Chapter 26: The Shape of Things to Come
"Well, here it is, new and improved," Tony said. "The entire floor is ours. Locked out to anyone except the Avengers, and with all the cloak and dagger getting you in here, no one except the cool kids and Jarvis know you're here. All exterior-facing windows on the floor are bullet-proof and reflective, completely surveillance and sniper-proof. If Hydra was listening, they think you're somewhere in Europe. Good thing I'm the big name in clean energy, otherwise sending an empty jet overseas just to keep up appearances would be environmentally irresponsible."
Steve set his bag and shield down and surveyed the room where they'd originally kept Bucky before Hydra showed up. Hopefully, their subterfuge had deceived Hydra, if they were watching. Steve was almost sure they were. So was Bucky, and he was their resident expert on Hydra.
Tony had made improvements to the room since it would now be their apartment. The wall was repaired, there was a new worktable (complete with a computer). A large flat-screen on one wall, and—the thing that made Steve smile—floor to ceiling shelves filled with books. A coffee table and loveseat had been added near the armchairs, making for a small living room.
"Tony, this is nice." Steve was touched. How had Tony even known Bucky was an avid reader?
"I'm not always self-absorbed." He pointed to two doors which were new. "Knocked out a wall to expand the place, so you two each have your own bedroom, but if you want it to be one, just say the word."
Steve glanced at Bucky, not sure if he remembered how many times he got into scraps fighting off bullies who threw around slurs and fists just because Steve was small and always hanging around Bucky. "Two bedrooms, Tony."
Tony shrugged. "Just checking. Pepper and I had a bet. She lost. By the way, the red book is safe under lock and key. I'll show you where later. Only you and I have bioaccess authorization."
That was one less thing to worry about. He was thankful he'd stashed it before hitting the streets with Barton. "How'd you have time to do all of this?" He and Bucky had only been gone for three days.
"Reconstruction of the tower was already underway, in case you didn't notice. I'm even changing the sign out front. Now the big ugly building you were hating on is Avengers' Tower." Tony flashed his eyebrows and gave a smile that would've been infuriating if not tempered by his unexpected generosity.
Stark was a walking contradiction.
Bucky set his bag on the armchair and retrieved a device, ignoring them as he set about surveying the room with it in hand.
"Are you serious?" Tony spun to face Steve, eyebrows high and jaw slack. "Is he serious? You know," he shifted to Bucky and jabbed a finger toward the ceiling, "this entire room is monitored by Jarvis. There aren't any bugs because he's one massive surveillance system, not to make it sound creepy…I mean, come on, little devices planted in lamps and plants? That's sooooo 1980s."
Bucky's eyes scanned the ceiling. "It's watching?"
"Yes." Tony said. "For security purposes. There's no visual in the bathrooms or bedrooms, but Jarvis will respond if you call him."
Steve stood in front of Bucky, pulling his attention from the ceiling. "Jarvis is safe. You don't need the gun, and you can't shoot him, anyway. He's part of the security system, remember?"
A security system that so far had let Hydra in twice, Steve pondered, but kept that to himself. Now, they were on guard. No one was getting in, and Steve and Bucky were staying put on the floor, so no one would see them coming and going.
"I've made upgrades, so not even SHIELD can override his security protocols." Tony was at the open door, hand on the frame. "Are we good here?"
Bucky's eyes darted between the two men. He slipped the gun back into the holster.
"Good. Since you two are stuck here for a bit, let Jarvis know if you need anything. Your fridge is stocked, but there's another full kitchen on this floor. Help yourself. Cap, when you're settled in, come see me in my lab. We've been busy while you two have been taking a siesta." Tony patted the frame and closed the door behind him.
"Thank you for agreeing to this, Bucky," Steve said. "I know it wasn't an easy decision, trusting the Avengers."
"I don't." He drifted toward the shelves and peered at the books. "They are on Hydra's termination list. That means they are a threat to Hydra."
"The enemy of my enemy kind of thing?" Steve asked. "Well, I'll take that."
"What is the purpose of this?" He ran a finger along a row of book spines.
"Reading. Entertainment. You used to love to read." Steve closed the distance between them. "Do you remember the Hobbit? You cajoled me into doing the riddle game."
Bucky grabbed The Shape of Things to Come by H.G. Wells. Somehow, Tony even knew Bucky's tastes. Stark must have been listening to every passing comment Steve had made about Bucky, even when it seemed like he wasn't. He'd have to remember that about the man.
"So," Steve opened the bedroom doors and peered in to see two identical rooms, "do you have a preference?" Both were simple, with King-sized beds, a dresser, an armchair, and a closet. It was the bedding that caught Steve's eye. Puffy royal blue comforters and more pillows than any single human being could use. It looked like a rectangular blue cloud.
"No." Bucky leafed through the pages of the book, a crinkle in his brow. Steve couldn't remember if Bucky had read that one before. It seemed familiar, so probably. H.G. Wells was one of Bucky's favorite authors.
Steve set his bag and shield in the room closest to the exit and went to inspect the refrigerator. Tony wasn't being modest when he said it was fully stocked. Every shelf was teeming with various foods, and the bottom shelf was stocked with beer. Steve was still working through his government benefits, but he couldn't live off Tony's generosity. His mother taught him better than that.
Steve closed the refrigerator door. "Jarvis, I'll take care of the food and supplies from now on."
"Noted, Sir," the AI answered.
When he turned around and saw Bucky, he went still. Bucky was perched in an armchair, leaning over the open book. It was such a familiar sight, Steve forgot to breathe for a moment as he took it in. A suspicious warmth touched his eyes, and he turned around quickly, opening up cabinets so his back was to Bucky. It gave him a few seconds to push back the swell of melancholy without Bucky noticing.
The dream resurfaced—the image of Bucky disintegrating and the overwhelming sense of devastating failure. If Thor was right and that really was a vision of the future, he couldn't ignore it. Did it have something to do with Hydra?
He needed to find out what Tony wanted to talk about. He was sure it had to do with Hydra and Project Insight. Turning back around, he eyed Bucky for a few seconds, sinking into the reality of Bucky, a few feet away, in the flesh.
He'd mourned Bucky twice already. He couldn't do it a third time.
"I'm going to check in with Tony. His lab is down the hall. I'll be back, but if you need me, just ask Jarvis to alert me."
Bucky looked up, something uncertain flickering over his face but never taking form. He nodded and dropped his gaze back to the book.
-0- -0– -0-
Steve found Tony in his lab in front of a projected image of a helicarrier like the one SHIELD used.
"Well, that was fast. What's the matter? You two sick of one another already?"
"A helicarrier?" Steve stopped in front of the image. "That looks different than the one we were on."
"Good eye for an old guy. It's the next generation. Three of these babies will be synced to a network of targeting satellites. Continuous sub-orbitral flight, courtesy of repulsor engines—my repulsor engines. My suggestion, actually, after I got a look at their old turbine engines, so this is on me."
"What's on you?"
"This is Project Insight, just approved by the World Security Council. These babies will be capable of wiping out thousands of terrorists anywhere in the world."
"Barnes said Project Insight was a…" ice slid down his spine, "...list of targets."
"Yeah." Tony suddenly looked older, his eyes darker. "Exactly. I got out of the weapons business, or so I thought, but turns out I just gave Hydra one of the most powerful weapons on the planet. It was supposed to be used to protect against threats like aliens or large terrorists groups."
"But Hydra plans to use it to dominate the planet, eliminate all threats, and–"
"–create a proud, new world in their image," Tony finished. "Yeah. That."
"They couldn't have made much progress." It had only been a few weeks since the attack. "We have to stop them."
"It's amazing what a little thing like an alien attack can do to grease bureaucratic wheels. Construction on the first helicarrier will begin within a month."
"What more do we know?"
"A lot, still working through the data. A lot of it is heavily encrypted, but Jarvis has cracked half the encryption protocols already. Of course, if our resident Hydra defector happened to remember…."
"He doesn't, not as much as we'd need, anyway. I'll bring it up to him, though, later."
"Why later? Jog his memory and let's use what he knows."
"It's not that simple." Steve thought it best not to bring up Bucky's reaction when he remembered killing Tony's parents. Tony seemed to be doing his best to move on from that bombshell, and Steve wanted to respect those boundaries. So for now, they would dance around the topic. "His reactions to remembering are unpredictable. Sometimes it's painful, in more ways than one. If we push him too hard and he remembers too much at once, we'll do more harm than good."
"Okay, fine, whatever. It's just the fate of the world at stake here."
-0- -0- -0-
The next few days were spent salvaging information from the damaged Zola computer banks. Fortunately, with over 200 feet of memory banks, there was a lot that remained unscathed from Bucky's assault.
Sitwell and his laptop were gone, and no one had heard from him. Between the information recovered from Siberia, Camp Lehigh, and Stark's hacking of SHIELD computers before the alien attack, they had a lot of information to work through.
Steve left that to Tony, of course—or rather, Jarvis, from what he understood. Much of the information was encrypted or used code words for particularly sensitive stuff, so it would take time to work it all out.
One thing was becoming obvious, though. The information about Hydra was already in the SHIELD computers, if you knew what you were looking for and how to read between the lines. Compartmentalization, Fury had called it, but even he had been compartmentalized. When no one knew what the others were doing, it was almost impossible to put the pieces of the puzzle together to see the larger picture.
Pierce, Rumlow, and Karpov were dead, which left Hydra momentarily regrouping, but still a substantial threat. Stark put the legal team on the repulsor issue, withdrawing licenses and sending cease and desist letters, tactics that wouldn't be much of a deterrent to Hydra, but would be a distraction.
They still weren't sure whether anyone on the World Security Council was Hydra, but so far Jarvis had managed to determine that at least two of them were in the clear with 92% certainty or better.
The Avengers were divided on what to do with the information. Steve knew Hydra. They thrived on secrecy, much like Hitler had. Keeping information from his own people had been one of the ways he'd accumulated power. Going public was the best way to destroy Hydra. If the world knew what Hydra had done, the things it was planning, Hydra would be caught off-guard and the snakes would scramble for their holes in the ground—those that evaded arrest.
Romanoff and Barton were of a different mindset. They still believed SHIELD was salvageable, and they each had their own secrets to protect. Tony seemed undecided. He had no love for SHIELD, so Steve figured he could go either way—was probably leaning toward releasing it all, grabbing some popcorn, and watching the resulting chaos.
Banner was also on the fence. SHIELD had information about his experiments with the serum, and even though the world had seen the Hulk, Bruce's identity wasn't public knowledge. There were rumors, of course. It would get out eventually, and probably soon, and that worried Bruce. He preferred remaining out of the spotlight. Steve couldn't blame him.
Thor was still out of touch, and he'd probably leave it up to the others. He tended to leave Earth politics to the Earthlings.
At the moment, the fight was digital. The helicarriers hadn't started construction, and they wouldn't—Steve and the Avengers would make sure of that. Being confined—even to a sizable floor—was giving Steve cabin fever. Tony converted a large storage room into a gym, so at least he had something to punch and a super-soldier worthy treadmill to run on.
Bucky enjoyed the workouts, too. The first time Steve brought him, he had a look in his eyes—dark and resigned—and Steve knew what he thought. He was getting better at reading the shadows in Bucky's gaze, at least he thought he was. Bucky rarely confirmed one way or the other.
Steve knew from the red book that Bucky had been tested over and over again—measured, evaluated, put through combat exercises so severe that a few almost killed him—so when Steve asked if he wanted to work out, do some boxing, the look on Buck's face told him where his mind went.
It wasn't until a couple of days using the gym equipment that he started to trust and even enjoy it. Steve showed him how to use the treadmill, let him watch Steve throw punches on the long bag, jump rope, do pull-ups, and then finally, Bucky joined in. He liked it. He didn't say much, but Steve could tell by the light in his eyes and the slight curve of his lips.
Bucky might not remember his time as a boxing champion, but his body did. Steve could see that version of Bucky in the wide hooks, and the familiar cadence of his slips and jabs. Even through the long hair and two-week beard, Steve could see hints of the guy he'd grown up with.
Bucky was eating better, too, and even communicating his preferences. Their dinner tonight was late, since Steve had been tied up with Tony and Bruce in the lab, now the four of them were in the main lounge, spread out around a table with various containers from the teriyaki place down the street.
This was Bucky's first group meal since the Shwarma place, and Steve noticed a shift in his friend's demeanor. Bucky was more reserved. He rarely made eye contact and wouldn't touch a container unless it was offered to him. Steve tried to figure out why. When they'd eaten together at the Middle Eastern place, Bucky ordered based on Steve's suggestion. The food was placed in front of him, and he finished all of it. He was all business then, having an objective to occupy his mind.
There was no mission objective here, just casual food and conversation, and Bucky appeared anxious. Tony and Bruce seemed to notice and, for the most part, left Bucky alone. Tony was even downright considerate, refraining from his usual round of jabs and nicknames and at one point tossing a couple of fried wontons on Bucky's plate.
They'd already powered through half the food, and Steve could go for another round. Clint would throw a fit if he found out they'd ordered from his favorite place when he wasn't around. He and Natasha had been tied up with Fury and Hill all day.
Unfortunately, Clint was about to find out. He entered carrying a yellow bakery box with Natasha close behind.
"You're all assholes." Clint's gaze scanned the boxes. "Did you leave enough for us?" He set the box down. "Especially since I brought goodies."
Stark waved a hand. "With Cap and Barnes here, we over-ordered, as usual. Whatcha got there?" Tony lifted the lid and raised his eyebrows. "Sugar high, I see."
Rows of assorted cupcakes lined the box, with a horizontal stack of cookies nestled in the front.
"Thanks." Steve reached in and grabbed something that looked lemon for himself and a chocolate one he placed on Bucky's empty plate.
Natasha grabbed a glass and carton of milk from the fridge and plopped next to Bruce, then grabbed herself a cookie and dunked.
"Thanks guys." Steve took a bite, surprised to find a soft gooey lemony center that had his cheeks tingling. He was about to finish it off when he sensed a subtle shift in Bucky's body language.
Bucky wasn't moving, not even breathing. His gaze was riveted on the chocolate concoction, jaw tight, fists clenched on the table. Steve couldn't imagine how a chocolate cupcake could trigger a flashback, but Bucky's distant, wide eyes made it clear something grim was going on behind them.
The murmur of background conversation hushed. Steve slid his palm across the table toward the plate, hoping if he removed the object of Bucky's fixation, he'd pull his friend gently back to reality.
The moment his fingers touched the edge of the ceramic, Bucky exploded, his right arm sweeping out to send the plate across the room. It shattered against the far wall.
Steve found himself with a metal hand around his throat, being driven back into the wall as the others launched to their feet. He flexed the tendons in his neck to protect his trachea and put a hand up, telling the others to stay back. He didn't want to escalate the situation if it could be avoided, even though Bucky's grip was alarmingly strong. Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky's thumb. The hold remained tight, but Bucky's eyes gave Steve a clue to what was going on; they were wild—not cold or stoic—but desperate.
Steve got enough leverage on the thumb to push out strangled words. "Bucky…stop."
The pressure vanished. Steve sucked in a deep breath, sagging forward as Bucky stumbled backward, chest heaving. The desperation on his face shifted to horror, and his gaze darted around the room.
"It's okay, Buck." Steve reassured, rubbing at his neck and eyeing the other Avengers. "I'm not hurt."
They were all poised for action, with Natasha's hand on her hip and Clint's bow at ready, but otherwise showing admirable restraint. He was grateful for that.
Bucky gripped the kitchen island, leaning against it, as he sucked in panicked breaths. Steve resisted the urge to close the space between them, to put a comforting hand on Bucky's shoulder or a palm on his cheek—things he would have done in a heartbeat before.
"I need to leave," Bucky gasped, voice low and gravelly.
"Nope!" Tony was moving around the table, shaking his head. "Not just no, but hell, no. Do you have any idea how much time and money went into locking down this floor, giving you two that sweet little set up?"
Steve knew what Tony was doing, but he didn't think piling an extra layer of guilt onto Bucky was the right thing in the moment.
Bucky flashed a furtive look at Tony with eyes that reeked of self-reproach. "I'm not safe."
"Yeah, no shit, so you know what's a great idea?" Tony countered, "you going out there on the streets and bashing in the skull of some poor kid's Dad on his way home from work because the color of his tie reminds you of some Hydra horror show. You're safer here, and everyone else is a helluva lot safer with you here."
"He's right," Bruce said, though his tone was far gentler.
Bucky folded, all trembling limbs and hair, as he slid down the cabinet to the floor.
"This isn't going to be easy," Steve crouched next to him, "but it will get better. We're here to help you."
"It won't." Bucky looked up at him. "You can't get this crap out of my head. No one can."
"What was done can be undone," Tony said. "I know that much. There's no problem that can't be reverse engineered."
"What happened, Buck?" Steve dropped to his butt. "You remembered something?"
Bucky's eyes drifted to the mess of chocolate and shattered ceramic on the floor, but his gaze looked through it without focus. "He said it was my birthday."
Steve waited, but when silence lingered, he prodded, "Who?"
"His name was Alexi Karpov. I'm not sure when, but I didn't have the arm." Bucky's metal plates shifted, as though caught up in the memory. "He came in with milk and chocolate cake, said it was my birthday."
Oh, God. Karpov. Steve's mind went back to that day in the bar when the Colonel walked in and the conversation turned to birthdays. He'd been fishing for information to use against Bucky, and Steve had given it to him.
"I was hungry…thirsty," Bucky continued, smacking his lips as though thinking about it made his mouth dry, "I took a bite. He kicked it, made me lick it up." Bucky's eyes snapped into focus, his eyes going cold as they shifted to Steve. "Called me his little lamb. I wanted to kill him."
"I didn't know." Steve rubbed a hand over his face and threw a look at the others. They were all in their seats, silent and riveted. He'd fucked up in so many ways. Karpov had played him. "I told him when your birthday was and that chocolate cake was your favorite."
Something desolate crossed Bucky's face. "What?"
"I'm so sorry, Buck. We looked for your body. I wanted your parents to be able to bury you. The Russians were allies. I thought…" He was making excuses. "It was a mistake. We were near a Russian camp, and I asked them to keep an eye out for you, like I told you. I didn't know you were there. Jesus." The air suddenly seemed thicker, rancid in his lungs. "Colonel Karpov came later. We were at a bar, mourning you. I was trying to get drunk, but it wasn't working." He dropped his head, shame warming his cheeks. "Karpov was fishing for information. I thought you were dead, so I didn't see what he was doing. They were doing god knows what to you while we were in a bar drinking."
He wanted to put his fist through something, again and again, until his knuckles were a bloody mess and he couldn't feel anything except the pain.
A hand came down on the back of his head, fingers burying in his short hair. He looked up. Bucky's eyes were wet. "You looked for me?"
"Yes, we looked for you…too late." After they'd gotten Zola secured, a day after Bucky had fallen, lying there in the cold, alive. "Do you remember how long you were there before the Russians found you?"
"I remember falling. Your face. Not much else. Something with strange eyes like fire. Waking up in a tent. The knife on my throat. Your voice. It doesn't all make sense."
Strange eyes with fire? A hallucination? Dream? How conscious had Bucky been? How badly injured? From that height…Steve veered away from those thoughts. They led to gruesome images.
"You're remembering things from before your memory wipes?" Bruce asked.
Steve looked at the doctor. Why was that significant?
"Bits and pieces," Bucky said, his hand sliding away from Steve, his posture shifting, becoming rigid, guarded.
Steve could almost see the science gears turning in Bruce's head. "Why do you ask?"
"I'd like to do another CT scan. Tony and I have been working on an algorithm to enhance the scan, refining the details," Bruce said.
"If you think it'll help." Steve looked at Bucky, trying not to think about the scarred mass of brain tissue inside his skull. What was the point of more imaging if there wasn't anything they could do to reverse the damage?
"It might. Who knows."
"What do you say, Buck?" Steve asked. "You were out of it the last time."
"Yeah." Bruce sounded almost guilty. "We haven't gone over the test results with you in detail. I took blood samples, CT scans of your brain and body. I'm not sure how much you heard before–"
"I heard," Bucky's eyes flickered with something indefinable. "I have brain damage. Implants." He snuffed a hard breath. "Permanent."
"The scar tissue, yeah. The implants, we can do something about those," the doctor said. "It's up to you on the scan. It'll only take a few minutes, and it's painless."
"Do whatever you gotta do," Bucky said.
-0- -0- -0-
At first, Steve thought they might luck out, and the procedure would go smoothly. Bucky was compliant at first. Too compliant. When Bruce told him he wanted to do a quick exam first, Bucky began to strip, nonchalantly and in front of everyone, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Steve felt fresh rage at Hydra as bits of information clicked into place in his head—the photographs of Bucky naked, restrained, the blood on his thighs after he thawed, and the way he flinched from touch when caught in the throes of a flashback or nightmare.
"No, no, just your shirt," Bruce stammered quickly. "I just want to listen to your heart, lungs, and take your blood pressure. That's all."
Steve should've known the rest of the procedure wouldn't go as smoothly. Bucky was fine until the moment the table slid him into the mechanical donut, then he was suddenly off the table, half leaping, half stumbling, metal arm whirring loudly, eyes panicked, chest heaving and glistening with sweat.
Clint, Natasha, and Tony stood by in case they were needed but kept their distance. Still, Tony couldn't hold back a few colorful exclamations of gratitude that the enhanced CT scanner remained unscathed.
Once Bucky calmed down, Bruce was able to get an IV into him.
"I'm not sure that it'll put him out, but I pieced together a formula from the book," Bruce explained as he injected the concoction into the IV line.
"What's in it?" Steve didn't like the idea of using Bucky as guinea pig for ambiguous Hydra drugs.
"Methyl enedioxy methamphetamine, fentanyl, and a combination of benzodiazapenes, among other things."
Tony whistled. "You know, Doc, I've been having trouble sleeping…"
Bruce flashed a reproachful look at Tony. "Well, if you want to never wake up, this should do it for you." He looked down at Bucky. "Not you, of course. How are you feeling?"
Bucky shrugged. "A bit lightheaded…maybe."
"Not drowsy?"
"Not yet."
Bruce sighed. "Okay a few more minutes, and if you're not at least sleepy or feeling calm enough to try again, I'll give you another dose. I don't want to risk giving too much until we get more data on your physiological response to the drugs."
"I don't like drugs," Bucky muttered, "or being trapped inside things."
Steve put a hand on Bucky's arm. "I'll be right here. Bruce will do this as fast as possible."
They waited ten more minutes, and Bucky seemed anxious but nowhere close to falling asleep. Bruce rubbed worriedly at his forehead, then readied another syringe.
"Okay, let's hope this does it." He plunged the liquid into the line.
Within a few seconds, Bucky's eyelids fluttered.
"Barnes, can you hear me?" Bruce asked.
"I can hear you," he slurred, droopy eyes drifting from face to face.
"Are you okay if we start again?" Bruce asked.
Bucky nodded and closed his eyes, but Steve couldn't tell if that was due to the drug or residual anxiety.
The machine hummed to life as the exam table slid Bucky's top half into the large donut-shaped machine.
"Stay still for the next couple of minutes," Bruce instructed, sliding into a seat at the control panel.
Bucky gave no sign that he heard, but he remained motionless and limp on the table until the machine turned off and the table slid out.
"Hey, Buck." Steve looked down at his friend. "How're you feeling?"
Bucky's blue eyes shifted his way beneath slitted eyelids. His mouth curved upward in a smile that was so familiar, Steve tingled with the warmth of it.
"Steve?" Bucky muttered, a crinkle of affection framing his droopy eyes.
The air went still in the room. This was the first time Bucky had called him by name since coming out of cryo, and in that tone—the one that sounded like home. Bucky's eyes seemed different, too, in a way beyond just the effects of the drug.
Then it came to him—recognition—and not just in a casual sense, but of a richer, familiar hue.
"Yeah." Steve smiled gently. In that moment, it felt like Bucky was present, and Steve was afraid to say or do anything that might shatter the connection.
"It's cold, man, turn up the radiator." Bucky shifted on the table, a small groan of discontent rumbling from his throat.
"Sure thing, buddy." Everything shimmered in front of Steve. "I'll do that right away."
Clint was there suddenly, draping a blanket over Bucky and shooting a sympathetic look at Steve.
"Thanks." Steve sniffed back the tingle in his sinuses and scrubbed a hand over his face as he tucked the blanket around his friend. "How's that, Buck?
"Nice, thanks." Bucky's smile flared appreciatively, then faded as his eyelids lost their battle against gravity.
Steve turned to Bruce. "This is different from what you gave him before?"
Bruce looked up from the control panel, his voice laced with compassion. "Yes. Before, it was what we found in the bunker. No formula, just labels. I didn't have enough left to run a full analysis. What he's on now is something different, pieced together from notes in the Red Book."
Something on the panel beeped. Two screens flared to life with images as Bruce swiveled on the chair to view them. "Oh…Uh…Wow."
Steve leaned forward, blinking as if that would change what he was seeing. "I thought you said–?"
"I did. This shouldn't be possible."