Chapter 13: Residuum
It was six minutes after three in the morning. Dr. Abodon had kept Bucky a few hours for observation due to the concussion before clearing him for sleep—thanks to the serum-enhancements.
Steve found himself once again pushing Bucky in a wheelchair back to his room, only this time, Bucky didn't protest. He took the entire trip in silence, slouched in the chair, wearing a gray robe one of the med techs had pulled from the storage closet. He took a quick shower to wash away the dirt and blood from his ordeal. His metal arm was held in a sling close to his chest beneath the robe, taking pressure off the fractured bone. Dr. Cho estimated the bone would be healed enough to dispense with the sling in 36 to 48 hours, given Bucky's enhanced healing.
Steve was beginning to feel the effects of the day, and his stomach had just started protesting the lack of food. He wasn't sure whether he was more tired or hungry. He figured Bucky must be starving, as well.
When they got to the room, Bucky pushed himself wordlessly out of the wheelchair and fell face-first onto his bed, one knee bent and his other foot dangling off the bottom edge. His metal arm was bent in the sling between his chest and the mattress.
Steve set the wheelchair out of way behind the dining table and glanced at the refrigerator, hoping it was still stocked.
"Do you want anything to eat?" Steve asked.
Bucky gave a grunt that Steve interpreted as 'No.'
Steve moved to the bed and eyed the awkward position of Bucky's metal arm. The arm itself couldn't lose circulation or fall asleep, but it had to be uncomfortable against Bucky's chest.
"I'm going to roll you over," Steve said, figuring it better to announce his intentions after everything Bucky had been through over the past few hours. "I'm going to put a pillow beneath your sling, keep the pressure off that shoulder, and elevate your right leg."
Bucky didn't reply. Steve was pretty sure his friend was asleep, but whether he'd stay asleep during the manhandling was the question. He carefully positioned a few pillows behind Bucky and then tilted him onto his back, with the pillows propping up his left shoulder and arm, taking the pressure off the sling. He slid the last pillow under Bucky's right leg. He wasn't sure the leg was elevated enough, but with Bucky's serum-enhanced physiology, he figured that was good enough. Dr. Cho had pointed out a hairline fracture in the fibula that should be healed after a few hours of rest.
Steve went back to the refrigerator, opened the door, and inspected the contents. There was milk, eggs, a bowl of plums, a cooked chicken breast on a saran-wrapped plate, and a package of string cheese. He didn't bother rifling through the drawers, opting for the string cheese and devouring four pieces They barely took the edge off his hunger, but it was enough to entice him to sleep. He crashed on the large sofa recliner.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky woke to darkness, a scream caught in the back of his throat. He heard soft, steady breathing. It took his brain a moment to orient as his eyes adjusted. The only light in the room was the soft glow of the microwave clock. It was 5:03 a.m.
Bucky lifted his head and saw a shadowy figure asleep on the recliner. He recognized the general outline as Steve. Silently, Bucky dropped his head back to the mattress and tried to remember what dream had woken up him, but it was like mist—gone.
He must not have made a sound during his dream, because Steve hadn't woken. For that, he was grateful. Steve needed sleep, and Bucky took solace in the silence.
His body still ached, but he was starting to feel more himself again. His shoulder bothered him the most, but even that was feeling better. He realized something soft was positioned behind his left shoulder and side, propping up the elbow of his metal arm and easing the strain on his shoulder. It took him a moment to realize they were pillows.
Sometime after six a.m., he finally fell back to sleep. The next time he woke, it was a result of the pangs in his stomach. The clock on the microwave read 8:19 a.m. The windowless room was still dark. The soft rumble of the shower filled the otherwise quiet room. He was still tired, but his hunger was insistent.
He stared at the dark ceiling, trying to convince his body to get out of bed, when the shower turned off. He was still inwardly arguing with himself when he heard the soft patter of footsteps come into the room.
"Breakfast?" Steve asked, and the lights turned on.
Bucky closed his eyes, grabbed the blanket beneath him, and rolled over with it, burrito-ing himself back into darkness even as his stomach grumbled. His shoulder protested a bit as he lay on it, but he scooched a pillow against his left side, under the blanket, to alleviate the pressure.
"Coffee?" Steve's voice again, unrelenting. "Or sleep? I can hear your stomach grumbling."
Bucky didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep again, but the smell of bacon and eggs pulled him back into consciousness. With his right fingers, he grabbed the blanket from inside his cocoon and pulled it down, popping his head out enough to look at the microwave clock. It was 8:52 a.m. Steve was at the oven, cooking breakfast, his back to Bucky.
"Be ready in a few minutes," Steve said, not so much as casting a glance behind him.
The events of last night came rushing back to Bucky, and he stifled a groan, ducking his head back beneath the blanket and burying himself in darkness again. He wouldn't mind staying there for a few more days. The only thing that gave him comfort was that Ivanov and that smug asshole team leader were both dead.
He wondered how Pepper and Sam were doing this morning. He felt a twinge in his chest about what he'd done last night, roping Pepper into faking being raped to create a distraction, slapping a gun in her hand. His mission had been to protect the hostages and extract them. What he'd done likely further traumatized her. Tony had a right to be pissed at him.
The whole situation had gone both worse and better than he expected. At least they were all alive, thanks to Vision. He called that an unexpected plus. He could deal with the humiliation. He'd been through far worse….
But Steve had never been there before to witness it.
"Whenever you're ready," Steve said.
Bucky took a breath, then rolled and shimmied himself out from the twisted blanket and pillows. His shoulder protested, and he couldn't quite stifle the groan.
"How's the pain this morning?" Steve asked from the dining table, a plate in front of him and another one on the other side of the small table. "Dr. Cho says if you want, she can use the regeneration cradle, but it would require surgery to expose the bone to the machine. Of course, it can patch up the incision, too."
Bucky pushed himself off the bed and wrapped the disheveled robe back around him, tying the belt to keep it closed. "No, I'm fine. It'll heal." He padded into the bathroom and gave into blessed relief as he emptied his very full bladder.
He washed up and took a quick look at himself in the mirror. The advantage of having very short hair was that it never looked messy, but his eyes were rimmed with red and the skin beneath them was puffy. A small bruise snaked along the left side of his jaw, and another one darkened his left cheek where the bearded super soldier had clocked him.
Bucky made his way back into the living area and slid into the chair across from Steve. His plate was piled with five eggs and a mound of bacon. Three pieces of buttered toast rested on a smaller plate next to it. A mug of coffee and utensils were on the other side of the plate.
The medley of scents tickled his nostrils and sent his stomach into an insistent grumble, driving a fresh wave of pangs in his gut. He devoured the plate-full and downed the coffee in a couple of minutes.
"You barely chewed any of that," Steve observed, a soft glint of amusement in his eyes. "Want me to cook up seconds?"
Bucky shook his head. "No, thanks." His stomach twisted a bit. He probably should have chewed better.
Steve tilted his head, finishing the final bites of his own breakfast. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Serviceable." Bucky answered, rising and piling his silverware on the empty plate. He grabbed the plates and mugs and headed into the kitchen.
"I'll clean up," Steve said.
Bucky set the dishes in the dishwasher and walked to his dresser, picking out a pair of boxers, loose sweats, and a charcoal, long-sleeved Henley. He dressed quickly.
"How are Sam and Pepper?" he asked Steve.
"Both are doing well," Steve asked. "Pepper didn't sustain any serious injuries, and Dr. Cho is patching up Sam this morning. He barely needs the regeneration cradle."
"I punched him pretty hard."
"Not as hard as you could have, Bucky. He knows. They both asked about you."
"And my nephew?" Bucky asked.
"He agreed to stay in the safe house for another day. Should be safe now, but Natasha and Tony are going through all the information gathered from the cleanup. Tony's pretty motivated to make sure whatever's left of Hydra is stomped out for quite some time."
Bucky knew that would be a tall order. Hydra was resilient, a snake in the grass. If you chopped it, it doubled.
There was silence in the room for a few more minutes. Bucky sank onto the couch, tilting his head back and resting his eyes. Steve worked in the kitchen. Then Bucky felt the slight dip in the sofa on the other end.
Steve's voice was low. "Are you ever going to talk about it? You can, you know. Even if not with me. There's a really good trauma expert in the building."
Bucky squeezed his eyelids and wished Vision had taken just a few more minutes to place the directional microphone. "I really, truly, with every fiber of my being… would rather you and everyone else just forget it." He could barely breathe enough to get the words out.
Of all the things Hydra had done to him and all the ways they'd violated his body, that really wasn't the worst of it. It was just the one that caused him the most humiliation. That's what it had been meant to do, and Hydra had perfected that tactic.
"Okay," Steve said. "I won't bring it up again, but if you ever decide you want to talk about it, I'm here. So is Dr. Abodon, at least for a while."
Bucky knew he probably should open up to Dr. Abodon. The man had helped him be able to hear his own name without flinching from pain. But Bucky didn't think he could say the words. Words would make it real. Ivanov's words had made it real. If he didn't say the words, he could almost convince himself it had been a bad dream—a creation of his broken, abused mind.
"In a week, the cardiac surgeon will be here," Steve said. "She's going to evaluate removal of the implant on your heart. You'll be free of the kill switch. Tony says he's ready for you to pick out the design of your new arm, and then testing should be finished in another couple of weeks. Soon, you'll be rid of every device Hydra put in you."
Bucky wasn't sure that was a good idea, not with the code words in his head, but he cycled through the argument he'd have with Steve if he chose to wait and decided he didn't have the energy for that. He'd placed a large enough burden on Steve with the kill switch. It wasn't fair to put him through more worry.
If only it were as easy to remove the Winter Soldier and other crap Hydra had scorched into him.
-0- -0- -0-
"Mr. Proctor would like to see you before he goes back home to Indiana."
Bucky stared at Natasha from across the conference table. His metal arm hug from the sling, and the strap was beginning to irritate his right shoulder. Fortunately, Dr. Cho thought he could get rid of it by tomorrow morning.
Tony and Natasha had just finished summarizing the data gained from the latest Hydra cleanup, and for some reason he—he couldn't possibly imagine why—they thought Bucky might be something of an expert on Hydra. Names, faces, codes, that sort of thing.
Steve, Tony, Sam, and Vision sat around the table, which held an assortment of leftover bagels from the meeting and cooling coffee. He told them what he could, which ended up being more than he initially thought.
"What do you think about seeing your nephew?" Natasha prompted.
"I don't know that that's a good idea," he said. He wasn't exactly Mr. Sociable these days—certainly not the picture of mental health.
"He goes back tomorrow," she said, "so you have time to think about it."
"Might be a chance to get to know him a bit while he's here," Steve offered, "and find out more about your extended family."
The only family he had was Steve and Becca. The others were strangers. They all thought of him as a hero. He wasn't sure he wanted that to change. If Becca didn't have long left in this world, he wanted her to keep him fondly in her memory for her last few years.
He didn't want to have to explain where he'd been, why he hadn't aged, and certainly not what he had been doing.
"Family is important," Sam said, "but it can be complicated, I know."
"They're not really family." Bucky replied. "They're strangers who know about a version of me that doesn't exist anymore."
Bucky saw something pained and almost angry flicker across Steve's face.
"I don't have any family left," Steve said, a sad edge to his voice. "You do. You have a chance to see your sister, meet her family. I don't understand why you wouldn't take that chance before its gone."
Just like that, Bucky felt like an ass. He'd been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn't thought about the fact that Steve had lost his family even before getting frozen in the ice.
Bucky always considered Steve family—the little brother he never had. After Steve's mother died, he'd convinced Steve, who was all of 17, to move in with Bucky's family. They shared a room, became even more inseparable. He missed those days. Missed his mom, dad, sisters, and hanging out with Steve before either of them either knew about Hydra or cared much about Nazis.
"I always thought of you as a brother," Bucky said, "so unless you think differently, you still have family left."
Something warm and bright filled Steve's eyes, and he gave Bucky that almost bashful look Bucky recognized from when they were kids. "I don't think differently."
Bucky nodded. "Little brother, of course. I'm still older…I think."
"Well, aren't you two sweet," Tony said. "So, Barnes, why don't we invite your nephew for dinner? Have a little going-away-sorry-you-got-kidnapped celebration?"
"And when he wants to know what I've been doing for the past 70 years?" Bucky asked. "Or where I've been? Why I haven't aged? What's up with the metal arm?"
"He already knows about me—that I was frozen in the ice for 70 years," Steve said. "We can tell him the basic truth, that you survived the fall from the train, and that you ended up in a cryogenic chamber as a prisoner of war for 70 years until you managed to escape. We'll let him know the rest is confidential for now. He seems like a guy who can understand that. I think he just wants to get to know you a bit. Wouldn't you, if you were in his shoes?"
Not if I knew the things I'd done, Bucky thought, keeping that to himself, but he was curious about Becca. James could tell him about her life and the lives of his other sisters, Ruth and Margaret. He'd like to hear that and find out what he missed.
"Okay," Bucky took a breath. He managed a quick, tight smile. "Dinner sounds doable. Thanks."
Tony clapped his hands. "Great. I'll extend the invite, what shall we have? Chinese? Thai? Italian?"
Bucky shrugged. "I have no idea what he likes." He knew what Becca liked. Maybe James liked the same thing if he'd grown up with it. "Lasagna or Rigatoni, maybe, with meat sauce."
Steve smiled. "I remember your mom's lasagna. She didn't make it much."
"Too expensive," Bucky said. "She got the recipe as a wedding present from a really old Italian lady that went to the same church."
"Best lasagna I ever had," Steve reminisced.
"Well, we probably can't recreate that," Tony said, "but Paulie's makes a pretty good lasagna."
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky tried to make himself presentable for dinner—with a shower and a fresh shave removing the stubble on his jaw. He wasn't sure what the dress etiquette was for dinner with a guest, but his mother always told him it was better to dress slightly up than down.
He didn't have a suit, so he rifled through his dresser and the clothes provided. All he could find were jeans, sweats, and short or long-sleeved T-shirts. Maybe Steve had something he could borrow. Now, if he could only remember where he'd put the cell phone.
He straightened and scanned the room, spotting it on the coffee table. He couldn't remember the last time he charged it. He grabbed the device and turned it on. It had a 16% battery life. He figured that was more than enough for a text message.
Now, if he could only remember how to do that. It was awkward navigating the phone screen with only one hand, but he managed, tapping the bubble thing at the bottom with his thumb. He found Steve in his contacts and typed a message with his thumb about needing a dinner jacket. It took him a painstakingly long time just to get through the brief message one-handed. He pressed send and hoped it went through.
A moment later, his phone beeped. A response from Steve popped up.
'Come on over to my room to pick something out'
'I've never been to your room.'
'I'll grab you in 5'
'OK'
He threw on sweatpants and a T-shirt, leaving the one arm hanging, his metal arm held against his bare chest beneath the shirt. It was easier than taking the sling on and off. When Steve arrived, he followed him upstairs, down a long hallway, and around a corner into what looked like a residential section.
Steve opened a doorway and walked inside. Bucky followed him. The room was spacious, decorated in a way that was both elegant and masculine. A blue bedspread covered what looked like a queen-sized bed. White pillows lay on top, with a bright red blanket folded up and draped over the foot. A 1940s Captain America poster hung at the head of the bed. An open door led to a bathroom. Another closed door was probably a closet. A set of white dressers was on the wall to the left.
"You do this yourself?"
Steve smiled sheepishly. "No. Courtesy of Tony, or more likely Pepper."
Bucky nodded. "It's nice." Steve had come a long way from the perpetually broke punk scraping by on comic book drawings and factory work. "Sure beats the apartment in Brooklyn."
"You can say that again, but there's something to be said for having your own place. I used to…" his voice trailed off.
"Before I shot it to hell and killed Nick Fury?"
Steve took a breath. "About that," he sat on the bed, "this is confidential. Only me, Sam, Tony, Natasha, and a couple of other people know."
"You don't have to tell me, whatever it is. If it's important that it stays secret, you shouldn't tell me. All it takes is 10 words, and anything you tell me, Hydra can find out."
Steve nodded. "Okay, but when that's all out of your head, you're a full member of the team…if you want to be. If you don't, we'll help you find whatever kind of a life you want. You deserve that."
"Thanks." The word seemed inadequate, but he didn't know what else to say. Bucky hadn't had much time to ponder what he wanted to do with his life, assuming they survived the end of the world.
Steve opened the closet door. "It's all yours. We're roughly the same size." He titled his head and gave a smile, "but I think my biceps are bigger." He flexed for good measure.
"You're still a punk," Bucky shot back with a waggle of his eyebrows as he inspected the clothes hanging in the closet.
"Takes a jerk to know one."
God, he missed this with Steve. It felt good just to mess around again. Maybe they could find their way back to the easy comradery they'd known before the War and Hydra.
Bucky sifted through the clothes and settled on a navy-blue blazer. He pulled the hanger and held it up to his chest. "What do you think? This with jeans? Are jeans too casual? I don't have a suit."
Steve chuckled. "No one dresses up in suits for dinner anymore unless maybe you're going out to a fancy restaurant, and even then, it's a maybe. That's fine."
Bucky slipped it on over his T-shirt to try out the fit, putting his right arm through the sleeve. The other side dangled behind him.
"Here, let me." Steve walked up and draped the other side over Buck's left shoulder, then stepped back. "Looks good. brings out your baby blues."
"Give me a break." Bucky grinned and slid out of it, catching it with his right arm. "Thanks for letting me bum a jacket off you."
"Anytime."
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky was so nervous when he walked into the lounge area that he wasn't even sure he'd be able to eat. His arm needed to remain in the sling until morning, so he'd taken it off long enough to thread his metal arm through the sleeve of the borrowed jacket and then put the sling on overtop.
The pain had faded. He was pretty sure the shoulder could cope with the weight of the metal arm, but to be sure, a few more hours wouldn't be intolerable.
Most of the others had already arrived. James Proctor was already seated in the lounge area with a glass of red wine, chatting with Sam, Wanda, and Natasha. A plate of fancy finger foods Bucky didn't quite recognize was on the coffee table in front of them. James had a cork in his fingers, and he dropped it sideways on the table a few times. On the third time, it bounced and landed on end. Natasha and the others gave suitable expressions of interest in the party trick that made Bucky think they were humoring James.
Bucky didn't see Vision, Steve, or Tony.
Steve came up behind him, putting a quick hand on his shoulder. "You good?"
Bucky glanced over at him and nodded.
James must have heard them because he stood up and turned. He wore a tan blazer and light jeans. His white hair was parted on the side. His eyes were Becca's—she'd gotten them from his mother, just like Bucky had.
"Sergeant Barnes, it's nice to see you again." James eyed Bucky's sling briefly. "How are you doing?"
"It's Bucky," he extended his right hand, "and I'm fine, thanks."
James shook his hand briefly but firmly. "I know everything's hush-hush, but I take it since I'm going home tomorrow, all is well?"
Bucky nodded. "You shouldn't have to worry about anything, anymore. I'm sorry about all of this."
"I'm pretty sure it's not your fault. Besides, I wouldn't have gotten the chance to meet you otherwise. I can't say I'd do it all over again, but as far as silver linings go, this is a good one in my book."
Bucky didn't know what to say to that. The last person who'd been happy to see him was Steve.
"You should try the hors d'oeuvres and Pinot." James gestured to the lounge area.
Natasha waved them over, and Sam gave a smile and a nod. James dropped back on to the couch and Bucky took the open armchair next to Sam. Steve sat on the couch next to James.
"Have you given anymore thought to seeing mom?" James asked.
"I've thought about it," Bucky said.
"How is Becca these days, James?" Steve asked.
"Call me Jimmy, please," the older man said. "Mom calls me James when I'm in trouble."
"Same," Bucky said, his lips twitching upward.
"Okay, Jimmy," Steve said, then looked at Bucky. "That's what your folks and your sisters called you." He smiled. "I remember you kept trying to get them to call you Bucky as you got older."
Bucky smiled. "Ruth used to make a point of calling me Jimmy out in public just to rag on me."
Jimmy smiled. "Aunt Ruth was ornery and sassy 'til the day she died."
"When did she die?" Bucky asked. He'd researched his parents, but he hadn't even remembered all the details of his sisters until recently.
"About eight years ago. Cancer."
Cancer. He could have been there for her. He knew she had other family who were no doubt by her side, but he wished he could've been there as well.
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said. "I can't imagine what it must be like for you."
Bucky didn't know what to say to that. He did, however, want to know about the rest of his family.
"What about Maggie?"
"Aunt Maggie passed two years ago in her sleep. She has two children, so you have another niece and nephew, in addition to Richard and Gwen. They're my brothers and sisters, by the way. I'm not sure if you knew that. Mom had three kids. I'm the oldest. Aunt Ruth had a son, but he died in a car accident thirty years ago."
"How about you?" Sam asked. "Do you have any children, Jimmy?"
He nodded. "Two. A son, George. He just turned 40. And a girl, Lorelei. She's 35. George has two sons. Lorelei has a little girl who just turned 6." Jimmy turned to Steve. "Actually, and this is kind of embarrassing, but is there any chance I might get a video of you saying hello to Amelia? That's my granddaughter. She has the hugest thing for you. She was you for Halloween last year."
A bright but self-conscious smile broke out on Steve's face, and he cast a quick, bashful gaze over the group. "Of course. I'll say hi to all of them if you like."
Jimmy smiled and gave a relieved sigh. "Thank you so much. I wasn't sure if I should ask, but I'll be her favorite grandparent for a while, and I can't pass that up."
Bucky grinned. It was nice to sit and talk about normal stuff and see Steve get self-conscious over his Captain America fame.
"I can do it now, or I can send you a video when I'm in my uniform for them. What do you prefer?"
Jimmy chuckled. "The uniform for sure. I can give you my number."
Steve had Jimmy text him the number just as Tony walked in with Pepper.
"Hello, everyone." Tony gave a wave. "Older but younger Barnes, how are you doing? I hope the safe house was comfortable enough?"
A couple of servers wheeled in a large tray of food behind Stark.
Jimmy rose, turned to Tony, and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Stark. Thank you for the invite. The safe house was lovely, like a vacation, but I miss my family."
"Understandable," Tony said. "Just so you know, we did put some extra incognito security on them just to safe. Don't worry. That threat has been neutralized. If you need anything at all, just ask."
"There's nothing I need except to convince Bucky here to pay us a visit in Indiana," he glanced at Bucky and Steve, "both of you are welcome, of course."
"Good luck with that," Tony said, as the servers began to prepare the dining table.
They chatted for a few more minutes, then moved to the dinner table. Steve sat between Bucky and Sam on one side of the table. Pepper and Tony took opposite ends of the table, and Wanda, Natasha, and Jimmy sat on the other side of the table, with Jimmy directly across from Bucky.
"Vision's not joining us today?" Wanda asked.
Tony took a sip of his water while the servers filled everyone's wine glasses. "No. He decided he has work in the lab."
Bucky wondered if Vision had just decided a floating android that could move through walls might be overwhelming for some regular guy from Indiana.
"Captain Rogers—" Jimmy began.
"Steve is fine."
"Right." Jimmy smiled and leaned forward, "I'd love to know what Bucky was like as a kid." Jimmy's eyes darted mischievously to Bucky, then back to Steve. "I know you two grew up together in Brooklyn, right?"
Oh, great. Bucky tried not to shift in his seat and let his discomfort be known. He'd only fuel Steve's storytelling, if he did. Steve was already throwing him a side-eye.
"Well," Steve shook his head as the server came around with the wine, "he watched out for me. I got beat up a lot, and he always seemed to be around before I got the worst of it."
"Because you never would walk away from a fight or learn to stay down," Bucky added.
"If you run, they just keep pushing you around," Steve said.
Bucky grinned and took a sip of his water. That gumption was one of the things that made him decide he wanted Steve Rogers as a friend.
"Anyway," Steve continued, "Bucky was good in school. Athletic. He was into boxing for a bit, even tried to teach me so I could properly defend myself."
"Mom said he had accumulated quite the collection of girlfriends," Jimmy said. "That true?" Jimmy threw an amused smile Bucky's way.
Geez, what's with the teasing. I guess he takes after his mom for sure, Bucky mused. He caught Natasha's raised eyebrow and smirk but pretended not to notice.
Steve nodded. "He never had a problem rounding up a date, but," Steve leaned into Bucky playfully, "he was a gentleman, and he always tried to find someone who had a friend for me." Steve chuckled suddenly and gave Bucky another side-eye, "Do you remember the time we scraped up Dodgers tickets, and that girl, Barbara…."
"Shut your trap," Bucky said quickly, throwing a playful grin at Steve to soften his words.
"Shine my shoes, and maybe," Steve shot back.
Bucky chuckled. Ah, the Dodgers. Now, that was something he wouldn't mind doing. "We should go to a game sometime. When is baseball season these days?"
"I wouldn't have thought you'd be into an L.A. team," Wanda said.
Bucky gave her a quizzical look. "L.A.? They're Brooklyn."
"Oh no." Steve's voice was suddenly low and apprehensive. He shifted to look at Bucky, and from the expression on Steve's face….
It couldn't be.
"Come on, man!" Bucky shook his head. "Don't mess with me. Please."
Steve scrunched his face apologetically. "I'm sorry. They moved to L.A. in the 50s. I figured you might have encountered that fact."
"Los Angeles?" Bucky downed half his wine in one gulp. "Damn West Coast glitterati." He shook his head. "That's so wrong. Who's representing Brooklyn now?"
Steve cleared his throat. "In baseball? Um, a minor league team, the Cyclones."
"Minor league?" Bucky huffed and gritted his jaw. "The world's gone to hell."
Sam chuckled and glanced at Steve. "Gee, he's taking it hard."
"Well, it was a shock to me, too," Steve said. "Things change."
Bucky drained the second half of his wine. "You can say that again."
-0- -0- -0-
The next morning, Bucky was with Steve in Tony's lab looking at a selection of arm designs. His metal arm was finally free of the constricting sling, and his shoulder felt normal.
He stared at the three holographic designs hanging mid-air. It felt weird picking out a new arm as if it were a shirt or car. One was all black with a matte weave-style finish. Another was a slightly sleeker, shinier black with sliver-tipped plates. The third one was garish—metallic blue with a red and white circle on the bicep and a blue star in the middle, reminiscent of Steve's shield.
"If you don't like any of these, I can mock up some others," Ton said. "No rush. It'll be attached to you, so make sure you're happy with it."
He pointed to the middle one with silver-tipped plates. "That's nice. Can you tone down the silver?"
"Absolutely." Tony's fingers danced over a control panel, and the design shifted. The silver became muted, more like brushed nickel."
Bucky nodded and looked at Steve. "What do you think?"
Steve nodded. "I think it'll look a lot better than the clunky thing Hydra gave you. I like it."
Bucky nodded at Tony. "Okay, let's go with that one. Thank you."
"You sure?" Tony swiped, and the two rejected designs vanished. "You wanna sleep on it?"
Bucky shook his head. "No, this is good."
"Okay. I've already tested a few early prototypes. I'll have a final ready in a few days. If that all goes well, the docs can do the surgery whenever you want."
Bucky nodded, a lump suddenly in his throat. He'd had multiple versions of the artificial arm. The surgeries were always...difficult. They'd sometimes start him on anesthesia, but it never lasted long. The serum protected him from the drugs almost as much as it protected him from the effects of alcohol.
Every time, he came to in the middle of surgery. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night feeling the pain, seeing the faces above him, a scream caught in his throat. He wanted the Hydra arm off, but he wasn't looking forward to the surgery.
Still, if this ended up being the last time he experienced that surgery, it would be worth it.
"Now, the only other thing to decide," Tony added, "is whether you want the arm to be removable or not. Removable has some obvious advantages, but, although the arm will have a variety of sensors feeding into your nervous system, it will still feel like a mechanical arm. Nonremovable means a more lifelike experience. Dr. Cho can extend neural tissue down to the fingertips."
Bucky eyed the holographic projection of what would be his new arm. "Can I sleep on that?"
"Absolutely," Tony replied.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky sat in the armchair across from Dr. Abodon.
"So," the doctor asked him, "I understand you had dinner with your nephew?"
"Yeah. It was nice. He caught me up on some of what happened to my family," Bucky said.
"Have you thought about going to see your sister?"
"I've thought about it."
Bucky didn't think it would be a good idea until the Winter Soldier program was out of his head. If he saw her, he wanted it to be as himself, not as some guy with a Hydra bomb in his head that could go off with ten little words.
"You haven't decided yet?" Abodon leaned forward.
"No. I'd rather wait until I can trust my own mind."
The doctor nodded. "Understandable." He leaned back in his chair. "The ear devices worked during your last mission, right?"
Bucky nodded. "Yes."
"Do you want to tell me about the mission?"
Bucky didn't particularly want to talk about it. "Not much to tell. There's a mission report."
"You had to pretend to be the Winter Soldier again?"
"Yes." It had been too easy to slip back into that role. The Soldier was still inside him.
"How did that affect you?"
"It wasn't pleasant. "
"Are you still having nightmares?" Dr. Abodon pressed.
"Sometimes."
"Do you remember any recent ones?"
"Not really."
Dr. Abodon sighed. "Did something happen during that last mission that you'd like to talk about?"
"I almost died, but I don't need to talk about that. It's not the first time, and it's probably not going to be the last."
Dr. Abodon nodded. "I know. I helped patch you up. Anything else?"
Bucky's heart pounded. If Steve had told the doctor… "No. Why?"
The other man took a breath. "I'll be frank. I know some of what transpired. We haven't talked too much about what happened to you while you were a prisoner of Hydra because you haven't wanted to talk about it. I'd like you to consider opening up more."
Goddamn you, Steve. Bucky leaned forward. "Did Steve tell you?"
"No. I haven't spoken to Captain Rogers about what happened."
"Who?"
"I can't disclose that, just like I don't disclose my sessions with you to others unless you give permission—such as you did with Steve. Our sessions are private."
Another patient? Bucky wondered who else was seeing Dr. Abodon. Could Sam or Pepper have talked to him after their ordeal?
"That's good to know," Bucky said flatly.
"When you were a prisoner of Hydra, they wiped your memory?" Dr. Abodon asked.
"Yes."
"Put you in cryofreeze?"
"Yes."
"Made you kill?"
Bucky took a breath. Dr. Abodon already knew this. "Yes."
"Not including missions, were there things they made you do that you didn't want to do?"
Bucky stood up. He was done. He walked out without a word and headed toward his room. Sam turned a corner toward him, heading toward the doctor's office.
"Hey, Bucky," he said as he passed.
Bucky ignored him. He wasn't in the mood to talk.
Sam turned toward him. "You okay, man?"
Bucky stopped and swung around to look at Sam. "Have you been talking to Dr. Abodon?"
"Yeah, a couple of times."
"About what happened with Hydra and Ivanov?"
"Yes, just working through some stuff. I counsel veterans. I understand the value of therapy. What are you getting at, man? Is something bothering you?"
"Yeah." Bucky took several long, fast strides and stopped in front Sam. He clenched his metal fist and tried to get a hold on the anger bubbling up inside of him. "Something's bothering me."
Sam glanced down at the clenched fist, then back up into Bucky's face. "You wanna share or just play this staring game?"
"Just keep your mouth shut about me, got it?" Bucky spun around quickly and headed back to his room. He didn't trust himself any further.
"I didn't say anything about that!" Sam called after him.
Bucky stopped and turned back to Sam. If it wasn't him, then…Pepper?
"I swear, man," Sam said. "I wouldn't. But you should."
Bucky turned away and headed to his room.
Author Note:
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