Music is "Strangers In The Night" by Frank Sinatra (Emma and Bucky's Theme.)

Picture is Tatiana Maslany as Emma Barnes.

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CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: 28.

{December 21, 1973 -- Fifty Years Ago}

"I've been thinking a lot about endings. I'm unsure if this is due to the fact that I've had so many, or that I've had so few. In a way, nothing ever ends. Not life, not love, not legacy. However, loss and loneliness are very real things. Even after we lose those we love, the bittersweet taste lingers. There's no theory that can comfort that.

"I think the reason I write so much about death is that I've experienced so much of it, but there are greater things in this world to busy oneself with. Life. Love. Legacy. I've had them all, and they've carried me to where I am today, back to where I started. Back to America. Back in time. Back to Bucky.

"Death is an inevitable part of every life--I'm not in denial about this--but it doesn't have to consume it. Life is what we make it. Make it about more than a poetic ending. Make it more than about death and pain and loss. Make it about life. Make it about love. Make it about legacy.

"I intend to take hold of my fate. I intend to conquer the odds. I intend to write my own ending.

"And I know that I have left a legacy."

A gentle hand rests on my shoulder, and it brings me out of my thoughts. I glance over, seeing a strong hand adorned with a glimmering wedding band. My eyes shift upwards, to the face of the love of my life.

Bucky smiles softly, glancing at the blank page in front of me. "You okay, Doll?"

I follow his line of sight. "Yeah, I'm all right."

"No offense, but you don't look it."

Sighing, I admit, "I just completed the last chapter of our story."

Bucky pulls up a stool to sit beside me. His eyes move to the manuscript. He sighs and takes my hand between cold metal and warm flesh. He knows what this means to me, and what it means for us. I swore in my letters to our family that I would send them the final chapter of our story one day. I've been writing it for the past three years, putting it off for a long, long time. Now that it's finished, it's time to send what's left of the future back to where it belongs in 2023.

"I think the world will have learned enough about Lady Liberty," I add. "The rest of our lives belong to us. And in the future, they'll know that nothing terrible happened on our mission. Those that know what happened will be able to explain to the world that this is what we wanted." I place my hand on the nearly completed manuscript. "I owe them that much."

Bucky leans over and presses a kiss to my temple. My eyes flutter closed, and a sound of relief escapes from my lips. This is a war I've been fighting for years, a burden I've been carrying too much on my own. Even with Bucky, this story is one I started in the 40s. It's come with me to the future, and then back in time. It's something I had to finish on my own.

I can finally let them go.

My husband tightens his hands around mine as he murmurs, "Do you want to do it now, or should we wait a little bit?"

I turn to him with watery eyes and a smile made of unfulfilled promises. "I've waited a long time, James, and I'm not getting any younger."

At that, Bucky's face breaks into a wide smile. "I'll get the Pym particles and give you a minute, okay?"

I move one of my hands to his hair, winding my fingers through his dark locks that he still refuses to cut. "I love you so much, Darling."

Bucky leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips. "And I love you, Doll." He stands, and his hands leave mine. "Be right back."

As he leaves, the room turns silent once again. The shadows fade away as I pull the manuscript into my lap. This is the last one, the last group of stories stretching from where The Immortality War left off until now. I pick up from the events of Washington D.C. to this very moment in Brooklyn, 1973. It's a wild ride, but I've loved every moment of its inscription. I don't know what I will write in the future, but I doubt anything will top this series of extraordinary tales.

I place my palm on the face of the stack of pages, the title--The Liberty War--obscured by my fingers. It's part autobiography, part history textbook, part love letter to my family in the far future. At that moment, I let a smile slip onto my face. If this is where this part of my story ends, then I think I did it justice.

Bucky returns with a single object in his hand. It's the object transporter Grant gave me when he realized I wasn't coming back. Without having to return to the future, it allows us to transport a single object back to 2023. I fasten one, last letter to the manuscript, wrap it in brown packaging, and place the Pym particles transporter on top. It gives me the option to type in a date and place. With swift fingers, I select: Avengers Platform, Wakanda, May 5, 2023.

After placing it in the center of the room with a ten-second timer, I step back towards Bucky. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close to him. I let my back rest against his chest and my arms lay over his as the timer ticks down every second.

Three.

Two.

One.

In an instant, the manuscript disappears with a flash of light and gust of wind. In its place, empty space with a small scar where the electricity sparked the fifty-year journey into the future.

For a while, all I can do is stare at the space where it used to be. Bucky rests his chin on my shoulder and sways gently, but it's all I can do not to start crying again. That's it. That was the last piece of my Lady Liberty journey. I know I should be relieved and only that, but I can't help but feel like I've lost a part of myself for good this time.

"It's all over now." Bucky pulls away from me and gently turns me around. With his hands on my shoulders, he forces me to look him in the eye. "You gonna be all right, Doll?"

A heavy sigh slips out, and I let a small smile tug at the corners of my lips. With an eventual nod, I reply, "I think so."

My husband pulls me back in a second time and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. "How about I get you away from here for a little while? We should do something fun."

"Like what?"

Bucky jerks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the open door and the window that can be seen past it. "It's snowing outside, Doll."

He's right. It seems that, while I've been constructing the final bits of my autobiography in my mind, the world outside has covered itself in white. Flurries of cotton flutter from puffy clouds that fill the skies over Brooklyn, bringing the entire city into a winter wonderland.

I take his metal hand with an excited grin, the object traveling through time long forgotten. "Why don't we see how the world looks in white?"

Bucky nods and turns eagerly towards the door. Before I can protest, he's already half outside, snowflakes fluttering into his dark hair. "C'mon!"

"You idiot!" I exclaim with a laugh. I move towards the coat closet, shaking my head at the idiot already making show angels in the tiny front yard. "You're going to get sick!"

"That's an old wives tale, Ems!" Bucky shouts back, oblivious to our neighbors or the others walking past the apartment. "I'm not gonna get sick. You don't get a cold from the cold. Everyone knows that!"

I quickly retrieve his winter jacket, knitted hat and gloves, and boots from the closet, despite his consistent whining. Although he's right about my medically incorrect comment, I won't let him have the satisfaction of knowing that. So I grab his coverings and continue down the hall, past the entrance corridor mirror, towards the front door.

"If you get sick, you can take care of yourself then. I won't be responsible for your stup--"

My breath catches in my throat, and I freeze in place. It can't be. I couldn't be. It was a figment of my imagination, a trick of the light, a mirage of the hallway mirror. What I saw couldn't be possible...right? I mean, the cure was administered, but even Shuri said that she didn't know when it would start working, or how quickly. What I just saw in my own reflection wasn't real, was it?

Slowly, I turn towards the reflection on the hallway wall. My face stares back at me, gray eyes wide and lips creating a small O-shape. My hands lift the object of my shock and awe, a small sliver of hair that's a smidgen lighter than the rest. It couldn't be more than a few hairs, but one in particular has me close to tears. It's not much, but it's confirmation enough for me.

I was right. It wasn't a trick of the light or a mirage of the mirror. It wasn't my imagination playing tricks on me. What I hold between my fingers, one tiny hair, is a bit of hope. What I see in my reflection, hidden amidst my dark and wavy locks, is a single, gray hair.

I am no longer unaffected by time.

"You comin' or what, Doll?" Bucky exclaims from outside the apartment.

I drop my hand from the gray hair, a wide grin plastered on my face. "Coming!"

After slipping into my own winter clothing, I grab Bucky's and head for the door. My mind is still spinning on what I saw in the mirror, so much that Bucky notices as soon as I approach him. He sits up from his snow angel carved into the pile of white on the ground, standing to his feet.

"What's wrong?" he inquires.

I hand him his jacket and use my free hand to point to the grey hairs along the periphery of my face. "Look."

Bucky's steely blue eyes flicker to the tiny gray hair I hold. With ginger movements, he takes it between his thumb and forefinger, his smile returning to his face. "It worked," he breathes, then scoops me up in his arms and spins me around, his winter attire forgotten in the snow below us. "By God, it fuckin' worked!"

Laughter emanates from both of us as Bucky spins fast enough to cover us both in snowflakes. When he places me back on the ground, his lips immediately find mine. I lean in and allow mine to mold perfectly to his, but neither of us can fight the smiles possessing our faces.

"Wait!" he exclaims, pulling out of the kiss with a calculating look on his face. "Does this mean you've been aging ever since you took that cure a few years ago? In Wakanda, before we left?"

"I must have been!" I laugh, throwing my arms into the air.

"You know what this means, right?" I shake my head, and Bucky continues. "It's been three years! You're not twenty-five anymore!"

A gasp slips from my lips as I realize the weight of his realization. "You're right. I'm...by George, I'm...twenty-eight." I throw my arms around his middle and hug him tightly. "I've had birthdays! Real birthdays, Bucky! I'm getting older, just like you! I'm not immortal anymore!"

Bucky scoffs. "I know I'm gettin' old, Doll. No need to rub it in."

I swat his arm. "Jerk! This isn't a joke, James! After over eighty years, I'm finally affected by time again. I never--I never thought this would happen to me." I pull away from him just long enough to pull his face down to mine. "I love you."

Bucky kisses me passionately, muttering between kisses, "God, I love you, too."

As I pull away, I see the pink tint in Bucky's cheeks and the coldness of his lips is not going away, and then the reason that I originally came out here returns to me.

"Bloody hell!" I curse, scooping up the winter garments from the snow and shoving them onto Bucky. "Put these on! You're going to freeze."

"Relax, Doll," Bucky insists as he zips up the front of his jacket. "They didn't call me the Winter Soldier for nothin'."

I put my gloved hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "Shhh! You bafoon! You can't just go around screaming that."

Bucky grins under my hand, and as it drops, he turns to gaze at the world around us. At that moment, I feel like a child again, covered in snow and staring at the love of my life. Bucky grins boyishly up at the snow-globe display, then glances over at me with a twinkle in his eyes. At that moment, we're both children again. I'm wearing my powder-blue dress and white ribbons, and he's wearing his dad's suspenders with a bow tie.

I scoop up a handful of snow, form it into a ball, and haul it at his face. He bursts into laughter and nearly falls over. When he finds his balance again, he retaliates with even more snowballs than I can handle. What is usually called a snowball fight has turned into a snowball war.

"Wait, wait!" I giggle loudly, throwing my hands up in surrender. "I give up!"

"Oh, no!" Bucky continues to pelt my jacketed back with snowballs. "You started it, Ems! I'm gonna fuckin' finish it!"

In a fit of laughter, Bucky's snowballs cause me to back up and trip over nothing. As my back lands in the snow, I make a sound of discomfort, something close to a groan of pain.

Bucky hurries over to me, eyes wide with fear. "Holy shit, Doll. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Before I can help it, my lungs betray me, and I burst into laughter. "You should see...the look on your face!" I cackle. "Priceless!"

My husband's worry melts away to amusement and slight annoyance. He shakes his head as he bends down and slips his hands under my unbuttoned jacket. "Oh, really? Let's see the look on your face when I do this!"

Before his fingers can make contact with my ribs or do the unthinkable tickling, I use a simple move of redirection to throw him off balance, onto his back, and into the snow beside me. He groans out of real pain, and an evil laugh originates from deep in my throat.

"I tried to warn you," I say in a sing-song voice. "I started it, and I'll bloody finish it."

"I hate you," Bucky scoffs, turning to face me from his position on the snow.

I grin at him, proud of my victory. "No, you don't."

Bucky reaches out his gloved hand towards mine. I take it, letting the warmth of his fingers cover mine. The atmosphere shifts as he gazes at me, then turns to look up at the sky. "Isn't it beautiful?" he asks.

I gaze after him at the whole world of Brooklyn. Every building, every tree, every street, every person is covered in white. This isn't the first time I've watched the snow fall in New York, nor is it the hundredth, but somehow this particular snowfall seems much more majestic than the others. The tiny crystalline flakes falling from puffy, white clouds make our home feel like a winter wonderland.

And he's right -- it is beautiful -- but I'd say that that particular word doesn't do justice to what I see in front of me.

"It is," I reply, my tone full of wonder and amazement.

Bucky's hand tightens around mine. "Should we get up?"

I shake my head and smile as the snow falls into my face, coating my hair and lashes in their magic. "Let's stay here a little while longer, Darling. We have time."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bucky gazing at me. I see him smiling that boyish smile that was part of the reason that I fell for him. When he turns to gaze up at the sky with me, our fingers lace together. He doesn't say it, but I think we're both thinking it. For the first time since our World War II days, we have nothing but time. Between the snowfall and the snow angels and the Christmas season that's upon us, I've never been happier to have time. Time and him.

It's the little things in life that make our stories so special, things like snowflakes and snow angels. Laying here with Bucky, when everything is right with the world, a single thought comes to mind as the flurries coat the world in white magic:

We have nothing but time, and it will be heavenly to spend the rest of my life making angels in the snow with him.

END CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO: 28.