Chapter 9: Nom Noms and Sippy Straws

"Bucky." Something tickled his nose. "Bucky, time for nom noms. Open those baby blues."

He opened his eyes. Sam and Ayo were still in the room. It was still day. What time was it? His eyes found the clock on the far wall. 12:35.

"There you are. I'd let you sleep, but the doctor wants you to get a little bit of this stuff in you." Sam held up a carton of apple juice with a bendy straw.

Ayo reached for something, and the head of the bed raised a few more degrees.

"Open up," Sam said with a smile as he brought the straw to Bucky's lips.

Bucky was torn between desperately wanting the liquid and desperately not wanting to be sippy-strawed by Sam with Ayo watching, but his hand was out of commission, wrapped over a splint and tethered to an IV, so he didn't have many options.

"Come on now." Sam touched the end of the straw to Bucky's bottom lip. "Don't be like that. You brought this on yourself. You could've roped me in, you know. Talked to me. I'd have helped you. Do you have any idea how many years you took off my life? Now stop being a stubborn jerk and open up."

Guilt softened Bucky's gaze and he parted his lips, sucking up the warm, sweet liquid. It was heaven, soothing his dry mouth and scratchy throat. He'd only managed three sips when Sam pulled it away.

"Not all at once. Doc wants you to take it slow on account of your sewn up insides. See how that sits for a few minutes, and if it stays down, she said you can have more."

"Hello, am I intruding?"

Bucky turned his head to see Agent William Jameson standing in the doorway, a black box in one arm, a Tupperware container in the other. He had one foot in the room and the other in the hallway. Clearing his throat, Bucky tried to avoid coughing the yuck out of it since he knew it would ignite fresh hell for his torn-up insides, and managed a raspy, "Come in."

Jameson walked in and set the box and Tupperware on the tray table next to the food. "I don't know if you drink, but that's some good whiskey. My wife baked you a batch of her famous sugar cookies." He put his hand on the rail and looked directly at Bucky, as though he were seeing him for the first time. "Thank you. You saved my life back there. I know now what that machine does, what it did to you. I did my research after…. you know. I'm glad you destroyed it. My wife insists I invite you over for dinner when you're on your feet. You have a standing invite."

Sam extended his hand over the bed and Jameson shook it. "Hey man, Sam Wilson. It's good to see you again." He glanced at Bucky. "Agent Jameson stopped by once before, but you were completely out of it." Then Sam gestured to Ayo. "This is Ayo."

Jameson gave the woman a wide-eyed once-over, then extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Ayo eyed the extended hand for a moment, then took a breath and shook it. "Indeed."

Bucky smiled. Ayo had spent weeks teaching him Wakandan manners. Maybe he'd get a chance to return the favor and teach her what passed for the social graces in New York.

"Anyway," Jameson looked back at Bucky, "I don't want to intrude. I just wanted to make sure I got a chance to thank you in person." He pulled a card from his jacket pocket and set it on top of the whiskey bottle. "Call me if you want to take me up on the dinner invite, and please do take me up on it. My wife will hound me nonstop until she gets to stuff you full of spaghetti and meatballs and hug you to within an inch of your…." His voice trailed off as he realized what he was about to say. He cleared his throat and flashed an awkward smile. "Well, you know. Also, my son—he's nine—wants to meet The …uh…well, you, Bucky Barnes. Howling Commando. Captain America's best friend. He was three when the Blip happened. I missed five years, came back, and he was big."

"Yeah, same with my nephews," Sam chimed in, then patted Bucky's arm. "He'll call, right, Bucky?"

Bucky managed a smile and a nod. "I'll call." He licked his dry lips. "Thanks for the whiskey, and thank your wife for the cookies." He eyed the yellow discs inside the transparent plastic and wondered if he'd be cleared for solid foods before Sam ate them all.

"You're welcome." Jameson gave a nod, then looked up at Sam. "You're welcome to dinner, too. Both of you." His gaze included Ayo, then dropped back to Bucky. "In fact, bring any guest you like, just let me know the headcount so we can make sure we have plenty of food, though with the way my wife cooks, that's usually not a problem. She comes from a big Italian family and always cooks to feed a village."

Bucky liked the man, and it was nice to know he hadn't been shish-kabobed for a jerk.

"Anyway, thank you again. I'm pretty sure Fisk's plan was to erase my memory and use me to further his criminal enterprise, maybe plant me as a mole back in the agency, possibly even send me off to kill my family, that is, if the machine didn't kill me, so you saved me from that, and you probably saved a lot of other people from that damn machine. Thanks again."

Bucky nodded. His energy was fading fast. Had it felt like this when he'd been injured before he got the serum? It was so long ago, he could barely remember. Maybe this was what Steve felt like most of the time, before Erskin's serum.

Tired and weak.

"I'll let you rest now."

Then, Jameson was gone. Sam and Ayo remained. Something beeped, and Ayo slid a Kimoyo bead onto her wrist. An image of Shuri appeared in the air.

Bucky blinked and tried to perk up as Shuri smiled at him. He was pretty sure he looked like hell. His hair was probably sticking up all over the place, and there might still be dried bits of drool on the edges of his mouth. He needed a mirror and a washrag.

"Hello, Bucky," the princess greeted him. "I am pleased to see you awake."

"Thanks." He took a deep, painful breath. "Thank you for the arm, too."

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. "You are welcome. I won't take up much of your time. Your face betrays your fatigue, and I will let you rest, but I do want to update you on the modifications to the arm and be on hand once it is reconnected to your nervous system. I have repaired the minor damage caused by the electrical surge, reinforced it so that it better shields you from future events of a similar nature, and upgraded the tactical sensors in the fingers and palm. When you are ready to reattach the arm, Ayo will contact me."

"I'm ready now if you are," he said. With his one arm out of commission, he really wanted to be able to feed himself and go to the bathroom on his own if he ever managed to get out of the hospital bed anytime soon.

"Of course. It won't take long."

Ayo retrieved the case, opened it, and lifted the arm, walking around to the left side of the bed. She placed the arm on the blanket next to him, then rolled up the short sleeve of his gown to keep the fabric out of the way of the connection points.

"Are you ready, White Wolf?" Ayo stated.

"Your brain has been without the integration of the arm for four months, so it may feel a bit strange when the arm is connected," Shuri told him.

"Understood."

Ayo slid the arm into place against the shoulder piece, and the gears locked. A small surge went through him, down his spine, into the base of his brain, bringing a hint of a headache. The arm tingled for a moment as the neural sensors came online, and he raised the limb, flexing the fingers, opening and closing his fist.

Shuri looked down at a tablet in her hand. "Good. I'm able to get a reading through the Kimoyo beads. All looks well. How does the arm feel?"

He gave a weak smile as he made a fist. "Good." He could tell the arm was different. He rubbed his metal thumb against his index finger and felt the sensation of smooth metal with noticeably greater sensitivity. "It's…better." He took a deep breath.

Being downgraded to almost normal sucked when it came to recovery times. He couldn't say more than a few words without feeling out of breath. "What's my recovery time look like?" he asked.

How soon can I get out of this bed?

Now that he was more awake, he needed to take care of things, like the load of illegal weapons in his SUV. Someone must have found it because the duffel bag of cash was inside…

He had a vague recollection of telling Murdock about it. Murdock must have located the vehicle and given the bag to Sam, and if so, he must have also found the weapons. Police hadn't shown up with an arrest warrant yet, so Bucky suspected Murdock had taken care of the equipment.

But how? And where were they?

"I can't be sure," Shuri said, pulling Bucky out of his thoughts and reminding him that he'd asked her a question about his recovery. "The massive blood transfusion diluted the levels of circulating serum in your blood, but because the serum altered your DNA, your organs still benefit from the protection of the enhancements. As your body makes new red blood cells, the levels of serum circulating in your blood will increase. For an average human, this process takes about four to six weeks. I was not able to perform diagnostic tests on you. Due to your privacy laws, the medical team wasn't able to share test results, but I consulted with them and offered information that I felt would benefit your care. I hope you don't mind."

He shook his head. "It may have saved my life, so thank you."

"You are most welcome. You will feel weaker than normal for at least two weeks, and your recovery should be slightly faster than an average human's. After a week or two, you should start to see improvement in your rate of healing and strength. By three weeks, I suspect you will be at your normal baseline healing rate."

Sam patted Bucky's arm and flashed a bright smile. "So, you'll have me as your nursemaid for a while. A couple of weeks of a Louisiana summer will teach you to go off without me."

Another knock on the door announced Matt Murdock's presence at the threshold, his arm in a sling and a cane in his good hand.

Speak of the Devil. He was just the man Bucky needed to talk to, sooner rather than later, and preferably alone.

"Ayo, why don't you get Sam out of here for a bit?" Bucky asked. "Force some coffee into him and make sure he stretches his legs."

"I can take a hint," Sam said. "You want to speak with your attorney in private and want us to scram." He raised his hands. "I'm going, but I'll be back. Don't think you're getting rid of me quite that easily."

"You should go home, get some rest, take a shower, that kind of thing."

"Home is DC or Louisiana, and both are quite a drive. I have a hotel room. I'll clean up and be back by before visiting hours end so they hopefully let me stay the night again."

"You don't need to." He wasn't going to be a burden to Sam. The man hadn't signed up for this. Steve drafted him. "Sleep in a bed." He looked at Ayo. "You, too." He was quickly wearing himself out with all the talking.

The pain was manageable, as long as he didn't breathe too deeply, cough, or shift the wrong way in bed.

"I'll see you later," Sam said with a hard glare that promised sooner rather than later.

Ayo offered a tilt of her head. "Rest, White Wolf." Then she walked past Murdock, stopped momentarily to give him a long, appraising look, and disappeared through the doorway.

"Close the door," Bucky asked.

Murdock complied and walked up to the bed, not at all bothering to tap his cane.

"So, is this blind thing an act, because you sure as hell didn't seem blind…" How many nights ago was that? "…back with Fisk."

A tiny smile played at Murdock's mouth. "Not an act. I've been blind since I was a child. I learned to use my other senses to compensate."

Bucky had a hard time believing anyone could compensate that well. "What, like a bat?"

This time Murdock actually smiled. "Something like that."

"What happened to your arm?"

"Fisk skewered it, straight through you. The cane he carries has a retractable blade, among other things."

Ah, so that explained what happened. Bucky shifted gently in bed, gritting his teeth against the pain. For so long, all he wanted was to be normal, but when it came to getting back on his feet, he missed the full effect of the serum.

"How did you learn to fight?" Bucky asked.

"I had a mentor."

"You and Fisk seemed to know each other. You two have a thing?"

Murdock's face lost all mirth. "You could say that."

"Why the hell is he so strong?"

Murdock walked around the bed and sat on the bench near the window, propping his cane next to him. "He's always been much stronger than an average man, but he was never as strong as what I saw last night. I'm not sure."

"Could he have gotten his hands on serum?"

"You would know that better than I, but he's dangerous, and if he did get dosed with the serum, he'll be even more dangerous."

Murdock jutted his chin toward Bucky. "So, why didn't you have that arm when you were off fighting scumbags?"

Bucky studied the man. "How do you know I have the arm?"

"It gives off a slight hint of electricity, and when you shifted, I heard the metal scrape against the sheets."

Weird. "I didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands."

He knew what his odds were when he left New York on his self-imposed mission. Eventually, someone would get in a lucky shot, or he'd take on too many, find himself in a really bad situation. He hadn't wanted to drag Sam down with him, and he certainly couldn't tie up Captain America for an indefinite amount of time. So, he went alone. Even though fighting one-armed put him at a significant disadvantage, it would have been so much worse had someone like Fisk gotten hold of the Wakandan technology and figured out how to reverse engineer it.

Even without access to more vibranium, there was a lot of damage they could do with such sophisticated technology.

"I can understand that," Murdock said.

"So, you found my SUV?" Bucky asked, using his vibranium hand to point to the duffel bag, then realizing he wasn't sure if Murdock could see the gesture.

"Yeah. You asked me to get the cash to Wilson, and I did."

"And, uh…."

"The other items are safe. You can pick them up when you're up and about." His lips twitched upward. "Consider it part of the Nelson and Murdock service."

Bucky knew that taking possession of illegal weapons was not only beyond the scope of their representation but could land Murdock in serious legal trouble. Then again, given what he'd seen at the auction house, Bucky figured Murdock was probably used to operating outside the law.

Ironic, given his profession.

"Thanks. Where's my car?"

"Impounded, sorry about that. I can't exactly drive."

"You can fight, but not drive?"

"Well, I could drive, but I'd need a convertible, or I'd have had to get rid of your windshield, and of course, red lights present a bit of a challenge."

"You're…unusual."

"I've been called worse."

"So what's with the costume?"

"You don't like it? As I recall, Steve Rogers wore a costume, soft helmet included."

"His didn't have horns."

Murdock raised an eyebrow. "Well, I embraced the nickname bestowed upon me."

Ah. Buck remembered hearing something about a vigilante. "So, you're the Devil of Hell's kitchen?"

"You can just call me Matt or Mr. Murdock."

"You can call me Bucky. No more Sergeant Barnes. I think getting skewered together puts us on less formal terms." It was time to get back to business. Vigilante or not, Murdock was still his lawyer. "About those checks…"

"Right. Your case got dismissed. Statute of limitations. If you still want to give away all your money, I can't stop you, of course, but I didn't feel right about draining your bank account if you were…well…if you were having a mental health crisis. I have an ethical duty to you as my client, after all. If you want to report me to the New York bar, go ahead."

He'd be insulted at the implication he was having a mental health crisis if that didn't pretty much define the last 80 years of his life. To be honest, he was pretty sure he was still in the middle of a mental health crisis. Not that he would tell Sam that. Or Murdock.

"Sam put pressure on you, didn't he?"

"I don't bow to pressure, Bucky."

I'll buy that, Bucky thought. It was no big deal, either way. He could write new checks and mail them directly to the people who needed them.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do once he was up and about–continue his self-imposed mission or partner with Sam, but now that he wasn't dead, he'd have to calculate how much he needed to live on. He also needed to figure out where the hell he was going to live since he gave up his Brooklyn apartment.

Matt reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a white envelope. "This has your checks. Would you like me to put it in the duffel bag?"

Bucky nodded, but not knowing whether Murdock could sense that, he added. "Sure."

He watched as Matt unzipped the bag without fumbling, stuffed the envelope inside, then zipped it back up, grabbed his cane, and walked around the bed. "Well, you sound like you need rest. I just came to check on you and drop off those checks. When you're out of here, give me a call and I'll make sure you get your other belongings."

"Thanks, Matt." Bucky watched him leave, then breathed a sigh, grateful to have the room to himself.

He closed his eyes and was asleep instantly.