CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE—February 2039
After every effort had been made to ensure he was relaxed, Bucky still felt uncomfortable. Sam had turned up the temperature in her lab, he was covered other than the top left of his torso and the nub of metal beneath his detached arm, and Sam had let him put on whatever music he wanted. While he would have preferred some jazz, the beat would have encouraged him to move, so he opted for classical instead. The tunes may have been soothing, but Sam's very light, soft touch tickled.
"The scar tissue surrounding your shoulder…piece," she mumbled, face close to his chest, "I have to make some measurements and re-graft that skin in the cradle. You won't be awake for that either because—just sit still." She looked up over her magnifying glasses. "I'm sure you've had enough experience being a lab rat."
"Yes, I have." He continued to watch her mark length and width of each scar he'd clawed into his own body in the few lucid moments he experienced before the Hydra brainwashing took hold. No one had ever offered to smooth them, heal them; at this point, Bucky thought his pain a simple, esthetic choice the Avengers could exploit when they needed emotional jaunts. He watched how meticulously she worked to perfect him, only after he'd asked to be made, well, normal. Every detail was calculated and thoroughly planned. She ensured as little need for his presence and time. She wasted nothing. Sam looked down when their eyes met briefly. "Are you nervous?"
The corner of her mouth twitched, her brows tightened, but Sam only shrugged.
Bucky continued to pry, gaging each micro-reaction carefully. "You aren't exactly a doctor. You've never had a patient before."
Sam's expression was surprisingly blank before rolling over to type a few measurements, lowering her chin to hide her eyes. "You don't pay attention as well as you think."
Bucky balked, furrowing his own brows. "I don't understand."
"You wouldn't be able to tell right away because of the clothes I wear," she started casually, finger moving across a few lines of her notes, checking every word and formula against her screen. "I told you about the motorcycle accident, and you saw the scars. I also badly burned myself after Cooper's wedding when Lucas…" Sam trailed off but continued with the clicks on her monitor. "There's a regen-cradle in my room—" her hand waved over to the corner "—and now I can replace your arm with vibranium-enhanced flesh, right?"
"Yes," he allowed, but she said nothing further. She measured and typed intently. His eyes followed her hand back and forth, every movement of her fingers, her tendons, and then he really saw her hand, her arm, her shoulder until the strap of her tank top. No sleeves. There wasn't a single mark, no faded scars, not a pucker from stitches. His mind had attributed the light clothing to her increase in the temperature for him. Why had he not realized before? "You did it to yourself," he breathed.
"Well," Sam frowned, "I didn't replace my limbs, but I've been my own patient…of sorts."
"Is it why you lost so much weight?" Bucky could see how thin her arm had become, and when he thought back to how full her face had been at the wedding, he saw a large difference in her cheeks and neck. Her collarbone seemed sharp and prominent now.
"Ongoing treatment," Sam mumbled, still imputing measurements. A whirring noise started inside the cradle, and its mechanical arm ran a test cycle of movements.
Bucky watched Sam, so focused on working on him that she hadn't touched whatever she was drinking when he'd arrived. The giant bottle contained what looked like one of her father's smoothies but even thicker and more disgusting. Call me old fashioned, Bucky thought, but that's not food and never will be. Sam must have seen him sitting with a sour face.
"Don't worry, you don't have to drink that. It's not for you." In fact, it was barely even for her now. The nutrition in place of the nutrient baths was not working. Sam knew her condition was deteriorating, but she kept telling herself she would fix it after Captain Barnes was complete. He was her most important project; he would prove so much to her and to the Avengers.
A few minutes more, and Sam wheeled back over to her patient. "You ready?"
Surprised by the lurch in his stomach, Bucky nodded. He didn't know it was still possible for him to be anxious, excited even. In a few hours, the last visible reminders of his time with Hydra would be gone.
"Tony, that's great, but we are kinda busy here," Bruce prefaced his receiving of the data on Annihilus. The surrogate suit that relayed Tony's movements from his headset in space squatted awkwardly in front of Dr. Banner because its controller was seated lightyears away. "That threat is on the other side of the galaxy. I've just had to send Falcon to Wakanda. It seems without the Fantastic Four, a man named Doom's terrorizing North Africa."
"Doom? Seriously," Tony's voice projected through the Iron Man suit in New York.
A few seconds later, Bruce shook his head. "Doctor Doom, actually, and this time I agree with you on the name. Victor Von Doom, meaning he is either DVD, or VVD, which sounds like a venereal disease—" Banner sighed, removing his glasses a moment. "Could you get back here, Tony? My brain hurts trying to think like the both of us. Your jokes are—"
"Hilarious," Tony tried, standing back up.
"Terrible," Bruce finished, launching an eyebrow up in concern, "and I believe your feed has a lag. Not surprising from outside the Solar System."
"Then where am I the most useful? I've only got about two hours before the relay point has to change," Tony checked the map on the monitor past his headset, a bright map showing his shuttle's path in blue and the bouncing relays time coded by F.R.I.D.A.Y. in red and orange. "Then I'm dark again."
"One-hundred and twenty-three minutes, Mr. Stark," his system chirped.
Bruce shrugged, blandly ordering, "better hop your metal ass over to Wakanda then." No sooner had Dr. Banner given him the instruction, Tony's NY suit powered down, kicking on its automated, robotic return to the storage closet.
"Barnes!"
The banging on the door made Sam jump in her desk seat. "Shit," she mumbled when Missy brought up the security pinpoint camera to show Princess Shuri in her full war gear.
"Samantha Stark, open this door!" The banging continued.
Sam glanced at the progress bar reading only 89% COMPLETE—it ticked to 90%. The banging stopped. She knew what came next; they'd just break the door down.
"Missy, open it."
Shuri came in after a moment of hesitation, a suspicious look melting into curiosity. She saw Bucky prone in the cradle first, her eyes following across the messy room to Sam at the other end.
"I thought…" Shuri straightened. "Barnes must come with me now. We will discuss all this—" she waved her hand around, the other wrapping her gauntlets to her chest "—later."
Sam glanced again at the monitor: 93%. "How about in five minutes?" Sam was not used to being given direct orders and cowered quickly at the Princess's sharp advance to her corner of lab.
"No, girl, now," Shuri demanded, trying to get at the console behind Sam.
"Ok, I'll stop it, just," Sam scrambled to shut down the cradle and revive Bucky, "he'll meet you…where?"
"He'll know," Shuri squinted at Sam all while her eyes flickered over as many details of the room as she could before leaving. From down the hall, one more shrieked "NOW" rang out.
Trying not to think of all the things that could go wrong, Sam grabbed the small pile of clothes Bucky had set on the dresser. "Damn it," she breathed. She'd been anxious enough watching the slow pieces of progress, staring in concern between every rise and fall of his chest in the glow of the cradle, and to have her golden opportunity cut short—with so little time left to begin again or think of a new, impressive contribution—Sam was gutted. What if she'd screwed something up? What if Barnes couldn't fight anymore? What if he got hurt because the arm wasn't right?
Bucky stirred. Sam's heart pounded. She choked back rippling tears, so afraid to admit she may be wrong. Before she moved into his view, Sam pressed the fabric of his clothes against her face and screamed. Even on the floor of the kitchen in Massachusetts, covered in scalding water, alone, she had never been this afraid. It felt as if she'd been sitting at a table learning the rules of poker only to blink into the spotlight of worldwide broadcast competition. She was not ready.
Bucky's eyes fluttered.
"Captain Barnes," Sam's voice wavered, "they need you to meet the Princess for a mission." If she had screwed up, she didn't deserve to call him a familiar name.
The stimulant the cradle administered was strong with very little grogginess. "Did it work?" Bucky asked calmly. Sam wished he were not so lucid while she admitted their current situation.
"I—I had to stop to wake you. It's mostly done, but I don't have time to check anything. Here," she handed him the shirts as he sat up. "You have to go," she said, and then quietly, "I'm sorry."
He stared intently at the door as he jumped off the table. "Ok, I'll be back then," he replied monotonously and left. Perhaps it should have reassured Sam that Bucky noticed nothing different, sliding on one layer without a glance to his new shoulder before he was out of sight.
If she'd eaten enough, Sam would have vomited right then. Her stomach whirled about. She felt light-headed. A vicious part of her brain stopped her from rushing after him. What could you do now? What help would you be? You've done enough…
T'Challa gave a small nod towards the remote-controlled Iron Man suit that emerged from a storage chamber in Shuri's lab. The King of Wakanda's image was projected in rippling nanoparticles activated when Tony's signal woke the suit. "We are grateful to have your assistance, Stark."
"What exactly am I helping with?" Filtering out the suit's vital statistics, Tony's eyes flickered over the ticker tape of information Friday delivered now.
"Coordinates have been entered for you to meet us." The Panther stood fully uniformed except for his helmet.
"What does Doom want?"
"Vibranium to enhance himself and his followers," the king responded.
The suit paused, then jerked its neck to the side. "What is he, some sort of cult leader? Where did he come from?"
"Latveria," T'Challa's projection fell away to leave the voice speaking through Tony's suit directly. Iron Man shot out the door and into the sky. "But that's not where you're going."
Tony heard Sam Wilson on the comms demanding, "anyone found Barnes yet? Get him out here. Get—"
"Falcon, you're fighting again?" Though he trusted the life-long militant man, after such a devastating head injury, Tony allowed himself a fleeting hesitation. He'd work with what he had.
"Stark?" Wilson's surprise was equal to Tony's. "Are you topside?"
"It is good to have you back, Stark," Thor's booming voice echoed in Tony's headset, "did you bring the Rabbit?"
"When am I ever gonna be enough for you," Tony feigned emotionally, then jumped right into assessing the situation, "who else we got?"
"I brought Maximov," Wilson chimed, "and the Sub-Mariner may show up since Doom is over the Gulf of Aden."
"Still not much of a team player, that guy," Iron Man's comms crackled. Tony hadn't had a real conversation with Wanda since she stopped offering him his bizarre therapy a few years before. They'd fought together sure, but nothing any deeper was spoken of than the weather. As far as he knew, she'd moved on to spend most of her time teaching mutants at Xavier's school. Luckily, this didn't seem like the occasion where lengthy discussions were imminent. "What's Doom working with?"
"Tech suit and various energy-projectile capabilities, magic—" Sam Wilson replied.
"Strange?"
T'Challa hesitated. "The Sanctum is not answering."
"Figures," Tony mumbled.
"On our way," Shuri sounded off.
"Great, I've got a visual from Red Wing," Falcon hollered, "you guys land at the beach." The background cut out, and Tony pressed his suit to render-vous faster.
"Is the atmospheric anomaly the target?" Several scans of temperature, infrared, and electromagnetic readings showed for the area where his surrogate suit would programmed to land.
"Tis I," Thor unnecessarily boomed over comms. Outdoors, the demigod never fathomed the need to adjust his volume for sensitive mics. "But I can see the enemy as well. He is over the water."
"Keep an eye on him. We are almost there," Shuri answered. Tony shifted the suit's head to see her and Bucky's shuttle zipping past at a lower altitude, beating him to the beach. He had to hand it to her: the princess was a remarkable innovator and genius.
The Mark XLII suit landed gently. Shuri stepped out of her shuttle, gauntlets at the ready, and Captain Barnes followed shield on his back, three handguns in various holsters, and assault rifle at the ready. Tony looked curiously on at the hundreds of slender-billed gulls gathering on the beach with more soaring towards them from inland.
"Is this breeding season?" He mused.
Barnes traipsed over in the sand, directing Tony's gaze towards Falcon's recon high above. "It's actually him."
"Coast is clear of civilians," Wilson rattled. "Why isn't Doom advancing?"
"I don't know," Thor replied.
"Guys," Tony said, spotting a rise in sea level from behind the hovering metallic figure, "is he doing that?"
The swell rolled forward, passing just below Victor Von Doom's feet, and as it grew closer, a pale spot appeared in the middle of the wave. Bucky braced the butt of his rifle on his chest. Shuri lifted her arms at the ready.
A massive, bare-chested being broke from the swell of water as it passed under Thor. A shining, humanoid robot fought to release its ankle for Namor's grasp, but the King of Atlantis, wrenched the poor pawn down, grabbed it by the neck, and ripped its head off in one clean motion.
Wilson admired over comms, "this dude is cool as f—"
Shots fired on Tony's right. "They're coming from the water," Barnes called out, his attention fixed on the shoreline dotted with dozens more emerging robots.
Tony's deja vu wrapped him in a vague terror. Just for a moment, Doom became Ultron; the enemy became his fault again. He didn't know that for sure—whether Doom was born of something Tony started—but all roads always seemed to lead back to him. He'd have to break the cycle eventually. For now, he called back, "light 'em up," and flew forward to blow some shit to high hell.
T'Challa clawed his opponents in half like scrap metal. Wanda raised her prey to blossom red fire in between manufactured joints, severing the cables of their insides. Bucky's controlled burst sniped down target after target. Shuri blew limbs and heads off with shockwaves. Tony played hop-scotch from bot to bot, blasting his boot stabilizers to incinerate where he hoped their CPUs were built in. All-in-all, the pawns were surprisingly weak, but expendability was their purpose.
"Thor, we gotta take out the puppet master," Tony deduced.
Thunder cracked, Lightning flashed down to Stormbreaker and bolted towards Doom, but their adversary's metallic shielding repelled the blast back at the beach, and Iron Man barely vaulted out of its path.
Barnes wasn't as quick. The full force of Thor's wrath hit him square in the chest.
"Buck," Sam Wilson yelled, a bazaar of peregrine falcons swooping past him aimed at Doom while the soldier landed to check on his friend. The hunting birds dodged and distracted the floating figure, tossing flying boots off balance. Doom scrambled momentarily.
The sea rose again below him, but this time, it was all Namor's doing. The king called forth a swirling mass of frothing water to encase Victor Von Doom, roiling his metal body in chaotic circles.
Bucky's screams rang over comms with crackling force.
"He's sparking my wings. I can't get near him," Falcon called out for help, "we gotta get him off the beach."
"Stark, take him before we lose your connection," T'Challa insisted.
The Iron Man suit raced forward, tossed Bucky's rifle away, grabbing the secured straps holding Cap's shield and launched them both inland. From Tony's feed in space, he could tell that Barnes was still dissipating the chain's force by the flashes of black interference. He had only 25 minutes of connection to return a 40-minute trip. Luckily, if he was right, the super-soldier he carried could survive a break in the sound barrier…maybe.