Captain America Bucky Barnes Winter Soldier Steve Rogers Fan Fic - The Constant

Chapter One Hundred & Four: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But ...

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Words Can No Longer Hurt Me

"Bloody men," you say loudly to yourself as you hit the steering wheel. It is 9.30am. You are already too warm, fat, and uncomfortable. You are meant to be meeting Steve and Bucky around ten and you have Bucky's newly repaired truck which has just stopped at the side of the road and refused to start again.

You count to ten and try to start the engine but there is nothing, not even a whine. You know from experience it has died and you won't get it started again. Not until Bucky has tinkered with it.

You are about five miles from Steve's old apartment – you think - which is where you need to meet them. Steve is finally moving the last of his things out and into the new house before handing the keys over to the new occupier. You were not supposed to be involved but Steve phoned this morning to say he miscalculated and that not all his things are going to fit in the van they have hired. You agreed to drive Bucky's truck over for the remaining items. To be honest you didn't mind as it got you out of the house but now...now you feel fractious and bad-tempered. It was all you could do to fit the bump of your stomach behind the steering wheel and it is turning into a very warm day.

You get out of the truck and find your phone but as you hold it up those magic words appear: No Service. No, there wouldn't be would there. That would be too much to hope for.

You have never been to Steve's apartment or, in fact, this side of New York. You look around. The area is built up. You ferret out the instructions Bucky wrote and look at the paper. It has written instructions and he had even a drawn a map. The only problem is you can never read either man's writing. It is pretty illegible and makes little sense.

You take out your bag, lock the truck, blow air through your bangs and turn to waddle down the street. You are ten days away from the date of your caesarian and you feel huge.

You begin walking, looking at the instructions as you go. You think you have it figured out and you should be there probably in about an hour. They will just have to wait. Maybe you could hail a taxi, but then looking around you don't think that is going to be a possibility. The area you are in is quiet, residential, with barely anyone around. From time to time you try your phone but it still says No Service. You thought in today's world everyone can contact anyone with a push of a button. Technology hates you though, and you should have known that by now.

You keep walking. Keep waddling.

*

"Look, all I'm saying is that you don't need to keep those."

"Yes...I do," Steve takes the sketchbooks out of Bucky's hand and puts them back in the box. "Don't push me on this," he grumbles and Bucky can't help but feel warm inside. Steve had kept all of Bucky's old sketches from college and even now will not part with them.

"Well, all I'm saying is you don't have to."

Steve stops what he's doing. They stayed at the apartment last night packing up the last of his things. He thought he had hardly anything left, but it is surprising how possessions build up. They had ordered in a Chinese and eaten sat on the floor, with cold beers and a bag of plums (one of Bucky's favourites) to accompany their food. And they had talked. At first about nothing but then about the future.

They both have a future. They are both going to be fathers – and it terrifies them.

"What if....?" they kept saying, and in the end Steve had laughed. "Listen to us will you. We've fought off aliens, saved the planet at least twice, been through god only knows what and now we're panicking over what to do with...with babies!"