The sharp pop of water hitting the tile snapped Bucky out of his half-asleep daze. He was in the kitchen, sipping lukewarm tea, the moonlight pooling across the counters. Your voice followed half a beat later - small, shaky, and laced with disbelief.

“Bucky…”

He turned instantly, eyes narrowing as he took in the scene: you standing just outside the bathroom, pajama shirt clinging to your rounded belly, a growing puddle at your feet.

“I think my water just broke.” You said, voice quivering, half-laughing from sheer panic.

For a second, he didn’t move. Then-

“Shit.”

He dropped the mug - it clattered safely into the sink and was by your side in three long strides. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure whether to lift you, brace you, or just breathe. You’d never seen him look so unsure.

“You okay? Are- are you hurting? Do you need to sit? Lay down? God, do we have a bag packed?”

You laughed through the tremble in your chest, reaching for his arm and gripping tight. “We’ve had a bag packed for two months, Buck.”

“Right. Right, yeah. Hospital. Baby. You.”

He moved automatically then, voice muttering a checklist under his breath as he guided you to sit on the couch, kneeling in front of you with both hands on your knees. His eyes searched yours like he was memorizing your face, anchoring himself.

“Hey.” He said gently, brushing damp hair from your cheek. “We’re okay. I’m here. We’re gonna meet our baby.”

Your eyes welled with tears - not from fear, but from something far deeper. Love. The kind that made your chest ache. “I’m scared.” You whispered.

“I know.” Bucky said, voice low and steady. “But I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

He kissed your knuckles, one by one, then stood to gather the bags. As he moved, you could hear him muttering again - something about car keys and timing contractions - but his hands were sure now, focused.