The glimpses into a life Bucky never thought was possible for himself. A world where he would find someone who he could love and be loved in return - a person he could start a family with. This is how an ex-assassin navigates the world of parenthood.
Summary: This wasn't how it was supposed to be - he came, and he came way too fucking early.
Warnings: Angst, emotional distress, medical situations
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You had spent a full month comparing names, lists never quite matching up. Anthony was out - Steve had named his son that. And Steven was too much for a baby to live up to, obviously. Maybe a middle name? he had mused late one night in bed, hand splayed over the growing bump. You had gone over family trees for inspiration. I have Michaels, and Benjamins, and Hirams, and a Silas. Silas Barnes, whaddya think of that, babe? you had laughed.
Would he sleep in Becca's room? Was she even old enough for that yet? Should he get his own or sleep in your room? God, what colors should you paint the room? Do you use the pack n' play or buy a new bassinet? A co-sleeper, honey, are you crazy? This onesie or the gray one? Elephant plush or dinosaur? Timothy, what do you think of Timothy? After Dum Dum? How about Gabe? Gabriel? I like that. Gabriel James Barnes.
It didn't matter now. None of those arguments or stupid late night ramblings mattered.
"Barnes. Mother. 1972381."
"Just a moment, Mrs. Barnes."
You hang up the phone and turn to eye the SHIELD agent mopping the floor by the elevator. The soft sounds of the TV in the waiting room merging with the wet swishes of the mop. A small buzz, then the doors to the ward are opening. The lights are blindingly bright in the hallway, compared to the rest of the dimmed hospital.
Placing the small container of milk on top of the long sink, you roll up the sleeves of your robe and push the hospital band higher on your forearm. Lathering the harsh soap into your cracked hands, the three-minute video starts playing as the sink starts up. Eyes dully watching the digital clock below the monitor.
"Talk to our dedicated staff about our Kangaroo care options."
You roll your eyes as you rub up and down your arms. The video finishes and the sink shuts off. Drying your hands on the rough paper towels, you grab the milk and make your way down the hall. It's quiet. It always is.
Babies don't cry here. Parents do. Mothers and fathers broken by circumstance. Words of support and pictures of healthy children line the halls. The clicking of a keyboard from the office as the night shift nurse peers out at you. Your swollen feet softly stepping down the worn path to room five. Grabbing a mask from the dispenser outside the door before quietly making your way inside.
Karen, the room nurse, types away on her computer, soft light falling from under the cabinets. Beeps and hums from the monitors of six covered isolettes. She turns with a warm smile when you grab one of the disposable nipples from the counter.
"Hey momma, he just woke up. I already got his temp and diaper for ya."
