A/N: Some of you may recognize this content in part, but the chapter was rewritten as a whole. I feel a lot better about the quality, so I hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR—December 13th, 2039

"You've got a baby brother. Howard, Howie…"

Sam didn't reply. Bucky wasn't even convinced Sam could hear him across the Rogers' kitchen table.

It was hard to fathom the change. The last time Bucky was alone with Samantha she had kissed him. He'd gotten to hold her, warm against him, and somehow he still couldn't remember every second's detail despite reliving it over and over again. She'd worn a crisp white shirt and chosen to kiss him on her birthday. She wore the same clothes; she sat within arm's reach, but Sam was different. The crisp white shirt blurred with her skin now, a camouflage of patchy grey with dark blue and brown stains smeared everywhere. Her skin was cold. He checked repeatedly by pushing crusted hair out of her face with each plate of food he brought over, each cup of coffee, each fresh glass of water like the one he was handing her.

"Tony's sent me a message," he continued, trying to hide his concern and a tinge of disappointment that their fingers had not crossed. "Says we can't reply due to being—uh, he calls it the Mirror Dimension—but your mom is doing well." His eye twitched before muttering, "at least Strange called him back…"

What were they supposed to do? How long were they to stay?

The glass in Sam's hand shook on its way back to the table, vibration loud against the naked wood. She frowned and looked outside.

At least the food is filling her out, he thought, noticing her face and arms looked less drawn.

Night descended a while ago, so there wasn't much to see out the long patio door windows until a little round face appeared. A tabby cat, huge with winter fluff, rubbed its cheek over the glass.

"Hello, sweetheart," Sam cooed weakly. Aside from 'yes' or 'no,' it was the first thing she'd said in hours, and a vice loosened in Bucky's gut.

Relieved, Bucky laughed at seeing Sam's features soften, her shoulders relax. "Oh, that's Karma—" he stood like a mime to her movements "—always comes back around. We think 'e lives in the woods back there mainly."

"'E?" Sam moved closer, standing on sturdier legs, but the cat saw nothing and walked on to beneath the patio furniture. She spread her hand over the cold pane.

"Don't know if it's male or female." Bucky stood as close as he dared, almost putting a hand up beside hers. Instead, he continued quietly, watching her face. "Sharon thinks it's a 'he' and Steve thinks it's a 'she.' Either way," he added in a rehearsed way, "you do not control Karma. Karma controls you."

Sam stared, but at least she faintly smiled at the odd creature outside. She bit her bottom lip, chewed it like she was trying to hold in a comment, and then she burst. "Who said 'Karma's a bitch' first?"

Bucky snorted, but really, he could have cried. Sam's smile hit her eyes, flushed her cheeks. "Sharon, obviously." He shrugged. "Language."

Sam hummed and returned to watching Karma stretch beneath a wrought iron chair. Her fingers shifted on the glass. He resisted testing her temperature again.

"Did you never have a pet?" Bucky tried.

"No." She straightened, voice a little stronger. "Clint had a dog as a kid, Boom Hound, who died of cancer. He—" Sam got lost in thought for a moment "—he kept saying he just couldn't go through it again."

Bucky's body screamed to comfort her, desperate to savor their proximity as he wished he'd done last time. Fuck the cameras, he should have said. Fuck the Council and their hold over him, but who could have predicted that twenty years later, Bucky would regret becoming the first Ward of Earth. If he hadn't signed over his personal sovereignty, however, a pardon wasn't likely. It had been questionable enough whether the Winter Soldier would ever be gone, and the Council wanted guarantees.

This was as free as he was ever going to get, but this was more than Bucky ever thought he'd have. But right now she needs food. She needs shelter. She needs clothing. Not…that. He took his hand away from hers on the window and returned to his seat.

"Ya know, there was one time I came out of HQ, and there was just this beautiful golden retriever laying there, sunbathing. Thought his owner was in for a meeting. Gave him pets. Played fetch with a little branch. 'Bout ten minutes in, this dog comes running back with the stick and—" Bucky clapped his hands together "—turns into a damn fifteen-year-old, mutant shape-shifter kid who ran off from the X's tour that day. Damn near had a heart attack right there. You know what he said to me?" Bucky put his hands up at the audacity before they slapped down to his thighs. "'Big fan. You looked like you needed some fun, sir.'"

The mental image warranted at least one laugh. Sam obliged.

"What a little shit," Bucky mumbled, perfectly amused. He brushed at his pant leg, watching as Sam sat down to stare at the food. It was as good a time as any. He lowered his voice to soothe her into the idea. "You know, you have to sleep at some point."

Terror flooded her face. Tremors shot down her hands.

"Please don't make me."

Bucky jumped up, not hesitating to press her to his chest. "Hey, hey, I'm not—" he kissed her hair though it was crusted in dust "—you don't have to." That's a lie. "How about—" he took a twitching hand into his "—I think you'll feel better after a wash. I can clean up your clothes. It'll help."

Sam couldn't meet his eye but half-heartedly whined.

"Come on." Bucky tucked his arm beneath hers, feeling its weight with relief. She really was healing, in which case, he was grateful to Extremis. Her skin still felt cool though.

Sam was compliant until she glimpsed herself in the mirror. She shoved him away and slammed the bathroom door, tossing dirty garments through the tiniest crack. The only thing she did not hand over was the cuff he'd given her, a distinctively possessive gesture, he hoped.

He hunted down clean clothes from Steve and Sharon's closets and changed.

The shower still ran when Bucky dropped her clothes off by the door, so he cleaned up the kitchen. While Tony had not sent any more messages, Natasha had.

Nat: Are you ok?

What part of… Bucky almost broke another one of Sharon's expensive dishes. As if she doesn't know the answer. He had to hand it to her. Natasha was a ruthlessly efficient woman. In three words she'd managed to encapsulate a dozen people's versions of "you're wrong for wanting this" and "do what we say." He could hear Steve's frown just before the question mark. Bucky contemplated drowning the phone in the dishwater but slid it far away over the counter instead.

The shower still ran, so he hung up their cleaned clothes to dry. As he placed his socks over the line in the laundry, he thought of Sam's poor feet, barefoot the whole time she was gone, wondering if her muscles would ache for longer than the damage remained visible.

The shower still ran.

An hour and forty-five minutes in, Bucky began to worry, pressing his ear to the door, listening. He tested the door. Unlocked. Based on Sam's avoidance earlier, he found exactly what he suspected.

The steam around her was gone. Samantha stood with her back to the clear-running water, blankly staring at the opposite wall with her arms crossed over her chest, still clutching a bar of soap.

Bucky stepped in to turn the shower off, leaving a void of input across Sam's numb body, and she straightened without the pressure.

"It's a loop," Sam whispered, icy drips draining into her mouth, "so…I was inevitable."

Take the soap. Give her a towel. He offered it to Sam with averted eyes. "He—Tony called it a knot."

"He…wanted me for a daughter," she said without moving. "Thanos."

Get her in the towel. "He's not here anymore. Come on. I've got you."

"Mom was afraid of me," she muttered before lifting her arms for Bucky to tuck the edges around her back. "They all were."

The dark vibranium band slid over his shoulder. Notably, the metal was cold, but her skin was finally warm to the touch. That's a good sign. Progress.

She whispered beside his ear. "I just wanted Dad to have her back."

His arms were loose around her, careful not to put pressure on her. "I know," he mumbled.

Sam squeezed, forcing Bucky's face into the wet crux of her neck.

"Why does it hurt?"

He let her pulse steadily tap against his nose. I wish I could stop it for you.

Sam shook with anger, hissing in his ear. "I don't understand. I don't understand why it hurts." She clutched at the fabric of his shirt, tearing the neckline.

"Please, Sam—" He rushed to stop the towel as it fell, but he wouldn't dream of stopping her. That's it, angel. It's easier if you let it out. Bucky's arms stalled around her at the thought. To be angry was familiar; to be so close to happiness was as disorienting as waking after a decade on ice. The endearment turned a heat over in his gut, a spark of something he'd forced himself to forget, one of his hopes frozen and lost long ago.

Angel.

James Barnes tightened his grip around Samantha Stark's waist. The beating fists at his back morphed to fingers buried in his hair, pulling tight.

He didn't want this for her, this feeling he knew all too well, drowning in a sea of sin with no way out. All he could do was lift her, matching her grip on him, cradling her in his arms. Bucky shut his eyes, listening to Sam's cries, horrible, expected, unhinged sounds that he felt deep inside. She scrambled her legs up to his waist and tucked her face into his neck.

As Sam began to settle, he slowly stepped them out of the shower. He kissed her cheek, gently maneuvered her through the doorway, and sat them on the edge of the bed.

"I could have done it, ya know," she mumbled, settling on his lap. "I had the stones in my hand. They were right there."

Bucky grabbed her face to wipe away tears. "It's not your fault, Sam."

"I had all of them—" her hands flew around frantically "—could have just killed him. I got his arm off. Why not his head? Why not cut him in half? If I had just thought! Why didn't I think about it? Why didn't I just—"

"—Sam, please—"

"—snap?"

Bucky pulled her face to his, resting their foreheads together. "What can I do? Please, angel, anything you want."

Sam quieted and let her hands drop between them, resting on his chest.

"Anything," Bucky repeated. Anything for you.

He pulled back to see a blue ring flash around Sam's pupils.

Her words were shockingly steady. "I don't want to feel this anymore."

The blue faded back to their beautiful chocolate brown. Her whole body relaxed, her face softened, and she smiled a little.

Her gaze fell to the torn fabric over his shoulder. Sam brushed it away, fingers light and eyes curious. "I never got to see…" She pulled the whole shirt away, leaning in close enough for Bucky to feel her breath breeze down his stomach. Sam shifted to let the light of the bedside lamp hit him in full, but moving her hands loosened her cover dangerously.

"There's no color variation. Does it tan?" She wiggled to get a better look. The towel dropped.

Eyes front, soldier. He swallowed before smirking. "You've seen my suit, right?"

Sam huffed. She was engrossed, examining each millimeter of flesh across his pec with her fingertips. Bucky's breathing shallowed, as controlled as he could manage. Her balance waned. Instinctively, Bucky seized her hips, bracing strong hands over soft skin with nothing beneath.

Sam ran the back of her knuckles over the shoulder. "Can you feel the difference?"

Sweet mercy!

Bucky nodded while she gripped lightly down the top of his arm, shifting again. He couldn't react. He shouldn't think of the feel of her hip bone beneath his thumb and—

Sam's hand moved up to tilt his head away, to get better light on his neck. He had to stare at her face, at the little peak of tongue in the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on her evaluation. That's good. That's what Tony does sometimes in the lab. Can't think of…that when she's just another scientist assessing you…

It barely worked. The rise and fall of Sam's collarbone drew him in. Soft, pristine, scar-free flesh stretched before him, beneath him, all the way down the soft slope of her back. He thought it was a trick of the low light that turned the air around her skin red, and her eyes began to burn scarlet.

Movement over Sam's shoulder drew his attention. Wanda? Like a broken reflection, the face glinted away too fast to tell. No one was there.

Bucky blinked, and Sam's skin was pale, her eyes chocolate again. She was fine. For all Bucky knew, the Mirror Dimension bled through all the time, or perhaps his mind was still trying to win this battle of desire. Surrender was more likely.

He waited for more questions, questions that would keep him at a clinical, professional distance, questions that belied their outrageous proximity.

Still looking at his left side, she asked quietly, "what were some endearments from your time?"

Perfect. Make me feel old as dirt. Bucky bit his lip, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, straining to think. "Doll—" she nodded "—dame, broad—"

"Heard you use that before," she mumbled.

"If you could sing—" she vehemently shook her head, making him smile "—you were a canary." And then my least favorite. "There was also 'cookie.'"

Sam made a disgusted face but giggled. "Just makes me hungry."

Agreed. His heart swelled to hear her laugh, to see her happy, to watch her wet hair break away and swish around her, carefree. Don't touch her hair. That would tank his resolve.

Sam rocked back and forth for a second, crossing her arms to cover her chest. "So how many girls have you called 'angel?'"

His right hand squeezed in comfort. "One woman." Only you. The corner of her mouth ticked up then she forced it flat. He let his hands slide up just one inch, let his fingers dig just a little more. He needed this. He needed her.

Sam studied the ceiling, continuing to smother a smile that flushed her cheeks, her neck, her chest… But he wanted more of those sounds—that laughter.

Bucky let a shit-eating grin spread wide. "Per dimension."

She looked at him, wide-eyed with flared nostrils, and he couldn't help himself from bursting out laughing. Sam smacked his chest with the back of her hand.

"Felt that," he smirked. "But seriously—" he moved both hands to small of her back, pulling her a little closer to face him dead on "—today. Today was the first time."

Sam watched him with dark eyes, dragging her gaze over his features, and Bucky felt his own eyes go heavy as he watched her lips again.

"Missed me so much you didn't shave, huh?" Her hand settled on his cheek.

He breathed out "yes" before the word even hit his brain.

"Feels rough." Sam tilted her head in thought, exposing her neck.

His resolve wavered with every visible thump of her pulse running up that pale, long line.

"As I remember it—"

Sam sucked in air when Bucky's open mouth landed on that one spot beneath her ear. His nose shoved away wet hair while Bucky scooped her whole body to lay flush against his. When Sam squirmed, he pulled away.

You are so fucked. He shouldn't have touched her hair.

"—tickles a little," she giggled and smoothed both hands down his face and around to his hair.

Bucky was ready to shatter, hoping to shatter right there and then but for his one hesitance. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"How did they say shush in the 1940s again?" She brought her lips down on his gently.

Please, be so fucked. He memorized the feel of her lips before taking the bottom between his teeth, but then—because half of his enjoyment was being a cheeky shit—Bucky smiled and mumbled, "that's actually a great question…a very long story…"

"Shut up, Buck." Sam gripped his hair playfully and kissed him harder.

Yes, ma'am, he thought, happily tilting to let her tongue explore. As he'd thought about so many times over the past days, he tucked his hand back beneath her shoulder blade, right where it settled on her birthday, right where it belonged.

Tony blamed the sulphuric fumes for his watering eyes but could not stop looking at her.

Pepper never missed a beat. She moved her and Howie into Tony's rooms—her rooms, their rooms, he reminded himself. She fussed over stripping all the dust-covers off her old clothes in the closet and made quick work of getting "that ridiculous dye" out of Tony's hair. She'd rattled off what she needed as she walked their newborn through the halls. Whether the compounds and products were something his wife knew fifteen years ago or knowledge from her previous link with Mistress, Tony wasn't sure. He didn't care. The void inside him, the one being filled by every tiny movement and noise she made, did not care. She was right there.

"I can't even look at you like this. What were you thinking?" She continued to mutter as he watched, tracing a few of the newer lines on his face.

I thought you were dead. He'd spent almost fifteen years faking life, and he was so convincing that he fooled himself.

Mostly, Tony conceded. Ok, enough. I fooled myself enough to keep going.

When Pep flitted back around to rinse him, Tony grabbed her wrist, releasing it almost instantly, staring down at their touching palms. The heels of them slid together, and Pepper's middle finger dragged a little circle on his pulse point. He did the same to her.

That was something he used to see in Wanda's fever dreams, those delicate hands tangled in his, but he could tell now that the feeling of it was never accurate, never as potent as real touch, the changing temperature beneath it, or the graze of fabric instead of air.

"Friday," Pep called as if it were nothing, but Tony's heart nearly stopped.

"Yes, Mrs. Stark."

Tony thanked god Pepper didn't see a tear escape as the AI breezed over the name.

"Turn on the news, please."

She used to do that, watch everything in the background, absorbing the world through osmosis, toughening her skin by exposure. Of course, for years it had been an essential part of her job to keep an eye on not just Tony, but everyone else keeping an eye on him. Where Tony always zoned out to music in his garage or lab, Pep's vice was opinion. After he promoted her to CEO though, the inner-workings of the company were more essential than outside noise. Happy, as head of security, had filled in nicely as a constant stream of possibly useless information.

Tony had not gotten a chance to tell her Happy was gone. Heart attack. Three years ago.

Pepper tapped his wrist; another sensation to relish. "Lean back. You're done cooking."

Her fingers in his hair were exquisite, soft to firm pressure circling around in the cascading water, overwhelming and yet not nearly enough.

He would have hit her arm if he went to wipe his eyes, so he settled for "stuff is strong, huh?" He squinted tightly.

"There he is," Pep cooed, "my silver fox."

It popped out so naturally, his smile automatic and light. "I'm a salt and pepper man."

She giggled at him, pressing a soft towel to his head. "Mostly salty…"

Tony opened his eyes. "Wait. Are we still talking about my hair?"

He loved that she didn't answer him. She only smiled, eyes not leaving his until she tossed the towel in his face and moved on to rinse her hands. "Volume up, Friday."

"—confirmation that Tony Stark's daughter, Samantha, a recluse from public life up to this point, is implicated in the murders of two security staff on Harvard's Medical campus in April of last year—"

From where he sat, Tony couldn't see the screen, but his blood ran as cold as the Hudson outside.

"—Originally thought to be a theft of Professor Simon Marshall's research, the victims are believed to be collateral damage in a collaboration between fugitive associates of the disgraced professor and the billionaire's daughter. Lily Vox of The Counter Post joins us for an exclusive interview—"

Pepper moved out of the bathroom first, a deep, unvarnished scowl on her porcelain face. When Tony followed, the irritatingly thin woman on the TV became split-screened with the anchor, her lips tight, deceptively innocent. Pleasantries were exchanged while Pep muttered several choice profanities under her breath. Tony realized he'd underestimated his wife's hatred for the "journalist," and Pep hadn't even experienced the last decade of Vox's exhaustive, twisted stories.

"Exactly, Gene. I have evidence from a highly placed source that Tony Stark went so far as to deliberately hide the connection between his daughter and this tragedy. Samantha Stark is not only considered a suspect in these murders but is also believed to have willingly taken Marshall's drug to create enhanced humans. We believe that's why she was in the building that fateful night nearly two years ago."

"That's not what happened," Pep grit through her teeth while Eugene Gardner, the anchor of eight years, cut in.

"Miss Vox, do you have any other relevant information for our viewers at this time? Any proof that Tony Stark's daughter is enhanced, as you say?"

"She's a hack and a running joke," Pep blurted before covering her mouth and glancing at Howie's basinet. "Do people believe this woman?"

The bleach-blond wearing too much makeup smiled, happy to elaborate.

"I do. I do. And unfortunately, it adds a gruesome extension to these murders. Samantha Stark's new powers allowed her to burn several Wakandan nationals alive nearly a year after those Harvard murders."

"She did not—Tony, do something!"

Tony tossed his arms in the air, flopping the towel to and fro as he looked around. "What do you think I've been trying—"

"That is a substantial allegation." Gene agreed. "How did we not hear of this at the time?"

Pep bit her words out, barely holding her skin at only a faint red glow. "Well, you need to talk to someone and fix this."

"Honey, I'll talk to Cushing. It'll be fine. He can stop this." Except the TV continued.

"—the fatalities in Wakanda coincided with a deadly tidal wave on their coast. That attack was perpetrated by another sovereign leader, Namor of Atlantis, and, therefore, the matter was handled in-house by the Sokovian Accords Enforcement Council and the United Nations. It was only by the diligent research of Senator Robert Cushing Jr., current head of the SAEC, that we know several of the alleged victim's of that wave had a different cause of death—"

"And we'll be right back with more Lily Vox, but join us later this week as Senator Cushing himself—" Gardner announced "—joins us to discuss the SAEC filing to move any trial of Iron Man's daughter to their jurisdiction. We'll be—"

"Mute," Tony croaked.

There it was. Their family sandcastle got hit with the first tide.

Pep sat at the foot of their bed. "Bobby Cushing actually made it to Senator? My god, Tony."

He swiveled to stare at his wife. "That's the shocking part?" It dawned on him that Pep had tried to correct Vox. She knew more about Samantha's ascent into this mess than Tony did at this point.

He rolled his desk chair over until their knees threaded together. "Honey, you need to tell me what you know."

"Tony, you need to save my daughter."

He balked. "She's my daughter, too."

Pepper pursed her lips in that particular way he missed so much. "She's maybe twelve percent your daughter."

Tony raised his eyebrows indignantly, but upon second thought, he simply added, "fair."

Feedback and comments always welcome! Thank you so much for reading, too, because it was maybe the worse summer ever. I felt like my writing suffered a lot, but this feels much better! More to come soon.