Chapter Text
Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve saw Natasha go suddenly still. In of itself, this wasn't unusual, but the tension that now radiated from her, was.
“Everything alright?” his hands were blackened with charcoal from where he sat sketching in the window and so he reached for a cloth to wipe his hands clean, frown marring his brow when Natasha remained silent, eyes fixed on her computer screen.
“Where's James?” she asked when she finally spoke, and Steve frowned, glancing at the ring on his finger out of habit, wondering if his husband had managed to get himself in trouble again.
“Shooting range with Clint.” Natasha was on her feet in an instant, discarding the computer and heading for the elevator. Steve followed immediately, pausing when he caught sight of the computer screen. It was an email from Coulson and it only took a moment of his eyes flicking over the dates presented on the birth certificate, adoption records, and death certificate for Steve to figure out just what all this evidence could mean. His eyes widened in surprise before he was off, knowing Bucky would need him when he heard the news. His heart clenched with the pain he knew his partner was about to feel, but he knew better than to think Bucky wouldn't want to know. He arrived on the range moments after Natasha did, but it was just in time to watch the hope in Bucky's eyes shatter from Natasha's next words;
“She's dead.”
Though he knew Bucky looked steady on his feet, Clint's appearance right next to him, arm swinging casually around his shoulders as he looked between the two ex-soviet assassins gave away the fact that Bucky wasn't as steady as he looked.
“How?”
“She was sick.” Steve moved closer so he could stand beside his partner, and Bucky shamelessly tucked himself into Steve's side, face pressed to his neck. “There is something else you should know.” Natasha continued, and Steve felt Bucky shift attentively though he didn't pull away. “She left behind a husband. And a son.” that had Bucky looking up.
“How old is he?” Steve asked, knowing Bucky would want to know, but the idea of having lost a child he hadn't even known until she was dead had to be difficult.
“17.”
“Where does he live?”
“With his father in a small town in California. Beacon Hills. He's in his senior year of high school.”
“What's his name?” Bucky finally asked, and Natasha nearly smiled.
“Mieczysław Stilinski, but he goes by Stiles.”
“I want to see him.” Bucky responded after a moment of silence, and now Natasha did smile.
“Good. Plane leaves at 0600 hours. We're going undercover Mr. James B. Grant.” The burst of laughter was unexpected but the grin didn't disappear. He just turned the expression on Steve who just shook his head.
“I guess it would be too easy to introduce yourselves as long lost cousins.” Bucky rolled his eyes, excitement over creating a mission around his grandson clearly overshadowing the sadness of the daughter he had never met - would never be able to properly grieve.
“What's the fun in that?” Steve just shook his head, exasperated. Clint had disappeared after Natasha and so Steve took Bucky's hands, pulling him towards the door.
“Come on, let’s bug some supplies out of Tony.”
>>>
“So what do we know about him?” Natasha asked, sliding into the dining room chair across from where Bucky sat in the house they’d rented in Beacon Hills, pulling over one of the reports he'd been reading.
“His friend group is small but closely knit. They never go anywhere without at least one other person.” the words had Natasha looking up.
“Are they afraid of something?” Bucky shifted a shoulder, not quite a shrug.
“I can't tell. But they are hyper aware. When they're together the others always keep Stiles and the red head – Lydia Martin – in the middle.”
“Why them?”
“Vulnerability?” that earned him a soft smile obviously having told her of his own nerves.
“Ready to teach history, Mr. Grant?” she asked, and he rolled his eyes.
“It’ll be just like home.” and that earned him a flash of a smile. She knew he was making fun of Stark and Barton. She reached over, squeezing his hand. “Call Steve. Clint texted, apparently he's practically climbing the walls without news.” that had Bucky grinning. Steve was such a mother hen.