Chapter 100

Title: Epilogue

Six Months Later

"Bucky?"

Maggie hopped out of the bedroom, one hand on the wall to steady herself and the other wiping sleep from her eyes. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, and whenever she napped during the day she always woke up disoriented.

She yawned and peered out through the second story window – the sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light through the tree branches in the forest and through the window. She looked down and spotted a charcoal grey motorcycle parked on the gravel driveway, near the closed garage door. "Bucky?"

She cocked her head, still leaning against the wall, until she heard the soft, scratchy sound of the gramophone playing downstairs. With one hand against the wall Maggie hopped down the corridor, her shortened right leg swinging in time to keep balance.

The floors in the house were all wood or dark tile, so they'd set down rugs everywhere to keep Maggie's prosthetic from scratching it all up. Now, the soft rug softened her heavy footsteps as she made her way to the top of the stairs. She paused there, catching her breath.

The wooden stairs curved around to the left, overlooking the foyer space at the back of the house and the wide, tall windows that looked out over the lake. The afternoon sun glittered off the calm water, and Maggie watched a flock of geese fly just over the surface with their wings spread wide. Their house sat right on the edge of the lake, so close that you could jump from the back porch and into the water. Bucky was talking about building a rope swing.

Maggie took a deep breath. It still occasionally caught her by surprise that she had a house. A home. Well, technically Tony had bought her this house years ago, but the deed was in her name. She smiled. Thanks, Tony.

"Hey, Bucky!" she called.

Still no answer. Maggie rolled her eyes and adjusted her sweater before gripping the railings and hopping down the stairs. As she descended, she passed by the photos on the walls. There was one of at least every Avenger; family portraits and selfies and grinning group photos. Rocket had sent a selfie of himself with the Guardians and Thor in the background, though they appeared to be fighting, and that photo hung beside a lovely photograph of Steve and Peggy arm in arm, taken about twenty years ago at their home. Beside that photo hung another of Shirley, surrounded by children and grandchildren with a warm smile on her face. Peter's Aunt May had sent a copy of his latest school photograph.

Maggie reached the bottom of the stairs, passing the framed, singed photobooth photographs of herself and Bucky from years ago. Most of the stuff she'd saved had survived the missile attack on the Facility – it had taken days of digging to even get to it, but aside from the Rubik's cube and the Virtual Planetarium being broken, they'd been able to salvage the rest. Beside the photobooth photos hung Bucky's pencil drawn portrait of Maggie. One corner of it had been burnt away, but Maggie kind of liked it. The postcards from their travels across the globe (slightly crisped at the edges) were set in a glass frame beside the photos.

At the bottom of the stairs, Maggie glanced around the foyer and the back door. On the wall facing the door hung a big photo of Maggie and Tony: the one of them at the Battle of New York memorial dinner, arm in arm and grinning like a pair of misfits. There were plenty of other photos of Tony around the house, but that was her favorite. It hung beside a hand-drawn portrait of Natasha, the red-head's patented half-smile lifting the corner of her lips as she stared back at the viewer. They had Steve to thank for the portrait.

The sound of the gramophone was louder in the foyer (Ella Fitzgerald, she thought), but no Bucky. Sighing, Maggie set her hand against the wall and kept searching. She passed by the kitchen, where dishes sat dry on the rack and the Barton's Christmas card hung on the fridge, past the two spare bedrooms which often housed the endless reel of superheroes looking for a place to crash (or Morgan when she slept over), and finally reached the living room.

"There you are."

Bucky sat on the couch, his metal arm slung across the back of it and his flesh hand tapping away at his phone. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the front windows, illuminating his long hair and the focused look in his blue-grey eyes. He looked at home here, in their living room, with his feet resting on the dark rug before the fireplace and their things filling the space around him. They'd decorated the space in the few months they'd lived here, with photographs and art and little sculptures and hangings they'd found at markets.

A print of a Monet painting hung on the far wall, hiding the door to their weapons safe, and there was a hidden trap door to their basement-turned-safe-room near the tall wooden bookshelf. They'd never had the cause to use it. The gramophone on the far table scratched softly as the tune changed to another Ella Fitzgerald classic. Bucky had found the gramophone at a second hand store and brought it home right away (an old man likes his comforts, Maggie had teased). But the stack of records beside it had been mostly her doing.

Some things in the room were gifts: a wooden shield, intricately carved with a snarling wolf, hung over the door Maggie had entered through; a gift from Asgard. A low table sat near the entryway, and in amongst the scattered books and ornaments on its surface rested a beautiful Vibranium dagger from Wakanda, mounted on a glass stand – there had been some debate about whether it belonged in the weapons safe, but eventually they agreed that it deserved to rest on display.

Bucky looked up when Maggie spoke, and the small furrow in his brow cleared. "Hey, doll."

Maggie leaned in the doorway. "Hey. I was calling you."

"Sorry," he put his phone away and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just got back from Steve's."

Of course. It was about an hour's drive to Steve's aged care home, and Bucky visited at least once a week. Bucky was… conflicted, was the best way Maggie could describe how he felt about the whole 'Steve being old now' thing. It was tough for him to see his friend so old, having lived a life apart from him, but she knew he was happy that Steve got to spend his life with the woman who meant so much to him. He and Steve still chatted regularly, and sometimes the two of them got together with Shirley when her grand kids drove her up from New York, and chatted about the old days.

Maggie cocked her head. "How is he?"

"He's still a punk," Bucky huffed. "Sam was there too, threatened he'd come by later in the week. We might have to move."

"Well I can't move anywhere if I don't find my leg. Have you seen it?"

Bucky blinked and finally seemed to register her leaning against the door jamb, standing on one leg. He got to his feet. "Uh, where did you last see it?"

Maggie shrugged. "If I remembered that then I wouldn't be standing here like a toy soldier." She hopped further into the room, looking around. She didn't mind going one-legged around the house, it strengthened her muscles and built her balance. Though her physiotherapist still hassled her about practicing more with the prosthetic.

Bucky started pulling up pillows and looking around the floor, his hair dangling in his eyes. "It wasn't upstairs with you?"

"I don't know, maybe," she said sheepishly. "I forget where I put them." She had a few prosthetics around the house, partly because she kept forgetting where they were and partly to try out the different models. "I know there's one down here somewhere."

"Aha!" Bucky crowed, on his hands and knees in front of the coffee table. He reached under the table and emerged with his metal hand wrapped around one of her legs: the waterproof 3D-printed one, which looked more or less like a regular leg aside from the fact that it was gunmetal grey. Maggie smiled at the sight of him breathless and grinning, holding her prosthetic leg in his metal arm as he knelt on the floor.

"We're hopeless," she said fondly.

"Speak for yourself," he shot back. "Stay there." He got up and strode over to where she stood clutching the edge of the fireplace. He crouched, pushed up the hem of her knee-length skirt, and carefully set about fitting her prosthetic leg to her scarred stump. Maggie watched him, eyeing the concentration on his face and the gentle movements of his fingers. She'd been learning to be okay with accepting help these last six months, but she found she didn't mind this at all.

When her stump fit snugly in the surprisingly comfortable prosthetic and Bucky had made sure it was secure, he got to his feet. He didn't move back as he slowly straightened, so by the time his face was level with hers they stood mere inches apart. Blue-grey eyes met brown. Almost nose to nose, they looked at each other to the soundtrack of soft crooning songs from long ago. Bucky's hands rested lightly on Maggie's sides as she held one hand on the fireplace, and the other on his shoulder where metal met flesh.

They leaned in at the same time, their noses brushing a moment before their lips met and their eyes closed. Maggie leaned into the kiss and Bucky's hands pressed against her skin. A shiver went down the back of her neck. They'd only recently started this again – despite moving in together they'd taken things slow, treating their grief gently and getting to know the new versions of themselves through long, unhurried conversations. But Maggie had been right about that spark between them; despite the years apart and the strange and unfamiliar places they had been, she understood Bucky. More than any other person she'd ever known. And he understood her.

It didn't hurt that her stomach swooped whenever he looked at her with those grey-blue eyes, or that her skin sparked wherever he touched her. She smiled into the kiss.

A moment later Maggie tangled her fingers in Bucky's hair to distract him and then whirled into action, spinning and trying to sweep his legs out from under him with her prosthetic leg. Bucky dodged the strike with a gleam in his eye.

"Can't trick me so easily these days," he winked. "Besides, I thought we agreed on no more roughhousing in the house."

They had indeed, after they broke their dining table for a third time. A house which contained two very-much-in-love super soldiers who liked to tackle each other stood in constant danger of damage. At least she and Bucky had gotten pretty good at home repair.

Maggie shrugged sheepishly and stepped away from the fireplace, settling easily on her 3D printed leg. She made a mental note to figure out which leg worked best in combat. She'd already worked out the best one for flying. "Let's go out then. I said we'd go by the other house for dinner." She took Bucky's flesh hand and kissed the back of it, a small apology for trying to knock him flat, and smiled when he nodded his agreement.

They pulled on coats and shoes at the side door, and seeing Maggie slot her prosthetic into a boot drew Bucky's attention back to the limb.

"You've gotta put a homing beacon on that thing," he said, straightening and holding the door open for her. "Or finally make one out of nanotech like you've been talking about."

Maggie stepped outside and shivered. The sharp bite of winter hung in the air, crisp and dry. She pulled her coat tighter around herself. "I will go with nanotech in the end, once I know I can get around with regular prosthetics," she replied. This was a familiar conversation between the two of them. She reached backwards, waiting until Bucky took her hand, and once he'd locked the door behind them they strode around the edge of the house toward the lake shore. The sunlight was warm on the backs of their necks, but a cool wind blew off the water into their faces.

Maggie and Bucky had settled at the house by the lake soon after the last funeral. It wasn't always 'the quiet life', what with the world changing around them and the steady stream of friends and family coming through, but Maggie suspected they'd both get bored if things got too quiet.

She'd given up on the idea of their 'one day' years ago, so when she'd woken up one morning and realized it had arrived she'd been so overwhelmed that she dissolved into tears (that hadn't taken much, and still didn't, in the months since Tony died). But then the one day turned into two, then three, and now seemed to have become her life.

And if their little house by the lake happened to only be a mile away from Pepper and Morgan's house, well, no one called them out on it.

Maggie and Bucky could just see the other house from here; a little obscured by the trees, but they could see the part closest to the lake, and the jetty. Their footsteps crunched in the pebbles on the shore as they walked hand-in-hand toward the house. Maggie was mostly steady – she was still learning how to feel natural walking with her prosthetic, while trying not to add too many updates and throw herself off. Rhodey had been a big help with her physiotherapy.

She was already contemplating refining the gyroscopic balance on this model, because it hadn't quite adjusted to the extra weight of Adamantium on her spine. She'd been looking at sleeker models as well, the curved kind that Paralympic athletes used. Shuri had even expressed interest in making a Vibranium prosthetic, like Bucky's arm.

Of course, she'd also been looking at nanotech. "With nanotech I can make the leg into whatever I want it to be," she said to Bucky, sweeping her hand to emphasize. "Like imagine if my whole leg was just one big knife!"

"You might be able to chop some firewood then," he said wryly.

"Nope, that's still your job. It's my job to make the fire-"

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. When he stilled, he looked at her with crinkles around his eyes. "I'm glad you're doing alright with it, Meg. It's weird losing a part of yourself like that, but…"

Maggie kept her face carefully blank. "It is. But, y'know… I've just gotta put my best foot forward." She stuck her leg out for emphasis.

Bucky's eyes widened and then he scowled at her, even as she cackled. She stumbled when she set her leg down again though, and he stepped in to steady her without a word.

After a few more moments of pacing across the pebbles, the house fully in view now, he said: "You're terrible."

"I learned my sense of humor from you, so…"

He let out a breath. "Christ, doesn't that feel like a hundred years ago."

"Longer for me than for you," she said with a small smile.

He eyed her. "Y'know, you're probably older than me now."

"Probably. You're technically a hundred and six now, but biologically, yeah, you're probably younger than me. Our birthdays are going to be a mess." Bucky was looking ahead, a furrow of thought in his brow, so she bumped her shoulder into his. "That a problem?"

"Not at all," he said thoughtfully. "There's a certain appeal to older women."

Maggie laughed. "I think you'd struggle to find anyone actually older than you, handsome."

"There's a nursing home the next town over…"

They bickered back and forth, stopping once so Maggie could pull Bucky into a laughter-filled kiss to express her irritation, until they reached the house. The sun was setting on the horizon, making the warm light spilling out from inside the house look like a beacon. When the sound of Maggie and Bucky's uneven footsteps echoed across the lawn, a dark-haired head popped up from behind the porch railings.

"Maggie! Bucky!"

Morgan Stark dashed down the porch and across the lawns before launching into Maggie's arms. Maggie scooped her up, squeezed her in a hug and then tossed her into the air, making the girl squeal. Bucky caught her when she came back down and tucked her under his metal arm. Morgan was growing and learning every day, but Maggie hoped she was still a long way away from being too big to play with her aunt.

"What are you up to, almighty Morrigan?" Maggie questioned. They walked up the stone steps to see notepaper strewn across the porch, most of it weighed down by a couple of textbooks.

Morgan laughed breathlessly and wiggled in Bucky's grip so she could push her hair out of her eyes. "Homework."

Bucky eyed the high-school level science textbooks, then glanced down at the five year old under his arm. "Homework might be a little different from how I remember it."

Morgan clambered down and grabbed one of the papers to show Maggie. "Maggie, why did this engineer use the Backward Euler method to solve the heat equation for this turbine when the textbook says it's not an accurate method?"

Maggie flicked her eyes over the paper, even as Bucky laughed under his breath. He still seemed to be startled by how Morgan could go from playing with tea sets into the backyard to studying scientific theory that he couldn't understand, though he was getting more and more used to it. Pepper and Tony had enrolled Morgan in a primary school for gifted children that routinely employed tutors of all background and qualifications to assist their students. Morgan had made plenty of friends there. The homework for her age bracket was usually minimal, but Morgan enjoyed it.

Maggie tapped the paper with its diagram of a gas turbine. "Because that method's immune to spurious oscillations," she explained. Morgan's eyes widened with comprehension, and Bucky looked lost. "Now I know for a fact you've already done enough homework for today, why don't we pack it up and go inside? You could show me what you've been working on?"

Bucky and Maggie helped Morgan gather up her homework and carry it inside (though they did most of the carrying, while Morgan hung off Bucky's metal arm. She'd developed a fascination for it). On the way into the house, Maggie brushed her fingers against the picture of Tony on the foyer table – hair askew, wearing a ratty band t-shirt, holding a wrench upside down as he grinned at the camera.

Pepper stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, and smiled at the two of them. "Hi guys, thanks for coming over. I'm just, uh…" she jerked her head over her shoulder. "Burning dinner."

Pepper had more lines around her eyes these days, and sadness hung about her face, but her eyes still gleamed with love. She'd had no end of support from the Avengers and friends around her, and both she and Morgan were seeing a therapist recommended by Maggie's therapist Mai. Maggie and Pepper had spent plenty of sleepless nights together, sitting on the couch by the fire as they drank red wine and spoke in low voices. Morgan seemed to go through cycles of seeming fine, then falling into moody fits and quiet tears, then asking endless questions about her father. Pepper supported her through it all with warmth and strength that took Maggie's breath away. Maggie had read lots of books about childhood grief.

"I'll help," Bucky offered. He leaned over to kiss Maggie on the cheek ("Gross!" exclaimed Morgan) before following Pepper into the kitchen. Morgan still had turbine equations on her mind, so Maggie fielded her questions as they walked through the house into the garage.

The garage was a disaster zone of half-finished projects, stored machinery, vehicles, bikes, and tools. Whenever Pepper or Maggie tried to clean it, it inevitably ended up looking like a bomb had gone off in it a week later.

Morgan pulled Maggie around by her hand, showing her all the little projects she'd been working on. She'd been taking apart the engine of the spare car, but she was only allowed to do that while supervised so she had other engineering and robotics projects strewn across the workspaces. Dum-E and U trilled and butted their clawed heads against Maggie in welcome, then rolled around to follow their young charge as she pointed out the circuit board she'd pulled out of an old computer, and then the model arc reactor she'd been repairing.

Morgan didn't just stick to engineering – she and Pepper were growing flowers in pots on the garage windowsill, and from the colorful mess in the corner Maggie guessed that she was also painting the small wooden stool that usually stood in her bedroom. Maggie nodded and asked questions and exclaimed over Morgan's projects, and in turn Morgan quizzed Maggie about her work on her motorbike (Morgan had forbidden Maggie to work on that without Morgan's supervision) and her ideas about her prosthetic leg. Morgan seemed excited by the prospect of a nanotech leg, and began sketching different designs in color marker on a roll of paper at the workbench. As Morgan worked, she told Maggie about the new extraterrestrial gadget she'd gotten from uncle Rhodey, and the storybooks Uncle Happy had gifted her.

Maggie leaned against the bench as Morgan worked, talking mile-a-minute. She took a deep breath and smiled at the scent of engine oil and metal in the air. She wondered if Starks were genetically predisposed to love that smell. For a few moments she let her niece's words wash over her, then blinked when Morgan settled one small hand over hers as she worked.

Maggie stared down at the hand on hers.

Only six months had passed since the world had been made right again. To Maggie it felt like only yesterday she'd been standing on the jetty watching Tony's arc reactor float out to the middle of the lake. It also felt like years had passed. In six months she'd made a home, learned to walk again, fallen in love all over again, and spent every single day grieving her brother.

And even after six months, Maggie… didn't know what to do. She saw spaces she could fill everywhere, missions to join: Bucky and Sam were talking about working together to protect this new world, filling the hole that Steve left, however much they sniped at each other. Wakanda was growing again and needed foreign alliances, Carol was back to zipping around the universe, Rhodey couldn't decide between retiring or keeping up the good fight. Back in New York, Peter was trying to find a balance between returning to school and being a superhero, while grieving for his mentor. Bruce was founding a new wave of scientific thought, while Wanda and Dr Strange were bringing magic back to the world. New Asgard was growing and offering a point of contact for Earth with the rest of the universe.

As Maggie stared down at the small, soft hand on her long, scarred fingers, she realized she had time. Time to grieve, time to remember, time to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. Time to figure out the things she'd lost – her brother and her leg.

But there was one space she knew she'd never leave: here on the lake, with her sister and her niece, and Bucky.

Bucky and Pepper's voices echoed into the garage, no doubt on their way in to tell them dinner was ready. Morgan chattered on obliviously, now drawing an intricate set of metal wings.

Tony was here too, somehow the center of attention even when he was no longer alive. Pepper and Maggie practically bombarded Morgan with stories about her dad, and Morgan showed every day with her mind, curiosity and big heart that she took after Tony Stark in all the best ways.

Maggie was going to stay. To be there for her family and to rejoice in each laugh and shared dinner and failed rowing expedition on the lake.

That was her mission.