CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN—December 2039
His mind ran the gamut all month.
It was wrong to be so attached to her. Bucky had approached every interaction with Samantha Stark fully believing there was no danger of anything other than friendship. She was the only safe female with whom he could interact and not worry about being misinterpreted. Unfortunately in doing so, he and Sam bonded closer than any romance Bucky had ever experienced. If Steve weren't his best friend on earth, Bucky might never have figured it out.
But Sam was getting along with Tony so well. She deserved this time. If Bucky had had the chance to be with his father longer, to know his mother, he would take it. However, he struggled to cut himself off completely.
And there was the possibility that Steve was wrong about Sam's feelings. Bucky would make a fool of himself and jeopardize his position to admit to anything, so he tiptoed through his minor interactions with Sam. Try as he might to keep conversation light, he took one look at her and they were the only two people in the room, isolated in a white void, breathing each other's air.
Bucky stuck to how Ty and Dee were adjusting, what she was learning with Tony, and how plans to move were going. It didn't matter; it all felt intimate.
"Going," she'd say, as if there were something else he might mean, then bite her bottom lip and avert her eyes.
Bucky found it maddening to watch her lips.
Her eyes would go glossy and distant, and not infrequently, Sam mumbled, "it'll go fine."
She rarely said the word, Alaska, which only fed his chaotic mind.
Once, Bucky blurted that after all his time in Siberia, he hated the cold. He couldn't recall where they even were on campus. Was he standing up? Outside or inside? He'd raced to think of how Sam would respond.
'Well, maybe you should take a posting in Los Angeles,' she might say with a grin and an elbow jab. 'Though you travel a lot so that's no guarantee.' Would she be offended by the idea he would move away from her?
He'd swallowed hard in preparation for her judgement, but something even more heartbreaking happened.
"Meh, the cold doesn't bother me," Sam shrugged, no trace of a smile, "I don't feel much of anything anymore."
Before he could stop himself, he ran a hand along her neck, directing her to look at him, resting his thumb across her cheek.
"Hey," he started, "it…"
Her big brown eyes pierced him like Medusa, and for an instant, Bucky was stone.
Her skin was so warm, a sensation still rare on the flesh palm touching her. He always wore gloves to fight, and the Avengers weren't a touchy-feely crowd.
What does it feel like to her? He wondered.
"It'll be ok." His fingers instinctively snaked through her hair and gently gripped for emphasis.
"You," Sam started, eyes darting back and forth between his, "you don't have to worry about it." Sam turned away from his hand. "If I go to Alaska, you won't be there."
If.
She said if.
It gave him hope, but that was a dangerous thing. Hope, the open-ended question; what if…
The thing about the phrase "life's too short" is that when life is not short, you forget how to move forward. You get stuck.
Bucky had been stuck in this holding pattern for decades. 'What if' became the exhausted phrase of 'what now,' and he barreled through every scenario knowing that life would be, more or less, exactly the same at the other end. Someone to fight, someone to protect, and him in the middle.
He was separate, detached, but this time he wanted to be with a side. Life wasn't just short; life was lived in an instant. If these days were all he would get with Sam, one brush of her face had to be enjoyed like a honeymoon.
So…it was wrong—but Sam—and there was the possibility…
He had to give her the gift. Screw Steve. It was important that Sam know she was loved, even if Bucky made no mention of who loved her.
Sam's birthday came, and the farewell dinner was set up. Tony took over the bowling alley for her party, particularly proud of himself for the genius decision of bringing in Nightcrawler to be the DJ. Kurt Wagner had made a nice name for himself as an underground club legend in Bavaria and a sizable portion of the world due to his power. Who else could book five gigs a night thousands of miles apart from each other? Some events were simultaneous. By all accounts, Nightcrawler's retirement was even more successful than his time with the X-Men.
For how much hype he'd heard, Bucky was surprised to see only a few spaces set at the dinner table.
Natasha and Bruce stood over their chairs, looking at him warily.
"Where is everyone," Bucky asked while Tony ordered Dum-E to pour some drinks.
"Apparently, Lil'Sam wanted him to do breakfast with anyone who doesn't live on campus since she would be running off to her dance afterwards. No adults welcome, I guess." Natasha spoke in hushed tones. "She made them all eat cereal. Steve thought he was gonna be sick."
"I can't even remember the last time I had that much sugar," Bruce winced. "We're having real food tonight, right?"
Natasha squished her face unknowingly.
"It's not all bad," Tony added, producing a tray of mismatched glasses with their favorite varietals. "Barnes, no present? You know it's a birthday, right? Oof."
From the corner of his eye, Bucky noticed Natasha's head snap towards him, but Tony didn't wait for a reply.
"It's fine. I got her, what, ten pairs of sunglasses, so I'll say the worst ones are from you. Bruce, that's a grapefruit spritzer. Teaching him something new. It's only taken him—what—" Tony yelled over his shoulder at the sagging arm of Dum-E "—fifteen tries? Why would I give you two arms when you can't even manage the one, buddy?"
Dum-E rolled himself back behind the wet bar.
"He's trash and treasure, all rolled into one." Tony raised his glass, but his face changed when the door opened behind Bruce.
"See," Tony exclaimed, "it looks nice!"
Bucky turned to see Sam in a sleeveless white button down and black, tailored pants. Her toes were pointed inwards, nervously balancing in black pumps.
She pulled down on her shirt, and his eyes flickered over the fabric recoiling to settle at her waist and hem flaring over her hip.
"I don't think these were strictly necessary," Sam mumbled, tucking her leg up to remove a shoe. She tilted the sole towards them, showing the open hole in the arch and vented slats throughout.
"Every girl needs a nice pair of pumps," Natasha offered. "Good for stabbing."
"No other way for you not to burn those—could we not with the weaponry? Hungry?" Tony waved Sam to the head of the table. "Hopefully it's not fish," he mumbled as he pushed in her chair.
Bucky took a long drink from his Old-fashioned, which had too many cherries in it and not enough bitters.
"It's vegetarian," Sam smirked. "Grilled cheese sandwiches and roasted veggies. You know, like veggies are supposed to be—" she smiled at Tony "—cooked."
Tony fluffed his napkin. "Agree to disagree."
Natasha chuckled. "What exactly do you think is available to eat year-round in Alaska, Tony?"
"You'll find out at Christmas," Tony retorted.
"Who's cooking? You?" Bruce took his seat. "You gonna start tomorrow? It takes you that long—"
"Omelets are an art form," Tony snapped, pointing his knife across the table.
"They're a death-trap the way you make them," Nat moaned.
"Which is exactly why you were not responsible for breakfast this morning." Sam laced her fingers together on the table.
"You nearly gave Rogers diabetes."
Sam held her hands up. "As if he can't make his own choices and say no?"
Dinner went on this way for nearly forty minutes. Bucky said as little as possible, looking at everyone in the room except Sam as best he could. He stared at his plate when he heard her laugh and got up to make himself a drink more than once.
"I'll take an old fashioned from an old fashioned, if you please." Tony snorted to himself. "Dumb-E, pay attention, and clean up your work space."
Bucky zoned out, swirling his drink while his other hand touched his thigh. He never decided to wrap Sam's present, so the pair of bracelets sat sharp in his pocket, waiting for a presentation that might not come.
They were different sizes, made from ascending joints in his old vibranium arm, black and gold with uneven seams. The divots where his arm used to bend sat as little centerpieces.
After all the guff Steve gave him, Bucky was surprised Shuri completed them, much less sent them on.
"Bucky," Nat shouted.
His head snapped up. "Yeah?"
"You were on another planet, man." Tony slid a plate of strawberries with chocolate and whipped cream to dip. "Someone need to give you your tapioca and send you to bed?"
"Uh," Bucky looked around, but Sam's chair was empty. His brow furrowed instinctively.
"Off to party," Tony answered the unspoken question. "Kids these days."
"Maybe I will—" Bucky pushed out his chair "—go on to…"
Everyone nodded, dismissive, while only Nat's eyes lingered on his exit.
He made it to the elevator, angry he missed his chance. He grabbed the safety bar lining the walls without pressing a button. What the hell was he doing? What the hell would he have even said?
He spun around at the ding to smack straight into Wanda.
"Barnes? Are you alright?"
"What are you…"
"I thought I'd go say hello to the gang while the students have their fun."
Bucky nodded his head. "Right. Obviously—I just…" He looked up and down the hall, and there in front of the bowling alley door was Sam.
"Goodnight," Wanda sang as the elevator closed.
Bucky shoved his hand in his pocket for confidence.
"Sam," he called, "I didn't get to give this to you. Upstairs."
"Oh, you didn't have to. Bruce and Nat were already…so thoughtful." Sam rocked her weight back and forth between feet.
"This is not—they're not just for your birthday." Bucky let out a shaky breath and stepped closer, leaning forward to take hold of a wrist. "It's a thank you."
He pulled out one of the cuffs, rings forged from his history more so than any family heirloom could be.
"There is nothing that can take away what you've experienced, what made you you," he said softly, "but those experiences can remold you—" Bucky slid the dark, gleaming bracelet over her thin wrist "—into a shape of your choosing."
With the second cuff, he knew she understood by the way she slid her fingers into his hand. This one fit halfway up her forearm. "They're beautiful," Sam whispered down at their hands, "but I thought you had thrown it away."
"I don't discard things that make me a better man," Bucky replied.
Her hand trembled slightly in his. He squeezed back gently.
"Don't be nervous. We—" Bucky cut himself off. This was the part that never came out right.
From one experiment-made monster to another, their pain fueled them, their regrets sustained them, their hopes ate them alive, and their self-doubt brought them back to reality. She was so flawed that he found her perfect.
All he could come up with was "save a dance for me."
Bucky felt Sam's hand tug away, but she raised her head to his.
She lept forward, slamming herself against Bucky's chest to capture his lips. His eyes closed as his arms surrounded her, mind blank. He'd had a hundred years to think, and this time he felt.
Her lips were soft, slick with balm but not sticky. She smelled lightly of coffee and tasted like the strawberries on the table for dessert.
When he gripped at her back, he could just make out a rib, and her shoulder blade settled in the crook of his thumb. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the brush of her hair as his hand rose up her neck.
Sam's breath came sharp through her nose. The cool band of a bracelet rested against his collarbone while her fingers cradled his jaw.
The moment was exquisite, more than he had hoped for, more than he had dreamt of, more than he felt he deserved, yet everything he wanted. Then it was over, and cool air rushed between them.
Sam buried her face, but her skin was brighter than the lights in the hall.
"Jeez, sorry, I thought that was—like a moment—stupid. So sorry," Sam stammered, smiling and shaking her head. She slipped on a heel as she backed up. "I gotta—shit that's—what was I—" a nervous laugh burst out "—I gotta go." She kicked off the shoes, scooped them up, and hurried off.
Bucky's body and brain were too overloaded to respond. Sam was through the door before he recovered.
His palms were still tingling, and his lips felt numb in the recent absence of contact.
"Barnes! Come in, Barnes," Tony shrieked into comms.
I'm gonna die, Bucky thought. There are cameras everywhere, you idiot.
Bucky covered his face with his hands, leaning back as his fingers dragged down the skin.
"Where the hell are you?"
"Here," Bucky croaked. "What's up?"
"Get your ass to isolation five. It's here!"
"What? What's here?"
Tony sounded out of breath. "The alien," the comms cracked, "the alien that saved me on the Benatar. The bitch is back and going after the Space Stone!"
"Boss, there's a security concern you may want to look at," F.R.I.D.A.Y. offered while Tony polished off his drink.
Natasha and Bruce sat murmuring to each other across the table, grabbing at slices of strawberries and cream every so often.
"Not my problem anymore."
"Sir, I—"
"Mute," Tony chirped. "It's my party and I'll sit if I want to."
"You two leaving tomorrow?" Natasha asked delicately.
"Eh," he wished and washed back, "or the next day. I have a lot of shit to pack."
Nat raised her eyebrows.
"No comment necessary," he added quickly.
Propped up by the table, Bruce rested his chin in his hand. "You don't think—" the doctor ran a finger over his mouth nervously "—it's not out of line that we gave Lil'Sam the work table, right? I just thought she could, you know—"
Tony put up a finger. "Gonna stop you there. Great gift. Hadn't thought of that, so it will pair perfectly in the annex."
"How big is this house?"
Tony smiled. "You'll see at Christmas," he told Romanoff.
"Stark," the door burst open to Director Hill's heated cheeks, "answer me when I send you—"
"I know you don't understand the concept of retirement, but this is basically a nice party to say I quit."
"Retired. Really. What is this?" Hill shoved a tablet into his hands.
Tony's jaw dropped.
"Now I know that sketch you kept doing was total nonsense, but I have a good memory for faces. What did you make her for?"
"I didn't…"
"Who?" Bruce stood up.
Hill laughed without humor. "The woman Tony thought he saw—while suffering oxygen deprivation, might I add—in space after the Snap. Pepper used to call it, what, the Green Witch?"
Tony felt the blood drain from his face. The full face with high cheekbones, slightly sunken eyes, and a bump in the middle of the nose: it was…it, but flesh-toned, not glowing green like some nuclear experiment.
In a blink, the room went from silent slow-motion to a thumping strobe.
"Where is this? Where was this taken?"
"She got through a security door on Sub-Level 4. The system let her but flagged it when the same tag number was used at the gate thirty seconds later."
"When was this?"
"Five—" Hill checked her watch "—seven minutes ago."
"WHY," Tony burst before giving up to race down the hall. "Friday, get the goddamn elevator up here now. Find me anybody near sub-four."
"Clearance-level requirement?"
"Anybody with a gun. Who's deadliest?" He screeched across the floor to slow, yanking himself into the elevator. "Anytime now."
"Boss, you no longer have—"
"ACTIVATE PUPPETMASTER PROTOCOL."
There was a brief pause. "Welcome back to full access, Boss."
"Who is the highest level agent below sub-two?"
"That would be Captain Barnes."
Tony slapped his comm on. "Barnes, come in." No answer. "BARNES!" He swiped through the security footage to find the exact room. "Where the hell are you?"
"Here. What's up?"
"Get your ass to isolation five. It's here." Tony tapped a few registries to see the contents. T-ACT ISO, short for Tesseract isolation unit.
The elevator opened before he could scream in frustration.
He kept running. "It's here, the alien who saved me on the Benatar. The bitch is back and going after the Space Stone."
The security door was shut, and the lock reengaged. Through the bulletproof window, however, he clearly saw the open, empty case where the stone should have been.
Tony smacked the glass and swore repeatedly.
"Boss, the door is completely offline."
Barnes trotted to his side.
"Where's the target?"
"Gone," Tony breathed, lacing his fingers behind his head. "She got the damn stone."
Bucky looked into the room and back to Tony. "So, the alien that saved you isn't considered a friendly?"
Tony threw his hands up. "Last time she said I still had a lot of people to save. What if she's here because my time's up? I'm not going." He refocused on opening the door, but he was locked out.
"Well, if she—it—didn't go after you first, how likely—"
"Shoot it. Get the door open."
Bucky raised his arms, hands empty. He didn't have his usual weaponry on. "Stark, we need to find the alien—"
"Like you don't have an ankle holster," Tony grunted as he yanked the pistol off of Barnes's leg himself.
He shot the panel twice. Nothing budged.
"Get this door open."
As Tony gave the order, he saw Bucky squint against a blinding blue light. He whipped around to see It standing a few feet from the case, but the face cracked down the middle and opened.
That's when Tony understood who It was.
Samantha fell out to the floor, barefoot, glowing a ferocious hue of sickly green with the brilliant blue of the Space Stone stuck to a dark band on her left forearm.
"What the hell," Barnes barked before slamming his boot into the door so hard Tony could feel the force shake the window beneath his hand.
A third color joined behind Mistress.
The sparkling yellow of Dr. Strange's portal gaped wider until the sorcerer himself floated in. His scarred hands moved furiously to cast a spell.
Tony pounded the window.
Sam looked up towards him, smiling.
"I did it, Dad," Sam yelled excitedly, standing, but her voice was muffled.
A shining yellow mandala five feet tall rolled forward to render Mistress rigid.
"The ships. I got—" but the spell hit Sam before she finished.
Her body thrust straight for a moment, arms strained out to her sides in an unnatural spasm.
Tony called her name as Barnes's kicking grew more frenzied. The soldier heaved at the joint with his shoulder. It gave one inch before he slipped to the floor.
Sam's smile cracked. Her face darkened as muscles went slack, and Sam knelt devoid of all emotion until the last yellow spark fizzled out of existence. When her featured twitched back to life, tears were already flowing.
Mistress unfroze and closed the distance to his daughter.
Sam found Tony's gaze again.
"I don't want to g—"
Mistress encased her once again, offering a raised right arm to Dr. Strange who snapped the Time Stone into place, snug on another dark band within the shiny silver metal.
Veins of green light crept up Missy's dark body, spreading, growing in strength until joining with the royal blue tendrils from the left.
Tony blinked, and they were gone.
Barnes finally scraped his way into the room.
Strange looked at Tony through the glass. "There was no other way."
End of Part III: Power