Our love remains𑣲
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pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader
summary: Six months after disappearing, you're alone in a remote cabin in Norway, slowly becoming something not entirely human. Meanwhile, Bucky tears through the universe trying to find a cure because aftr everything you've gone through, Bucky refuses to believe your story ends in separation. And this time, he's not letting you go.
word count: 10.7 k
warnings: +18 MDNI smut, established relationship, hurt/comfort, isolation, near death expriences, panic/grief, lots of crying. angst with a happy ending(yay), mutual pining, canon divergence, fluff, a lot of cameos.
a/n: so, after binge watching the infinity saga + black panther + wakanda forever I finally came here with this resolution for the angstiest story I've ever written. I hope you all enjoy it and that it makes sense :) also big thank you for @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysdecaflove & @kileyking for beta reading this ꨄ︎ you have a big place in my heart! | dividers by @strangergraphics
read in AO3
Six months later.
The cabin is so remote that supply drops only come once a month.
You chose Norway because the cold helps. Something about extreme temperatures stabilizes the radiation — makes the constant hum under your skin almost bearable.
The cabin is small. One room, actually. A bed you rarely sleep in, a kitchenette you barely use, and a desk completely buried under research materials. Quantum physics textbooks in three languages, compound's database you stole before disappearing, including Bruce's notes.
Your hands hover over an equation, and they're glowing again. Faint purple light seeping through your skin like bioluminescence. You've learned to control it somewhat— channel it into small bursts of energy manipulation. You can move objects now without touching them, create shields, sense energy fields within a hundred-meter radius.
But it doesn't matter. None of it matters, because you're alone.
The dog tags hang heavy around your neck, you haven't taken them off once in six months. Sometimes you hold them when you sleep and pretend there's still a heartbeat behind them.
You wonder if he's given up looking yet. You wonder if Steve finally convinced him to let you go, if he started healing, started living, started forgetting—
Your hands flare bright purple and the coffee mug on the desk shatters.
"Shit." Your voice sounds strange. You haven't spoken out loud in three days, maybe four.
You clean up the ceramic shards with your bare hands, not bothering with the broom. The cuts heal almost instantly now, another side effect you discovered in the past weeks: accelerated healing, enhanced strength, and a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep can touch.
The latest book you've read is about quantum entanglement. The theory that particles can remain connected across any distance, that what affects one affects the other instantaneously. You'd laughed when you first read it, because of course that's what you are now. Quantumly entangled with Bucky across whatever distance you've put between you, feeling the ache of separation like a physical wound.
Your notes are getting more desperate, the handwriting sloppier. Margins filled with half-formed theories and crossed out equations. What if you could reverse the cellular integration? What if you could extract the energy signature? What if, what if, what if—
You slam the book shut and stand up too fast, the chair scrapes against the wooden floor, loud in the oppressive silence.
Outside, it's snowing again. You pull on your jacket—his jacket, actually, one of the things you took when you came here— and step out into the blizzard. The cold hits like a slap, but you welcome it. The wind screams, and you scream back, your voice low in the howl of the storm.
"TAKE IT BACK!"
Your hands are blazing now, purple energy crackling between your fingers like lightning. The snow around you melts in a perfect circle, steam rising as radiation meets ice.
"YOU GAVE THIS TO ME, SO TAKE IT BACK!" You're on your knees now, hands pressed into the snow, and where your palms touch the ground, the energy pulses outward in waves. "I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE! I DON'T WANT ANY OF IT!"
The universe doesn't answer. It never does.
You collapse forward, forehead pressed against the frozen ground, and the sobs come like they always do: violent, wrenching and endless. Your fingers dig into the snow until they hit permafrost, and the dog tags swing forward, cold metal against your neck.
"Please," you whisper to no one, to nothing. "Please just let me go, let me fade… let me disappear. I can't do this anymore."
The wind howls.
You stay there until hypothermia starts to set in—which takes longer than it should, because apparently, cosmic radiation makes you resistant to temperature extremes too. When you finally drag yourself back inside, there's a perfect circle of dead earth where you'd been kneeling. Nothing will grow there for years.
You don't bother changing out of your wet clothes, you just curl up on the bed, still wearing his jacket, clutching his dog tags and stare at the wall. You probably should sleep, but instead, you reach for your phone.
You know you shouldn't do this, you've promised yourself every night you won't do this again, but you do it anyway.
The folder is called DO NOT OPEN and you've opened it 180 times, once for every night since you've been gone. Your finger hovers over one video for just one moment—one last chance for saving yourself— before you press play.
The screen fills with Bucky's face, and your heart immediately shatters. He's in bed, hair messy from sleep, early morning light streaming through the window behind him. This was recorded four months before everything went wrong. Before you knew that touching him could kill him.
"Stop recording me," video-Bucky mumbles, but he's smiling. That real, genuine smile he only ever gave you. The one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Never," your own voice responds from behind the camera, playful and so fucking happy it hurts to hear. "You're too pretty in the morning, it's unfair."
"I'm not pretty, I'm rugged."
"You're pretty and rugged, that's a dangerous combination."
He reaches for the camera—for you— and the frame shakes as you dodge away, laughing. God, your laugh sounds so carefree, like you didn't know that in four months, you'd be alone in a frozen cabin listening to this laugh and wanting to die.
"Come back to bed," video-Bucky says, and his voice is rough with sleep and affection and want. "It's too early for this."
"It's 10 AM."
"Exactly, too early." He props himself up on one elbow, and the sheet slips down to his waist. You remember this moment, remember thinking he looked like something out of a dream. "Put the phone down and come here."
"Make me."
His grin turns wicked. "Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe."
What happens next is blur—he's suddenly lunging forward, the camera spins wildly, and then you're both laughing, breathless and so in love it radiates from every frame. The video stabilizes eventually. Now you're both in frame, squeezed together in a selfie angle. His arm is around your shoulders and your head is tucked against his chest.
"Say hi to future us," you say to the camera.
"Hi future us," Bucky obliges, then he looks down at you, and his expression goes soft. "Hope you're having a good day."
"Hope we're still this happy," you add quietly.
He kisses the top of your head. "We will be, I promise."
The video ends.
You're sobbing before the screen even goes dark. It comes out in ragged, gasping waves—the kind of crying that feels like it's tearing you apart from the inside out. You curl tighter round the phone, pressing it against your chest like you can somehow press yourself back into that moment. Back when you were warm and safe.
"I'm sorry," you choke out to the empty room. To the ghost of him in the video. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't keep us that happy, I couldn't—"
Your voice breaks completely.
You replay the video again.
And again.
And again.
Then you close your eyes and try to sleep, knowing you'll dream of him. Knowing you'll wake up reaching for someone who isn't there. Knowing tomorrow night you'll watch the video again. Because it hurts, but it's all you have.
AVENGERS COMPOUND, month 2 since you left.
Bucky hasn't slept in thirty-six hours.
Steve finds him in the lab at 3 AM surrounded by data pads and holographic displays, Carol Danvers' contact information pulled up on the main screen.
"Buck—"
"She's out there somewhere, completely alone, probably thinking she saved me." Bucky doesn't look up from the screen, his metal fingers tap against the desk in an arrhythmic pattern that betrays his agitation. "She's got cosmic radiation tearing her apart from the inside and she's alone, Steve."
"You don't know that she's—"
"Yes, I do." Now Bucky looks up, and Steve flinches at what he sees in his eyes. "I know her, she took every piece of research she could carry. She's trying to fix herself, trying to find a cure so she can come back."
Steve sits down heavily. "Or she's trying to accept that there isn't one."
"No," the word comes out flat. "I don't accept that. Carol Danvers survived direct exposure to an Infinity Stone, so did Peter Quill and his entire team. Wanda got his powers from the mind stone. There are precedents, Steve, there are options."
"Bruce already—"
"Bruce doesn't know everything." Bucky pulls up a new file—Carol's SHIELD profile, her encounter with the tesseract. "Carol Danvers absorbs energy, that's her entire power set. What if she could absorb the radiation from—"
"Bucky, you're grasping at straws."
"I'm following leads," Bucky's jaw tightens. "There's a difference."
Steve watches his best friend for a long moment. The shadows under Bucky's eyes, the tension in his shoulder, the way his flesh hand keeps reaching for something that isn't there—your hand, probably. The habit is so ingrained that he doesn't even notice he's doing it anymore.
"If you find her," Steve says quietly, "and there's no cure… what then?"
Bucky's smile is sharp and humorless. "Then I'll find one anyway, I'll search every corner of this universe and the next if I have to."
"Buck—"
"She gave everything to save me, Steve. She walked away from me—the person she loved the most— because she thought it was the only way to keep me alive." Bucky stands, gathering his research into a neat stack. "So yeah, I'm gonna find a cure, and then I'm gonna find her. And then we're gonna have the forever she didn't think we could have."
"You sound pretty certain."
"I am certain," Bucky's smile heads for the door, pausing a the threshold. "I didn't survive seventy years of HYDRA just to lose her to bad luck and cosmic radiation. I'm getting her back, Steve. That's not a question. The only question is how long it will take."
He's gone before he can respond.
Month 3: Carol Danvers.
Turns out finding Carol Danvers is harder than expected. She's off-world more than she's on it, handling emergencies across multiple galaxies. Bucky makes a bunch of favors to Nick Fury so he can let him borrow his pager.
He waits patiently for one week until Carol materializes in a flash of gold light, landing in the empty field where Bucky's been waiting.
"You're Bucky."
He stands his ground. "Yeah, thanks for meeting me."
"Fury said you needed help with an Infinity Stone problem." Carol crosses her arms. "I'm listening."
So Bucky tells her everything. The mission to Morag, the power stone, the way you grabbed it to save everyone and the radiation poisoning that followed. Carol listens without interrupting, when he's done, she's quiet for a long moment.
"She grabbed the Power Stone with her bare hands," Carol says finally, "and survived."
"Barely."
"No, you don't get it." Carol shakes her head. "She should be dead. The fact that she's alive at all means her body did something right, it adapted somehow."
"But she's still emitting radiation—"
"Because her body doesn't know what to do with the energy it absorbed. It's trying to expel something it should be integrating." Carol starts pacing thinking out loud. "When I absorbed the Tesseract energy, my cells restructured at a molecular level, the energy became part of me. Your girlfriend's body is stuck in limbo—it absorbed the energy but can't process it."
Bucky's heart rate picks up. "Do you think… you can help her?"
"Maybe." Carol turns to face him. "I can absorb energy, it's literally what I do. If she's emitting Infinity Stone radiation, I might be able to pull it out of her system."
"Might?"
"I've never tried to absorb Infinity Stone energy from another person before," Carol's expression is serious. "But I'm willing to try. Where is she?"
And there it is… the question Bucky's been dreading.
"I don't know," he admits. "She disappeared three months ago, I've been trying to find her, but—"
"But she doesn't want to be found." Carol's expression softens slightly. "Smart girl."
"I need to find her first," Bucky says. "But when I do, will you help?"
Carol studies him for a moment and sees the desperation he's trying to hide, the determination, the love.
"Yeah," she says finally. "I'll help. But Barnes— even if I can absorb some of the radiation, it might not be enough. Infinity Stone exposure on this scale… there might not be a complete cure."
"Then I'll find one anyway."
Carol almost smiles. "Stubborn."
"You have no idea."
"Actually, I think I do." She pulls out a pager that looks exactly like Fury's. "Here. If you find her, call me and I'll come as soon as I can."
Bucky takes it carefully. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Carol's eyes glow faint gold. "Just find her, and when you do tell her Carol Danvers said she's a bad ass for surviving this long."
She's gone in a flash of light.
Month 4: Peter Quill.
The Guardians are harder to track down than Carol was. They don't exactly have an Earth address, they don't check in with any planetary authorities. They're mercenaries, pirates, heroes—depending on who you ask—and they move through the galaxy like ghosts.
Bucky has to call in a favor from Thor's old contacts. Has to promise things to people he'd rather shoot and has to follow a trail of bar fights and unpaid tabs halfway across the galaxy in a borrowed ship.
He finds them on Knowhere, of all places, in a dive bar that smells like engine fuel. Peter Quill is drunk… not falling-down drunk, but close.
Bucky slides into the seat across from him without asking. Quill looks up, squinting
"Do I know you?"
"I'm Bucky Barnes, I'm—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Steve Rogers' boyfriend or whatever." Quill waves a hand vaguely. "What do you want? We're not taking any jobs right now."
"I'm not here to hire you," Bucky pushes a data pad across the table. "I'm here because you survived direct exposure to the Power Stone."
That gets Quill's attention. He straightens up, suddenly more sober. "Why do you want to know about that?"
"Because someone I love is sort of dying from the same thing."
The words hang in the air between them.
Quill's expression changes. "Tell me," he says quietly.
So Bucky does, again. The whole story. By the time he's finished, Quill has ordered another drink.
"She grabbed it to save you," Quill says.
"To save everyone on the mission."
"But mostly you."
Bucky doesn't deny it.
Quill stares into his glass. "Gamora died because of a Soul Stone, because Thanos—" He cuts himself off, jaw tight. "I know what it's like, losing someone like that. Having to keep going when the only person you want is gone."
"I'm sorry," Bucky says, and means it.
"Yeah, me too." Quill drains his drink. "The only reason I survived the Power Stone was because my team shared the load—and because of my celestial DNA, without that, I'd be dead. Your girl doesn't have either of those things."
"But she survived."
"She did," Quill leans forward. "Which means her body did something extraordinary. The human body shouldn't be able to process Infinity Stone energy, but if she's alive, if she's still walking around, that means she's adapted somehow."
"Carol said the same thing."
"Carol's right. Your girlfriend is basically a living Infinity Stone battery at this point." Quill pauses. "The question is whether that's killing her or making her stronger."
"It's killing me," Bucky says flatly. "The radiation makes me sick, my body reads it as a threat."
"Because of that knockoff serum running through your veins, it's trying to protect you from what it thinks is a toxin." Quill drums his fingers on the table. "But what if it's not a toxin? What if it's just… power? Raw, uncontrolled, cosmic power that her body doesn't know how to use yet?"
Bucky's mind is racing. "You think she needs to integrate it, not expel it."
"I think she needs to stop fighting it, yeah." Quill meets his eyes. "When I held the Power Stone, I could feel it trying to tear me apart, but the moment I stopped resisting that's when it clicked. I could hold it and channel it. You need to find her and tell her to stop fighting it."
There's a long silence.
"I lost the person I loved most," Quill says finally. "I didn't get a choice, she was just… gone. But you've got a chance. Your girl is out there somewhere, alive. Don't waste it, don't let her think she has to do this alone."
"She left because being near me was killing me."
"So find a way to fix that part," Quill pulls up a holographic display. "I'll give you my genetic profile, the medical scans, all of it. Maybe it'll help."
"Why?" Bucky asks. "You don't know me."
Quill's smile is sad. "Because if I could go back, if I could save Gamora… I'd do anything, absolutely anything." He slides the data chip across the table. "So go save yours."
Bucky takes the chip carefully. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, just—" Quill's voice cracks slightly. "Just get her back. And when you do, don't let go. Not for anything."
"I won't," Bucky promises.
Three hours later, Rocket corners Bucky in the cargo bay.
"So," Rocket says, eyeing Bucky's metal arm with barely concealed interest. "That arm of yours, if you happen to not need it anymore—"
"No."
"I'm just saying—"
"Rocket, I swear—"
"That thing is wasted on you! Do you even know what I could do with tech like that? The upgrades I could—"
"I am Groot," Groot interrupts gently.
"Fine! Fine, I'll stop asking." Rocket huffs. "But when you get yourself killed doing something stupid for your girlfriend, I call dibs."
Despite everything, Bucky almost laughed.
"If I die," he says, "you can have it."
Rocket's eyes light up. "Really?"
"No, not really. Stop asking."
"You're no fun."
But when Bucky lies down that night in the spare quarters they've given him, staring at the ceiling of an alien ship somewhere in deep space, he pulls out the locket and opens it. Stares at your face in the small photograph.
"I'm getting closer," he whispers to the image. "I'm gonna solve this and then I'm gonna find you."
The photo doesn't answer, but he keeps talking anyway.
"I know you think you saved me by leaving, and maybe you did—maybe I would've killed myself trying to get more time with you. But you gotta know, I'm not surviving without you, I'm just existing."
His thumb traces the edge of the locket.
"So I'm coming for you, and I'm bringing a cure. And then you're never leaving my side again."
He closes the locket and presses it against his chest. "Hold on a little longer."
Month 5: Wakanda.
Shuri doesn't look up when Bucky enters her lab. She's surrounded by holographic displays—genetic sequences spinning in mid-air, cellular structures rotating slowly, data streams flowing faster than he can follow.
"Sergeant Barnes," she says, still focused on her work. "I've been expecting you."
"You have?"
"Oh please, quit the innocent act. Captain Danvers contacted me three weeks ago, Peter Quill's genetic data arrived last Tuesday. I've been running simulations since then."
Bucky's heart jumps. "And?"
"It's fascinating," Shuri waves her hand and the displays reorganize themselves. "Your girlfriend grabbed the Power Stone with her bare hands and survived, do you understand how extraordinary that is?"
"I know she should be dead—"
"No, you don't understand." Shuri pulls up an image—a cellular structure that seems half-familiar. "These are her cells, or at least, what I'm projecting they look like based on the radiation signature Bruce detected. See these markers here?" She points to glowing purple threads woven through the DNA. "That's Infinity Stone radiation, not just touching her cells, but integrated into them. Part of her genetic code now."
Bucky stares at the image. "How is that possible?"
"The same way Carol Danvers survived Tesseract exposure, the same way Wanda Maximoff gained powers from the Mind Stone. The same way Vision was created." Shuri's expression turns serious. "When I was trying to remove the Mind Stone from Vision, I was working with approximately three million neurons, trying separate the Stone's influence from his neural pathways without destroying what made him… him."
"You didn't have time to finish."
"No," pain flickers across Shuri's face. "But I learned something important: you can't just rip Infinity Stone energy out of living tissue, it's woven too deeply. The only way forward is reintegration."
"I don't understand."
Shuri pulls up another display—this time showing Quill's genetic structure next to your projected one. "Peter Quill's Celestial DNA allowed him to hold the Power Stone temporarily because his cells could process that level of energy. Carol Danvers' cells restructured to absorb and metabolize cosmic energy. Your girlfriend's cells are trying to do the same thing—but they're stuck halfway."
"Bruce said her body was rejecting it."
"Because it doesn't know how to accept it." Shuri starts pulling up more data—complex equations, cellular models, energy flow diagrams. "Think of it like an organ transplant. Her body absorbed this foreign energy, but her immune system is treating it as an invader. It's trying to expel something that's already part of her."
Bucky's mind is racing. "So what do we do?"
"We teach her cells to stop fighting." Shuri's smile is sharp. "We program her DNA to recognize the energy as native rather than foreign. Molecular reintegration."
"Is that possible?"
"I did it with Vision's neurons. This is the same principle, just… broader scope." Shuri pulls up a simulation—cells reorganizing, energy pathways forming, the purple glow gradually fading from threat to integration. " If I can map her complete structure, I can design a recoding sequence. Nanobots that rewrite her cellular programming one cell at a time, teaching her body to metabolize the radiation."
"How long would that take?"
"The procedure itself? Six to eight hours. Full integration? Three to four weeks as the nanobots work through her system." Shuri meets his eyes. "But there's a complication."
Of course there is.
"The radiation levels are too high right now," Shuri continues. "If I try to recode her cells while she's emitting that much energy, the nanobots will burn out before they can complete the process. We need to reduce her baseline radiation first."
"Carol can absorb it."
"Exactly," Shuri nods. "Captain Danvers reduces the radiation to manageable levels—say, twenty to thirty percent of current output, then I perform the molecular reintegration. Her cells learn to process the remaining energy naturally."
"And then?"
"And then she stops being a walking radiation source. She'll still have powers—the energy is part of her now, that's not changing. But her body will know how to control it, contain it, use it… she won't be toxic to you anymore."
Bucky can barely breathe. "And you think it'll work?"
"I ran the simulation eight hundred and forty-seven times," Shuri pulls up the success rate. "Ninety-two percent success rate. The eight percent failure scenarios all involve variables I can control for with proper preparation."
"Ninety-two percent."
"Better odds than we usually get." Shuri closes the displays with a gesture. "There's one more thing. The reintegration works best when the subject is willing. When they stop fighting the energy and accept it as part of themselves."
Bucky remembers Quill's words: The moment I stopped resisting, that's when it clicked.
"We were trying to fight it the whole time," he says quietly. "She's probably out there trying to do the same thing."
"Then you'll need to convince her to stop." Shuri's gaze is steady. "This won't work if she's still trying to expel the energy. She needs to embrace it, accept that this is who she is now."
"She will," Bucky says with certainty. "Once she knows there's a way back she'll do whatever it takes."
"Good," Shuri starts compiling the data. "I'll need her here in Wakanda for the procedure. The lab has shielding that can protect you during the process. And Barnes—" She pauses. "I'll need a complete genetic sample. Blood work, cellular scans, the full profile. Which means you'll need to find her first."
"I'm working on it."
"Well, work faster. I've seen psychological profiles on prolonged isolation. Five months alone with that kind of power… it changes people. Find her soon."
"I will."
Finding you takes another four weeks.
Steve and Bruce work the digital angle—reading financial footprints, energy signatures, satellite anomalies. Tony's AI runs pattern recognition on global power fluctuations. But it's Sam who finds the real lead.
"Supply drops," he says, dropping a folder on the table in front of Bucky. "Remote locations, extreme climates. Someone's been ordering very specific brand of snacks to a location in Northern Norway, among other interesting things…"
Bucky's hands are shaking as he opens the folder. Shipping manifests. Your favorite brand of cookies, quantum physics textbooks. The deliveries stop at a drop point fifty kilometers from the nearest settlement.
"It's her," he breathes.
"Probably," Sam agrees. "But Buck—you can't be the one to approach her."
"Like hell I can't—"
"Think about it." Steve's voice is quiet. "She left to protect you. If you show up before we can implement the cure, she'll run. She'll think you're being reckless, that you're going to hurt yourself trying to be near her."
Bucky knows he's right. Hates it, but he knows it.
"I'll go," Bruce offers. "With Steve. We'll explain about Carol, about Shuri's procedure. We'll convince her to come back."
"She won't believe it's real," Bucky says roughly. "She'll think it's a trap, or false hope, or—"
"Then we'll show her the data." Bruce is already pulling up Shuri's simulations on his tablet. "The success rate, the genetic models, everything. She's a scientist, Bucky, she'll understand the evidence."
"And what if she doesn't want to come back?"
Steve's hand lands on his shoulder. "Then we'll keep trying until she does. But Buck—we need to move fast. Every day she's out there alone…"
He doesn't finish, doesn't have to.
"Okay," Bucky's voice is hoarse. "Okay, you go. But I'm coming with you. I'll stay in the jet, I won't approach her, but I need to be there."
"Bucky—"
"I need to see her, Steve. Even if it's from a distance, even if she doesn't know I'm there." His hand clenches into a fist. "I haven't seen her face in six months. Please."
Steve and Bruce exchange a look.
"The jet has radiation shielding." Bruce says slowly. "If you stay inside, behind the barrier."
"I will, I promise."
"Alright," Steve nods. "We leave in an hour."
You're halfway through a complex equation when you feel it—two energy signatures getting closer.
Your hands flare purple instinctively, defensive. Your supplies came two days ago, so no one should be out here.
You're at the window when you see them: Steve and Bruce, hiking through the snow toward your cabin. They're not wearing tactical gear, no weapons visible. Just two men in winter coats, looking like they're out for a walk.
No.
They can't be here. You were so careful, you covered your tracks, you—
They're fifty meters away now, close enough that you can see Steve's concerned expression. Close enough that Bruce is checking some kind of device in his hand—probably measuring your radiation output.
You grab your go-bag. You can run. There's a back exit, you can be gone before they get here. But Steve holds up his hands, as a universal sign of 'we come in peace' and you hesitate.
Bruce pulls out a tablet, holds it up so you can see the screen from this distance. It's still too far away to see it clearly, but looks like genetic sequences, cellular models and something about Wakandan technology you remember from Shuri's lab.
Your hands are shaking now. Slowly, carefully, you open the door.
"Don't come any closer," you call out. Your voice sounds strange after weeks of disuse. "I mean it, Steve. You know what I can do."
"We're here to help you." Steve calls back.
"There is no help. I've been researching for six months, I've read everything—"
"To find a cure," Bruce interrupts. "But that's not the right approach… we found an alternative."
"What?"
"Can we come in?" Bruce asks. "I'll show you the data, all of it. The procedure, the success rate, everything."
You should say no. You should run. This is exactly what you were afraid of—them finding you, giving you false hope, convincing you to come back when nothing has changed.
But god, you're so tired of being alone.
"Stay on that side of the room," you say, stepping back. "Don't get closer than five feet."
They enter slowly, Bruce immediately starts setting up the tablet on your desk, pulling up files and simulations, Steve stays by the door, watching you with that expression you know too well—the one that says he's trying to figure out if you're okay.
You're not okay. You haven't been okay in six months.
"Carol Danvers can absorb energy," Bruce starts without preamble. "She's agreed to reduce your radiation output by sixty to seventy percent. Then Shuri performs a molecular reintegration procedure—essentially reprogramming your cells to metabolize the Infinity Stone energy instead of expelling it."
You stare at the data, there are some cellular models showing the integration process, and there's a timeline—six to eight hours for the procedure, three to four weeks for full integration, the success rate is 92%.
"This is real?" Your voice cracks.
"It's real," Steve says quietly. "Shuri's been working on it for weeks. She's ready whenever you are."
"And Bucky—" You can't finish the question.
"He's been searching for this since the day you left," Bruce says. "Carol, Peter Quill, Shuri—he tracked down everyone who's ever survived Infinity Stone exposure. This solution exists because he refused to give up."
Your eyes are burning at this point. "Is he…"
"He's alive. He's okay." Steve's voice is gentle. "He wants to see you."
"No." The word comes out panicked. "No, he can't—the radiation—"
"He's not here," Bruce says quickly. "He's in the jet, behind shielding. He promised not to approach until after the procedure."
The relief and disappointment war in your chest.
"Can I—" You swallow hard. "Can I see him? From a distance?"
Steve and Bruce exchange a glance.
"The jet has observation windows," Steve says. "You'd be separated, but—"
"I don't care." You're already moving toward the door. "Please."
They set it up in the cargo hold.
A wall of reinforced glass, the kind designed to contain gamma radiation. You on one side, Bucky on the other. Five feet of separation plus a barrier that could probably withstand a nuclear blast.
It's not enough, but it's the closest you've been to him in six months. Bruce and Steve step back, giving you privacy. You can barely breathe as you walk toward the glass, your hands trembling, your heart racing so fast you think it might burst.
And then you see him.
He's thinner. There are shadows under his eyes that weren't there before. His hair is longer, tied back in a knot. He's wearing the jacket you bought him for his birthday last year—the one he claimed he didn't like but wore constantly anyway.
He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.
But he still looks beautiful.
"Hi," you whisper, even though he can't possibly hear you through the glass.
But his lips move, forming the same word: Hi.
Your hand comes up, pressing against the glass. His mirrors it on the other side, flesh palm to your purple-veined one, separated by three inches of reinforced barrier.
"You found me," you say.
He nods, his eyes are red.
"I'm sorry." The words tumble out. "I'm so sorry, I thought I was saving you, I thought—"
He shakes his head sharply and pulls out his phone, types something and then he holds it up to the glass:
Don't apologize, you did save me. Now it's my turn to save us.
Your breath hitches. "Is it real? Bruce showed me the data, but—"
He types again: 92% success rate. Shuri's ready, Carol's ready. We just need you there.
"What if I'm part of the 8%?"
Then we find another way, but you won't be. I know you won't be.
You're crying now, tears running down your face. "I missed you so much."
I know, me too.
"I still love you, I never stopped, I—"
He's typing again, but his other hand is pressed so hard against the glass you can see his knuckles turning white: I never stopped either, not even for a second.
"I wear your dog tags every day." You pull them out from under your shirt, hold them up so he can see.
His face crumbles, he touches the locket around his neck.
You both stand there, hands pressed to opposite sides of the glass, crying, trying to get closer to each other through sheer force of will.
"After the procedure," you whisper. "How long until we can—"
He understands immediately and types again: Three to four weeks for full integration. But Bruce thinks maybe partial contact earlier. An hour, maybe two. We build up slowly.
"I can do that. I can wait." Your voice is steadier now. "I waited six months, I can wait a few more weeks if it means forever after that. When do we start?"
He looks over his shoulder—probably at Steve or Bruce. Then he looks back at you and types: Whenever you're ready. We can go to Wakanda right now. Carol's on standby.
You take a shaky breath and look down at your hands—still glowing faintly purple, still dangerous. Then you look at him, the man who crossed the galaxy to find a solution and refused to give up even when you'd given up on yourself.
"I'm ready."
The medical bay is unlike anything you've ever seen. Shuri's designed it specifically for this—a surgical theater surrounded by energy dampening fields, radiation shielding, and enough monitoring equipment to track every cell in your body simultaneously. Carol Danvers stands to one side, warming up like an athlete before a marathon.
You're in the center, sitting on the examination table in a medical gown, trying not to think about the 8% failure rate.
"Okay," Shuri says, circling you with a scanner. "Here's how this works. First, Carol absorbs as much of the excess radiation as she can. This will hurt—I'm not going to lie to you. It's going to feel like she's pulling your insides out. But it's necessary to get your levels down to where the nanobots can work."
"How long?"
"Ten to fifteen minutes, depending on how much energy she can safely absorb." Shuri meets your eyes. "You need to say conscious through it. If you pass out, your body might instinctively fight back, and we can't risk that."
You nod, even though your hands are shaking.
"After Carol's done, I'll inject the nanobots. They'll start the recoding process immediately—you'll feel that too. Warmth, tingling, maybe some discomfort as your cells restructure. The initial programming takes six to eight hours. You'll be sedated for most of it."
"And then?"
"Then we wait. Three to four weeks for full integration. But if everything goes right, you should be able to tolerate brief contact within a week. We'll build up slowly."
Brief contact. A week. You can do this.
"Where's Bucky?"
Shuri gestures to the observation room—a wall of glass where you can see him pacing like a caged animal. Steve's there too, one hand on Bucky's shoulder, probably the only thing keeping him from breaking through the barrier.
Your eyes meet across the distance. He presses his hand to the glass. You mirror the gesture, even though he's too far away to really see.
"He'll be there the whole time," Shuri promises. "Every second. Ready?"
No. Not even a little bit.
"Yes," you say anyway.
Carol steps forward and her eyes are glowing now, fully gold, power radiating off her in waves. "I need you to lower your defenses," she says. "Stop fighting the energy, let it flow naturally. Can you do that?"
"I can do that."
"Good," Carol's hands hover over your shoulders, not quite touching. "On three. One—"
She doesn't get to three.
The pain is immediate and absolute. It feels like she's reached inside your chest and grabbed your heart, except is not your heart, it's the energy, the purple lightning that's been living in your veins for six months, and she's pulling it out thread by thread. Your back arches, your hands grip the table hard enough to dent the metal and you can't breathe, can't think, can't—
"Stay with me!" Carol's voice cuts through the agony. "I know it hurts, but you need to stay conscious. Focus on something!"
You focus on the observation window.
On Bucky, who's pressed against the glass now, both hands flat against it, his mouth moving in words you can't hear but can read on his lips: You can do this, stay with me.
The energy streams from your body to Carol's in visible waves—purple light flowing into gold. Your veins are still glowing but fainter now, the spiderweb patterns starting to fade. Carol's gritting her teeth, absorbing more and more, her whole body incandescent.
"Seventy percent," Shuri calls out. "Carol, that's enough."
"I can take more!"
"You're at your limit, any more and you'll destabilize."
Carol pulls back reluctantly, and the sudden absence of pressure makes you gasp. You collapse forward, would have fallen off the table if Shuri hadn't caught you.
"I've got you. Deep breaths, you did so well."
Your whole body is trembling. When you look down at your hands, the purple glow is still there, but it's so much fainter now. Almost translucent.
"Seventy-four percent reduction," Shuri reports, checking her scanners. "That's even better than projected. How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," you manage.
Carol's leaning against the wall, breathing hard, her skin still glowing. "That was intense," she says. "The Power stone is no joke."
"Thank you," you whisper.
"Thank me when you get your happy ending," Carol straightens up with visible effort. "Shuri, she's all yours."
Shuri's already preparing the injection—a syringe full of silver liquid that seems to move on its own. Nanobots. Millions of them, ready to rewrite your genetic code.
"This is it," Shuri says. "Last chance to back out."
You look at the observation window again. Bucky hasn't moved. He's still there, watching, waiting, believing.
"Do it," you say.
The injection is almost anticlimactic—a small pinch in your arm. For a moment, nothing happens.
Then the warmth starts.
It begins at the injection site and spreads—through your arm, across your chest, down through your core. It's not painful exactly, more like your cells are waking up, reorganizing, learning a new language. You can feel the nanobots working, tiny machines rewriting your DNA one base pair at a time.
"Cellular restructuring has begun," Shuri announces. "Vitals are stable, neural activity normal. So far so good."
The warmth intensifies. Your hands start glowing brighter—not purple now, but silver-white as the nanobots flood your system. It's beautiful and terrifying at the same time.
"I'm going to sedate you now," Shuri says gently. "When you wake up, the primary recoding will be complete. Okay?"
You nod, already feeling drowsy as she administers the sedative.
The last thing you see before your eyes close is Bucky in the observation window, his hand still pressed to the glass.
Hold on, you think. Just a little longer.
Then darkness.
You wake up to Shuri's face hovering over you, concerned.
"Welcome back," she says. "How do you feel?"
You take inventory. Your body feels… different. Not wrong, just different. Like you've been taken apart and put back together in a slightly new configuration. The constant hum of energy under your skin is still there, but it's quieter now… more controlled.
"Weird," you say. "But okay?"
"Better than okay," Shuri helps you sit up slowly. "The primary recoding is complete. Ninety-seven percent of your cells have been successfully reprogrammed. The remaining three percent should finish integrating over the next few days."
"And the radiation?"
"Almost completely internalized. You're still emitting trace amounts, but we're talking background levels now—barely detectable." Shuri can't quite hide her smile. "We did it, it worked."
You look down at your hands. The purple veins are gone. Your skin looks normal… human. When you concentrate, you can feel the energy still there, coiled deep inside, but it's not fighting to get out anymore. It's part of you now.
"Bucky—"
"Right here."
Your head snaps toward the door. He's there, still on the other side of the glass barrier, but closer now. Close enough that you can see the tears on his face.
"The levels are low enough for brief contact," Shuri says carefully. "Emphasis on brief. We're taking five minutes, maybe ten. And I want you both in the shielded room so I can monitor his vitals."
"I'll take it," you say immediately.
"Me too," Bucky echoes.
Shuri looks between you both and shakes her head fondly. "You two are impossible. Give me ten minutes to set up the monitoring equipment."
She leaves to prepare. You and Bucky stay separated by the glass, just looking at each other. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept since you started the procedure.
"You were here the whole time," you say. He nods. "Eight hours standing there?"
A small smile. "I've done longer stakeouts."
"Bucky—"
"I wasn't leaving." His voice is rough. "Not when I just got you back."
Your chest tightens. "Five minutes isn't much."
"It's more than we had yesterday." His hand comes up to the glass again. "And tomorrow it'll be ten, then twenty, then an hour. We'll get there."
"You're really patient about this."
His laugh is sharp. "I'm really not. I'm dying to touch you, but I'm also not risking your health or mine by rushing. We do this right."
"When did you become so responsible?"
"When I almost lost you." His expression goes serious. "I'm not screwing this up. We're following Shuri's protocol exactly. Even if it kills me."
"Don't say that—"
"Figure of speech." He softens. "I'm okay, I promise. Just… eager."
"Me too."
Shuri returns with enough monitoring equipment to stock a small hospital. She sets it up in a side room—smaller, more intimate, with a chair for each of you and about six feet of space between them.
"Okay," she says, attaching heart rate monitors to both of you. "Five minutes. You can sit close, but no extended contact yet. If Bucky shows any symptoms—nausea, dizziness, elevated heart rate beyond normal excitement—we stop immediately. Understood?"
"Understood," you both say in unison.
Shuri gives you one more look, then steps out. "I'll be right outside. The system will alert me if anything goes wrong."
The door closes.
You're alone with Bucky for the first time in six months.
He's in the chair across from you, three feet away, close enough to touch, but not touching. His hands are gripping his knees so hard his knuckles are white.
"Hi," you whisper.
"Hey beautiful." His voice cracks.
"I don't know what to say."
"Me neither," he swallows hard. "I had a whole speech planned, had it memorized and everything. But now you're here, and I can't remember any of it."
"Try anyway."
He takes a shaky breath. "I missed you. Every second of every day. I missed the way you hum when you're concentrating, when you steal the covers in the middle of the night, the way you laugh at everyone's jokes even when they're terrible… I missed waking up next to you, I missed you so much it felt like dying."
Your eyes are burning. "I've missed you too. I missed everything about you. Even how you still pretend you don't like modern music but I've seen your Spotify wrapped—"
He huffs a laugh. "Busted."
"I'm sorry I left."
"Don't be." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You did what you had to do to save my life."
"I should've trusted that we could find another way—"
"Hey," his voice is gentle. "We found it. We're here now, that's what matters."
You nod, wiping your eyes. "Can I— can I move closer?"
"Please."
You shift your chair forward, then again, until you're right in front of him, knees almost touching. Close enough to see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. Close enough to count his lashes. Close enough to reach out and—
"Two more minutes," FRIDAY announces.
You both freeze.
"That went fast," you say.
"Yeah." Bucky's staring at you like he's trying to memorize every detail. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," you agree. "And the day after, and the day after that."
"Every day until you're sick of me."
"So never."
He smiles—real and genuine. "Never sounds good."
"One minute," FRIDAY says.
"I love you," you blurt out. "I know I said it through the glass, but I need to say it again. I love you. I never stopped, not for one second."
"I love you too." His eyes are bright. "So fucking much. And when we get through this, when we don't have to count minutes anymore, I'm never letting you out of my sight again."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Time's up," FRIDAY announces.
Neither of you move.
"We should—" you start.
"Yeah," he agrees.
But you still don't move.
Finally, Shuri's voice comes through the intercom. "I will come in there and separate you myself if necessary."
That breaks the spell. You both laugh, standing up reluctantly.
"Tomorrow," Bucky says again.
"Tomorrow," you confirm.
As you leave the room, you look back one more time. He's watching you go, one hand raised in a small wave.
You wave back.
It's only five minutes, but it's a start.
Week one: Ten minutes a day.
Day 1: You talk about the mission that started everything. About Morag, and the temple and the moment the orb split open.
Day 2: He tells you about tracking down Carol, about Quill and the Gamora parallel. You cry.
Day 3: You share your research notes. He's impressed by how far you got on your own.
Day 4: You sit in comfortable silence, just existing in the same space.
Day 5: He brings you a book. You each read quiet, occasionally reading passages aloud to each other.
Day 6: You almost hold hands. Get within an inch. Pull back at the last second.
Day 7: Shuri increases your time to fifteen minutes. You both cheer.
Week two: thirty minutes a day.
Day 8: First accidental touch—his knee bumps yours. You both freeze, wait for symptoms. Nothing happens and you both cry from relief.
Day 9: Intentional touch—fingers brushing, just for a second. His skin is warm.
Day 10: You hold hands for sixty seconds. It's the longest minute of your life.
Day 11: He brings your favorite snacks. You eat together, knees touching the whole time.
Day 12: You fall asleep during your sessions. Wake up to find him watching you with the softest expression.
Day 13: First argument—he wants to push the limits, you want to follow the protocol. You barely win.
Day 14: Shuri increases your time to forty-five minutes. His vitals stay perfect the entire session.
Week three: two hours a day.
Day 15: You watch a movie, sit on the same couch. His arm around your shoulders for the last twenty minutes.
Day 16: You talk about the future. About what happens after you're cleared. Where you'll live. If you'll go back to the team.
Day 17: He braids your hair. You've forgotten how good his hands feel.
Day 18: You meet his lips for the first time—just a quick press, barely three seconds. You both shake afterwards.
Day 19: Longer kiss. Ten seconds. His hand cups your face and you lean into it.
Day 20: You make out like teenagers on Shuri's medical couch. She threatens to separate you, but neither of you care.
Day 21: Shuri runs final tests and declares you ninety-nine percent integrated. Clears you for normal contact with monitoring.
Week four.
Shuri gives you a room. Not a medical bay, not a shielded facility. Just a regular room in the residential wing of the Wakandan complex. A bed, a bathroom, a window overlooking the city.
"You're cleared for overnight contact," she says. "But I want you both wearing monitors, if anything feels off, even a little bit, you come find me immediately."
"We will," you promise.
"I mean it. No being heroes, no pushing through symptoms."
"We won't," Bucky adds.
Shuri looks between you both, then sighs. "You're going to push through symptoms, aren't you?"
"Absolutely not," you both lie in unison.
She shakes her head fondly. "At least try to be safe about it, and for the love of Bast, use protection. I don't need any radioactive super-babies running around my lab."
You turn bright red. Bucky coughs.
"I'm a scientist," Shuri says drily. "I know what you're planning to do the second I leave this room. Just be smart about it."
She leaves.
You and Bucky stand there, suddenly awkward.
"So," you say.
"So," he echoes.
"We have all night."
"Yeah."
"No timers."
"Nope."
You take step toward him. Then another. Close enough to touch.
"I don't know how to do this anymore," you admit quietly. "Without counting minutes. Without watching the clock."
"Me neither." His hand comes up slowly, carefully, and cups your face. His thumb strokes across your cheekbone. "Guess we'll figure it out together."
You lean into his touch, eyes closing. Just feeling his warmth, his calluses. The way his breath hitches when you turn your head and press a kiss to his palm.
"I'm nervous," you whisper.
"Me too."
"What if—" you stop. "What if something goes wrong?"
"Then we stop." He steps closer, forehead resting against yours. "But nothing's going to go wrong, we've been building up to this for weeks. Your levels are stable, my body's adjusted. We're okay."
"You sound pretty confident about that."
"I'm confident." His other hand finds your waist. "I'm confident that I love you, that I want you. I've waited six months and four weeks for this. And I'm confident that we're going to be just fine."
"When did you get so wise?"
"When I married you."
You huff a laugh against his mouth. "You didn't marry me. We're not—"
"Technicality." He kisses you softly. "We will be. Soon as we're home, I'm gonna marry you properly."
"Is that a proposal?"
"That's a promise." You kiss him again, deeper this time, and his arms tighten around you. "Now, can I take you to bed?"
You nod and both move together slowly, carefully. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls you between his legs. His hands settle on your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt.
"I'm going to make love to you now."
Your breath catches. "Okay…"
"And it's probably going to be emotional and messy, and we're probably both going to cry."
"That's okay too."
"And we're going to check the monitors every five minutes like paranoid people."
That makes you laugh. "Probably every two minutes."
"FRIDAY's going to think we're ridiculous."
"It's an AI… but it probably already thinks we're ridiculous."
His smile is so soft and so full of love it makes your chest ache. "Come here."
You climb into his lap, straddling him, and for a moment you just stay like that, your foreheads touching, breathing each other's air. His hands slide under your shirt, warm skin and cool vibranium against your skin.
"You're shaking," he murmurs.
"I'm nervous."
"We don't have to—"
"I want to." You pull back enough to look at him. "I really, really want to. I just— it's been so long. And I'm scared it's going to feel different. That we're going to be different."
"We are different," he says gently. "We've been through hell, we've been apart. We've had to rebuild everything from scratch. But—" His hand comes up to cup your face. "But I still love you the exact same way. And I still want you the exact same way. And when I touch you—" His hand slides down your neck, across your collarbone, "—it still feels like coming home."
"Bucky—" Your voice breaks.
"Let me show you," he whispers. "Let me show you that we're still us. That nothing's changed where it matters."
You kiss him in answer. Deep and slow and full of six months of longing.
His hands slide under your shirt, fingertips tracing patterns on your ribs. You arch into the touch, and he makes this low sound in his chest that you've missed so much.
He pauses, a question in his eyes. You nod, and your shirt comes off slowly, carefully, like he's unwrapping something precious. It gets tossed somewhere neither of you care about. His hands immediately return to your skin, mapping territory he knows by heart.
You tug at his shirt in answer. It joins yours on the floor, and then it's skin against skin and you both go very still. His eyes find yours for a second, you check the monitors on both your wrists, heart rates elevated but stable.
He kisses you again, and this time there's more heat behind it. His hands slide down your thighs, and he lifts you easily turning to lay you back on the bed.
He hovers over you for a moment, just looking. Making sure you're real. You reach up, trace his bottom lip with your thumb. He catches your hand, presses a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, then the inside of your elbow, working his way up your arm with gentle, deliberate kisses.
He continues his exploration, kissing every inch of exposed skin. Your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, the space between your breasts. When he reaches your ribs—where the purple veins used to be, now faded to nothing—he pauses and looks at you with so much tenderness it hurts. Then he kisses every faded mark, tender kiss across your chest and your arms. Everywhere the purple light used to shimmer.
You're crying before he's halfway done.
He kisses the tears from your cheeks, settles his weight more fully against you.
"I love you," you whisper. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," his voice is rough. "So much. So fucking much."
You kiss him hard, desperately, and he responds in kind. The gentleness gives way to need, to six months of missing each other, to all the times you thought you'd never get to do this again. Clothes come off—the rest of yours, all of his— and then it's just skin and heat and hands trying to touch everywhere at once.
You reach for the monitors, checking. He does the same. Both elevated, but still stable.
He kisses down your body again, this time with clear intent. You thread your fingers through his hair as he works, building you up until you're shaking and desperate. When he kisses his way back up your body, you're both trembling. He reaches for the nightstand and pauses to look at you.
The first moment he slides into you, you both go completely still. Your breath catches. His forehead drops to your shoulder. For a long moment, neither of you move—just feeling. Being connected again.
He lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears. You cup his face with both hands, and he leans into the touch. Then he starts to move, slow and careful, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
It's perfect.
Not in a perfect movie way—there are awkward position adjustments and a moment where the bed squeaks really loudly and you both pause, half-laughing. But it's perfect in your own way.
The pace gradually builds. He's hitting all the right spots, finding the rhythm you both remember. When you finally come apart, it's together—him buried deep inside you, your name on his lips, your hands clutched in his hair. The pleasure crashes through you like a wave and you feel him follow seconds later, his whole body shuddering.
After, he doesn't pull out immediately, just stays there, face buried in your neck, both of you breathing hard. You check the monitors one more time. All vitals stable. No warnings.
"We're okay," you whisper, and your voice cracks. "We're really okay."
He nods against your neck, and you feel wetness—tears. He's crying. You're both crying.
He finally pulls back enough to look at you, and you're both a mess—tears streaming, smiling through them.
"I love you," you say quietly. "I love you so much."
"I love you too," he carefully pulls out, disposes of the condom and immediately pulls you back into his arms. "God, I love you."
You curl into his chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth. His hand runs through your hair in long, soothing strokes. There's a long, comfortable silence.
Then: "FRIDAY, are you monitoring us right now?"
FRIDAY's voice fills the room: "I am monitoring your vital signs, as requested by Princess Shuri. I am not, however, recording or observing. Your privacy is assured."
"Thank you, FRIDAY." Bucky says.
"You're welcome, sergeant Barnes. And congratulations. Your vital signs remained stable throughout your… activity."
You burst out laughing . "Oh my god."
"FRIDAY just congratulated us on sex," Bucky says, grinning.
"I congratulated you on maintaining stable vital signs during intimate contact," FRIDAY corrects primly. "The sex is your own business."
You're both laughing now, that slightly hysterical post-emotional-sex laughter.
His hand trails down your spine, a silent question. You shift closer in answer.
You make love twice more that night—once slow and lazy, once with a little more urgency. Each time, you check the monitors wordlessly, a quick glance and a nod before continuing.
You talk in between rounds. About everything and nothing. About the future. About where you'll live when you get officially cleared. About all the mundane, beautiful things you get to plan now that you have forever.
"I want to marry you," he says at some point. "For real, proper wedding, all of our friends. You in a white dress walking to me, making me cry."
"I'd really like that."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You kiss his chest. "Let's get married. Let's have the life we were supposed to have before everything went wrong."
"Nothing went wrong," he says quietly. "It was just… a detour. We took the long way around, but we're here now."
"We're here now," you agree.
You fall asleep like that. Tangled together. No monitors alarming, no timers counting down. Just you and him and the whole future stretched out before you.
When you wake you in the morning, his arms are still around you. And when you check the monitors—because old habits die hard—they're still perfectly stable.
You really are free.
A few hours later, Shuri finds you both in the dining hall, looking thoroughly rumpled and impossibly happy.
"Good morning," she says with a knowing smirk. "I trust you slept well?"
"Very well," Bucky says innocently.
"Mmhmm." She pulls data on her tablet. "Your vitals were stable all night. Eight hours of contact with zero adverse reactions. I'd say we can officially declare you're safe to be around each other."
You and Bucky look at each other.
"We're really safe," you whisper.
"We really are"
Shuri's expression softens. "You're free. No more restrictions, no more monitoring. You can go and live your lives."
"Thank you," you say. "Shuri, thank you for everything. For saving us, for—"
"For giving us our lives back," Bucky finishes.
"You're welcome." She closes the tablet. "Now go home, get married, be disgustingly happy. And please, do not name your first child after me."
"No promises," you say grinning.
She shakes her head fondly. "Impossible, you're both impossible."
But she's smiling. And so are you.
Because you're free. You have your whole lives ahead of you. And you're going to spend every single second of it together.
You get married in a small ceremony two months after. It's just the team and a handful of close friends on the grounds of the compound, under an arch decorated with simple white flowers. Steve officiates it. Sam cries more than anyone expected. Maria Hill catches the bouquet and immediately tries to give it back.
The retirement conversation happens on your honeymoon. You're in Greece, watching the sunset paint the sea in shades of gold and pink, and Bucky says quietly "What if we didn't go back?" So you call Steve from a café in Santorini and he takes it exactly as you'd hoped. You promise to come help them if something Thanos-level happens again.
Finding a perfect house takes three months. You look at a dozen places before you find it—a modest two-story in a quiet town upstate, with a front porch and a backyard and a garage that makes Bucky's eyes light up. The neighborhood is the kind where people know their neighbors' names, where kids play in yards, where nothing exciting happens. It takes you two weeks to move in and you spend the first month turning the house into your home.
You find work teaching physics at the local university. Your students are bright and curious and have absolutely no idea their professor used to save the world. You love teaching, love the routine of it, the normalcy, the way your biggest challenge is explaining quantum mechanics to undergrads instead of fighting cosmic threats.
Bucky starts small, fixing the neighbor's lawn mower, then someone's car. Word spreads, and soon he's running a modest auto repair business out of the garage, specializing in vintage cars and motorcycles. On the weekends, he volunteers at the VA, running support groups for veterans. He doesn't talk much about those sessions, but you can see how much it means to him. How much it helps. He's found his purpose outside of being a soldier.
Your life becomes beautifully ordinary. Morning coffees and breakfast routines, coming home to each other every evening, grocery shopping on Saturdays, movie nights on Fridays, Sunday mornings in bed with nowhere to be and nothing to do but exist together.
Two years into retirement, you're on the back porch with coffee going cold in your hands. Bucky's next to you on the swing, his arm around your shoulders, both of you watch the neighborhood slowly wake up.
"I've been thinking about having a baby," you say quietly.
Bucky's thumb stills on your shoulder for just a moment, then continues its gentle movement. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He doesn't ask if you're sure. He just holds you a little closer and lets the words settle between you. His arm wrap around you fully, and you sit together in the golden morning light, thinking about what comes next. A family. The next chapter of this improbable, beautiful life.
It won't be simple. Nothing about you has ever been simple, there will be complications, uncertainties, moments of fear. You'll need to call Shuri, get answers, make plans… but you've survived worse than uncertainty.
You've survived impossible. And you'll survive this too, together.
"Should we call her?" Bucky asks quietly. "Shuri?"
You nod against his chest. "Soon. Let's just— let's sit here a little longer first."
"Okay."
So you do. You sit on your back porch on a Sunday morning, holding each other, remembering everything it took to get here, and choosing together what comes next.
taglist: @herejustforbuckybarnes @wintersoldier-gal @globetrotter28 @elisexoxo-buckysversion @angelryex @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @erina00 @buckysdecaflove @jai200700 @squishyfruitloop @broadwaybabe18 @abyy1838 @juniebjonesin @mostlymarvelgirl @gilwm @ghost-of-barnes @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @julinkapipinka @phoenix-in-writing @spring-soldier +add yourself here
I knew Bucky was gonna come through!
I loved the Rocket cameo it was some nice brevity after such a heavy scene before it.
This was so beautifully written an amazing duo of stories. I will def be reading again and again!
