Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her mother didn’t recognize her. Her mother didn’t know her.

(Her mother- no, this Maria Rambeau…isn’t her mother.)

Monica sits up in her hospital bed, staring into the distance, regulating her breathing as best as she can.

She’s Captain Monica Rambeau.

She’s Captain Rambeau, and she is not going to have another panic attack right now.

She needs to stay calm and level-headed, so that she, Dr McCoy, her m- Binary, and whoever else is required can work out how to send her home.

(She’s going home.)

(She’s gonna find a way.)

(…Monica just hopes that she hasn’t missed so much when she gets home.)

(Hasn’t missed seeing Kamala finish growing up, into a wonderful, strong, brave, determined, compassionate and bright young woman.)

(Hasn’t missed half a lifetime…)

(…unlike Aunt Carol.)

(Monica understands better why her aunt did what she did.)

(She even forgives her for it.)

(But that doesn’t mean that scar’s gone.)

(It’ll never be gone.)

(Just like so many others Monica carries.)

Monica takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a beat.

In her mind’s eye, in her memories, her mom puts her hands on her shoulders (her mom’s hands are strong, Monica’s shoulders lower and narrower than they have been in a long time), and looks her in the eyes, tells her…

‘You can do anything, baby. You can go higher, further, faster.’

…her mom smiles at that, soft and sad but strong, determined…

(Not just carrying on, not just enduring, not just surviving, but going onwards, bearing the torch forwards, continuing the mission.)

(Going higher, further, faster.)

…and then, in that memory, Maria presses a kiss to the top of Monica’s head.

Sitting in her hospital bed, Monica takes a deep breath and opens her eyes.

She gives a slight nod of her head, a tiny swallow, and sets to work mentally retrieving everything she knows about parallel universes and the barriers between them.

-

When Dr McCoy returns, there’s a teenage boy following him, wearing a labcoat over a T-shirt and jeans, and the two of them are engrossed in a debate about the finer points of determining the energy required to overcome the barrier between universes.

(Monica, meanwhile, has come up with an estimate for that number, based on what little data she had about the Quantum Bands, and her more extensive knowledge of Aunt Carol’s powers and her own.)

Monica blinks as the teenager glances over at her, starts walking over like he plans to introduce himself.

He looks familiar.

She’s seen him before – though he had a different, less stylish and flattering haircut, and wore a flannel instead of a labcoat, and was making a rather ridiculous face.

He’s on Kamala’s phone lockscreen. On Carol’s ship, as they’d taken a break from training for rest, snacks and what Kamala had termed ‘team bonding’ – with much excitable glee – the teenager had told them about what had happened when she’d gotten her powers, how she became ‘Ms Marvel’.

Which had included an awful lot about her best friend, who is also her ‘guy in the chair’ and ‘the next Dr Bruce Banner’…

…and that had caused Monica and Aunt Carol to exchange multiple knowing looks over the teenager’s head.

The words just burst out of Monica, desperate and unstoppable (even by her), just like that panic earlier.

‘Kamala, where’s Kamala?’

(Monica already had a team – she thinks of Dag and Talia with a pang; she doesn’t even know if they survived Dar-Benn’s attack – but that doesn’t mean she can’t have more than one.)

(She still exchanges texts with Jimmy and Darcy, caught up with them whenever work took her back to Earth and their work schedules allowed.)

(Aunt Carol and Kamala…they were a team.)

(The Marvels is a ridiculous name, but Monica thinks of it with a smile, thinking of the girl who coined it.)

That desperate question bursts out of her, without thinking.

(For a moment, Monica isn’t Captain Rambeau, who knows and understands infinite diversity in infinite combinations. For a moment, she’s not the heartbroken woman whose Mom didn’t even know her, treated her like a stranger. For a moment, Monica is the little girl who stubbornly, hopefully, determinedly insisted that Auntie Carol wasn’t dead.)

The boy – Bruno, Bruno Carrelli, Kamala’s best friend – blinks. There’s a flash of concern, worry across his face, not dissimilar to the one that’d crossed her m- Binary’s face. That, however, is quickly replaced by something sympathetic and sorry, and the teenager swallows, looks a little awkward, but genuine all the same.

‘I’m sorry, but...who’s Kamala?’

For one moment, Monica wants to panic again, while also wanting to cry.

But she doesn’t.

Monica takes a deep breath and thinks about everything she knows about the multiverse.

(Facts. Logic. Hypotheses. Maths. Physics.)

She holds out a hand for the teenager to shake professionally, like she would when she meets a fellow scientist. To his credit, despite looking like he feels simultaneously very sorry for not knowing Kamala and like he has a large number of questions about the multiverse as a result, and thus is simply feeling awkward, the teenager shakes her hand in the same professional manner.

‘Monica Rambeau.’

The teenager smiles at her, but glances towards Dr McCoy – getting a meaningful and enigmatic nod – before introducing himself.

‘I’m, uh, I’m the Iron Spider.’

-

10-year-old Bruno Carrelli walks into Mrs Elhawary’s garage, chewing on the freshly-homemade falafel-stuffed pita that his and his mom’s landlady had insistently shoved at him when he got home after Science Club at his high school, like she does most days when he gets home.

(The food items vary, and on Fridays, Bruno helps Mrs Elhawary cook dinner. That usually includes them sharing a treat she either bought or made after mosque.)

His mom, in contrast, had just left him a note saying that she’s picked up an extra shift at the diner, and then she’s having a late dinner with a friend after, and she’ll be home late, so not to wait up for him.

She did leave him ten bucks with the note.

(Better than what his dad did, when he left after dragging Bruno and his mom from where they used to live in Jersey City to Tennessee for reasons that Bruno hasn’t figured out yet – his mom refuses to tell him.)

(Bruno’s dad hadn’t left anything at all.)

(After…Bruno had curled up in his little bed tucked into the corner of the living room of their cramped apartment and just waited for his mom to come back to their reality – to him, all of six years old.)

(She eventually had. She’d even thrown out the last little plastic baggie, even though it wasn’t empty.)

(His mom’s been better since, but…)

(…look, she picks up the extra shifts at the diner, slips him pocket money whenever she got tipped decently on those, but then, some nights, she doesn’t come home, and when she does, she might smell like alcohol – that scent is one Bruno can’t forget, not after his dad, before he left, and his mom back in those days too – and sometimes, Bruno finds little used plastic baggies in his mom’s pockets when he does the laundry.)

(They’re always empty, though. She never brings those things home, nowadays.)

(Sometimes, Bruno wonders if it’s for her sake, or his sake, or simply because Mrs Elhawary would evict them otherwise.)

(Other times, he wonders if all three of those are effectively the same thing.)

Bruno sighs. Mrs Elhawary makes a clucking noise in her throat whenever he does that, tutting that it makes him sound far too old.

(It usually causes her to put extra food on his plate – Mrs Elhawary always tells him that feeding him when his mom is out – working or otherwise - is part of her and his mom’s rental agreement, but Bruno doesn’t believe that.)

(A, Mrs Elhawary feeds him three meals a day, plus a snack or two, whether his mom is away or asleep in her bed or ‘away’. B, he’s gotten to know Mrs Elhawary, over the four years they’ve lived with her, and…well, she let him take over her garage for free, and is the one who proudly goes over his school reports, and put the nut-chopper he built for her on display in her kitchen. C…Bruno’s mom looks between him and Mrs Elhawary sometimes, something Bruno can’t quite read or understand on her face – is it guilty, or sad? – and she tells him, sometimes, on…on good days, that they’re very lucky that Mrs Elhawary rents the somewhat-detached ADU on the back of her house to them.)

(Sometimes, Bruno’s mom looks like she’s about to say something else when she says that.)

(Bruno heard someone gossiping at the grocery store last week that they don’t understand why Mrs Elhawary took in his mom and him.)

(Presumably because Mrs Elhawary is Muslim, and his mom is…well, she’s his mom.)

(He wonders that too, sometimes.)

(Other times…Bruno eats the breakfasts Mrs Elhawary heaps on his plate or the snacks she insists he takes, or tinkers with his latest invention in the garage that she insisted he make use of with the tools she insists her late husband would have been delighted he was making use of, or smiles sheepishly as Mrs Elhawary gently teases his mispronounced, badly-grammatically-constructed Arabic, tousles his hair, pours him more tea and gives him another lesson.)

(Those times…Bruno doesn’t wonder why. It simply makes sense, in a way that he couldn’t articulate, couldn’t write an explanation for, whether in words or flowchart or diagram or equation, but makes sense nonetheless.)

Bruno puts down his backpack, and picks up the prototype potato gun he’s been working on. Just for fun.

An hour later, a semi-conscious Iron Man crashes through Mrs Elhawary’s garage roof.

-

Monica lays in her borrowed bed that night, staring at the ceiling, until she closes her eyes.

Bruno – though he maintains a secret identity outside certain circles, so Monica’s not sure how often she’ll be using his actual name – had taken a few steps back, perhaps not quite understanding her shock, and made a gesture, and the two bracelets around his wrist had turned into a nano-suit, highly reminiscent of Stark tech, giving him four extra prehensile limbs.

The Iron Spider.

Monica can almost see the look on Kamala’s face when (it’s a when) she tells her young teammate this.

-

(It’s with that thought on her mind that Monica’s finally able to fall asleep.)

Chapter Text

Well, Monica thinks, wry and fond and with a pang, Kamala isn’t going to believe this.

She looks on for just a moment as she collects her thoughts on the energy barrier between universes within the Multiverse, watching the discussion between Dr McCoy and Dr Bruno Richards – who looks just like the Bruno Carrelli who features on her young teammate’s phone lockscreen, down to the flannel shirt worn over a T-shirt.

He is, however, wearing very expensive (though practical) leather boots, and jeans that are probably tailored.

As Monica watches, contemplating the math that Dr McCoy has been writing on the whiteboard (she’s not quite sure she agrees with that assumption, but it does make sense to follow that thread, but they’ll need to consider that factor later…), the older man looks pointedly at the younger.

Bruno glances once, briefly, at the math, then smiles, wry and a little sheepish and definitely fond.

He looks so much like a teenager, in that moment.

(Monica can’t think of him as anything but – despite him also being Dr Richards, a PhD complete already at his age.)

He’s a child, just like Kamala.

(Ms Marvel is Monica’s teammate – fellow Marvel – and thus, so is Kamala.)

(But she is their youngest.)

(She and Aunt Carol have an understanding and an agreement, without having to speak about it.)

(Monica knows that Aunt Carol will do right by this girl with stars in her eyes.)

She allows herself a brief, contained moment to feel that pang, that sadness and worry and fear and touch of grief.

(That question: how long will it have been? What will I have missed?)

(That plea: not again, please, not again, not someone else too…)

Then, Monica takes a deep breath and turns her thoughts back to the math, and the scene in front of her.

Bruno caps off the marker he’s holding, reaching into his jeans pocket as he speaks.

‘I’ll call Mom and Dad.’

-

Sue Storm sighs as she approaches the Baxter Building on her way home from an exhausting set of meetings. It’s quiet now, at least, and there’s no-one around, since she went briefly invisible and is taking a back door in to avoid the couple paparazzi who have camped outside their front door today.

She rolls her shoulders, wondering if it’s time to broach moving out of the Baxter Building with Reed. He loves his lab, the easy access to collaborators here in the city, and being Mr Fantastic, and she’s loath to ask him to leave it (she can’t help but smile when she thinks of him spreading his arms wide, gesticulating wildly yet managing to manipulate his arms to miss his lab equipment – barely - as he talks rapid-fire about his latest discovery, looking out across the city with this very young grin on his face, full of passion), but if they’re going to grow their family beyond Johnny and Ben and Alicia…

Sue is pulled out of her thoughts by a thunk.

Immediately, she turns invisible, preparing to pull up force-fields in a millisecond.

It’s been a while since someone attempted to attack the Baxter Building, and Reed’s security system is occasionally rather…paranoid, depending on its iteration, but…

There’s another thunk, and is that a cry? A kid crying?

Sue hurries in the direction of the noise, and stops in her tracks when she finds the source.

Not a threat to the Baxter Building.

Not someone attacking some poor kid.

…just a little boy, standing in the alleyway, next to the dumpster.

With a battered backpack held together by duct-tape by his side, wearing stained, dirty clothes, looking far too thin…

…a hand raised up, stretching out for the lid of the dumpster that he can’t quite reach…

…and staring at her for interrupting his attempts to break into the dumpster, already shrinking away in fear.

-

Johnny once said that his sister has a fondness for pathetic lifeforms who couldn’t manage without her.

Of course, in that particular instance, Reed’s brother-in-law was referring to Reed himself.

Still, Reed would admittedly not be particularly surprised if his wife brought home a stray cat or dog one day.

He did not, however, ever consider that she’d bring home a child.

-

(He knew that it wasn’t uncommon to find cats in or near dumpsters.)

(Reed didn’t consider that you could find children.)

(Admittedly, it is an immensely abnormal situation.)

-

Reed walks into the kitchen one morning, and is about to start a conversation with Sue about a hypothesis he came up with in the shower – he needs to pick her brain, she has a fascinating and brilliant way of thinking entirely different from his – while they eat their breakfast and drink their morning coffee, when he realises that Bruno, Sue’s – their – ward? Foster child? – is sitting at the table, a half-glass of orange juice in front of him, a textbook from Reed’s high school days that he kept for sentimental reasons on the table next to his plate, chatting to Sue as she makes eggs relatively comfortably (at least to Reed’s eyes; this is not his area of expertise).

Plan changing, Reed grabs a slice of toast instead, stretching out an arm to grab his coffee from the other side of the room, and turns around.

He’ll have his breakfast out on the balcony instead; fresh air is good for thinking, Sue is always telling him that…

-

(As a result, Reed doesn’t see the little boy at the table shrink a little as he abruptly turns his back and practically runs away.)

(Admittedly, he might not have quite noticed if he had seen it anyway, not quite caught exactly what was happening, not quite understood how all the pieces he was seeing fit together and made sense.)

-

‘He’s never going to stop being scared of you if you don’t stop being scared of him first.’

That night, as they get ready for bed, Sue looks at him and says that. Reed stares at a point above her left ear.

‘I’m not-‘ He pauses, that denial still reflexive after all these years. Sue – the most incredible, amazing woman in the world whom he absolutely does not deserve but loves and adores more than anything, which he really wants to be able to express better and to remember to express more often – just waits expectantly-but-in-a-gentle-way; he can’t describe it better than that. He can talk to Sue about anything. Together, they can solve any problem, even the ones he can’t fix himself. She reaches out, sets one hand on his forearm and the other gently on his cheek. (Not nudging him to look properly at her, make eye contact, just settling her hand and its warmth there, in affection and love.) As he does 99.5% of the time, he relaxes a little under her touch. ‘I don’t know how to…how to be a dad.’

Reed finally realises – or more accurately, finally understands – that that’s exactly what Sue’s been doing for Bruno.

She’s being his mom.

Bought him new clothes, found him that textbook and the others that Reed realises he’s been seeing the little boy reading, talked to the doctors and the police and the CPS representative, made him the meals on the meal plan that the dietician prescribed…

…and smiled warmly at him every time she saw him, held out her hand or her arms for a hug and waited, gently offering, for him to make the first move, asks about his day and how he’s feeling about school starting next week.

Sue is an incredible and amazing mom.

(He always knew, somehow, that she would be.)

Reed…he wants…he’s always wanted…he’s always wanted to have a family, with Sue, more family than they have in Ben and Alicia and Johnny, anyway, but…

…he was well-aware that he would need to binge-read large quantities of literature on parenting, and perform a large amount of baby-proofing, but…

…he thought they’d have time. He needs to talk to Sue about maybe moving out of the Baxter Building (she loves the view, and the shopping, and her friends in the city, and she’d have to commute more and she always says she enjoys coming home to him in his lab at the end of the day…) and then, well, the process takes a minimum of 10 months.

He’s not ready.

He wants to be a good dad, but…

…he doesn’t know how, he hasn’t had a chance to learn how, and…

His thoughts are starting to get away from him. Reed realises belatedly that he’s stretched an arm across the room and is fiddling with the buttons on the shirt he has set out for tomorrow.

Sue just smiles at him, looks up, resting both her hands on his shoulders.

‘No one is ever ready, Reed.’ He knows she can’t read his mind, but sometimes, he wonders if she’s spontaneously acquired a secondary set of superpowers and somehow can as a result. ‘But you’ll learn. You can learn.’ Her smile turns a little teasing, and she leans up to give him a quick kiss. ‘You’re very good at that.’ Her smile shifts a little again, in a way he can’t quite describe, and Sue moves a hand to rest on his chest, slightly to the left of his sternum. ‘You’ve got a good heart, Reed. You’ll be a good dad.’

-

Reed retracts his arm with a bit of a flourish as he finishes giving Bruno – well, it’s not an introduction; it’s certainly closer to the sort of thing he’d discuss when asked to give a talk to high schoolers, if he were asked nowadays – on the periodic table.

When he turns around, the little boy is grinning.

Reed isn’t sure how he feels, but he finds himself grinning back. He grabs the vial of gallium that he always enjoys flipping and manipulating, watching the slivery metal inside shift, grateful that he remembered where he put it down last, and holds it out to the kid.

-

They’re in the middle of a surprisingly in-depth, logical and intelligent discussion of the distinctions between gallium and mercury when Sue walks in, dressed in comfortable-yet-very-flattering clothes. The sort of thing that she’d wear if they’re going to Ben and Alicia’s, for example…

…Reed realises his wife is also holding the keys to the car. In fact, she’s holding them so that they dangle at around his eye level. The Fantastic Four key chain that Johnny insisted he had to own is very eye-catching.

‘I hate to interrupt, boys, but we’re gonna be late for dinner.’

Sue’s words are teasing, but she says it softer and gentler than usual, when she reminds him. A glance at Bruno, perched next to him on a lab stool, shows the kid relaxing, for some reason.

…oh.

Reed gestures towards the door that leads to their living quarters.

‘Well, let’s not keep your Uncle Ben waiting.’

Bruno smiles, hopping off the stool and heading over to Sue. The kid’s very fond of Ben, became very comfortable around him very quickly. He’s immensely unbothered by Ben’s stature and appearance and sees him for the man he is.

(It probably doesn’t hurt that Ben likes keeping snacks around for the kid, willingly queued up at that place he insists does the best bagels because ‘the kid had to try ‘em, Reed; whaddya think, pipsqueak?’ and they share an opinion on whether mayonnaise belongs on sandwiches.)

(That being strongly that it does not).

Reed realises that that feeling he couldn’t quite identify from earlier has intensified.

-

Monica has met a lot of men who assume they’re the smartest one in every room, like Reed Richards.

(At least he seems to do so unintentionally, like he’s forgotten a step because at some point in his life, he got so used to being the smartest in the room.)

(That’s better than most of those men she’s met.)

She’s perfectly capable of dealing with them.

…but it still doesn’t make the process more pleasant.

As the elder Dr Richards finishes saying something that, effectively, isn’t anything Monica hasn’t heard dozens of times before, Bruno noticeably cringes, looking every inch the teenager greatly embarrassed by his father, and gives her an apologetic look.

He seems very accustomed to doing that.

Meanwhile, Dr Sue Storm (who told Monica to call her Sue, just like Monica told her to call her by her first name instead of Captain or Dr Rambeau) puts a hand on her husband’s yard-long forearm, and gives him a significant look.

Reed Richards stops scribbling on the window glass and glances at his wife. He blinks, and realization crosses his face, relatively slowly considering how quickly all other thoughts seem to cross his brain.

His arm shrinks back down as he turns to face Monica, looking contrite.

-

(Monica overheard Dag – this universe’s Dag, who doesn’t even know her, introduced himself to her as Lieutenant Olafsson – chatting with a co-worker in the mess, who was intent on spreading the gossip that Sue Storm was coming along with Reed Richards.)

(There’d been a lot of relief as that news spread, Monica noted.)

-

In her mind’s eye, as she gets ready for bed that night, Monica can almost see Kamala nodding and declaring a little too sagely that Sue’s secret extra superpower is obviously Reed Richards wrangling…see what I did there?

(She can see the grin on her young teammate’s face.)

-

Monica gets to witness Sue use more of what she’s certain Kamala would dub a superpower the next day.

After they’ve spent an entire day pooling all of their knowledge about the Multiverse, cross-universe travel and related concepts like inter-dimensional travel, and come up with three different possible ways to get her home they need to investigate further and run tests and simulations for, Sue deftly and gently – but very firmly and determinedly – convinces her husband, her son and Hank that they need to take a break and reconvene in the morning, after having the evening off.

Without evidence, Monica might not have believed that, having spent a lot of time with that trio recently.

(Kamala is apparently writing a Guide to Care and Feeding of Your Mad Scientist.)

(It’s on the notes app on her phone, and she scrolled past it while showing Monica her list of potential superhero names…which she’s apparently been working on for several years.)

Reed smiles adoringly at Sue (that singular look invalidates the gossip Monica overheard this morning, wondering why Sue and Reed are even together), and she smiles back. Reed then proclaims something slightly too loudly about sushi, and Bruno makes another face that very clearly says there are some things you don’t wanna know about your parents.

Hank claps his protege on the shoulder in consolation and quips mischievously that at least his parents worked their early relationship problems out…which apparently did require sushi.

-

As they ride the elevator back to the surface, Bruno is reading something on his phone. As Monica observes from the corner of her eye, he snorts, smiles wryly and exasperatedly and extremely fondly and begins to type, that smile softening and widening. It is startlingly similar to the smile Reed directed at Sue earlier, and for a moment, despite the lack of resemblance between them, Bruno looks like his dad.

Said dad leans a little closer to Monica with a knowing look and speaks, again a little too loudly to be a whisper.

‘He’s texting his girlfriend.’

Reed says that proudly. Monica is not completely certain whether he’s proud of his son, or whether he’s proud that he noticed.

‘Dad, Kamala and I have an entirely platonic relationship, almost aggressively so.’

On one hand, Bruno says that with what must be an immense amount of patience, considering that he’s definitely said that many times.

On the other hand, at the same time…he definitely blushes visibly, and says it a little too vigorously and a little too quickly.

-

(Somehow, despite never having met her universe’s Bruno, Monica has a sneaking suspicion that he shares several traits, interests and feelings with Bruno Richards.)

(She looks forward to exchanging knowing looks with Aunt Carol over the heads of teenagers – hopefully they’re still teenagers… - when she gets home.)

(When.)

Chapter Text

The universe Monica woke up in…

…it’s not a great universe.

She stands there, rigid with shock, as Professor Xavier explains – with great sadness, with what seems to be genuine grief and guilt – the terrible, terrible mistake they made. He made.

Mutants and the X-Gene, the uproar that resulted…all of that, Monica can clearly see, can clearly imagine.

(History is full of patterns. Those same patterns repeat every day, in smaller ways that are no less – no less harmful, no less hurtful, no less disgraceful – for their size.)

(You don’t need to be able to see across all light spectra to see that.)

Then the Sentinels. The war – it might not be officially that, but there is no other word that fits – that began.

The X-Men’s attempts to head off the war, to minimise the casualties. Their failure.

…and their decision to remove themselves and mutant-kind to the Moon, in a last-ditch effort to allow even the hope of the war to end.

But there hadn’t been enough time, enough resources, to take everyone.

And so, a decision had been made.

In Uncle Nick’s words – a stupid-ass decision.

No, Monica thinks, more than that. A horrifying decision.

They couldn’t take everyone.

They didn’t hold a lottery, or take the youngest first, or those least able to protect themselves, or literally anything else…

…Xavier decided – and he says it was his decision, accepts the weight and the blame and the responsibility and the guilt – that they would take those with the strongest powers, the greatest potential to be superheroes.

Leaving many ‘Class 1’ and ‘Class 2’ mutants behind.

…along with those who’d refused to leave them.

Monica knows before she’s told.

‘All these people are gonna…how can you just leave them?’

-

‘…how can you just leave them?’

Horror.

That’s the only thing Kamala can feel.

Horror, and maybe betrayal.

She joined up because she believed…because she saw…the X-Men, Professor X…they were good, and…

‘Good is not a thing you are, Sister Kamala. It is a thing you do.’

Sheikh Abdullah’s voice echoes in her memory.

(She misses his wise council and his advice – always so considered, always so non-judgemental – even more nowadays.)

(They’ve lost so many people, and the Masjid building itself…and Abbu…)

(…when she heard about the Professor’s plan for peace, she’d hoped and wished and prayed, so, so hard, hoping that inshallah, they can have peace, that no-one else will die, inshallah…)

…the X-Men did good, but this…this plan…how can they…

…whoever kills one person, it is as if he has killed all of mankind, and whoever saves one person, it is as if he has saved all of mankind.

How can they leave so many people behind? So many kids behind?

Eddie, who grins with all three of his eyes.

Dahlia, who had flung her arms around Bruno’s middle for the biggest hug when Kamala’s best friend made her special earphones to reduce the terrible sensory overload from her super-sharp hearing.

Alexei, whose eidetic memory makes him terrifyingly good at Trivial Pursuit, and means he can recite the entirety of The Phantom Menace after watching it just once.

Mithali, whom Kamala and Nakia had a great time with in a stolen moment, after Kamala altered the younger teenager’s clothes to fit better around her tail.

Jules, who reminds Kamala so much of Zoe (she’s not gone, she’s not, her parents took her away against her will, and she wasn’t able to contact them again, but they’d have taken her somewhere safe from all this war), despite not looking anything like her friend, and not just ‘cos Jules is purple.

Professor X just looks at her.

‘We can’t save everyone. We must save who we can.’

Kamala understands that.

She’s had to learn that lesson – as much as she hates it, as much as it goes against everything inside her – bitterly and painfully since the war began.

(She couldn’t save Abbu, but she saved Aamir and her nephew Malik and…that has to be…it’s never gonna be enough, not for her, but she’s gotta…she’s gotta keep going, for everyone she still can save, for Ammi and Bruno and Aamir and Tyesha and Malik and Nakia and Zoe, for herself and for Abbu.)

(Whoever saves one person…)

Kamala understands they can’t save everyone.

She just doesn’t understand the Professor’s decision.

Can’t accept it. Can’t agree with it. Can’t stand by, safely on one of the spaceships going to the Moon, while…

(They say there’s gonna be a ceasefire. They say there’s gonna be a chance for peace.)

(Kamala’s learned hard lessons over the last couple of years.)

(She’s also been best friends with Nakia Bahadir for years, and even before she knew – anyone knew – that she was a mutant, she was brown and Muslim growing up in America. Enough said.)

(She doesn’t believe what they say, not until she sees it.)

(She knows Professor X doesn’t believe it either.)

Kamala shakes her head, taking a step back.

The Professor stares at her for a long moment, before finally nodding.

He doesn’t try to change her mind.

Instead, he simply leaves in his hoverchair, turning his back on her and her family.

-

(It’s the last time she sees the Professor.)

-

(That is the last time he sees Kamala Khan.)

-

‘…no, no…’

Behind her, Kamala hears Aamir exclaim in horror, sounding so much like Abbu it almost hurts, before he begins praying in desperate, urgent tones. Meanwhile, Tyesha and Ammi’s voices sound in the background, already beginning to enact their safety procedures, the worst-case scenario plan that they made, hoping-wishing-praying they’d never need it.  

Kamala exchanges a glance with Bruno, who is also staring in horror at the screen in front of him, struggling to comprehend what Zuzu has just managed to detect for them. The slight warning that Bruno was able to get for them.

A missile.

Not a Sentinel.

A missile.

And according to Zuzu’s scans, this isn’t an ordinary missile either. This, Kamala’s pretty sure, comes from some government’s paranoia about another alien invasion, another Chitauri.

And it’s on its way, due to strike in ten minutes.

Kamala grabs her whip-dupatta and her Ms Marvel mask – she spends a lot of her time suited up, nowadays, and the mask isn’t so much for hiding her identity any more, but rather contains a rudimentary set of protective armour for emergencies (Bruno’s best work, but he’s working off paperclips and duct tape and scavenged old appliances nowadays).

‘Bruno-‘

He’s up on his feet too, hurrying off towards his makeshift workshop.

‘Calling Kareem now-‘ Kareem is escorting the latest caravan of mutant kids and their families to the relative safety of their hideout. They’re not far, but…it’ll take them longer than ten minutes to get here, and they’ve sent a missile. ‘-and grabbing the shield generators.’ Kamala’s best friend, almost at the door, glances back at her, and for just a millisecond, they just look at each other. ‘Meet you out there, KK.’

Bruno almost manages to say that without his voice cracking and shaking.

Kamala almost manages a smile.

The Avengers always had a witty quip for the bad guys and banter with their teammates, to help them keep their courage and stop them from panicking in the face of danger.

She and Bruno are both taking a leaf from their playbook, and plus, they’re genre-savvy.

Ammi makes a noise almost like a sob – it’s not, because she’s using every ounce of mountain-climbing strength, every bit of Ammi Powers she has to hold it back so she can do what she has to do – and nudges Dahlia into the safe room, before rushing over to where Kamala is about to put her hand on the front door’s sensor to open it, pulling her into a tight hug.

Kamala hugs her mom back as tightly as she can, sniffling herself. She feels her mom press a kiss to somewhere around the top of her head.

‘I love you, Kamala, beta, I love you so much. Your abbu…’

Ammi trails off, but Kamala hears what she was gonna say anyway.

‘Love you more.’ She raises her head, lets go of her mom reluctantly. (She’s gotta go. That caravan of kids and their families is out in the open, and there’s a missile coming. She’s a superhero. She was never not going, but…letting go of Ammi is hard, right now. There’s a missile coming, and….) Kamala looks at the scene before her: the kids filing into the safe room, scared but trying so hard to be brave, holding each other’s hands or what stuffed toys they have, Alexei and Mithali and Jules as the eldest shepherding the younger ones. Aamir and Tyesha working on the lockdown procedures, what’s left of Aamir’s beard after the burns glinting a little in the fluorescent light as he continues to murmur prayers, little Malik strapped to Tyesha’s back. Nakia helping transfer the last of the emergency supplies they don’t keep in the safe room, her dad wheeling himself and a very large and heavy box in by resting it in his lap, leaning over in his wheelchair to scoop up little Nooriya before the toddler can start crying and screaming for her favourite Auntie KK. Bruno warning Kareem as he frantically packs prototypes and anything else that might be useful into a bag. Ammi holding on to her for just one moment more…Kamala looks at everyone, at her family, taking them all in, burning this, them, into her memory. ‘I love you guys.’

-

Kamala exits their hideout and seals the door behind her, before running as fast as she can for the last known location of the caravan Kareem is leading.

It’s at least twelve minutes away at a dead sprint

But she’s Ms Marvel, and she has to get there.

‘Bismillah…’

Kamala runs as fast as she can through the air, balanced on tiny Noor platforms.

She has to make it.

She has to try.

-

Mrs K pulls Bruno into a tight hug the exact moment that Kamala leaves.

Some part of Bruno’s brain – and it’s a wonder that he has any brain power to spare, he doesn’t even know how and never will – wonders if she did that on purpose.

‘Bruno, beta…’

He lets go of Mrs K, reaches into his workshop to finish packing the shield generators he’s been working on, small devices about the size of a restaurant pager that can generate a small, sturdy shield with the push of a button. It’s supposed to be able to hold for at least half an hour on its battery, and to be strong enough – theoretically – to withstand an explosion like one caused by a missile, but…he’s not even had a chance to test them. He’s been working as hard as he can, improvising and innovating as best as he can with what they have, but…look, he can’t work miracles.

‘I have to go help Kamala, Mrs K.’

He’s astounded at how relatively steady his voice sounds.

Kamala’s mom stares at him for a millisecond, before nodding.

(She doesn’t cry, though.)

(Mrs K is so resilient, so strong.)

(The Khan women both are.)

Bruno stuffs all the shield generators he has built, as well as a couple of other prototypes that might be useful, into his bag and his pockets even as he runs for the door of the hideout.

‘Bismillah.’

He runs as fast as he can, following the glow of the Noor platforms he can see in the distance.

-

Zuzu is counting down the seconds left until impact.

Kamala can see Kareem’s group. He’s moved everyone fast, and clustered them into the concrete remains of a building’s foundation, the best shelter anywhere nearby. It won’t be enough, she knows. Even a Sentinel could get through that, a missile will just…

Kamala’s not going to be able to get to them in time; there’s still too much ground for her to cover. She drops to the ground instead, and focuses on reaching for the Noor, reaching for every bit of it she can touch.

‘Bismillah…’

Kamala wills the Noor to form a protective bubble around the people in the distance, imagines it being thick and strong and able to withstand everything. She hopes and wishes and prays as hard to as she can…

She’s grown stronger over the last couple of years, but it still hurts, because she’s pushing herself to the very limit of her range and power.

But Kamala keeps pushing, past those limits, because she can’t stop. She can’t.

She draws on every bit of strength she has, every bit of strength ever given or lent to her, draws on all that love…

…and she keeps pushing, because she has to.

-

‘…Kamala!’                                                                                                      

Bruno doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, hoarse with desperation.

As he runs, he throws his shield generators in the direction of the large Noor bubble that’s appeared in the distance. They go flying through the air, faster than he can run, powered by the engines he managed to cram into them.

That Noor bubble is so thick it’s completely opaque, not even translucent, and it’s covering (protecting) every figure that Bruno can see in the distance…

…except for a single figure he’d recognize anywhere, no matter how far away from her he is.

Kamala’s too far away from the caravan of refugees to extend the Noor bubble to herself without drastically compromising its thickness and strength; she’s already built it at the limit of her range, because there’s no time, and it’s already so thick it’s at, or possibly exceeds, the limit of her powers, because there’s a missile designed for combating alien invasion.

Bruno activates the generators with a signal from one of the prototypes he stuffed into his pocket, and he thanks God as in the distance, blue shields spring into existence in midair and keep flying in the direction they need to go.

That’ll drain the batteries, they won’t hold for the half-hour they’re meant to, and they won’t form the protective bubbles he intended them to, they have to hit the ground for that, but if he doesn’t do this now…

…Bruno can smell the missile and hear it whistling, it’s only a handful of seconds away from impact, and maybe the shield generators, even projecting their shields haphazardly midair, can dull that impact.

Maybe they’ll help the Noor bubble Kamala constructed to hold.

Maybe the two he sent flying towards Kamala will protect her.

Maybe the shield generators will mean Kamala can protect herself.

Bruno knows how much Noor she can hold and for how long under how much force, and even if he didn’t…

…he knows KK. He knows Kamala Khan, and he can do the math on this situation.

There’s not enough left for her. She didn’t save enough for herself.

At the last moment, Bruno activates the shield generator he’s wearing on his own wrist, the tiny prototype version he started putting together last week in the hopes of adding it to Kamala’s mask, and is forced to stop running and drop to a crouch, to just hope and wish and pray…

-

Bruno swears his vision goes purple for a moment, just before or maybe after or even during the impact.

It’s very hard to tell.

He swears he hears Kamala’s voice in his ear before something that barely registers as pain rips through him and everything goes black.

‘…I love you!’

-

Bruno wakes up.

The first question on his mind, on his lips, is answered by the look on Mrs Khan’s face as she leans over him.

-

(She’s Kamala Khan.)

-

(It takes Bruno a long time to be able to say that in the past tense, at least not without tearing up.)

(It always feels wrong.)

-

Monica is…well, she feels many things when she sees him, but astounded is one of them.

(Shocked, horrified are others.)

(So is grief. So is something painful in her heart. Oh, baby…)

This universe’s Bruno Carrelli is walking around the X-Men’s Moon base, wearing a metal brace wrapped around his waist and running up the left side of his body, to his shoulder and down his arm, and down his leg to his left foot. He has faint burn scars you can see if you’re close enough to him.

Despite the physical resemblance to her universe’s Bruno Carrelli, Monica almost doesn’t recognize him.

The man walking around the Moon base is a sad, bitter, grief-stricken, heart-broken young man aged prematurely beyond his years whom she sees smile only once.

(He smiles at a little girl of maybe eight or nine in the canteen, whom Monica later learns is called Nooriya. She shows him the sparks she says she’s learned to make with all the solemness a young child can manage, and draws that smile out; it’s easy and automatic and proud, and all love and grief under that.)

The young man walking around amongst the X-Men, working with their scientists, bears little resemblance to the teenage boy grinning as his best friend ropes him into taking a ridiculous, dramatically-posed selfie (not against his will or wishes at all) that Monica knows from Kamala’s phone lockscreen.

Monica wonders briefly if he’s here for revenge – and some part of her, she realizes, would be tempted to help (she’s Captain Monica Rambeau, she would never – but she acknowledges that part of her would be tempted).

She’s looking down at the Earth one day, in a quiet room with a decent view that seems set aside for quiet reflection and rest, when she hears footsteps, accompanied by the tapping of metal on the floor.

Monica turns around, to see Bruno walking over to her. He’s silent for a moment when he does reach the window, standing a couple feet away, before speaking.

‘Whoever kills one person, it is as if he has killed all of mankind, and whoever saves one person, it is as if he has saved all of mankind.’ He says that quietly, but with absolute conviction. Faith. When Monica looks at him, Bruno half-raises his right hand to rub the back of his neck. The motion is awkward, and for a second, Monica glimpses that teenage boy that this man in front of her is barely older than in terms of calendar years. (For a moment, she sees Kamala’s best friend/guy-in-the-chair/the next Dr Bruce Banner, in her young teammate’s words.) He doesn’t exactly sigh, but Bruno lets out a slightly long breath. ‘The Professor’s meddling.’

That comes out with no small amount of bitterness. Bruno breathes in slowly, then breathes out slowly. Monica can see him letting go of that bitterness and anger that she’s certain he’ll always carry with him.

(Her grief and anger and bitterness is different from his, yet...Monica will always carry it within her…)

(…just like she’ll always carry the memory, the legacy, the lessons, of her mom and Captain Maria ‘Photon’ Rambeau with her.)

(She is her mother’s daughter, and she is Captain Rambeau, and Monica will live up to that every day.)

And in that moment, Monica understands why Kamala’s best friend is here. Why he works with the X-Men now, trying to make things better for everyone, both mutant and human.

He’s here to honour her memory. Continue her quest, her mission.

Because there is good that he can do here: Help the X-Men make amends. Do better. Remind them. Use his brilliance, his genius, with enough resources to make a significant difference. He’s continuing what she always tried with everything she had to do: good, because he’s Bruno Carrelli.

They were best friends. Monica’s certain that like the two in her universe (even if they don’t quite understand how, or in what way yet), this Bruno and this Kamala loved each other.

The pieces of the equation click into place, that understanding appearing in the same instance.

It’s not surprising at all that he’s here, Monica realizes.

-

(They stand there in silent understanding, until a little girl with sparks in her palms and steadier sparks in her eyes darts in, to tell her Uncle Bruno it’s almost dinner time, and that she’s levelled up and she’s gotta show him.)

(Nooriya looks nothing like Kamala, and given what she’s picked up from the base gossips – there’s always some of those – and pieced together with what facts she’s learned, Monica has no idea if the girl has clear memories of her…)

(…but Nooriya grins and almost-bounces in a very familiar way.)

Chapter Text

Well, Monica thinks wryly, she’s seen a lot of strange, unusual or otherwise surprising things, but this is up there.

As the centrifuge runs – it’s going to need a few more minutes, based on the sediment still floating around in solution that she can see inside – she watches out of the corner of her eye as Dr Bruno Carrelli-Khan talks to one of his children.

‘Call me Bruno, or Doc CK, if that’s…uh, some of the kids call me that.’

That’s what the man almost a decade older than her had said to Monica as they shook hands after being introduced.

And now, he’s talking distinctly paternally – clearly comfortable in that role – to Javier, who is almost a man grown himself (and has webbed hands and feet and apparently very impressive swimming skills, and the physique to match according to his girlfriend Annie).

Javier is adopted, calls Bruno Doc CK.

Bruno’s conversation with him sounds exactly like the conversation he was having yesterday with Dr Aziz Carrelli-Khan, whom Monica met three days ago, and looks startlingly like his abbu but clearly got a lot of his ammi’s personality.

She’s Captain Monica Rambeau.

When she was a kid, her aunt came back years after being presumed dead, without her memories and with superpowers, and fought an evil alien empire. Monica played with a little girl about her age who could shapeshift and a cat with tentacles and a pocket dimension inside her who loves tuna a lot.

Monica has walked through a suddenly-appearing, reality-warping anomaly. She’s delivered the babies of the woman who created said anomaly, whose very existence is reality-warping.

She took developing superpowers reasonably in stride, she thinks, all things considered.

She learned to fly under immense pressure.

She went to a musical planet where her aunt is the Princess, due to her entirely-platonic marriage of convenience with its all-singing, all-dancing Prince.

She closed a tear in the very fabric of space-time.

Not a lot phases Monica.

…but meeting Dr Bruno Carrelli-Khan did.

So did meeting this universe’s Kamala Khan. Or Ms K or Auntie KK, as the kids who don’t call her Ammi or Mom call her.

As Monica’s centrifuge slows down, the samples properly pelleted now, and Javier’s about to leave to go meet Annie for lunch, this universe’s Kamala – closer in age to the Mrs Khan that Monica’s familiar with than the Kamala she knows by many years, but still younger-looking than Monica herself – arrives in the corridor outside the lab. She’s got Annie with her, as well as a gaggle of her and Bruno’s kids, the youngest propped on her hip. The cluster of what Nooriya Carrelli-Khan told Monica last week was ‘The Family CK and Friends’ variously wave at Bruno and Javier and hold up bags of what Monica can see is lunch, predominantly Pakistani cuisine.

Monica smiles a little to herself, switching her eyesight back over to the regular spectrum as she carefully starts pipetting solution into cuvettes for the spectrometer.

One of her professors, back when she was an undergrad, had summed up a highly complex physics lecture with the line infinite diversity in infinite combinations!

She smiles a little wider as the Carrelli-Khans (the ones who use that surname, the ones who elected to use one or the other, and the one ones who don’t, but are part of the family regardless) head off for lunch.

 -

(There is infinite diversity in infinite combinations; Monica recalls that physics lecture and its content fairly readily, though it’s now something she’d consider fundamental, completely assumed knowledge in her mind, on the other side of her PhD and with her line of work.)

(This universe is certainly proof of that…)

(…but at the same time, there’s something a little bit familiar to it.)

(Time moves differently from universe to universe.)

(Monica hopes that that works in her favour when she manages to get home.)

(Perhaps, then, if there are in fact fixed points alongside that infinite diversity in the Multiverse…Monica’s getting a little peek into a possible future of her universe.)

-

Monica smiles wider on Friday evening at the Carrelli-Khan house, standing at the table with food set out buffet-style. She’s refilling her plate with more pakoras – freshly fried and drained by one of several robots with cutesy faces airbrushed on them that all the Carrelli-Khans and their friends call CookBots – when she can’t help but overhear the slightly-too-loud conversation occurring next to the buffet table.

(She’s starving, after she and Binary did some practical experimentation on opening a stable hole in the fabric of the Multiverse that can be opened and closed safely.)

(It’s easier to think of this universe’s Maria Rambeau as Binary; she is, and she’s not Monica’s mom.)

(Bruno, who’d been checking the readouts from both of them to monitor their safety, had invited her over for the Carrelli-Khans’ traditional weekly family dinner.)

‘…and that’s why I win at wife-ing! And ‘cos you’re a super-genius, you recognized that and married me.’

Kamala grins impishly and endearingly up at her husband when she declares that, looking far younger than usual. Said husband snorts, but can’t help but smile back at her; for a moment, they sharply resemble the two teenagers in the photo that serves as Monica’s young teammate’s phone lockscreen.

‘Yeah, that’s why, KK.’

Monica is extremely certain that Kamala’s ability to change a king-sized duvet cover single-handedly did not in any way, shape or form contribute to Bruno’s decision to marry her. She’s extremely certain that no-one – except Kamala, and thus, at this point, maybe Bruno too – would ever even think of what she’s just overheard as a potential reason to marry someone.

Kamala and Bruno look at each other, so much passing between them in a single glance.

(Teasing and exasperation and wryness and very fond amusement, a thousand inside jokes and moments shared and so much love.)

(Decades’ worth.)

Their hands reach for each other’s and they tangle their fingers together for a beat, with comfort and ease and long-assured love, and then, they head straight back into the fray, Kamala grabbing a couple of platters that a CookBot hands her and offering the contents around, whilst Bruno is quickly occupied helping the youngest family members engineer a rather extra blanket-fort.

-

Monica hopes that when she gets home, one day – years from now, years after she gets home – she’ll get to see this.

Chapter Text

Bruno walks into the restaurant in which he works as a waiter, his mind on other things.

He should be moving on by now.

CPS is looking for him. They have been ever since he had enough and didn’t return to his last foster home after school a year ago.

(He had a plan, had some money squirrelled away from the part-time job at a Circle-Q he’d had and had made tutoring the few kids at school whose families could afford it easily.)

(That plan had involved moving regularly, to stay ahead of anyone in pursuit.)

Well, Bruno thinks, bitter and wry, CPS is supposed to be looking for him.

(It’s been a very long time since he’s seen any sign that they are.)

Admittedly, it’s actually not CPS that he’s hiding from.

It’s his dad.

Long story short, Bruno was removed from his parents’ care when he was seven. Went to a good foster home first, but his dad…wasn’t keen on giving up his son.

(If his dad was so devastated by losing his only son and ‘heir’ to his ‘empire’, Bruno thinks with wry bitterness, why did he neglect said son and heir so much that CPS removed him in the first place?)

(Then again, Bruno thinks with even more wry dark humour – he blames too many comic books and possibly some members of the X-Men with high public profiles for that – logic is obviously not his father’s strong point.)

He had to leave that foster home.

Several years and numerous Incidents involving Mr Carrelli later…

…and Bruno’s last foster home...well, there’s a reason why he left.

And a reason why in the first three months after he ‘left’, he moved twice.

But then he came here, and he got a job in the Shahs’ restaurant, and…

He’s stayed ever since.

There’s no sign that Bruno’s father has tracked him down again, but he knows that, logically, he should leave again.

Scratch that.

Bruno knows he has to leave again.

Okay, fine, scratch that too.

Bruno knows that he should have left ages ago. Months ago.

But…

The Shahs don’t mind that he says he’s Just Bruno.

(They clearly want to ask, want to know, want to know why a very young-looking 19-year-old – according to his fake ID – is out in the world all alone, because they worry, but they don’t ask, because they care.)

(And possibly because they worry, as well.)

(Don’t wanna scare him off.)

(That makes Bruno smile with wry, dark humour too, even though, he admits in his own mind…if they pressed too hard, even if they promised to keep it a secret, and he trusts them to if he explains why…it might still scare him off.)

(Look, Bruno’s pretty sure emotions would never have been his strong suit, even if he’d grown up like the Shah children, like Babar and Amal and Tasneem, okay? Throw in, well, his life, and it’s no wonder he’s what certain sections of comics fandom describes as emotionally constipated, okay?)

Mrs Shah always sends him home with leftovers, teasing him lightly that inshallah, he has another growth spurt in him, and if he does not, she remembers her son’s appetite and his friends’ appetites at this age!

Mr Shah eagerly taught him all the rules and vagaries of cricket and convinced him that Test cricket is best cricket to boot.

Babar bought him a giant box of old countertop kitchen appliances just last week as a gift, for no discernible reason. Amal keeps offering to take him to Uncle-Faizal-from-the-mosque’s barber shop, but only if he wants to go, with a significant – and rather older sister – look at his hair. Tasneem…look, Bruno’s never had a sibling, but from everything he’s gathered about people who have siblings and good relationships with them, she’s the closest thing to a sister he’s ever had, by at least a couple of miles.

So…look, Bruno doesn’t want to leave, okay? He doesn’t want to leave the Shahs.

He should, though.

For their safety.

If his dad finds him here, discovers that he’s found a home here at the Shahs’ restaurant, with, in his dad’s most polite words (read: words so relatively polite Bruno’s dad would never use) their kind…

He shouldn’t have stayed so long. He shouldn’t be finding it so hard to leave.

(Bruno would like to think that he’s not his father’s son, that he’s got just under 50% of his DNA and nothing more, but…maybe being a selfish asshole is slightly hereditary, ‘cos he’s been one.)

Bruno resolves to disappear as quietly as he can tonight, leave a letter for the Shahs in the restaurant’s mailbox, in which he will attempt to express his gratitude and…all his feelings as best as he can manage.

He’s stayed too long.

-

Fuck, he’s stayed too long.

That’s Bruno’s first thought when Mrs Shah says there’s someone here looking for him.

His mind then immediately turns to how to get the Shahs out of the crossfire if this is one of his dad’s men, or his dad himself.

But every thought leaves his mind when he walks into the Shahs’ restaurant’s private room, and Professor Charles Xavier is sitting there…

…and looking at him with that familiar, slightly-detached thoughtful compassion, the expression just like in photos and videos online.

‘Hello, Bruno.’

-

Monica received many shocks after the initial shock of seeing a woman who looked just like her mother and had several of her mother’s mannerisms but wasn’t her mother, wielding the quantum bands, with powers like Aunt Carol’s.

One of those shocks was being introduced to one of the members of the hastily-assembled scientific team whom she’d be joining to find a way to get her home.

A young man – barely not a teenager – who was introduced as Bruno. Just Bruno.

The Bruno of this universe - who is not Bruno Carrelli, that much is very clear – has numerous differences, as far as Monica can gather, from the one of her home universe.

The least of which are the fact that he’s a few years older, and wears his hair long in a rather unflattering haircut.

This Bruno reminds her a bit of the young Skrulls that Uncle Nick spends plenty of his exceedingly limited free time trying to help, the ones who’d been orphaned or separated from their parents, and had to find a way to survive whilst running from the Kree Empire alone.

Just Bruno is a reasonably talkative person – though more like Talia than Dag or Jimmy or Darcy – but Monica notes that he never talks about anything before he joined up with the X-Men, aside from a family of five, the Shahs, whom he holo-calls every Friday evening.

On the other hand, Monica reflects, she’s already observed several traits in this universe’s Bruno that are reminiscent of Kamala’s stories of her best friend/guy-in-the-chair/the next Dr Bruce Banner!.

(Monica considers herself a good judge of character; her mom and Uncle Nick taught her.)

He’s equally brilliant, and kind and generous. Selfless and loyal by nature, as well as a little – or more than a little, sometimes – socially awkward.

The other notable observation Monica has is accompanied by a thought of oh, baby, and a memory of the smile on a teenage girl’s face as she talked about her best friend/guy-in-the-chair/the next Dr Bruce Banner, and a pang in her heart followed closely by resolute hope that she doesn’t miss it, she’s not gone so long she misses years of Kamala’s life.

This Bruno is also very much in love with Kamala Khan.

Just like her universe’s Bruno, Monica’s gut instincts tell her.

(Her gut has always been excellent at judging character and intent and feelings.)

(Both her mom and Uncle Nick were always proud of that, just like they always bemoaned that her gut never stopped her from jumping in feet first…or investigating things she wasn’t supposed to, solely on instinct.)

And just like it is with her universe’s Bruno, Monica’s gut instincts tell her, everyone is aware of his feelings.

Except Kamala.

Currently, as they wait for a simulation to finish computing, the UPLC to finish running and the supercomputer to finish its calculations, Bruno is being very gently teased by Hank McCoy. It’s fond teasing of his protégé, almost paternal, Hank being aware of Bruno’s fragile and poor self-esteem (oh, baby…). It’s also about looking forward to Kamala’s return from her vacation with her family.

(Monica hasn’t met her despite having been stuck in this universe for several weeks already, because the young X-Man has been on extended leave, visiting her Jersey City and Karachi families.)

(Despite the pang she knows will come with meeting this universe’s Kamala, she looks forward to it.)

Bruno protests – a little too hard – that he and Kamala are just friends, and remarks when reminded that Kamala said she’d bring back some kalakand for him (apparently his favourite) that KK probably won’t bother her mom, and she might not remember, she’s Kamala Khan…

He says that wry and fond, exceedingly fond, and says her name like it explains everything.

Hence, Monica thinks, exchanging a glance with Hank McCoy, why everyone knows.

Chapter Text

‘Oh my God, oh my God…the miracle of life’s a…miracle!’

Jimmy Woo kneels on the living room floor, by Wanda’s head, letting her squeeze the life out of his hand – he’s pretty sure she’s broken a bone – while Darcy kneels between her legs, trying to deliver her baby…

…or, as it turned out, babies.

As Wanda’s face contorts again and she gives a low scream, Jimmy tries his best to smile – it doesn’t come out right – and pulls out his best card trick with his free hand.

‘…three, oh my God, there’s three…’

And suddenly, Darcy is standing up, looking directly over the top of the couch at…something. She has three perfectly swaddled little baby boys in her arms, one wearing a green knit hat, one a blue one, and one an orange one.

-

Her love, bound, in more ways than one…as the Scarlet Witch holds an enchanted dagger to her throat.

The Green Witch looks away from Agatha, and at the mortal-who-is-hardly-a-mortal.

‘You aren’t getting special treatment.’

-

‘You aren’t getting special treatment.’

Death says that matter-of-factly.

Wanda looks Death in the eye, and presses the tip of the dagger a little harder into Agatha’s throat. Just hard enough to draw a drop of blood.

Death looks back at her, with a little more interest, but no more than if this was a game.

The stare is intense. Something about it is terrifying, making a little primal part of her tell her to run, run and don’t look back.

But Wanda doesn’t flinch. She continues to meet Death’s gaze.

She will not back down.

(She’s only doing what mothers do.)

‘I’ve come to make a deal.’

-

‘…and Sparky chewed through his shoes. Again.’

Billy Maximoff’s voice echoes in Monica’s head. He’s examining her memories – with permission – to see if he can help find a way home by finding a common tie or a point of divergence between their universes.

(It’s a theoretical idea that she and the group of scientists she’s been working with in this universe came up with.)

This is very necessary, as…

…this is a very, very different universe from her own.

For example, this Billy Maximoff looks very different from the Billy Monica met, and he’s in his late teens and almost an adult, compared to the little boy she remembers.

(She can see some similarities, in his fashion sense and his love of eyeliner, and a half-dozen little things, but she’s quite certain he can’t just be the same Billy, just eight years older.)

For example…while he’s been searching, Billy has been telling her about his brothers.

Two of them.

The Maximoff triplets.

Tommy…

…and Bruno.

Who both looks like the boy featured on Kamala’s phone lock screen, and generally fits Monica’s young teammate’s descriptions of her best friend/guy-in-the-chair/the next Dr Bruce Banner…

…though Monica’s very certain that Kamala wouldn’t have neglected to mention it if the Bruno in her universe had electricity-based superpowers.

(Ever since she woke up, ever since she saw the Maria Rambeau who is not her mom, wearing both quantum bands, Monica’s been hit with difference over difference.)

(A request to see the day’s news headlines had resulted in more: commentary on how Tony Stark’s legacy is being continued by his son, a young man named Peter Parker-Stark, reports of a state visit to Mexico by King T’Challa and Queen Nakia of Wakanda with two of the three royal children in tow, a leak of damning government documents that have only increased public support for Captain America – James Buchanan Barnes – and the Falcon – Joaquin Torres – going rogue in support of the man formerly known as the Winter Solider and original Howling Commando Sam Wilson.)

This universe is very, very different from Monica’s – and thus, extremely concerningly, extremely far from hers.

With a very high energy barrier for the non-spontaneous process of returning her home.

Hence why Billy is going through her mind, her memories, trying to find a point where these two universes were just a little bit closer.

And meanwhile…Billy’s younger brother is carefully running an electrical current through one finger into the half-built prototype he’s working on, whilst Billy’s older brother fetches parts and tools, all the while snacking on a pint of ice-cream…and attempting to persuade his little brother to ditch the so-called ‘labcoat look’.

‘Can you tell which one of us is straight?’

Monica can hear Billy’s wry little smile, the teasing and the love under that for his brothers.

In Billy’s words, the Maximoff boys all have their particular aesthetics.

Tommy prefers ratty jeans and a T-shirt (often with loud graphic designs or a few holes) with a green leather jacket and a pair of sneakers to go with his effortlessly cool, windswept hair.

Monica has never seen Billy without his eyeliner, and he has a clear and obvious preference for skinny jeans and a crown-esque headband.

Bruno has an extremely ordinary haircut and is generally found in what the other two Maximoffs clearly see as a very boring outfit consisting of extremely ordinary jeans, a T-shirt and a flannel, topped off with a labcoat.

(To be fair to the kid, Monica thinks, he does like colour.)

‘He takes after Dad.’

Monica can’t disagree with Billy there.

-

(Last week, a purple synthezoid in chinos, a sweater vest and a check flannel shirt cooked her a delicious paprikash for dinner, whilst chatting to his three sons about a recently-released psychological horror-thriller, a newly published research paper by Dr Bruce Banner and Dr Betty Banner, nee Ross, and whether bleaching and dyeing his hair white would make him look cooler or like Einstein.)

-

‘We should get out of here before Dorrek and Kamala get here.’

As the chime that reminds the Maximoff boys that it’s dinner time goes, Tommy says that to Monica in a stage-whisper, making a face that says, ‘cos ugh.

‘You’re giving five-year-old-girls-have-cooties.’

Tommy rolls his eyes at Billy’s words, but also uses his speed to grab the equipment and parts Billy was putting away with his magic, gathering them into an armful and stopping just long enough to respond with…

‘Go get distracted by your space prince boyfriend’s arms, bro.’

Tommy has a teasing smirk on his face. A slightly similar expression – wryer, yet also softer – appears on Billy’s face.

‘Already looking forward to it.’

Billy and Tommy then exchange a glance, and look at their youngest brother, looking exceedingly identical in that moment.

Bruno visibly sighs…

…before protesting that he and Kamala are just best friends – not that that’s just anything – and that their relationship is completely platonic, perhaps even aggressively platonic.

He protests it far too hard.

Oh, baby…

-

Monica has yet to meet Billy’s long distance-ish boyfriend, the Skrull prince Dorrek.

But she did meet this universe’s Kamala a couple weeks ago, and it was…it was a relief in some ways, even though it hurt a little.

She’s…she’s so similar to her universe’s Kamala, bright and brilliant and compassionate and loving so easily.

She’s also the Princess of Aladna. By adoption.

Prince Yan adopted her – technically-legally, in Kamala’s words – to resolve the Aladnean succession crisis.

As different and far away from her universe as this universe is, some things are still so close to home.

In this universe, Bruno’s little office has two framed art pieces in a very familiar art style – a sketch of all three Maximoff triplets, and one of just him and Kamala, standing back-to-back and grinning, heads turned to glance towards each other.

As he locks away his fragile half-built prototype in a drawer in his office and shucks his labcoat, this universe’s Bruno glances at the art on the wall and smiles. It’s soft and young…

…and reminds Monica very strongly of the smile on Kamala’s face, as she looked at the handful of doodles she’d made of her best friend/guy-in-the-chair/the next Dr Bruce Banner whilst explaining her ‘Origins Story’ to Monica and Carol during a break in their training on Carol’s ship.

-

That night, over dinner cooked by Vision – a halal version of the feijoada recipe of a Brazilian woman whose bed and breakfast Vision and Wanda had spent three weeks hiding from the world at, on what they called their ‘honeymoon’, after whom Bruno is named – Monica smiles, as Tommy finishes his bowl and runs in a blur to the kitchen to help himself to seconds, speaking as he sits back down.

‘…nah, I’m not interested in settling down before I can even vote.’ He gestures – at normal speed – at Billy and Dorrek (whom Monica spots reaching for each other’s hands under the table) and Bruno and Kamala (who both flush and make noises of protest) – and continues. ‘If it’s not you guys, don’t think it’s gonna last…’

Chapter Text

Monica follows Dr McCoy through the lab complex; he says he has someone to introduce to her who has recently returned from a short vacation and should be helpful in their quest to determine how to send her home.

She does a double-take when they arrive at said person’s office.

She recognizes him.

The young man studying the equations and molecules scrawled on the office’s whiteboard, arms crossed, looks exactly the same as the teenager who features prominently on Kamala’s phone lock screen.

No, Monica corrects herself a moment later, not exactly the same.

This universe’s Bruno has a haircut that is slightly different; it’s more flattering. Like the Bruno from Monica’s universe – at least in Kamala’s lock screen and her drawings of him – he’s wearing a flannel shirt over a plain T-shirt, but he has the sleeves rolled up to halfway up his forearms.

And somehow, given the profile that SABER has on her universe’s Bruno Carrelli, Monica doesn’t think that he’d own visibly-high-quality chinos and brown leather boots.

A knock on the window by Dr McCoy gets the young man’s attention, and he hurries over to open the door for them, before smiling and holding a hand out confidently for Monica to shake as Dr McCoy makes introductions.

‘Bruno, this is Dr Rambeau. Dr Rambeau, meet Dr Bruno Bahadir.’

-

What…

…how?

Monica’s young teammate has two best friends; she’d made that abundantly clear.

(‘‘Cos it’s a category, not a person!’)

…are they…condensed into one person in this universe?

-

No, no, no…

Rima Bahadir clutches at her belly as another pain – another contraction – goes through her.

Her due date isn’t for another six weeks; it’s too early for her daughter to be born…

…and she’s currently trapped in a subway car, the train she and thousands of others were riding in having crashed.

According to the last announcement they heard, rescue is hours away and…

As another, stronger contraction goes through her, Rima can’t help but give a noise of pain, and then, she feels warm liquid gushing down her legs, running down the seat of the subway car.

No, no, no…

There’s noises and shouts around her, and Rima, eyes forced closed from the pain of another contraction, just prays…

(They’re not supposed to be coming so close,  this is too soon, and too fast, and…)

…and suddenly, the noise around her shifts, the crowded train car seeming to clear slightly around her. Rima gets her eyes open, and the crowd around her has moved back, a little bubble clearing around her…

…and there’s a Black woman crouching in front of her, wearing scrubs and a brightly-patterned scarf wrapped around her head and hair.

‘Hey, my name is Nakia, and I’m a nurse. We’re going to get you and your baby through this.’

She says that with absolute determination and no hesitation.

-

Alhamdulillah.

-

‘…you’re doing amazing. Now, sister, I’m gonna count to three, and when I get to three, push…’

‘…my little brother’s got a science fair this week, he’s made this incredible working model…’

The next couple of hours pass in a blur.

Rima concentrates as best as she can on Nakia’s voice, the other woman crouched between her legs, shielded by the suit jacket that a young man with a Colombian accent and messy shoulder-length dark hair had offered up.

Said young man, not caring that his seemingly borrowed suit jacket is now ruined – it’d been a size or two too big for him – is now crouching by Rima’s head, telling her any and every story he can think of.

Nakia has to concentrate on delivering her baby…

…but this young man, Bruno, can help her feel not quite so alone. Not quite so scared.

-

(Rima desperately, desperately wants Isaac here with her. She desperately wants her husband by her side, holding her hand.)

(But that’s not possible, now.)

(At least she’s got two kind strangers helping her.)

-

Alhamdulillah.

Mashallah.

Alhamdulillah.

Isaac Bahadir sits by his wife’s bedside in the hospital. Rima is resting, having woken up briefly, recognized him and smiled at him, telling him (like the doctors already had) that their daughter is beautiful and wonderful.

He nearly lost his wife today. He nearly lost his daughter today.

He nearly lost them both today.

Isaac’s daughter is in the special care nursery. His wife is recovering from severe blood loss, and a serious-faced doctor has already sat him down and told him that whilst Rima is stable and her life is no longer at risk, she won’t be able to have more children.

But he is still grateful. So, so grateful.

Alhamdulillah.

Mashallah.

Alhamdulillah.

They live.

-

The baby boy in the bassinet next to her daughter in the special care nursery doesn’t get any visitors, Rima notices.

All the other babies in the nursery, their parent or parents who are well enough spend every moment they’re allowed there with them.

But, Rima notes, as she – seated in a wheelchair – cradles her beautiful, wonderful daughter, named Nakia after the kind, brave, strong, righteous woman to whom they owe their lives, that little boy doesn’t have anyone.

The nurses care for him wonderfully, making sure he gets the physical contact infants need, but…

…he has no parents, according to the whispers she’s overheard.

Her precious, much-wanted daughter in her arms, her heart full of more love than she ever thought possible (mashallah), a little piece of Rima’s heart goes out to the little boy.

-

The baby boy next to Nakia has a visitor.

The woman – younger than Rima – looks warily around, like she doesn’t want to be seen…

…and almost as if she wants to look at anything but her baby.

Her son.

‘…I can’t. I can’t, and I won’t!’ The woman shakes her head, addresses the nurse next to her, pulling her coat – a little threadbare – around herself more tightly, that wariness getting worse, her agitation increasing. ‘He ruined everything…I can’t, and I won’t.’ She finally looks at her baby, and her expression softens slightly. ‘He’ll be better off with anyone but me.’

As if he understands what is happening, the baby boy – who still has no name – begins to cry. It’s quiet, for a baby. Small.

But Rima’s daughter joins in almost immediately, and despite Rima doing everything she can to soothe her, Nakia refuses to stop crying.

It is almost like she can see and understand the little boy’s distress, and wants to make sure he is heard, by adding her voice to his.

The woman looks over at Nakia. Over at Rima.

-

Three weeks later…

-

Rima smiles at her husband in thanks, as he brings over a large glass of water, a cup of herbal tea and a plate heaped with snacks.

Isaac sets them down in front of her, and leans over with a grin to press a kiss to the top of her head.

As Nakia finishes nursing, he takes her from Rima’s arms, burping her, before swaddling her back up and setting her in her bassinet.

Rima, meanwhile, is still a little stuck, because her son has yet to finish eating.

Bruno is a little smaller than his sister, despite having been born a little nearer to term, and on the same day.

But he’s eating well, and their paediatrician is confident he will catch up to his sister soon.

When their son finishes his meal, Rima hands him to Isaac to be burped and swaddled and set into his bassinet, fixing her shirt back into place, before digging into her food and gulping down some water.

Newborns are hard.

Parents of twins – like Mrs Dar from the masjid – say that two newborns is even harder.

Rima and Isaac’s sleep – or lack thereof – and the huge mound of laundry they need to somehow do definitely backs that up.

But Rima doesn’t think they’ve ever been happier.

They have a daughter, who is wonderful and precious and beautiful, and a son, who is just as wonderful and precious and beautiful.

They have two beloved children.

Mashallah.

Alhamdulillah.

-

Dr Bruno Bahadir – whom, Monica learns, has a sister, Nakia – is a confident young man. Not arrogant, far from it - but there’s a certainty and a steadiness to him; he knows who he is and what he can do.

He’s also a bit cooler, for lack of a better word, than Monica thinks her universe’s Bruno Carrelli is, based on Kamala’s stories.

He’s a young man mature beyond his years…

…but then he gets a holo-call from his sister and her best friend…

…and he’s suddenly a teen boy with a crush.

-

Kamala Khan, Nakia Bahadir’s best friend – and not Ms Marvel, or maybe not yet Ms Marvel, blinks and looks at Monica when Bruno explains where she came from, what they’re trying to do…

…and Monica recognizes that compassion, that empathy, the sadness that comes from it, as well as that stubborn determination to help.

She’s seen it before, on a face that looks exactly the same.

‘She seemed really cool. I’m sorry.’

-

(Maybe some things are common, between universes.)

(Maybe, just maybe, some things are practically constant.)

Chapter Text

Monica is just about to run at and tackle the apparent ‘supervillain’ (he’s wearing a full-face mask and a ridiculous costume) whom she and Kamala (this universe’s Kamala, not her fellow Marvel back home) have stumbled upon about to rob a bank, when…

…a giant Noor bubble pops up, surrounding the three of them…

…there’s a shout behind her in a familiar voice – ‘No, wait!’…

…and a large piece of Noor, shaped like a shield of sorts, pops up between her and the would-be robber.

It wouldn’t be enough to actually stop her, but it does make Monica stop in her tracks, and the tone of Kamala’s voice, the way she cries out almost desperately…

(‘…how can you just leave them?’)

…it makes Monica turn to the teenager.

In this universe, Kamala is also a superhero, in every way.

(Some things, perhaps, are constant.)

…so why is she protecting a supervillain?

Said supervillain, meanwhile, seems to sigh, and speaks, and it’s exasperated and…fond.

‘Ms Marvel…’

‘We agreed to avoid all damage we possibly can, dude!’

-

Kamala groans in frustration as she finally manages to free herself from The Inventor’s signature taffy-like, rapidly-expanding foam-ish stuff that he uses to commit villainy.

(It’s kinda like Elephant’s Toothpaste, but less hot – which, hey, she’s real glad for – and less foamy and harder to move though. Way harder to move through.)

The supervillain who has probably become her – well, Ms Marvel’s – arch-nemesis got away with about half of his ill-gotten gains from the bank, but she gathers up the rest and puts it on a Noor platform to deliver back to the bank.

A superhero’s work is never done, eh?

Especially when you’ve got an arch-nemesis who seems as busy as The Inventor is.

As she shoves the Noor platform back into the bank, Kamala’s brow furrows, with a Thought that’s been bothering her for a while.

It’s been about a year since The Inventor showed up, and quickly became her ‘main’ villain.

(Kamala’s not quite sure how supervillainy actually works, but he seems to have…wiped out his competition?)

(Every few months or so, she used to have to deal with a resurgence of one of ‘her’ villains from her teenage, just-starting-out superhero days.)

(But not now – three months ago, DocX got deleted for good, completely scrubbed from any and all networks, which is something she’d never been able to manage. Six months ago, the remains of her old Stormbreaker suit that went really rogue and totally evil-twin were found, torn to tiny shreds and then, for good measure, encased in a large block of particularly solid, purple-ish taffy-like substance.)

(And that’s not to mention all the villains who’d, every couple months, decide that they were gonna try and take over her hometown in some way, shape or form.)

(They’re usually from New York.)

It’s been about a year since The Inventor showed up…

…and she’s been coming home a lot less sore and a lot less beaten up…

…and there’s a lot less clean up that she’s gotta help out with.

Case in point, as Kamala walks into the bank, she realizes that there’s a lot of overturned stuff and some broken laptops, the columns in the atrium, the roof and the entire teller area are all coated in The Inventor’s not-Elephant-Toothpaste, and the bank manager is encased up to his neck in a giant pile of the stuff…

…but there’s not much actual damage.

She asks a couple employees to run to the nearest convenience store and grab some 7-Up or Sprite, so they can free the bank manager (lemon-flavoured fizzy drinks work really well to dissolve The Inventor’s taffy – yeah, don’t ask how Kamala discovered that, it’s a long story), and put the stuff The Inventor tried to steal back into the vault.

-

That night, as Kamala lies in bed, she can’t help but replay a particular incident, a particular moment, in her head, from a month ago.

She was cut off from the Noor temporarily due to an incident the day before in NYC, but couldn’t just walk past The Inventor stealing all the valuable contents of the literal mansion three blocks up from Zoe’s house while the owners were on vacation in France.

(Long story, about the Noor, but the short story is, Kamala had gone to help Kate because some Tracksuit Bros got hold of some Kree tech, one piece of which was actually not new tech and instead an old relic from the days of the forging of the Quantum Bands, and guess what she’d gotten hit with?)

Kamala was trapped – thoroughly - in the not-Elephant’s-Toothpaste, the slightly enhanced strength she has from the little bit of Noor that resides inside her not enough to get her free anytime soon, her whip-dupatta still in her fist but so encased it’s not usable, and The Inventor had finished emptying the contents of the safe in the master closet of the mansion (or, at least, what Kamala assumes must be the master closet, since it’s, you know, a mansion) and he’d looked over at her…

…she’d just hoped and wished and prayed that he hadn’t realized she didn’t have access to the Noor, ‘cos…

…superhero, supervillain.

But he’d just looked at her for a moment – or, at least, she got the sense he was looking at her, it’s hard to tell, with his mask; it covers way more than her domino mask – and picked up his ill-gotten gains and left without a word.

(The Inventor’s not much of a monologuer. He’s kinda a weirdo amongst supervillains as a result, in Kamala’s opinion.)

Fifteen minutes and a lot of struggling later, several somethings had rolled into the closet and Kamala officially started Panicking…

…only for the several somethings to explode into a shower of lemon-flavoured soda.

Apparently, The Inventor raided the drinks fridge before he left?

For the week it took for her to reconnect to the Noor…

…Jersey City was unusually quiet and devoid of any and all supervillainy.

There’d been rumblings of some overflow from NYC, four days in, and she’d almost gone out to investigate what was happening, much to Ammi and Abbu’s distress, but as she was suiting up, Nakia had texted her – and her parents – someone going live on Insta.

Said person was witnessing a T-Rex – long, long story – running back across a bridge to NYC, muzzled with a quantity of very familiar not-Elephant’s-Toothpaste and chasing what Kamala would imagine a giant cat toy for dinosaurs would look like.

Nakia and Zoe have postulated, when they’re getting all, like, Armchair Psychology-Anthropology-Sociology-Political-Scientist,  that The Inventor is particularly competent and ruthless, or is very territorial, or has a particular and highly specific code of values or morality that he thinks even supervillains need to adhere to, or is just really jealous and possessive and lowkey-highkey obsessed with Ms Marvel.

Kamala has no idea whether Naks and Zo are right, though she concedes her best friends, well, usually are, especially if they’re in complete agreement.

But she does agree: The Inventor’s a really weird supervillain.

-

It’s only six days after that bank robbery and her good two hours of lying in bed, replaying a moment, when Kamala encounters The Inventor again.

‘Why?’ She asks the question that’s been on her mind for…ages, probably, but it only became clear, crystallized, five nights ago. ‘Why are you doing this?’

The Inventor doesn’t pause, tossing another taffy-emitting ball at her, which she dodges with a bit of Noor-facilitated parkour.

‘Why do you think, Ms Marvel?’

It's supposed to be snarky, Kamala thinks, quippy. Classic villain-hero banter. It doesn't seem quite like it.

Maybe there's almost a question there.

-

Kamala manages to get a tracker on The Inventor, one that she borrowed from Kate, who got it from the original Hawkeye.

She follows The Inventor into the part of Jersey City that her parents would want her to stay away from – despite the fact that she’s an adult and a superhero – and to an old warehouse.

She doesn’t dare get close to have a look inside – it’s clearly his supervillain’s lair – but she does wait until he emerges a couple of hours later.

He comes out from another exit, dressed differently – nondescript clothing, including a plain dark green hoodie, and a balaclava in place of his regular mask – but she recognizes him.

And she follows him.

He’s got a large backpack on his back, and a duffle in his right hand, surely filled with stuff he’s stolen...could he be heading for Red Hook, to fence the stuff and launder some money?

-

The duffle and the backpack aren’t full of ill-gotten gains.

Well, maybe they are ill-gotten, but…

…it’s not jewels and expensive art or weapons (come to think of it, she’s never seen him steal or go after weapons) or bank bonds or even giant wads of cash.

The Inventor is carrying food and medication and shoes and warm clothes and little stacks of cash (twenties and fifties, tucked into envelopes, incongruously bright blue)…

…and…

…he’s making rounds.

Around the part of Jersey City that the media and a lot of people, like Zoe’s parents, still refer to as the slums.

-

Kamala suddenly can’t watch anymore as The Inventor hands a young woman with a kid of about five or six some vials of insulin, with a promise to come by again later with more, and that he’s working on inventing a device they can run themselves down here, to make more.

The kid throws his arms around The Inventor’s middle, startling her arch-nemesis.

He does, however, rather hesitantly and awkwardly, hug the kid back.

She stops peering through the window and darts up, several stories, to the roof.

-

‘Ms Marvel?’

Kamala’s pulled out of her thoughts by The Inventor’s voice.

He snuck up on her.

She got so distracted that he snuck up on her…

…and politely called out her name, whilst half a rooftop away.

Kamala jumps up, but doesn’t take a combat stance, doesn’t pull the Noor to her fists or unwind her whip-dupatta from around her neck.

The Inventor holds up his hands, showing her he hasn’t got any of his usual gadgets in hand. He continues, gesturing downstairs, down several stories, with his head.

‘That answer your question?’

And the thoughts that have been going around her mind for however long she’s been sitting on this rooftop in Jersey City’s most disadvantaged, most ignored and most maligned and neglected area – the home of Jersey City’s most disadvantaged and ignored and maligned and neglected people – come tumbling out of her.

‘Yeah, you’re…you’re Robin Hood.’ The Inventor snorts, that one sound seeming so dry and wry and sarcastic. ‘I mean, dude, can’t agree with your methods, but…you’re trying to help people. You are helping people.’

‘People need help.’

He says that like it’s a simple fact, a truth that cannot be argued with.

Kamala nods in agreement, ‘cos it is.

That’s why she’s a superhero, that’s why, even before her powers, she daydreamed about being a superhero.

She wanted to help people. Do good.

(The world’s a difficult and hard place, full of unfairness and cruelty and bigotry and struggle, especially after the Chitauri Invasion and the fallout from that that she only barely recalls from when she was basically a toddler, but there are so many people trying to do good, and superheroes like The Avengers were the most visible.)

So that begs a question, a Thought that’s been going round and round her head on this rooftop…

‘Why don't you just be a hero? Use your super-genius for good? Why the, you know, villainy?’

The Inventor looks at Kamala for a moment, and she gets the feeling, despite the balaclava, that he’s smiling at her, almost…fond?

‘You're a good person, Ms Marvel. You're...you're light. You’re…You look out at the world, and you see a place that's fundamentally good.’

It’s her turn to scoff.

‘Dude, I'm brown and Muslim, I know the world's full of injustice and bigots and discrimination.’

‘Sorry. I didn't mean...I know. Well, I don't understand, I can’t understand, but...I'm aware.’

He says that really awkwardly, but it also seems really genuine. He really seems to mean it.

Okay…officially, The Inventor is absolutely the Weirdest Supervillain – or Actually-Not-Supervillain – Ever.

He continues.

‘You look at the world and you believe it can be good. That...even if there's a lot of people who do bad things, and a lot of injustices and cruelty and hatred... good things do just happen and most people do good acts or try to. I don't.’ He pauses. ‘Not anymore.’

‘So…you're trying to even the scales?’

‘Yeah. It's futile, but...I gotta try.’

Yup, definitely Actually-Not-a-Supervillain.

(Hey, is there any more superhero attitude than never give up, never surrender?)

‘But…’ Kamala can’t help but shake her head a little. ‘…okay, you’re saying you’re a giant cynic-‘

‘-yeah, that just about sums it up.’

The Inventor says that half-sarcastic, half-serious.

‘-but why the whole…’

She gestures at him nebulously. The costume – which is pretty extra and ridiculous, he’s maybe just past halfway on that spectrum in terms of supervillains she’s encountered. The not-Elephant’s-Toothpaste. The occasional grandstanding, even if he’s not one for monologuing. Heck, the T-Rex running across the bridge chasing after a toy! Fighting her once or twice a week, even though he’s never significantly hurt her.

‘I’m a supervillain.’ He just says that like it explains everything, then pauses, looks away for a beat, then back at her. ‘Look, thank about it, Ms Marvel.’ He pauses again. Hesitates again. Then, he gestures at the rooftop they’re standing on, this building in the middle of the slums that sprung up after the Chitauri and the fallout. ‘I’m here most nights.’

-

Kamala thinks about it.

She thinks about it a lot.

And two weeks later, she stands on the same rooftop, just a few feet away from The Inventor, the two of them facing each other.

-

‘You’re a supervillain. I go after you. The authorities go after you. No one even thinks about a single mom who can suddenly magically make rent, or a teenager suddenly selling what he claims is his dad's necklace to feed himself and his siblings or asks why after months of not having anywhere to live or seemingly a job, a vet can afford an apartment. No one accuses them. You're protecting them. Dude...you're a good guy.’

‘Trust me, I’m not. Certainly not like you, Ms Marvel.’

‘You don’t have to be, like, a ray of sunshine to do good acts! Good is something you do, not something you are.’

She takes a half-step forward, instinctively, and The Inventor shakes his head.

‘I'm...I'm not good at, I can't...I don't do friendship, Ms Marvel. I'm the supervillain, you're the superhero.’

He says that with finality.

‘And it has to stay that way?’

He nods. That’s with finality too.

‘It has to.’ He pauses. ‘If you won't do it for me, do it for all the people who need help.’ He pauses again. ‘Do we have an understanding?’

That’s very Supervillain, as a line.

But something about it doesn’t come out very Supervillain.

Kamala nods and sighs.

‘We do.’ She’ll keep playing her part. Plus, despite all the good that The Inventor is doing, she still doesn’t agree with his methods. ‘But this isn’t over, dude!’

He looks at her for a long beat, and Kamala gets the feeling that he’s smiling fondly at her again.

‘You’re Ms Marvel. Never met anyone you wouldn’t try and save.’

-

Monica listens to Kamala’s explanation, and the occasional interjection – largely prompted by Kamala – from The Inventor.

This universe, this Earth, is a darker, harder Earth than Monica’s home, with more injustices, conflict and suffering.

But some things – some people – are the same.

(‘All these people, they’re gonna…how can you just leave them here?’)

(‘She seemed really cool. I’m sorry.’)

-

Monica smiles as she’s led by Kamala into a Circle-Q convenience store, the younger woman telling her enthusiastically that Monica has to meet someone.

Monica has gathered that in this universe, Kamala and Bruno are not childhood best friends, and met more recently, as adults, when Bruno relocated to Jersey City and took up residence above the Circle-Q and started running the store.

However, Monica has also gathered, that hasn’t prevented them from being best friends.

Kamala grins at the young man behind the counter, who smiles back at her and pulls out a box from behind the counter. It is labelled RECENTLY-EXPIRED HALAL SNACKS.

Grinning even wider at Bruno, who smiles back at her a little wider, Kamala rummages in the box and pulls out a couple of Kit-Kats. She shoves a couple dollars into the strange container that pops up out of the counter and is labelled PAY IT FORWARD and shoves one of the Kit-Kats at Bruno.

‘Happy One-Year Friendship-versary, Bruno!’

‘Friendship-versary?’

He says that wry and dry and teasing and exasperated, and extremely fond under that.

‘Hey, let me cook, Bruno, we can workshop it!’

He looks at her, exasperated and fond…

…and it hits Monica.

Oh, baby…

And then, an instant later, she realizes that they don’t know.

They don’t know.

Oh, baby…

Chapter Text

The Professor had had a long conversation with Monica when she’d declared that she was going to Jersey City to find Kamala Khan, Ms Marvel.

(Carol Danvers died in a fighter jet crash, years ago.)

This Earth…it’s not a safe place for mutants, hence why as many as possible have fled to the Moon or even further to outlying space stations, allowing them to find her drifting in space.

The United States is an especially unsafe place for mutants.

In the end, Monica goes.

(Nothing was ever going to stand in her way.)

But Billy Kaplan comes with her, to vouch for her amongst the Mutant Resistance.

Otherwise, they tell her, she has no hope of finding Ms Marvel, who as far as anyone Monica speaks to knows, is one of the Mutant Resistance’s leading agents.

Billy came with her because he’s one of those mutants who can pass for fully human, he’s powerful enough (more than powerful enough) to protect himself on Earth if he’s discovered, and…

…as his brother Tommy puts it, the assholes on Earth are terrified of their mother.

(That, Monica had noted, had caused a little tension between the brothers.)

(The woman that Billy had hugged tightly before they left for Earth was not Wanda Maximoff, but Rebecca Kaplan.)

Now, Monica and Billy are standing on a rundown street in Jersey City, looking at a somewhat shabby Circle-Q.

Billy had managed to speak to several members of the Mutant Resistance, vouched for Monica to them, and they’d finally learned that Ms Marvel can be found if you go to this Circle-Q and deliver a regularly-changing password phrase…

…to Bruno.

Without hesitation, Monica steps forward and pushes the door open.

-

A couple of nights later, as arranged with a deeply suspicious Bruno (protectively suspicious, Monica thinks), Monica and Billy return to the Circle-Q, and are ushered into a space hidden behind the freezers.

Waiting for them is a figure dressed in a familiar red and blue suit adorned with a gold lightning bolt, but even as she notes that familiarity, Monica notes the differences.

Unlike with her first suit, Kamala doesn’t wear Converse, she wears a pair of boots like those that the Aladneans made for her. Ones that make her taller…or appear to, thus concealing her real height.

She also wears matching gloves.

And her domino mask is replaced by a red dupatta, wrapped around her head and over her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered, in the style commonly used in South Asia to guard from the sun or pollution.

And even Kamala’s eyes are hidden behind a pair of googles, vaguely steampunk in style.

She’s gone far further to hide her identity in this universe.

She’s had to.

(Not just to allow her to keep helping people, saving people.)

(Just to protect herself.)

Inside Monica, in her heart, something breaks.

Oh, baby…

-

Bruno breathes a sigh of relief as a familiar red-and-blue clad figure slips into the Circle-Q, recently closed for the night.

She’s a little late, but she looks unhurt.

Most likely just had to dodge a patrol, either Sentinel, Police or the vigilantes who are always looking for mutants, or anyone they think is a mutant.

They exchange the code phrase – though it’s almost a formality, Bruno thinks, at this point; he’s never seen her face or even her uncovered eyes, but he’s quite certain he could tell if she were coerced or impersonated – and walks over to and opens the freezer, reaching past several pints of ice-cream for the hidden button. The door to the small hidden space opens, and the three mutants Bruno’s been hiding from the Police and the Sentinels and everyone who might harm them or report them slip out. The oldest, a teenage boy, is carrying a backpack, which Bruno has stuffed with as many recently-expired foodstuffs as he could without the reduction in trash being noticed.

Ms Marvel looks at him, and he shakes his head, forestalling any attempts she might make to say that he doesn’t have to.

He does have to.

One cannot live off the chocolate bars and candy and snacks that he can give them, but…

…it’s something, and he hopes that the treats provide a little comfort or joy or even just some simple dignity.

The two of them just look at each other for a beat, and then, wordlessly, Ms Marvel leads her three charges out the back door of the Circle-Q, to the next safehouse, or perhaps even further, across somewhat friendlier Canada, to Mutant Resistance territory in Alaska.

Bruno doesn’t know where the next safehouse is, or where Ms Marvel even leads the people who make their way to his stop on The Path.

It’s safer for everyone, better for everyone, that they only know what they need to know.

-

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go…’

Bruno runs down into the Circle-Q, taking the stairs two at a time in his pyjamas, in the middle of the night.

Standing in the store, having let herself in using an emergency code he’d shared with her – which subsequently woke Bruno and gave him a real-time video feed of the store – is Ms Marvel.

She’s supporting her right arm gingerly with her left by the elbow. She’s missing both her gloves; her exposed left hand has a very nasty-looking burn on the back and a finger that doesn’t seem to be at the right angle.

Her suit’s a little singed. There’s a rip over her left knee. One of her goggles’ lenses is badly cracked.

And the piece of cloth that veils her face is both singed and partially shredded, exposing the lower right quarter or so of her face. There’s something that looks like a burn and a scrape, simultaneously, visible.

She seems young, a year or two younger than him would be his best guess, and has dark hair (a lock of it is revealed by her torn veil) and light brown skin.

Unfortunately a little too late – having realized that he may have been staring a little – Bruno looks away, averts his gaze.

Looking at the floor or at her boots or at the shelves, he hurriedly opens the door to the secret compartment behind the freezers, currently unoccupied.

He’s got running water – not very reliable and constantly cold, but it’s clean – back there, as well as a well-stocked first aid kit, some cots she can rest on if she needs to, and food.

Bruno grabs the first aid kit, going back and forth on whether he should just duck out so she can patch herself up, or whether he should offer to help her because she’s might be too injured to do it herself. It’s probably far too risky to ask his best friend since high school, Miguel, if his wife can help; Bruno is very certain that both Miguel and Nakia are part of another Mutant Resistance cell with a different mission, but they have never discussed it.

(It’s much safer for all of them if they don’t actually know.)

He’s about to just ask her what she needs, what she’d want, what she’s comfortable with – which is what you should have done in the first place, Carrelli – when Ms Marvel speaks up.

It’s rather sudden. She kinda blurts it out, almost as if she’s just realized something.

(If she wasn’t so hurt, hadn’t come to him because she didn’t know where else to go – didn’t have anywhere else to go – he’d have smiled.)

‘It’s not for modesty!’ Reflexively, he looks in her direction, though he manages to catch himself and looks at her gesturing left hand instead of her face. The movement causes a wince he can pick up even as he redirects his eyes towards her boots. ‘I mean, you can, um, look; it’s for superhero disguise purposes.’

That, Bruno supposes, makes sense.

(Look, he also maintains that his earlier conclusion also made sense, based on the evidence he had.)

(She’s not the only person he’s encountered in his time with the Resistance that covers their face entirely, covers all their identifying features so strongly.)

(But Ms Marvel is the only one who veils her face with a scarf or shawl wrapped in a South Asian style, and wears a suit that is very much reminiscent of the national dress of Pakistan.)

(Over the years they’ve known each other – that they’ve worked together for the Resistance – he’s also heard her murmur several words, seemingly when her guard’s down, when it’s just the two of them for whatever reason.)

(Bismillah, Mashallah, Inshallah, Alhamdulillah…)

He looks up, as Ms Marvel gingerly, carefully removes her goggles with her left hand, wincing again as she does so.

Her eyes are brown, and somehow, despite everything, despite this world they live in, there’s something warm about them, something…bright, almost.

A spark.

Ms Marvel’s all stubborn determination and seemingly endless compassion and heart.

Her name, something in Bruno’s head whispers, is extremely apt.

Bruno realises he’s staring again, swallows and turns to open the first aid kit.

-

‘Thank you.’

Bruno pauses from where he’s cleaning the half-burn, half-scrape on Ms Marvel’s cheek.

There’s several things he can say, all getting at the same point: she doesn’t need to thank him. Not for this.

Not for what he’s been doing, either.

There are things you have to do. There’s no other option.

But she knows that.

And in the world they live in, saying it seems…too irreverent, perhaps, or dismissive or rude or sanctimonious or just…

(It’s a terrible world they live in.)

And entirely stupidly, words stick in his mouth as they just look at each other.

They seem to stick in hers too.

They just look at each other for a long, long moment.

She smiles, something sad about it. Bruno finds himself returning that expression.

(It’s a terrible world they live in.)

When that moment passes, Bruno dabs more disinfectant on the wound on her cheek.

-

(They ignore it, let it go, push it down.)

(That moment – which Bruno, at least, will never actually be able to entirely ignore or let go or push down – might as well not have happened.)

(It can’t have.)

(They have a job to do.)

(He doesn’t even know her name, and he can’t.)

(It’s a terrible world they live in.)

(But before she leaves, goes wherever she may call home or wherever she needs to go – he doesn’t know – Ms Marvel catches his hand, just for a beat, squeezes, despite the fact this can’t be very comfortable or easy with her recent injuries, no matter how fast she says she heals.)

(When she lets go, Bruno presses a recently-expired Kit-Kat into her hand.)

(It’s all they’ll ever be able to say.)

(It’s a terrible world they live in.)

-

This universe seems determined to break Monica’s heart, over and over again.

As Kamala looks at her through her goggles, Monica can see her chin tilted up in stubborn determination, almost a challenge, despite the dupatta covering her face…

(‘…how can you just leave them?’)

…Monica just looks back, steady and determined.

She wants to get home.

She needs to get home.

But there’s something she needs to do first.

Even if it might take a long time.

Monica speaks.

‘I’m here to help.’

-

(She will leave this universe better than when she found it.)

Chapter Text

May Parker glances at her husband, as he comes into their bedroom after putting their nephew Peter to bed. She then returns to staring at the letter that was delivered this morning by a very stressed-looking CPS case worker.

Her sister – whom she hasn’t spoken to in years, for good reason – had a child.

A son.

…seven years ago.

And her sister and her sister’s husband have just…up and left, and left their son behind to fend for himself.

There are very good reasons that May doesn’t speak to her sister anymore.

But she finds herself regretting that; wishes that she hadn’t gone completely no contact, because then…

…poor little Bruno, who is the exact same age as Peter (as the little boy tucked in after a bedtime story in the smaller bedroom next door), wouldn’t have had to survive by himself for two weeks, wouldn’t have had to survive everything else her sister and her husband put him through.

May tries not to judge – everyone deserves a chance, everyone deserves a warm meal and a home, but…-  that terrible man who’d even managed to raise Ben’s temper, the last time May saw her sister…she’d have guessed, even without this letter from CPS, that he’d have been an abusive father.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a beat. Ben comes over, wraps his arms around her, and May leans back into her husband. They’re silent for a moment, before she opens her eyes, gesturing with the letter.

‘We’re all he’s got.’

They are – the only other possible guardian for Bruno, her sister’s husband’s mother, passed away just three months ago.

She feels Ben nod, and then, he lets go of her, shifting to face her and taking her hands after carefully putting the letter aside on their bed.

‘He’s our responsibility now.’

May smiles.

They’d had eight years to come to terms with the fact that they couldn’t have kids of their own, and plan out their altered future plans, and they’d come to enjoy being child-free, being the cool aunt and uncle to little Peter…

…and then, Ben’s brother and sister-in-law…

…and Peter became their responsibility.

It’s been less than a year, but May can’t imagine life without Peter now.

(Last week, they’d had larb for dinner, and he’d decided that it was the funniest thing in the world to say ‘I larb you’, and she and Ben couldn’t stop laughing and crying at the same time, and almost forgot about Peter disassembling the toaster.)

Now, Bruno will be their responsibility too.

-

After adjusting the blinds so that almost no light can enter the apartment, Bruno lets out a long breath, and plops onto the couch next to his brother. Peter has his head in his hands, but Bruno nudges the largely-untouched box of larb (Peter’s favourite food) closer to him.

To be fair, Bruno’s own box of beef biryani (his favourite comfort food) is also largely untouched.

Peter lowers his hands, revealing dark circles under his eyes, and redness in his eyes themselves.

Bruno knows he doesn’t look any better; it’s been…it’s been a rough three weeks.

Bruno’s brother doesn’t pick up the larb box, but he does pick up a donut from the box that MJ brought over yesterday.

In disguise. Because, apparently, that’s what someone needs to do to visit them now.

Peter bumps his shoulder with his own. Bruno lets out another long breath, and almost on autopilot, picks up a donut and bites into it.

The two brothers sit on the couch in the blacked-out apartment, leaning against each other’s shoulders, eating donuts.

They don’t know what else to do.

-

Meanwhile…

-

Dr McCoy hands Monica a tablet with an assortment of news sites open when she asks.

Unfortunately, the news is not particularly useful for determining the current affairs of this universe.

Most of the headlines are some variation of…

SECRET STARK HEIRS?

TONY STARK TO ADOPT GREAT-NEPHEWS AS HEIRS TO STARK INDUSTRIES!

Some of them are accompanied by photographs. Most of said photographs are poor-quality paparazzi photos, but…

…Monica’s eyes go wide as she recognizes someone.

-

Peter chews on his larb, having managed to get himself to eat more of it – even though it’s tasteless right now – mostly so his brother stops channelling his inner nonna.

It’s been…it’s been the worst three weeks, he thinks. Maybe.

(His memory of his parents’…he was so young, it’s a little faded and blurry.)

(Losing Uncle Ben had been terrible, but at least he and Aunt May and Bruno had had each other.)

(…and he knows the Blip was the worst moment, for those left behind, but…he’d been gone.)

First (and worst) it was Aunt May.

(She’d been doing what she loved, they keep being told.)

(It’s true, she was – her work at FEAST had been what she’d been third-proudest of and loved third-most in her life.)

(Bruno and Peter, Aunt May had insisted, shared an equal spot.)

(But sometimes…Peter really, really wants to do to that client – mentally unwell though he was – what he did to May.)

(But because Peter’s got his powers…it’d be worse.)

(Great power. Great responsibility.)

Then Pepper Potts had to go to Frankfurt on urgent Stark Industries business for three weeks, and Mr Stark had done one of the stupid, tactless things that he does…

(May was right; he’s not coping well with his forced medical retirement from superheroing.)

(The tabloids pushing the rumour that he and Pepper were planning to adopt, since they’d been unable to have bio kids…those were also right.)

Mr Stark had gone and asked him and Bruno if he could adopt them.

And, being Mr Stark, he’d gone and done it flippantly, irreverently and somewhat sarcastically as he’s afraid of and possibly largely incapable of genuine emotional vulnerability, in MJ’s words.

Peter’s jaw sets thinking about it.

He and Bruno are technically orphans now, and Peter believes Mr Stark that he didn’t know (didn’t know that the common ancestor that he and Bruno discovered they have a couple years ago, whilst investigating the origins of Peter’s powers, was Howard Stark) until just an hour before he appeared on their doorstep with adoption papers, but…

…he’s a Parker.

(Bruno was planning on changing his name once he was 18...)

(…but to Parker, not anything else.)

(Not Stark.)

He and Bruno…they were, in almost every way, May and Ben’s.

Peter can’t – well, he can – believe that Mr Stark would ask him to get rid of their name, just three weeks after May…

He manages to unclench his jaw, and swallow the mouthful of larb that feels like a stone.

-

As his brother pulls on his Spiderman mask and wiggles his way outside through the tiny bathroom window, Bruno sighs.

His brother is tying himself into knots.

He’s worried about Mr Stark (he and Peter are very close, closer than Bruno is to him, despite Mr Stark’s insistence that he call him Uncle Tony, especially now), but he’s also angry at what Mr Stark has recently done, and Bruno’s pretty sure Peter’s settled on just wanting it all to go away, wanting the press to just forget all about it, forget about them, forget about him.

Bruno rubs the back of his neck; there’s a knot there, and he’s exhausted.

But he still goes into their bedroom, boots up his computer and puts in his earpiece to be his brother’s guy-in-the-chair anyway; Ned would do it – eagerly – if he asked, but…

-

A familiar voice sounds out over the comms, and Bruno can’t help but smile.

Yeah, look…said voice does tend to have this effect on him with remarkable consistency. As Peter enjoys teasing him about.

Ms Marvel – Jersey City’s friendly neighbourhood superhero, and a friend/pseudo-teammate of Queens’ friendly neighbourhood superhero – is in town tonight, and thus, her earpiece (built primarily by Bruno, with input from Peter) is in range.

He, Peter and Kamala chat for a little while, before Kamala – being Kamala – realises the time, seemingly shoves something into Peter’s hands, and runs home, because it’s almost her curfew.

-

(She’s Kamala Khan.)

-

It’s not long after that Peter returns home, passing Bruno a box and a brightly-coloured envelope.

‘This is for us…’ The box is crammed full of South Asian sweets, including plenty of plain kalakand. Peter gives him a significant look, and grins teasingly as he hands Bruno the envelope. The grin mostly reaches his eyes, even though there’s a bit of visible effort. ‘…and that’s for you.’

His brother grins even wider and even more teasingly at that, that effort still visible, whilst simultaneously giving Bruno a double-thumbs up.

Without further discussion, Peter takes a piece of ice-cream barfi from the box, then slips into their bedroom, gets into his bunk and closes the door with his webshooter to video-call MJ. Meanwhile, Bruno settles himself into the living room and opens the envelope from Kamala.

Inside, in Kamala’s signature art style, there’s a drawing of him, Peter, Aunt May and Uncle Ben, arms around each other and grinning, a table covered in larb in front of them.

-

(She’s Kamala Khan.)

-

It’s late, and they’re both trying – and fine, failing, miserably – to sleep when Bruno’s phone rings.

He checks the caller ID. It’s Mr Stark.

Of course Mr Stark would call at this hour…

…and of course, he calls Bruno’s phone.

Yeah, look, Bruno’s social skills aren’t great, so his conclusion – or lack thereof -  may be partially attributable to that, but he’s not sure if Peter would pick up a call from Mr Stark right now (it seems like a 50-50 call) and he’s pretty sure Peter doesn’t know either.

Bruno glances at his brother, but he does pick up. Mr Stark starts speaking immediately, as if he’s trying to make sure they don’t hang up.

‘Hey, I know you might not wanna talk to me right now, and I’m respecting that, but…I got a call from the Professor. There’s…it’s a long story, but there’s someone he thinks you two can help.’

Chapter Text

‘…it’s gonna work, you and Carol can do it.’

Several feet away from Carol, her young teammate’s best friend – and one of the scientific minds behind the device that Carol is standing in front of – says that to Kamala, who has been staring at the Quantum Bands on her wrists, like she’s remembering the last time she wore both of them.

Carol swallows her own uncertainties, her own fears, taking a deep breath and raising her chin a little.

Monica will have done just fine on the other side.

She’s Captain Rambeau.

Captain Monica Rambeau.

In fact, Carol thinks, Lieutenant Trouble will probably have left the other side better than when she found it.

She can’t help but smile a little as a voice calls out from behind her, typically loud and with typical sass.

‘And boy genius checked the math fifteen times!’

Carol notes that Darcy does not add for you, kid, but she’s definitely thinking it.

And given the very teenage reaction of the two teenagers, they pick up on that.

They both go slightly pink, Bruno more so visibly, and shuffle away from each other a touch, Kamala muttering something to herself about refocusing, Bruno talking a little too fast about checking in with Dr Banner downstairs.

(They do not, however, awkwardly insist that they’re just best friends – not that that’s just anything! – definitely not – it’s just platonic – almost aggressively so.)

As Bruno checks in with Bruce, who is downstairs and Hulked out to manage the extremely complex and extremely high-powered power source needed to run this device, the rest of them make their last-minute preparations, the mood turning extremely serious.

After agreement from Bruce, Darcy and Bruno that they’re ready, Carol nods to Kamala, who murmurs bismillah, then begins to channel Noor through the Quantum Bands to charge up Carol.

Once she’s humming and vibrating and barely containing all that energy, Carol places her hands on the handles of the device, closes her eyes and focuses.

A bright white light gets through even her eyelids, and when Carol forces her eyes open against all instinct, a figure begins to materialize…

-

Monica snaps back into being, slowly and yet suddenly, all at once.

She looks around, already knowing, both in her gut and in her heart, and by the specific thrum of the energy around her, that she’s back in her universe.

She’s home.

Aunt Carol is clutching at a strange device, staring at her, looking close to tears.

Behind her, Darcy is staring too, an irrepressible grin on her face.

And to the side, Monica’s third teammate is staring at her like she’s half-hoping-and-wishing-and-praying…

…and clutching the hand of the other teenager in the room, whom Monica recognizes from Kamala’s phone lockscreen.

‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Please be real, please be real, tell me you’re real!’

Kamala breaks the silence that’s fallen, and Monica can’t help but smile as she nods, even as she feels like she’s about to cry, and an instant later, she’s being tackled into a hug by a little over five foot of teammate. 

‘I’m real, baby. I’m home.’

‘The Marvels are back together again!’

This time, without prompting, Carol wraps her arms around them too.

Monica closes her eyes for a beat, takes a deep breath.

After everything, she’s home.

-

‘Thank you.’

Kamala, after letting go of Monica and Carol, then tackles her best friend into a hug.

Bruno blinks, even as he hugs her back completely automatically, completely unconsciously, like it’s natural to return the gesture and tuck his chin over her shoulder.

The whole exchange just makes Darcy exchange a significant look with Carol, Bruce – who just ran up the stairs and burst into the room – and Monica.

Clearly it makes ‘em all feel old…

…and clearly, the kids are even more obvious than they are on Disney Channel, ‘cos Monica’s been in another universe for months and has never even met Bruno, and she’s seeing everything that the rest of them are seeing too.

To be fair, the two teenagers are being especially obvious right now, Darcy thinks.

Kamala said those two words with so much in her voice, like she understands why he did the math fifteen times.

He didn’t do it just because it was necessary for Monica’s sake and their safety.

He’s done it all with a little extra behind it, with something pushing him just a little more, pushing him higher, further, faster.

(All three of them who’ve been working on this device, this mission, have had skin in the game.)

(Bruno’s is obvious.)

(Darcy wants her friend home – there’s some things you can’t go through with someone without bonding, and a Hex is definitely one of ‘em, and besides, Monica Rambeau is freaking awesome.)

(And Bruce and Carol have a friendship built through years of working together, and, Darcy suspects, a certain degree of understanding based on self-loathing and guilt and relationships left behind until it’s far too late.)

‘You’re welcome, KK.’

Oh, there is totally an always there.

The kids are adorable.

Yeah, Darcy is old, isn’t she?

She and Monica share a hug, before she and Bruce introduce themselves to each other, and Kamala – with much excitement and enthusiasm – introduces Monica to Bruno…

…whom, she lets slip, she apparently initially described to Monica as her guy in the chair, the next Dr Bruce Banner and the best BFF a girl can ask for!

Darcy just glances at Bruce, then glances at Bruno – who still can’t call Bruce anything other than Dr Banner – then looks at Carol and Monica and the expressions on their faces, and then takes in the look on Kamala’s (who has apparently only now realized exactly what she just said out-loud) and tries not to laugh.