Bucky Barnes — Infertility

The apartment was quiet.

Not the comfortable kind of quiet.

Not the peaceful kind.

The suffocating kind.

The kind that settled into the walls and lingered in the corners long after a conversation had ended.

Bucky sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at absolutely nothing.

A half-empty mug of coffee sat forgotten beside him, long since gone cold. The overhead light cast tired shadows across his face, emphasizing every line, every crease, every sign of age that seemed to appear more frequently these days.

He hated thinking about age.

For decades, age had meant nothing.

HYDRA had frozen him, thawed him, frozen him again. Years had passed while he remained physically unchanged. Entire generations had grown old and died while he remained trapped in the same body.

Now, for the first time in his life, he felt every single year.

Every lost decade.

Every stolen moment.

Every reminder that he wasn't the man he used to be.

The doctor's words continued to echo in his head despite the appointment having ended hours ago.

"It's not uncommon."

"There are options available."

"Age can be a factor."

"The procedures HYDRA subjected you to likely complicated things further."

Complicated.

Such a simple word.

Such a devastating one.

Bucky let out a bitter laugh.

Complicated.

As if decades of torture, experimentation, cryogenic suspension, and having his entire life ripped apart could ever be described by something so small.

His jaw tightened.

His fingers curled around the coffee mug.

Then loosened again before the ceramic cracked beneath the strength of his metal hand.

He'd survived wars.

Assassinations.

Brainwashing.

Nightmares that still woke him in the middle of the night drenched in sweat.

Yet somehow this—

This stupid, human thing—

Had managed to leave him feeling completely helpless.

Because for the first time, the future he'd allowed himself to imagine suddenly felt fragile.

Dangerously fragile.

The sound of the apartment door unlocking pulled him from his thoughts.

His shoulders immediately stiffened.

You were home.

Normally, hearing you return would have brought an unconscious smile to his face. He would've stood up, crossed the room, wrapped an arm around your waist, pressed a kiss against your temple.

Today he couldn't move.

He simply sat there.

Silent.

Staring at the table.

The weight of what he'd learned pressing against his chest like a vice.

Because he knew the conversation was coming.

He knew he couldn't hide it forever.

And despite everything he'd survived, despite every battle he'd fought, despite every monster he'd faced—

Nothing had ever terrified him quite as much as the possibility of looking you in the eyes and feeling like he wasn't enough.

Not after everything you'd already sacrificed to love a man like him.

The sound of your footsteps grew closer.

Bucky swallowed hard.

His throat suddenly felt tight.

For a long moment, he remained perfectly still before finally lifting his head.

The exhaustion in his blue eyes was impossible to miss.

"Hey, doll..."

His voice came out rough.

Unsteady.

Almost breaking.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the paperwork sitting on the table before returning to you.

And for the first time in a very long time, the former Winter Soldier looked completely lost.

"I think..."

He stopped.

Tried again.

His fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the table.

"I think we need to talk."

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