Thunderbolts HQ, for all its weaponized elegance, had never seen chaos quite like this. Not when Walker threw chairs. Not even when Yelena threatened to redecorate the place in “Russian goth chic.” No—this was chaos of a different kind. Real, raw, human.

The lights were dim, casting gold halos across the room. Outside, New York’s skyline blinked through the reinforced glass. Inside, the team was sprawled in sleep—Bob snoring under a throw pillow, Yelena half-passed out in an armchair, one boot off. Alexei was asleep upright at the dining table, surrounded by open parenting books he swore weren’t for him. Even Stanley the tuxedo cat was curled on the back of the sofa, snoring lightly.

Bucky’s wife stirred.

Not violently. Just enough.

The cramp had changed—deeper now. A pressure that radiated across her spine and wrapped around her ribs. She breathed through it. Counted. Waited. Another came, stronger. She gently nudged Bucky.

“I think it’s time. Real time.”

He sat up like he’d been launched. “You’re in labor?!”

“They’re five minutes apart. I waited to be sure.”

“You’re too calm.”

“I was playing board games two hours ago,” she said, standing slowly. “Let’s not overreact.”

Unfortunately, Alexei never got that memo.

He snapped awake, saw her upright, and shouted something in Russian that sounded both triumphant and panicked—then slapped the emergency alarm. Again.

Alarms blared.

Bob jolted upright and tripped over Monopoly. Yelena sat bolt straight. “Why is everything loud?!”

“She’s in labor!” Bucky whisper-shouted.

“She’s just sitting there,” Yelena said, staring.

“I am in labor,” she confirmed. “But yes, I’m calm.”

Alexei roared, “I told you she was close! Boil water! Get towels! Alert the med bay!”

“No one boil anything,” Bucky said.

“Too late,” Bob muttered. “He’s already got a pot on.”

Yelena shoved a bag into Bucky’s arms. “Hospital bag. Pre-packed. You’re welcome.”

“There’s a playlist in there,” she added.

“You made a playlist?” Bucky blinked.

“I’m not pushing this baby out to silence.”

John Walker peeked in, half-awake. “Wait. Is this now?”

“Yes,” she said. “Not now-now. But it’s coming.”

Ava appeared in the hallway, eyes sharp. “She’s extremely calm for someone in labor.”

“She timed them before waking me,” Bucky muttered. “Like a lunatic.”

“I’m methodical,” she replied with a smirk.

Stanley leapt off the back of the couch and trotted toward the door, tail high. Yelena bent to scratch behind his ears. “Even cat is ready. Let’s go.”

Red Guardian reappeared in a robe, wielding a spatula. “I am prepared to deliver child.”

“Nope,” Bucky said. “Absolutely not.”

He moved quickly, helping his wife into her coat, gripping her hand like it tethered him to reality. She paused mid-step, resting her forehead to his chest, breathing through another contraction.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m good. Just… ready.”

He kissed her knuckles. “Let’s go have a baby.”