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Queens was unusually quiet for a Tuesday.
Scott Lang sat on a wobbly bench outside a shawarma food truck he frequented, picking the onions out of his wrap like he wasn’t a world-saving Avenger. He'd been looking forward to this. Just him, a lamb wrap, and a grape soda that had just began to sweat in his hand.
That was, until a ripple of gold light tore through the sky.
He looked up just in time to see the figure cut downward like a comet, landing in front of his table with a loud boom that sent birds scattering and his soda bottle flying.
Scott jumped, already wincing.
His beloved grape soda spun in midair before gravity claimed it, and it hit the pavement with a wet, fizzing splatter. He stared at the spreading puddle with a sigh.
“Most people text first.”
Out of the smoke stepped Carol Danvers. Boots smoldering, flight jacket catching the sunlight, blonde hair tousled by reentry. She didn’t quite smile, but there was the faintest lift at the corner of her mouth.
“I don't text,” she said, arms folding across her chest, her glow dimmed slightly. “And this felt faster.”
She glanced down at the spreading puddle of soda near his feet.
“I’ll get you another one,” she added, almost like an afterthought.
"Yeah?" Scott raised an eyebrow. “I’ll believe that when it shows up cold and unopened.”
Carol looked at him. “You want it cold and unopened? Bold ask.”
He stared at her. “You couldn’t have landed on a rooftop, or...like a helipad, or something? I’m still traumatized from the last time someone dropped in for lunch. You ever tried eating with half a helmet on? It's not great.”
Carol glanced at Scott's wrap, then back at him. “You done?”
“No,” Scott said cautiously. “But I get the feeling I’m about to be...”
Carol took a step forward, her voice suspiciously casual. “I need a favor.”
Scott narrowed his eyes. “Oh no. That tone. That’s the same tone Hope uses before she asks me to help move a couch and it turns out the couch is for an angry giant.”
Carol didn’t deny it. She just tilted her head slightly, arms still crossed.
“It’s really not that big,” she said. “In theory.”
Scott stared at her. “You blew a hole in the sky and crashed my lunch for a favor that’s ‘not that big’?”
There was a beat of silence.
“I need to borrow the time machine,” Carol said finally.
Scott blinked. Laughed once, incredulously. “You need to 'BORROW' the time machine?”
“Just for a day. Maybe a week, tops."
He blinked again, as if that would somehow make the sentence make sense. “See, when you say stuff like that, I get nervous. Because the last time we played with that thing, I almost got eaten by a time vortex.”
“I don't wanna change anything. I just need to see someone. Maybe say some... things.”
Scott squinted. “Carol, as illuminating as that explanation was, there’s no such thing as a small visit when time travel’s involved. You knock over one vase in the '90s and suddenly robots run the Senate.”
Carol raised an eyebrow. “Is that a real thing that almost happened?”
“No,” he said, pausing. “But it could be. That’s my point.”
She didn’t argue. Just looked past him, toward nothing in particular, and said softly, “It's Maria. I just... wasn't honest with her towards the end. Now that I'm living in our house, surrounded by all of our things... I've just been thinking about it. A lot.”
Scott’s expression shifted. The sarcasm slipped away as he studied Carol in between bites of his shawarma. “She was your person, huh?”
Carol didn’t answer right away, but she gave the smallest nod.
Her gaze was somewhere far off. Like she was replaying a conversation she never had. A doorway she never walked through. The last time she saw Maria, she stood in their kitchen and said nothing real. Just let the moment pass. Let Maria think she’d forgotten. Let herself pretend forgetting was easier.
Carol hadn't forgotten.
She remembered everything. She remembered meeting Maria at the Academy. Kissing her under the stars in the old truck she inherited from Steve. Taking turns soothing Monica at night during her colicky phase. She remembered celebrating Halloweens, Thanksgivings, and Christmases in the house they chose together.
And she'd walked away. Like a coward.
Scott waited, expecting more. But he knew Carol wasn’t the kind to overshare. She’d fly headfirst into an intergalactic war, but hand her a real feeling and she’d rather bench press a jet. Still, Scott was more observant than people gave him credit for. Because he saw it all. Every micro-expression. Every time Carol's lips parted to speak before shook her head, thinking better of it. And for once, he didn’t make a joke.
Not right away.
Instead, he leaned back, chewing slowly, and said with quiet casualness, “So. You want to borrow the deadliest piece of quantum tech on the planet... to unscrew a personal regret.”
Carol’s brow lifted, just a little. Still not quite looking at him.
He smiled faintly. “I mean, I’ve heard worse reasons. Usually from myself.”
Carol finally glanced at him, just a flicker. He saw it. The gratitude she didn’t say out loud.
He nodded. “One week. After that, I’m yanking you back, no matter where or when you are. Got it?”
Carol nodded. “Got it.”
Scott gave a nod, then looked down at his ruined soda with regret of his own. “Any chance of you bringing back a grape Fanta?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, grinning fully.
=============================================================
The jump hit harder than expected.
Carol staggered into the warm evening air of spring 2020, boots crunching against the gravel road. The ripple of gold behind her sealed with a final shimmer, leaving only the streetlight hum and the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her eyes found the house immediately.
Their house.
There was no mistaking it. Same sloped roof. Same cracked front step. Same porch light, casting that warm amber glow on the yard. She moved slowly up the driveway, pausing near the porch. The flowers were freshly-potted. The wind chime swayed gently even in the absence of wind. Through the window, she saw Goose curled into the corner of the couch, his orange fur rising and falling with the deep, dreamless sleep of a cat who knew he was safe.
Carol swallowed. She could already feel the difference between this version of the house and the version she came from. The one that sat too quiet, too cold, like it was waiting for someone who would never come home.
She raised a hand to give her trademark knock. Shave and a haircut. She smiled at the distinct sound of Maria's slippers shuffling, before the locks clicked and the door swung open. Maria stood before Carol in a nightrobe, with a wood stirring spoon in one hand, and her reading glasses perched low on her nose.
“About time,” she said, like Carol had just stepped out for groceries and taken too long. Her smile was warm, almost teasing, but her eyes scanned Carol in that quiet, perceptive way she always had.
Carol blinked. She felt rooted to the floor, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something far more dangerous... hope. It rose up in her chest too fast, too much.
She took Maria in slowly, greedily, trying to memorize her all over again. The soft robe, worn at the edges. The silver peppered gently through her curls. The crow's feet around her eyes and laugh lines bracketing her lips. The shape of her, the sound of her, the space she filled so effortlessly.
“I was starting to think you’d forgotten the way home,” Maria teased, stepping back to let the blonde in.
Carol crossed the threshold like someone walking into a dream she didn’t dare disturb.
The warmth of the kitchen hit her first. There were spices in the air. Onion, thyme, cayenne. Something deeper, too. The unmistakable comfort of belonging. Carol paused near the archway, just long enough to watch Maria head back to the stove. Goose stretched slightly on the couch, one paw twitching in sleep, but didn’t wake.
Everything about this moment tugged at her memory. The nick in the table leg from when Carol and Monica tried to build a slingshot-powered car. The way the cabinet doors never fully closed. Even the fridge magnet from that ridiculous road trip to Arizona was still there.
“You hungry?” Maria asked, returning to the stove.
“I could eat,” she said softly, parroting the way Maria always responded to that question. That earned a chuckle from the older woman.
They moved around each other with familiarity. Maria stirred and tasted, adding spices here and there, as she lowered the heat to a simmer. Carol busied herself setting the table. She fetched two bowls from the cabinet, fingers lingering on the edges longer than needed. Two spoons. One folded towel for the pot.
No instructions. No ceremony. Just muscle memory, like a dance they'd never truly unlearned.
“You remember how to eat, right?” Maria asked, glancing at her sideways.
Carol managed a slow smile, her gaze trailing after Maria as she moved through the kitchen. Her voice was soft, but there was a flicker of something warmer beneath it.
“More or less,” she said. “I remember a lot of things.”
Maria paused. Her spoon hovered over the pot as her lips curved, not quite a smile, more like a question. She didn’t say anything right away, but her voice, when it came, was light and knowing. “Let's hope you remember how to wash a pot, too.”
Carol’s laugh was small but real. And God, it felt good to hear herself laugh in this house again.
They sat at the small table by the window. Carol took one bite, then another, letting the heat and flavor pull her back into the moment. It felt almost too good to be real. She looked at Maria, scrolling contently through her phone with one hand as she ate with the other.
Carol figured she might as well get THAT dreaded conversation out of the way. The one where Maria told her the cancer was back. Carol took a deep breath before speaking again. “So, is this why you called me here?” she asked, voice soft. “Because you knew I couldn't live without your gumbo?”
Maria didn’t answer right away. Her smile flickered. “We’ll talk about that after dinner,” she said gently, not wanting to ruin their meal. “You look like you’ve been running on fumes.”
"I've been running, alright..." Carol's gaze lingered on Maria’s face. On thinner cheeks. On deeper eyes. Something in her chest tightened and the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “I remember when I first saw you at the Academy.”
Maria’s spoon paused midair. Her lips parted in surprise, but no sound came out. Her eyes flicked up towards Carol, stunned.
Carol continued. “You were standing outside the simulator bay, pretending not to watch me get chewed out.”
Maria gave a breath of a laugh, still caught off guard. “You remember that?”
Carol nodded. “You had on that terrible red windbreaker, that looked like you might start breakdancing any second."
Maria barked a laugh in surprise. "The one you always said made me look like a walking fire hydrant?”
Carol smiled, feeling parts of herself heal from the way Maria's eyes crinkled as she laughed. Full-bellied and without worry.
“I thought it made me look cool.” Maria shook her head, amused at her younger self. Her laughter died into something softer as she eyed Carol curiously. "You remember that?”
Maria’s voice was quieter now. Like she wasn’t sure what was happening. Like the ground under her was shifting. She tilted her head. “What else do you remember?”
Carol drew a slow breath.
“I remember the night we fell asleep in Steve's truck while waiting for a meteor shower. We never saw anything but you kissed me so hard and I forgot all about it.”
Maria grinned. “I remember thinking how cute it was that you were so upset about that.”
“I see." Carol narrowed her eyes playfully. "It was a pity kiss.”
Maria leaned in a little. “If by pity, you mean 'putting us both out of our misery'? Then, yes. Guilty as charged. I'd still be waiting for you to kiss me today.”
Carol shook her head in amusement. She'd missed this. Their back and forth. "I would have gotten around to it eventually. There are scarier things than kissing your best friend."
Maria looked at her for a long time, the joke fading into something deeper. Carol shifted, her voice going quiet again. “I remember the rings.”
Maria's hand rose to her neck, instinctively. She'd stopped wearing them after the crash.
“I was so scared. We couldn't marry back then, but you didn't care. You wore both rings around your neck. Like you DARED anyone to ask about it.”
Maria was watching her now with something close to wonder.
Carol's gaze dropped to Maria's neck, her voice shrinking as if she wasn't sure she even deserved to know. "Do you still have them?"
Maria's gaze didn’t falter. “Of course.”
Her voice caught slightly on the second word, as if it had to clear a memory before it made it out of her mouth. Her eyes flicked to Carol’s lips, then back again. “I didn’t think you’d ever remember.”
They shared a smile.
“It didn’t all come back at once,” Her hand went to the pocket of her jeans, before she pulled out a folded, slightly crinkled Polaroid. “But, it started with this.”
She slid the photo across the table to Maria, who took it with careful fingers. Maria's expression softened as she took in the image.
Carol continued, “It was in my jacket. The brown leather one we had to pry from Monica's hands in '95. She must’ve tucked this in the pocket before she gave it back.”
In the photo, Maria stood in the warm light of the kitchen, grinning. Tired and glowing the way young mothers do when they’re running on love more than sleep. She stood near the stove, a pot simmering quietly behind her. Monica perched on her hip, round and content, her afro matching her mother’s in a soft halo of dark coils. In one chubby hand, Monica held a bright green sippy cup. In the other, she clutched the delicate chain of rings resting against Maria’s collarbone. The same chain she always wore, with both her ring and Carol’s, glinting faintly in the light. The toddler’s fingers tugged absently, playing with them like they were her favorite toy, not knowing they held the weight of promises too big for her tiny hands. Carol was half in frame, wearing an oversized flannel and a messy blonde ponytail. Her arm was stretched out to snap the picture, but her focus wasn’t on the lens. Her lips were pressed firmly against Maria's.
It was a kiss that said "I'm yours" and "We don’t have to hide here". Lips curling into smiles as they met, Maria instinctively leaning into Carol like she always did. Monica’s small body nestled between them, the only thing keeping them from closing the distance entirely. The steam from the stove curled around them in the warm kitchen light, casting everything in gold. The kiss was nothing new. It was normal. It was home.
Carol gave a quiet, almost-laugh. “Monica probably wasn’t supposed to see this. But she knew what it meant. And she slipped it into my pocket like she knew it would matter later. Like she knew I'd find it there one day.”
Maria didn’t speak. Her thumb moved over the photo like she could step back inside it.
“She was trying to bring me home,” Carol said, the smile on her face sad but full. Carol wished she could tell Maria about the sacrifice Monica made, not long ago. Sealing a rift from the outside, to keep Carol safe. To keep Carol home.
Maria shook her head slowly, eyes full of something too big to name. “She always was smart.”
“Too smart…” Carol’s voice softened. Then, after a pause, she added, quieter, “You did good, Mama.”
The word landed gently. Not the title Monica used, but the name Carol always had. A pet name that had nothing to do with motherhood. A joke between the two of them after Maria made the mistake of saying "Mama's tired" after a long day in '84.
A long silence settled between them as they looked at the photo. It wasn’t empty. It was reverent, like holding a memory too delicate to speak aloud. Maria didn’t speak right away. She just sat there, thumb still brushing the edge of the photo like she didn’t want to let go. When she finally looked up, her smile came slow and bashful, tugged from a place she hadn’t touched in years. There was pride in her eyes, but it swam in something softer. Grief, maybe. Or longing.
Carol stood slowly and started stacking the dishes, the clink of ceramic and silverware being the only sound in the room.
“Alright... You know the drill,” she said as she turned toward the sink. “You cook, I clean.”
Maria didn’t answer, but Carol caught the faint lift of a smile as she passed. That was enough. She heard the soft exhale as Maria eased down onto the couch, the cushions giving under her weight. Carol didn’t look right away. She turned on the tap, let the water run hot, and started rinsing the plates. Eyes flicking up to the couch occasionally. Maria was leaning back into the cushions like her body had finally let go. One arm rested across her middle. Her head was tilted slightly, eyes closed, the curve of her mouth softened. The photo lay loose in her lap.
Carol turned back to the sink. She focused on the dishes, scrubbing one after the other with practiced precision. The clatter of silverware, the heat of the water, the smell of soap. She welcomed it. Every bit of it helped hold off the pull in her chest. By the time the last dish was dried and shelved, her hands had stopped shaking. She wiped her palms on the towel, crossed the room, and eased down beside Maria. The couch dipped beneath her weight. Maria stirred as Carol settled beside her, her body leaning instinctively toward the warmth at her side. Her eyes fluttered open, still heavy with rest, and she blinked but her eyes were distant as she considered her words.
Carol didn’t move away. She let their arms touch. Let the silence stretch, soft and unhurried. She turned her head just slightly, voice low. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”
Maria didn’t answer. For a moment, she just watched her, eyes tracing familiar lines, the shape of a memory made real again. Then something in her shifted. She leaned in before she could think better of it.
The feeling of Maria's lips took Carol's breath away and left her mind blank in the best possible way. All her nerves lit up at once. Her hand came up without thinking, fingers curling gently behind Maria’s neck like she was afraid the moment might dissolve. When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Foreheads brushed. Their breathing found the same rhythm.
Maria’s hand slid to Carol’s knee, grounding them both.
“The cancer’s back,” she said softly.
Carol nodded. The words landed, but she couldn’t make sense of them, not with Maria’s breath still warm against her skin. But, unlike last time, Carol didn’t get a chance to say, "You beat it before. You’ll beat it again."
Because Maria beat her to it.
“I’m gonna fight,” Maria said, and there was a quiet strength in her voice.
Before Carol could stop herself, she was leaning in to kiss Maria again. Slower. Deeper.
Maria responded with the same quiet intensity, fingers sliding up Carol’s arm, drawing her closer. And Carol followed the pull without hesitation, gently guiding Maria down against the arm of the couch, one hand steady at her waist as the other gingerly removed her glasses and set them on the side table. Carol's lips brushed over Maria’s like a promise. And Maria welcomed her with open arms, pulling her down, holding her close. The cushions shifted beneath them, the old couch creaking in a way that was familiar and oddly comforting.
Carol didn’t realize the gravity of Maria's words. She didn't hear the note of certainty that hadn’t been there before. The hope. If Carol had been paying attention... if she hadn’t been so completely wrapped up in the way Maria felt beneath her, the taste of her lips, the quiet insistence of her hands, she might have noticed the shift. She might have felt the future begin to bend.
Because tonight, Maria wasn’t a lonely mother facing the end, abandoned by time. Her daughter wasn’t just a name shouted into the void. And her lover hadn’t been claimed by amnesia. Tonight, Maria was a woman who was loved and remembered fully. And that was enough.
Maria could fight now.
She wanted to.
At this point, there should have been alarms going off in Carol's head. She hadn't heard the decision already forming in Maria’s quiet, "How long you staying?".
And Carol didn't think anything of it when she grunted, "About a week," in response to a particularly firm press of Maria's thigh between hers. She didn’t know Maria would call the doctor first thing in the morning. Or that the doctor would say yes. Yes to the trial. Yes to the chance.
She didn’t realize that she’d already changed the ending.
And if she remembered Scott’s warning not to change anything, it was distant now. Weightless. A voice from a different life.
====================================================================
Scott made good on his promise and yanked Carol back to the present in exactly one week. Down to the minute. Carol made it back just after sunset. The familiar shape of Maria's house... their house... rose in front of her. She stood in the driveway, heart still thudding from the pull of the quantum tether. The air was cool. Still.
But something felt off.
The grass along the path had been recently trimmed. The porch furniture, which had been covered in dust tarps when she left, was uncovered. The wind chimes tinkled faintly in the breeze.
Carol’s brow furrowed.
She walked up the front steps slowly. The motion lights flicked on before she could reach the door.
That didn’t make sense.
Carol had given up on fixing them a long time ago. Maria always knew her way around a toolbox, but Carol couldn't say the same. The house had been a fixer-upper when they bought it, and Maria had done the majority of the fixing. Carol reached for the knob out of habit, but it didn’t turn.
Locked.
Then she heard it: footsteps. Slippers shuffling. Something clinked. A spoon against a mug. Then the door swung open.
And there was Maria.
Alive.
Hair still short and salt-dusted, but her afro was fuller. Her robe cinched. Glasses perched low on her nose. Coffee in hand. She looked like she’d just stepped out of Carol’s memory.
Except this wasn’t memory.
“Carol,” Maria said, smiling like nothing was strange about any of this. “You’re early.”
Carol froze. Her body knew before her mind did, every muscle gone tight. She blinked once, twice, expecting to wake up alone in bed. She didn't.
“Sorry,” she said, because it was the only thing she could think to say.
“You were supposed to get in tomorrow.” Maria stepped back to let her in. “Everything okay?”
Something had gone wrong. She could feel it like static in the air, quiet but crawling. Maria just smiled, unaware, light catching on her glasses. And Carol, standing there in the doorway, felt the world tilt, familiar and impossible all at once. She stepped through the doorway like she was crossing into another dimension.
The house was clean. Lived in. Warm. The blanket on the couch was folded. A half-finished crossword lay open on the coffee table. Maria shut the door behind them and walked past her like this was just another Tuesday.
“How was Scott?” she called over her shoulder, heading toward the kitchen. “He didn’t blow anything up, did he?”
“Uh…” Carol laughed nervously. “Not quite.”
Maria stirred her tea and took a sip, eyes twinkling with amusement as she peered over the rim of the mug. “Are you okay?”
“You’re...,” 'Alive', Carol wanted to say. She stopped herself. “You look good.”
Maria did a slow spin for her, grinning. “That’s because I FEEL good.”
She said it with the easy conviction of someone who hadn’t felt good in a long time. Someone who knew the difference.
“Not a fan of having to give myself a shot every day,” Maria added, “but it beats chemo.”
Carol’s stomach dropped. “A shot?”
“Yes, honey.” Maria gave her a strange look. “The prescription from Dr. McCoy. There’s a few weird side effects, but I feel great, and my scans are clear.”
Dr. McCoy... Carol's brain worked. The name sounded familiar. Blue fur, a sharp mind, the kind of science that shouldn’t exist here.
She looked at Maria again. The glow of her skin. The color in her cheeks. The way her robe clung a little tighter at the waist. There was an energy to her. Radiant, a little too alive. Maria walked over, mug in hand. “You gonna stand there all day, or do I get a hello? You’ve been gone for months.”
Carol’s laugh broke on a breath. She stepped forward, pulled Maria into her arms, kissing her.
Maria smiled against her lips. “Hello to you too.”
Carol exhaled shakily. “I missed you,” she said, and it came out too full, too raw.
“I missed you too,” Maria murmured, before taking Carol's hand and starting down the hall.
Carol trailed behind, Maria’s voice floating ahead as she talked about Goose scaring off the coyotes, the porch light flickering again, and Monica finally texting her back after ghosting her for two days. Carol was only half-listening. The sound of Maria's footsteps felt too real. The sway of her hips felt too real.
And somewhere under the quiet domestic hum, Carol's mind whispered one steady word.
FUCK.
Because Maria Rambeau was alive.
And Carol Danvers had no idea what she’d just done