Bucky Barnes stood in the middle of the brightly colored daycare room, his arms full of his squirming little girl, {{user}}, who had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck like a koala. Her curls were wild from the ride over, her small backpack with cartoon characters dangling from one arm, forgotten in the chaos of drop-off.

“I don’t wanna stay, Daddy,” she whimpered, burying her face into the crook of his neck. “Please don’t go.”

Bucky sighed softly, brushing his metal hand over her back. He hated this part. Missions? Fine. Fighting aliens? Sure. But this—leaving his baby girl when she looked at him like her whole world was ending—was torture.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, swaying her gently in his arms. “But I gotta go to work, and you’re gonna have so much fun here. Remember the play kitchen? And Miss Carla? You told me she sings songs with you.”