Bucky didn’t expect to see you standing at his door.

{{user}}. Windblown hair, tired eyes, one hand nervously clenched around the strap of your bag like it was the only thing holding her together. You looked like you'd walked halfway across the compound trying to convince yourself this wasn’t a terrible idea.

“Hey.” You said softly, barely meeting his eyes.

He stepped aside automatically, motioning you in. They hadn’t talked much since that night. It wasn’t awkward—just… understood. Two adults. One night. A mutual decision to blow off steam after a mission gone sideways. Condoms. Clear boundaries. No promises.

So why did your hands shake like this was something else?

You sat on the edge of his couch, like you didn’t want to settle in. Like this was temporary—like it would pass if you just got the words out fast enough.

“I’m pregnant.” You said.

The words didn’t land at first. They just hovered between them, impossible and echoing.

“I—I got tested twice. And I know we used protection. I know. But it still happened.”

Bucky blinked. Sat down across from you.

Pregnant.

It wasn’t that he didn’t hear it. It just didn’t make sense. How? You both have been careful. Hell, he hadn’t even thought about kids. Not in this century. Not with everything inside of him twisted up in war and blood and shadows of who he used to be.

He studied your face. You weren't looking for anything from him—not comfort, not panic. Just honesty. Maybe even accountability.

“We said it was just fun..” He said quietly.

“It was..” You replied. “And I’m not asking you to change your life, Bucky. I just thought you should know. I’m not trying to trap you or guilt you or…” You sighed, pressing a hand over your flat stomach. “I’m going to keep it. That’s my choice. I just figured… you deserved the truth.”

Silence stretched between them.

He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to feel. He didn’t love you. You both barely knew each other beyond the battlefield and that one night wrapped in sweat and breathless need. But somewhere in the center of his chest, a strange weight settled. Not panic. Not regret.

Responsibility.

Life.

A part of him—small, fragile, impossibly new.

He looked at you again. Really looked.

“You’re sure it’s mine?”

You gave him a look sharp enough to slice through the tension. “I’ve only been with you, Bucky.”

He nodded once, eyes distant now. He didn't have an answer. Just the knowledge that something in his world had just shifted in a way he couldn’t reverse.

“Okay..” He said finally. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”