SOKOVIA, CENTRAL-SOUTHWESTERN EUROPE
2015

WANDA'S finger tapped restlessly against a grate tabletop, so insistent that the black polish on the nail began to chip away. She gnawed on her lip until it stung. Where was he?

The cafe was blessedly crowded, especially the outdoor area, where she waited, as the gray sun had made a rare appearance that day. Wanda's eyes shifted from the street to her untouched muffin; she was nauseous with hunger, but nothing had compelled her in days. Too much had happened—too many things were far more important than eating.

She stared down at her hands. How could she be sure? After all this time . . . after the years of isolation, of not knowing a thing about the outside world, how is it Wanda's first glance of it would include her?

Something moved in her peripheral, took the seat across from her. Wanda did not look up.

"Did you find anything?" she asked softly.

"Nothing," Pietro replied, pulling her plate to him. "The police do not talk about it. No one has reported on the raid, and the Avengers are back in New York." He paused and tore off a chunk of the muffin and took his time chewing. Pietro's nose wrinkled with disgust. "Blueberry," he mumbled with distaste. A moment later, he regained his sincerity. "Wanda . . . do you think that you could have been mistaken? In Stark's vision . . . maybe it wasn't Jekaterina—"

"It was," Wanda insisted. "I know it. Stark looked to her like he knew her."

Pietro's lips were pulled taut. "Was she like the others? Dead?"

"Yes." Wanda tugged at her jacket sleeves. "It was her. Jekaterina lives, and she lives close to them. Close enough that Tony Stark would care if she died."

"But why wouldn't Strucker tell us?" Pietro wondered. "Why hide it?"

"Why would he tell us?" Wanda argued. "Jekaterina's program was a failure. She was a failure. He would not wish to remember that, and he did not wish anyone else remember, either. That is why he taught me to erase her."

Pietro's face was grim and he kept his stare down. "A harsh punishment, I still think."

"She was not supposed to live long enough to grieve, Pietro," Wanda said. "But yet she fights alongside the Avengers to this day. Do you not wonder why?"

"I want to stick to the plan," Pietro said, leaning back in his seat. "I want to get to Stark and to the others and I want them to suffer. If Jekaterina is included, so be it. But you must remember, surată, she was always kind to us."

Wanda was quiet for many moments. She rested her chin on her palms and her focus wandered, mind drawn back to long ago, new bitterness lifting its head in her. "I remember," she said. "But if her loyalties lie with Stark then kindness means nothing. I want to talk to her. I want to see what she has done with herself."

Pietro shook his head. "We would never get her alone."

"We could," Wanda insisted. "Do not be so pessimistic."

"And if we get to New York?" Pietro challenged. "What, we schedule a lunch with her? You know Jekaterina will assume we have no memory of her."

Wanda finally seemed to hear him. Her eyes hardened, her fingers flexing strangely, and a crease came to her forehead. "We'll find a way. I'm sure of it."

Pietro tipped back his chair, shaking a lock of silver hair away from his eye. "If you say so. And before you suggest it, I cannot run to Manhattan."

Wanda scoffed at him but did not argue. It had, admittedly, crossed her mind.

• • •

NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
2015

ONE of June's favorite things about Bucky was that he did not care how he dressed. That's not to say he ever looked unpresentable or bad, even, he just didn't have opinions on anything he wore. This meant, to June's delight, that she could buy most of his clothes and dress him up however she wanted.

She had, in her own opinion, outdone herself with his look for Tony's much-awaited victory party. Bucky wore a simple leather jacket over a navy button-down, with dark jeans that were tight enough not to be reminiscent of 1945, but not so much that they were obnoxious. Black leather boots with a slight heel gave him that much more of a height advantage over everyone. It was more or less for June's own benefit (because she didn't think she could stare at him enough) but also to trigger a few nips of envy in the party guests.

Why, yes, June envisioned herself saying, this is my gorgeous, melodramatic assassin-boyfriend, thank you for noticing.

Much less in the fantasizing mood, Bucky wondered aloud if he should wear a glove over his left hand.

"There's no reason," June said gently. "Everyone out there has some gimmick or another."

"You enjoy this, huh?" Bucky replied, throwing her a look. "Dollin' me up?"

June giggled. "Yeah, I do. Why? You're not having fun?"

"This part's fun," he shrugged. "And watching you get ready. But the party is not very enticing if I'm honest."

June smiled with sympathy. She made her way to her bed, where Bucky was sprawled out, one foot bouncing absently, his brow knit. June slid next to him, peering into his face in concern. "You don't have to go if you don't want to. Honest. It's okay." She stroked his hair away from his eyes. "I'll just bother Steve."

Bucky made a face. "Nah, I'll come. Sitting in here mopin' doesn't do me any good, and I'd rather be with you." He rested a hand beneath June's chin. "I think I used to be pretty good at stuff like this—I was good with people, you know? God knows that's long-fucking-gone."

June tilted her head and kissed his palm. "Not forever, if you don't want it to be. Be patient with yourself, you just have to relearn a few things."

With a kind smile, she climbed off the bed and darted to her (their) closet. She stretched out her arms, ruffled the back of her freshly blow-dried hair, and began to sort idly through her small collection of party wear. June settled on a very simple black dress with camisole straps and a short skirt. She paired it with black heels and pink lipstick, flat-ironed her hair, and spritzed on the first perfume she could grab.

"I'm gonna say this in the most respectful way I can," Bucky said, coming up behind June and placing his hands on either side of her on the bathroom counter, "because I wouldn't care if you dressed in a snowsuit everyday, but I am really glad it's not nineteen-forty-five anymore."

"Why?" June asked, leaning back into him. "Blouses and aprons not your thing?"

Bucky lowered his mouth to the crook of her neck. "I always thought of myself as a man of the future." His lips darted over her shoulder, a hand eventually hovering above the zipper at the top of her dress. Reluctantly, June sighed and turned to look at him.

"I can't be late," she said. "I promised Tony."

Bucky gave her a pained expression. "Is punctuality a virtue you really care about? Be honest."

"For Tony, yes," June said with a wicked grin. "Don't worry, the party won't last all night."

She pushed him away slowly, delighted with how easily he could be teased and flounced her way out of the bathroom and to the door. Bucky went with her, a hand pressed to the small of her back as she stepped into the hall and he followed, shutting the door behind them.

"If you get overwhelmed," June said, "tell me. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled and took his hand tightly. "Let's go to war, Sergeant."

Bucky shook his head. "It's not war, darlin', it's a party. You should loosen up."

June punched his arm but latched herself to him as they stepped into the elevator, so in love, it made her sick at herself. The feeling brought warm embarrassment with it, but a kind that felt pure and happy. Here was someone that she knew, no matter what, she would always put before herself. As terrifying as it was, the prospect also put June at peace. To know that she was capable of feeling such a way indicated that there was still quite a bit of humanity left in her, and remained something Hydra could not flush out.

"I love you, Barnes," she whispered, the words aged and familiar on her lips. Last night seemed eons ago. "Is that still all right?"

Bucky looked down at her, eyes drifting over her face, mouth lifting into the lightest smile. "Yes," he said softly. The doors shut. "I love you, too."

"That's a relief."

"I'm serious, June." He locked his ice-blue gaze to hers, the earlier laughter gone, replaced by intense focus. "You're it. There's not another person out there that I will feel the same about." He shrugged. "You're it."

Blood rushed in June's ears.

"Yes," Bucky said again. "You have me forever. No matter what."

The elevator halted, the bell dinged, and the doors slid back open before June think about what Bucky had just said. The sounds of the party reached them through the empty hall, bouncing off the glass walls, the smells of food and booze mixing together with at least fifty different types of perfumes and colognes, all while the shadows of the guests danced through the doorway, all giddy and laughing. June beheld all of it, stunned to silence.

She was it.

Her heart raced as if she'd just run a mile. "And you have me," she whispered. That was all that was needed. Bucky squeezed her hand tight in his own. June sniffed and glanced up at him and saw that his eyes gleamed too, brilliantly reflecting the lamplight that set the hallway aglow.

June laughed shakily and tugged Bucky forward. "C'mon, I didn't get pretty just to loiter."

Bucky gave her a playful nudge. "That's exactly why I got pretty, but suit yourself."

• • •

"What's your drink, sweetheart?" Natasha's voice came from behind, amused and cool. June turned around, grinning, and was met with Nat's feline eyes and coy smile. Tony's party had been going on for about an hour, and up until then June had been unsuccessful in squeezing in a conversation with Natasha—they were both busy being twirled in and out of introductions, meeting people's people and old friends of Tony that soon became so numerous any normal person would have been at a loss to try and remember them all.

June squeezed Natasha in an embrace. She looked very pretty in a black dress and mini white blazer. "I don't have a drink," she laughed, releasing Nat but holding her by the forearm. "I can't get drunk."

Natasha waved her off. "We can experiment," she insisted. She led her to the bar and slipped behind the counter. June watched her search through Tony's vast collection, the bottles mounted on the wall like crystals in a cave. Natasha selected a scotch that June guessed could have covered the down-payment on a house and poured them both a glass. "Where's Bucky?" Natasha asked as she handed June her drink.

"With Steve," June replied, gesturing to the second level of the lounge where the pair chatted with Maria Hill.

"It's good to see him out here," Nat said.

June nodded. "I'm really glad he came—surprised but glad." She watched as Bucky gave some remark that sent Steve and Maria's heads back in laughter; she couldn't suppress her beaming smile. "Seriously, I thought it would take a miracle to get him to agree."

"How's it going with you two?"

June couldn't stop the childish flutter her stomach gave. "Really well," she said, inexplicably breathless. "He makes me happy. And I think I make him happy. It's just . . . good. And that's taken some getting used to. He's getting his memory back, and I think he's something of his old self again." June looked back up at Steve, Bucky, and Maria, where even in the distance she could see Steve had put a hand on Bucky's shoulder as they talked. "He helps Stevie a lot."

Natasha nodded. "I can tell. His brooding has been cut in half, basically." She winked at June. "I do have to admit, I was skeptical. But turns out when he's not trying to kill me, Barnes is a nice fella."

"Oh, isn't that the mantra of the century," June said, raising her glass to Natasha, who clinked hers to it.

Nat took a slow sip of her drink, watching June over the rim. "Not to dampen the mood," she said, "but how are you doing from the other day?"

June half-shrugged. "I'm trying not to think too much about it. You've been a big help. I just want to focus on the good things for once. You know?"

"I do," Nat agreed. "Value them while they're here. With this life, things tend to slouch towards difficulty."

"Tell me about it," June sighed. She fixed a sneaky stare on Natasha. "Speaking of good things, when do I get to set you up? I've got to get you out of this tower."

Natasha laughed dryly. "Set me up with who, Ivanski?"

"I don't know," June said, batting her eyelashes innocently. "But what's Tinder for if not this very problem?"

Nat clucked her tongue, grinning wickedly. "I'm telling Barnes you still have an account."

June waved her off. "I never used it. Besides, good luck explaining it to him."

"Fuck, you're right."

They burst into delighted laughter that glowed in June's chest, a warm, content feeling blooming over her. She felt so light, so carelessly happy, she couldn't reign in her grin if she'd wanted to.

June had a family. June was in love. Things were going right.

The party carried on past midnight; everyone was only getting drunker (Thor had almost killed a trio of elderly veterans by letting them try Asgardian liquor) and Tony finally declared, at 1:00 a.m., that it was time to say goodbye.

"You can tell I'm getting old," he said, "because I'm ending this at all. Back in the day I didn't stop 'till I couldn't stand up, but I guess rehab took the fun outta me."

It was a relief to have the tower back to themselves. June was finally able to talk to Sam, who, though in love with his job and happy to help others, was generally bored out of his mind.

"I kinda liked being a superhero," he said, smiling and nudging June's shoulder. "You meet good people."

Eventually, even Sam had to depart, and the celebration had dwindled to include the Avengers, June, Bucky, and Maria. They settled around the coffee table in the lounge, nursing lukewarm beers and throwing around half-assed jokes dulled by the alcohol and general exhaustion.

"All I'm saying," cried Clint from his seat on the floor, leaning back against the couch that June, Bucky, and Maria shared, "is that it's a damn trick!" he gestured at Thor, a drumstick twirling through his fingers. "You like attention!"

Thor, looking pleasantly amused, shrugged. "It's a little bit more than that."

Clint threw him a look. "Oh, uh, 'whosoever be he worthy shall haveth the power!' Whatever, man, it's a trick."

"Well, please," Thor gestured coolly to Mjolnir where it rested on the coffee table, "be my guest."

A collective "oooh" swept the room, and Clint raised an eyebrow. "Really? You want me to?"

Tony was the first to encourage him. "C'mon," he urged quietly, eagerly.

Thor grinned, easy and delighted. "Yeah."

"Oh, this is gonna be beautiful," Rhodey said.

June watched, bouncing with laughter, as Clint hopped to his feet and sauntered to the other side of the table, his mouth twisted in a good-humored smirk.

"Now, Clint," Tony quipped, "you've had a rough week—we won't hold it against you if you can't get it up."

This earned a wave of appreciative snickers, and Clint shook his head, struggling to contain his smile. "Awesome dick joke, man." He turned his attention back to Thor. "You know I've seen this before right?" Clint threw out a hand and grasped Mjolnir's handle tightly, knuckles turning white and neck straining as he pulled. It remained unmoving, firmly on the table as if cemented there. Clint let out a strangled noise and released it with a slight stumble. "I still don't know how you do it!"

"Smell the silent judgment?" Tony taunted, eyebrows wagging.

"Please, Stark," Clint gestured grandly to the hammer, "by all means."

Tony promptly stood up in clear acceptance of Clint's dare, earning a few taunting whoops and a tired, amused, "Oh, here we go," from Natasha.

"Never one to shrink from an honest challenge," Tony said, calmly adjusting his watch as he squared up to the table.

"Well, get after it," Clint barked.

Tony ignored him. "It's physics."

June couldn't stop her scoff. "Physics?"

"Right, so," Tony went on, "if I lift it, I then rule Asgard?"

Thor bobbed his head, eyes twinkling. "Yes, of course."

"Well, then I will be reinstituting Prima Nocta. That's off the record, do not tell Pep I said that."

"Too late," June said. "I'm gonna add it to the list."

One of Tony's eyes squinted shut as he slid his hand through the strap on Mjolnir's handle and pulled with all his might. After a few unsuccessful moments, Tony excused himself and returned with one of his gauntlets. It whirred and buzzed with his effort, but the hammer did not budge. "Rhodey," Tony said, voice stubborn, "help me out," and soon they both had an armored hand on the handle, straining with exertion.

"Are you even pulling?" Rhodey gasped, breathless and wide-eyed.

Tony looked at him sideways. "Are you on my team?"

"Just represent! Pull!"

"All right, let's go."

It could not be said that they did not try, but it was all futile. Bruce gave a whack at it, hoping to call on the Hulk to help out, but the big guy wasn't answering. "Ah, screw it," June laughed and hopped to the other side of the coffee table. She pulled until it felt her arms might tear off instead, and still there was nothing. She shrugged in defeat and caught Steve's eye. She gave him a wink, and he stood, pushing up his sleeves and trying not to collapse with laughter.

Tony watched him carefully, eyes also trailing on Mjolnir as if daring the hammer to lift for Steve. "Let's go, Cap, no pressure."

"C'mon, Cap," Rhodey called.

When Steve got his hands on the hammer, the thing moved.

It was a slight movement, recognizable only by the squeak of the metal scraping against the glass, but it was there. June watched, transfixed, with a strange mixture of pity and delight as Thor's face fell; she'd never seen such intense alarm conveyed with so little expression. After a few struggling moments, however, Steve gave up, and Thor tentatively let out a throaty, relieved laugh. "Nothing," he said with a satisfied grin.

Bruce looked at Nat and gestured. "Widow?"

Natasha sat back, lips lifted coolly. "Oh, no, no. That's not a question I need answered." She took a swig of her beer, smirking against the bottle.

Tony dropped back on the couch, nose scrunched with annoyance. "All deference to the man who wouldn't be king, but it's rigged."

"You bet your ass!" Clint agreed with vigor.

"The handle's imprinted, right?" Tony gibed. Like a security code? 'Whosoever is carrying Thor's fingerprint' is, I think, the literal translation."

Thor looked between them all, eyebrows raised as if he could not believe they were still debating the issue. Glass held casually in one hand, he got to his feet with a shrug. "Yes, well that's, uh, that's a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one," he made a big deal of approaching the hammer, lifting his arm high, and easily snatching up Mjolnir as if it was a toothpick. He gave it a flip. "You're all not worthy."

A chorus of laughter and protest erupted while Thor grinned and sipped his drink. Clint hollered a few good-natured digs in his direction, but before Thor could reply, a horrible, mechanical screeching filled the room and grated June to her bones. She shut her eyes and clamped her palms over her ears, overwhelmed by the wail that was especially awful to her. Bucky put a hand on her leg instantly, grip firm, face darkly protective. As quickly as the screech came, it faded, but there was something wrong. A new, cold presence had taken over the room.

"Worthy . . ." drawled a low, inhuman voice. An evil voice. June and the others shot to their feet, June retrieving the two knives she had hidden beneath her dress. From a semicircular room on the lower floor of the lounge that separated the main area from the lab with a wall of glass lurched a limping, mutilated Iron Legionnaire bot. "No," it said slowly, forlornly, acting more alive than June had ever seen one behave. "How could you be worthy?" It paused. "You're all killers."

"Stark?" Steve ventured edgily.

"Jarvis?" Tony called. There was no reply.

"I'm sorry," the bot went on insistently. "I'm sorry, I was asleep . . . or, I was . . . a-dream?"

June stuck up her nose. Was it joking? Making a joke?

Tony produced a tablet and tapped around, his movements stiff. "Reboot. Legionnaire OS, we got a buggy suit."

The Iron Legion suit gestured jerkily and took a few shaky steps. Everyone tensed. "There was a . . . terrible noise . . . I was tangled in . . . in . . . strings." It lifted its arms, letting hundreds of tangled, looping wires dangle and sway. The thing was falling apart, its innards of wire and alloy spilling out like guts; it beheld itself and seemed aghast as if it couldn't believe this was what it was. It looked back at them with a sharp turn of the head. "I had to kill the other guy. He was a good guy." June thought she might have seen it shrug.

"You killed someone?" Steve asked, arms folded firmly, face pale.

"Wouldn't have been my first call," the bot conceded. "But, down in the real world, we're faced with ugly choices."

Thor's hand tightened around his hammer. "Who sent you?"

Something flickered in the bot's dead eyes and Tony's voice filled the room. "I see a suit of armor around the world," the recording said.

June felt her stomach drop; her eyes snapped to Tony. "No."

"Ultron," Bruce breathed, paled.

"In the flesh," Ultron agreed. "Or, no. No, not this . . . chrysalis. But I'm ready. I'm on a mission."

"What mission?" Natasha asked.

"Peace in our time."

The next second the room exploded. Half-a-dozen Iron Legion suits soared through the glass wall, sending splinters and shards everywhere. Bucky and June dove to the floor just before a suit could mow them down; in her peripheral June watched Steve kick the coffee table in the air in an attempt to block the same bot, but instead was knocked thirty feet back and disappeared from June's line of sight. Ears ringing, June staggered to her feet and tore off her heels; beside her, Bucky shed his jacket. They grasped each other's hands, said in unison, "Don't get killed!" and sprinted off in opposite directions.

June darted straight for one of the staircases, knives flashing. Her strategy was incredibly stupid, but from what she could tell, from his position across the room at the opposite staircase, Tony had the same idea. June moved gingerly along the platform that led to the second floor of the lab and ducked behind a sleek support pillar, waiting for what she knew was coming.

An instant later, June heard the whine of her target, and she leaped out of hiding. One of the battered Iron Legion suits shot for her like a bullet, but June was just quick enough to evade its blaster and tackle it, sending them both sinking through the air in a tangle of metal and limbs. The bot recovered and bobbed back up with some difficulty, trying to shoot June off its back, slamming her against the windows, ripping at her arms. June clung on for dear life with one hand, and with the other, flicked on the electric current pulse of the dagger she still had ahold of.

"It is unsafe!" declared the suit as it wobbled through the air with June fighting to hold on. "It is unsafe! We are here to help. We are here to help."

"Then shut up!" she yelped. She reared back her arm and drove her knife into the slim space where the bot's head and neck met. Electricity crackled, the Legionnaire convulsed and sputtered—then dropped. In a frenzy, June twisted midair and landed hard on her shoulder twenty feet below, the suit close behind, all two-hundred pounds of it crushing her side. "Shit . . ." she groaned, clutching her hip and realizing at once by the stinging pain in her palms that she had landed hands-first in a pile of shattered glass. While she was tallying injuries, she added another concussion to the list.

It seemed the attack had been put down relatively quickly. June blinked the haziness from her eyes and saw that the others were pale-faced and bloodied, but alive and standing. In an instant, Bucky materialized at her side. A nasty gash cut across his entire cheek and a fair amount of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, but otherwise his primary concern seemed to be her. "Are you all right?" he whispered, eyes shifting between hers and the blood on her bare arms, the red pooling below her nose. June was sure she didn't look "all right."

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. The adrenaline was wearing off fast, leaving her veins to pump nothing but pain. God, she should not have done that.

Ultron, whom June had forgotten was there, stepped forward again and looked at them all. If he could have had an expression, June guessed it would have been boredom. "That," he said, "was dramatic. I'm sorry, I know you mean well. You just didn't think it through. You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to . . . evolve?" Ultron halted, stooped, and picked up the remains of a Legionnaire that had landed at his feet. "With these? These puppets?" He flexed his hand and the suit's facial plate burst off. "There's only one path to peace," his stare wandered for a moment, as if he was thinking, then snapped back to his audience. "The Avengers' extinction."

There was tense quiet. Suddenly, with rage in his face, Thor hurled Mjolnir through the air and it it collided with Ultron, and he crumbled into a useless pile of parts. June almost breathed a sigh of relief, but Ultron wasn't done yet. A low, heavy buzzing sound gripped the room, and with a horrible jolt June realized it was Ultron, and he was singing.

"I had strings, but now I'm free. There are no strings on me."

It faded. Cold and in pain, June grabbed Bucky's arm and hauled herself to her feet. He held onto her tightly and June was grateful that he did; her balance swayed, her head swam, and nothing was in focus. She searched the other's faces, saw deep-set confusion and terrible fear.

Steve was the first to speak. "Tony," he said tentatively. "What happened?"

Tony stared off blankly, tongue in cheek, a look of disbelief stamped on his face. He shrugged. "Some bad shit, Cap."

note.
hey everyone! i had so much fun writing this chapter. it's been a long time since ive written with one of the scripts! im sorry if the writing seems a little mechanical in some places. also just a quick warning, there will be some distressing themes in the next chapter. nothing too bad but just to let you know.
thank you so much for reading!

comment your favorite part!