Epilogue

3 years later...

I duck under the warm glow spilling from the Russian cabin's windows, the wood catching the evening sun like it's been polished just for us. The smell of pine drifts in through the cracked window, carrying the faint chill of early spring, but the kitchen itself radiates heat.

Bucky stands at the sink, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a stubborn pan with a concentration that makes my chest tighten. I bite back a grin. Two years. Two years since the chaos. Two years since missions that left me raw and hollow, and here he is, just... washing dishes like it's normal.

I sprinkle a handful of chopped herbs into my hand from the counter, then flick some onto his shoulder just to watch him flinch.

He glances at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, then goes back to the pan as if nothing happened. I inhale the sharp scent of the garlic I'm slicing, the sizzle of oil heating in the pan, and the faint tang of lemon from the cutting board. Even the small hum of the oven timer in the background makes me smile.

I adjust the cuff of his sleeve again, careful not to startle him. His bicep flexes under my fingers, and for a second, my mind drifts—Moscow rooftops, blood on my hands, the Winter Soldier snarling through the fog.

Then I blink, and I'm back, in a kitchen with warm light, the quiet tick of the clock, the man I love humming to himself while I chop.

The contrast makes me laugh softly, shaking my head. Two years, and this—this feels like victory enough.

Suddenly, Mia comes barreling in, tugging at my shirt. "What's for dinner?" she demands, breathless and wide-eyed.

I crouch to her level, keeping my balance on the slick kitchen tiles. "Why don't you guess, ladybug?" I say, leaning in close.

Her little face lights up. She tilts her head. "Mmmm... the bread?"

I laugh, a soft, warm sound. "Yes. It's called Börek." I boop her on the nose, and she giggles, high and bright. The sound makes something in my chest unclench.

She wiggles and twists to run toward Bucky. She wraps herself around his leg just as he wipes water from his hands.

A few moments pass.

"Emmy," Mia pipes up, tugging at my shirt again. "I'm hungry."

Bucky doesn't even hesitate. He scoops her up, her legs kicking, arms wrapped around his neck. He spins her around once, twice, and she squeals with laughter. "Buck Buck!" she cries, voice bouncing off the walls.

"Hey!" I shout, trying not to trip over their spinning chaos. "No playing in the kitchen!" I wave my hands, shooing them toward the living room. They ignore me, giggling, but I can't help the smile tugging at my lips.

I slide my hands over the hot pan, careful not to burn myself, and scrape the last bits of sauce into the dish. The scent of baked dough drifts from the oven, rich and warm, making my stomach rumble. I pull the Börek out, steam curling around my fingers through the oven mitts.

Bucky comes back in and leans against the counter, flour on his face, hair falling over his forehead. He watches me with that soft smirk that always makes me forget how messy the kitchen is.

I pause, taking it all in—the spinning child, the warmth of the oven, the man I love leaning casually against the counter. Two years ago, chaos like this meant something dark, dangerous. Now it means life, laughter, family. Every small moment feels monumental.

I set the Börek on the counter, ready to plate it, heart full.

"Dinner," I call, setting the last plate on the table. The Börek smells irresistible, golden and warm. Steam curls into the air, carrying the scent of herbs and melted cheese.

A shadow falls over me. Bucky's behind me before I even notice. His lips press against my neck, warm and insistent. "I'm very hungry," he murmurs, voice low, teasing, vibrating through me.

I shiver, giggling despite myself, and push lightly at his chest. "Not now, pretty boy," I tease, though my fingers linger near his hands, brushing against the calluses and warmth. He chuckles, the sound rumbling through me.

I spin on my heel, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Just a promise. Just a hint of what's coming later. My stomach twists with anticipation.

I return to plating, arranging the Börek carefully, but my fingers tremble slightly. The scent of his cologne mixes with the bread, and my heart races. A quiet domestic moment, but charged. The contrast between this and our old life—it's dizzying. Peace has never felt so electric.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

I pushed the door closed behind me, and the soft click seemed to echo in the quiet bedroom. Bucky was sitting there, watching me, his expression unreadable at first—but the heat in his gaze was unmistakable.

I straddled his lap without a word, letting my hands rest lightly on his shoulders. The instant pressure of my body against his sent a jolt of electricity through me. His metal hand flexed on his thigh, almost testing the weight of me, the tension in the air thick enough to taste.

"You look... dangerous tonight," he murmured, voice low and rough. "Don't think I can resist you like this."

I smirked, leaning close enough to brush my lips against the shell of his ear. "You never could," I teased, letting the words hang between us. His breath hitched just slightly, a subtle acknowledgment that I was winning.

Slowly, deliberately, he tilted my chin up, fingertips grazing my jaw. Every touch, every brush of his calloused skin against mine, sent heat spiraling through me. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself feel it—the magnetic pull, the want, the tension neither of us had to speak aloud.

He shifted beneath me, metal hand tracing the edge of my side, and the small brush of his thumb sent a shiver down my spine. "Relax," he whispered.

My hands trailed up his chest, feeling the warmth there, and I felt his pulse race under my fingertips. He leaned into me, voice a low rumble. "That's it... just be here, with me."

And then he murmured, low and teasing, "Now... how about you let me help you unwind?"

Bucky slides a gentle, calloused hand along your jaw to the back of your neck. He gathers a fistful of your hair, tugging lightly until you're sitting up, chin tilted up towards him. The action alone, and what it promises, sends a surge of heat between your legs before he even kisses you.

Then he leans down and claims your mouth with his own.

Every pass of his mouth over yours is slow, sure, maddeningly patient. The scent of him fills your senses - cedar and pine and musk and Bucky. His tongue runs along the seam of your lips, and you open for him without ceremony, letting out a soft whimper as he licks into your mouth with single-minded purpose.

On a normal day, it would be easy to give yourself over to him completely, to think of nothing but his hands on your skin and his mouth on yours. But your anxious, work-addled brain is persistent tonight, and your muscles tense slightly as deadlines and the lede that refused to flow when you put it to paper flash through your mind.

The hand in your hair tightens slightly. "I can hear you thinking," Bucky murmurs against your lips. He drops to his knees in front of you, parting your legs with a wicked look. "Let's fix that."

Your eyes widen at the sight. "Bucky, I-"

A well-placed kiss to your inner thigh silences you immediately. He pushes up the hem of your oversized t-shirt and his fingers ghost along the waistband of your shorts. "Don't I always know what you need? Don't I always take care of you?"

I nod and Bucky smiles lazily, "Just be quiet for me, princess," he murmurs into my neck.

And in this moment, the rest of the world is gone. It's just us. Finally.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bucky and I lay in our twisted sheets, my head on his chest, still naked from earlier. "Promise me something," he says as he drags his fingers through my hair.

"Anything," I whisper.

"That no matter what happens out there, in the world... we always come back to this. To us. To here."

I nod, smiling, heart full. "Always."

Outside, the wind rustles through the pines, but inside, we're safe. We're home.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself breathe completely, knowing this—this life, this family, this love—is ours.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

5 months later...

The snow outside the cabin has been falling all morning, thick and powdery. Mia is already out there, flinging herself into the drifts with the kind of reckless joy only a five-year-old can manage. Morgan's not far behind, squealing as she tries to catch the flakes on her tongue, mittens flailing.

I wrap my scarf a little tighter and tuck my hands under my coat, feeling the weight of my growing belly more with each breath. Bucky nudges me gently from behind, his hand brushing over mine. Warmth floods my chest as I glance down at our little snowstorm duo.

"They're going to bury each other," I murmur, laughter catching in my throat.

Bucky chuckles. "Might as well let them. They've got energy for days." He presses a soft kiss to my temple, fingers lingering just under the swell of my coat. The baby kicks at the touch, and I startle, then grin. "Hey," I whisper, placing my hand on the bump, "easy on the theatrics, little one."

From the front porch, Pepper is laughing, hands tucked in her pockets, Morgan running to her side, then back to Mia. "You two are braver than I am," she says, shaking her head as a snowball narrowly misses her cheek.

I grin at her, glancing down at Bucky. He's kneeling in the snow now, scooping up handfuls, tossing them toward the kids with exaggerated care. Mia squeals and ducks, and Morgan giggles uncontrollably. It's chaos, it's magic, and it's ours.

Bucky grins at me, brushing snow from his hair, and I can't help but feel the small, perfect pulse of life growing inside me.

Snowflakes cling to Bucky's lashes, his cheeks flushed, his arms wrapped around the kids as he scoops them up one by one for bear hugs and snow kisses. I rest a hand lightly on my bump again, smiling to myself. Mia notices and tugs at my coat. "Emmy, is the baby cold?"

I laugh, ruffling her hair. "Nope, baby's cozy. We're all bundled up, see?" I glance at Bucky, and he winks, his breath misting in the cold air. "Baby's got the best seat in the house already."

Pepper leans closer, grinning knowingly at me. "Looks like the fun's only just beginning," she says.

I press my hand into my belly gently, feeling the small kick again, and laugh. "Yeah. And I've got a feeling Mia and him are going to be troublemakers already."

The snow keeps falling, the children shrieking and laughing, and we watch from the porch—two families, one chaotic perfect world, and a little new heartbeat joining it all soon.