TORI

I hang the last curtain in James's nursery as Steve finishes building the crib. Light grays and blues fill the room, creating a nice place for a newborn. It's complete with the crib, changing table, chair, bookshelf, and so many other necessities that are hidden away neatly in the closet or in drawers. My due date is in six weeks, so we're pushed for time. I'm already feeling minor Braxton Hicks, and that is just making me think that we aren't going to have as much time as we think we do. Even though we are more than prepared with a hospital bag ready as well as the car seat in the car, it's still extremely nerve racking. Then again, no seems as nervous and panicked as Steve.

Steven has been the same way throughout the entire pregnancy — making sure that I'm okay every four seconds, being even more protective than we has beforehand (if that's even possible), and just being a worried future dad. He wants to be sure that every little thing is ready before I go into labor and James is born. He knows that I'm okay now because I couldn't possibly go into preterm labor based off of what the midwife and everyone else has been saying, but he can't keep the thought away and neither can I.

"I think we're done here," Steve breathes out, setting his hands on his hips as he proudly scans the room for any last minute things to do. The crib is set up and there is a stockpile of diapers, clothes, and other things that are enough for ten children, so there definitely isn't anything else extremely important.

"I agree," I sigh, brushing a lock of hair off my face and behind my ear. "Now we're just missing James."

"And my sanity," Steve smiles.

"That has been gone for a while now, so it's a lost cause."

Steve scoffs, shaking his head at me. "Well, you aren't wrong," he says. He steps over towards me, quickly pecking a kiss on to my forehead. "It's like how Tony says the best people are lunatics,'" Steve recalls, smiling at the memories. "If anyone knows what it's like to be insane, it's you. You've had to deal with him and me."

"Hey! I've dealt with you by choice," I remark. "We're all a little bit crazy though."

"You're welcome," Steve smiles cheekily.

I roll my eyes, taking my phone out of my pocket to check the time. It is almost noon, so Tony should be getting here soon. He claims that he hasn't visited in a while, even though he came over for dinner last week. I think he just wants an excuse to escape all of the missions and work he has been focusing on. There are always cuts and bruises when I see him after he's been on missions. Granted, he is quite accident-prone and always has been, but he wasn't getting punched all the time back then. That isn't true either, but oh well.

"You okay?" Steve asks me, brushing his hair out of his face.

"Hm?" I hum. I glance over at him, and raise an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, I'm good."

Steve nods. His bright blue orbs scan the room, and he is obviously still musing. "I still can't believe it," he mumbles, a cute half-smile spreading across his lips.

"Can't believe what?" I ask him. I take a step towards my husband and find his hand, interwinding my fingers with his.

"I'm really hoping that was a rhetorical question," he scoffs.

I smile, resting my head on his broad shoulder. I know what he's talking about. He is having difficulty believing that this is all real. There is probably more than just that, but those are the basics. I'm still having a hard time thinking about it all, even though I'm the one carrying the child.

"Just six more weeks," I smile. "Just six."

Steve smiles back, kissing my forehead tenderly.

I hear a knock on the front door, and it echoes through the house.

"That must be your brother," Steve says.

"He who doesn't acknowledge the existence of doorbells," I add.

We step down the stairs, and I swing the door open to let him in. I'm engulfed into one of the usual hugs that my brother always gives — long, painful, yet joyful. My large stomach prevents him from squeezing me too much, but not enough.

"Can't breathe," I wheeze.

Tony just loosens his grip a little bit and kisses my cheek in response. "How's little James Anthony?"

"A pain, like usual," I respond.

Tony springs to Steve, enveloping my husband in a bone-crushing hug. "Hello, brother-in-law," Tony greets.

"Hi, brother-in-law," Steve replies. "Please let go of me."

"Oh, yeah, right," Tony mumbles, letting Steve go. "Soooo, lemme see the nursery."

"We literally just finished, so—" I'm cut off by my brother sprinting up the stairs and to the bedroom. I roll my eyes, listening to him squeal with excitement. I make eye contact with Steve, grins tugging the corners of our mouths. We glide up the stairs to see Tony, who stares with his mouth agape at the nursery.

"This is awesome, guys!" he exclaims, whipping around to face us. "So everything is ready?"

"Yep," I smile.

Tony nods. "Well now you just have to wait until you pop the kid out."

"Which is taking forever," I groan, running a hand through my hair.

Steve crosses his arms, staring down at the floor. He seems a little bit stressed out (like always), but then again he seems to be all right at the same time.

I set my hand on his shoulder. He turns to face me, a smile tugging at the corners of his pink lips. He pecks a sweet kiss on my forehead, pulling me into a side hug next to him. His thumb traces random shapes on to my side as he rests his cheek on the top of my head. We both watch Tony geek out about the room, squealing and awing at everything in sight.

"You guys," he squeaks, clasping his hands together as he turns around to face us. "This is adorable."

"Thanks," I grin.

Steve gives him a quick nod, still smiling.

"So, how's Captain Hook, Capsicle?" Tony asks my husband with a smirk on his face.

"You mean Bucky, right?" Steve asks. "He's good. He's enjoying it here. Won't stop calling me and asking about James."

"How much longer until little James Anthony enters the world?" Tony inquires, his gaze shifting to me.

"Six weeks approximately," I reply. "I thought that you would have a timer or something counting down every second."

"Oh believe me, I do. It's just that I wanted to make sure that it was still accurate."

"Oh joy," I scoff.

Tony sways on his heels, staring at a fixed point on the floor. He wants to say something, something not so good. "I-I-I actually didn't want to come here to talk about that kind of stuff," he mumbles, running his fingers through his hair.

"What do you want to talk about then?" I ask him suspiciously. I worriedly play with my hands. There are so many thoughts going through my mind — what could he be meaning?

"L-Let's go downstairs," he says.

Steve and I share anxious glances. He takes my hand as we make our way down the staircase, squeezing it reassuringly. I can sense the worry radiating off him. He's scared, mostly because he doesn't know why Tony is being dramatic and over what. But whatever it is, it must not be good.

We all sit in the living room. The color from Tony's face has drained, and he presses his temples from stress.

"Why did they force me to tell you?" he mutters under his breath.

"What was that?" I question.

Tony glances up to look at Steve and me. The excited grin that was once on his face has faded into a frown, and the happiness in his eyes has vanished. "The UN, Steve....." His voice trails off. He obviously doesn't want to tell us something.

"'Steve' what?" my husband asks him. Steve leans attentively towards Tony, his eyebrows furrowed together with confusion. "What is it, Tony?"

My brother instantly looks up at us from the floor, his eyes widened with horror. "Please don't kill me for this. Please don't. It's not my fault."

"Spit it out, Anthony," I growl, growing impatient.

"The UN needs Steve for a mission," Tony says. His voice is barely audible, but the words still came out.

Steve leans back into the sofa, his eyes widening. "Hell no."

"Steve—"

"No," he spits to my flustered brother. "There is no way that you're making me go out on a mission. Not now. You have to understand."

"I do, but I'm not the one calling orders."

"Tony." Steve hides his face in his hands, sighing and shaking his head. He's so frustrated, and he's just waiting to burst. He manages to control some of his anger, glancing up to Tony without a trace of rage. "Can you just tell them my situation? Our situation?"

Tony gulps. "They already know. They have known, but they aren't taking no for an answer."

"Yes they are," Steve hisses. He stands up from the sofa, stomping away. I seize his wrist just before he can go too far. He whips around to face me. The ire in his veneer disintegrates, leaving him with a hurt and soft expression when he looks at me.

"Honey," I whisper.

He doesn't listen. He wrangles his hand from my fingertips, breathing heavily. "You know why. You know every single reason why I need to stay behind," he trembles, shaking his head slowly at me. "I can't risk anything. You know that he's coming soon, in six weeks or less."

"Or more," I correct. "It's just an estimate, and it can go on for a shorter or longer amount of time than said. Plus, I don't think he's coming out any time soon. There's nothing to be worried about, Steven."

"I have every right to be concerned. Six weeks, Victoria. Six. Weeks. That's not very long. And if he decides to stay any longer than that, that's probably seven or eight weeks. And how long will this mission last, Stark?" Steve glares at Tony, waiting for an answer.

"I-I-I— it all depends on what—" Tony stutters.

"Exactly," Steve fumes. "It could be for a week or seven. It doesn't specify how long. For all I know, I could miss everything. Or even worse, I could di—"

"Don't you dare," I hiss. My hands are shaking, and I don't know what I'm doing. Everything is just spinning and twirling into a swirl of emotions. He's not going to die out there. He's stupid sometimes, but not that stupid. My voice is quavering, and tears are threatening to spill. "Don't you even consider the slight possibility of that happening."

"I'm just stating the facts, and you know it," Steve replies. He sighs, crossing his arms. He stares into my eyes with his melancholic blue ones, trying to hold back his feelings. He might be the cold and strict Captain America, but he's also Steve Rogers. My Steve Rogers. He is aware of this, that he can't be the man everyone makes him out to be all the time; however, he has been like that a lot recently, meaning he has to return to that character, even if it's only for a little while.

I reach out to gently set my hand on the side of his arm to calm him. He realizes this and makes eye contact with Tony.

"How long?" he asks him.

"As short as you want," Tony says in a soft voice. "I'll make some arrangements."