Lost Our Minds |5| The Ascension

Chapter Forty Nine: Endgame-Returning the Stones

"Now, remember," Bruce instructed. "You have to return the stones to the exact moment we got them. Or you're gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities."

"Don't worry, Bruce," Steve reassured him, wearing his Captain America armour with a new shield on his arm. "Clip all the branches."

"You know, if you want, I can come with you," Sam offered.

Zosia smiled. "You're a good man, Sam. This one's on me, though. We had errands to run anyway."

Sam nodded. "Alright. You look after him, though."

She hugged him tight, laughing. "I always do."

Meanwhile, Steve stood with Bucky. "Don't do anything stupid 'till I get back."

Bucky snorted. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you." They hugged, then Steve and Zosia headed over to the TARDIS.

"It's good of the Doc to let you borrow her," Bruce commented. "You sure you know how to fly this thing?"

Zosia laughed. "I'm pretty sure not even he knows that." She looked back at the building they were using until the new Facility could be constructed. "It's safer than the quantum stuff, though. And he's got enough on his mind without worrying about us too."

"We'll be fine," Steve assured them. His eyes widened. "Oh, I almost forgot." He held his arm out to the side, summoning 2013's Mjölnir. "Best take this back, too."

"That is ridiculously hot," Zosia told him, grinning. And with that, they disappeared into the TARDIS, dematerialising seconds later.

On the lawn, Bruce sighed. "Well, that was fun."

Sam smirked, punching Bucky in the arm. "Have fun babysitting."

Bucky groaned.

***

The Doctor had never been fond of hospitals. His own fateful regeneration experience aside, he had spent far too much time in them. And in the last few hundred years, that had mostly been down to his wife's deaths.

This time, she looked calmer. Perhaps it was because she was older, or perhaps that she had been through so much, but there was an innocence in her stillness—a naivety that only existed when you couldn't see the pain behind her eyes. She looked less like a warrior and more like an athlete or a dancer—a creature made to move, to run, to dance, to fly. Not that any of that would be happening any time soon.

The dust and grime of battle had been washed from her skin, but that had only shown the true extent of her ordeals. The worst of the wounds had been cleaned and bandaged, what skin he could see was bruised and damaged. And then there was her arm, of course. Shuri had done her best, but there was only so much medicine could do. The Doctor grimaced, seeing again the images that had flashed through his mind so many times now—the blackened, charred skin, the shining white bone beneath. There were some parts of a person you should never see.

Now where there had once been a dexterous, capable hand, there was nothing. The limb tapered off just below her shoulder, the point they managed to reach before the sepsis did. It hadn't been the most conventional of amputations, performed under battlefield conditions using a celestially forged axe for want of a blade, but it had done the trick. And as the Doctor sat by her bedside, hearing the twin beats of her hearts and watching her chest rise and fall as stubbornly as ever, he knew it had been worth it.

***

When she eventually drifted awake, she found the noises of the infirmary oddly comforting. She had once avoided the place as much as possible, reminded only of her own mortality, but things were different now. She associated the discomfort of the hospital bed not with death and injury and disease, but with the simple honest fact: she had survived.

Perhaps it was proof of her theory. She was inclined to think not. As far as she recalled, Jack had always come back healed to perfection. She, on the other hand, was in a fair amount of pain—but she welcomed it, as a reminder of the things she had endured. The things she had beaten. Whether her theory was correct or not was of little consequence to her now. Her ability to die—or potential lack thereof—meant nothing, for she was determined to live. She had not lived five thousand years without her beloved husband only to die now that he was returned to her.

His hand was in hers; she could feel it. And it was clear he knew she was awake, for he sat closer, pressed his lips to her knuckles, and began to explain what had happened.

***

It was more than a few weeks later before she was allowed to walk outside, but when the time came, she had only one destination. The Doctor came with her, of course, and so did Wanda. After all, the people they were missing had been immortalised together.

McKenzie sighed tearfully, resting her head on her husband's shoulder as his arm came around her. "I just wish there was some way I could tell him. That I love him, and I always will."

Wanda put her arm around her waist, hugging her carefully so as not to exacerbate her wounds. "He knows," she assured her. Her gaze moved down, from Will Di Angelo to Vision. "They both do."

~~~

Just the epilogue to go!