We've officially made it to Part II of VI!

MIND

CHAPTER TWELVE- July 2038

The bus to New York was overly air conditioned to counteract a hot summer outside. Sam pulled down the baseball cap she'd pilfered from Cooper and Annie's room and pulled her long sleeves over her hands. Everything was pins and needles even when she sat still. She shouldn't have dropped the nerve dampener.

She'd woken up on the floor of her lab five days ago. While unconscious, she had vomited, but since she hadn't eaten her penne, it was only bile. When she sat up, Sam found all her hair had fallen out into a pile underneath her head, but it was all her hair, her whole body, eyelashes and eyebrows too. The monitoring cuff was still attached to her hand, but she had ripped the cord out of Missy's tower at some point.

That didn't matter, however, because while Sam was out cold on the floor, Missy had found the compatible neural regeneration virus among the samples. She'd have to test her own skin and DNA later, side effects be damned.

Sam harvested enough of the virus and prepared to travel.

Then she had looked in the mirror, finally. That was quite horrifying. She'd looked like a bizarre, animated mannequin. She would have to spruce up a bit, and luckily, a girly-girl with a makeup fetish lived downstairs.

Sam attempted to draw on approximately fifteen sets of eyebrows, but she always looked shocked. She gave up and let Missy map her face to show her exactly where to put them and in what shape. The worst part was not touching her skin after the makeup was on. Her skin crawled, and Sam found it difficult not to scratch her face and head. There was hope the hair-loss was temporary, however, because after just four days the prickles of new growth returned. Missy made note that the follicles within the dermis must not have died but simply been temporary overwritten in function. There was so much observation that would have to wait. Sam Wilson had already waited long enough.

The bus stopped at the outskirts of Avengers' Compound property, and Sam descended the stairs shakily. She was glad to be rid of the staring passengers, for as much as she'd tried not to look suspicious, choosing navy sweatpants and light sneakers and shirt, she still stood out for being covered up on a hot day. Once off the bus, Sam pulled out her Stark smartpad.

"Missy?"

"Yes, Samantha?" her AI replied in the communication earbud.

"Be ready to execute program Blindspot."

####

"Sorry, Sam, Tony isn't here," Bruce said when he saw her walk into the lab. He did a double take at her completely buzzed head, even though most was covered by her cap. It wouldn't be possible to hide the hair she used to have under that hat. "What did you do?!" Before she could even walk across the room, he corrected himself. "I mean, it looks… you're really making a statement. Are you?"

"No, Bruce, the bus was cold. I just tried something new, and it turns out it's not really my thing. Now I have to buy a few more hats," Sam joked, smiling as she looked over the gear on his work table. She didn't dare pick anything up for fear he would see her shaking. "So what are you up to?"

As Sam scanned the mirror-image of his projected screen, Bruce continued to stare at the young woman's sheared head. "Your Dad is gonna freak out."

She didn't skip an instant. "Hopefully he will never see it. I just need you to give me a new project, and I'll be out of your hair." She frowned, adding, "pun unintentional but pretty good…"

Bruce began to unclench. After all the pictures Nat showed him of Sam's different hair styles and colors over the past few years, this was the most…what should he call it? Adventurous? Angst? Wrong? Just as practically terrible as it was wonderfully hilarious.

"You couldn't have just called?"

Sam's voice got a little deeper. "Would you have picked up?"

Dr. Banner knew he'd been distant. He now went months at a time without so much as checking in. That's what everyone did to her eventually. "I'm sorry. I don't have a lot of extra time, Sam. This," he gesture to his work, "it's complicated. I'm barely muddling through—"

Sam noticed a bit of formula that intrigued her. He was still trying to harness the energy of the infinity stones in a controlled environment, pairing them to be precise. The problem seemed to be what carrier mechanism to use.

Bruce saw how Sam studied the screen and started to tilt the monitor away from her. "That's not…You shouldn't have anything to do with that—"

"Ya know, if you could," Sam interjected, looking away, fumbling with junk on the counter,, "use the mind and soul stones to recreate Vision. Aunt Wanda would love that. But he would only be a close approximation, assuming you have as much footage of his mannerisms and speech pattern. Oh, but that would be Jarvis." Sam slipped Missy into the pile while she replaced each piece sloppily. "There is still the possibility you would generate an alternate personality, like a psychopathic robot killer, oh wait…Tony did that. Wanda may kill literally everyone if you dangled him in front of her enough." She had to walk a fine line of irritating Bruce, but not angry, and giving him more to think about on top of all of his current work..

"Sam, how do you know anything about," he waved his arm into the paused screen, "this?"

She was no actress, but she had the brainpower to over-analyze most of her performance and correct herself. "That's why I'm here, Bruce, because I'm drowning in a bunch of information I already know, and I want, I need something new!" She removed her cap and rubbed the exposed stubble of hair in frustration, and demanded, "so for the love of all innovation, can you throw me a bone?" Sam saw a tiny light come on at the base of her tablet. Blindspot had started. Missy was in action. However, she hadn't intentionally distracted the doctor with her itchy head.

Bruce blinked. Everything about Sam was a minefield for him. She was the perfect representation of what he wanted and could never have; a perfect little girl, smart as a whip, grown into a curious young women, but she was brutally human: fragile, mortal, emotional, sensitive, cocky and awkward. She was the more dangerous version of Tony Stark because she was genuinely likable. It made Bruce Banner all the more terrified of killing her, or rather of Hulk killing her, as he almost did once.

"Well, I could," he started mumbling, grabbing his tablet, "give you access to some files… Sam, I don't know." He stopped. Years ago he could barely look at her without a cold wave of guilt pumping in place of his blood. He had been so convinced that he would never, ever hurt her, but how was Hulk supposed to know that? Sam was the closest thing he had to a daughter and felt nothing but blessed that she shared interests with him. She was a lot nicer to him than Tony, but Bruce didn't know how to work right beside her. "Can you just wait until Tony gets back and ask him?"

"Sure, I can wait another 13 years and see if he cares by then…"

"I…" Bruce removed his glasses, more stressed by the family dynamic than the galactic problem in front of him.

"Because you love me, Uncle Bruce?"

"Let me think about it—"

"I could help with…" Sam coached, but she cut in too soon. Bruce's energy changed without any physical movement, and suddenly, Sam was positive he was about to throw her out of the building. She had to get to work before Missy's program was detected, or Hulk killed her for being annoying. "Or I could leave you with your thoughts while I get us some coffee," she said, retreating to the exit. No stimulants, she reminded herself, especially now. "Treat you to a fizzy water with lime," she yelled as the door shut behind her, pausing to make sure no smashing noises followed.

With any luck, Bruce would throw himself back into research and be distracted by what he should do with Sam. He couldn't be casually paying attention to anything else. However, there had to be footage of Sam going to get coffee and sitting down in the more private residence kitchenette for Missy to loop. There would be no one there because of the training exercises being run in the Eastern Hall and its adjacent field. Thank you organized, calendar-keeper Friday.

After Sam had remained comfortably seated, half-obscured, at the far corner of the kitchen countertop, at the edge of the security camera's field of vision, routinely lifting her mug to her face and placing it back, she heard a small tonal signal. Missy was looping the footage. She could go to the infirmary without being seen. She rounded a corner just as the nurse left Wilson's room. This sneaking around reminded her of plundering the medical building, and she'd studied just as hard to ensure this was successful. Nurses made rounds every half hour or so, but since Falcon's condition had not changed in weeks, it was likely no one would be back for over an hour. Sam didn't need that long, but it was reassuring.

This time no music playing in his room. The only sounds were his various monitors.

He looked skinnier; his cheeks sunk over the past weeks and while not visible at the moment, she was sure his arms and legs had begun to atrophy. Looking at him laying there in the hospital bed, Sam thought about the possibility that her experiment wouldn't work. She could have done all the testing in the world, and it might still not work on Sam Wilson. Could she take that risk? She had no right to choose for him, technically alive but officially brain dead as he was. Sam Stark knew what she would choose to do, but she was not Sam Wilson.

If she was a soldier who'd seen all Falcon had, if she had a team of friends, if she had the important job of defending the world, if she had the possibility of flying and fighting again, even the possibility, would she take the risk? He had chosen, years ago, to use experimental flight equipment in combat. He had seen that equipment kill his friend Riley and still flown with EXO-7. He'd been injured in the wings before and still flown, still strapped himself back in for another mission. So his answer seemed even more obvious, but the pit in her stomach remained.

Little Sam took Big Sam's hand once again, ignoring the pins and needles running all over her skin with the contact. Her twitching made his lax hand twitch too. She could feel the calluses on his palm. He would be mad at how ashy his knuckles had become.

"If this doesn't work," she whispered, "for whatever reason, or it's not what you want…" She looked at his unmoving face with the rhythmically fogging mask. "I swear to you I will make it right, but for now, however, I need you to wake up."

"Four minutes," Missy's automated signal warned in her ear.

Samantha pulled out the lipstick tube she had hollowed out to hide the vial for Wilson. Sorry, Annie, she thought, I'll replace your Berry Kiss shade later. Sam grabbed a needle and dosed Falcon's IV, watching for a reaction as long as possible. No immediate signs of allergy or cardiac distress. No blood pressure drops or spikes on his monitors. No rise in brain wave activity either, but she only had a few minutes to watch.

"One minute," Missy signaled, followed by second beeps. Samantha hauled ass on her choreographed path for Missy's visual coverage and grabbed her still-warm mug off the countertop, sitting as still as she could until the beeps stopped. She took a long, casual sip, finishing the remainder. She counted to five, looked out the window, and slowly swirled her finger around the mug's rim. It was a move she'd planned, thinking it was a carefree gesture that would really sell how long she'd taken to drink one cup of coffee. She was very proud of her performance.

When she returned to Dr. Banner's lab with a seltzer, he was not even there. She hadn't seen him in the hall. She hadn't passed anyone coming back. Sam didn't know whether that was common during training in this facility since she hadn't spent significant time inside it in the last decade. It was probably for the best; the fewer people to see her hair the better. You'd think there would be better physical presence. They rely too heavily on technology. But Sam knew she couldn't hang around to figure it all out. She could monitor Sam Wilson's progress, if any, from Missy at her home.

She found her tablet where she'd hidden it, still face down. Sam quietly said "subset beta five ex" to unlock the phone, but nothing flashed across the screen. Instead Missy's calm tone promptly replied "download complete." And they're not even that safe with all the technology they do have. To be fair, however, both Sam and Missy were born of the Stark family and their minds; why would the Avengers need to protection from them? The Avengers had no idea who they were…or what they could do.

####

Bucky stared down Sharon Rogers. They stood in the kitchen, unwilling to let the other do the harder task of cleaning the dishes after lunch.

"You're our guest. If you're going to do anything, it's dry," Agent 13 insisted.

"It's your home. You do everything else, so you can let me do this one thing." Bucky looked at Steve as if the giant blond man could help him change her mind.

"This is the most," Steve snorted, "domestic thing I've ever seen, Buck. Are you even good at washing? We wouldn't want you to rust." Steve was confident that his seat at the table was a safe distance from his best friend's clenched metal fist.

"Shut the hell up, jerk. I'm trying to be nice. Give me the plate, Sharon," Bucky added forcefully.

She handed it over as if the flatware were a live weapon, backing away towards Steve. She muffled a giggle, interrupted by the phone ringing before she could sit down. Her husband enjoyed the seclusion and formality of a land-line, a holdout from his youth. Sharon waved Steve to stay seated and grabbed the receiver.

"Hello," she answered, "Bruce slow down—"

Steve instinctively tensed while Bucky dropped a cup into the sink. Sharon's face dropped into mission concentration.

"Alright, they're on their way. I'll be along later." She hung up. "Go, boys, I've got those. Sam's awake."

Bucky didn't even dry his hands. Steve was out the door after a peck on Sharon's cheek.

Bucky paused in the hall to yell back, "I chipped your glass," adding a guilty "sorry" before shutting the door with his dripping hand.

####

"I am not going to be pushed around in a damn wheelchair," Sam Wilson roared at the nurse. Steve stepped closer to help his friend up. "If you put me in that chair, Rogers, I will break both of your super legs. I'm on your right, mother—"

"Ok, pal," Steve cut in, "how about I walk with you outside for a bit."

The nurse leaned over to Bucky. "Irritability is pretty normal for a while after head injury," she whispered, "but maybe the fewer people the better for a little longer. See how he does."

Bucky nodded, and the nurse waived her colleague out of the room.

"Enjoy your walk, sir. We will resume your tests later." Falcon almost snarled at the poor woman.

Bucky stood between the newly-wakened Avenger and the staff. "Are you gonna break my legs, too?"

Wilson fumed but tossed his arm over Roger's shoulder. "Anyone asks, you tell them I'm drunk and that's why my ASS IS HANGING OUT," Falcon spat at Bucky as they passed him into the hall.

"Inside voices, please," Steve asked politely, his ear close to Sam's potty mouth.

But Wilson didn't stop. "Your sheets are scratchy," he continued to yell down the corridor. "Anyone ever heard of lotion?!"

Bucky didn't get the chance to follow. Bruce trapped him in the infirmary, mumbling something about integration failure.

"Barnes," the doctor started, eyes flicking over his glasses, "I have a favor to ask."

"Please, don't make me dress him, or supervise him, or do physical therapy with him. Please."

"What? No," Bruce removed his glasses, finally relaxing his arm chronically bent to hold his work tablet at eye level. "Are you still going to Wakanda? I have a passenger for you."

A/N: I'd really like to thank you all for reading this far and for your time and support. Still working hard chapter by chapter so get ready for a wild ride!