on with his day, annoyed and frustrated and disappointed and another day closer to losing Patton to Remus Duke.

Dex would rather die than let that neanderthal win.

And based on the information he was gathering on his blog, he was running out of time to ensure that didn’t happen. Today was going to be crucial- if he could break his routine of failure that was… Maybe a new plan would help? He could take Patton’s favourite order with him and offer it to him when he saw him and use that as a conversation starter instead? Now, that sounded more achievable.

The next morning Dex got up early to detour via the cafe, picking up his own and Patton’s orders and wandering through campus until he caught a flash of blond hair and a musical laugh. It all seemed to be lining up nicely until he caught sight of his rival approaching from the other side of the quad. Fuck no, Remus was not getting there first!

Dex sped up, noticing Remus notice him and seeing the moment he clocked that this was turning into a race. The footballer’s legs were longer and stronger than his own, but Dex had the headstart, and he made it to Patton just in time to hold out the cup of tea with a hopeful smile and open his mouth to explain his offering, when Remus crashed into him and the two of them went sprawling on the ground.

The drinks were spilled and Patton shrieked in surprise, trying to help them both up at the same time, and then apparently clocking that it was the two of them. He squeaked and went red, recoiling and running away, leaving the two boys to scowl at each other.

Dex rubbed his hip where he’d fallen and Remus brushed himself, looking very unapologetic. “So, you’re Remus Duke. I’ve heard all about you…”

“Oh yeah? You scared, O’Reilly?” Remus shot back, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need to know shit about you to know I’m gonna be the successful one out of the two of us. I mean it’s the law right- cheerleader plus footballer equals happy ending?”

“Back off Duke, you wouldn’t know how to treat him right anyway. He’s not a trophy to tick of your perfect life checklist!”

“No you back off- I saw him first! I liked him since freshman year, dude, this is just unfair of you.”

Dear lord was Remus actually pouting? Dex looked at him scornfully. “Patton isn’t an object. He makes his own decisions. He will pick the better man.”

“Yeah he will. And I’m gonna show him that that’s me.” Remus said with a proud smirk. Dexter stared at him. “I’ve got a plan,” Remus elaborated cockily, and Dex really wanted to wipe that look off his face, but he had better things to do and a reputation to maintain. And a replacement coffee to buy, if he wanted to get through today’s classes.

He lifted his chin and pulled his messenger bag higher up his shoulder with a scoff. “Well I look forwards to seeing what a brute like you can produce to woo a delight like Patton. In fact, I welcome the competition. It’ll make me look even better by comparison.”

Remus was back to scowling, and Dex tallied that as a win for himself. “I won’t even interfere, you’re going to fuck it up all by yourself, I’m sure. Just look at you,” he sniffed, looking Remus up and down with judgemental eyes. “You’re a mess, Duke. Bye now.”

He turned to go, leaving Remus huffing and puffing behind him, speechless with fury.

Things were off to a good start.

***

End of part 2 (woops this is going to be longer?)

#writepie #intruality #moceit #we need a name for this au #ts patton #ts deceit #ts remus #ts remy #cursing #prompt fill #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides aus #ts writing #sanders sides #patton sanders #remus sanders #deceit sanders #college au

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vantaestummy · 5 years

Note

Could we get your take on Taehyung and Yoongi both getting carsick on a road trip?

A/N: ofc baby! here we go. sorry it took so long! also major thanks to @d3t3rm1n4t10n91 for being so amazing and helping me greatly with this one!!!❤︎

TW: emeto & carsickness

———————————————

Screw. Road. Trips.

There's little one can do while being inside a car in motion. Yoongi decides none of those things are a great idea right now, though. Reading a book will possibly trigger the nausea that has been sitting mildly inside of him, like a dangerous dragon in its sleeping state. Scrolling through his phone? Not a good idea either. Looking out the window at the road that passes under them almost too quickly? No, definitely not.

The only Min in the group desires nothing more than to crawl into the cool sheets of his bed and take a big nap. He longs for the comfortable quietness that his room never fails to provide. For once he doesn't want to be in a van with eight people. Not that he doesn't enjoy his bandmates' presence, no. He's almost always glad to listen to Jimin and Taehyung singing in the backseat, Jin and Jungkook bickering and playing around, Hoseok's music blasting through his earphones and Namjoon tapping beats with his fingers on his thighs. He's almost always glad to be there with them, when the seven of them are together, when the seven of them are healthy.

Keywords: almost always.

The road up ahead looks like it stretches for forever, the sun dipping beneath it as the oranges and yellows and purples bleed into one another. The boys have been on the road for hours, dramamine having sat heavy in both Taehyung and Yoongi’s systems.

However, it’s been hours now since they left and the medicine has long worn off. They are only an hour or so away from their destination, the beach house in which they will be spending the next few days together, filming RUN BTS as well as a dispatch photo shoot.

Taehyung seems to be fairing a little better than his older band mate. There is a slight bout of queasiness that has woven its way through his system, however it is quite faint and nothing more than a bit annoying. Still, as Taehyung tries to get some shut eye, the whirring of the vehicle as well as the random bumps are far too unsettling.

Taehyung places a hand on his stomach, palming the skin there and taking a look out of the window, the world blurring past and doing nothing to ease the ache of his nausea. He thinks he’ll be okay since, they have less than an hour to go, however, the singer isn’t the only one that the jagged motions of the car are getting to.

“Hyung? Hey, you okay?” Taehyung whispers to Yoongi who, is leaning his head against the fogged up glass of the window, his breathing labored and a bit forced. Hoseok, as well as Jimin and Jeongguk, are asleep. Seokjin is driving and Namjoon is reading a book in the passenger seat. How he can read while the car is in motion, Taehyung has no clue.

The smallest –in size– hyung has unquestionably no energy for trying to hide the nausea that's slowly growing back to life in his stomach, each bump in the road a piece of firewood adding to the burning ache inside of him. He ridiculously thought he had the beast tamed. Well, joke's on him.

“Not at all” he manages to admit to the second youngest singer. He's not very fond of the idea of unnecessarily making Taehyung worry, but there is no way he can possibly lie about how he is currently feeling. Yoongi finds himself helplessly rubbing his belly as if that would lull the dragon named nausea back to sleep, where it can't be a bother. The movement is not welcomed positively, though. He muffles a small burp and a whine in the back of a black hoodie he decided to wear. Thank heaven it's not white, considering how sure he is that he's close to making a mess.

Admitting to Taehyung that there's definitely something bugging him appears to only rise the nausea further up his system. So, he tries taking a few deep breaths that can give him at least a bit of confidence that he's not going to throw up right now. That would make his dongsaeng's own tummy upset, and that would make two sick members too many. Three if Hoseok woke up and saw.

Taehyung, however, still manages to chuckle at his hyung's response, his own stomach beginning to simmer with a bilious feeling that is much too strong to control.

Seokjin continues to drive, the car rumbling and bouncing a bit as the oldest member of Bangtan makes to change lanes. Taehyung sighs deeply, stifling a quiet and yet, sickly belch into his fist. The taste is rancid as it is nauseating, and Taehyung's head becomes swimmy with the motion of the car.

Fourty minutes. All he needs is fourty minutes. They'll be there soon.

He looks over at Yoongi, who is now slumped over the seat in front, his warm forehead pressed firmly against it. His cat-like eyes are wide open, not daring to close them in fear that it might aggravate the overwhelming queasiness, the same that has him constantly swallowing down bitter saliva. It was frustrating to feel each movement of the vehicle inside of him as if his stomach followed every turn ten times harder. The disgusting acrid taste of bile is beginning to coat the insides of his mouth, quickly managing to make the rapper gag on the back of his hand. He gulps heavily, not knowing what is left to do to distract himself from the horrendous fate that's awaiting. His vision is spinning too briskly, worsening the fierce attack of the beast that's spitting fire in his guts, writhing and tugging at the knot of restraint, letting it come undone.

Oh oh. He's in big trouble.

Yoongi snatches a plastic bag from Namjoon's lap –bless this kid's weird habit of using random objects to mark where he stops reading– and opens it just fast enough to let a stream of saliva fall inside. He barely listens to his tallest dongsaeng whining about how he's going to lose the page, but at this point he doesn't even care.

“Hyung, pull ov—” he manages to say before a gag cuts him off. If this was a one-time thing, he'd be okay with just getting it over with. Still, he knows that once he vomits, he won't stop until his stomach is completely empty. Plus Taehyung will definitely throw up as well. The most convenient thing at the moment is to pull off.

Seokjin looks up in the rearview mirror, brows furrowed at the sounds behind him. He’s too focused on the road to have heard correctly, however the sight in the mirror is enough for his heart to nearly stop.

“Shit. I knew we wouldn’t last the whole ride. Namjoon.” Seokjin looks over at Namjoon who is still grieving his lost bookmark. “More bags, or cups, or something!” He yells.

Namjoon raises a brow in befuddlement before turning around, spotting Yoongi with his head deep in plastic, his spine curved as strangled, bloodcurdling sounds force their way out of his throat.

Taehyung groans, trying his damndest to cover his ears or, anything so that his hyung’s own sickness won’t set him off but, he’s far too close for comfort, and the vehicle is still hot and moving and Taehyung feels really, really sick.

“Hyung... hyung you gotta pull over.”

“Tae it’s a straight shot to where we are going and there is no shoulder in sight. I can’t just pull over in the middle of the road.” Seokjin grits between clenched teeth, not as angry as he is panicked.

Yoongi can't see a thing where he is, his head almost completely inside the plastic bag. Still, he's able to sense Taehyung's discomfort. He knows that the poor guy is wincing at the sound of acid grating his throat, of stream after stream of saliva dropping into the plastic, he knows it must be torture for him. Even so, he can't do more than to push himself as far from the singer as possible.

Namjoon springs into action a little too late, after the older rapper's gags become productive and he's faced with a mouthful of sick almost spilling on the floor. He retreats another blastic bag from his backpack and another one from the glove box, putting both at their reach. He has a feeling Taehyung is going to need it soon. Using one of the multiple wristbands he's wearing, the middle Kim brother crouches down to tie Yoongi's hair back before he must pat his back in fear that he might not be breathing enough. By the hard way, Namjoon learns that he can't entirely focus on Yoongi when Taehyung is showing signs of getting sick too. He learns his lesson when a considerable amount of spit lands on his shoulder.

Muttering a curse under his breath, the maknae of the rap line pushes a bag under the singer's chin just in time. The plastic crunches and gets heavier as the youngest Kim meets the undigested remains of the meal he forcefully ate hours ago. Namjoon can't reassure him with any physical contact since both of his hands are busy, but he tries to calm both of them down with quiet words, being extra careful not to wake anyone up.

Being the only one awake besides two sick friends and a stressed driver has to be terrible.

Taehyung’s hands quiver around the plastic bag, his own resolve crumbling as he tries to hold it but, can’t. Bile rips the lining of his throat, clattering into the plastic below with a loud and scratchy retch. Jimin is quick to massage his tense shoulders, shushing his intense and violent heaves. The middle child of the maknae line has always been a very dramatic puker, but with the sway of the car as well as the altitude that they are speeding along, Taehyung’s stomach is simply a punching bag against the environment.

“H-Hyung, please pull over.” Taehyung manages to slur before he’s back to retching, a particularly thick stream of bile pummeling into the bag so hard that is almost falls out of Taehyung’s grip.

Seokjin curses at the wheel. “I’ll stop as soon as I can, I promise. I’m really sorry you two.”

Taehyung whimpers, his stomach sour and not done with him yet. “‘S okay...”

Jeongguk is fully awake now and caught up in the turmoil of the vehicle. He’s closer in proximity to Yoongi and so, he rubs a calm hand up and down the rapper’s back, the second oldest member groaning and gagging into the rippled plastic.

In between the cacophony of gags and bile hitting the plastic bags, Namjoon notices the two of the maknaes having gotten up to help. He sighs in relief, seeing that the middle kid of the rap line and the one with the most sensitive stomach is still asleep, not having noticed yet the commotion involving his bandmates.

“Someone keep an eye on Hoseok-hyung.” the leader asks, holding Yoongi's bag as he appeared to grow too weak to do it by himself. It feels like hell broke loose inside of him, the queasiness not residing for a single moment. The car's still swinging through the bumpy road and both his stomach and Taehyung's are actively working to empty themselves. The sound of his retching, of the others' voices, the movement, it overwhelms his senses, his ears feeling like they're stuffed with cotton. Thinking of resting on the floor once they pull over is the only comfort he has right now.

Trying not to lose balance, the eldest rapper puts his hand on Namjoon's shoulder, but the feeling of spit soaked cotton on his skin has him gagging once again. The tall dongsaeng moves to shake his hand off, instead grabbing the bag with one hand and holding him up in place with the other. It seems like making a mess is going to be unavoidable.

“Tae-ya, hold on to me if you need.” he suggests, lamenting the fact that there's nothing more he can do. Namjoon stretches his elbow out to him, his shoulder still wet and gross and his hand occupied with the plastic bag that is constantly growing in weight.

Taehyung whimpers, listening to his hyung’s suggestion as he grabs ahold of him, tight. His stomach is contracted, quivering and throbbing as it literally tries to expel itself from Taehyung’s throat. Yoongi seems to be fairing no better, the older rapper only becoming increasingly nauseated by the loud, forceful heaves that Taehyung gives out.

Without warning, the car sways sharply to the right, Seokjin finally finding an opening as he approaches the shoulder, unfortunately, the movement of the car wreaks havoc on both Yoongi and Taehyung’s stomachs once again.

“Sorry!” Seokjin cringes sheepishly, the car coming to a slow stop. Taehyung groans, his throat on fire and tasting of rancid acid.

Once there is no movement, Namjoon considers it's a good moment to open the door as quietly as possible, waiting for Yoongi to regain control of his upset stomach so he can pull him out to recover. Two arms aren't enough in situations like this– there bags that need to be held, hair that has to be pulled back, backs that need to be rubbed and two men in need of support.

“Jiminie, can you help me with Taehyung?” Namjoon asks, stepping out of the car with Yoongi's bag to place it on the floor, coming back immediately after to help his hyung to get up. He offers a hand to the second youngest singer, using a little strength to pull him up and out, then gestures to Jungkook for him to stay with Hoseok. Two nauseated members are more than enough. Three of them would be utter chaos.

A little of Yoongi's saliva ends up in Namjoon's shirt, but before he can worry about it, the tall child brushes the matter off, instead pulling him and Taehyung to the ground in case he has more to bring up.

“Almost done, guys.” he encourages, focusing more on the small rapper since Jimin –sweet and good Jimin– is already taking care of his baby Tae. He's so good at bringing people the comfort they need. There's something in the way he rubs his dongsaeng's tense shoulders, cards his tiny fingers through his hair and mutters soft words of encouragement that makes Jiminie the best member at caretaking. Namjoon wonders if he's doing a good job with Yoongi, and if he'll ever be at least half as good as Jimin is.

Yoongi retches again, a stream of sick dropping onto the floor beneath him; the sound brings the youngest rapper's attention to him. His hands are holding him upright and trying their best to dissolve the tension on his back.

“That's it. Don't hold back.” he's cringing at the desperate sounds that make their way out of Yoongi's lips in between mouthfuls of bile. “We'll get you both some time to rest once we arrive, don't worry.”

He then remembers it's better to stay silent around the rapper when he's sick. So he does just that, instead patting his back and massaging his almost always sore neck.

“I'm getting you some water, hold on.” he whispers after long, torturing minutes of Yoongi expelling his guts until there's nothing left. As he makes to stand up, he notices that his hand is intertwined with the older's. Weird. He doesn't remember linking their fingers so strongly.

The sounds from the other side of the vehicle do more than set Taehyung off. As soon as the door whips open, Taehyung has fallen to his hands and knees, his eyes screwed shut as he retches, his throat crackling and his voice grated with nausea. Sick jets from his lips at a rapid pace, plopping to the grass as Taehyung struggles to grasp onto something, his hands clawing at the dirt and bugs below.

“Oh baby no, don’t do that.” Jimin coos, whipping out a hair tie that he’s found from his bag and tying Taehyung’s hair up into a little bun. He holds the boy up, the singers hand darting out to hold his hand. “You’re okay. Let it out TaeTae.”

Taehyung whines, coughing violently as mouthful after mouthful of vomit pours from his lips to the grass. “Jiminie... it hurts.” A few tears have fallen into the puddle of puke below, tearing at the edges of Jimin’s heart. Yoongi’s heaves are still clear and apparent, ripping through the already wild air of the road. Jimin sighs, giving Taehyung’s hand a tight squeeze.

“We’ll be stopped for a minute baby. Relax.” He says. Just then, Jungkook is at their side, a hand on Jimin’s arms and eyes wide with worry.

“Anything I can do? Hobi-hyung looks a little green so I told him to stay in the back.”

Jimin smiles, so proud of how responsible and able their maknae has become, or maybe he’s just always been that way. “A water and some napkins would be great. Thanks Kookie.”

Jungkook nods, kissing Jimin’s head and giving Taehyung’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before running off to the trunk to get the things that were asked of him.

Taehyung groans with desperation, his stomach still at war with itself, his skin burning as his insides churn all gooey and hot. The other side of the car seems a bit quiet so, maybe Yoongi’s one sickness has died down a bit. He hopes this is the case for him.

Seokjin rounds the front of the car. “Talked to the managers. They understand and we have all the time that we need. Just, breathe for me, okay Tae-ah?”

Taehyung nods, Jimin’s soft hand still alongside his back and skin. It was easy to breathe like that, with Jimin holding onto him, smelling of citrus and something sweet. “Okay.”

After one final heave, the feral beast inside Yoongi's stomach appears to have subsided, at last. It takes just a second to realize the way his throat feels like it's been ripped apart, his abdomen too sore from continuously retching, his hands shaky and unstable. As he feels he's going to fall face-first into the puddle of mess he's done, a pair of firm hands bring him up and away from it.

“Easy there.” Namjoon mumbles, letting him rest against the open door of the vehicle, avoiding to give him more physical contact than needed. He just knew the rapper liked to be touched only when prompted. “Are you done?” a small nod is the reply he gets, but it's enough to release the tension accumulating on his shoulders. “Good. Don't move for a while, okay?” he asks, raising his sun-kissed, long hand to card his dark hair lovingly, just like a worried younger brother would do. That's what he is, isn't he?

“What about the—” Yoongi starts, raising a hand slightly to ask about the schedule they still had to complete. There's so much work to do, and look at him, his small body limp against the van after having puked his guts out. His eyes are staring at nothing, but before he can realize he's spacing out, there's a small face looking back at him, soft but manly features that he knows like the back of his hand.

“Hyung, don't. Take your time to rest.” Seconds before realizing what he's doing, he's rolling his eyes. “As hypocritical as it may sound, please rest” Namjoon adds, gifting him with a smile with dimples. When his eyelids grow heavy, his tallest dongsaeng is still there, his little eyes looking hesitant wether to bother him with holding his hand or to let him be. To end his internal doubt, the tiny rapper stretches out his arm and pulls him closer, not using too much strength to not stir his barely calm stomach.

“How's Tae?” he slurs a little, basically using the younger as a pillow to rest his tired body. Other than his nervous breathing –poor Joon is trying to measure his breaths to not disturb his exhausted hyung–, he doesn't seem to mind at all. That's all he needs to stay close and let the tallest carry his weight.

“I believe he's done too.” fortunately, there were no gags coming from said singer that proved him wrong. “Both of you gave us quite the scare, huh.” although he's serious, his tone has a hint of sweetness, only confirmed with how softly his hands are holding Yoongi's face, as if he's not mad at all. Actually, he's not even mad.

“'m sorry...” there is a silence that makes Namjoon think that the rapper is finally drifting off, but then he adds “I got spit on your shirt.” Yoongi genuinely feels guilty, but the younger lets out a laugh and messes up his hair, looking the least worried about it.

“So did Tae. And I'm not mad at any of you. You'll have to see me shirtless for a while, though. I'm so sorry.” the older dismisses that last part, wriggling his way out of the hug he unconsciously started. Ignoring how lethargic he feels, there's a concern still burning within him. Namjoon seems to comprehend as soon as the name of the sick dongsaeng falls out of his lips. “Want me to take you to him?” there's a tiny nod as a response, once again.

“Jimin-ah, how's Tae? Can I bring Yoongi-hyung to him?” the leader asks loudly to the air, waiting for said dancer to respond.

Jimin calls back to Namjoon from the other side of the vehicle, his voice a little shaky but, nothing too drastic.

“H-He’s good, and yeah, you can!” He replies, prompting a sigh from Namjoon.

He looks to Yoongi who, has his cheek smashed against the the car door. “Think you can walk over with me? Lean against me if you have to.”

Yoongi thinks that nodding probably isn’t a good idea anymore, and so, he slurs out a wet “yes” and allows Namjoon to carry his nearly dead body to where Taehyung lies in the grass, a towel covering where he had vomited. His eyes are hazy, his lids droopy, but he’s alive. That’s all that really matters.

Taehyung smiles lazily, giving Yoongi a wave. “Hey hyung...” He slurs, sounding almost drunk. This makes Yoongi snort, his pouty lips curved into a small smile.

“Hey Tae.”

Namjoon helps Yoongi to Taehyung’s side, the cool breeze helping to ease the surrounding edge of anxiety, as well as the dwindling nausea plaguing the daegu line. Taehyung takes this time to lean heavily against Yoongi.

“I threw up a lot...”

Yoongi sighs. “I know. Me too.”

Seokjin is now at Namjoon’s side, eyeing the two sick boys with worry etched into his features. “No rush at all but... we’re so close to the site. Do you think... you guys can make it through the rest of the trip?”

Yoongi and Taehyung share a look, not willing to make any promises but, certain that they’ll be okay since their stomachs are as empty as one can get.

“Yeah. We’ll make it.”

——————————————

A/N: school is a bitch. but more requests to come!

#bts sickfic #sick bts #sickfic #bts emeto #emeto #sick #my fic #tw emeto #sick!yoongi #sick!taegi #sick!taehyung #caretaker!bts #caretaker!jungkook #caretaker!namjoon #caretaker!jimin #carsick #carsickness

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1dffsummerexchange · 7 years

Text

First One to Break

Written For: @mouthchoir

Written By: @fromherlips

Pairing: Harry/OFC

Word Count: 10,986

Warnings: language, sexual content

Summary:

Harry always thought that nothing good came from drinking too much gin. Part of him still believes this to be true, but another part of him wonders if he had it all wrong.

We haven’t spoke since you went away Comfortable silence is so overrated Why won’t you ever say what you want to say? Even my phone misses your call, by the way.

It never rained in Los Angeles. California was the sunshine state and LA was supposed to be perpetually sunny. What would be spring weather anywhere else in the world that had all four seasons felt like winter compared to the blistering hot summer days. They stretched themselves out like everyone’s legs, tanned and toned on their beach towels or lounging chairs.

The first time Harry saw rain in Los Angeles, he was caught in the middle of it. He had just gotten back to his house after a long bout of touring and a quick trip back home in England. After he was sufficiently stuffed by his mum’s home-cooking and nights out with old friends, he felt like he was in dire need of a detox. Sometimes it felt like he escaped to LA for a break from reality. Everything was different in Southern California, most notably the weather.

The skies were blue when Harry left his house in his vintage Mercedes convertible. The sun was warm on his face, the breeze in his face waking him up after fighting jet lag the entire night. He made a mental note to shop for groceries at some point. Every inch of the cupboards and refrigerator were empty, sans a few water bottles and a half-empty bottle of champagne from the last time he stayed in the house.

He needed coffee and exercise, in that order. He couldn’t force himself out of bed early enough to meet with a trainer (tomorrow, he said), but he thought he could sneak himself into a cycling class and hope for the best. He wished he had coffee grounds somewhere at the house, but there was barely anything in the bottom of the old bag to scrape together enough for a single cup. It would have given him an excuse to stay inside longer, anyways.

Harry Styles wasn’t comfortable being stagnant. The press liked to play a game, Where In The World Is Harry Styles? Is he in LA? England? Vacationing in the tropics with his new mystery girl (they were always mysterious and they were always his)? The truth was, Harry liked routine and doing absolutely nothing was never part of it. He couldn’t just sit at home alone and stare the wall. It sounded ideal after the manic nine months he spent on the road, playing shows, doing press, recording an album, trying to enjoy time with his mates. He could feel his fingers twitch at his sides if he sat by idly, watching his free time tick by.

So, he didn’t fight his alarm when it went off at six in the morning. He considered throwing his mobile off of his bedside table at the wall once or twice before silencing it, crawling out of bed to get on with his day. It was supposed to be beautiful out. How could it not? It was Los Angeles. Perpetually sunny and hot.

Coffee, cycling, shower, lunch. Harry didn’t feel any more or less energized after the caffeine and forty-five minutes of riding on a stationary bike. The skies were still blue as he drove back to his house, praying traffic wouldn’t keep him from his lunch plans with friends. He hadn’t seen them since the last time he was in Los Angeles, somewhere around the time that champagne bottle was left unfinished in his fridge.

Harry spent longer than necessary in the shower, letting the hot water run until it went cold. He wished he had asked a friend or two to stay at his house with him while he was in town. He wasn’t lonely, not really. He just wasn’t used to the quiet. He spent nearly a year surrounded by screaming fans, loud speakers, and his rowdy mates who were always up to having a great time. The silence of his empty house seemed almost eerie. He tried to fill it with music, movies, anything to cut through the quiet. Nothing seemed to work

Jeff had mentioned that he was bringing along a few new friends from the firm. Harry was a “the more, the merrier” type of person and if Jeff trusted them, he would too. He always had Harry’s best interests at heart. Harry’s mum always referred to the Azoffs as his American family. He always tried to find the hint of sadness written into her tone or features, but he could never see anything but pride from his mum.

Scouting out parking near the restaurant wasn’t an easy task. Harry was on track to being early until he went head to head with the severe lack of street parking. He circled the block and a few surrounding in desperate attempt to find a free meter.

One could say luck had always been on Harry’s side, one way or another. He was lucky that he auditioned for the X-Factor, lucky that he was kept on as part of One Direction, lucky they gained an international following, lucky that they got to tour the world and release five studio albums. Luck struck again when a car abandoned its spot just down the street from the restaurant, a space just big enough for Harry’s car.

Jeff and his friends (co-workers?) were already seated when Harry walked up to the table. He had an apology ready, his brows wriggled to truly express it. Before Harry could even open his mouth, Jeff was already waving him over to his side of the table, pointing towards the empty chair.

“Trouble parking?” Jeff asked.

“I always forget,” Harry replied. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Jeff was also late,” the guy sitting diagonal from Harry at the table commented.

“I had to finish a phone call,” Jeff explained. “I’m sure Harry just had to brush his hair.”

“I think it’s very clear based on the state of my hair that it hasn’t been brushed since the nineties,” Harry said.

The girl sitting across from Harry laughed. When he looked up, her eyes didn’t avert from his stare. Instead, she grinned and stretched out her hand towards him. “Hi, I’m Clare,” she said.

“Harry,” he said. He was sure that he had been holding onto her hand for two seconds too long. Embarrassed, he pulled away gently, offering a handshake to the guy sitting next to her. “Nice to meet you as well…” his voice trailed off, realizing that he didn’t know his name yet.

“Stephen,” he said. “Jeff’s said great things.”

“Has he?” Clare asked, raising her brows. “Jeff, why does Stephen get to talk to talk boyband members with you when all we talk about is numbers and how the coffee isn’t strong enough?”

Jeff rolled his eyes, turning towards Harry. “Clare and Glenne have teamed up to make my life miserable, both at home and the workplace,” he explained. When Harry looked across the table, Clare was beaming, bearing her teeth. “Shouldn’t have let them meet or go out for drinks.”

“That was a life choice you made,” Clare replied, shrugging. “If I do recall, you’re the one who insisted that Glenne make me feel more at home after moving to LA knowing absolutely nobody.”

“I didn’t realize it was going to backfire so terribly,” Jeff said. “Stephen, I swear, if you team up with Harry like Glenne and Clare…”

“Or even worse, what if all four of us turned against you?” Clare asked, cocking a brow. “We already know Glenne adores Harry, so as long as Stephen works seamlessly into the equation, you’ve got yourself a four against one matchup.”

“I should’ve thought twice before invited you to join Full Stop,” Jeff said.

“Now, now, now, Jeffrey,” Clare said, shaking her head. “Who else is going to be the best Music Touring Assistant in the entire world? And admit it, nobody makes a coffee as good as I do. Eat your heart out, Alfred!”

Both Stephen and Jeff shook their heads at Clare, as if this was a common occurrence. He laughed along with them, partially because he didn’t want to sit stoically and miss out on part of the joke. Another part of him was truly amused by her antics. Jeff hadn’t mentioned Clare before, nor Stephen. Then again, he didn’t mention many of his employees or co-workers by name often.

“What are you doing at Full Stop?” Harry asked Stephen.

“General Counsel,” Stephen replied. “Thought I was going to law school to represent athletes, but I suppose this works too.”

“I used to play volleyball,” Clare blurted out. “Does that count?”

“I’m not representing you, so not really,” Stephen replied.

“What if I get into some kind of legal trouble? Then you can be the lawyer of an ex-high school athlete!”

“Please do not do anything illegal, Clare,” Jeff said. “I’d highly advise against it.”

“What if I just giggled and said, ‘Oops, too late!’?” she asked.

“It’s a miracle the managers, promoters and artists love you so much,” Stephen commented. “Off the record, please don’t get into legal trouble, but you know I always have your back.”

Clare held out her first towards Stephen, waiting for him to do the same. The proceeded to do some sort of handshake, one that had Jeff shaking his head again. Harry could see him smiling though. He hadn’t even realized that he was too.

Lunch was cut short by a last minute meeting scheduled at the office that Jeff and Stephen needed to attend. Clare was headed off into a different direction to meet with one of the venue promoters downtown, as directed by Jeff. Harry passed her waiting outside of the restaurant, typing something on her phone. He waited for her to look up before saying anything, afraid of startling her.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked. “Sorry I didn’t shut up at lunch. I talk to people all day and haven’t quite learned how to take a break from that.”

“S’alright. I’m used to being surrounded by a lot of noise and my house is really empty and quiet so…it was nice,” he said, reaching behind his neck to scratch the back of his head. Had he said too much? An article once said his rambling was endearing, so he took it and ran with it.

“Glad my inability to shut up gave you a sense of normalcy then,” he commented.

“Um, do you need a ride?” Harry asked.

“I can just call an Uber, it’s fine,” Clare replied, waving her phone at him. “Jeff reimburses me for it, anyways. I once tried to edit the e-mailed receipt to make it say six million dollars instead of just six, but Jeff didn’t buy it. Totally accused me of editing it on Microsoft Paint. Ugh, as if! I only use Mac, so I used Paintbrush.”

Harry snorted, covering his mouth with the back of his hand to muffle the sound of his laughter. “Can’t believe he caught you with that one,” Harry said.

“Eh, it’s okay. I don’t know what I’d do with six million dollars anyways,” she replied. “But really, I can just call an Uber. I’m on a mission to figure out what my Uber rating is. I badger every single one of my drivers but none of them will tell me. Really frustrating stuff.”

“My guess, based on the badgering, would be low,” Harry joked. “I don’t have a lot going on today, I don’t mind,” he offered.

“Alright, I suppose I’ll badger whatever Uber driver takes me back from the venue,” she said. “Where’d you park?”

“Down the street,” Harry said, pointing past a small gathering of trees on the pavement. “Not too far.”

“Great,” she replied. “Lead the way. I just need to finish this e-mail really quick, so if I bump into anything, please refrain from laughing.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Harry replied. “I won’t post it on social media.”

“I know, Jeff complains about that all the time,” she replied, not even glancing up from her screen. “Says you’re missing out on a really easy mode of communication between you and your fanbase, which means you’re cutting out really inexpensive marketing for yourself. But then he also says he doesn’t blame you because you’re the most heavily scrutinized in the group and anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Pros and cons to my hatred of it,” Harry said. “Saves me a lot of time.”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “God, I’m sorry, I’m being one of those people. Can’t lose this job though. Not moving back to Michigan. Too cold. Too snowy. Noooo way.”

“Michigan, huh?” he asked.

“Ann Arbor,” she replied. “Grew up in Michigan, went to college outside of New York City, moved to Los Angeles three years ago and haven’t looked back.”

“So you’re…” Harry paused, trying to do the mental math.

“Twenty-four and a half,” she replied. “Ancient, according to everyone under the age of ten.”

“Ah, to be ten again,” Harry commented. “This is me here,” he said, stopping next to his car.

“Cool car,” she said, tapping the top right hand corner of her screen before slipping her mobile back into her handbag. “Are you familiar with downtown LA or should I dictate directions?”

“If you want to get to your meeting sooner than two hours from now, yeah, I might need some assistance,” he admitted.

“Cool, well you’re already headed in the right direction, so just head down this street and I’ll tell you where to go next,” she said.

They spent the first few minutes of the drive in silence, aside from Clare pointing left and right to try to direct Harry to the venue. Eventually, they hit the inevitable point of traffic, sitting idly behind a line of cars while they watched the light turn green, then red, then green again.

“So, how did you end up at Full Stop?” Harry asked. Clare had been staring out her side of the car at a line of questionable billboards, making comments about them underneath her breath.

“Long story short, one of my old bosses at an internship in New York e-mailed me a link to a job posting at CAA to be an assistant and offered to put in a good word with me because she knew somebody over there,” Clare explained. “So I was–excuse me, still technically am–just a regular assistant there. I thought I’d be fetching coffees and rubbing feet or something, but it turns out I made myself pretty useful helping out different departments. Jeff took me and Stephen out to dinner with a few other people and told us about Full Stop and asked if we’d like to join, I mean, it was a no-brainer, really.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “That’s great though. I mean, I know Jeff’s a friend and all, but he’s a great guy.”

“Oh, he is for sure,” Clare agreed. “He saved me from being fired after my first three months. I made a mistake. Like, not a small mistake either. It was a complete accident and I owned up to it immediately but…ugh, I can’t even talk about it. Anyways, there were meetings and I genuinely thought I was sacked. Instead, Jeff came to my desk when I was in the middle of cleaning out a drawer and told me everything was fine, just never to do it again.”

“That sounds like Jeff,” Harry said. “So Stephen has been there as long as you?”

“Oh, longer,” Clare said. “He’s thirty, so he’s been there about six years. CAA was his first job after law school. He was General Counsel there too like he will be at Full Stop.”

“Cool, cool,” Harry hummed.

“It works nicely too because Stephen can help me with all of the legal bits when it comes to producing contracts and what not. Wouldn’t want anybody to sign away a kidney or something,” Clare said. “Some of the other lawyers there are dicks. Stephen’s one of the few who tolerates me.”

“He seemed like a really nice guy,” Harry said.

“He is,” Clare confirmed. “Probably one of my best work friends. Everyone other assistant who’s around my age is just so competitive. I mean, I get it. We’re all competing to be promoted and move up in the company, but to me that shouldn’t mean that we all have to be horrible to each other and not talk or be friendly. It’s fine though. Stephen’s a great friend and drinks the same wine as me. It’s a win-win.”

Harry laughed, checking left and right before he finally passed through the traffic light that never seemed to turn green. They were only about ten minutes away from the venue before the blue skies turned a tinge of grey. Harry hadn’t even noticed, either. He was hyper focused on driving safely and following Clare’s, at times, last minute directions that it passed right over his head.

“Um, Harry, I hate to ruin your Beyoncé moment of the wind blowing in your hair, but you might want to consider putting the top up,” Clare said, pointing up towards the sky.

“Oh fuck,” he swore. “Shit, there’s nowhere to pull over.”

“I mean, it might be okay? We’re not too far anyways!” Clare said.

They were most definitely not okay. There were still no places for Harry to pull over and traffic was still too slow for expedite the drive. He was convinced they were going to make it. It didn’t rain in Southern California. The sun was just behind clouds, right? Harry was naïve enough to believe this despite growing up where the rain never seemed to stop.

It started with a drop. Then another. In the distance, Harry saw a spot he could pull in to safely put the hood up. By the time he got there, the damage had been done. The rain turned from a light sprinkle to a full on downpour, soaking both he and Clare. He apologized (and swore) profusely, trying to hold his hand above her head as if it would stop any of the water from hitting her.

They both sat quietly when the hood was finally up, the rain pounding against it. Harry felt his gut twisting with guilt as he looked towards Clare, soaking wet for her meeting. He was expecting her to swear or yell at him. Instead, she pulled down the mirror and laughed at her reflection.

“Wow, I picked the wrong day not to wear waterproof makeup,” Clare commented, wiping the smeared black makeup from underneath her eyes. “This will certainly be a conversation starter.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry replied. “I-I didn’t think it was going to rain today! It was so sunny earlier. Shit, if I had known I would’ve taken a different car or had the hood up or–“

Harry’s apology was cut short when Clare covered his mouth with her palm, silencing him with ease. “Shush,” she said. “It’s fine, Harry. Really, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just wanted to see through my clothes.”

“Wha–OH!” Harry yelped, realizing that her white t-shirt and palazzo pants were now, indeed, transparent.

“It wouldn’t be the first time somebody saw my nipple at a meeting, sadly,” Clare said. “Oh well. I know these people and they’re all women, so I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe your Uber driver later will give you a good rating,” Harry said. When Clare laughed loud enough that he could practically feel it, Harry made a mental note to ask Jeff a few questions about her after he dropped her off at the venue.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Harry was going to kill Jeff. He wasn’t an impatient person. If anything, Harry liked to pride himself on being level-headed, patient, all those great things that a mother would love (and that he learned from his own mum). But Jeff was meant to meet him outside of the office after his last meeting of the day, which was at approximately seven in the evening. They were supposed to go to a dinner meeting with Jeff’s father and a few other people whose names Harry didn’t recognize.

It was nearly eight o’clock and Jeff hadn’t made an appearance. Harry was seconds away from tracking Jeff down inside before he got a brief text from Jeff with a short apology that he wasn’t going to make it. Harry stood near the glass doors leading into the building, sighing heavily. He didn’t have any other plans for the night, his evening revolving around hanging around Jeff and whoever else he invited along. The idea of spending the night alone at his house wasn’t enticing in the slightest. Neither was his contact list of LA friends, if he was being quite honest.

Harry tapped on the sides of his mobile before he finally swiped his thumb across the bottom of the screen. He let Jeff know that it was fine, staring at the idle message screen until his phone locked. He pursed his lips, unsure of what came next. He was used to the next step being predetermined. As far as he knew, the next few weeks in LA consisted of massive question marks. The boys were on their hiatus, their freedom finally granted. For the first time in years, Harry had time. It just came down to figuring out how to spend it.

“Hey, are you here to throw water on my white t-shirt?”

Harry glanced up, catching a glance of Clare standing next to him. She was, indeed, wearing a white shirt tucked into her black high waisted trousers. He snorted, shaking his head immediately. “Because I’ve already been a part of a few wet t-shirt contests in my day and I’ve been declared the winner more than once,” Clare said, leaning back against the door.

Harry knew that he blushed. He could feel the heat rush to his cheeks. Plus, Clare seemed far too amused to just be smirking at her own comment. “I’m going to keep that in mind,” Harry said, tapping on his temple. “No, I was here to pick up Jeff because Glenne drove him to the office today, but we were supposed to be getting dinner. Apparently he’s not able to go now though, so it appears that I’ve been stood up.”

“Chin up, buttercup,” Clare said. “You’re just in luck because my date canceled on me and I did not curl my hair today for nothing.”

“We both didn’t curl our hair today to have our plans canceled,” Harry said, twirling his car keys around his fingers. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, if I’m being completely honest with you, you couldn’t pay me any amount of money to be seen in public with just you,” she said. “Not because you’re…like a heinous human or anything. But I’m not really into the whole ‘Harry’s Mystery Girl’ thing. Not really in the mood for my entire life to be thrust out into the world because of one paparazzi picture.”

Harry laughed, nodding. “Well then I guess we’re in luck that I just finally bought food for my house and that there’s a great pizza place that delivers nearby.”

“Well damn Harry, look at you being an adult and stuff,” Claire said. “I’ve been eating bags of popcorn for the past three days because I can’t be bothered to go shopping. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said, taking two long, dramatic bows. “So, would you like to follow me there or would you like a ride?”

“I’m not sure I can trust you in a car again, at least not for a while,” she said, cracking a smile. “I’ll follow you, if that’s cool.”

“Of course. Not sure where you’re parked, but I’ll meet you by the exit?”

“Sure, sounds great,” she said.

The entire drive to his house, Harry panicked. Did he even have enough food for more than one person? Did he remember to put away his pants? Was there anything incriminating or embarrassing lying around? And what in the hell was he thinking inviting Clare over? He could have tried to get them a spot at a restaurant with a no photo policy with separate cars and trips inside to avoid being seen together to cause a stir. He’d done it before, plenty of times. It was the only way he felt like he could function sometimes.

Maybe that’s why he’d done it. For the first time, he would be able to breathe and be himself without the fear of all eyes on him. Harry had been under a microscope since the moment his X-Factor audition aired. For once, maybe he’d be able to enjoy an evening without worrying.

Harry was glad that he hadn’t lost Clare in the midst of the traffic. It didn’t occur to him that they didn’t have each other’s numbers to communicate if she did get lost along the way somehow. She pulled up behind his car in the driveway, sitting in the driver’s seat until she saw Harry exit his car. She ditched her leather tote that she carried on her shoulder, grabbing only her mobile and keys as she used her hip to shut the door.

“Wow, what a dump,” Clare said, nudging her elbow into Harry’s side.

“That’s what I was going for, thank you,” he replied. “Kind of my aesthetic.”

“And to think I assumed your aesthetic was black, white and just plain old vague,” she commented. “The dedication to the boring on your Instagram feed is admirable.”

“Hey, it’s not boring!” he whined.

“It’s so boring, I can’t even follow you,” Clare said. “Would it kill you to post a selfie every once in awhile?”

“Did you want to hang out tonight just to hate on my Instagram feed? Did Jeffrey send you to try to convert me into a social media addict? Because I won’t do it!”

Clare laughed, following Harry as he led them towards the front door. “I can assure you that I am not here on Jeffrey’s orders,” Clare said. “If anything, Jeffrey probably shouldn’t know I’m here.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked, looking over his shoulder as he unlocked the front door.

“Future client, duh,” she said. “I might be arranging your future tour someday. Conflict of interest, or whatever. I’m sure he’d dig something up to make this feel scandalous.”

“I’ll have Glenne have a stern talk with him if he gives you grief,” Harry joked. “What’s the worst that could happen? One of us eats too much pizza and gets sick?”

Too much pizza ended up being too much gin. Way, way too much gin. Harry restricted his consumption of alcohol on the road, choosing to stay sober to keep his health in good shape. He hadn’t realized that it would severely lower his tolerance, creating a steady buzz after only a few gin and tonics. Either Clare was the same way or she had double the amount Harry did.

They were laying down on the sofa in his lounge. Clare was straddling Harry’s waist, her soft golden waves tickling the sides of his face. Any silence in the room was replaced by their soft giggles when one of them would bump or nudge the other by accident. Harry had kissed plenty of girls, both sober and drunk, but kissing Clare felt like every cliché he watched played out on the silver screen. It was a giddy feeling almost, though that could have been the alcohol as well.

No, no, it was Clare and her fingers tugging at the overgrown curls in desperate need of a cut. Her fingers twisted through the loose ringlets, tangling themselves up as Harry’s tongue slipped effortlessly between her lips. It was her hips dropping down only to brush ever so slightly enough against his, causing a bit of friction that made him hiss.

The night was meant to be a friendly get together, strung together last minute to rectify canceled plans on both of their behalves. Instead, it went from a casual chat about Clare’s first year in LA (which she claimed to have blacked out completely due to it being so embarrassing and awful) and Harry’s time in the band (which he tried to downplay so he didn’t end up complaining about their packed schedule and come off like a prick) to a heated make out in less than two hours’ time.

Clare broke away from the kiss, sucking in a deep breath. She brushed a hand through her hair, untangling a matted piece while they caught their breath. “I didn’t suggest hanging out because I thought this would happen, just so you know,” Clare said, dipping her chest down again, pressing against Harry.

“I know,” Harry murmured, his eyes traveling down from her eyes to her glossy pink lips. “I didn’t think it would either. And yet…” his voice trailed off, his hands gliding down the curves of her body. They settled momentarily on her hips before sneaking under the hem of her shirt.

“Tease,” she murmured while Harry’s fingers traced up her spine. “I think your room might be a bit more appropriate, don’t you think?”

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Clare said that they weren’t allowed to talk about it. She called it their version of Fight Club and Harry went along with it. Harry and Clare could live their lives during the day, Clare at the office wrapping things up at CAA before the transition into Full Stop, Harry at meetings and lunches to keep him plenty occupied during the afternoons while he was still in LA.

“Who was it going to hurt? The more private, the better right?” she said, the first time they tried to talk about it. Or rather, the second time. The first time Harry brought it up, Clare kissed him hard and eased him back onto his bed until she was fully straddling him, her shirt already tossed to the side. He asked her again later that evening, his sheets draped across her bare chest as they started to drift to sleep.

It was strange, really, how Harry transitioned from having no one “special” (as his mates always put it, earning a cringe from Harry every time) in his life to having Clare. They weren’t anything, and yet they were something. Neither of them would put a label on it, no singular word able to sum up what they were. If anybody asked (they didn’t), they were friends (which they were, to an extent).

If Harry’s public dating record was anything, it was just a string of “friends,” anyways. He himself couldn’t even remember the last time he was properly dating someone, if really ever. There were the early girlfriends, some of which he tried to block of his memory entirely. Everyone had their romantic momentary lapses in judgements, right? Even if they lasted longer than any normal lapse?

Some of the girls weren’t lapses. It seemed rude to call them anything but friends. The term ‘girlfriend’ has been thrown around in the press far too many times regarding his choice of female friends, but there wasn’t much he could say or that he even wanted say. What was his business was his and nobody else’s.

The more he thought of this, the more he thought that he was just making excuses to complicate things. Or was that just his life that complicated everything, turning even the simplest of things into horrendously complex situations?

Clare told him not to look too deep into anything. He knew he shouldn’t have drunkenly confessed any of this to her, but he could trust Clare. He had a feeling from the first day they met that she was someone who could have his full confidence. It went beyond Jeff’s trust in her. She spoke in a way that was unafraid, of mistakes, of slip-ups, of saying something embarrassing. She was fearless in the way that she spoke about herself, but in the midst of everything she said, no off-hand comments slipped out.

It wasn’t about sharing classified information about upcoming projects or throwing around ideas of what the hiatus had in store for everyone in the group. It was about what he was feeling in those moments. Clare wanted to know if he was having a good week, a bad week, a stressful week, a relaxing week. Harry tried to surround himself with people who asked these types of questions, which led to an unsurprisingly small group of friends. He was happy to add Clare to that group. Amazed, really, that only after a couple of months he found himself in this place.

“Why is the world obsessed with who I date?” Harry asked. They were laying in his bed, sheets strewn about their naked bodies. Empty glasses sat on both of his nightstands, leaving rings on the wooden table top. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Sure, when you think about it it’s weird,” she replied. “But then I think about how obsessed I was, well, am with celebrity dating culture. It’s addicting. We feel like we’re entitled into these people’s lives just because of their fame status, y’know? I’m not saying it’s fair or right. Like, if we don’t know every detail of Mary Sue from around the corner’s love life, why should we know yours?”

“I hope Mary Sue is getting some,” Harry said, immediately bursting into laughter. Clare giggled, rolling over onto her stomach so she was closer to Harry.

“Me too,” she said. “I would say I hope you’re getting some too, but, you know…”

“That I am,” he hummed. “We’re keeping it a secret though. So maybe we’re just two Mary Sue’s, yeah?”

“This is much easier to keep a secret,” Clare pointed out. “Staying in at your house or my apartment. Me being a nobody. It’s a nice combo for this arrangement.”

Arrangement. Harry didn’t say anything then. He was too drunk to even try to tackle that conversation. If he brought it up in that state, he would’ve driven Clare far, far away from him. He didn’t want risk that. Because maybe what was an arrangement then could have had potential to be something more. He had hopes, ones that he would keep to himself. He kept this from Jeff, his mates, everyone but his mum and sister (they liked to pry).

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“What time is it there again?”

Harry rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back against the cushions on his bed. Clare flipped him off, her ring clad finger blurry on his mobile’s screen. “It’s around ten at night,” he told her, again. He left LA on Tuesday, much to Clare’s disappointment. She tried to lure him back to bed before he left for the airport, but he had a flight to catch and meetings to attend in London. He’d been there since, staying at a friend’s place. He’d do anything to avoid staying in hotels. He preferred to feel like he was in a home rather than just a room that could be cleaned up and ready for somebody new in just a few hours.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, prick,” Clare hissed, snarling her lips at Harry. She was wearing a dark red, the same color that she wore the day she accidentally stained one of Harry’s shirts. It took three dry cleans to get rid of it, but neither of them cared in the moment. She only apologized once or twice before she continued to leave red stains across his neck, chest, the color fading when she reached his hips. “You missed an amazing lunch yesterday, y’know.”

“I had lunch with my mum yesterday though,” Harry said. “Nothing could top a lunch with Anne.”

“Shush, you wouldn’t have liked it anyways. Jeff bought us all these massive sundaes and I know you don’t eat anything that isn’t a leafy green,” Clare joked.

“I eat ice cream!” Harry said, disregarding the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had a bite of ice cream, let alone a full sundae. What Clare didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “Don’t be a bully.”

“Mine had hot fudge and whipped cream on it, which reminded me…”

“That we should use those at some point?” Harry asked, wriggling his brows suggestively. “Messy, but delicious.”

“Seems like you only have one thing on the mind, Styles,” Clare said, raising her brows. “Can’t last a few days?”

“Oh, I can,” he replied. “But a break is no fun once…you know…”

“I’m glad we can both provide each other with our sex fixes then,” Clare said, snorting. “You’re so cute.”

“Cute?” he asked, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t be one of those guys that gets offended by the word cute,” Clare complained. “It’s not an insult. You are very cute!”

“Aw, thanks love,” he hummed, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile. “I think I’m going to stay in England for a bit longer,” he told her. He wondered if it was just the bad camera quality or if her features softened. Was she frowning or was that just the way her face naturally fell? Harry could drive himself mental with all of the questions he asked himself about Clare, all of the second guessing that he could do.

“How much longer?” she asked.

“A week or two. Not sure,” he replied. “I’d like to stay with my mum for a bit, catch up with some family. Enjoy the peace and quiet in my hometown.”

“Ah yes, peace and quiet,” Clare sighed. “I’m sure that’s a rarity that you wish you had more of.”

“Right,” he said. “I do miss the LA weather a lot. And my pool.”

“You never even swim in it!”

“But I like to know that I have the option to swim if I so desired,” he replied. “We can go swimming when I get back.”

“Yeah, in six million years,” she mumbled.

“What’s what? Did you just say, I miss you Harry?” he asked, snickering as she flipped him off for a second time.

“Shut up,” she muttered. “You’re a jerk. If I swim with you, I’m holding your head under water.”

“That’s not very nice,” he said, pushing out his bottom lip into a pout. “Maybe I’ll just move back to England forever and disappear into the countryside and just adopt a bunch of farm animals. Go off the radar. Escape from your threats.”

In the midst of Harry’s slow, drawn out rambling, Clare shook her head slightly at nearly everything he said. As he got his last word out, there was a flash of white across Clare’s screen before her camera panned down to show off her chest, completely sans a bra, before her t-shirt fell back down to cover herself again. Clare didn’t say anything, merely cocking a brow while she waited for Harry to form a stable sentence.

“I’ll see you next week then,” he coughed out.

“Sounds lovely,” she replied, her grin leaning more towards a smirk instead.

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Clare CLAREEEEEEE I’m at your flat let me up

A little warning would be nice I haven’t cleaned…in like a week

Throw it all in your wardrobe while I pretend to be reading e-mails in the lounge.

You’re a bad influence! Coming down now.

I think we can agree to disagree on the bad influence thing. Oh I see you. You look nice.

Thanks. Stop smiling at me like that, freak.

Show me your tits.

Bye, get out. Go jack off in your shower at home.

Please let me in. I have candy from home!

Talk dirty to me, Harry.

He didn’t bother responding to her last message. There was only a door separating them throughout the end of their text conversation. Clare pushed against the glass, cracking the door enough for Harry to slip through past her. They kept space between them as they walked through Clare’s building, keeping their conversation as vague as possible in case anyone was listening or watching.

Once they were behind closed doors in Clare’s flat, Harry’s arms immediately enveloped around her, pulling their bodies close together. Clare nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck, her fingers gathering up sections of his jumper between his shoulder blades.

Her flat smelled like fresh cookies. Harry knew that when she was stressed, she would bake. And bake. And bake. She mentioned that’s how she got through midterms her third year of college, her first year at work, especially right after the mistake that almost got her fired. He didn’t dare ask about what was bothering her only minutes into the night, especially the first night they’d seen each other since he left.

“Hi,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “This was a much nicer welcome than your texts.”

“I didn’t know you had candy,” she replied, slowly slipping out his embrace. “I made cookies. They’re gluten-free and low sugar. They’re lemon, so I hope you like citrus.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know I was coming over?” Harry asked.

“I was going to surprise you later,” she admitted, lowering her voice. “Don’t give me any cute looks, okay? I wanted to try out a new recipe and you’re the only person I know who would eat these abominations.”

“You live in Los Angeles. Even dogs are gluten-free here,” Harry pointed.

“Good point, I’ll go find a Chihuahua to give these cookies to them,” she said.

“Nooooo, I want them,” Harry whined, snaking his arms around her waist. “Thank you,” he said, leaning forward with his lips parted. Harry missed kissing Clare. It was dumb to say, he knew that, but he did. He felt a magnetic pull to her, his body anchored to hers as their lips moved together, each swipe of the tongue more synchronized than the last.

Clare was the first to pull away, resting her forehead against Harry’s. “I’m torn between wanting to catch up and wanting to take you back to my room now,” she admitted, biting down on her bottom lip.

Harry chuckled, amused. “We Facetimed when I was gone,” he pointed out.

“I sound like a sex crazed maniac,” she said.

“I have that effect on woman,” he said, met immediately by the palm of Clare’s hand on his arm. “Ouch!”

“Don’t be an ass,” she grumbled.

“I love our pillowtalk,” he murmured.

“Do you now?” she hummed, tilting her head back so there was no space between them. “Well then, Harry, I don’t think that I need to show you the way.”

Clare squealed when Harry’s hands cupped her ass, hoisting her up so her legs could wrap around his waist. He walked them to her room, trying hard not to break their kiss as he stumbled towards the back of her flat. Harry swept a pile of clothes off of the edge of Clare’s bed before laying her down on back.

“Told you I needed to clean,” she said. Her eyes followed Harry’s movements as he pulled his jumper off over his head, shaking out his curls.

“Your room is the least of my concerns right now,” he murmured, pressing his palms into the mattress on either sides of her shoulders. “I missed you, Clare,” he said softly, leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips.

“Show me,” she challenged, smirking against his lips.

There was a sense of urgency that hadn’t been there any time before. Clare seemed to hold onto Harry tighter, her nails digging deeper into his back. Halfway through, she had her hands pressed against Harry’s chest, urging him off of her. He was stunned for a moment, until she had him pinned beneath her. Her smirk was almost sinister before she took over, her moans filling the room’s silence.

Clare leaned forward, her chest inches from brushing against Harry’s. Her eyes were closed, lashes fanning out above her cheeks. Harry’s movements met Clare’s, easing her along while she murmured nonsense into his skin, slick with sweat as her bedroom began to feel like a sauna. When she came, her chest collapsed down onto Harry’s, their bodies melding together as they tried to catch their breaths.

Later, they ate Clare’s cookies in bed and drank tea courtesy of Harry. He wanted to bring up the stress baking, but Clare was curled up next to him, laughing every time he told her about a story from his visit to England. Tomorrow, he told himself, diving into another story just so he could hear her laugh.

But tomorrow turned into two days from now and two days from now turned into a week later. Every time he went to bring it up, he’d stop himself, too afraid to ruin a moment. The one time, they were marathon watching Reese Witherspoon movies, another they were tackling the project of organizing her flat (which she insisted Harry didn’t have to help with).

After a week had passed, Harry was supposed to have Clare over for dinner. He was going to have a driver pick up food from one of his favorite restaurants in LA, double checking with Clare that she liked it too. Clare was allowed to go into the office late the next morning because she had to stay longer than usual to tie up some loose ends before the official transfer to Full Stop.

Everything seemed fine with Clare when she got to Harry’s house. There was bad traffic (worse than usual) on her way out to the house, but that meant the food was delayed too. He had a bottle of wine chilling while he waited in his lounge for Clare. He read through e-mails, starring the ones that were important and needed to be answered the next morning. There were a lot from Jeff, all scattered thoughts about Harry’s solo album, the one he hadn’t even started writing yet. He had old songs, sure, and he wrote every so often with friends and other writers, but none of them were songs for the album. He wasn’t there yet, in the album creating mindset.

When Clare showed up, she was more quiet than usual, but particularly horrible LA traffic had that effect on people. Harry brought their wine into the lounge, letting Clare stretch her legs out so her calves rested on his thighs. They both stared into their glasses, their eyes watching the red wine swish back and forth before they took simultaneous sips (gulps, really). Something needed to be said, but Harry wasn’t sure what.

“Jeff knows,” Clare announced, downing the rest of her glass in a single sip.

“What?” Harry asked. “I…he hasn’t said anything to me about it yet?”

“I told him not to,” she admitted. “I don’t know how he found out, but he asked me flat out today and I found no point in lying if he already knew.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing really,” she said. “He just sort of reiterated how soon the Full Stop launch was and how important it was as if I haven’t been fucking working my ass off trying to finish up everything for CAA while trying to prep for Full Stop,” she grumbled.

“I didn’t know you were doing two workloads,” Harry said. Was that the stressor? “I’m sure you could talk to–”

“I’m not complaining about the work,” Clare said, holding out her hand to interrupt his suggestion. “I love the work. It’s just a lot right now and I’m not sure when the work is going to end.”

“Right,” Harry said, nodding. Maybe the less he said, the better.

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” Clare said. “I’m just under a lot of stress at work and trying to prove to everyone and myself that I’m still the right choice. And having Jeff pissed off about us doing…this…isn’t helping.”

“I thought you said he didn’t say anything?”

“It was nothing,” she said, waving it off. “Just said it wouldn’t be good for company. Wasn’t sure how to appropriately say we’re just friends and it’s just sex. They don’t really talk about that in all of those career advice columns I read when I can’t sleep.”

Harry just murmured an apology, too deep into his own thoughts to properly respond. We’re just friends. It’s just sex. He wasn’t sure that he and Clare were on the same page anymore and he had no idea how to rectify that.

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The second time Harry got caught in the rain was the beginning of the end. There wasn’t even anything that needed an end, but to Harry it felt like there was.

It was only a few weeks before the official switch to Full Stop and everything was hectic. Glenne complained to Harry about how irritable Jeff was being. Clare went radio silent, responding to Harry’s texts several hours later with only one or two words. It was a stressful time, he understood. Or he tried to.

It was hard not to overanalyze everything she had said. He felt ridiculous looking too deeply into the words “we’re just friends,” but they drove him mental. He felt like he was too old to be mad, though. They were both adults. They weren’t sixteen and thriving off of drama. They were just two twenty-somethings who had too much gin and got themselves into a complicated mess.

Was it complicated for Clare? Was she constantly suppressing her feelings to try to keep up a friendly front? Did she itch to write new music, stopping herself because she knew that meant she was in too deep? Did she deliberately keep Harry from her mates because she was too terrified to discuss him, worried that they’d tell her to go for it when she knew damn well that she couldn’t?

It was a rhetorical question, but Harry knew the answer was no. Deep down, at least. Admitting it to himself felt like accepting defeat, like he was going down without even so much as a fight. It was impossible to try to get inside Clare’s head. He wondered if they had made the right choice at the beginning, continuing to be friends who had a casual, non-exclusive relationship (was it even a relationship?). No labels typically made it easier, but Harry hadn’t felt this way about anyone. There was something different about Clare.

She was normal, yet still in the industry. Harry found it hard to date, even casually, someone who didn’t understand. It wasn’t about being used to the cameras or attention. It was the schedule, the weeks upon months of being gone for tour, recording, promo, whatever it took to put out an album. His life wasn’t calm or full of free time. It was structured with back to back events, obligations, things that he needed to go to or work at to sustain the career he had built.

This wasn’t something he could call Jeff about. He knew that Niall, Liam or even Louis would pick up if he called out of the blue, but this didn’t feel like the conversation he should have over the phone when they didn’t know anything about it. Jeff now knew too much, things that Harry had kept from him because he thought it would be easier. Sure, he was Harry’s friend and closest thing to family in the United States, but he was also part of Harry’s management, which Clare was also part of. The more he thought about it, the more of a convoluted mess it became.

Harry had finally gotten ahold of Clare for longer than two short texts, making plans with her to grab a bite to eat. He arranged for a car to pick her up so she could meet him at a restaurant with a zero photo policy under a fake name to avoid anybody spilling to the press that he would be there. He was sure the only reason she agreed was because he assured her it was also a private dining area. Or maybe it was just to get him to shut up. He was starting to believe that it was more the latter.

Clare was escorted into the back seating area by the waiter, running twenty minutes late. She seemed disheveled, only kissing Harry on the cheek before she plopped down into her seat across from him.

“Hi, I’m sorry. Work,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“It’s alright, I had e-mails to catch up on,” he replied, picking up his phone and waving it back and forth. It was a lie, but it seemed to resonate with Clare. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to drink, so I didn’t order anything.”

“Thanks Harry,” she said, picking up the menu. She had her eyes trained on the menu until the waiter came to take their orders. He wondered if she was just pretending to read to avoid talking. Even after the waiter left, there was an uncomfortable silence that settled between them. Sometimes when they were lying in bed before they fell asleep, they wouldn’t say anything at all, each doing something absentmindedly. Harry would play with the ends of her hair while she would trace shapes gently on the top of his hand.

This silence was different. The air was stiff, their bodies rigid against the backs of their seats. It was as if they had nothing to say to each other, two strangers sitting across from each other.

“Have you moved into your new office yet?” Harry asked. Clare looked up from the napkin folded on the table in front of her, brows furrowed as if it was a ridiculous question.

“Next week,” she said. “More things to stress about.”

“I could help you if you wa–”

“It’s fine, Stephen and I have it covered,” she said, interrupting his offer. “Sorry, today was just…awful.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s boring, you don’t want to hear about it,” Clare said.

“But I do,” Harry said. Clare stared at him blankly, her lips pressed together in a flat line. “I want to hear, Clare. You can talk about work. You can talk about whatever you want to talk about. I…I’m sick of not talking about shit.”

Clare blinked. The room was at a standstill. Harry had his hands clenched into fists under the table, slowly releasing them as he felt his moment of frustration subside. “What do you wish we were talking about, Harry?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I just want to talk. I don’t want to sit in silence or talk about the bloody weather or something you’d talk to a stranger about.”

“Clearly you do care,” she muttered. “So why don’t you tell me what you want to talk about and then we can talk. You don’t have to use your media-trained bullshit on me Harry. Go on, tell me.”

He was beginning to fume again. There had to be a red tinge in his cheeks. His face felt like it was on fire, the anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “Us, I want to talk about us,” he finally said.

“Us?” Clare asked, as if it was an absurd question.

“Yes, us,” Harry reiterated. “What is this? We’re friends who fuck? Are we even friends? Are we just a consistent hook up?”

“Oh come on Harry,” Clare said, rolling her eyes. “You don’t actually want to have this conversation. We’re adults.”

“I do want to have this conversation,” he said. “I think we just decided that it was easier to not talk about it. But I feel like that’s all I do. I conceal and tuck away everything and then what? I have a series of strategically planned things that I allow myself to talk about? Fuck that.”

Clare raised her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. “Harry, we’re friends,” Clare said. “That’s easier than being anything else.”

“Well then fuck being easy!”

“Harry,” Clare hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. “This is not the time or place.”

“You’ve been avoiding me, so when would be the time or place? Next month so we can just forget this ever happened and go back to normal?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Harry,” she said. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you that will make you happy.”

“Don’t tell me something that will make me happy then,” he replied. “Just tell me something instead of avoiding the subject to take the easy route.”

“I thought I was pretty honest and up front when I told you that I wanted us to be friends when we started this,” Clare said. “And I’m sorry if things have changed on your end, but I still feel the same. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just can’t be something else to you Harry, I can’t.”

He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, averting his eyes from hers. They didn’t speak again until the waiter brought in their meals, each quietly thanking him before he excused himself from the room. Neither of them touched their plates, their hands poised on the silverware as they stared absently across the room.

Harry couldn’t eat. He cut his food up into pieces, occasionally working up the appetite to eat a few bites. Clare seemed to do the same, pushing around her food and reaching for her wine instead of enjoying dinner. This was a mistake. Dinner, pushing their conversation, losing his sense of calm. There was a reason Harry remained level-headed when he was around other people. It was why he had calculated responses and tailored behavior. When he cared, he lost it. And this time, he was quite certain that he had lost more than his cool.

Clare excused herself to the restroom while Harry paid. They were supposed to leave separately anyways, Clare before Harry. He’d have security walk her back to her car, just in case something happened. But since none of the night went according to plan, neither did their exit. Harry was sure that Clare had left by the time he exited the back room, assuming she was in her car back to her flat so they could have time apart. That’s all they needed, right? A short break to regroup.

If she hadn’t called his name, Harry would have almost walked right past Clare in the vestibule of the restaurant. He was halfway out the door when he turned around to see her, eyes narrowed at him.

“Clare?” he asked. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“So what? We leave here and then?” she asked.

“Can we not talk about this here,” he said, looking at the people standing on the opposite side of the glass door. There was a rumble outside, but Harry assumed it was just construction around the block. He ushered them out onto the street. It wasn’t any more private than inside, but it was at least dark out.

“Your idea of talking sucks,” she said.

“Well, I suddenly don’t know what I’m even supposed to say to you anymore,” he said. “I get it, we’re friends and just friends. So what does it matter what else I have to say?”

“Harry…” Clare said, her voice trailing off.

“If I tell you how I feel, it’s not going to change anything anyways. Right?” he asked.

“I’m so–”

“I know,” he sighed.

“I like being your friend,” Clare said. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I need time,” he said. “I…maybe Jeff was right. This isn’t good for working purposes, y’know? So maybe…” his voice trailed off as the same loud rumble echoed through the air. Perplexed, Harry looked around to try to find the source of the noise. The cooler the air became, the more increasingly clear it became that this was not construction, but rather an evening storm.

They didn’t escape the rain before it started to thrash down, pelting against their skin until their clothes were soaked through. Neither of them did anything, either, standing motionless as they let themselves get drenched.

"What the fuck is it with us and rain,” Clare muttered. Her makeup started to smear down her face, leaving brown and black trails in its track.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I don’t know.”

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > >

Harry wasn’t sure where he had woken up. The sound of rain thrashing against the window of his hotel room kept him from drifting back into a sound slumber. It was his day off, that he knew. Surely he would spend it stuck inside. There was no chance of escaping to explore the city. The second he stepped outside it would be madness. He was sure that somebody already tipped off fans and paparazzi as to where he was staying.

Even if he could have left, he had no idea where we would go. He had spent too many days in a row stuck in the studio, his hands stained with ink from writing and rewriting songs. He wanted to be in the studio. The day off wasn’t his choice, but his teams. They might as well have dragged him out by his ankles to keep him from being there.

Jeff told him on the phone that he needed to take a break, even if it was just a day (though he’d prefer longer). But the songs wouldn’t stop. Even in his hotel room, Harry had his journal next to him at all times, just in case he had a wave of inspiration. Instead of addressing Jeff’s suggestion, Harry asked the question that Jeff hated to answer.

“How is she?”

“Harry, stop asking about her,” Jeff asked. “Clare is fine.”

“Cool,” Harry murmured. Jeff ended the phone call before Harry could delve further down the black hole of asking about Clare. It was made worse by social media. Her account wasn’t made private, allowing him to scroll through her Instagram pictures after a night of one too many drinks. It was pathetic, he knew it, but it didn’t keep him away.

She had photos of her desk spread, pictures of concerts she attended. Harry tried to ignore the shot of her kissing Stephen’s cheek, posted only a week earlier. The shirt he was wearing in the photo was Harry’s, one that he let Clare steal when she’d accidentally spilled on her jumper. It was useless being jealous or dwelling, so he tried to do what he did best and bury the feelings.

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t miss her. It had been a few months, but it still felt fresh. It was the uncertainty of their relationship that kept him up at night. They weren’t anything but friends on the surface, but it was underneath where the feelings lingered. He couldn’t pretend that they didn’t exist, even if that would have kept Clare in his life.

It didn’t help that everything he’d written somehow became about her. Even digging up old feelings to try to escape his plaguing thoughts would somehow revolve around her. He wasn’t sure how in just a short few months, Clare became so much more to him that he could have ever imagined. He wished he would have been more guarded with her, just like he was with everyone else.

But he couldn’t be guarded around her. That was part of Clare’s charm. She made you want to tell her all of your secrets, everything you felt that you couldn’t admit to anyone. She lured out honesty and your inner most thoughts, keeping them safe and making you feel validated. It turns out she didn’t want to hear about some of Harry’s thoughts, especially when they came to her. That’s when it all collided, exploding in one brief moment that somehow ruined everything they had managed to build up.

Maybe that was how it was supposed to happen. Even if it wasn’t, that’s what Harry had to accept. There was nothing he could do to change the outcome. Because Clare was in LA with Stephen and Harry was alone in his hotel room emptying the mini bar as part of his breakfast.

No light filtered into the room, only grey visible through the slits of the blinds. Harry turned down the air conditioning in the room, listening intently as the raindrops splattered against the window. He was lying on his back with the covers pulled up only to his waist. His phone sat face up on his chest, tempting him as the alcohol began to set in.

Harry wasn’t thinking clearly when he pressed his thumb against the sensor, unlocking his mobile with ease. He found her name in his phone with ease, tapping multiple times until he was finally able to pull up her contact page. He put the phone on speaker phone as he dialed her number, closing his eyes while he world spun.

“Hi Clare. It’s Harry. I’m in New York and it’s pouring rain and it made me think of you because even if it never fucking rains in Los Angeles, we both somehow got stuck in the rain together two times. What the hell, right? Um, so anyways, I just wanted to call you because we haven’t talked in so long and I miss talking to you. But I understand, I guess. It just wasn’t going to work out. I’m sorry for everything, Clare. I hope you can forgive m–“

The messaging machine cut him off before he could finish. He pressed whatever button confirmed the message and hung up the call, tossing his phone across the mattress. He pulled the comforter up to his neck, drifting back to sleep.

#harry styles #1dff #1dff summer fic exchange 2017

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thoughts-of-the-unheard · 4 years

Text

2018 end of year banquet day and lead up to it

with two posts in a row like about sean and last one mentioning the end of year banquet I reminded myself of the 2018 end of year banquet which is quite possibly the best day of my life so far

its important to note that it was a very rainy summer and I only had one pair of sneakers and one pair of shower shoes

since it was so rainy and its a scout camp not a resort camp kinda thing there were huge puddles everywhere which the kids loved but I had to walk through several large puddles several times a day to get to the nature lodge and remember, I only have sneakers so I ended up getting trench foot (2018s thing, every year has a health thing) and me being me I didn't do anything about it except eventually start limping bc it hurt too much otherwise but my last work project the day before the end of year banquet day was my aunt (lake director at the time) and I carrying the fire stations (essentially 2x4 basket holding a rake, a shovel, and a bucket or two) from campsites to the trails and I got to the last one before I couldn't ignore it anymore so im 5′2″ barely 110lbs and the fire stations were pretty darn heavy so I couldn't limp for fear of breaking my ankle or smth so I walked normally but it hurt so much that when I set it down I cried and it took a bit for me to stop and explain what was happening so my aunt took me to the health officer and he told me what it was and what I had to do and I got to shower in the health lodge (which was amazing bc while the staff showers are clean enough they are nothing compared to the health lodge shower that also had hot and cold handles instead of the preset temp six second buttons that the staff showers and pool house showers have) but I had to keep my feet dry and clean so I had to stay in the dining hall all day the next day to set up for the banquet

banquet day which I did but I was getting a little stir-crazy stuck in dhall all day when camp is my only freedom and im so used to being outside and working there so my brain was a little confused like yo this is camp not school I shouldn't be stuck in one building for half my day so when we needed more lights from hart lodge I literally jumped at the opportunity to leave it was drizzling when I left the dining hall but hart lodge is like five minutes away and there was supposed to be a work crew there that could let me in but I took the road bc its shorter and flatter instead of the trail and the crew mustve taken the trail at the same time bc when I got there, no one was around and like I said I was going a little stir-crazy earlier and felt like I needed to do smth wild so I came to the conclusion to break into hart lodge to get the lights instead of walking five minutes to get someone with the keys to just let me in and no one was around so I was think aloud and the moment I decided to just break in, it started to pour and I mean that seems like a sign to not do it right well I was going to anyway and not too long after I started to try, my boss (the favorite adult) and another co-worker showed up bc they needed smth from hart lodge and they had the keys so they let me in and I returned to dhall soaking wet (in a white t-shirt and my boss told my aunt cause he was a little concerned with my attire as a young girl essentially wearing a see through shirt surrounded by a bunch of teen boys and she came to me about it saying he was concerned and I didn't even realize bc I didn't know what I looked like it hadn't occurred to me but im glad I don't get embarrassed easily) to string the lights and finish everything there and when all work projects were done, we had some free time before the banquet so I told sean, my bsf, that I wanted to break into hart lodge and seans down to do anything so we go to hart lodge to break in but we didn't plan ahead we just had whatever was on us which wasnt much at all (it was staff week so we didn't have to wear class b so I was in a t-shirt and exercise shorts with no pockets so the only thing I had on me was my spider knife clipped to the hem of my shorts) our first thought was to walk up the roof of the basement that conveniently started a few inches from the ground (its on a hill) and try to get into one of the windows from there but that didn't work now admin was going through some things and the interim camp director had done a cleansing of hart lodge which previously was just a big place for whatever needed storing and that cleansing brought out a lot of stuff to sit in front of the lodge until we got the big metal trash box the next day so I grabbed a plastic crate to put on top of a wooded chest I had rolled down earlier to a single floor outset room with a lower roof than the rest of the building that was three floors and it got me like three feet higher but before I could figure out how to actually get on the roof from there, sean made me get down see our relationship is that he’ll make me get down from the crate on top of the chest so I don't hurt myself and then two minutes later place me in a puddle when im getting over trench foot and eventually we gave up trying (though I don't think sean ever really tried to break in bc I fully believe he could with no trouble, I think he just came along bc I was excited about trying) and we sat in the west qm shed which is actually the wood shed and we talked for a while now you might've noticed I said banquet day but I haven't talked about the banquet don't worry, its coming faster than you think as it did for us because as we sat in the shed, we heard the drums for evening colors so evening colors is the daily ceremony where we lower the flags before dinner and colors is in class a and the banquet, a very important and quite formal event, is also in class a and the drums are camp band signifying the start of colors and if u remember, sean and I arent even in class b and we had no idea what time it was bc neither of us had a watch or our phones but colors is starting so we got up and bolted to the staff site to change and class a is supposed to be sneakers or boots with bsa socks, bsa shorts or pants, bsa belt, any scout shirt, and a specific bsa shirt buttoned over that with the shirts tucked in and everything neat (and most camp staff girls do smth nice with their hair) and neither of us had any of that on and the girls cabin is a quarter mile from the rest of camp so I kept a bag in seans shack with my shower stuff and class a and anything else I might need during to day so I don't waste time going back to korman so we speed changed (yes I am a girl, yes sean is a boy, yes we changed in front of each other, no we didn't stripe to do so, no were not dating, no we wont be, were just close friends who were rushed and comfortable enough with each other) (but that's really frowned upon so if bsa asks this was a piece of creative writing) (think for legal reasons, this is a joke) and we sprinted to the wall for colors and halfway there sean said he forgot his belt and turned around to get it, he did not end up on the wall for colors but I went out a stood at the end, next to my director (my boss, favorite adult) who questioned why I was late so its a good thing sean decided not to get on the wall next to me bc the majority of camp staff was already convinced we were fucking even though I was dating someone else who was also at camp (ha ha part of the reason I broke up with him was bc he was jealous of sean though I only know him bc of sean and he was jealous of some of my other guy friends at camp though male staff outnumbered female staff that year like 6 to 1 so idk what he was expecting but anyway were close friends now so its chill) but we ended up sitting together at the banquet and I don't really remember what we ate but after eating, a co-worker put a Styrofoam bowl full of whipped cream onto my directors head (I feel like I cant call him my boss in this situation bc while he is my boss, his boss and his boss’s boss were also present) now my director was in the middle of a conversation with one of the important camp guests and while covered with whipped cream, he shook the other mans hand and said ‘it was nice talking to you, if youll excuse me...” and bolted after the co-worker who ran out the door now both of these men are like 6 foot 200 lbs and they don't often run so ofc all of staff followed and they tousled for a bit then kinda got over it and when we all walked back in, the spring had torn from the door so sean got up to get screws and a drill and fix it in the meantime, my director retaliated with two cans of whipped cream directly in the co-workers hair see when my director got hit, he easily wiped it off bc he shaves his head weekly but the co-worker has lots of bushy hair that whipped cream likes to stick to and by the time sean finished with the door, his seat was taken as well as all the other seats at our table so we shared a seat as he ate a bowlful of blocks of butter (much to my protests) and we watched the video of the year and the award giving portion of the banquet began now the co-worker who “pied” my director tried again but on the camp commissioner instead who was the sweetest, most adorable person but he failed as my director stepped seemingly out of nowhere and at the last second, slapped the whipped cream bowl into the co-workers face the rest of the banquet continued without interruption which wasnt hard as it ended soon after which brings us to the post-banquet staff swim its supposed to be a surprise to first years but someone usually forgets and they all find out anyway but it goes like this we take everything out of our pockets and some people take off their socks and shoes and all the staff climb up on the wall we stand on for colors (its like four inches at the lowest and four feet at the highest) and I love standing at the highest part because we get called by how many years weve been on staff and you jump off the wall and race across the parade field to the open gates of the pool and jump in, in class a and we all swim around for a bit playing I have your hat which is an imitation game where someone calls out “I have ___’s hat” and tosses it and whoever catches it, imitates that person theyre usually really funny but occasionally someone says smth that doesn't make sense but no ones mean and its really nice then we showered and hung out for a bit before going back to korman to sleep

the end

ps I was going to write a post after this on the 2019 banquet but now its like 4:30am and that's a good time to go to sleep so I might write about it tmw

pps I really said “if bsa asks this was a piece of creative writing” talking about changing in front of a friend when I spent 17 lines beforehand on breaking into a bsa building and didn't even think that that might be something that's also frowned upon, perhaps more

#theres so much going on I don't know what to tag #summer camp #end of year banquet #shananagins #fun times #best day of my life #so far #best friend #wild

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wonderlandmind4 · 4 years

Text

Delicate Stages of Life: 24

A Piece of Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Labor pains. Non-graphic child birth.

Words: 11,820

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. This was a monster for me to write and it’s just been hard to write lately, BUT, this chapter jump starts the last phase of the Drabbles... (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first) beautiful moodboard by @afewmarvelousthoughts and thank you for all your help and tears and yelling at me. I’m sorry! <3 **I have never given birth, just going off experiences of mothers I know**

Holidays: 29 weeks Dec 13th:

One morning Ana wakes up to a solid kick from inside her stomach, rapidly blinking at the odd light streaming through her window. After she carefully sits up, soothing her hands over her round belly, she blinks again, startled.

Snow. It had snowed sometime during the night and with the sight comes the realization; it’s the middle of December. Time had ticked by in muted colors to Ana that when she finally came back to herself, five months had passed. Five months since the air filled with ashes. Five months since she last touched Bucky. Five months since the absence of his soul.

Now it’s nearly Christmas. Ana can’t even remember her birthday or Thanksgiving passing. Though by the tears escaping her eyes and the ache in her chest, it’s not going to be a good day. She continues to stare out the window, the snow-covered ground and trees in the distance offer a bittersweet illusion of a perfect world. Quiet. Tranquil.

A memory invades Ana’s mind from last year. Her and Bucky snuggled together in front of a fire at Tony’s cabin, talking about a future family. She shakes the memory from her head and finally gets out of bed, ignoring the very real feeling of Bucky’s arms around her. Ignores the phantom scent of his breath and the spiced apple toddy he drank that evening.

Waddling her way to the kitchen with her hand supporting an ache in her lower back, she spots a blessed pot of coffee freshly brewed. Ana hasn’t had such a desperate urge for the taste of coffee in so long, that she nearly drops the mug she pulls from the cabinet in haste. Once she’s poured herself a generous amount, she inhales deeply. The nutty aroma sending her mind straight back to the first day she met Bucky, and all the sessions that followed.

She revels in memory, when she was proud of herself for pulling a smirk out of the infamous Bucky Barnes after she told him she didn’t poison the coffee. How they starting to bond over silly conversation of coffee, how he used to tease her but ask how to make it properly. How Bucky would sometimes show up before her, waiting for her to arrive with coffee in hand. Ana is so lost in her mind, she doesn’t register the shift of air behind her.

“That’s caffeinated, and I know you are not about to drink it while seven months pregnant.”

Snapping back to reality, Ana shoots a glare over her shoulder at Steve. “Being seven months pregnant is the perfect reason to drink it.”

The sigh Steve emits makes her step back out of his reaching range, just in case. “Ana,” He draws out in mock disappointment.

“No! I need it need it, Steve,” She practically whines, clutching the hot mug to her chest. “Especially today. With the snow and these fucking memories, and Carol isn’t here to help regulate me, and my rings don’t fit right now. I just need caffeine, just this once.”

His eyes narrow. “Just this once?” He repeats incredulously. “Didn’t Rhodes catch you sneaking his coffee a week ago?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Ana shrugs, lifting the mug to her lips.

Sounds of scuffling come from the front hallway then, Ana distracted enough for Steve to finally and carefully, snatch the mug away from her hands. She makes a noise of protest, before she sees the dark green branches of a pine tree. Natasha and Rhodes carry in a small tree, with Rocket following behind them, an axe propped over his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Ana demands quietly, her chest tightening.

“It’s a tree,” Nat snipes dryly. “What the hell does it look like?”

They set the tree down in the living room, adjusting the stand that’s already anchored to the trunk. An onslaught of rage and heartache overcome Ana for reasons she can’t quite comprehend. Abruptly it takes everything she has not to grab the axe from Rocket, chop the tree into little pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

Holidays are meant to be joyful. Holidays are meant to celebrate with families and loved ones. Holidays are meant to bring brightness. They’re meant for the rest of the world to fade away into warmth, sparkles, the smells of baked goods.

Not this time. Ana sees nothing joyous about that tree, just the inevitable death of its needles. She doesn’t feel the warmth of the season, just the continuous frigid void in her chest. Outside, the falling snow morphs into ashes.

“Get it out of here.” Ana nearly growls, her fists clenching; the lights flicker. She can no longer look at it without wanting to scream.

“Uh, why?” Rhodes demands, crossing his arms. “It’s nearly Christmas.”

“I don’t care, just get it out! I don’t want it in here! It doesn’t belong here!”

Rhodes serves Ana a look so stern, she abruptly feels like a scolded child.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to dial that back,” He commands, gesturing to her. “This is misplaced anger, and you’re taking it out the wrong way. This might not be something you want, but don’t forget, you aren’t the only one suffering through depression. And maybe if you recognized that, you’d realize a damn Christmas tree just might make everyone else forget the shit that’s happened for once.”

His words are a punch to her heart. Immediately all her anger melts from her bones as she looks at the floor. Rhodey is one hundred percent correct, embarrassingly Ana is reminded of how much she truly missed when she shut her emotions off. She hasn’t been fair or considerate of anyone for months. Just because she can’t handle a fucking tree, doesn’t mean she can force anyone else to do the same.

Her throat burns with that wake-up call; the flicker stop flickering. Ana slowly gathers herself, breathes deeply while stroking her hands over her stomach to soothe herself. The baby moves and rolls in response. Finally, she nods.

“You’re absolutely right,” She concedes, meeting his eyes once more. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m just not in the mood to celebrate any holiday, but I shouldn’t expect anyone else to. I apologize.”

Rhodes stares her down a few moments before his expression breaks. “Accepted.”

The tense silence that follows is heavy and awkward, until Steve pushes the coffee mug back into Ana’s hand. “Just the one cup.”

She silently takes the mug, barely feeling the warmth of the coffee on her fingers. “I’m just going to go lay down now.”

As she makes her exit, Rhodey stops her. “Do you…need anything?” He offers kindly.

She gives him a grateful smile over her shoulder. “No, thank you.”

Steve has been distracting himself from checking up on Ana by pulling the dust covered box of decorations from storage and going through it. Oddly, a glass ornament is wrapped in newspaper, and with a delicate swipe of his fingers over the ink, he’s brought back to another lifetime eight decades ago.

Christmases during The Great Depression weren’t grand; far from it. Memories of Steve stuffing his shoes with old newspapers to keep his feet warm- and possibly give himself a few extra inches in height- fill his head. His mother carefully wrapping handmade ornaments in those same newspapers.

A slightly dirty Bucky just back from working odd jobs here and there, holding up a turkey he received as payment. He had dragged both Steve and his mother over to the Barnes household for a rare Christmas Eve dinner.

Giggles of four little girls huddled together as they watched Steve nail their brother in the face with a slush of a snowball. A quiet night of serving his mother tea as she laid sick in bed. Yet she still gifted him fresh parchment bound together to go with the charcoal pencils Bucky got him earlier.

The memories turn melancholy as Steve remembers that first Christmas without his mother. How Bucky selflessly spent the night away from his own family, taking care of a feverish Steve, even though all he wanted to do was stay huddled in bed and cry himself to sleep from grief. Instead, Bucky pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his tattered coat and dumped some into Steve’s tea.

“Nicked it from that banker's house on the other side of town,” Bucky had shrugged, looked proud of himself before he took a swig from the bottle.

“Buck,” Steve had reprimanded weakly. Until he remembered that banker is the one who cheated on his wife and bragged about it. He had taken too big of a gulp, nearly choked and spluttered.

Bucky waited, patted his back until his airways cleared. “Did that no good, two-timer notice you?”

“Hell no,” Bucky laughed. “Guys like him deserve to have his illegal booze stolen, he’s got enough money to smuggle more. Did you take your medicine?”

Steve held up his mug. Bucky rolled his eyes, then gently pushed him over to snuggle in next to him. Not once did he ever leave Steve’s side. Instead he chatted his ear off with stories of Rebecca attempting to make her own dolls, and that one brunette, brown-eyed dame he tried to save from a sleazy man before she decked the guy square in the jaw.

“I’m sweet on her now. Whatty’a think, Stevie? Think I’ve got a chance with a dame like that?”

(Steve huffs a laugh when he remembers that bit. Bucky always did have a type; it’s no wonder he fell for Ana so quickly.)

"Nah,” Steve said through a cough. “A girl like that wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

“Punk.” Bucky rubbed his knuckles atop his head.

“Jerk.” He weakly shoved him in retaliation.

Silence fell between them; sleep quickly took over Steve’s tired and sick body. He had slid further down the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin.

“Thank you, Buck. For being here.”

Bucky took a minute to respond. “Didn’t want you to be alone during the holidays. With you til the end of the line, pal.”

The light pitters of something wet hitting the newspaper brings Steve back to the present. A few dark drops absorb into the paper before he realizes he’s crying. He hastily wipes the tear off his face, clears his throat and wills away the pain in his heart. Steve gets it. He understands why Ana reacted the way she did.

Shaking his head to clear his past, he rewraps the ornament and returns to his task. Once he’s done, Steve just sits in the closet by himself for a while; allows him himself to wallow. He’s absentmindedly scratching his growing beard, wondering if he should give it a shave when FRIDAY alerts him.

“Captain Rogers, the weather is a brisk 25 degrees outside, with steady snowfall.”

Frowning up at the ceiling as if the AI can see him, he replies, confused. “Thank you? Is there a reason you’re giving me a weather report?”

He swears FRIDAY sigh. “Mrs. Barnes has been sitting out for-“

“Got it, thanks.” Steve cuts her off, yanking the door open. He knows exactly where Ana is.

As he quickly makes his way through the compound, Steve apologizes to that younger Bucky during the all those winters. He recalls his exasperated best friend every time Steve hid out on rooftops and fire escapes after getting into fights. Every time, Bucky had been there with Steve’s coat, or just taken his own coat off to wrap around Steve’s scrawny little shoulders instead.

“Christ, Stevie, your lungs ain’t gonna work anymore the longer you stay out here, punk.”

When Steve climbs through her window, and finally opens the door to the roof, the irony isn’t lost on him. Ana is sitting on the furthest chair, staring out into the frosted woods, snow catching in her long hair. Only a thin blanket over her lap protects her from the cold and the biting wind from the height of the deck. Her hands are protectively cradling the bump of her stomach.

“Ana, what are you doing out here?” Steve questions, briskly walking to her. He places the jacket he found in her room over her shoulders; one of Bucky’s jackets. “You’ll freeze your toes off.”

“You’ll freeze your damn toes off, and I will not explain to your Ma why her son got frostbite.”

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her into his side to share his body heat with her. The old memories of Bucky practically yanking his asthmatic self into a slightly warmer building fade away.

“This is where we kissed the first time,” Ana reminisces, a quiet reserve to her voice. She points adjacent to them. “Right there, when I said those triggers words, he kissed me.”

Steve remembers when Bucky couldn’t stop pacing in his room after that night, panic stricken because he didn’t know how to process his feelings for her. He couldn’t understand how she put so much trust into him. Steve squeezes her shoulder, hoping to offer her some comfort.

“This is where Bucky told me he loved me for the first time. Up here, with pizza.”

His chest feels hollow realizing how many memories this rooftop holds for her. “C’mon honey, it’s not good for you to be out here, let’s go back inside. Warm you up.”

“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Ana laments as if she didn’t hear him. “Holidays, birthdays, celebrations. Life.”

“Yeah.” Steve exhales wearily.

“I knew this. I knew all of this, but…for months I acted like I was the only one holding onto this grief so heavily. I’ve lost everyone, Steve. I’ve lost my whole family and I never thought I could feel more pain and grief than that. But I was wrong, this is so different. Because I could feel him leave me. I could feel Bucky’s soul rip from mine.”

“It’s incredible, Stevie. I can feel her all the time, like her life energy is this infinite sunlight around me.”

He sees that day clearly when Bucky had said those words to him. He remembers the look of pure awe and adoration on his friend’s face that day. Steve squeezes her closer, offering his comfort in the cold bitter air. Something wet falls onto his shirt, soaks in quicker than the snowflakes. He lifts his hand, gently wiping the tears off her cheeks before the cold can freeze them there.

“Hey now, Steve, c’mon. No tears, they’ll freeze on your face, pal.”

Steve swallows back yet another whispered memory, when he was frustrated the neighborhood bully just kicked his ass no matter how many times Steve got back up.

“Your pain isn’t invalid, Ana,” He tells her delicately, lifting the sleeve of the jacket to dry her face. “That is something none of us will ever begin to comprehend, that connection you both shared.”

“Maybe not,” Ana sniffs, “but that shouldn’t erase anyone else’s pain in my mind and that’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Watching you turn off your emotions was- fuck, it was haunting. It was scary because we couldn’t tell if doing that was just hurting you instead. I hated that you did that, but I also understand why you did. I think we just-“ Steve pauses to gather his words properly.

Ana speaks up before he does. “I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am for shutting everyone out, for acting like- well...like a cold hearted-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Steve chastises firmly. “I think we just wanted to have any ounce of your old self back. We were all concerned.”

“I’m still trying to find that myself,” Ana sighs, voice cracking; she sounds exhausted. She tilts her head to the side, leaning on his shoulder. “I got mad about the tree because the memories of last Christmas are perfect. It was our first one together, did you know that? Our first time celebrating the holiday season. I don’t want to celebrate anything.”

“So, keep the eggnog away from you then?” Steve quips lamely. Ana winces and gags.

“Fuck no,” She picks her head back up. “I don’t think the baby’s palate will tolerate that.”

“And I don’t think the baby can tolerate the cold much longer,” He counters. “Let’s get you inside.”

Steve drops his arm in favor of carefully helping up from the chair. Ana winces again, her hands covering her stomach. Pain flashes over her face for a moment, and panic shoots through Steve’s chest.

“Are you okay? What was that?” He asks worriedly, hand hovering along her back.

“It's fine,” She pants, waving him off with her hand. “Just some pressure is all. Little Bean’s running out of room I think.” Relief shags Steve’s shoulders. Until- “The baby is moving a lot. Do you want to feel-?”

“I’m good. That’s not, uh, it’s kind of intimate. Time to go inside.” Steve ignores her bewildered look and focuses on guiding Ana down the stairs safely. He keeps Bucky’s jacket wrapped tight around her.

The memory of last Christmas spent snuggling close with Bucky in front of a fire and talking about their future mocks Ana. It was one of those perfect moments in a lifetime, and she didn’t want to tarnish the memory with this Christmas being...widowed. Alone and 7 months pregnant.

Since Rhodey’s harsh truth, Ana has kept any bitter despair to herself. However, she did allow herself one moment of a Christmas song. It made her smile briefly, before a memory of both Bucky and Tony singing at the top of their lungs as they decorated the tree cut it short.

Ana does not want to decorate the tree. She stays in her room, until Rocket barges in, trailing a bunch of silver tinsel in his wake.

He demands to know, “Who was the asshole to make such a messy infuriating thing to put on a damn stupid tree!?”

Nebula stood at the doorway, a murderous expression on her face as she fights with several pieces of tinsel, static making it cling to her. Ana can’t help the surprised laugh that bubbles out of her at the both of them.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind as Rocket drags her out of her room demanding to untangle the tinsel, Ana thinks the two might have planned it all. She’s exhausted by the time she unknots the stuff, focusing more on the silver plastic and quietly refusing to put anything on the tree.

By the time she’s done, she waddles back to her room, Natasha close behind. All she does is hand Ana a hot mug of cider and snuggles in close. Nat talks to and gently pets her hands over her stomach and promises the baby to teach them her “death by thighs” move one day. Ana drifts off to sleep, head tucked under Natasha’s neck.

When Christmas does come around, it’s with stinging emptiness, of several people missing and the weight of the whole world grieving. At breakfast, as she’s slowly eating, Ana finds herself with a small pile of gifts next to her on the table. Her glare prompts a response from Steve who had given her one more.

“You stayed locked in your room for your birthday last month,” He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You aren’t having a baby shower. Just accept them. Please?”

Most gifts end up being for the baby anyway, including a crib, so Ana lets it slide and quietly thanks them.

She ends up fighting back tears the longer she stays out in the living room, desperately wanting to escape. She’s exhausted, down to her bones, and the aching in her chest throbbing Bucky’s name hurts more and more. She closes her eyes and breathes, flexing her fingers and smoothing her hands over her stomach. The baby kicks and moves before it settles a few moments later.

Someone sits next to her, and she doesn’t have to open her eyes to tell that the stupidly large and warm bicep pressing against her own arm is Steve. He doesn’t say anything, just simply takes hold of her right hand, and squeezes.

He doesn’t let go, and despite the prickling of tears behind her eyelids and the trembling of her lips, Ana leans her head against his shoulder. The sense of comfort seeps into her own energy, and soon after she falls asleep.

30 Weeks Pregnant:

Just on the verge of her eighth month, Ana hears Natasha’s irritated sigh, as she munches on a slice of mango pizza.

"Ana, I swear if you don’t stop nesting in the office, I will throw away all the mangoes and you’ll be stuck with mushrooms for your pizza topping from now on.”

As Natasha Romanoff threats go, it’s rather mild. She shrugs as Nat holds up two files as proof.

“It was messy!” Ana defends, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Lucky you’re pregnant,” She grumbles.

“Enhanced hearing, remember?”

Natasha glares at her. “It took me an hour to find my notes. Why don’t you organize Steve’s shit? Or Rocket’s? I haven’t seen you in Nebula’s room, go nest in there.”

“Nebula would cut my hand off, pregnant or not.”

“It’s true.” Nebula speaks up with her husky low menacing voice, pizza slice in hand. Ana raises her eyebrows at her. She pauses. “Maybe.”

Ana beams. Natasha huffs, coming over to join them. She bends over to gently pat Ana’s belly. Which has grown even more in the past weeks, but dropped as well, the baby’s head sitting lower.

“Your mama better name you Natasha after I put up with her little tendencies huh little one?” Nat coos.

“That’ll go over well if Bean is a boy,” Ana jokes, also patting over where she thinks its little foot is. There’s a responding nudge, a rather firm one. Ana frowns. “Sassy.” Natasha chuckles, then steals Ana’s slice. “Hey!”

“Now someone’s hand will be chopped off,” Nebula inputs at the scene. Ana nods with a pout.

“What are you going to do? Waddle after me with your swollen ankles?” Nat teases.

“You’re being mean to me,” She whines, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Neither can Nat. “Then keep your nesting habits away from my files, Barnes.”

Ana steals the slice back. “I also reorganized your knives.”

That earns another glare. “So, so lucky you’re pregnant.”

It’s rare, these little moments of teasing and humor. Five months have passed since The Snap, and Ana’s grief and pain are still as crushing as ever. Her dreams remain constant. Dealing with feeling her emotions again has become a little easier, but there are days where she feels shattered by them, and cries into her pillow, or the nearest pair of arms.

Lately, it’s been Natasha. But these moments are what helps get Ana and everyone else through the day. Hour by hour, day by day, week by week. She has also been keeping herself in check and trying to be attentive to everyone’s feelings around her.

“Has Steve woman upped yet and felt the baby kick?” Nat wonders. The red roots of her hair are growing back faster now.

“No…He’s still a little creeped out,” Ana yawns. “It’s kinda funny.”

Humming, Natasha suddenly stands up. “Time for your checkup, let’s go.” Groaning, Ana shoves the last bits of her pizza into her mouth. “Come on. It’s one of the last ones before your due date.”

Ana shimmies from her rather comfortable spot on the couch to the edge, taking a deep breath and readying her swollen ankles to stand. Both Natasha and Nebula carefully grab an arm and help Ana up, keeping her steady until she can stand on her own. An odd sort of pressure throb through her stomach, and she frowns, suddenly thankful she does have a checkup today.

Three days later has Ana gasping awake from her dream. This time she swears she feels ashes slip through her fingers. Brings her right back to that horrid day in Wakanda, when she couldn’t reach Bucky in time. The same constricting feeling settles in her chest, and the room begins to feel hot; a golden orange glow briefly emits from her clenched hands.

Before her powers can lash out, Ana moves the best she can, hurriedly grabbing one of the beads. It only takes a few moments to get a video up, but the second she hears his voice, her heart begins to settle. The glow fades, and the rattling in the room that had started ceases.

Bucky’s timbre soothes her, replaying his lullaby twice more. On the third time, Ana pauses the recording, the projected image frozen on Bucky’s sweet face. The gentle fondness in his blue eyes, the slightly crooked smile, his long hair pulled into a bun, his beard just a touch unruly.

She remembers this day precisely; one of the last days Bucky sang to her stomach, to their child. No matter how many times Ana reminded him that the baby couldn’t hear him yet, he never cared.

It never stopped Bucky from randomly moving from one spot -be it the couch, bed, another room, the hut- to wherever Ana was and kept singing. It never stopped him from dropping to his knees as she made another strange snack she was craving in the kitchen and nuzzling his face against her barely there bump. Never kept him from staying up as she fell asleep to his words whispering lovingly against her skin. Feeling his warm breath, his sweet lips, his soft beard, his gentle caress of his fingers over her stomach. Feeling his heart, his love, his soul.

“I can hear it. The heartbeat.” Bucky would tell her, voice thick with emotion.

She hasn’t felt Bucky for months.

Ana reaches out like she does in her dreams, fingers curving over his holographic jaw. She keeps her touch delicate, as to not distort the image. In this moment, only for a moment, she pretends she can feel him. Pretends that her husband is truly looking back at her.

“I’m sorry, Snowflake,” Ana murmurs, tears burning in her throat. “I haven’t been the same without you. I turned off my emotions. You wouldn’t have liked that at all, would you? I don’t even like myself right now.”

Ana swipes the tears off her chin with her left hand. “But I swear I’ll try to be better. I swear I will take care of our baby for both of us, and he, she- our child will grow up knowing exactly who you are and how much you loved them. I just…I miss you. God, I miss you so fucking much I can’t breathe most of the time, and it hurts.”

Inhaling a shuddering breath, tears overcome her, sobs hitching in her chest. Ana brushes her shaking fingers over his cheek, the image rippling from her touch.

“I love you.”

When she turns off the bead and the image vanishes, she weeps into her hands. Ana wipes her cheeks, attempting to calm herself. Taking deep breaths, she places the bead back into it’s safe place in the drawer. A rather sharp kick from within makes her wince, then chuckle.

“Sorry, baby. I know I’ve been crying a lot lately.” Ana says to her stomach, rubbing soothing circles over her belly. “That can’t feel too good for you either.”

Once Ana’s crying slows, she cleans her face with tissues, blows her nose, and throws the tissues away in the bin beside her bed. Just then her ears pick up a sound outside her room. Carefully standing up, she walks to the door, pulling it open.

“Steve,” Ana greets with a sigh. She shouldn’t be shocked at this point.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “You alright?”

“Yeah. How much did you hear?”

He leans against the door frame crossing his arms, his shoulders hunched. “Just the ending. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just came by to see if you want to-“

Another kick and more movement briefly make Ana miss what he’s saying. Blowing a slow breath out she presses her hands over the spot; things are starting to get more uncomfortable.

“Sorry, could you repeat?”

He flashes her an understanding look. “Asked if you wanted to go for a walk with us. Nat and I.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Ana agrees, fighting a wince from the kicking. “Dr. Hammond suggests it now that I seem to be healthy enough. Said the walking could help calm the baby.”

He laughs under his breath. “I can kinda see why,” He says, eyes on her stomach.

“Yeah, this little bean has been more active lately,” She pauses “Steve, um, would you like to feel the baby kick?”

Steve’s eyes snap up to her. “Oh, um, isn’t that a bit personal? I mean-“ He stumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Ana rolls her eyes fondly. This is her husband’s best friend, he shouldn’t feel weird about it. She grabs his hand, placing the flat of his palm just to the right of her stomach. A few long seconds pass, Ana carefully watching Steve’s expression.

His brows are furrowed, his mouth curving down, as if he’s sad the baby isn’t moving for him. Then, the same rolling pushing movement comes once more and Steve’s blue eyes light up.

His mouth falls open slightly, a toothy smile across his lips. “Ana,” He gasps, meeting her eyes. “That’s…amazing.”

Ana can’t help but laugh, her heartache forgotten for the time being. “See, nothing to be nervous about. Kinda cool, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah. This, this is your baby. You and Buck’s…” His excitement fades into sorrow. Steve lifts his other hand to the opposite side, lightly scrunching his fingers as if he’s waving in a way.

“How about that walk now?” Ana cuts the melancholy short. She’s starting to feel the energy around them changing. Steve’s energy; the same kind he has been keeping from her. “Is it nice out?”

Pulling his hands off her stomach, Steve clears his throat and nods. “Bit warmer today, 56 right now.”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“No rush.” Steve takes a step before he halts. “Are sure you’re okay, Ana?”

She gives him her most convincing smile, which is a good attempt on her part. “Yeah. Just, missing him a lot today. That’s everyday though,” She chuckles humorlessly. “I swear I’m good, Steve.”

Steve’s scrutiny lasted longer than Ana would have liked. Then he nods. “Take your time.”

The only entertaining thing about New Year’s passing was Ana sitting out on the patio, watching Rocket and Rhodey rig together a contraption to set off fireworks. Natasha sat next to her, Ana’s legs on her lap as she massaged her swollen ankles and feet under a warm cable knit blanket, sitting next to a heater. Nebula and Steve are locked in a card game, when the first firework goes off. Steve flinches then frowns. His eyes meet Ana’s for briefly, before he goes back to discarding.

As explosions go off in the sky, Bucky tightens his arms around Ana’s waist, his face hidden in her neck as he presses a kiss to her pulse. “I don’t think I’m fond of fireworks.”

Ana brushes her fingers through his soft hair, gently scratching his scalp. Slowly she uses her ability to calm his energy, soothe him deeper than a touch. “Makes sense. You are a war vet.”

“Used to hear them go off in Romania sometimes,” Bucky had confessed. “Always thought it was a sign Hydra found me. That they had bombs set around the building I lived in. It was something I could never shake.”

Another one goes off in the distance; Bucky inhales her scent, his hands clutching her skin. Ana catches Tony walking by. “Tony, I thought no one was allowed to set off fireworks up here.”

He catches on quickly, pointing his glass of whiskey towards Bucky. Ana nods, then with an annoyed flare, he says, “Those damn kids. Goodie! I felt like chewing someone’s ear off tonight. I’ll call them!”

Bucky snorts, then sighs in content as Ana continues to relax his nerves with her powers. “They’re pretty, but...too loud.”

“I got you, Snowflake,” Ana promised, pulling up the blanket to cover them both and hide them away.

“I know you do, Annie Doll,” He breathes sleepy. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen though.”

Ana chuckles, kissing the tip of her husband’s head as he drifts off to sleep. She can’t think of a better way to bring in the new year than Bucky feeling safe enough in her embrace to fall asleep, even with the ghosts that still haunt his past.

POP!

Another firework glittering in the winter sky rips Ana out of her memories. She catches the small wince of broad shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ana calls out to Rocket and Rhodey. “I don’t think the baby is fond of fireworks right now. Do you mind if you stop please?”

Rhodey acknowledges her meaningful look, beginning to replace the ones he took out. Rocket shrugs, turns off the machine they built with a wide grin.

“I just wanted to see if I could build it. I did, now I’m bored.” He states, then meets Ana’s eyes.

“How’s about we beat these losers at a game of poker?”

“Deal.”

Ana only lasts two rounds of poker, before Steve is helping her settle into bed. He insisted on following her and carrying her hot tea for her. She adjusts her body pillow and gets comfortable, tapping her hand over the lower part of her stomach where the baby settled with her.

“Thank you,” Steve says, pulling the comforter up for her. “For the fireworks. I know you did it for me.”

“Bucky and I,” Ana begins, pausing only to push past the lump in her throat. “We stayed at Tony’s cabin during the holidays. I don’t think he heard fireworks go off in a while, and out in the woods you aren’t allowed to bring them or set them off. Some neighbors did, and he was nervous about them. I calmed him as much as I could.”

“He never told me that,” Steve says, frowning. The look he gives Ana though, makes her feel bashful. His features soften, and he almost looks...happy. “He was always so in love with you, Ana, before he even knew it. Bucky wasn’t one to ever open up to anyone, even when we were kids. Watching him with you…I’m glad he found you.”

Ana sniffs, rubbing her eyes to stop the tears welling up from falling. The empty ache in her chest is a permanent feeling.

“Sorry, too much Bucky talk. You were having a better night, I shouldn’t ruin it.” Grabbing her hand, he gives it a firm squeeze.

“It’s alright. I just...didn’t want you to feel that same way.” She squeezes back.

“Get some sleep, Ana.”

As she relaxes, her body ready for said sleep, she says, “You too, Steve.”

It’s one of her better days; Ana sleeps through midnight, but the haunting call of her name still echoes through her mind. Her soul still screaming for its other half.

The week following the new year is slow, as if 2019 wants to remind them of half the universe gone. However, Ana’s panic slowly begins to build as she realizes there’s just over a month of the baby arriving.

She’s sitting in the room they decided to turn into a nursery -the room right next to hers- slowly stroking her hands over and over her round stomach. Looking around the room gives her mixed feelings.

A part of her seems to be happy, almost excited to be a mother. The other parts outweigh the joy, however. The bare walls, void of any decorations, makes her heart break. The dark wood of the crib and the changing table makes her seethe. The little animal mobile above the crib breaks her. The mobile hangs an orange fox, a gray owl, a brown bear, and a white wolf.

Pushing herself off the rocking chair, Ana grabs the wolf and tears it off. The whole mobile comes down, crashing into the crib, but the wolf is clutched in her palm. She stares at it, anger boiling in her blood for reasons she can’t explain.

The harder she squeezes, the brighter her hand becomes. Flickering lights throw the room into shadows, over and over. Smoke is beginning to emit from the little wolf, her chest tightening as the edges singe.

“I leave for, what, three weeks, and here you are literally starting fires in your hands.”

Ana snaps her head up. Carol Danvers is standing in front of her, amusement dancing in her eyes instead of any reprimandation. Carefully she places both of her hands over Ana’s fist, and all her raging energy subsides. She hadn’t been aware of anyone coming into the room, so focused on the white wolf.

Quickly pulling her hand out of Carol’s, Ana slowly uncurls her fingers. Sitting in the middle of her palm are the remains of the wolf, completely incinerated. Panicking, she drops it, the tiny ashes caught between her fingers.

“Oh my god,” Ana whispers, horrified at herself.

“Hey, Barnes, I’m sure it's fine,” Carol tells her gently. “They can get you another one.”

“You-you don’t understand,” Ana shakes her head frantically. Ash. Ashes on her hand, her fingers, ingrained in her skin. “I-I have to wash my hand. I have to wash my hand!”

“Come on.”

Carol guides her out of the room, a steady hand on her back, and into the bathroom. Ana proceeds to scrub her right hand at least four times, and once again until her skin feels raw. She feels out of breath afterward, reaching for Carol once more.

“Can you take some deep breaths for me?” Carol coaches, helping her sit on the edge of the tub.

Ana huffs. “I’m trying. I-I can’t. No! Don’t touch me! What if…what if I hurt you? Like I hurt Steve?”

“Look at me, Ana. You are fine, you’re okay right now. You just got worked up and that’s okay.” Carol keeps firm eye contact. She attempts to hold her hands again, this time Ana allows her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You aren’t going to hurt me or anyone else.”

Finally, Ana gets a deep breath in. She regulates her breathing with help from Carol, until she feels like her senses and energy are no longer overstimulated. Once she’s calm, they leave the bathroom and head outside to the bac deck at Ana’s request. The chill of the air clears her head more as she sinks into a chair.

“It was a white wolf,” Ana tells Carol. Her silence is a cue to elaborate. “My husband...Bucky. He was given that moniker while he was recovering in Wakanda. He told me they sort of adopted, well, accepted him into their family, their culture. King T’Challa told me it also meant strong warrior.”

“That why you tore it off?” She guesses.

Ana shrugs, thinking it over. “I think I was already feeling too many emotions. I saw it, it reminded me of him and how- how everything in that room, we didn’t pick together. Hell, I barely picked anything in that room. I really appreciate Pepper and Nat setting it up, but we couldn’t do it together.”

Danvers remains quiet again, but Ana is grateful for it. She’s pretty good at reading how Ana is feeling, and her silent support is more appreciated than she knows. Ana’s energy always seems to stay dormant every time Carol is close. It’s something interesting to look into later.

“Where have you been?” Ana asks after some time.

During this time Steve found them after FRIDAY alerted him and gave her a thick blanket to keep warm. He stayed long enough to turn on the heaters, then left the women alone, but quietly thanked Carol in a nod Ana caught.

Carol sighs, slumping in her chair and propping her heels on the table. “Other planets. Some are worse from the repercussion of what that purple scrotum sack did. Been getting a lot of hits on my radar. I came back to bring you more elixir in case you needed it. And to check in on my favorite avenger.”

“M’not an avenger but Nat’s in the shooting range. Nebula is...I don’t know what she’s doing but I’m afraid to ask sometimes.”

She snorts. “So, should I not get you a stuffed wolf when the baby is born?”

Ana flicks her off, but Carol’s resounding laugh brings a smile to her face.

When Pepper calls two days later, Ana can’t help but feel something odd about their conversation. As they chat about pregnancy, (”It’s like every ten minutes, Pep, I have to pee every ten minutes!”) Ana asking for any advice her cousin may for her upcoming labor, something continues to feel off. Especially when Pepper drops Tony’s name three times. The mention of him causes her to remember something about FRIDAY.

“Oh!” Ana perks up. “Has FRIDAY informed you of anything about me? Or to-”

A little voice pops up in the background, begging for a snack. “One second, sweetie,” Pepper says to her daughter, then back to Ana. “She just tells me your vitals sometimes.”

“That’s it? She doesn’t ask you for permission to use a security protocol?”

“I- Morgan, be patient please, I’m making it now. Sorry, Ana.”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering why T- um...FRIDAY would feel the need to program an added feature.”

“What are you trying to ask?”

“I just...why would someone need to add an electric defense mechanism-”

“You know what?” Pepper cuts her off, exasperated. “I’m tired of being a go between. I have a toddler to raise who is currently trying to cut her own grapes, and I can’t deal with this right now. I love you, but if you want to know why, you need to ask him yourself.”

“Pep, what are you-”

“This riff between you two has gone on long enough. Talk to each other. I already have one child, I don’t need to raise two more. Speaking of which, you need to tell him. Here!”

“Wait, no!” Ana’s shout disturbs Rhodey from reading his book.

He casts a curious glance her way. She frantically shakes her head, though Pepper can’t see her. Rhodey has now put down his book, mouthing an over dramatic what? Before she can let him know what is about to happen, it happens. There’s a shuffling on the other side of the line, followed by a confused yelp.

Quickly pressing the phone to her chest, she looks over at Rhodey in panic. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms; a sign of him agreeing with Pepper after he caught on. Taking a few calming breaths, Ana puts the phone back to her ear.

“-think the line went dead,” Is what she hears on the other side. Tony’s voice.

Heartbeat kicking up several notches, Ana braces herself. “I’m- I’m here.”

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause. “Hello.”

He sounds like he’s meeting a CEO of a company he dislikes. As if he would rather be anywhere else than speak with her.

“Hey, uh, hi. H-how are your day?” Ana cringes, wishing the ground would cave from under her. How are your day? Why is she so nervous to just speak with him!

“Good, great. If that was a question.” Tony answers, his voice is carefully calculated. “How are your day?” He repeats.

If she wasn’t feeling so guilty, so anxious, she may have laughed. Instead, she decides to get right to it. The sooner she tells him, the sooner she can end this painful phone call. “I have something to tell you.”

“Pepper mentioned.”

Right. Fuck, if she didn’t answer her phone, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe Ana would have been fine with never telling Tony, and he would just have found out some other way. She just knows, deep down, how hurt he might possibly be.

She has never kept anything from Tony for as long as she knew him. With the way they left each other five months ago, well, telling him something he hadn’t known for this long could just drive the wedge between them even deeper.

Ana opens her mouth but all that comes out are tiny sounds of words dying on her tongue. She closes her mouth, eyes shifting to Rhodey, who nods encouragingly. Ana gathers herself once more, swallows her hurt and any pride she may have.

“Tony,” She finally says.

“Yep?” His response is quick; a tone Ana knows all too well. It’s the tone he uses to mask his own hurt.

“I-I should have told you sooner, but-” Inhale. Exhale. It shouldn’t be that hard to tell him this. Tony had been with her through some of the hardest events in her life. Suddenly not telling him feels like she insulted him personally.

“I’m pregnant.”

The silence that stretches lasts so long, Ana has to check if the line went dead; it didn’t. “Tony?”

“How far? Five months?” Tony finally speaks up. He sounds distant.

“Eight.” The word comes out as a whisper. “I’m eight months along. 34 weeks.”

“Had an inkling. Do you want a congratulations?”

Ana feels like she was just slapped in the face. Tony doesn’t sound angry, just neutral, but even so, the words sting more than she ever thought they would. Her eyes prickle, her vision gets blurry. She clears her throat, turning her back on Rhodey so he doesn’t see her reaction.

“No, no, it’s fine. Just wanted you to know.”

“Girl, boy?” He asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Going old school, I see.”

“I just...I figured it was time to tell you,” Ana’s voice trembles. Her heart is aching, like she just ripped a band-aid from a gaping wound she forgot about. “I’ll let you-”

“Is it healthy?” Tony abruptly cuts her off. “Are…are you healthy?”

The question catches her off guard. “I- yeah. Um, there’s been some emotional stress and bed rest incidents, but otherwise, we’re healthy.”

“Good, good. That’s good. It’s late, you should go, rest.”

“Oh, okay.” Ana says weakly, feeling drained and disappointed. “Yeah. Um, have a good night.” She pulls the phone from her ear to hang up, then hears Tony call her name.

“Ana.”

She quickly holds the phone back up. “Yeah?”

“Will you let me- let us know? When it’s time?”

Ana can’t be too sure, but she thinks she picks up a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Yeah, I will. I’ll tell you.”

Another beat of silence passes. “G’night, kid.”

The nickname feels bittersweet, but maybe it’s a step in rekindling what she ruined of their relationship. “Goodnight, Stark.”

After she hangs up, a firm yet comforting hand squeezes her shoulder. “You good?” Rhodes checks.

Nodding, Ana shoots him something close to a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I just...I think I miss him. I do miss him.”

“You should have told him that. I know he misses you too.”

“Maybe...next time.”

Just those few minutes of that conversation has left Ana exhausted. She decides to take a nap, hoping that maybe sleeping will ease the ache on her chest.

Annie

Pain abruptly pulls Ana out of her sleep, ripping away from that dream world. She stares at the ceiling in confusion, wondering what exactly hurt enough to wake her up. Minutes pass, her eyes closing as she’s on the verge of falling asleep yet again, when the second wave hits.

“Oh fuck!” Ana yelps, her hands flying to her stomach. “F-F-FRIDAY, am I having a contraction?”

“I cannot be 100% accurate,” FRIDAY responds quickly. “I have alerted Agent Romanoff. There is a possibility of Braxton Hicks Contractions. I suggest changing positions and counting the minutes between each one.”

Annie

A mixture of a sob and laugh escaped Ana’s lips, because of course she would hear his voice now as she hisses curses through her teeth. Oddly, the voice seems to calm her internal panic, through her pain. As she begins to sit up and shift, Natasha throws open the door.

She’s talking but Ana can’t focus on her words just yet, too busy trying to lay on her side and fight through the contracting pressure. Thankfully, Nat helps her move and settle into a new position. Too long goes by, but finally the pain stops.

“Breathe, remember those exercises,” Natasha is telling her, rubbing her back. Ana adjusts her pillows, feeling utterly exhausted. “Do you know how long that was?”

“Two minutes and 24 seconds,” FRIDAY informs them. “Twenty minutes apart from the first one.”

“FRIDAY get Dr. Hammond on the phone please.”

“Already contacted.”

Ana just shuts her eyes, listening to the slight commotion around her. The baby moves, an elbow or foot clearly unhappy about the lack of space inside her uterus. She rubs her hand around her stomach, ignoring her fear of not being ready quite yet; it’s too early to give birth. Ana begins to wonder how Bucky would have handled this.

Instead of feeling sad, a small smile spreads across her lips. Imagining someone like Bucky who was usually pretty calm and level-headed in most situations, his longtime soldier status the reason for that, would probably be panicking. Considering how he always acted any time Ana was in pain or discomfort.

“You look like a crazy person smiling like that.”

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to call a pregnant woman crazy?” Ana mumbles, cracking her eyes open to see Rocket smirking at her. “Are you so starved for entertainment you wanted to see what potential childbirth is like?”

Rocket shrugs, smirking. “Once I convinced some jerk the only way to smuggle his gun off Contraxia was to shove it up his ass. This isn’t as fun.”

A chuckle escapes her mouth, and suddenly the pressure she’s been feeling in her lower abdominal eases away. Ana heaves out a deep, long breath. Rocket’s smirk morphs into concern as he reaches out to gently pat the back of her hand.

“Can I confess something?” She whispers to him. He steps closer, tilting his head down. “I’m not ready yet.”

Rocket leans closer. “If you want to know my opinion. I think you got this.”

Then he winks as if they’re conspiring. Ana reaches out to gently stroke his ear. Rocket looks shocked at the affectionate gesture, then he relaxes, smiling like he’s proud to make her feel better.

Natasha interrupts their moment. “Ana, Dr. Hammond is on the phone. She’s on the way but wants to talk to you if you can.”

Taking the phone with her doctor relaxes Ana further. Though when she explains the severity of the pain, Dr. Hammond suggests she have a bag ready in case she does have to go to the hospital. The doctor also requests that the AI to monitor her closely and send FRIDAYs system readings be sent to her On-Call phone, just in case.

Through the night, two more odd contractions occur. Although being irregular and far apart though not any less painful, one more call to the doctor has Ana cursing Braxton Hicks contractions. Natasha stays with her the whole time, and Steve lingers by the closed door for far too long.

Sighing, Ana demands sleepily. “Rogers, just come in already, my god.”

Sheepishly, Steve enters the room, and hunkers down at the end of her bed. Ana drifts off into the same world where Bucky is always waiting for her, always barely able to touch her. When she wakes up from the clouds of ash, she slowly turns over. The sight she’s met with makes the tears in her eyes dry up.

Apparently, during the night, everyone made their way into her room. Nebula, Rocket, Carol and Rhodes all sleeping around the bed or propped up against the wall or chair. Smiling, Ana falls back to sleep.

35 Weeks: January 22nd

Over the last three days, Ana has become lethargic. She’s just so tired all the time, despite sleeping for a few solid hours. Maybe the constant trips into that dream world with the little girl and Bucky leave drain her energy more than she ever thought it would. Maybe waking up, never able to save Bucky is taking its toll, and her heart, her soul just aches. She is just so tired.

Though being eight months pregnant and having false contractions probably has something to do with how exhausted she’s been. Ana has yet to tell anyone about her dreams, or how they leave her feeling just as empty as the day it happened. Informing anyone would just lead to more worry, have them doting on her more than they already do.

Steve constantly eyes her, a twitch in his corded muscles as if he is ready to jump into action for her. He thinks he is being covert; he isn’t. Ana can still read and pick up on feelings and energies. Natasha is more inconspicuous about it, rather she just lingers in any room Ana shows up in. Nebula has taken to just drop next to her, pulling out the deck of playing cards, her dark eyes keen if Ana just shifts wrong.

Rocket chats her ear off with stories of him and the Guardians. Most adventures leave Ana clutching her big round stomach in laughter. It’s the most she has laughed in months, and she swears the little raccoon does this because she admitted she was scared to him.

Rhodes has been pulled away for more government and military business, although he calls to check in everyday. Carol keeps offering the last bottle of elixir but when Ana refuses, she just gives her a cup of tea instead. With sneaking suspicion, Ana thinks the tea is laced with the elixir anyway.

As the winter sun begins to set, its light casts an orange glow through the windows, makes the whole area look warm. To Ana, it bares too much a resemblance to her dreams. She turns to head to bed early, leaving the haunting sight of the sunset to paint the interior with its mockery. Ana grabs the mug of tea Danvers left seeping for her, turning her back on the light.

With the twist of her hips, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through her stomach. Ana shouts, dropping the mug, shattering on the floor as she doubles over in pain. This clenched pressure is more severe than the other night, Ana can’t even straighten up. She clutches the counter for balance, panting and gritting her teeth.

Annie.

“Ana!?” Someone calls in fear.

Trying to regulate her breathing, the pain slowly eases up. Ana cautiously straightens up, but the second she does, another pain zings through her lower stomach. Her fingers grip the counter so hard, the granite cracks, gives, then crumbles under her vice grip.

Strong arms wrap around her, balancing her the best they can. Ana is vaguely aware she’s being moved, but through the blinding pain, there’s an internal fear of something hurting her baby. The pain, the agony, the hurt; something isn’t right.

“Ba- the -ba-by,” Ana stammers, chest heaving, hands now clutching her stomach. Beneath her palms, she feels the baby writhe. “Fuck! It- it’s hurting.”

“What? What’s hurting the baby?” Someone demands urgently. “Call 911! Or get the jet ready! Anything! Ana. Ana, honey, look at me, can you hear me?”

All she hears is a panicked tone, firm callous hands squeezing her elbows. The baby shifts, curling and twisting in her stomach. Ana wants to reach in and protect her child, their child, from whatever is causing this white-hot agony.

She won’t release her arms from around her stomach, she can’t respond to anyone’s worried calls. She just shuts her eyes, tears stinging before they escape. She’s panting, trying to breathe but the darkness around the searing pain is almost too seductive to resist.

Suddenly, the pain stops. Ana can finally breathe in and out, in and out. Once she can inhale without any more contractions, she can finally speak.

“Something is wrong,” She breathes out, fear clenching around her heart. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“Just continue to breathe like you are,” Natasha urges, her voice shaky. “If you’re able to make it to the quinn jet we can fly you to the hospital.”

Bracing herself on whoever is holding her, Ana grabs at their shoulders slowly standing up. Concerned blue eyes gaze down at her, roaming over her face for any other signs of pain. Steve lifts his hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin.

“Shit, you’re burning up. Let’s go, I’ll carry you if you can’t walk.” Steve offers, about ready to do just that.

“No,” She heaves, wincing as a lesser contraction wrecks her. She waits until it eases up. “But-but- these are too close together.” Ana gasps then, looking down at her legs, her pants soaked. “My water just broke.” She whispers, terrified. “Steve, it’s too early.”

The way those blue eyes shift from his own fear to determination soothes her terror just a little. Steve and Natasha volunteer to go with her, though Carol insists she help bring Ana up to the launch pad. As they leave, a concerned Rocket waves, wishing her good luck.

“Have fun,” Nebula pipes up after Ana is nearly out of ear shot.

“Have fun?” Rocket deadpans.

Nebula just shrugs, her hands balled into tight fists.

Arriving at the nearest hospital only takes fifteen minutes by jet. By some mercy, Ana doesn’t have another contraction or pain during the flight. Once they get her a wheelchair though, another occurs. People are talking around her as she fights and breaths through the pressured pain entering the hospital.

“Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Uh,” Ana pants, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Dr. Hammond.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to continue talking after that, as Dr. Hammond rushes through the doors of the floor they’re on. Grateful for Natasha taking over for filling out the remaining information needed.

“Is anyone coming in with you, Ana?” Dr. Hammond inquires, after speaking with some nurses. She looks between Steve and Natasha.

The question catches her off guard. “No! No. I-” Ana chokes up, nearly breaking down with grief because Bucky isn’t here. She feels his absence, his death more than ever. “I can do it on my own.”

Those words seem to strike a chord with Steve. He abruptly moves in front of her, bending to her eye level. Fierce protectiveness shining in those blue eyes. Steve grips her hands hard enough for her to know.

“Ana,” He begins lowly, firmly. "You don't have-"

“I’m scared," She admits. Her bottom lip trembles as hot tears finally spill from her eyes. "I’m so scared. It’s too early. What if-“

Hushing her gently, Steve carefully pushes back her damp hair. “I know, I know you’re scared right now. You can do this. I know you can. You are not alone. I’m with you, Natasha’s with you. We’re right here for you. You don’t have to do this alone if you don’t want to.”

Ana squeezes his hands as another mild contraction rolls through her. She hunches over, listening to Steve instruct her to breathe deeply. When it subsides, she looks up at him through tears.

“How can you be so sure?” She asks breathlessly.

He blinks, taking a second to realize what she means. Then his face softens. “Because you’re you. Because you’re the most determined, stubborn, and strong woman I know. You can do this. Then you get to meet your child after, and that is going to be amazing.”

Ana nods, trying her best to believe him. “Yeah, yeah you're right. I-I wish Pepper were here though.”

“We called her, she’s one her way.” Natasha pipes in, handing back the clipboard to the nurse.

"Nat,” Ana shudders out another deep breath as the baby wiggles around. Suddenly Steve’s words strike her deeper. “Will you stay with me?”

“I won’t leave your side.” Natasha promises fiercely.

Dr. Hammond jumps in then, informing Ana of a drug they’re going to give her to slow the labor, then run some tests. She instructs Natasha of a nurse coming out to bring her sanitary and protective gear for the delivery room when it’s time.

They wheel her towards another set of double doors, and that’s as far as Steve can follow for now. Before they go through, he bends over, placing a kiss on top of Ana’s head.

“You’re strong. You can do this. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Steve reminds her fervently.

Annie

A newfound strength enters her body. Ana can’t be certain if it was Steve giving her one last encouragement through her powers, or the voice in her ears.

Administering the drug does help slow Ana’s labor down, and thankfully she’s able to get the epidural put in. Steve is allowed to visit once she’s checked into her room and bed. Pepper gets delayed by a mild snowstorm but promises to be there as soon as she can.

Usually giving a drug to delay preterm labor to a soon to be mother works better, if the mother didn’t have a form of super soldier serum in her DNA. The drug wears off just nine hours later, as Ana found out as she awoke with more intense pains. Before she knows it, it’s time.

“Ready?” Dr. Hammond questions as she settles between Ana’s legs.

Frantically Ana shakes her head, scrambling to find Natasha’s hand. Nat grabs her hand with both of hers, leaning close to her head. It’s still too soon. What if something goes wrong? What if her powers act out? Oh god, what if baby doesn’t survive?

Natasha’s soothing voice in her ear encourages Ana as she pats the back of her hand. Listening to her words as the doctor and nurses prepare behind her propped-up feet, begins to calm Ana just a little. She swears she feels Nat’s steady, relaxed energy seep into her.

Instructions to push when necessary are relayed to Ana, but as she screams and shouts through gritted teeth and crushes Natasha’s hand, she has to. When the pushing starts, the lights in the room glow brighter. They begin to flicker, the room fading in and out of darkness. A golden hue shines around Natasha’s hands clasps over Ana’s. Her friend calling her name is slowly fading away, as she begins to fall under water.

Annie

She hears the muffled concerned voice of the doctor; something is wrong with the baby. Ana fights to stay awake. Fights to give her baby a chance because if Ana fades away now, will she take her child with her?

No. She refused to let that happen. Pushing with all her might, she channels what she has of her own energy through her blood, her body, to her child.

Annie

The voice beckons to her again. Over and over; a haunting echo of a lullaby. Ana stops fighting, allows the darkness of a faded loving caress to pull her in. She hears cries fill the room just as her world goes black.

Stillness. Quiet. Serenity.

The absence of sound slowly pulls Ana up from the ground. As she stands there, her mind void of any thought, she stares ahead at the endless horizon. An invisible grip tugs from inside her chest, her feet moving of their own accord. She moves through the glassy sea, ripples spreading out with each step.

Blinking to awareness, Ana is face to face with a dark wooden door.

A small touch wraps around her left hand. Looking down, she sees that same little girl; her beautiful green skin, the markings on her cheeks, her red-brown hair. It’s her big eyes that gaze up at Ana that always reach into her heart. Ana closes her fingers around her little hand.

“Where am I?” Ana inquires, her voice quiet echo.

The child smiles. There’s something sad about it. “I think you know.”

Casting a glance around at the horizon of every way, she nods. “What is your name?”

The girl pauses, but only for a moment. “Gamora.” It’s then she releases her hand and steps back. “You aren’t here for me though. That’s okay. I can wait.”

Perplexed, Ana asks, “What do you mean?”

Without answering, Gamora holds her arm out to the door in front of them. Ana shifts her eyes to the door, and what awaits on the other side. When she looks to the little girl once more for guidance, Gamora is gone. She doesn’t ponder where she could have vanished to. Ana places her hands on the door, and pushes.

Warmth blooms from her chest, as if her soul ignites within. Her heart fills with hope, with love, and with terror. Ana has been met with this same sight before. Has felt these same feelings race through her veins every time she sleeps.

Bucky stands before her. Same ocean blue eyes, same soft expression, same little smile on his lips. He takes a step forward, lifting his right hand. Ana bites her lip, dreading for when they make contact, he will crumble into ash like always.

“Hi Annie,” Bucky speaks. His voice seeping into her bones.

Despite the inevitable pounding through her chest, Ana brings her own hand up. Slowly, she reaches for him, the warmth of his hand erases any fear. Bucky intertwines their fingers together, his smile widening. Ana moves closer, squeezing his knuckles. When Bucky remains solid and firm in front of her, tears fill her eyes.

“Bucky.” His name leaves her lips on a sob.

Her husband gently cups her cheek with his left hand, the cold of his metal palm sending goosebumps all over her skin. Ana presses her lips to his hand, holding onto to this moment for as long as she can. Bucky pulls his hand from hers, only to wrap his arm around her waist, tugging her to his chest. Ana grips him tight around his back, resting her ear directly over his heart that she can hear pounding in his chest.

“Are you real?” She murmurs, tears falling down her cheeks.

His soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. He leans back, delicately cups her cheek to pick her head up. Bucky connects their foreheads, eyes gazing affectionately into hers. His vibranium thumb sweeps along her cheekbone, wiping away her tears.

“I’ve always been real in your dreams, darling.”

Ana lifts her hand from his back to brush her fingers through his soft hair. “Is that what this is then? Just a dream?”

"Not exactly.” He laments with a sigh. Ana leans back, and the happiness in those beautiful eyes of his fade away. “I fear you may be here permanently if you don’t leave soon.”

“But I- I just got you back,” Ana frowns, shifting her hand from his thick hair to his cheek. The soft scruff of his beard tickles her palm. Bucky turns his head, kissing her palm. Her heat sinks then. “This isn’t real.”

Sadly, Bucky shakes his head. “This isn’t your world. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be selfish and just hold you a bit longer.”

Ana fully throws her arms around him in a vice grip, foolishly thinking if she can hold him tight enough, he can stay buried in her soul forever. His returning hug is just as hard, the pain from his grip just confusing her more. They move at the same time, finding each other’s mouth and placing a firm, desperate kiss to their lips.

“I need you to go back now, love,” Bucky gently urges, after he breaks their kiss.

“I don’t want to,” Ana cries, now clutching at his chest. “I need you.”

Bucky’s eyes suddenly fill with tears, falling over the edge and down his cheeks. For the first time Ana has ever entered this dream world, Bucky has never cried. She delicately wipes the wetness from his beautiful face. His smile breaks her heart.

“Someone else needs you now, Ana.” He tells her. Bucky kisses her forehead. “It’s time to go.”

Her chest tightens then, as if her soul is losing him all over again. Nodding as tears continue to fall, Ana wraps him up in her arms one last time, holding onto his warmth. She presses her right hand firmly over his chest, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you, Bucky. James, I-I love you so much,” Ana sobs.

Bucky runs his fingers through her hair, bringing the strands up to his mouth, before letting the hair fall back into place. “You’re my heart and soul, Ana. I love you.” He gently kisses her lips. When he pulls back once more, his blue eyes shine with pride. “She’s beautiful, by the way. Take care of her, Annie.”

“She?” Ana frowns, confused.

He places his hands on her chest. “Wake up.”

Then, Bucky fades into dust.

Ana gasps.

"We got a pulse!” Someone shouts.

Ana blinks up at too bright lights, dazed, confused, abruptly cold. The commotion around her fades into the background as she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings. Her fingers scratch against stiff cotton, her damp skin making them feel too sensitive against her hands.

A dull pressure releases from her lower half, from her stomach perhaps? Her back? Her hips? Nope, it’s definitely soreness between her legs. She’s cold and sweaty, can now feel her hair sticking to her face. Her chest is heaving, her arms lifting as to reach for something.

“I don’t understand, her vitals stabilized quickly. They’re all normal, doctor.”

The minute the words break through the muffled barrier of whatever ocean she was under, is the minute she hears the crying. In a rush of sensory overload, everything crashes back to her.

Her baby. Ana just gave birth.

“Mrs. Barnes? Ana, can you hear me?” Dr. Hammond’s voice is speaking to her right.

Nodding frantically, Ana answers her hoarsely. “Y-yes. I’m fine. I-where’s my baby?”

Still a little unfocused, she misses when the nurses double check her vitals, and then, the wails of an infant come closer. Someone questions if it’s a good idea, doubts the steady condition she seems to be in. Whoever it was is shot down though, as blonde and red hair come into Ana’s vision.

“Thank, god,” Natasha breathes, her shoulder sagging. “You scared us.” She shakes her head, then smiles. “Would you like to meet your daughter now?”

Carefully, Natasha hands over a little bundle of a blanket, laying Ana’s baby on her chest. Hands works to gently tug down her gown and unwrap the blanket. It’s that first skin to skin contact, that first feel of her baby girl’s beating heart against her mother’s, that breaks Ana.

Ana cries, sobs, as she delicately holds her daughter against her chest. For the first time in a long time, her soul pulses with warmth.

***********************************************************

Drabbles: Twenty-Three Drabbles: Twenty-Five

(Note: Ana’s labor/birth is loosely based off of my sister-in-laws experience.)

#bucky barnes x ofc #Bucky Barnes x Ana #bucky barnes x ana rios #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x original female character #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #baby barnes

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wonderlandmind4 · 4 years

Text

Delicate Stages of Life: 23

Let Me Feel as Hurt as You Do

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC; Platonic Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: Language. Angst. Loss, Grief. Anxiety attack. Someone gets mad. A very slight implication of mentioned abortion, but not by word, by context. (This chapter focuses some on Steve and Ana)

Words: 14,639k words. Ha. Ha. I’m sorry.

A/N: Again, sorry for taking so long to update. From Jan-March 12th, I was completely booked soild at work. And then, this virus happened and I got laid off and oh look! A new chapter! I hope everyone is healthy and staying safe and staying inside. Here is a 14k+ chapter for you. (Do not read unless you’ve read Delicate Stages first)

Previously: Ana had a full on energy bursting breakdown. Steve ran after her, causing him to feel his own energy drain, and leaving small cuts and bruises on his arm, left by Ana. Time is told by weeks of pregnancy.

A pounding pressure circles Ana’s entire head, as if her brain is trying to squeeze itself out through her skull. Her nose is clogged, her mouth slightly open to breathe, to taste the air that no longer smells like Bucky; the last thing she had been trying to hold onto. At least this way she can’t smell the scent of him fading away from the fabric of his shirt she’s wearing. Instead, the air faintly tastes like charred earth.

Her eyelids are heavy, swollen from the tears that have yet to stop. Ana sits silently, gaze transfixed through the floor to ceiling windowpanes where the glass had shattered, decorating the ground like crystals.

Wet tracks have stained patterns on her cheeks, tear after tear. Her mind is thankfully blank for the time being. Just focused on watching the glass reflect off the lights in the compound and the glow of the moon. Her vision begins morphing the reflections together like dark watercolors. An odd flutter in her stomach rolls through her, gently pulling her from the depths of her mind; the colors had begun to form a dusty orange landscape.

“Hey, think you feel up to drinking this for me?”

Blinking back to awareness, Ana watches as Carol wiggles a little jar in front of her. That same elixir she had made her drink on occasion; it truly helps her feel better physically. Carol hands her the vial, their fingers touching. The moment of contact stirs the energy within Ana, causing her body to tense up abruptly. It lasts for a moment, before the tension eases into something calmer than she’s ever felt. It’s different, welcoming, and Ana finds her hand covering the other woman’s to chase that odd serenity.

“What?” Ana breathes, confused.

Carol offers her a friendly smile. She leans a tad closer. “You and I, don’t think we’re that different, power wise.”

“I don’t understand?” She blinks a few times.

Ana is utterly exhausted after her outburst, yet she could still feel the light turmoil of her energy prickling just under her skin. Now, her energy is finally beginning to settle, feels similar like the rings Shuri gave her.

“I’m stabilizing your energy levels,” Carol explains smoothly.

“You-you can do that?”

“Didn’t know until right now, figured I’d try it.”

“You’re so powerful,” Ana whispers, inhaling slowly as her body finally relaxes. “Much higher than my level of- this.” She vaguely gestures to her own body with her free hand. She allows herself a few more moments of Carol’s touch before taking the bottle from her.

“Then it’s something we can chat about later, once you’re feeling better,” She promises. Then she smirks. “And when you don’t look like you got swallowed whole then spit back out by a Flerken.”

“What’s a- never mind,” Ana sighs tiredly, opening the jar.

“Slow sips, alright? Rest for a few days. I have more if needed.”

She nods in silent gratitude. Carol pats her shoulder twice, though Ana doesn’t feel the same comforting flow she did just a minute ago. She also doesn’t miss Carol’s head jerk to Natasha as she walks away. Natasha follows her, and if Ana wasn’t as drained as she is, she may had been more curious.

When she finishes the elixir, Rhodes and Steve help her stand and make her way to her room. She briefly notices small spots of blood on Steve’s sleeve. She frowns, but Rhodey asking if he can make a call to Pepper, and would it be okay with her, distracts her. Ana nods, struck aware that she hasn’t spoken to her cousin in two months.

Another realization overcomes her as the men assist her down the hallway. Ana had been unintentionally horrible the past three months to everyone around her. She didn’t just shut off her emotions, she shut out her friends.

Just twenty minutes after she’s in bed, a light tapping sounds at the door as Ana slightly readjusts her sitting position. Apparently being reacquainted with her emotions also comes with new pains and aches; her lower back for one. Ana finally gets her pillows in the right position, nearly forgetting someone is at the door.

It cracks open, Natasha peaking her head in. “Is it alright for me to enter?”

She sounds so formal. Ana can’t blame her. “Uh, y-yeah,” She clears her raw throat. “Yes.”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth cracks with a sad smirk before her face goes back to unreadable. She gently shuts the door behind her, moving toward the bed, Ana shifting her legs over to give her a space to sit. Which she does.

Ana bites her lip hard, nervous about Natasha’s pending anger. Worried Nat will give her a verbal lashing, even though she knows she deserves it. Her skin prickles with the apprehensive energy in the room. She inhales shakily, counts to five in her head before exhaling, rubbing her hands over the bottom curve of her growing stomach.

When Natasha finally speaks, her voice is unreadable. “Ana.”

Ana nearly flinches hearing her name. She makes the briefest of eye contact with the former spy. A single tear escapes Ana’s left eye, despite her efforts to keep them at bay. Natasha slowly reaches out to- what? Would she actually slap a pregnant woman? Flick her off? Make another rude hand gesture? Ana breaks their stare, ashamed- and isn’t that quite amazing to feel that now. Shame for how she’d been for the past three months.

Instead of a sharp stinging slap, or a bruising pinch, the gentle hand laid on her shoulder genuinely shocks her. Ana shoots her gaze up again, another tear overflowing. There’s a softness in Natasha’s eyes that she hasn’t see in so very long, her green eyes glassy. Her fingers apply pressure to Ana’s shoulder a moment before her shoulder is pulled forward a little. The motion makes her chin tremble, biting her lip still, nearly hard enough to draw blood.

Natasha exhales sadly, a little huff of air before she fully pushes Ana closer. Suddenly, she has Ana’s face pressed to her neck, and her other arm is hugging her tightly around her back. A hug. Nat is giving her a hug, one she doesn’t deserve in the least. A comforting, supporting hug. Something Ana hasn’t felt in months.

Tears flow freely down her face once again. Natasha holds her as best as she can, her fingers digging into her skin.

“I…I,” Ana stutters between hiccuping gasps. “Nat-“

“I know, I know,” Natasha replies softly. “Shhhh, I know, Ana. Apology accepted. Just let it out now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Ana wraps her arms around her as much as she can manage, fingers pressing into the solid form of comfort. She nearly cries herself to sleep that way. Barely conscious enough to realize Natasha moves her back and covers her with a blanket before she succumbs to sleep.

For once, Ana has a dreamless slumber.

Steve rubs his thumb over the already scabbed over crescent marks on his forearm, noticing the faint bruising around them too.

“Glass get ya’?”

Rocket’s voice grabs his attention, going back to sweeping his pile of shattered glass into the dustpan.

“No, just-“ But Steve stops because he doesn’t have an excuse. Not to mention he’s sure everyone witnessed everything.

“She always been strong enough to draw blood from a super soldier?” Rocket continues casually, finishing his pile before jumping up on the arm of the couch. Eye level with Steve’s arm now.

A brief memory flashes through Steve’s mind of Ana accidentally clipping Bucky in a sparring match outside their hut. It led to a busted lip, Ana apologizing profusely while straddling Bucky and him looking up at her with proud adoring eyes as if she hung the moon.

He mentally shakes the memory away. She always had a hidden strength about her, but never enough to physically bruise them with just a grip of her fingers.

“No, this would be new.”

“Has no one noticed her growing strength these past weeks?” Nebula muses lowly, studying a small device in her hands. She fiddles with it, then points it at the first pile large of broken glass. “The minuscule signs of her powers becoming unsteady?”

She presses a button, a short burst of purple light shoots from the device. Suddenly the pile is gone, nothing but a wisp of smoke before it fades. Steve in utter shock, is impressed with the tool, and vaguely thinks if they had that a while back it would have saved them a lot of clean up time in previous home attacks.

“Uh-“ Steve begins.

“Oh, let me do the rest!” Rocket demands, hopping off the couch and grabbing the device as Nebula holds it out.

“The light charred marks on tables,” She continues, her dark eyes locking on Steve’s. “The-

“Dent marks? Yeah,” He says, leaning against the back of the couch. Rocket cackles as three more piles disappear. Steve continues. “Didn’t catch the first signs though.”

“Ana is…fascinatingly powerful. More than any of you realize.”

Crossing his arms tightly, Steve frowns in perplexed curiosity. What has this woman from another planet seen in Ana that no one else had noticed. That he himself hadn’t paid attention to. “Care to elaborate?”

“The sheer amount of energy she released,” Nebula pauses, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Was extremely similar to that of-“

“Captain Rogers, you have an incoming call from Mrs. Stark.”

FRIDAY’s interruption could have come at different time than this. Steve drops his arms as he pushes himself off the couch.

“We’ll talk about that later,” He tells Nebula, heading toward the conference room.

She nods, then snatches the device from Rocket just as he was about to test it on a lounge chair. Steve ponders her words over in his head, some pieces coming together from the past month. He did noticed the perfectly scorched hand print on the bedside table in Ana’s room tonight. However, speaking to Pepper takes precedence at the moment.

Five days pass before Ana remembers the details of her breakdown. Five days before she connects the spots of blood on Steve’s arm was her doing; granted, she had slept soundlessly for most of those days. Her body seeming to finally catch up on a decent amount of sleep and beginning to heal from her emotional stunted issues. As in, she’s been overly emotionally now, like her hormones are speeding up to make up the past three months.

It was recommended by Pepper, after Ana had a long overdue conversation with her, that she should watch cute animal videos, or light comedic movies to lift her spirits a little. It worked for one day before she came across a fluffy kitten video and started crying at how cute the little kitty was.

Now, Ana gingerly gets up to use the bathroom, her bladder clearly smaller and being constantly pressed on. Instead of getting back in bed however, she leaves her room in search for Steve herself. That, and she suddenly has a craving for mango pizza again.

“What the hell are you doing walking around?” Rocket greets her as she rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” She replies with a pout, slowly moving to the freezer. “Have you seen Steve?”

“There’s plenty of people here to bring you food, take advantage of that, Barnes.”

Ana halts for a moment hearing her last name, the little “space raccoon” as Rhodes likes to call him, only knows her as Ana Barnes. She inhales slowly, then pulls open the door.

“And would you have brought me food on a tray?” She shoots over her shoulder, voice teasing. She nearly forgot how it feels to tease someone.

“What do I look like, a servant? I meant use the others.” He replies flippantly.

For the first time in a long time, Ana cracks a smile. A small chuckle even escaping past her lips. She turns to glance at him, and swears she sees a little smirk from him too.

“Ana? What the in hell are you walking around for?”

Ahh, there he is. She closes the door, but keeps her hand on the handle for support. “Looking for you, and hungry.”

Steve fixes her with his disapproving looking before he suddenly looks surprised. “You’re hungry?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “Go lay back down and I’ll make you something.”

“No, this is specific-“

“Could’ve just asked FRIDAY to call someone.”

“I disabled FRIDAY from my room, remember?” She reminds him awkwardly as Steve begins to usher her back. “Two months ago.”

“Right. What’s this specific food you want?”

“Mango piz- wait.” Ana stops, wincing at her abrupt movement. She looks over her shoulder again after she takes a steady breath. “Rocket, is that my glock? And my knife set?”

Rocket had gone back to doing his task before she had entered, popping his head up to acknowledge her.

“Oh, yeah,” He answers lightly. “Stole them from that shooting range here. You ain’t using them right, full belly and all? No? Good. Couldn’t find your metaled arm husband’s gun, figured I’d clean these instead. In case you decide to have another cool outburst- I mean, breakdown, they’ll be of use.”

Ana just stares as Steve covers his laugh with a cough.

“That okay?”

There’s no snark coming from him, just a teasing glint in his dark eyes. She can’t pinpoint why, but Rocket cleaning her long forgotten weapons and clearly knowing they were hers, touches Ana more than she thought it would. She recalls him handing her Bucky’s gun after the incident; which is now carefully put away in the closet.

“The smaller knife on the right is spring loaded,” She informs him with a small smile. “Used to be inside the boots I wore. It’s a good knife. Take care of them all.”

Rocket grabs the knife, finds the switch and springs it open. He salutes with it as Ana follows Steve back to her room.

An hour later has Steve serving freshly made pizza with chopped up mango pieces on top. Ana already feels bad the second he came in. He takes one look at her grimacing face and groans, setting the pie down on the bedside tray.

“You’re no longer craving this, are you?” He guesses, dropping the paper plates as well.

She shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“Hungry for anything else?”

“Did I hurt you, that night?” Ana abruptly questions. It’s the whole reason she wanted to find him in the first place. Not for food.

“What are you talking about?” Steve frowns, hands on his hips.

“Nat’s always been right. You’re a terrible liar, Rogers.”

He sighs, sitting down on her bed next to her legs. “Ana, you weren’t aware of draining my energy.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” She replies, then grabs his left arm.

Ana pushes the flannel sleeve up to his elbow, pulling him closer to see better. Five very faint crescent shapes on his arm are barely visibly in the light but they’re there. Four in a row and the fifth just a few centimeters to the left. Ana traces the shapes with her finger, his skin smooth from any scabbing.

“I saw blood on your sleeve that night,” She informs him, raising his arm to her eyes for a better look. She turns his arm side to side, no resistance from him. “Thought maybe it was the glass. It wasn’t.”

There. Ana keeps his arm at a slight angle, and the smallest discoloration of yellow stands out against his usual peachy skin tone. “I held onto your arm.”

“Yeah,” Steve confirms calmly. “Dug your nails in. Had a pretty strong grip there.”

A thought runs through her mind, causing Ana to drop his arm. She very suddenly does not want Steve to put any of his own thoughts together. Calling herself out on the cuts was a bad idea, and anxiety shoots through her chest. She doesn’t want anyone to know or to possibly connect her oddly growing strength. Ana herself has been aware it for weeks.

“Sorry I hurt you,” She rushes out. “Sorry,” Ana repeats kinder. “For everything.”

Steve looks like he wants to continue the subject, then thinks better of it. “Don’t worry about apologies right now, okay? Just take it easy for the next week, try not to stress yourself out, Ana. Once you’re feeling better and off bed rest, we can revisit it.”

“Okay, yeah. Sounds good,” She agrees, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. Though she can’t help feeling like her and Steve are treading on thin ice.

She shifts around, adjusting the pillows. Steve helps her, mainly making sure she doesn’t accidentally fall off the side. Ana feels exhausted again, her lower back aching as she finally finds a position comfortable enough.

“Apparently turning your emotions back on makes you realize you’re actually pregnant.” Ana huffs, half on her side.

“’Bout damn time,” Steve snips instantly. Ana quirks an eyebrow. “I mean! I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. I just meant, sometimes it felt like you didn’t…care.”

“Steve,” Ana begins solemnly after a short pause. She looks him straight in the eye, stressing her next words. “Natasha said the same thing to me. If I did not want or care for this baby. I would not be pregnant anymore.”

It’s silent between them as her words sink in. She can see in his eyes when he comprehends her meaning. Steve drops his head for a moment, before he meets her gaze again. He takes her hands in his, squeezing.

“And we would have supported you with whatever decision you made,” Steve tells her just as serious. “We still do. Support you. That’s all any of us wanted to do. We’re…we’re your family now. We’re here for you and little Barnes in there.”

Ana scoffs to cover the tightness in her throat. “You’ve always been my family, Steve. Well, at least for the past seven years.” That earns her a chuckle. “Thank you.”

“You look tired, get some rest.” He releases her hands and begins to stand.

“Actually, I kinda want the pizza now.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t hide how happy her eating seems to make him.

Ana cautiously makes her way to the bathroom, pressing her hands to her lower back as she walks. She turns on the sink, cupping her hands under the faucet and presses the cold water to her clammy face. Sighing in relief, she repeats the notion until her face feels clean of sweat. Body aches and mild hot flashes bringing the clammy skin, her ankles beginning to swell just a little. It’s almost as if her body is reminding her of the growing human inside her uterus with a vengeance. Payback for now finally feeling everything from her lack of feeling nothing for weeks.

However, she does take comfort in the facts that the baby is healthy and her most of her vitals are back to normal. Ana reaches for a washcloth on the counter, patting her face dry. She catches her gaze in the mirror once she’s finished, and stares.

Dull dark eyes peer back at her, the golden dots just matte specks. Grayish-purple circles are prominent against unusually pale skin tone. Highlights the fine lines of her lower eyelids, lines of exhaustion, stress, loss. Her face has thinned, looks sullen from lack of smiles, of laughter. The white of her eyes bloodshot, either from tears after so long of not shedding them or just lack of sleep.

Ana’s reflection startles her. This is the first time she has truly taken in her appearance in months. Too afraid to see the failure in her eyes of not saving Bucky in time. Of not stopping Thanos. Of the loss of life in her own eyes. She takes a step back, seeing herself entirely.

Smoothing her damp hands over her stomach, she grabs the hem of her- Bucky’s- shirt, lifting the material just under her breast. Which, have also grown bigger in the past three months. It’s not as if she hasn’t noticed her body growing, or seen her belly before, considering she has a top view of it every day, but this. This feels different.

Her skin has obviously accommodated the growing baby, proof of stretch marks on either side of her belly button that now pokes out. The old bullet wounds on her abdomen have stretched out as well, and the last few letters of her rib tattoo just barely affected. Ana traces her fingers over the new marks, then sees the slight movement of her belly in the mirror. A slow smile spreads across her lips, because this is different, and her mind drifts into another memory.

Ana shivers, legs tangled with strong muscular ones on the bed. Clothes long since scattered along the floor, a shirt on the lamp, bra on the mirror.

“Can’t wait to see your belly grow,” Bucky murmurs thickly. Nose grazing around her navel for the umpteenth time.

“Bucky,” Ana whines, breath ragged and pleading.

“Gonna look radiant, love.” He continues to praise, lips burning a trail of flames to her hip. “So fucking beautiful. My girl, my amazing wife.”

He stops his kissing, turning his head to lay his ear and cheek over the lower part of her stomach. His breath hitches as he listens, as her fingers sink into his long thick hair scratching his scalp.

“It’s the most beautiful sound in the world,” Bucky exhales, voice strained with emotion. “That little heartbeat. God, I can’t wait to feel this little jellybean move in there.”

Ana, despite wanting her husband to have his focus between her legs, laughs. “That’s what you can’t wait for?”

Bucky kisses her bellybutton, then her scars. “And many more, but, yes. My ma told me-“ He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s shocked he reminds the memory. “Whenever my sisters moved around, they were waving at me. Like they couldn’t wait to meet me.”

“Bucky, sweetheart,” Ana’s voice is a gentle sigh, fond and full of adoration. “This baby definitely can’t wait to meet you either.”

He hums. “I used to sing to them, when my Ma was pregnant. Said they could hear me. So, I talked to them every day. Like I’m going to talk and sing to our little one every day.”

Overwhelmed with how much she just fucking loves Bucky, Ana tugs him up to her, cupping his cheeks and giving him a deeply passionate kiss. His fingers tracing her stomach, over and over, until he finally lowers them.

A dull jab to the left side of her stomach pulls her back to her reflection. She chuckles wetly, tears escape as she blinks. Because this. This is her finally coming to terms.

“I can’t wait to meet you, little bean,” She whispers. She moves her hand to the same spot, feeling their baby moving around.

This. This is Ana finally connecting.

25 weeks:

Another dream. The same dream. Over and over and over. Each time, ashes slip between her fingers the moment she touches Bucky. Each time he gives her that sad smile. Each time he speaks her name so tenderly. Each time, no matter what she does to try to save him, dust ingrains the lines of her palms, settles heavily in her lungs.

Each time she wakes with tears, panting and struggling to breathe. The only difference now is the ache in her chest, the stabbing pain through her heart, a haunting in her mind, and the shredded frays of her soul. The only thing that comforts her now, is the sound of Bucky’s voice recorded on the kimoyo beads.

Like clockwork every night, Ana hears Steve’s soft footsteps, a defeated sigh. On the eighth night, this changes. Steve finally knocks, cracking the open door she no longer keeps locked. Ana waits with her head in her hands for him to come in and sit on the edge of her bed.

She takes a few calming breaths before speaking. “What made you finally come in?” She inquires, face still hidden in her palms.

“How did you know I was there?” Steve asks bemused. He doesn’t wait for her answer. Instead he says, “Figured it was about time. Your nightmares. It’s what led to your...breakdown.”

Ana remains silent. He’s not wrong.

“I have nightmares too. So does Nat, Rhodey, all of us. Not sure about Nebula though, she’s more stoic than you were.”

She chuckles slightly at that, but still doesn’t look at him. She can feel his nervous energy radiating off him though, and it’s overwhelming to feel her ability again. There’s still an odd sort of tension between Ana and Steve. Makes her skin tingle and nerves jumpy, she almost wishes Carol were here instead.

“You don’t have to talk about them. You don’t have to talk to me about anything.” Steve continues, his voice morphs into a desperate hint of a plea. “Just, please don’t shut me out again, Ana.”

Frowning at her hands, she remains still, allowing him to talk.

“I mean,” He says quietly. “You shut everyone out, but it was worse with Natasha and I. Especially me. You never looked at me. You still can hardly look at me. I think I know why, and…I am so fucking sorry.”

Finally, Ana picks her head up, shocked and confused. But Steve’s eyes are staring off to the side, his hands twisting his fingers around. She follows his line of sight, to the picture of her and Bucky on their wedding day. When she looks at him again, his jaw clenches as he swallows.

Abruptly he stands up, but Ana reaches for his arm, grabbing his wrist. She sees him wince and realizes her grip is too tight. She quickly releases him as he stares wide eyed at her. She opens her mouth to ask why he apologized. Maybe ask why he’s suddenly leaving after he’d been pacing back and forth listening to her nightmares for weeks.

But a strange sensation shoots through her lower stomach and she gasps, hands immediately going to the spot. “Oh, fuck,” Ana whimpers with a wince. “Baby didn’t like that move.”

“Are you okay!? Do I need to call Dr. Hammond?” Steve asks frantically.

“No, no, I’m fine,” She reassures him, the pain fading. “Just moved too fast is all.”

Steve hums like he doesn’t quite believe her as he shakes his wrist out. “You look abnormally pale, lost your tanner complexion.”

Ana shrugs, not mentioning the lack of sun and definitely emotional stress is part of it. Instead, she attempts to reach for the nightstand drawer. Steve beats her too it, pulling out one of the vials of the elixir. He pops open the top, handing it to her. She nods her thanks.

“FRIDAY,” Steve addresses the AI that was reinstalled days ago. “What’s the read on Ana’s vitals?”

“Body temperature is normal, heart rate slightly elevated at 150 bpm. Fetal heart rate is normal range at 153 bpm. Mrs. Barnes blood pressure remains low at 90/60, however there are no other signs of distress at this time.”

“Thank you,” He says, seeming to relax just slightly.

“Mrs. Barnes, you haven’t taken your medication tonight, and your water intake has been minimal today. I can print out some prenatal yoga exercises and breathing techniques for you. I’ve noticed your sleeping pattern hasn’t improved enough to be considered healthy. Your appetite has improved quite a bit though.”

“This is why I disabled you in the first place,” Ana grumbles as Steve’s gaze narrows at her.

“I was truly impressed you bypassed my firewall, I was also hurt by your action-“ FRIDAY responds. Ana makes an indigent noise and swears FRIDAY sounds snippy. “-As I do care for your wellbeing. As does Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, that’s enough, thank you!” She snaps. The AI goes silent. Ana ignores the thick lump forming in her throat at the mention of Tony.

“Drink your water and take your medication.” Steve’s tone leaves no room for agreement as he gives her both her cup of water and the bottle of meds.

She does as she’s told, swallowing the pill and taking slow sips of water. She can feel her body relax and the baby roll around until it decides the position it’s is good enough.

“I don’t mean to continue to shut you out,” Ana confesses suddenly, eyes meeting Steve’s who was about to leave. “I’m still just trying to process feeling again. It’s overwhelming and I’m trying to stay as calm and relaxed as possible. The whole reason I did it in the first place, Steve, to was protect my child from any negative affects through me. You may not believe me, but everything I did, everything I’m trying to do is to protect my baby and keep it healthy.”

Sighing heavily, she puts her cup and bottle down, leaning back against her pillows. “Haven’t done a great job though.” She adds as an afterthought.

“I believe you,” Steve says, staying by the door. A shadow flickers in his blue eyes, and the energy around him changes darkly before it’s gone. “I just…sometimes it just feels like-“

Ana frowns because he just stops talking, shaking his head. Something is bothering him, and she swears it’s more than just shutting him out. He’s anxious about it. “Feels like what?”

“Nothing,” He gives her a nearly convincing smile. “It’s late, you should try going back to sleep.” Steve exists after that, closing the door but stopping the last few inches. “Ana, I’m here. If you need me. For anything.”

“I know,” She whispers as he shuts the door.

Ana covers her face again with her hands, inhaling slowly. She can still smell the faint ashes from her dreams, can still feel a phantom touch and realizes with a start, that she is not the only one to lose Bucky.

Finally, Ana is off bed rest, Dr. Hammond visiting once more for a check up and seemingly much happier with her health. She mentions the pains could possibly be Braxton Hicks contractions, a sign of her body beginning to prepare for birth. There’s only three months left and it’s this information of her body preparing to welcome a tiny human into the world, that Ana is appalled at herself. For a few reasons.

The first is Ana herself is not prepared whatsoever for a baby to arrive in three months. The second is knowing she hasn’t spoken to Pepper hardly at all, and rushes up to Rhodey. She all but interrogates him, asking if Pepper is angry. Demanding to know if Pepper is alright. Inquiring if the family is okay, and quickly questioning about Tony.

“Glad to see your rambling is back,” Rhodes quips, a smirk teasing his mouth.

He has been sitting in one of the conference rooms, apparently talking to whichever US Government leaders were left. Ana had come to find out that Thaddeus Ross was one of the many to disappear in “The Snap” as Rocket now refers bitterly to it. Ana however, doesn’t know how she quite feels about that bit of information. A bitter satisfaction does curl in her chest though.

“You sound a little like yourself again,” He continues, shutting off the holograms.

A deep ache throbs in Ana’s heart, and she doesn’t have the nerve to tell him that she cries almost every night now. That she spends more time watching and listening to a recording of her husband than talking to anyone else. Ana’s heartbreak remains the same as it was three months ago.

“I’ll be your go between just a little longer,” Rhodey says, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “But you both need to speak to each other on your own. He still doesn’t know.”

“Oh.” Ana startles, feeling oddly hurt that Tony doesn’t know she’s pregnant. “Um…do you know why?”

He shrugs, standing up and adjusting the orthotic around his waist. “Pep thinks it should come from you personally.”

The third reason is the fact that while she shut her emotions off, Ana also deliberately shut off any help. She knows Natasha was hurt by it, knows she was pissed to hell, but her and Ana had a long two hours talk about everything. More apologizes from Ana included.

Ana decides it’s time to let people back in, because, as she swallows some bit of pride, she cannot do this alone. She finally calls Pepper, crying on the phone to her cousin because, fuck does she miss her husband, and this is the first time she’s truly allowing herself to feel every ounce of her pain and heartbreak and emotions. After a good hour of that, she goes back to her first reason; being appalled and angry at herself.

“I don’t have anything, Pepper!” Ana whines into the phone. “I’m not prepared. I don’t have a crib, I don’t have clothes, diapers! Wipes!? I don’t even have a damn blanket or pacifier! Oh my god, what if the baby gets sick and I don’t have that little nose sucker thing or a thermometer!? No little socks! This baby’s poor feet are going to freeze because it’s horrible, emotionless fuck of a mother couldn’t-“

“Whoa, hey! That’s enough, Ana!” Pepper scolds. “Take a breath, bug. You can’t work yourself up again like that. It’s going be okay.”

Pepper’s promise holds up. Within a day of their conversation, Pepper stops by with bags and boxes of baby supplies. Some are hand-me-downs, most everything else is new. Boxes of diapers, wipes, bibs, neutral blankets and little onesie’s. Pacifiers, nail clippers, a soft brush, a bathtub, socks, and beanies.

“Who’s Morgan?” Steve questions as he helps carrying in the last box. That he sets down in the living full of people, Morgan’s Baby Stuff written on the top.

Ana freezes with the veggie fruit smoothie Natasha made her, pressed to her lips. Her eyes shoot over to Pepper. Her cousin looks guilty for all of three seconds, before she sighs and shrugs.

“My two-year-old daughter,” She informs, likes it’s the most casual thing to drop that two-year secret. “Tony- both of us, decided to keep it a secret after your falling out.”

The shock of Tony Stark having a daughter ripples through the room.

“You all went your separate ways, most of you off the grid in hiding.” Pepper explains, hands on her hips. “If anyone is angry, then get over it. It was our decision to keep our privacy and family safe from public knowledge.”

“Oh, um, congratulations?” Steve offers awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ana snorts against her cup, nearly splashing her face with liquid veggies. Pepper mutters her gratitude, and that’s that. They continue to carry the gifts further into the room.

“I already knew,” Natasha confesses quietly to Ana, tilting her glass up to make sure she drinks. Of course she did. The infamous spy she is.

Ana glares at her as she takes over dramatic gulps as Nat, who’s hair is slowly turning red at the roots, rolls her eyes.

It takes a few hours for Pepper to coax Ana to leave the compound and go to a store. Ana makes it halfway down the driveway to the car and stops. Her hearing has grown sensitive, and she knows why, however, she doesn’t hear much of anything.

The birds that used to sing in the trees and woods are silent. There’s zero scurrying feet over the dry leaves on the ground, and the feel of the air around her is…heavy. Broken and hurt. And here she is, about to shop for her child, for her and Bucky’s child.

Without him. Broken and hurt.

“I can’t do this,” She mutters, turning back to go inside.

Pepper doesn’t force her or convince her again. Instead, they pick and order a crib, highchair and anything else she needs.

As Ana rests, watching in a daze as Pepper folds little towels, she places one pile next to Ana. Shifting her eyes, she sees a onesie that says “Little Bean” with three coffee beans decorating the front. Pepper lays matching socks on top, oblivious to Ana’s reaction. She reaches for the tiny socks, the cloth soft in her hand.

“Annie Doll, come look!” Bucky shouts excitedly from the front door. “Ana!”

They had just gotten back from the hut, and she wants to shower the smells of hay and warm weather off. Ana sighs fondly, doubling back from the bathroom. She stops in the living room when she sees a gleeful Bucky holding up a package of six socks. Six, tiny baby socks.

“What in the world?” Ana laughs in bemusement. “Where did you get those? Oh, they’re so cute!”

“Shuri! Well, no-“ Bucky corrects himself as he comes closer. “She helped me navigate one of those baby store websites and I saw these so I ordered them!”

“Bucky, you know I’m only six weeks in right, babe? We have so much time to buy all the socks!” Though as she says it, her heart swells with warmth and love over Bucky’s excitement.

“Yeah…but look!” He nearly shoves the small things in her face. “Baby goats! They had goats on them and I just- what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Ana can’t control her face, or her suddenly wet eyes. She just grabs her husband by the nape of his neck and kisses him firmly. She drags him to the couch, because she won’t make it back to their bedroom.

Remembering that day, Ana gets up too fast, pausing as a wave of dizziness hits her. She waits until it passes, then begins to frantically pull open drawers, searches through her closet, through boxes. She finds nothing as she throws clothes and drops objects to the floor.

“What are you looking for?” Pepper questions cautiously.

“I-I can’t find them.” Ana says with a shaky voice. “I need to find them. I have to find them.”

“Ana-“

“He bought them,” She mumbles, ignoring the tears falling down her cheeks as she rechecks the top drawer. “He bought them. He was so excited, and I can’t find them. I-I need them for Bucky. He bought them for the baby.”

A hand on her shoulder makes her turn and burry her face into Pepper’s chest. “I can’t find them!”

The socks Bucky bought aren’t in her room, which means. The six little pair of goat socks are somewhere in their home in Wakanda. It’s such a small thing, but it breaks Ana all over again. Feeling like her body is being ripped in two once more.

Reminds her that the black hole in her chest will never be whole again.

27 Weeks:

Nothing gets easier. Ana almost shuts her emotions off again, a few times, until she ends up have a conversation with Nebula one night. It starts off with a game she said her, and Stark played while they were drifting off in space. She takes out a thick triangle, Ana immediately recognizing the little paper football.

Ana smiles sadly at the triangle, remembered when Tony played the same game with her as she recovered in the hospital after her brother had attacked her. The game moves on from light comments, to Ana teaching her simple card games. From there, is transpires deeper. Nebula brings up her suspicions of Ana’s nightmares and growing powers. Unknown as to why she does, Ana opens up to her.

“I thought it was because I was stress free in Wakanda. I was the happiest I’ve ever been.” She recalls somberly. “I was with the person I loved more than anything in my life I had Bucky.” Ana wipes the tears that escape her eyes. She takes a moment to gather herself as Nebula waits patiently.

“I had, have these rings that help regulate my energy. I haven’t been wearing them lately though, maybe that’s why? Or the growth of my hormones with the baby? Or-“

Her right hand slips slightly, her fingers grazing over the stone embedded in the last knuckle of the glove. She yelps, either from pain or the new surge of power coursing through her.

Ana blinks, the memory flashing through her mind. Reminding her.

I touched an Infinity Stone, doesn’t seem to be something Ana should confess just yet. However, Nebula was born on a different planet, and the daughter of that horrible titan. She may possibly know more about the stones than anyone else.

The first time Ana had been in close proximity to Nebula, she felt energy and emotions just as chaotic, and dark as Bucky’s had been; if not a little more. It had to be Nebula’s own moment of vulnerability, suffering so deeply from pain and lose and rage. Since then, she had been stoic enough for Ana to sit close to her, just to feel energy that wasn’t openly heavy. Maybe it’s why Ana decides to tell her.

“Nebula,” Ana begins quietly, urgently, hoping no one is overhearing. “If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it a secret? I’m trusting you here.”

Nebula isn’t one to express her thoughts or emotions, or anything for that matter on her face, but this clearly shocks her. Her dark eyes are wide as she sits back. Nodding once she leans back in, closer to listen to Ana.

“I, I think I touched one of the Infinity Stones,” She mutters, nervously rubbing her hands over her stomach. “I’m sure of it.”

A beat passes. “No Terran can touch a stone without damage. Or death,” Nebula states ominously. “It is not possible.” Though as she says it, her words drift off in thought.

“Don’t you know all about the stones? Does Rocket?” Ana can’t help but inquire.

She shakes her head, eyes looking oddly disappointed. “I only know one of their main functions. Some were simple, straightforward, like the Power Stone. Others were more complicated. My father was never one to spill the secrets of each stone he found.”

“Maybe that’s the one I touched? The Power Stone?” Ana foolishly asks with hope.

“Do you recall the color?”

“No,” She huffs, defeated. Abruptly she doubts herself. “I’m not even sure if it really happened anymore.”

Ana doesn’t elaborate, feeling rather silly for even mentioning it. Maybe she dreamt it. Maybe she was hit so hard it knocked her brain around a little. Maybe she was so emotionally distraught that she just fabricated it. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.

“You have dreams?” Nebula questions, bringing Ana back.

“I have nightmares,” She corrects. “Always the same, like a strange world.”

“Your physical strength has grown since touching the stone.”

“Yeah,” Ana drawls out, wincing. “That’s…that’s not part of it, I think. Wait. You’ve noticed that? My-my strength?”

“I have. You could be a lethal warrior if you wanted.”

Internal panic tightens her chest. She hoped no one was going to notice; leaving bruises on Steve was one thing, possibly passable and could be forgotten. Even her newly sensitive hearing. But the cracks in objects that aren’t easily crackable? The broken hinge of the door to the roof when Ana pulled to hard? Those aren’t as easy to explain or hide.

“Is that another secret, Barnes? How powerful you have become?”

“Please,” She sags, abruptly feeling tired. “It’s not something I want to talk about yet.”

They don’t speak for a few minutes. Then Nebula makes a tiny smacking noise against the table. “I win.”

Ana looks down at the game of war they paused to talk. Nebula’s duel card is an Ace. Ana flips her over. It’s a Queen.

“I enjoyed that,” Nebula states coolly, gathering the cards messily. “I am going to beat Rhodes now.”

Ana is left laughing softly in the living room. Her panic slowly dying down.

28 weeks:

Entering her seventh month of carrying a human being inside her has really taken affect on Ana. Her hair has gotten much longer, thicker than it was. It’s probably the only thing Ana likes. The heartburn, light sciatic pain, and lower back pain and peeing every five minutes she could all do without. Thankfully, Ana’s vitals and the baby’s have been good enough for Dr. Hammond, who once again stresses the support group for expecting widowed mothers.

Finally relenting, Ana agrees, but with a blush on her face asks Natasha to go with her. The drive isn’t too far, and it’s the first time she has left the compound since Wakanda. There’s a significantly less amount of cars on the road, barely any traffic for a Friday at 5:30pm. The lack of birds and planes flying through the sky. The absence of bikers and runners.

Clenching her hands into fits, Ana rolls her shoulders back, taking a deep breath. Her skin prickles with new energy, new emotions, especially when Natasha stops at a red light. Ana meets the eyes of the person sitting next to them; a middle aged man with vacant eyes. The light turns green and as he drives away, there’s a sticker family on the back of his car; a wife and five kids.

The radio turns to static, then shuts off. Biting her lips, Ana tries not to think of every single person who lost their families, friends, children, the love of their lives. The confusion, the horror, the guilt people must have felt, still feel. Ana’s breathing begins to rapidly pick up, and that same clenching pressure makes itself known in her lower stomach.

“Nat,” She grits out, closing her eyes in an attempt to calm herself.

“Are you going into labor in my car?” Natasha deadpans, a hint of humor behind the flat of her voice.

“No,” Ana huffs a strained chuckle. “But I can’t do this. I thought I could. But my energy…”

“Figured with the radio, just don’t shut car down either. I’m turning around right now, don’t worry. Just count your breathing. Slow inhales and exhales. Touch around you if you need too. You’re alright Ana”

How ironic, Ana thinks vaguely as she follows those instructions, for someone titled an Empathetic Healer to have her own anxiety attacks. To have someone who used to come to her, be the one coaching Ana.

Fuck, she misses Bucky with every aching molecule.

Bucky was so good, so attuned to her, that he was always able to calm her down instantly. All he had to do was gently brush his metal fingers against her hand, or cheek. All he had to do was give her a tight squeeze with his right hand, or press his forehead to hers and silently breath with her until Ana had followed his calming pattern. Or press her hand to his chest like she had done since the beginning. Coo gentle, loving words to her. Even now, she hears that phantom call of her voice.

“Have you picked a name yet?” Nat’s gentle voice provides a slight distraction.

She takes her time to answer. “Not-not really. We considered a few, but it was still too early.”

She hums. “I assume Bucky was excited?”

Remembering how Bucky ran out of the room and spun her after the positive result, Ana smiles to herself. The undeniable glee that lit up his entire beautiful face, his eyes the bluest she had ever seen then, shinning with tears. The kisses her placed on every inch of her body that night, taking his time to set every one of her nerves on fire. Brought her to the highest of highs, just to bring her crashing down into him, safe, happy and loved.

Ana isn’t aware she’s silently crying until the tears drip off her jaw and land on her stomach. Soaks into the fibers of another one of Bucky’s shirt, because when she wears them, it’s like carrying him with her wherever she goes. Ana wipes her tears with trembling fingers.

“Yes,” She answers belatedly. Despite the shuddering breath she takes, she feels like she can breathe better. “Ecstatic.”

“Did you know that little shit Rocket, stole my egg rolls and ate all four of them!” Natasha abruptly informs her. “Nearly threw hands with a raccoon.”

The sudden change from her vicious threatening voice to her pitiful grumble and the story itself, has Ana breaking out in laughter. It’s a liberating feeling, getting to laugh as brusquely as she did. Lessens the tightness in her chest a little more. She laughs for two minutes straight, Nat joining along with her.

“Thank you, Nat.” Ana whispers after they’ve calmed down.

“I swear if another apology follows that, I will punch a pregnant woman in the arm.” Though as she threatens this, Ana can see the coy smirk on her mouth.

Instead, Natasha reaches over, squeezing her hand. She tries not to feel all of Natasha’s anguish, but the little she does get, reminds her that she’s not alone in this aftermath. Ana returns the gesture with a harder grip.

“Now, fix the damn radio, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The next two nights pulls Ana straight to sleep after she gets comfortable on her left side. She’s so tired the past 48 hours, that her mind finally shuts off, and she has dreamless nights. It doesn’t stop her waking up feeling guilty, like she missed the dreams on purpose; it brings the same agonizing ache as always.

It also never stops from calling out to her while she’s conscious. As if her soul is angry that she missed that dream world for two days. Something happens following lunch three days later, while everyone is gathered around the kitchen island.

Annie.

The soft whisper is like a trance caressing her body, a lovers call inside her mind, beckoning her back. Back to sleep, because she knows, without a doubt, she will end up in that world. The strange orange world, where the sky looks like the burning afterglow of raging fires. The odd world with wetless water, an unknown little girl, an ominous door.

There, in that place of illusion, does she hear his voice loud and clear. Calls her by her name, lifts his hand to gently fit his palm along the curve of her cheek. He’s there, always with that sad little smile. His eyes so incredibly blue, so tender, yearning as if he misses her.

In that world, is Bucky.

In that world, Ana can steal just a few moments feeling Bucky. Against her skin, in the air. His breath in her lungs, his beating heart in the empty cavity of her chest. For just five short seconds, begging for time to stretch, pleading for time to freeze, Ana has Bucky in her soul.

Annie.

Her sharp inhale brings her out of her own daze, dropping her face in her hands. She shakes her head, resisting the urge to just take a nap, allow herself to fall into that water once more. Sometimes, she wishes she could just sleep and not wake, to stay forever with Bucky in that world. Then maybe, maybe she could save him.

“Bucky,” Ana barely murmurs under her breath. Tears stinging behind her eyelids. “Bucky. I miss you. I miss you.”

She leans forward, until she rests her head on a solid surface, face now hidden in the crook of her arm. She right hand grips the edge, fingers clenching as she hears his voice in her head again. Her soul cries out for its missing half.

“Ana? Everything okay?”

She makes a noise, can’t tell if it’s a confirmation or not. Her chest feels like it’s tightening. The baby jabs a sharp kick, or a punch, aimed right at her ribs. It’s enough to jolt her back to reality, and she slowly pushes herself up straight. She meets the concerned gazes of six other people.

The lights of the compound are flickering again, the air heavy with dampening energy. Nebula is the closest to her, and carefully reaches over to uncurl Ana’s fingers from the death grip on the counter. Bits of granite and dust sprinkle to the floor, Nebula leans over the cracked spot. Ana gives her a curious look, then quickly meets the gaze of everyone else. She makes eye contact with both Steve and Natasha, keen green and blue eyes not fooled by the cover up.

“Are you feeling alright?” Carol questions, stepping closer. “Your energy levels seem to be spiking.”

“Y-yeah! Yes! I’m fine!” Ana quickly reassures. She inhales and exhales deeply, and the lights steady. “Uh…the baby. Yeah, the baby was just moving around a lot is all. I’m fine, feel fine. Honest.”

Natasha sighs, suddenly looking tired and leaning her hands on the counter. She shakes her head, then her and Steve share a look. A silent conversation. Steve nods once.

“Ana, I think it’s time to talk about something you’ve been trying to hide,” Natasha speaks calmly.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Ana denies. She’s usually better at lying than this. “I told you, pregnancy has thrown my energy off a little, that’s all.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ana!” Steve snaps coldly, eyes flashing.

Ana blinks in shock. Steve angry is…a little frightening. He doesn’t stand to be lied to. “Steve-“

“You have been getting stronger?” It’s a question but it sounds more like observation.

“I’ve gained my strength back now that I’ve been eating more-“

“Not what I am talking about.”

“You have to know, Ana,” Natasha urges, brows pinched together.

She stares at them for a second, then she gets up as quickly and carefully as she can. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Ana walks out of the kitchen, heading towards her room as fast as she can waddle. Her heart is pounding faster, her own panic about the developing situation coming to the surface. Of course, Ana has noticed herself getting stronger the further she gets into pregnancy. It’s not like the thought has never crossed her mind. She had just been too busy shutting her emotions off and trying to figure out that dream world and trying not to suffocate on ashes and heartbreak.

Of course, she’s noticed the dented fingers marks on wooden and metal surfaces, of the spidering cracks in the toilet bowl, the ripping of several maternity sweatpants as she tugged them up over her stomach. Of the broken pieces of plastic cups and one of the bottles of the elixir. Of course, she knew the bruises she left on a damn super soldier were from her.

Speaking of.

Steve follows her down the hallway, catching up rather quickly. “Ana! Ana, please. Look, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to snap at you, but you have to know. Maybe just get it checked out by Dr. Hammond, or another doctor, run some tests. I’m just worried how this could affect you and the baby.”

Ana halts when she’s in front of her door, rounding on Steve. “No! This doesn’t concern you, Steve!”

“I’m just looking out for your wellbeing!”

She grabs the handle of her door with frustration. “I don’t know why you suddenly seem to have an obligation to me, but-“

Ana stops talking the moment she forcefully pushes the door handle. She didn’t account for how much strength she used as she shoved. She stumbles forward, her arm going straight through the hole, holding the doorknob. It’s splintered with jagged edges from the broken wood. She stares wide-eyed at the shape of the hole, strangely looking like the broken piece would fit back in perfectly like a puzzle.

This is new. Ana slowly moves her gaze to Steve; who gawks at her. Shit.

Awkwardly, she gently tries replacing the section of wood she pushed off. It sticks, not fitting quite right, but she’ll just pretend it did happen, like everything else she had broken.

“Holy fuck,” Steve whispers, stunned.

Deciding to remain silent, considering there’s no way around it, Ana just watches Steve. She can see him mentally gathering the pieces in his head. She only makes it to the count of four as he figures it out.

“I fucking knew it. It is enhancing you.”

“Steve. Please don’t,” Ana pleads, her anxiety making her nerves burn.

“The serum transferred to you. Which means it transferred to-“

“No, no it didn’t!” She desperately disputes. “This is just a weird fluke thing. You know, Nebula accidentally pulled off an entire door last week.”

Steve shakes his head, eyes flashing with concern as he looks her over. “We need to take you to a doctor. Dr. Cho maybe, run tests to confirm it.”

White hot panic surges up her spine. Ana frantically shakes her head. This is exactly why she didn’t want anyone to know, why she didn’t give it much thought. Why she hid it. Drawing blood, conducting tests, being studied; all for the slight chance of her baby possibly having the super soldier serum in its genetic code.

“Absolutely not!” Ana states fervidly, fear rising up in her.

He frowns, expression serious. “Ana, this could be-“

“I know what it could be, Steve!” She yells. “I know exactly what this means!”

Ana places her hands protectively over her stomach. “It’s the serum! It was in Bu- in Bucky’s genetic code. In his DNA. Which means it’s more than likely is in the baby’s genetics! My baby is going to be enhanced, there’s no way it’s not. Bucky is a...was-“

She breaks off, voice shaky, her body trembling. She swallows thickly, knowing she must finally face the truth. She feels movement under her hands, as if the baby is confirming what she’s known since the beginning. All her senses becoming sharper; hearing more sensitive, eyesight slightly better.

“Bucky was enhanced,” Ana continues, voice as panicked as before. “I’m-I’m enhanced. I don’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want anyone to know. I can’t! If doctors or scientists found out, if anyone finds out that this is the child of the Winter Soldier and an Energy Alchemist!? Who the hell knows what exactly they would want to do with our baby!”

“Ana,” Steve looks torn, “We can keep it a secret. Find a trustworthy-“

“Fuck trustworthy, Steve!” She shouts, slicing her hand through the air. “No one is trustworthy! They’re still out there! Hydra, AIM, other organizations and groups just like them!”

“Hey, hey-“ He attempts to interrupt, to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY’s voice speaks up over them in warning.”

“I know!” He says to the AI.

Ana barely hears their exchange. Her breath begins to shorten, chest tightening. “Thanos didn’t fucking correct the universe like his fucked up brain thought! It didn’t snap away the evil people of the world. It made it easier for them! Hydra- Eric Woods kidnapped us just three year ago! If they knew. They’re still out there. If they find out-“

“That is not going to happen!” Steve promises vehemently, stepping closer.

“They- they can’t! Can’t find out. This is all I have left,” Ana begins to hyperventilate, cradling her stomach. “This is all I have left. This is all I have left.”

“Hey, honey, I’m sorry. Deep breathes, Ana,” Steve coaxes gently. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen.”

Ana is barely aware of her skin beginning to glow brighter. The walls started to tremble, the floor shakes. She feels a chaotic and static energy in the air. There’s a sharp tightening in her chest again and she needs…she needs her husband.

But Bucky isn’t here. Ana is not dreaming; she doesn’t see him. She doesn’t hear the faint haunting murmurs of her name. He’s not gently touching her cheek, gazing at her with those loving blue eyes. She doesn’t feel Bucky and that’s one of the worst things that has been carved out of her soul.

“Okay, okay, no doctors, Ana. I swear it,” Steve says carefully. “Just try breathe, Ana.”

Slowly, he reaches out to her. As if to comfort her, support her, remind her that she is not alone in this. When Steve’s fingers are inches from her skin, she can feel her powers reacting viciously. Ana takes a step back.

“I-I can’t!” She pants heavily. “It feels like. I wake up. Ashes. Dust. It’s- I wake up from ashes and it’s everywhere! Its-It’s in my lungs. My throat. It feels like I’m suffocating! I wake up and I’m suffocating.”

If she was aware enough, Ana could read his expression as broken, maybe a little helpless. Instead, Steve finally touches her. He doesn’t even get his fingers wrapped around her wrist, before he is abruptly, and harshly ricocheted backward.

His body is thrown halfway down the hall, slamming against the end of the wall. He hits it so hard, plaster and cement crack and rain pieces down on his limp form. Ana smacks her hand over her mouth. Light bulbs shatter, the air sizzles hotly, and she covers her head with her arm as bits of glass fall from the lights.

Despite the sight and groaning from Steve, Ana can’t seem to get a handle on her power, her energy, her emotions. It’s what lead to her outburst of power weeks prior. She isn’t wearing the rings Shuri gave her, has no other way of regulating herself. Quickly, she presses her hands to her chest, trying to regain her breathing, to focus, to control her emotions, her powers. Maybe she should turn off her emotions again. It’s better, safer for everyone, and herself.

Something grips her left shoulder, vice and grounding. Abruptly, Ana’s powers halt, then begins to settle. She gasps at the sudden feeling, but she doesn’t push it away, instead she grabs the hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“I’m right here,” A soothing reminder. Carol’s voice. “You’re okay, you’re alright. I’m here.”

It’s the same feeling Ana had experience before with Carol’s own powers. As if they call out to her, like it wants to comfort her. Remind her that she really isn’t alone; not with this.

Her eyes sting as Ana tightly shuts them. Inhaling slowly, deeply, she nods. Her knees feel weak, her skin hot as she comes down, everything falling silent and settling around her. A sharp jab to the side of her stomach makes her wince; the baby protesting the rise and fall of the energy.

Ana snaps her eyes open, releasing Carol as she takes a shaky step forward. She feels the hands behind her hovering by her arms, a precaution in case she stumbles. Steve is taking his time getting up. A wave of guilt mixed with nausea curls through her.

“S-Steve?” Ana calls out with a trembling voice.

He attempts to push himself up, but his hand slips, and he presses his forehead to the debris covered floor. Ana moves closer. She doesn’t quite understand what happened. Her energy shouldn’t have knocked him back like that without the protective shield. In fact, twice it’s accepted Steve. Once in Wakanda, right after half of everyone vanished, and when he recklessly held her just weeks ago.

When she reaches him, now with Carol’s supporting hands on her arm, she carefully kneels placing a shaky hand on his back. Steve’s panting slightly, groaning low in his throat as he finally gets himself up on all fours. He tilts sideways, sitting back and slumping against the wall.

“Are you- did I hurt you?”

When Steve looks up to meet Ana’s gaze, her heart clenches. The emotion storming in his blue eyes roots her to the spot. His eyes are red, wet, tracks of tears staining his cheeks. The utter guilt, shame, and pain shinning in them renders Ana speechless.

“I’m sorry,” Steve croaks. Ana shakes her head, perplexed. “I’m so sorry, Ana.”

“No, I-“

“This isn’t on you,” He cuts her off, wincing as he straightens himself. “I failed you.”

Lifting his hand, he lays it gingerly on her shoulder. “I promise-I swear on my life. I will keep you and your baby safe. I…I couldn’t keep Bucky...I couldn’t bring him back to you. I broke that promise to you. I won’t break this one.”

Ana feels her face screw up with emotion. “Okay,” She exhales thickly, tears spilling from her eyes. “Okay.”

She drops her forehead to his shoulder, her own shaking as she cries. Through her tears, she listens closely, trying to decipher Steve’s breathing. His heart is slowly settling back to his version of a normal rate, and his breaths even out, no sign of broken ribs.

“Feeling alright?” Steve checks in a few minutes of them sitting there crying.

Sniffling, she wipes her nose on her sleeve and leans back. “Are you?”

“Just bruises, I think. Feeling exhausted, but I’m okay. Didn’t beat me up too bad. I’m actually a little proud.”

It makes Ana chuckle wetly, wiping more tears away.

“You guys okay?” Carol questions behind her. Ana hears the concern hidden in the coolness of her tone. “Didn’t rattle your brain too much, did she Rogers?”

“Nah, I can do this-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Ana cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “He’s got this annoyingly admiring habit of never staying down.”

A smile lights up Carol’s face as she extends a hand out for her. Ana takes it, allowing her new friend to lift her with her majority of her strength. When she looks behind Carol, Natasha is standing right there. There’s no anger or disappointment in her eyes, she just offers her a tiny smile then goes to help Steve up, brushing off rubble from his shirt.

“I,” Ana hesitates, soothing her hands over her belly as the baby wiggles around. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t had tried hiding this from either of you.” She addresses Natasha as well.

She carefully wraps her arms around Ana. “We shouldn’t have pushed. You know we love you. We’ve been nothing but worried about you. And this little one.” Natasha lends down to gently rub Ana’s belly. “Huh? Just being a strong little super soldier in there, aren’t you?”

The baby responds by kicking again. Ana sighs, the sensation it a little weird to her. She can’t help but crack a smile, despite hurting Steve.

“I’m not lying when I say I’m scared.” Ana tells them. She looks at Steve. “But, if you think it’s best I go see-“

“No,” He interrupts her. “How could I ever think I had the right to tell you what to do, to make a decision for you and your baby. It’s your choice, Ana. If you don’t want too, don’t. I’m sorry I pressured you. You have all the right not to trust anyone.”

“I trust you, you know, that right? I trust all of you here. I just don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve breathes heavily, and carefully wraps his arm around her.

Ana leans into him, exhausted and suddenly livid at herself for pushing him away for months. Angry that she pushed away people whom she considers family and ignoring their own pain in the process.

“I’m sorry if I’m still a little off,” Ana apologizes shyly. “Having to deal with my emotions again, feeling so much around me. It’s overwhelming.”

“Hey, don’t worry about any of it. We understood, and we still do.” Natasha says. “By the way, a very annoyed AI alerted me of your spiking vitals. I always found it a little creepy how emotional Tony makes his artificial intelligence. Just take it easy the rest of the night, yeah?”

Ana nods as Carol beckons for them to get out of the hallway. She helps them both along, guiding Ana carefully over shattered glass.

Hours later, after the hallway has been cleaned up, both Ana’s and the baby’s vitals checked thoroughly by FRIDAY and a call from Dr. Hammond, Steve finally knocks on Ana’s door. He figures it time to honestly talk to her, lay out his own fears. To truly apologize to her.

“Are you concussed?” Ana asks flatly. She’s propped up against her pillows, with two beneath her knees.

Steve smiles despite himself, making yet another connection between her and when Bucky was a teenager yanking him out of back alley fights. Closing the newly fixed door behind him, he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. He notices in her hands, one of the many journals belonging to Bucky, opened as her fingers trace the written words, like she’s tattooing them on her skin.

“Hard head, remember?” He quips, getting comfortable in his position.

Ana snorts and kicks at his propped up knee. Inhaling to calm his nerves, Steve decides it just best to get right to it, staring straight at those big brown eyes.

Ones that have always seen right through people. Ones that have hardened and burned cold the past several months. He swallows thickly. Her gaze pins him to his spot. The only person to ever make him feel like he’s being picked apart down to his soul has been Natasha, but Ana is a very close second. But then she blinks, the cold lessening as confusion settles in.

“You’re nervous. I can feel it.”

“Everything is my fault,” Steve confesses in a rush, keeping eye contact even though he wants to sink into the earth.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s been uh, a few things I’ve been too afraid to tell you. To talk to you about.” He rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans. “You said you didn’t know why I have an obligation to care take of you. Well, I made a promise to you in Wakanda, remember. I also made one to Bucky.”

Ana’s frown deepens but she remains silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

Wakanda, fifteen minutes before the battle of Thanos:

Steve had to tear his eyes away from Bucky and Ana’s goodbye, not from discomfort, but if he continued to watch he would have told Bucky to stay with her. He should have told Bucky to just stay with her, for them to protect each other, to help protect Shuri as she works on Vision.

He should tell Bucky now, to just go back where he belongs, right next to his wife. Steve watches Bucky with a keen eye as they ride towards the field; the wind blowing his long hair back from his face. Steve’s known Bucky his entire life. He knows every little sign of distress, anger, no matter how hard Bucky always tried to hide it from him. Only one other person knows Bucky just as much as Steve does- probably knows him even better by this point.

Bucky didn’t want to leave Ana; anyone could see that. Now, as Steve watches Bucky’s new vibranium hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pants, he knows it’s taking everything in his friend to stay on the hovercraft. Bucky’s hips keep shifting his weight side to side. His chest is rising is slow calculating movements, his jaw is clenching, he slowly closes his eyes. Steve swallows thickly. They should have never asked Bucky to join one more fight. He makes up his mind.

“Buck-“

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts what he was about to say. He opens his eyes, stares straight ahead. “If anything happens to me-“

“Don’t fucking talk like that.” Steve reprimands firmly, dread curling in his stomach.

Bucky meets his gaze, serious and, fearful. “We can’t kid ourselves here, pal. If- if anything happens to me-“ He swallows with his brows pinched together. “Can you…can you take care of her?”

“Bucky-“

“I need you to take care of Ana for me. Please. I need to know they will- she. I need to know she’ll be taken care of. Please Steve.”

The begging desperation in Bucky’s eyes nearly breaks his heart. For once, Steve bites back his disagreement and nods. “Of course, I’ll take care of her, Buck.”

A sudden heavy boot presses down atop of Steve’s foot. “Thank you.”

His whisper of gratitude is nearly lost in the sounds of them landing at their destination. They file off the aircraft, but Steve can’t stomach it anymore. He quickly turns to Bucky, who double checks the knives at his thigh holster, and grabs his gun from the crate.

“Go back, Buck. I mean it. Just go back to Ana.” Steve orders. He can hear how frantic he sounds. “You should be together.”

A bitter smile flashes across Bucky’s mouth. “With you til’ the end of line, Stevie.” He lifts his gaze from his gun, that same old mischief back in his eyes. “Plus, Ana’s safest where she is right now. It’s your dumb ass I gotta protect. Like always.”

From his right, Steve hears Natasha snort in humor. He shoots her a glare then shoves Bucky ahead of him, and just like that, they’re leading the march onto the battlefield. It feels way too reminiscent of their time in the Howling Commandos, marching into battle.

Silence follows as Steve finishes telling Ana that bit of information. Watches as she slowly smooths her hands over of her stomach, having put the journal aside. Her left hand pauses for a second, gently tapping her fingers over the spot, presses down, and continues on. Her wedding rings reflect like glitter off the lights as she moves. Steve frowns, curious. She’s been doing that a lot lately and he wonders how often the baby kicks, if it feels the same restlessness as its mother.

“Well, it was a pretty dumbass move when you went after Thanos with your bare fucking hands.” Ana says.

Steve makes a protesting noise. “Didn’t you do that same thing?”

“We’re talking about you here, not me. Plus, I had the shield activated.”

The little humor he hears in her voice makes Steve smiles just a little. At least some of her old self seems to be shining through the broken cracks.

“Of course, Bucky would ask you take care of me,” She whispers solemnly.

“Haven’t kept that promise to him though,” Steve mumbles. “He said “they” at the time, and I didn’t put it together until you told me. But I’ve been doing a shit job, to be honest.”

“To be honest,” Ana repeats his words with firmer tone. “That’s completely on me. I haven’t made this easy for anyone. I am so incredibly sorry again.”

Steve reaches out to grab her hand, giving her fingers a firm squeeze. “No one blames you for what you did. We understand, but your, what is it now? A hundredth apology is accepted.”

Ana offers him a small smile. It falls a second later. “Why do you think it’s all your fault?”

“Because I broke my promise to bring Bucky back to you. I broke my promise to both of you.” Steve lowers his gaze, taking his hand from hers. “If I just. Fuck. If I just defeated him, if I just had killed Thanos with every chance I got, then none of this would have happened. I would have brought Bucky back safe and sound and you wouldn’t be going through this alone. Vision would still be alive. Wanda wouldn’t have had to endure all that pain. Fuck, she was still so young. And Sam-“

Steve hears his voice crack and he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to hold back his tears. He didn’t come here to have a sob fest on her bed. A soft warm touch rests over his other hand, a gentle trickle beginning to ease his emotions.

“Steve,” Ana speaks so softly.

He slowly pulls his hand from her touch. Finally looking up, he shakes his head. “I don’t need you to do that. You don’t need to change use your ability for me. Don’t exert yourself.”

“But you feel so sad,” She tells him. Steve nods in a mute confession. “You haven’t spoken to anyone about this have you?”

He shakes his head again.

“Then talk to me if you won’t allow me to help you.”

He huffs his exhales, giving her a look. “Have you talked to anyone about how you feel?” Steve challenges, not unkindly.

“No, but what do you think this? Just get it all out. Talk to me.”

This was not what he came here for. He just wanted to wallow in his own self-deprecating pity. To confess to Ana that he had failed her, he failed the universe. The crushing weight of that brings him down in a pit of darkness each night, drowns him in his own horrible nightmares. Watches helplessly as all his friends fall to the ground in piles of ash.

Steve came to Ana, with some oddly placed masochism and a small bit of hope that she would lash out at him again because he deserves it. He deserves her avoiding his eyes. Deserves to nearly have his own life drained from his body, to have her powers injure him as he’s thrown against solid concrete. To have any ounce of her hate, anger, placed all on him.

But the way Ana sits patiently, kindly and not shouting cruses or damnation to him. The way she just tried calming him, helping him, is exactly who is she. Despite the months of shutting off her own emotions. A small piece of herself is still there, if broken and haunted, but there.

It causes Steve to finally break.

“I’m angry!” He spits out, clutching at the sheets. “I am so fucking angry at myself! I could have made Bucky stay with you. I could have saved him.” Steve releases a bitter laugh. “I guess that’s my track record though isn’t it? I could never save Bucky. Not from that damn train, not from fucking Hydra, not from Zemo’s revenge, not from being stolen away from you.

“You know, I thought when I was first got the serum, that I would finally be able to protect the people I love most, to protect my family. What a load of bullshit! I still lost him. I had to watch him die, again. You had to watch Bucky die and I still couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t protect you from losing him. I couldn’t protect my family, my friends, the goddamn world! I couldn’t save anyone from Thanos.”

Tears are freely falling down Steve’s cheeks, tracing into his lips and soaking into his jeans. He licks the saltiness from his lips, taking in a trembling breath. He sniffs hard, shaking his head again.

“I failed. I failed everyone. I failed Tony-“

“Steve-“ Ana attempts to dispute his statement, but he doesn’t allow her.

He continues without giving her an ounce of room to speak. “I did. I betrayed him. He’s right, maybe if we fought together, we could have defeated Thanos. That’s on me. I failed. And I failed Bucky again, time and time again and because of it. I failed you too.”

“That night, when you broke down, I felt every single emotion you had. All your anguish, your loneliness, your pain, your heartbreak. You felt empty. It was crippling, suffocating. That’s not something you should have to deal with or feel by yourself, Ana. None of this is your fault. You didn’t fail. Just put it all on me instead. I deserve that.”

“Hey, stop!”

Steve abruptly scoots forward and quickly grabs her right hand, pressing his solidly against his chest. He ignores her startled, somewhat fearful look. He feels an electric spark shock his chest as her skin glows for a fleeting moment. It fades when she clearly doesn’t feel threatened anymore. If Ana had blasted him back again, he would have welcomed it.

“You shut off your emotions, Ana. There’s a part of me that wonders if it made it easier to shut me out too. Do you hate me because I failed you? Because I failed the entire universe? I’m fucking Captain America, who let the world turn to dust. I want you to hate me, Ana. I want you to lash out at me.”

Ana yanks her hand back, then promptly slaps him across the face.

Steve blinks twice, stunned. His cheek stings and he tastes copper on his tongue for biting the inside of his cheek. His head clears a little, and he thinks yeah, he probably deserved that. When he gathers himself to meet her gaze, there’s fury in her eyes. Something he hasn’t seen in Ana for so long.

“I nearly killed you, Steve!” She hisses at him, shaking out her hand once. “I wasn’t trying to share my pain with anyone else. You just happened to be there, and I almost stole your life energy. You’re the only self-sacrificing idiot that runs headfirst to hold onto to a Life Drainer. How the fuck is that making good on your promise to Bucky to take care of me, if you aren’t even alive!?”

Guilt floods through his veins as Steve realizes she’s right, and he got way into his head just then. Didn’t articulate properly what he was trying to say. He drops his head in shame as she continues to talk.

“I’m sorry I slapped you,” She apologies, but her voice still has a hint of aggravation. “But goddamnit, Rogers. You punishing yourself for thinking you’re the only one who failed? For breaking promises? You aren’t the only one who thinks they failed people, Steven. As for your promise.”

Steve lifts his head, tentatively meeting her gaze. Her eyes are watery, tears brimming along her lower eyelids. She’s stroking her arms over her stomach again, one after the other, blowing out a shaky breath as her tears fall over. Steve feels even worse, having made her distressed yet again.

“I didn’t make it easy for anyone, especially you. I wasn’t thinking of the repercussions of what shutting of my emotions would do. I couldn’t handle it, Steve. I couldn’t handle it at all and I felt like if I didn’t do something about it, then-“ Ana breaks off, shrugging. She hastily wipes her tears away. “I am so, so deeply and incredibly sorry. I should have never-“

Steve carefully takes hold of her wrist. “Hey, no honey, none of that anymore. You needed to protect yourself and your baby first. I understand why you did. I just didn’t know how to help you, and I still don’t. I didn’t mean to stress you out more. I shouldn’t have said what I did, ask you to do something you would never do in the first place.”

“Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY interrupts their conversation abruptly. The AI doesn’t sound happy with him. “I suggest you leave Mrs. Barnes alone for the rest of the night. Her vitals hint at distress that I’m afraid you have caused. Twice now.”

Shit. He definitely did not come here with those intentions, and Steve can’t seem to stop fucking up tonight.

“No, FRIDAY, it’s fine!” Ana quickly reassures her. “I’ll do my breathing exercises. I feel fine.”

There’s a pause. “As you wish, Mrs. Barnes. You have four vials left of the elixir if you decided to drink one now, it wouldn’t hurt to do so as you didn’t take one three hours prior. However, Captain, if you continue to upset her or her baby, I will activate the electric security protocol.”

Steve glares at Ana as she snorts her laughter behind her fist as she takes out a bottle. “I understand.” He tells the AI. “I assume Pepper added that last part?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Another Pause. “It was not Pepper.”

FRIDAY goes silent as Ana downs the elixir with wide shocked eyes. Steve shoves his hand through his hair, blowing out a sigh. He stays quiet as he watches Ana calm herself down with the breathing exercises. He waits about five minutes until she finally opens her eyes and flashes him a small smile. He can hear the steady, relaxed beats of each heart rate and relaxes himself.

“This is definitely hypocritical for me to say,” Ana begins, wincing as she touches her stomach. “But you can’t keep that all locked inside. Exhibit A.” She gestures to herself.

“I know,” He huffs out heavily. “Nat and I talked sometimes, drank mostly, but we didn’t talk it about enough. I just, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to help you or anyone else for that matter.”

“But you are you helping yourself?”

“You’re right, you are being a little hypocritical, Barnes.”

In a rare sight of true Ana fashion, she flicks him off, then shrugs. “I’m trying to now. For the sake of this little bean.”

Sorrow weighs heavily in his bones. “You know if I could bring him back. If I had an ounce of an idea to do so-“

“I know, I know. I do.” She sighs tiredly, leaning further back, her eyes suddenly exhausted. “It’s going to take a long time to process this. For everyone. And yeah. I miss him so fucking much, Steve, it hurts to even breathe. But, I don’t think you failed me. I don’t think anyone thinks you failed them.”

Steve wants to believe her so much, but he’s always going to feel his guilt for failing her and Bucky specifically. “I still think I did.” He mutters bitterly.

“Yeah well,” Ana sniffs, wiping her sleeve over her eyes and nose. “As Rocket as said, there’s a lot of that going around, huh? I think we’re all just wallowing in our own personal feelings of self-failure.”

Steve suddenly thinks of Thor, and how he took off in the middle of the night, now word or warning. His heart aches. “I guess so. Little guy seems to have taken a liking to you though. Not as many sarcastic comments.”

Smiling as if she’s proud, she says, “It’s only because I let him clean Bucky’s gun.”

He doubts that. Secretly he thinks Ana may remind Rocket of someone he lost. “Listen. It’s getting late and I stressed you out enough with my emotional turmoil. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“I literally threw you into a wall earlier, then bitch slapped you, so, we’re even.” She tells him as Steve helps her shimming around, adjusting pillows and pulling the covers down.

“Deal.” He agrees with a small chuckle. He rubs the top of her head, slightly musing up her hair. She glares at him. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You and the baby? I’m sorry about-“

“So many apologizes. Yes, I swear. We feel good. Just tired, is all.” Ana insists.

Steve nods, makes sure she’s as comfortable as can be before he makes his way to leave. Ana calling his name one more time turns him around. She looks inches away from sleep, her stomach supported by one of the thicker pillows, and she has what he knows to be Bucky’s pillow clutched to her chest.

“Thank you.” Ana murmurs.

“For what?” He questions, confused.

“For still looking after me. For being there.”

She doesn’t explain further as her eyes flutter shut. Steve however, as he gives her a smile she can’t see, knows exactly what Ana is thanking him for. His talk may not have gone the way he planned, and he still feels like there much more to converse, but Steve thinks they made some progress. He leans back against the door for a few moments, head tilted back as he stares up at the ceiling and the broken light bulbs.

“I’ll keep my promise to you, Buck.” Steve says quietly to the ceiling.

Once more, he recalls Bucky’s little slip up. “Please. I need to know they will-she.”

Bucky was asking Steve to take care of Ana, and their child.

“I swear, pal. They will both be taken care of.”

****************************************************************

A/N: This was a monster to write. Thank you for sticking with me. This story is definitely going to pick up pace in the next chapter and on. Please stay healthy and safe and inside. Don’t forget to wash your hands, especially after coughing or sneezing and stop hoarding the toilet paper!

Drabbles: Twenty-Two Drabbles: Twenty-Four

Tags: @thecreatiivecorner @buckyland @stressedasalways @watchoutforfrostbite @justreadingfics @keldachick @eurynome827 @elatedmarvel @shesalatesh @paintedgreywriting @boney-and-skinny @buckaroo-blue @afewmarvelousthoughts @crushedbyhyperbole @shesalatesh

#bucky barnes x ana rios #bucky barnes x ana #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers x platonic!ofc #steve rogers x platonic!original female character #steve rogers x platonic!ana #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers angst #fanfiction #delicate stages #delicate stages drabbles #delicate stages of life

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