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Steve Rogers was Bucky Barnes’ first kiss.
Of course, they had been 12, and Bucky’s braces had caught on Steve’s lips and they had needed to call Steve’s mom to come separate them. Steve had burst into tears and apologized to his mother, and Bucky had run all the way home as soon as her face was no longer stuck on Steve’s. Steve insisted that it hadn’t counted, and they went back to being best friends as easily as if it had never happened.
Steve Rogers wasn’t Bucky Barnes’ second kiss.
She had been 14 and at a party, a freshman in a sea of upperclassmen; trying to act older than she was. She had dragged Steve along with her, and he scowled petulantly the whole time. They had been thrown into a game of Truth or Dare, and Bucky ended up necking with Natasha Romanoff. She had been nervous, Natasha’s wicked red smirk and curly red hair making her stomach flip. She had tasted like vodka and cherries, and smelled spicy and sweet and everything about her made Bucky’s head spin. The kiss started as a dare, but quickly fell into something deeper, something dangerous. Bucky’s awkward virginal fumblings met eagerly with Natasha’s sharp teeth and tongue and lips. They had only broken apart when they were met with wolf-whistles and unflattering yells of the surrounding party-goers. When Bucky looked around, Steve was gone.
The first time she and Steve had sex, they were 16. They had been dancing around each other for too long, the tension between them nearly palpable, and Bucky had been tired of ignoring it. She had kissed Steve. She had kissed him while they were in the middle of an argument about something completely inconsequential, and he had continued to argue his point even as their lips met, even as he began to kiss her back.
They had fallen into bed together, Bucky stripping off Steve’s shirt and smoothing her palms over his skinny chest, kissing his stomach when he blushed all the way to his belly button and tried to cover himself. She threw off her own shirt and he had sat up, fumbling at his nightstand for the box of condoms he kept there, stammering that his mom had made him buy them, and they worked together, trying to figure out how to get one on.
When they had finally succeeded, Bucky climbed on top and lowered herself on him, groaning in time with Steve. They were awkward, and all-consumed with each other, and Steve had an asthma attack halfway through. Bucky had stopped and dove for Steve’s inhaler and she had rubbed his back and they laughed when it was over, the kind of laughter that ends with sore stomachs and tear-streaked cheeks.
They hadn’t gotten around to finishing the act, but it was perfect in it’s own right, and it was everything Bucky could have hoped for and more.
But now, three years later, Bucky is thinking back on the last handful of times she and Steve have had sex, wondering which time they had fucked up, which time had they done it wrong? They were always careful, though they tended to be stupid in the heat of the moment. She can’t remember if they had ever forgotten a condom, or if one had ever broken.
She goes over the past month of sex like a coach going over past gameplay as she holds the stupid piece of plastic in her hand, waiting for it to tell her if she was totally screwed or not. Her knee bounces anxiously where she’s sitting on the toilet lid, staring down at the test like she can intimidate it into being negative.
As if to spite her, a little pink plus appears.
“Fuck.” She breathes, grabbing the second box and ripping it open, pulling out the second pregnancy test to pee on it, just to prove the first one wrong.
Two water bottles and 3 positive tests later, Bucky has spent about 20 minutes in the bathroom, and has been crying for about half of that. She's just sitting on the floor, holding her knees.
There’s a tentative knock at the door, and a soft voice. “Hey, Buck? You okay?”
It's Steve. Steve, who knocked her up. Steve, who she loves more than anything. Steve, who’s worried.
“Yeah, just, uh, not feeling so hot.” Bucky says, wiping at her cheeks. It's not a lie, and believable, because Bucky’s been puking every morning for the past week.
“O-okay. Just, y’know, holler if you need anything.” Steve says, and Bucky rests her cheek against the cool wood of the door, wanting Steve to hold her.
She’s only a sophmore in college. She has her whole life ahead of her. She and Steve aren’t married, and part of her is worried about him rejecting her for this, about him leaving. The rest of her know that’s stupid, that Steve would never do something like that. That Steve will support her no matter what she decides to do.
She’s nineteen, for god’s sake. This isn’t the 1940’s. That’s too young to have a baby.
And yet-
And yet, she finds herself wanting. She’s never really thought of herself as much of a mother, but she can’t help but think of a tiny baby with blue eyes and blonde hair, a little thing that looks like Steve and her. Physical proof of their love. A whole entire person that’s theirs. Someone they can love and shape.She thinks of Steve as a father, thinks of him holding their baby, of him kissing their baby. She thinks of Sarah Rogers, how excited she’ll be to have a grandbaby before the cancer consumes her.
She thinks of her own parents, how disappointed they’ll be. How they’ve never liked Steve, how they’ve never that her that much either. How this might be the last straw for them, how this could finally be what make them disown her. If disowning is even a thing people do anymore. She thinks of the disapproving stares of her classmates as she grows bigger, more obviously pregnant.
Christ almighty, she’s pregnant.
What is she supposed to do?
She cleans herself up, stuffs the positive tests in her sweatshirt pocket, and rips up the boxes until they’re unrecognizable and throws them away. She leaves the bathroom and curls up on the couch next to Steve, who looks concerned but doesn’t say anything, bless him. They watch needlessly violent movies until it’s dark out and order in some Mexican food. Bucky wants to drown her sorrows in queso.
The next day, she calls Natasha.
She and Natasha had a quick, ill-advised high school romance that ended amicably enough. They had remained close friends, and Bucky always calls her when she needs good, pragmatic advice.
“Barnes?” She answers and Bucky smiles, glad to hear her voice.
“Romanoff.” Bucky responds on auto-pilot.
“What’s wrong?” She asks immediately, and Bucky bites her lip.
“I-” Bucky starts, then stops. She doesn’t want to say it out loud. Saying out loud would make it permanent.
“Is it your parents? Did Steve do something? I swear, I will fly down from Moscow kick any ass I need to.” Her tone is sharp and tears well in Bucky’s eyes.
“I’m pregnant!” She yells, earning sharp looks from the other patrons of the Starbucks she’s sitting in
There’s silence on the other end of the line as Natasha processes. “Like, with a baby?” Comes her rather dumbfounded reply.
“No, Natasha, with an alien lifeform!” Bucky whisper-shouts harshly. “Of course, with a baby!”
“Huh.” Natasha says, completely unhelpfully.
“I don’t know what to do.” Bucky whines, sipping her tea with disgust. She hates being pregnant already. She misses coffee.
“I’d ask your baby-daddy.” Natasha tells her, smirk evident in her voice.
“You’re no help whatsoever.” Bucky complains.
“Make sure to name your baby after me!” says Natasha cheerfully before hanging up.
Bucky bangs her head against the sticky table. She hates her life.
In the end, Bucky doesn't say anything. That night, Steve asks her what’s wrong and she simply bursts into tears and shoves the pee sticks at Steve. He takes them in astonishment and abruptly pales.
“You-you’re…” he trails off and looks at Bucky’s stomach, as if expecting a baby to burst through it like the alien from Alien.
He sits down hard on the couch and looks up at Bucky. Bucky sits down next to him and draws her knees up to her chest. He looks between her and the tests, as if he’s trying to solve a complex equation in his head. Finally he looks at her and takes her hand.
“What, um. What do you want to do?” He asks softly, no pressure in his voice, no judgment.
“I don't know.” She whispers, and he puts an arm around her shoulders and she leans against his thin chest.
“That's okay.” He murmurs against her hair. “We don't have to make any decisions just yet.”
They fall asleep like that, Bucky clutching Steve and Steve clutching the pregnancy tests. She wakes up a few hours later with a crick in her neck and Steve’s hand resting on her stomach. It's almost 3 in the morning.
“Steve,” she whispers, placing her hand over his. “Steve, wake up."
Steve jerks awake with a snort. “Wha-” he looks around. His glasses are askew and he has drool on his chin and his hair looks like it went through a small tropical storm. He’s the most beautiful things she's ever seen.
“Let’s do this.” She tells him and he looks at her with dawning comprehension.
“You mean-” he asks and she grins.
“Let's have this motherfucking baby.”
Natasha tells Clint who tells Sam who tells Sharon who tells Maria who tells Pepper who tells Tony. Tony throws a fit about not being the first to know and demands to plan their baby shower.
“Tony we really weren't planning on-” Steve started, but Tony cut him off, waving his arms wildly.
“Of course you weren't, Rogers! That what you have me around for! I mean we have to have a party for Baby Barnes!”
“Ohmygod” Bucky grouses from where she’s sitting on the floor of the bathroom. Steve is holding her hair back from her face.
Steve took to being Bucky’s nurse like a fish takes to pavement. It's been the other way around since they were about 6 years old. Steve is awkward and halting, but he’s slowly getting better at it.
Bucky grabs the phone from Steve and growls, “Anthony Edward Stark, if you don't shut the fuck up, I will take your manhood from you.”
There’s silence on the other line, followed by a dial tone.
She hands the phone back to Steve and leans back into the toilet to vomit again. Steve winces and pats her back.
They have a meeting with a doctor later that week and a lunch with Steve’s mom the day after.
Bucky’s dreading both. She hate the gynecologist and is worried about the little cluster of cells growing inside her. She’s also worried about how Mama Rogers would take the news.
Apparently her fears were unfounded. Sarah Rogers greeted them with literal open arms. After Steve’s uncomfortable explanation, Sarah batted her son about the head for being stupid and impregnating Bucky. Then she offered Bucky another hug and patted her stomach and asked all sorts of medical professional questions, then some grandmotherly questions.
The doctor’s checkup went fine. He said that both Bucky and the baby were on track for a healthy pregnancy. Bucky had glowered at him, but Steve wrote now everything he said about what she is and isn’t supposed to eat, what kind of vitamins she should be taking, how normal development works and what not to freak out over. Dr. Banner had a soothing voice and personality, but Bucky made sure to hold a personal grudge against any doctor that touched her vulva.
At two months, Baby Barnes is the size of a blueberry and Bucky finally stops puking every morning. At 12 weeks, it’s the size of a lime and Bucky starts to visibly show. At week 18, it’s the size of a potato and is kicking Bucky like a little soccer player. At 20 weeks, they find out that Baby Barnes is a little girl (and also the size of an artichoke). Steve cries. Bucky pretends not to.
On the Wednesday of week twenty, Steve brings Bucky a carton of Chubby Hubby ice cream, which is nothing new. Steve has a carton of Americone Dream for himself, and Bucky’s happily noticed the sympathy weight Steve’s been putting on since she broke the news. They’re doing their essays for Erskine’s biogenetics class when Bucky bites into something hard. She gasps at the pain in her tooth and immediately starts choking. Steve jumps to his feet but seems unsure of what to do. Bucky coughs and coughs, banging at her chest with her fist. Finally, she spits out what had been blocking her airways.
It was small, and when she wiped the saliva and ice cream off of it, Bucky saw that it was shiny.
A simple silver band that had “ til the end of the line” etched on the inside.
“Steve-” She says and looks up at him. He’s red-faced and still fretting, apologizing profusely. Bucky turns the ring over in her hands and watches how it catches the light.
“Dammit, it was supposed to be more romantic than this…” Steve muttered, bending down. His joints creak and pop as he gets on one knee. Bucky puts her ice cream down and hands the ring back to Steve so he can give whatever heart-felt speech he’s planning on giving.
“Jamie Buchanan Barnes.” He starts, and oh god, Bucky’s already crying. “I’ve known I wanted to marry you since I was six years old and saw you throwing sand at Jack Rollins for pulling your hair.” Steve coughs, obviously trying to keep himself together. “You’re my best friend. I can’t think if anyone else in the world I would have rather impregnated.” He says, and Bucky laughs. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, and you’re the first and only person I’ve ever loved. I can’t wait to start a family with you.” He smiles at her, then frowns, reaching for his pocket. He grabs a crumpled up piece of paper and scans it, then looks back up at Bucky. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” He says.
“You idiot.” Bucky sighs. “You forgot to ask me.”
“Oh!” Steve says, and drops the paper. “Will you marry me?”
“Sure.” Bucky says, and laughs at Steve as he squawks in mock outrage. She pulls him to his feet and they embrace.
They get married on week 25 (when the baby is as big as an acorn squash). It’s a small ceremony, Bucky wearing her favorite blue dress and Steve wearing the tux he wore when he took her to prom. Sarah is there with her oxygen tank, and the courtroom judge gives them all a weary look before declaring them married.
Being married doesn’t change a thing about their relationship. Sure, they’ve both added a hyphen to their last names, and sure, Bucky takes every chance she gets to call Steve her husband. But other than the little things, it doesn’t seem like they did it at all.
On week 33, when the baby is about the size of a pineapple, Stark throws them a baby shower. It extravagant and excessive, and Stark took it upon himself to personally buy everything on their registry. Everyone “ooh”s and “ahh”s at their wedding rings, although they do get their fill of butthurt expressions over not being invited. They feast on cake and Steve shows everyone the latest ultrasound pictures while Bucky shows everyone the beautiful designs Steve had painted on the wall of the nursery.
Bucky’s water breaks while they’re playing Call of Duty. She jolts a little in surprise but makes sure to snipe her remaining target before pausing the game and telling Steve. Steve drains of color and whips out his phone to call Sam, because Sam has a car.
Sam gets there in record time, and he and Steve urgently rush Bucky into the back seat of the tiny little Jetta that Sam drives. Bucky has her first contraction on the way there, shouting in pain and gripping Steve’s arm so tight it probably bruises. They get caught in traffic, and Sam nervously swerves between cars while Bucky curses. She has never hated living in New York City more than in this moment.
Finally, they make it to the hospital. Steve is yelling for a doctor before they reach the door, and what looks like a SWAT team of people in scrubs descend on her like angels of death. They whisk Bucky off to some room, and suddenly Dr. Banner is there, all soothing tones and curly hair. She asks for Steve and he’s there by her side, drowning in green scrubs that are far too big for him. She curses at him, spits every nasty word she knows for knocking her up, for being so damned irresistible, for having potent enough sperm to do this at her. He just smiles and nods, reminding her to breathe.
Eight hours of horrible, agonizing pain later, she is holding a tiny wailing human in her hands.
“Shush, baby.” She murmurs, and the baby quiets, blinking up at her as if surprised she could speak. Bucky laughs at her, then leans down to rub their noses together. The little thing coos happily and grabs at her hair. Bucky is in love.
She looks up at Steve, who’s face is a mask of the adoration that Bucky is feeling.
“Hey,” She says, holding up the baby. “Look what we did.
The baby goes down on record as Rosalind Sarah Barnes-Rogers. She’s 7.3 pounds, has blue eyes and little wisps of dark brown hair. She’s got Bucky’s chin and Steve’s jawline and she’s absolutely perfect.