Steve stood beside her, broad-shouldered and beaming in a way that made his Captain America persona seem almost cartoonish compared to the proud dad energy he was radiating right now.

The common room sprawled before them, all floor-to-ceiling glass and leather furniture, sunlight pouring in like liquid gold.

A handful of people lounged around. Tony Stark had his feet up on the coffee table, tinkering with some glowing piece of tech. Natasha Romanoff was perched on a counter stool, sipping something dark. Sam Wilson was mid-laugh at something on his phone.

And then there was him.

Bucky Barnes stood by the kitchen island, a beer in hand, looking effortlessly good in a henley that hugged his shoulders. His hair was pulled back, a few strands loose around his face.

His eyes found hers.

The beer didn't shatter, but it might as well have, the way his hand went still. The way his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Recognition. Horror. A flicker of something else, buried deep and quick.