Chapter 2: Nelson and Murdock
Bucky sat in the yellow chair, beer in one hand, pleadings in the other. He'd read the allegations three times. His eyes hovered over the third paragraph on the fourth page.
'Bryce Thomas was a loving father, husband, son, and brother. When Defendant kicked Bryce Thomas into the engine of a jet outside of the Triskelion, he deprived Plaintiff Thomas of her husband and her son, Jason Thomas, his father. Plaintiff Thomas vanished during the Blip. Plaintiff's son lacked a stable home during the five Blip years, and his emotional development and education suffered. While Plaintiff regained custody of her son after the Blip, Plaintiff and son continue to suffer severe emotional distress as a direct result of Defendant's actions. In addition to the substantial emotional distress, the family lost Thomas' income. Plaintiff suffers the hardship of raising her son as a single mother. She and her son currently live on a reduced income provided by survivor benefits and Plaintiff's part-time job.'
The creak of footsteps in the hallway outside had him out of his chair. He set the pages face-down on the dining table. A moment later, there was a light kick on the door followed by Sam's voice.
"It's just me out here. Open up. I have my hands full."
Bucky opened the door and took the two large canvas bags from Sam. "Thanks."
"Bought the bags at checkout for the groceries, so I hope you can use them," Sam said. "I didn't see a whiff of reporters, so I think they gave up getting an appearance from you."
"You aren't worried about being seen coming and going?" Bucky asked as he set the bags on the kitchen counter. "Captain America has a reputation to uphold."
"Here's your change," Sam gave him an exasperated look and slapped down a couple of twenties plus a few odd bills, "and no, I'm not."
"Thanks for the grocery run." Bucky unloaded the groceries, pulling out a hefty bag of plums. He held them up and cocked an eyebrow at Sam.
Sam merely grinned and started putting the cold things in Bucky's fridge. "So, about the lawyer…."
"I don't want to talk about it," Bucky said as he folded up the empty canvas bags and shoved them in a lower cabinet.
"So, what? You're just gonna roll over, show them your belly, and let them drain you of every cent you own? Then what? Live on the streets? Disappear?"
"Steve left me a small cabin he bought during the Blip. It's not much, but no more bare-bones than the hut in Wakanda."
"Steve had a cabin?"
"Yep. I checked it out once. Middle of nowhere in Roxbury at the end of an abandoned train track. Spotty cell service."
"You're serious about this, aren't you?" Sam leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "You're giving up and going full hermit?"
A flash of anger sharpened Bucky's tongue. "Doing the right thing isn't giving up. I did every goddamned thing they said I did. The guy I shoved into an engine was named Bryce Thomas. There wasn't even enough left of him for anyone to bury. He had a two-year-old son and a wife. Wife was dusted in the Blip. That left the son an orphan. Mom came back after five years. She got him back, but she's a single mom working part-time, trying to raise a kid who went through five years of hell. So, you tell me, who deserves my money? A lawyer I pay to defend me against the people I hurt as the Winter Soldier, or that woman and her son?" Bucky rubbed his eyes against the images playing in his head of that day outside the Triskelion. "And she's just one of the plaintiffs. Another is a driver who had the misfortune of being near the truck that I tossed Sitwell in front. You remember that?"
Sam looked away and nodded. "Yeah. Kind of hard to forget, man."
"Collided with the truck after it smashed Sitwell into bloody bits all over the freeway. Five operations and years of PT, the man driving that car still walks with a limp."
"Okay, look," Sam sighed, dropping into an empty kitchen chair, "I think I overstepped. Back when I suggested you be of service to the people on your list, I thought that if you helped them, it would help you. If you saw that you were able to make a difference for them, it would ease some of the guilt. But I didn't think about what it would be like for you to look into someone's face and tell them how you killed their loved one. You can tell me to take a hike or go to hell if I'm out of line, but I think maybe that put you through the trauma all over again, in a new way. You feel guilty for what you did as the Winter Soldier, and that makes you a good guy, but you don't owe anyone a thing, Buck. You don't have to make amends, no matter what I say or even what Dr. Raynor had you doing, because none of it was your fault." Sam pointed to the stack of papers face-down on the table. "You're a victim as much as they are. Hydra did those things to them, not you, man."
"Oh, I did them." Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. Sam opened his mouth to interject, but Bucky cut him off. "I didn't have a choice. I know. Believe me. I know better than anyone just how…." His throat closed suddenly, caging the air in his lungs.
…just how well Hydra had destroyed the man he used to be and turned him into something barely human.
"Then why aren't you fighting this?" Sam asked.
Bucky bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. Why didn't Sam understand? And why the hell did it matter to Sam so much, anyway? It wasn't his life, and it sure as hell wasn't his money.
"I may not have had a choice, but I still did it. I remember it all, which means a part of me was there, or a part of the Winter Soldier is still with me. I'm not sure which. Maybe both. It was my hand that destroyed their lives. It should be my hand that gives them something back." Bucky raised his arms, gazing at his mismatched hands. The right one had taken dozens of innocent lives. The left one—gifted to him by the Wakandans—was untarnished. The only lives it had taken had been in defense of the planet. He hoped to keep it that way. "So, if that means writing a check, I'll write a check."
-0- -0- -0-
Sam Wilson couldn't remember the last time he found himself in Hell's Kitchen, but being friends with the guy formerly known as the Winter Soldier sure kept things…interesting. He spotted the Nelson and Murdock sign in front of the brick building above a "Page Investigations" sign and hurried inside, making his way to the law office upstairs.
It was modest, run-down—not a high-end law firm. He'd seen these guys on the news here and there and knew they often took the underdog cases. They specialized in defending hard-to-win cases where the defendants were innocent.
A lanky blonde woman was talking to a fair-skinned man by a coffee pot. She turned to him, and her eyes went wide. "Hello." She walked over and extended her hand. "Captain America, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"This is an honor," the stocky man flashed a broad smile and extended his hand. "I'm Foggy Nelson, the better half of the partnership here."
Sam grinned and shook the man's hand. He liked him instantly. "It's nice to meet you. Sam Wilson."
A second man emerged from an office behind a half-glass wall. Sam recognized him from a couple of older news stories. Matthew Murdock. He wore metal-rimmed sunglasses and carried a white cane.
"We know," Murdock said, extending his hand slightly askew from where Sam stood. "I'm Matt."
"Nice to meet you both," Sam replied, shaking Murdock's hand.
"So, what brings you here?" Murdock asked, gesturing to his office.
Sam followed the two men into the other room and took a seat as Murdock closed the door. Nelson dropped into another chair as Murdock plopped into the seat behind the desk.
"I know this is a little unusual," Sam said. In fact, it was a lot unusual. He wasn't even sure they'd talk to him if he wasn't a potential client, but he was starting to realize just how many perks came with being Captain America. Where Bucky was concerned, he intended to take full advantage of those perks. It was the least he could do for Steve. Captain America always looked out for Bucky Barnes. It was a package deal.
"We specialize in the unusual," Nelson said.
"So I've heard." Sam took a breath. "Do you know about James Barnes being sued?"
"Yes." Murdock nodded. "I don't want to waste your time if you're here on his behalf seeking representation. We're criminal defense lawyers. His is a civil case."
"Yes, technically," Sam leaned forward, "but it's related to criminal acts he committed. Look, I know it's not exactly your thing, but he's willing to drain his bank account to pay the plaintiffs. I've encouraged him to talk to a lawyer, but he says he'd rather give his money to the victims than to lawyers."
"Admirable," Murdock commented.
"But disheartening, from our perspective, of course," Nelson added.
Murdock shook his head. "I'm not sure I'm understanding what you want from us. It sounds like your friend has agreed to settle without an attorney."
Sam huffed in frustration. "Look, he fought Thanos, helped save the world. He was helping to save the world before any of us were even born. You know his story, I imagine. Everyone does. He went through hell for over 70 years. He had no control over the things he did. The man's been a punching bag for long enough. I promised Steve Rogers I'd be there for James Barnes, and part of that promise means saving him from himself. He's going to let them bleed him dry and then embrace his inner hermit. He's dealing with decades of trauma that's got him all twisted inside, and the lawyers representing these victims are taking advantage. How can they bring a case for things that happened ten years ago? Things he was pardoned for?"
"Any lawyer can file an answer for him and assert the statute of limitations defense. It has to be asserted as a defense, though, or it's waived," Nelson said. "He has a certain timeline to file an answer and assert that defense. If he misses it, the plaintiff's attorneys will get a default judgment."
"Look, if you can't help, can you refer me to someone who will?"
"Um," the door creaked open and the blonde woman poked her head inside, "excuse me, but I couldn't help overhear a couple of words." She smiled apologetically at Murdock. "Thin walls."
"Miss Page, this is confidential." Murdock tilted his head in her direction. "I don't think we're going to need your investigation skills on this one."
Investigator? Sam stiffened. Page. The name on the sign.
She hadn't introduced herself when they first met, but he assumed she was the receptionist, which was a rather sexist assumption. He should have asked.
"Karen Page?" he stood and faced her. "You were a reporter, weren't you?"
"I was." She held up her hands. "I only heard a bit, and I'm sorry for eavesdropping, but…" she smiled at the two lawyers, "come on. Captain America walks into a law office, and you expect I'm not going to hang around?"
"Karen," Murdock pointed to the door, "that's your cue."
"Look, I'm going, but I just want to say one thing. You two keep struggling to pay the bills because you take hard-luck cases….cases like mine way back when. This case will bring the firm a lot of publicity and get you into the good graces of Captain America here," she gave Sam a wink. "It's not a bad case to take, even if it is a civil one."
"Well, it's quasi-criminal," Nelson interjected quickly, his eyebrows raised and a hopeful smile on his face. He looked at Murdock. "It would be a nice bit of attention for the firm, and with the Statute of Limitations issue, more than likely a slam dunk. Right? But," he sighed, "we can't work for free, you know. Bills to pay, as the lady said."
"The man did help save the world," Page said.
"I thought you were going," Nelson glared at her.
She smiled and closed the door.
"Look, I'll pay you. I can't afford much, but if I throw in a few hundred bucks will you talk to the man? See if you can get him to at least consider not letting the other lawyers bleed him dry?"
Murdock sat back, fingers on the arms of his chair, looking pensive even behind the sunglasses. "You're not our client, so taking your money to convince someone who would be a client to do something it sounds like he doesn't want to do would be a breach of professional ethics."
"Okay, look, we'll talk to the guy for free," Nelson said. "But, if, say, we maybe need to call in an equally tiny favor from Captain America sometime in the future…"
"You got it." Sam clapped his hands once and nodded. "As long as the favor's on the up and up."
"Of course," Nelson looked offended. "What kind of lawyers do you think we are?"
Murdock grimaced. "Well, I guess we're agreeing to meet with him. In that case, we better get a move on and pay a visit to our not-quite client since the judicial clock is ticking."
Sam gave a relieved sigh. He knew it was a long shot, and Bucky was likely to kick these two out on their asses, though he might be a bit easier with the visually impaired man…hopefully. Still, it was worth a shot.
"I better go with you," he said. "I'll happily wait in another room if you want to talk to him attorney-client and all, but if you show up on your own, he probably won't even answer the door."
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky scrolled through the social media images of Sara Thomas, the widow of the man he'd kicked into the jet engine outside the Triskelion.
Sara.
Spelled without the H, but otherwise the name of Steve's mother, another single mother. She had a hard life, losing her husband in the first World War. As a nurse, she had the skill and training to take care of Steve, but he often required medical care beyond her capabilities. She scrimped and saved to put food on the table and make rent. Paying for Steve's medications and taking him to the doctor when he needed more than she could do for him made life even more difficult for a single mother.
A knock on the door made him grit his teeth. Was it another reporter? Maybe another process server?
"Bucky, it's Sam, open up."
With a sigh, Bucky went to the door. The floorboards creaked, a little too loudly, as if a heavy weight were shifting…or multiple weights.
"Sam, are you alone?"
There was a pause then, "Damnit, man, you're creepy sometimes, you know that? No, I have a couple of very good lawyers with me."
Bucky opened his mouth to tell Sam and the two lawyers exactly where they could go, but Sam beat him to it.
"I know, I know," Sam blurted. "Just hear them out. I'm not going to leave until you at least talk to them for a few minutes. You know how annoying I can get, right? Consider this your way of paying me back for the steering wheel—"
Bucky unlocked the door and flung it open. "Really, man, you're going there?" He eyed Sam angrily. "Thought you insisted none of that was my fault?"
Sam gave him a quick slap on the shoulder and shimmied past him. "Got you to open the door, didn't it?" He gestured to the two men. "Meet Foggy Nelson and Matthew Murdock."
"I'm Nelson," the blonde man waved.
"I don't need a lawyer," Bucky said, eyeing the two men. Nelson looked harmless enough, but there was something about the way Murdoch tapped his cane against the entrance frame while simultaneously walking through the middle of the doorway that caught Bucky's eye.
"That's understandable, and by default, I'm Matthew Murdock." The lawyer extended his hand, out of alignment from where Bucky was standing as if Bucky's voice wasn't quite enough to give the man a fix on his position.
"I figured that out." Bucky closed the door and leaned against the wall. "As I said, I don't need a lawyer."
"Well, your friend here thinks differently," Murdock said, dropping his hand and tapping the floor as he moved around the space.
There was a manner in which the man carried himself that seemed like it didn't quite fit a lawyer. He moved confidently, but it was more than that. He was graceful. Sure-footed. When a floorboard out in the hallway creaked softly—too softly—Murdock tilted his head a fraction of a degree.
Bucky knew that creak. It was the tenant two doors down hitting the one area in her apartment that made the floorboard outside her door creak. It happened so frequently, he stopped paying attention to it a while ago.
Bucky opened the door. "My friend was wrong." He shot Sam a disapproving look. "You've wasted your time."
"Okay, then—" Murdock took a few steps toward the door.
"Wait a minute." Sam held his hands up, beseeching. "Bucky, will you give them ten minutes? Listen to what they have to say. After ten minutes, if you still want them to go, fine. I'll give up and let you become a penniless hermit, but I swear on the shield that if you do that, I'll have no choice but to drive my incredibly muscular ass out to you on a regular basis to interrupt your self-imposed exile."
Bucky glared at Sam, studying him. Shit. It looked like Sam meant every word. He sighed and closed the door.
"Fine. Ten Minutes."
Sam smiled. "Great. Mind if I go into your room and check some emails while you three chat? Attorney-client stuff and all."
"Don't snoop." Bucky told him.
Sam's eyebrows rose. "Me? Never."
"A few things might be booby-trapped. Don't open anything."
It was a lie. Though he had set things up to know if anyone went poking around, he wasn't reckless enough to configure something dangerous that could hurt someone—burglar, firefighter, or otherwise. The look on Sam's face was worth it, though, and if the fib kept Sam's fingers off the drawers and out of the closet, it was well worth it.
"I'll just sit on the bed. That safe?"
Bucky flashed a fake smile. "Perfectly."
Sam disappeared down the hall near the kitchen, and Bucky gestured to the two wood chairs near the small table as he sank into the yellow armchair. "Your ten minutes has just started."
-0- -0- -0-
Sam grimaced as he peered at the mattress on the floor in the sparsely-furnished room. There was a single nightstand with two drawers holding a white table lamp. The mattress next to the stand had a pillow with a blanket folded neatly across it.
"Great," he muttered, then lowered himself to sit cross-legged as he pulled out his phone and checked his emails.
Lots of emails. From the government, nonprofit groups, and companies seeking endorsements. He sighed. He'd never heard Steve complain or even mention the volume of requests he got. For all Sam knew, Steve might not have even had email. Whenever they'd communicated, it had been by voice call, comm unit, or text message.
Ten minutes went by quickly when he heard Bucky's voice calling him from the other room. Pushing himself up from a position he was getting too old to sustain for long, he hurried into the living room. Murdock and Nelson were standing near the open door in front of Bucky.
"Well?" Sam asked, studying their faces, but none of the men were giving anything away.
"It was nice meeting you both," Nelson said, as he and Murdock disappeared down the hall and Bucky closed the door.
"Come on, man." Sam hated the fact that he could never tell a damn thing from Bucky's expression. "Any change in that cyborg mind of yours?"
"I agreed to let them file the answer with the statute of limitations defense. They made a good point that there are other victims, and this will give me the chance to get my financial affairs in order and set aside money for others, like Yori."
Jesus. Sam shook his head. This wasn't going the direction he'd hoped. He admired Bucky for wanting to help the Winter Soldier victims, but the way he was going about it was all at his own expense. Literally. All of it.
"Are you still determined to give away every cent you have?"
Bucky shrugged. "Haven't decided yet."
"What about our…" Partnership? Coworkership? Friendship? "You know. What about this thing we're just starting? Me being Captain America, you being my grumpy coworker. Turns out, you kind of came in handy last time. Every Captain America needs a Bucky Barnes, right?" He was laying it on thick, he knew, but the sudden pained, dark shift on Bucky's face told Sam that he might have shoved a knife into a particularly sensitive wound. "Sorry man. Look, I don't want to guilt you into anything, but if our situations were reversed, what would you do?"
Bucky got a little too close to him when he answered, "I'd respect your decision."
Well, that was it then. Arguing with Bucky was like banging his head against a brick wall. The man had made up his mind, but Sam couldn't give up completely. The thought of Bucky living alone in the middle of nowhere for the rest of his life was depressing as hell.
"Come to Louisiana. The people are nice. You liked it, right? You can stay at the house until you figure out what you want to do, and frankly, Sarah could really use a hand with the boys and stuff around the house. The boys think you're way cooler than me."
Bucky smiled at that, which lifted some of the heaviness from the air in the room, but when he shook his head, Sam's stomach, and his hopes, sank.
"Thank you, Sam. Really, but I've got things I want to take care of. I'll be okay on my own."
