The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 65

Wakanda

Spring 2016

It was almost time.

And yet Bucky felt surprisingly...calm.

It was a disconcerting feeling, that was for sure.

Oh, he was still not looking forward to it, not by any means. The idea of being frozen again, even by his own choice? It turned his stomach, leaving him feeling cold and hot and his mind on the verge of slipping once again...but at the same time?

It left him feeling at peace.

He knew it was the right choice.

Especially after hearing Nina call him Dad.

Especially now that there was a genuine chance that his mind could actually be...that he could truly have...a future...

...perhaps even one with Iris...and his—his daughter...

By the time one of the Wakandan doctors had shown up to retrieve him for the procedure, conversation had ebbed and Nina had drifted off into a light sleep with her head on his shoulder.

To say he hadn't wanted to move in that moment was an understatement.

It had been a precious, surreal moment, to have her, his daughter, cuddled up next to him the way she might have if things had been different. The way she might have if he'd been a part of her life since the day she was born. He had never been more relieved than he had in that moment that events—and Nina's sharp mind—had conspired to defy his wish to keep who he was to Nina from her until after his programming was removed from his mind. If it hadn't, he wouldn't have had the precious moments with her on the Quinjet or here in the Wakandan science facility.

He wouldn't have seen her smile up at him. He wouldn't have had the chance to hug his child close before—

She never would've called him Dad...he had to force himself to inhale against the sudden surge of emotion pressing against his chest.

He still couldn't quite believe it was anything more than a dream, that it wasn't a cruel delusion conjured by his tattered mind to torment him with things he could never have; precious, beautiful gifts he shouldn't even deserve to wish for in his deepest heart of hearts after the horrific things he'd done.

That she genuinely wanted him in her life? That she wanted to acknowledge him as her father? To actually call him Dad? He couldn't entirely wrap his head around it. She shouldn't want anything to do with him. Not knowing who he was and the horrific things he'd done. Not knowing how very real the danger he posed to her was.

And yet she did.

What was more, she'd been nervous, even afraid, about his reaction when she'd slipped and called him that. As if...as if he might not want her to. The hesitation on her face, the almost longing light in her eyes. That she wanted to call him that?

If he hadn't already lost his heart to the slight blonde—his daughter, he still marvelled—the moment she'd first looked him in the eye, the first moment he'd sheltered her in his arms, in that moment he would've been utterly lost. He simply couldn't conceive of loving her more.

And he barely knew her. Just as she barely knew him.

Yet, in that moment? There had been nothing he'd wanted more than for her to openly acknowledge that he was her father. He hadn't been able to breathe for the joy that had spread across her beautiful features, his chest feeling so tight that he'd barely been able to rasp out the words.