Chapter 11: We Can Rebuild Him
Two days later, Bucky was in the lab, staring at the holographic schematics of the new arm. Tony and Dr. Cho clustered around. Dr. Cho stood straight and confident as usual, while Tony was leaned casually against a worktable dressed in jeans and two T-shirts, one with long sleeves beneath a short-sleeved one. Bucky didn't understand the reason for that clothing choice.
The image that hovered in the air looked somewhat like his current chrome arm, but sleeker, with more elegant fingers. Bucky tried to focus on the image instead of letting his mind wander to tomorrow's brain surgery. Things were moving fast—faster than he'd expected, but he had made it pretty clear to Dr. Abodon that he wanted to be rid of all the crap Hydra put in him as soon as possible.
Dr. Cho tilted her head toward the image. "It will have a vibranium shell with graphene-C innards interwoven with synthetic neurons that we can grow with the regeneration cradle, which is now reconstructed and in the final testing phases. I'll be fully integrated into your nervous system and follow your brain's commands, just like your current one, but you'll be able to feel the upgraded arm much better. The new arm will also be lighter than the one you have now. After you're healed from the surgery, you shouldn't experience much, if any, pain."
Bucky relished that thought—a life without the constant ache in his left shoulder.
"What color do you want it to be?" Tony asked. "Red? Black? Neon pink? Blue would totally bring out your eyes."
It felt strange, having a say in the design of his arm. The Hydra ones were forced on him. He was grateful to be able to participate in the design of the new one.
"We can even make it flesh toned," Dr. Cho said. "It won't look like skin, though."
"We thought about trying to make a synthetic skin," Tony said, "but that would be too easily damaged and could interfere with the function of the arm."
Flesh toned over metal would just seem strange, Bucky figured. It wasn't a real arm, and it shouldn't try to masquerade as one. "I don't know. Maybe black."
"All black?" Tony asked. "I can play around with some designs. Make it look cool, give you some options and go from there."
Bucky nodded. "Thank you." He couldn't get over the fact that the man whose parents he killed was helping him with a new arm and paying two doctors to get the Winter Soldier program out of his head.
"I can equip it with repulsor nodes," Tony said. "They'll help you disorient or even disable an enemy. You won't be able to go airborne with only one set on the arm, but they can do other cool things like help cushion a fall or create a bright flash to temporarily blind an enemy."
Stark wanted to weaponize him. The last thing Bucky wanted was to be turned into version 2.0 of the Winter Soldier. Unfortunately, if aliens were really going to invade the earth in almost three years and potentially destroy half of all life in the universe, then they needed every edge to try to stop that from happening.
"Fine. As long as I can't accidentally hurt anyone."
"I'll work it out." Stark nodded. "I can make it so you can disable the feature anytime you want."
Bucky tilted his head, wondering if Stark would be able to control his arm. "What about you? Could you disable it? Could others hack it?" He didn't like the idea of someone having control over anything that was part of his body.
"Well, of course I can disable it. Technically, it could be hacked, but I've taken extreme measures after… well, let's just say it's unlikely."
"No."
Tony straightened? "No? What do you mean no?"
"I've had no control over my body for the past 70 years. I don't want to be in a position where someone can control any part of my body. If it's going to be my arm, connected to my nervous system, I don't want anyone to be able to control it except me."
"It's his arm," Dr. Cho interjected, "it'll be part synthetic neural tissue. He has the right to body autonomy."
Stark studied him silently for a moment. "It'll be powered in part by a miniaturized arch reactor. That's proprietary."
"I understand." Bucky nodded. He'd rather have no arm at all than one that was the property of someone else, that could be manipulated and controlled.
That could be made to kill someone.
"Okay, fine." Tony raised his hands and sighed. "Your arm, your call. I get it, at least, I'm trying to. Remember, I'm not always a selfish prick. I'll make it completely off-line, self-contained." He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."
"You were a boy scout?" Dr. Cho asked him.
"Not technically." Stark answered quickly, but his face looked serious suddenly and he met Bucky's eyes directly. "You have my word. No shenanigans. It'll be your arm completely. Besides, if you go dark side, I have several full Iron Man suits and a Hulk-Sized one. I can take you."
Bucky appreciated the man's candor about the elephant always hovering in the room—the Winter Soldier. Stark might trust him with an arm, but the man was smart enough not to fully trust the messed-up mass of gray matter in his skull.
"Good," Bucky said. "Where were they or you when I almost helped Hydra kill over a million people, yourself included?"
Tony cleared his throat. "I was out of commission for a bit."
Bucky didn't press further, but he imagined how differently things would have gone if a couple of Stark's suits had been around to help Steve stop him. Maybe the Winter Soldier wouldn't have killed Steve's air support. That was his second bloodiest day that he could remember. They were good men who tried to help Steve stand against Hydra. He killed most of them.
-0- -0- -0-
That evening, Steve hung out in Bucky's room. They downed a couple of burgers and fries each, and Steve introduced Bucky to Star Wars. When the movie finished, Steve glanced over at his friend. If Bucky was nervous about tomorrow, he wasn't showing it.
Steve looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was 9:30 p.m. "How are you feeling? Do you want to head to bed since you have to be up early tomorrow?"
Bucky sighed and shifted toward him. "I don't think sleep is in the cards anytime soon."
"Are you anxious about tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't you be?" Bucky tilted his head back against the couch. "I know getting these things out won't be nearly as bad has when they went in. I know Dr. Abodon was considered one of the best neurosurgeons when he was at Johns Hopkins. It's more being on the operating table, I think than anything."
Steve felt his anger rise again—anger at himself for leaving Bucky behind and a lot of anger at Hydra. He'd spent so many nights lying in bed after Bucky disappeared, wondering where he was and what condition he was in, but for the 70 years before that, Bucky was being tortured—operated on over and over, awake for much of it—and Steve had been clueless.
While Steve sat in that demolished bar trying to get drunk, mourning Bucky, what were the Russians doing to him at that very moment?
"I'll be there, if you want, the whole time." Steve didn't think Dr. Abodon would object.
Bucky smiled softly at him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that Steve had seen only a few times before. "I'd like that."
-0- -0- -0-
The next morning, Bucky was on the operating table, with sensors on his chest and two monitors nearby that beeped with a slow, steady rhythm. His head was elevated, restrained in a thick circular clasp that kept his skull immobile. He was wearing only a pair of sweats and socks. Dr. Abodon stood at the top of the table, over Bucky's head, dressed in full surgical gear. Dr. Cho was to Bucky's left near the monitors. Two other scrub-clad, masked figures were on Bucky's right. Steve stood by the foot of the table. Bright lights were on overhead but angled so they didn't directly shine in his eyes.
A large, semicircular machine that looked too much like the one Hydra used to wipe his memory hovered over his forehead. It was the enhanced imaging scanner, Dr. Abodon told him. It would help guide the surgery.
For a moment, Bucky flashed back Hydra. He was in the chair, the halo machinery around his head, men around him, and cool metal restraints around his arms. Bucky closed his eyes and reminded himself that it was all in his head. He was in the Avenger's complex, in New York, and this was a surgery to which he'd consented.
The activating hum of a device shattered his grip on the present, and he lurched upward, but the restraint on his head stopped him. He reached for it, his titanium hand tearing the metal away from him.
He shot off the table, a sea of masked faces around him, his heart thudding in his chest.
"Bucky!" Steve's face was in front of him suddenly, brows furrowed with concern, hands on his shoulders. "You're okay, buddy. You can do this."
I can't.
He sucked in air and closed his eyes. He had to force himself back on the operating table if he wanted the implants out of his brain.
He nodded and opened his eyes. "Okay."
"We don't have to rush," Dr. Abodon said, his tone gentle.
Bucky slid back onto the table. "Let's just get it over with."
He looked up at the destroyed remains of the headgear. The scanner was undamaged, swung slightly out of position. He closed his eyes and listened as they replaced the damaged parts. When they finished, he heard Dr. Abodon's voice.
"I'm going to replace the cranial restraint, Bucky. Are you ready?"
He nodded and opened his eyes to see Steve's face above.
"How are you doing?" his friend asked, a weakly reassuring smile on his face.
Bucky swallowed hard. "About as good as can be expected. I don't think I'll freak out again. Sorry about that."
"It's understandable, Bucky," Abodon began, "Now, I'm going to try to numb the area with a local. If there's too much pain, let me know. Steve, unfortunately, I'll need you to move back to the foot of the bed to give us room."
"Got it." Steve patted Bucky's shoulder. "I'll be right here the whole time." Then he moved down, and he gripped Bucky's ankle gently.
"Okay," Bucky took a deep breath. He didn't have high hopes for the local anesthetic. "Whenever you're ready, Doc."
"Three shots. Let me know how much you feel the needle."
Bucky felt the first one on the right side of his skull, but it didn't hurt. The second was on the left side of his head, and the third was near the center. "No pain," he told the doctors. "Just a bit of a tingle, some pressure."
"Good." One of the assistants handed Dr. Abodon scalpel.
Bucky felt his chest tighten. Steve's hand gave his ankle a reassuring squeeze. He focused on the physical contact.
"I'm going to make a small cut in your scalp to determine whether the implant is visible above the surface of your skull."
"Okay." Bucky tried to sound calm.
He felt the pressure from the knife, then a sharp sting. The local didn't seem to be doing much to dull the pain. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. The pain was manageable. He'd endured much worse.
"This is going well," Dr. Abodon said. "I can make out the tip of the implant with the imager."
"Next, I'm going to use a very fine cranial drill, laser guided. If you feel too much pain, let me know and I'll stop. I'm only going to remove a very small section of bone to expose the dura. If all goes well, I won't have to cut through the dura."
The sound of the drill sent every nerve in his body on edge. His heart thudded hard, and the soft beeping of the monitors picked up. He gritted his teeth. The vibration of the tool, more than the pain itself, sent slivers of panic into his gut. He felt another squeeze on his ankle. Steve.
"I've cut through the bone," the doctor announced. "I'm getting a hold of the first implant. For removal, Bucky, I want you to say the alphabet backward for me. Can you start?"
Bucky cleared his throat. "Z…Y…X…W…V…U…T…"
"Perfect," Dr. Abodon said. "First one's out. How are you feeling, Bucky?"
Bucky opened his eyes and looked up at the doctor hovering over the top of his skull. "I probably shouldn't make a 'who are you' joke right about now, huh?"
Dr. Abodon smiled. "Don't give an old man who happens to be standing over you doing brain surgery a heart attack."
-0- -0- -0-
When it was over, Steve breathed a sigh of relief. His entire body relaxed. The surgery went smoothly, and thanks to Dr. Cho's regeneration technology, Dr. Abodon was able to replace the small bone flaps and have Dr. Cho bond them to the surrounding bone without the need for titanium plates.
Bucky was in a wheelchair, the top of his head wrapped with bandages. "I can walk."
"No, you can't," Dr. Abodon yelled from behind him. "Rogers, don't let him out of that chair until he's in his room, and make sure he rests tonight."
"Leave the bandages on for a couple of hours," Dr. Cho instructed, "just to protect the new tissue for a bit."
Steve looked back at the medical team. "Thank you all. Will do." Then he pushed Bucky out of the lab.
"This is stupid. I don't need to be wheeled to my room," Bucky protested.
"You just had brain surgery. Humor us."
"My head was involved, not my legs, and I was awake the whole time. No anesthesia."
"How did you feel during the surgery?" Steve asked him. He knew Bucky probably gritted through the pain if there was any.
"The local barely did crap, but the pain wasn't bad."
"Bucky, why didn't you say something?"
"It needed to be done, and it wasn't bad. I've been through much worse."
Steve gripped the handles of the wheelchair tighter as he pushed Bucky down the hallway, then into the elevator. He'd need to talk to the doctors about super soldier pain management before they performed another surgery. Once inside, Bucky attempted to stand, but Steve put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.
"I made a promise to Dr. Abodon," Steve said. "You know I always do my best to keep my promises. Stay. Please."
Bucky sighed and relaxed in the chair. "Fine, but admit, at least, that you recognize this is completely unnecessary and you're only making me stay in this chair because you get some weird kick out of the tables being turned now."
Steve smiled. "What? Just because you were always hovering over me, watching out for me, making me stay in bed when I was sick, you think this is fair play?"
"Yes."
"I wouldn't do that, would I?"
"Yes, you would."
Steve chuckled. "Maybe."
-0- -0- -0-
They finally arrived back at the room. The hallway outside the door was freshly repaired. When Steve pushed Bucky in, there was an immediate cacophony of voices. Given the reinforced walls, the room was well soundproofed, so Bucky had no idea that everyone was inside.
Tony, Natasha, Sam, Wanda, Vision, and Rhodes were there. A spread of food was on the kitchen island—fruit, meats, cheese, small sandwiches, and hot dogs. A banner hung on the far wall that read, 'Congrats on surviving brain surgery, Bucky."
"Funny." Bucky bobbed his eyebrows quickly and tilted his head up at Steve. "Can I get out of this thing now?"
"Almost." Steve hurriedly rolled the wheelchair over to the couch. "But you're parking your butt on the sofa."
"Jesus Christ," Bucky grumbled, but he followed Steve's instructions and moved his ass from the chair to the sofa. "You're worse than I ever was with you."
"Um, which of us had the fuzzy memories?" Steve retorted.
"Okay, point," Bucky conceded.
"So, Barnes," Natasha dropped to the sofa next to him, "how are you feeling?"
He shrugged. "The same, but happy to know there's nothing physical left from Hydra in my brain. Hopefully the rest of it all goes as smoothly."
"What can I get you, Bucky?" Steve asked.
Bucky glanced up at him. "Since you won't let me off the couch, you mean?"
"Yep." Steve nodded.
"One of everything," Bucky grinned up at him, "and a beer, too, if there's one in the fridge."
Rhodes and Tony sank into the armchairs. Bucky glanced over and saw Sam talking to Steve in the kitchen.
"So," Tony leaned over and slapped Bucky on the knee, "you still speak a bunch of languages? Remember that my name is Axl Rose?"
Bucky sighed and glanced upward. "Ya pomnyu, chto ty nartsissicheskiy pridurok." I remember that you're a narcissistic prick.
Natasha laughed.
Tony glared. "You know I can ask FRIDAY to translate that for me, right?"
"But you probably shouldn't," Natasha warned Tony.
"And, while we're at it," Bucky began. "Thank you, Tony." As self-absorbed and irritating as the man was, Bucky owed him in more ways than one.
"For paying for the whole thing?" Tony waved a hand in the air. "It's why they keep me around. That, and my sunny disposition and good looks."
"Yeah, those, too," Rhodes said flatly.
"Well, it's nice to be thanked every once in a while." Tony leaned closer to Bucky. "You're welcome, Barnes."
-0- -0- -0-
"James Barnes." Dr. Abodon stated flatly, then paused for a moment. "What is your level of pain now?"
The slice of pain through Bucky's head was manageable, but he wondered if he'd ever be able to hear his name without paying a price. "A three, maybe."
They'd been at this on and off since Bucky arrived. He spent time meditating, working through the exercises Dr. Abodon recommended—saying his own name, writing it out.
The pain slowly lessened, but still, he couldn't hear the name his mother had given him without the sharp sting—a reminder that Hydra stole his identity and gave him a new one.
-0- -0- -0-
Two weeks went by. Bucky passed his time training in the gym with Steve, catching up on popular culture, and trading barbs with Sam and Natasha. He even started watching cooking shows—the foods, techniques, and cooking appliances were mind-boggling.
Sous vide and pressure cooking? At first, he'd thought the culinary shows silly and pretentious. He'd grown up with the basics of frying, boiling, and baking. Between the depression and World War 2 rationing, meals were simple and made from cheap ingredients. He only occasionally scraped up enough money to indulge when trying to impress a date or he and Steve had occasion to celebrate. Then, there was the war and 70 years of the tasteless crap Hydra forced into him for nutrition.
Being able to experiment with food and experience new tastes brought pleasure he hadn't realized he missed so much.
Since he had nothing but free time, he did what he could to make himself useful. Sometimes that meant sparring with the other Avengers, other times it meant using his metal arm to test the strength of one of Tony's new suits. Once, he even helped the landscaper trim the bushes.
The surgery to remove the cardiac and other implants was in two days. Bucky stood in the bathroom, looking into the mirror—it had been replaced a while ago. He studied himself once again. The half-inch of hair that now covered his scalp made him look almost like the man he used to be in Brooklyn. The metal arm reminded him that he wasn't. At least the jeans and blue, short-sleeved shirt made him look less like a cyborg and more like an actual human being.
He was due for dinner in ten minutes. He hoped this dinner went better than the last time. He was becoming more comfortable with the Avengers, and this one promised to be more casual than the last.
Thankfully, the doctors were sitting this one out. He liked them well enough, but he found it awkward socializing with Abodon and then going to his session and talking about one of the people he'd killed or a dark memory from his days in the bunker.
Bucky walked out of the bathroom and out the door just in time to see Steve heading toward his room.
"Hey!"
Steve grinned at him. "I hear it's pizza night, and they voted on watching The Matrix. They insist we'll like it."
"I'm game."
By the time they got to the lounge area, most of the Avengers had assembled on the sofa and chairs. Natasha, Wanda, Vision, and Tony were spread out, chatting. A new screen hung against the wall, so thin and flat it looked like a pane of glass. Two pizza boxes were open on the coffee table. Another four were on the kitchen counters.
"Beer's in the fridge!" Tony yelled, flinging his hand toward the appliance. "So, Barnes, no offense, but leave the landscaping to the professionals. The dog you tried to make looks like it licked a socket."
Natasha chuckled. "Leave him be, Tony. He's rediscovering his creative roots."
Bucky grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, handing one to Steve and opening the other for himself. "Where's Sam?"
"Late." Tony's phone rang. "I think he had a group earlier." He slipped the phone out of his pocket, eyed the number, and sent it to voice mail before pocketing it again.
A moment later, it rang again. "I swear, it can't be a telemarketer with the program I installed…" He tapped the screen, and suddenly an image sprang into the air. Tony's phone was the only one Bucky had seen that could project a hologram. He recognized Pepper's face. He'd only met her once. Apparently, she was busy running Stark's company. Her face looked anxious. She'd been crying.
"What's wrong?" Tony asked, suddenly all business.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what—"
Another face appeared as the camera on the other end shifted. Bucky recognized the man immediately. He was Major General Sergey Ivanov.
"He's Hydra." Bucky said, setting his beer down. His stomach twisted in a knot. How had they gotten to Potts? She had the best security next to the Avenger's complex itself.
"Ah, Soldat, have you enjoyed playing a human being again?"
Bucky didn't take the bait. He knew where this was heading. They wanted him, or something, and they were going to arrange a trade, but they had no intention of releasing the hostage.
They had to know he knew that.
Stark gave Vision the briefest of glances, and the android nodded. Then Stark looked at the holographic projection of the Russian Hydra officer and leaned forward. "If she's not released unharmed now, this isn't going to go the way you think it will."
"Actually, this isn't going the way you think it is."
The camera shifted again. This time it was to an elderly man who looked to be in his late sixties or early 70s with white hair. The man was tied to a chair, he had a split lip, and his eyes betrayed his fear.
"Why don't you tell them what your name is? Your full name?" The major general's voice commanded.
The man looked hesitantly at the camera. "Um," he swallowed hard, "James Barnes Proctor."
The room seemed to tilt, and Bucky slammed back into the kitchen counter. Steve's steadying hand on his arm was the only thing that kept him upright.
"Meet your nephew," Ivanov's voice taunted. "Your sister Rebecca's son. Your namesake. Aren't you pleased to know she thought so highly of you that she named her first son after you? We did think of having your sister join us, but what good is an old lady who might die any day? He still has some years left on him, wouldn't you say, Soldat?"
Bucky looked at Steve. I have a nephew. He knew what was coming next. The odds of getting Potts and his nephew back alive were slim. Steve's face was pained, sympathetic, but there was an undercurrent of anger and determination that Bucky recognized.
Steve thought he could fight his way through this one. They could fight, but the hostages would no doubt pay the price. Hydra didn't mess around, and they'd honed their craft for over a century.
His nephew's life was on the line. Becca's son. She named him after me? She'd lose her son, all because of him. He had to find a way to stop that from happening.
"We have another guest." Ivanov said, and the camera shifted again.
Sam Wilson was tied to another chair with silver duct tape over his mouth. His right eye was bloody, and he held his left shoulder at an off angle.
"Son of a bitch," Steve muttered.
"You're all as good as dead," Tony promised.
Ivanov sighed. "Really, Stark, enough with the bravado and the pointless threats. We know you're a man of extraordinary resources, and, yes, we know you're tracing this signal. You'll get a general location, but not an exact one. We'll have moved before you even get close. If you manage to find us, well, you win, but I promise you that the hostages will lose. All it takes is the tap of a button, and I can kill any one, or all three."
Bucky stepped forward. He knew how Hydra played. "You want me? Fine. But you know that I know you're not releasing those hostages."
"Under normal circumstances, you would absolutely be correct, Soldat. We trained you well," Ivanov said. "But these are special circumstances. These hostages are low value for us. What do we want with a counselor with no special abilities who uses wings anyone can learn to use? Or an old man? Pepper Potts is slightly higher value, but she has no special abilities. She's just a woman, important to Tony Stark, and that makes her valuable for now. We're willing to release them all."
"You're lying," Bucky said.
The camera shifted back to Ivanov. "As a show of good faith, bring the red book, your journals—all of them—to the edge of the Avenger's complex, south side. We'll have a van waiting. You pick which hostage you'd like us to release, except for Potts. She stays with us for a while. If you give us the red book and the journals, you'll get one of the hostages back. When we have you back, you get the other two hostages. Fifteen minutes. If you attack or attempt to rescue the hostages, or you fail to provide the books, we'll kill one of the hostages, and we'll still have at least one more to spare. That's how this is going to work. Their lives are in your hands. Be careful about your next move. Now, who should we bring? James or Sam?"
Steve didn't hesitate. "James Proctor."
Bucky looked at Steve, understanding the decision but surprised by the quickness of the reply considering how close he seemed to be to Sam.
"He's a civilian," Steve explained. "He's not part of this. Sam's a soldier, an Avenger. He's resourceful."
Bucky nodded. It was a hell of a hard call, trading lives, prioritizing who lives and who dies, and it was all because of him.
The connection ended, and the hologram vanished.
"Why would they want the red book or your journals?" Steve asked.
Bucky thought about what he'd written in the journals. It was all memories—from his childhood, the war, and his time with Hydra. "There are some things about Hydra in those books, missions that I remember, faces, victims. Some of it must be information that wasn't already released on the Internet that's important to them."
"And the red book? They obviously had a backup of the code words to control the Winter Soldier," Steve said. "Why would they want it?"
Bucky swallowed. "I'm not sure what's in it, but I know it's used exclusively for—"
He remembered suddenly. Why the information hadn't surfaced before, he didn't know. It was difficult, having most if not all of his memories back. He couldn't possibly remember everything at once. It came forward when prompted.
"Bucky, what is it?" Steve insisted.
"I'm not the only Winter Soldier. There are five more."
"Three," Natasha said. She glanced at Wanda. "We previously encountered them and took out two."
Bucky surmised that Wanda wasn't in the know about everything. From Natasha's tone and Steve's expression, Bucky figured they'd encountered the other super soldiers around the time they had their time travel adventure.
"They were a Hydra elite death squad even before the serum," Bucky told them. "They're hard to control. Unstable. The book probably has information they need to help get them under control."
Bucky knew what Steve was going to say. He wouldn't trade. He'd come up with a plan, but it would be too dangerous. Three lives were not worth his own, but he couldn't go back to Hydra. He couldn't become a killer again.
Bucky looked at Stark. He was the only man who might be able to prevent that from happening, but they didn't have a lot of time. "There's a device Hydra implanted on my heart after I tried to escape once. It can stop my heart. I think it can also restart it or protect it from the electricity. The control unit for it must have gone missing. Can you tap into it?"
Tony's face was pale, his eyes rimmed red. "What?"
"Can you create something that links to the device on my heart?"
"You want me to stop your heart?"
Bucky shook his head. "No. They could revive me. I want you blow it up."
"Bucky," Steve's voice was an astonished gasp. "No. Not an option."
Bucky looked at his friend. He hated the pain he saw on Steve's face and that he was the cause of all this. "I'm sorry. I'm not worth all this. The only hope we have of getting the hostages back is to play the game our way, make them expose the hostages, but to do that, I'm going to need to give them what they want. We'll need to dangle me out as the prize in a way that lets you get to the other two hostages. Once they have me, and after the hostages are safe, I want you to make sure they never turn me back into the Winter Soldier."
Steve shook his head. "I can't do that, Bucky. We'll find another way, together."
Bucky looked at Natasha, then Stark. "We haven't got much time. Yes or no? Can you do it, Stark?"
Stark nodded. "Probably. It's easier to create a feedback signal on the device than to figure out how to remotely control it in such a short time frame. It should cause a small explosion – enough to damage your heart so they won't be able to revive you.. But—"
"Tony!" Steve was across the room, looming over Stark. "There's no way I'm letting you do that."
"Nine minutes," Natasha announced.
Tony looked up angrily at Steve. "I was going to say, but there's no way I can do that in nine minutes. It would take two minutes to get to the lab. Ten to fifteen minutes to set it all up and hope it works without testing it first, and then two minutes to make the rendezvous point."
"First things first." Natasha said. "Let's get them the books. That'll buy us time to figure out the rest." She looked at Stark. "Tell me you made a copy of the red book?"
Stark looked at Steve. Bucky suspected the information would be news to Steve, and probably unwelcome.
"Yes," Tony said, "but it's not digital. It's old-fashioned paper. Unhackable. In a secure place."
Bucky was relieved that at least they'd have a copy of the red book. It might still prove useful. Unfortunately, he wouldn't have time to copy his journals. Everything he'd written in them would be lost to Hydra.
