The Collection- Bucky Barnes

Just Friends v: November

"The only person who thinks we're having a boy is Wanda." Bucky says absently, hands making quick work of folding a white linen cloth embroidered with little giraffes around the edges. "And that's only on some old Sokovian superstition about the shine of your hair or something."

"It was my appetite." Jules snickers, tossing him another towel. "She said the myth was that if you crave dairy products, it's a boy. Cheese dogs, chocolate milk, you know."

She knows not to place any stock in myths and old wives' tales, but it is kinda fun to imagine that her intense need for chocolate milk is a sign of some kind.

"Wouldn't be bad if we had a boy." He mumbles. He doesn't look up from the growing pile of burp cloths he's been adding to the past fifteen minutes. "Be nice, I think." He pauses a second before he looks over at her with a wide grin. "What's the chance of sweet girl hiding a little twin brother from us?"

Jules chokes on her water, grabbing the closest burp cloth to wipe her mouth off. He makes a face as she tosses it into the once empty laundry basket. They've spent all morning washing burp cloths and baby towels and whatever other linens the new arrival would be using soon. Both have been pretty adamant about making sure all the linens and baby clothes will be washed in baby-safe detergents before she (or he) makes an appearance.

And that day gets closer and closer. February 27th creeps up like the first frost at the end of fall. It'll be here before they know it. As of yesterday, she's twenty-five weeks, which leaves only 15 weeks before the baby comes.

"Slim to none." Jules shakes her head. Thank God twins don't run in her mom's side of the family. One baby is scary enough but two...? "Have to be some kind of divine intervention. We do not need twins. She's gonna keep us on our toes just fine on her own; she definitely doesn't need help."

He doesn't look close to convinced. "Boy and a girl. That's the dream right? Could give 'em those cheesy alliteration names. Bonnie and Buchanan Barnes. Most perfect kids ever." He narrowly avoids being hit by the pillow she launches at him. "All right, all right. I get it. My name sucks. Buchanan Barnes is a no."

"Hard no." Jules points out. She reminds him that the name doesn't suck, per se, it's just...not the best. "We want the kid to like us, Buck. If we name him Buchanan, he'll hate us forever."

He snorts. "Good thing we're having a girl then. Bonnie's a good name. If," he hesitates half a breath, "it fits her."

She hopes to God it does. The name grows on her more and more every day. A perfect memorial to the strong, wonderful woman who raised 3 kids on her own during the Great Depression. Bonnie May Winston-Barnes died in sometime in the early 1980s and she never got to know her son wasn't a casualty of war, but alive. Then again, Jules is thankful that the woman had made peace with his death in the 40s, rather than have to be burdened with the knowledge he'd been used as an assassinating puppet for 70 years, brain beaten and blended until he forgot James Barnes was ever a person at all.

"It'll fit." She assures him. It kinda breaks their rule of not choosing a name until they see the baby, but this feels like a special circumstance. It's not just a name, it's a tribute to his mother.

They'd been extremely close. Had to since his dad died not long after Bonnie fell pregnant with Gertrude. And even though his other sister, Hallie, had been a year older than him, he still helped raise her too. Based on his numerous retellings of his past and the way he acts now, Jules doesn't have a shadow of a doubt that he's going to be the best dad ever.

Now, her, on the other hand...

She doesn't have any prior experience with babies or kids. She never had younger siblings to care for. She never babysat at a part-time job. She doesn't work with kids. Each day, as her due date rolls closer, worry closes up in her throat like a bad allergy. She could be an awful mom. What the hell does she know about raising a kid anyway? What if she drops her on her head? Or pinches her diapers closed too tight? There's a billion and sixteen (and counting) ways she can mess up and each one has got her in a chokehold.