A/N: Hey, all. I have now posted this chapter in its entirety. Again, I apologize for the wait on the completed chapter, and I did add some extra things as I went back and re-read the original portion. Hope it's met with your approval. Thank you.
The clinical suites at the Candleman Center reminded Kim of the medical exam rooms she often frequented in doctors' offices. These, however, had been built with physically handicapped persons in mind. All were built large enough to accommodate those with casts, crutches, wheelchairs, and other forms of mobilizing aids. At times, doctors or nurses would come from the hospital for impromptu check-ups with their patients, and these rooms offered them the privacy they needed for medical matters. She and Stark also used these rooms as places to meet and discuss her progress with the prosthetics he provided for her.
Today's conversation, of course, would not be limited to issues pertaining to prostheses.
Within room five, Kim and Sammy both watched while Stark keyed commands into that incredible laptop of his. She quickly identified the diagnostic program he was running for her prosthetic which, to her, looked like nothing more than a series of boxes and numbers. Whatever they represented, though, Stark obviously understood the language. Thank goodness for his brilliant mind.
"See that?" Stark said, mostly to Sammy.
The boy cocked his head. "Yeah, but I still don't get it."
Beside them, Stark chuckled. "It gives me readings whenever Kim's performing her exercises. Right now this is showing her at rest. There's a little activity going on since it requires some strength to hold you up, but otherwise, it's nothing spectacular to look at, right? But if she utilizes her leg—bend your knee for a sec, would you?"
Kim complied, bending her right knee a few times, and as she did so, there was a sudden increase in the flow of activity on-screen.
Stark raised his arms triumphantly. "Viola. Instant feedback."
"Whoa, weird," Sammy breathed, inching forward to get a better look at the screen. Each time she bent her leg, a new stream of data flowed right before his eyes, and his head moved with it as though he was watching a tennis match. Glancing up at Kim, he asked, "Does it do that when you walk around?"
"It's a little different," she said. "Here; watch." To humor him, she paced the length of the room, knowing that a steady stream of digital data was now flowing with every step she took.
"Cool!" Sammy exclaimed. "It's like it's thinking or something."
"Exactly," Stark proclaimed, pleased with his analysis. "Each time she makes a movement, Kim's implant sends back signals to show me what's going on with the internal structure of the leg itself."
"So this can, like, tell you what's wrong with it? Like what she wrote about yesterday?" He, too, was a regular reader of her blog.
"Not exactly, but it can help me pinpoint where a problem might be occurring, and I can start taking the necessary steps in order to correct it."
"And you can understand all that stuff?" Sammy asked incredulously, pointing to the ever-moving lines of numbers.
"What can I say? Computer generated sequences are my friends."
"Wow…"
Kim smiled faintly at his fascination. She'd heard Stark give this same explanation before, but it was the first time Sammy was getting a chance to see his equipment up-close like this.
He then asked, "When I get legs like that, will my numbers look the same?"
Kim paused in her step, though neither of them appeared to notice. When he gets legs like mine, she repeated to herself with growing uncertainty…
"It'll be roughly the same idea," Stark was still speaking, "but with two prosthetic legs, we'll see a lot more in terms of digital feedback."
"Cool, man! I'm gonna knock those numbers right off the screen someday!"
Stark smiled. "That's the spirit, Speedy! Eventually, you'll be able to run circles around your mentor without even breaking a sweat," he nodded back at Kim.
For the time being, Kim pushed her own doubts aside to give the man an affirming smile. Coming back to the boy's side, she placed a hand on his shoulder, which prompted him to look up at her. "That's right," she said, "and we're going to do everything we can to make sure you earn that nickname."
His expression automatically brightened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm not the greatest runner, but I'm going to keep practicing with you until you become a natural at it. I want you to be able to outrun me someday."
He grinned up at her, bringing his small brown hand to cover hers. "You know what, Miss Proctor? You're alright."
As she smiled warmly, a knock sounded behind them, and the trio turned to see Sammy's physical therapist standing in the doorway.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "But…"
"Looks like our time's up, Speedy," Stark announced.
"Aww, man," Sammy whined in his not-so-discreet manner. "Things were just starting to get really good."
Stark shook his head—muttering, "I love this kid," before returning his attention to his laptop—while Kim, in an attempt to reassure her young charge, said, "Listen, when I get done working with Mr. Stark, how about you and I run a few laps together? To make up for missing our time on Friday?"
Judging by the look on his face, she could clearly see how much he appreciated her suggestion. "Promise?"
She gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Promise."
He whooped excitedly, but before he could tear away from her, she stooped down and pulled him in for one last hug. "Work hard today, okay?"
"Okay!"
Her hold on him lingered for a few more seconds. Then with a sigh, she released him, and he hobbled across the floor to his PT on those spindly metal legs with a renewed sense of urgency.
"Come on, you heard her," he grabbed the man's hand, "we got work to do. See you later, Mr. Stark!"
"Sure thing. Thanks for all your help, Speedy."
"No prob!"
As Sammy and his PT exited the room, they pulled the door shut behind them, leaving Kim and Stark alone at last. Sammy had been a good distraction, but as soon as he was gone, it was amazing how quiet the room had suddenly become. Quiet like her living room after…
She discreetly bit her lip; it was hard not to think about it.
"Well now," Stark said, pulling her from her thoughts as he continued to work at his laptop. "'Mr.' Stark? Didn't we talk about that, or am I going to have to actually beat some sense into you?"
Oh-ho; she recognized that hint of humor etched into his words, and felt the corners of her mouth twitch in response. "Hey," she fired back, crossing her arms, "I don't want Sammy developing any bad habits around you because of me, otherwise I'll be the one facing the wrath of Mrs. Glenn."
He finally looked up and met her eyes, then gave a conceding nod. "Okay, you've got a point. Just so long as it's Tony in private, capiche?"
"Capiche, Tony."
Then, turning away from the electronic device entirely, he raised his arms towards her in an expectant manner.
Kim wasn't sure which struck her harder: his spontaneous gesture, or the look of genuine concern radiating from his eyes. Either way, her heart swelled as she strode over to Stark and wrapped her arms around his waist, allowing herself to be enveloped in his embrace. Resting her head against his chest, she sighed appreciatively. She wouldn't lie: she needed this. It was amazing how something as simple as a hug could provide her with so much comfort, but it was true. Comfort. Reassurance. Protection. She felt them every time she was embraced by her grandmother; by Steve; and now she felt equal comfort in Stark's embrace.
Unlike Steve, Stark was not a particularly affectionate person, but since the resurgence of her grandmother's cancer, it had become a more common occurrence when he visited. For this, Kim was quietly grateful. The arms around her were warm, solid; the faint, sharp scent of Old Spice filling her senses as she inhaled against his dark shirt; the bristly hairs of his goatee lightly scratching the skin of her forehead. All of it was so familiar to her; so Stark. She just held onto him—realizing she really had needed this for quite some time—and he let her hold him for as long as she needed. If only he understood just how much he was helping to calm her, helping to ease the multitude of worries that were still present in her mind. Not just worries for Rebecca's health, or concerns over Steve's safety, but also…
The dark memory flashed through her mind without warning: a glimpse of Bucky…the frightful look in his eyes as he pressed that dagger to her throat…the wild, unseeing gaze penetrating her like the cold point of that blade…
Her eyes snapped shut, an involuntary shiver running up her spine.
Stark's arms tightened around her reflexively. "It's alright," he soothed quietly, rubbing a hand across her upper back, "I've got you."
Her fingertips pressed into his backside. It was moments like this that reminded her why she considered him a true friend. She sighed softly as she relaxed in his arms, her racing thoughts slowing and gradually coming into focus.
Bucky, she thought. She could see his face so clearly in her mind, but it was no longer the sinister memory of that morning. Instead, she recalled his blue-grey eyes gazing at her in that curious manner, the trust emanating from them as he looked at her. He'd come into her life only a few days ago, and despite what had taken place earlier that day…
God, what she would give to have him be the one holding her like this.
Should we hug now?
I…I might hurt you.
Bucky…
"You okay?"
Interrupted by Stark's gentle inquiry, Kim released a shuddering breath. "I didn't want to believe it, but…" She trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that, and shrugged lamely.
"Kind of hard to deny when old photos from the U.S. War Department are staring you right in the face."
Yes, she thought, remembering some of those very images from HYDRA's files. "Grandma has some of those pictures at home," she whispered.
"I wouldn't be surprised." He placed his chin atop her head. "It's not what I wanted for you, but I know you're strong enough to handle the truth. You're strong enough to handle anything, kiddo."
Damn, it felt good to hear him say that, and her arms tightened even more around him. "I'm glad you're here," she said sincerely.
"Who wouldn't be?"
He'd kept it subtle, but that smooth cockiness in his voice was as familiar as the way he hugged her, and she pulled back to look at him with a smile. "You just couldn't resist, could you?"
He cocked his head with a playful glint in his eye. "Got you to smile, didn't it? I always have to get at least one good smile out of you before we get started." Then he frowned. "Hey, what happened here?"
She blinked, confused. "What?"
His hand carefully brushed over the bottom of her right jaw. "Got a bit of a bruise there. And here," he touched her throat, and she was surprised to feel a mild soreness. "You do something to hurt yourself?"
She held her breath, forcing herself to stay calm as she brought a hand to the spot he'd identified on her neck. Right where Bucky's bionic arm had pressed a knife against her skin. Shit…She didn't even realize they were marks when she'd looked in the mirror, but he'd been sharp-eyed enough to notice. Thank goodness her shirt sleeves were long enough to cover the fading bruises on her arms.
"You take a fall during a run or something?" He asked.
Thinking quickly, she gave her head a shake, gently moving his hand away. "No, it's...that would be the stick."
He gave her a look. "Come again?"
"Last night, you know, when I was out testing the kick-back issue? I'm not able to land on my feet when I do it, and the last storm that blew through knocked a lot of large sticks off our trees—"
"Ah, and so you...?"
"Were lucky enough to find one of them when I landed," she finished for him, amazed that her fib sounded convincing even to her own ears.
"Ouch," he remarked, "at least it didn't break the skin. Look at you: battle scars already, and you've only had this model for two months. We'll have to see if we can figure out how to control this new quirk that you've discovered."
A wave of relief washed through her as she disengaged from his embrace, only to be pulled back to him when he draped an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, and here," he said, fishing his iPhone out of his pocket, "I've got a special message for you from Steve."
Her ears perked at that. "From Steve? Is he okay?"
"Don't worry; he's just fine. But there's something he wants you to see, and who better to entrust with the delivery of a special message than me?" He flicked his thumb across the screen, then showed it to Kim. On display was an Internet meme of a smiling Steve with the caption, "Who cares about becoming Miss America when you could be Mrs. America?"
"Oh God," she groaned, throwing a hand over her face. Yes, he'd be keeping the jokes to a minimum, but to cut them out entirely? Never. "'A message from Steve,'" she mocked. "You dink."
Stark smiled triumphantly. "There we go; that's more like the Kim I know," he chuckled, patting the examination table next to them.
Taking the non-verbal cue, Kim hoisted herself onto the blue-padded table, mildly annoyed by the incessant crinkling of the sanitary paper beneath her. "Tony, you're, like, one of the busiest people I know. How is it you find time to find crap like that online?"
"Call it a special skill that few are privy to."
"You make JARVIS do it?"
He feigned injury as he pocketed his phone. "Oh, now that just plain hurts." But then he gave an approving smirk. "Not bad, though, kiddo. Response time's getting better and better each time I see you."
"Well, I have been learning from the best: the Obi-Wan Kenobi of smart-assery."
"And a Jedi-master reference!" He beamed proudly. "Even better! Sounds like I have taught you well these past few years." Then his eyes softened in a way that only she was allowed to see. "I imagine the last couple of days have been hell on you, and I had to take your mind off it somehow. Humor just happens to be my go-to in order to accomplish that."
She smiled at him gratefully. "You have perfect timing."
He went back to his laptop. "Perfect is the ultimate descriptor for this Jedi, my dear."
She gave a quiet laugh. "You think Steve's seen that shot of himself yet?"
"Hard to say, but with everything he's missed since his personal ice-age, I doubt he spends much time Googling images of himself." A pause, then he grinned. "I'm sure you've secretly had similar thoughts about him every once in a while, though."
"Tony!" She groaned again. No matter how many times she reiterated that she viewed Steve as a brother and not a crush, it didn't stopped Stark from giving her occasional grief about it. "That's still creepy!"
"Come on, you telling me you haven't thought about him at least—"
"No," she stated firmly.
"Not even with his shirt off—"
"No!"
That teasing grin remained. "Good. No one your age should be interested in such an old man, anyway. And let's face it: he is an old man."
"He's older than you, so doesn't that technically make him your elder?"
"Oh, nice try, Padawan, but you'll never hear me refer to him as my elder. Besides, the guy is more than 'elder.' By human standards, he's more like…'antique.'"
Kim rolled her eyes with a smile, feeling her heart lighten at the humor he exhibited. Even if only for now. Soon after, the two of them slipped into a comfortable silence, and she waited patiently while he continued working at his laptop. The translucent screen allowed her to see through the back of it, and she could see him entering another sequence into the program.
Without looking up, he asked, "Rebecca was comfortable this morning?"
She liked that he used her grandmother's first name. She also liked that his inquires about her health were so specific, unlike the question of How's your grandma doing? That one yielded a broad range of answers, most of them painful. "Seemed to be. She gave me a quick peak before I left."
"Good. Still a sharp ol' broad, even if she's not speaking out loud."
She smiled weakly. "Were you already in D.C.," she asked, glancing absently at the framed Monet posters on the adjacent wall, "or did you come all the way out here from Malibu?"
His gaze was still on his work. "With the million-and-one questions undoubtedly running through your mind, I'm sure not a single one of them has any real interest in my travel arrangements." He tapped a few more keys, then scanned the sequence that came on-screen. "How warm am I on that one?"
Quite warm, she thought. "You want your prize now, or would you prefer to have me wrap it up with a pretty pink bow first?"
"Make it a red bow instead of pink, and I'll be satisfied."
"To match the suit?"
He smirked. "You catch on quick. To answer your question, though, Stark Tower's undergoing some further renovations before it's unveiled as Avengers Tower, and I was in New York this weekend to oversee how things are progressing. It wasn't much of a stretch to come here after reading your update." He detached the laptop screen from its keyboard so he could use it as a tablet, and crossed over to where she sat. "Diagnostic looks good; no discernible defects with your internal circuitry, no unusual readings. Has anything felt out of whack to you? Anything different when you walk?"
"No."
"How about when you run?"
She shook her head.
"Mm-hmm." He nudged her left knee. "Scooch, kiddo."
She obliged and made room for him as he took a seat next to her, that thin paper crinkling yet again.
He pressed a corner of the tablet, activating an x-ray mode as he came close and held it close to her lower back. "Implant's functioning properly," he reported after several seconds, "doesn't look like it's shifted out of place or deteriorated since your last scan. You able to feel it when you move?"
"No."
"Hmm," he commented, though committed no real emotion to it. After a few more routine questions, he set the tablet aside and held out his hands. Kim knew the drill: pulling up the fabric of her gym shorts, she exposed her prosthetic up to her thigh and simultaneously depressed the small indentations on either side. The appendage disengaged from the stump of her leg with a soft pfffft! of sound. Surprisingly, it was not a heavy piece, and she easily handed it over to Stark. His hands ran over the prosthetic from top to bottom, careful eyes examining the metal surface thoroughly, searching for any signs of external damage or abnormalities.
"Everything appears to be functioning normally, but I probably won't be able to detect anything unusual until I get some readings during your workout."
"What are your thoughts on the kick-back I've been getting?" She asked, removing the black silicone sleeve covering her stump and rubbing a hand over the scarred skin. "Any idea what's going on?"
"Can you describe the sensation for me?"
"Oh yeah. It's like getting bounced on one of those big trampolines," she indicated with her hands. "If I stomp down hard enough, I end up flying backwards uncontrollably. It's not a huge distance or anything, but not knowing where I'm going to land can be a little scary."
"But it only happens when you're stomping down, right? Not while you're running?"
"Right."
"Hmm. Well, while I don't have any concrete explanations, there's a chance that the prosthetic's circuitry has a stronger kinesthetic connection than I originally thought. It's also possible that said connection was made stronger because of increases in your muscle tone over the past few weeks, which could result in imbalances of energy transfer when you make certain movements. That's all hypothetical, of course, but today, we'll focus on determining whether or not it's a valid assumption."
A few years ago, such jargon would have left her head spinning, but she'd gotten to a point where she understood the gist of most of his musings.
"Once your basic workout is done," he continued, "I'll have you demonstrate what it is you're experiencing while I run a second KAM diagnostic to check for any discrepancies in your physical activity levels. Also, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some video footage of this session for reference."
She nodded, unbothered by the request. He typically took video whenever she tested out his new models, which she could use when she updated her blog.
Reaching into the black bag that was already beside him—courtesy of Sammy—he retrieved a narrow metal tool that was no bigger than a pencil, and proceeded to insert the flat end into one of the titanium grooves.
When Stark spoke again, there was a noticeable shift in his demeanor. "Does Steve know about the research you've been doing the past few days?"
Picking up on his tone, she reminded herself one last time to take care with what she disclosed to him. "He knows."
His eyes remained focused on his work. "Does he, now."
She realized it was not stated as a question. "I left your name out of it."
He nodded. "Glad to hear it. Last thing I need is an unwarranted scolding from Grandpa Rogers."
She disregarded that last jab at Steve, leaning forward to rest her hands on the table's edge. "How long have you known?"
"That Bucky Barnes is alive? About as long as Steve has, give or take a few days," he retrieved a second tool from his bag and kept on tinkering. "Didn't take long after the leaks to find information linking some of HYDRA's…'activities' to my parents." His face betrayed no emotion as he removed her right shoe from the metal foot and inspected the rounded toe. "A few more hours of hacking into the encrypted files, and I managed to find a link between this Winter Soldier and a certain young lady I happen to know."
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his voice had taken on that same protective quality that Steve's exhibited from time to time. "Steve asked you not to tell me, didn't he?"
"He did, and, as rarely as it happens, I agreed with his reasoning. As you know, there's plenty he and I don't see eye-to-eye on," he stopped fiddling with the prosthetic to look at her, "but when it comes to your health, safety, and welfare, it goes without saying that we only have your best interests at heart, kiddo.
"But we also know you're smart, Kim. It would've been impossible to withhold this information from you forever, and I sure as hell wasn't going to lie when you came to me with what you knew. We established a long time ago that if you ever ask me a question, I will always give you a straight answer, even if it's not necessarily what you want to hear." He arched an eyebrow at her. "I would expect no less from you in any given situation."
Her gaze never left his. "You know I would be, Tony."
Seemingly appeased, Stark dug into another groove of the prosthetic. "That's all I ask."
Kim ignored the small pang of guilt that was trying to dig into her chest. Stark was the second friend she was lying to this week, but she refused to blow Bucky's cover, not when the man was only beginning to piece together the fragmented remains of his altered mind. She couldn't begin to fathom the internal torment he must have been going through, and he needed time. She was the only person who could offer that to him, the only person he could trust. If that meant not being completely straightforward with her friends…
Then so be it, her mind whispered.
"The question now," Stark said, recapturing her attention, "is what do you plan to do with all of your newfound knowledge?"
She casually half-shrugged. "Keep adding to it by doing more research on HYDRA, I guess. There's still a lot of information in those files that I haven't gone through yet, and it's pretty much all I can do at this point."
"Can you tell me what it is you're looking for?"
She shook her head. "Anything that I think might be useful. Strengths, weaknesses, former HYDRA bases, members that are still active—"
"Watch it on that one," he warned.
"Just looking them up," she assured. "Maybe I can find something that would be helpful to Steve while he's out searching for clues."
"And Barnes? What do you plan to do with everything you now know about him?"
She knew what he was alluding to. "Relax, Tony. I'm not going to go looking for him. I don't need to get myself into that kind of trouble." Again, not exactly a lie if Bucky was the one seeking her… "I already promised Steve the same thing, so you don't have to worry about me doing something that stupid."
He looked at her then. "Tell me something: if you hadn't made that promise to Steve to begin with, would you have gone looking for him by yourself?"
She looked at him sharply, but found herself unable to immediately answer him. It was a good question. What would she have done if Bucky hadn't come to her in the first place? Would she have ever discovered that he was alive? Would she have randomly stumbled across a photograph of him and been able to make the connection between him and the Winter Soldier?
Would she have had the courage to go after an ex-HYRDA agent by herself, without Steve or Stark to defend her? The logical side of her mind screamed no at such insanity, but…at the same time…
"Kim," Stark pressed.
She gritted her teeth momentarily, knowing he'd continue to press like that unless she gave him an answer. "I would have wanted to look for him." Hearing herself admit it out loud was not as much of a shock to her ears as perhaps it should have been, but it was true. I really would have wanted to find him, no matter how stupid it might have been, she realized. Even if danger was involved, she would have considered taking it upon herself to find the good man that HYDRA had so meticulously destroyed.
She heard him sigh beside her. "The fact you mighthave even entertained the idea of going after him sets me on edge, but I'm glad that you sought my help before making any rash decisions. We may have been working together for the past few years, but you're hardly just a mascot for this organization, so don't tell me not to worry about you, Kim. If didn't care, I wouldn't bother saying anything to you at all."
Amazing. This man had just expressed more concern for her in those few sentences than Aunt Laura had expressed for her in almost four years, and she felt her heart twist at the notion. "I just…thought that learning as much as I can about HYDRA might be a good way to protect myself. Even Steve thought it was a good idea when I brought it up to him."
"Knowing your enemy is a good strategy," he agreed, pulling a larger, tube-like gizmo from his bag, "but be careful of how deeply you delve inside their twisted minds. You'll run into things that no amount of shock treatment will ever be able to erase from your memory."
She averted her gaze as something tightened painfully in her chest, her fingers digging firmly into the table's padded edge. Stark hadn't meant any harm, but she'd been unprepared for how much his statement actually bothered her, for how much it served to remind her of—
Subject still uncooperative, increased voltage to 250. Submission achieved.
Her nostrils flared briefly at the memory of what she'd read. God damn you, HYDRA—
She snapped her head back around when something cool bumped against her arm, and she realized Stark was offering her the cylindrical tool. "You remember how to do this?"
She blinked. "Oh. Yeah, I do," she said, taking it from him.
"Good," he handed the prosthetic to her as well. "Show me."
Repositioning the appendage across her lap, Kim uncapped the tool—a variation of a soldering iron—and touched it to the back of the knee, resulting in a few tiny sparks. In a well-practiced manner, Kim carefully ran the device across the length of one groove in the metal, which would help the prosthetic maintain its flexibility at the joints.
"Good," Stark praised. "Hands are steady, that's really good. You might have some engineering blood in you after all if you've picked up on it that quickly."
She didn't feel the need to reply. When he gave her this leg back in June, Stark began teaching her these skills so she could care for it in his absence. So, in a way, complimenting her was like complimenting himself. Blowing over a spot to cool it, she ran her fingertip across the shiny surface, making sure it felt as smooth as possible. When she was satisfied, she moved on to the next groove, making sure to work each section of the joint.
As she worked, she subconsciously memorized the details of the prosthetic all over again: the shape that was nearly identical to the leg she'd lost; the metal at the shin and calf that was shiny and smooth; that same smoothness interrupted by the series of intricate grooves at the knee and ankle joints, allowing natural movement to take place. Even though she'd been with Stark through much of the construction process, she remembered her initial fascination when presented with the new limb. How elated she was to think of the level of normalcy that this one could provide for her. A chance to be whole again—
But after a while, her movements gradually slowed, came to a halt altogether. Staring down at the metal appendage, she was unaware when her wrist rotated a few degrees, pulling the tip of the soldering iron away from its surface.
"Amazing how you can be sitting this close and yet feel like you're miles away at the same time," Stark observed, cutting through her contemplative state. "Whatever's on your mind, Kim, let's hear it."
Shades of Steve, she thought, releasing a breath through her nostrils. "Steve thinks I should be afraid of Bucky," she recapped the tool and set it aside, "and I get where he's coming from when he says that, but what happens if he ever finds out about his family?" She paused. "About our family. What happens if he finds out who I am and comes looking for me?"
"You can sure as shit bet that we'll do anything and everything to protect you and your family if we feel there's any threat to you," there was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice. "If there's any shred of decency left in the man whatsoever, though, he'll stay as far away from you as possible."
Definitely not how things turned out, she thought dryly. "You really think he poses that much of a threat now? Even after what happened between him and Steve?"
"I'm afraid he may be even more of a threat after what's happened with Steve."
Her brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"
"Let's face it: the guy was incredibly unstable to begin with, and his interludes with Steve may have no doubt amplified his mental stress. That makes him a danger to anyone who comes in contact with him, friend or foe." He shook his head. "I realize Steve's trying to find him in the hopes of somehow restoring his memory, but it's hard to say if that will be possible, given the number of years he's been cognitively manipulated by HYDRA's scientists. They scrambled him up pretty badly, and that's not going to reverse itself anytime—"
"But he remembered," she interrupted, causing Stark to raise his dark brows at her. She covered by quickly adding, "Steve told me that Bucky remembered something that day on the Helicarrier, when they were fighting and Bucky—"
"Trust me; Steve already relayed the details of his encounters with Barnes in D.C."
She stared at him for a long moment, refusing to be discouraged by his skeptical tone. "He remembered," she repeated slowly. Quietly. Much like her last conversation with Steve. "Bucky was ready to kill him that day, but Steve said something that was strong enough to break through to him. He stopped, Tony. He was going to kill Steve, but didn't."
His eyes narrowed at her slightly. "You know, you're awfully quick to defend a man who's been dead to you until recently."
She felt her own eyes harden in response, teeth unclenching before she spoke. "Regardless of what he's done, that doesn't change the fact that he's still my uncle, Tony, and I can't believe he's completely evil if he defied a kill order from HYDRA."
"You'd be wise to re-think your stance on this subject, Kim. He might have been your uncle once, but he's not anymore. He became something else entirely the day he fell from that train in forty-four."
"How can you say that?" She objected without really thinking, but it was too late to take it back now. "You saw HYDRA's files; you know exactly what they did to him! He didn't understand that he was fighting for the wrong people. How could he?"
Something in his expression darkened, which spoke volumes all on its own. "You can argue this all you want with me, Kim, but it doesn't change the fact that my parents died at his hands. How would you expect me to feel about him?"
She could only stare at him, her mind recalling the look of sheer regret in Bucky's eyes after he'd regained control of himself that morning. The deep, undeniable shame…Unable to look at him any longer, she sighed and let her eyes drift down to the blue-carpeted floor below.
"I know what it is you're getting at," he said, "and maybe to a degree, you're right. But I can't force you to see other things from my perspective, kiddo. I've spent years thinking my parents were victims of a freak accident, but come to find out that their deaths were actually orchestrated by HYDRA. Murdered, Kim. Through Barnes' actions. That fact's not going to erase itself from my mind simply because I want to believe something else is true. It is the truth, plain and simple."
He placed a hand on her shoulder, an offer of support. Or pity. She wasn't sure which. "I realize he's been a source of inspiration for you over the years, but you have to keep in mind that this is not the same man Rebecca and Steve once knew, and he's not the same man they told you all those stories about. This guy's been a cold-blooded HYDRA killer for decades—no pun intended—and it's hard to say what he could be capable of if triggered the wrong way."
No, her mind whispered adamantly. Bucky had fiercely denied being affiliated with HYDRA, and though she'd only been in his presence for a couple of days, she'd been a first-hand witness to the constant battle raging within him. His fight against the effects of their brainwashing, their manipulation. Their torture…
So to hear Stark say such a thing was like a punch to the gut. No, Kim repeated to herself, setting her prosthetic aside. No. With a deep sigh, she slid down from the table, feeling his hand slide away as she landed firmly on her left foot.
"Hey, where're you going?"
She didn't answer, just hopped over the nearest wall and grabbed the support railing that ran around the entire room.
"Come on, you're going to hurt yourself, kiddo."
No, she wasn't. She'd done this enough times to know her limitations, and was quite strong on this leg when she needed to be. This wasn't about her trying to be stubborn; this was about her needing her space for a moment, about needing get away before her emotions got the better of her. Her anger, her frustration, her sorrow.
Her fear for Bucky's well-being.
"I'm only telling you what you need to hear, Kim, and tearing off in a huff isn't going to change the facts of the situation. You of all people should be able to understand where it is that I'm coming from."
Three more hops and she reached the countertop on the opposite side of the room, bracing herself against its cool wooden surface in order to keep herself balanced. "Yeah. I do," she acknowledged, a slight tremor in her voice.
"Then my stance shouldn't come as any big surprise to you."
Of course it didn't. There were still days when she, too, had nothing but the darkest of thoughts for the one responsible for her parents' deaths, one who killed them. Not murdered like the Starks, but ripped away from her just as cruelly and permanently. Yes, he deserved to be angry about that.
But to call Bucky nothing more than a savage killer now? The same man who'd saluted her dying grandmother—a woman he hardly remembered—in such a reverent manner?
She could feel the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. "And how many times did it take?"
"For what?"
"For their brainwashing to begin taking effect on him."
In the ensuing pause, she could detect him gearing up his counterargument. "Now listen, that—"
"How many?" She interjected firmly, wanting an answer. "What did those files say?"
It took a moment, but then he answered. "At least seven or eight cycles utilizing multiple methods."
Yes. She'd read the exact same thing during her research. "So he resisted," she said, staring hard at the counter. "He suffered brain damage from that fall, but he wasn't completely gone after that. He resisted HYDRA's attempts to control him at first, so some part of him must have been aware of who they really were. That's why it took so long for the brainwashing to work. He didn't want this; he tried to fight them. Doesn't that count for something?"
Another pause. "Based on that alone, it may speak to the man he used to be."
She closed her eyes against the burning pain in her heart. "Do you see where I'm coming from, then? Can you understand why I can't just say 'Bucky's a bad guy' and just leave it at that?" She bowed her head, not bothering to wipe away the pair of tears that squeezed free and rolled down her cheeks without her permission. "You're right: he has been dead all my life, but now I know what really happened to him. My uncle is alive; I have another living relative out there, Tony. Do you realize how huge that is for me? Do you?"
"You know I do, Kim," he said sincerely.
She exhaled shakily, still trying to keep the emotions in check despite the traitorous tears. "Then I think it's only fair that I decide whether or not he gets to be a part of my life," she angled her head towards him, "but you don't think he deserves that at all, do you?"
"With what he's become, absolutely not. Aside from you having knowledge of his existence, I don't think any affiliation with him is going to be healthy for you."
She expected that to be his response. "You know, it's almost funny to hear you say that," she licked her lips, "because the moment you modeled my leg after his arm is the moment you made him a part of my life."
Behind her, Stark went completely silent, which only served to confirm the suspicions she'd had all week. She shifted the bulk of her weight onto her forearms. "I could see how similar they were from the first picture I saw of him. It's not a coincidence, Tony. You modeled my leg after Zola's design, didn't you?"
His silence ensued for a long moment. Then, "I figured you'd eventually make the connection after I sent you those files. Rebecca Proctor didn't raise you to be an idiot."
Another tear fell. "So that's a yes."
"It's a yes."
She thought that hearing him admit it would ease the tension in her chest, but it didn't. It actually made everything inside feel heavier, the weight of his verification making her shoulders sag as she continued to keep herself propped up against the counter.
The crinkling of paper signaled that he'd slid off the table, "But it's also a bit more complicated than that," Kim's ears detected the whooshing sound of the rolling chair as Stark brought it near, bumping it gently against the back of her knee, "so right now, I need you to sit down, and listen to what I have to say."
She turned her head just enough to see him from the corner of her eye, aware that his words had been a request, not a command. Sighing heavily, she eased herself back into the chair, admittedly grateful to have all of her weight suddenly taken off her leg. Moving to stand before her, Stark leaned against the counter, his tablet in one hand.
She wiped the tears from her face. "More visuals?"
"What can I say? I'm more of a 'show-me' than 'tell-me' kind of guy," he said, but didn't bother activating anything on the screen yet. Instead, he cupped a hand beneath her chin, making sure he looked her dead in the eye. Any trace of humor was gone from his face. Quite the rarity for him. "Before we go on, I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you: aside from the fact that what I've built you is a bionic prosthetic, I was not trying to replicate Zola's procedure on you. The intention of my work is not to create another version of the Winter Soldier, but to help improve your quality of life. End of story."
His eyes were locked with hers the entire time, and hearing those words finally alleviated some of the lingering doubts in Kim's mind. No, he wouldn't be the kind of person who devoted his life to continuing HYDRA's schemes of world domination. Not after his family was killed by them. Pressing her lips together, she managed a nod for him.
Releasing her chin, he held up the tablet and pressed the screen at various points. "So Steve tells me you're quite the avid researcher of the Holocaust."
She was slightly taken aback. "Yeah, why?"
"Need to give you some background information," he glanced at her. "Tell me something: how much reading have you done on Nazi human experimentation?"
She froze, her stomach beginning that dreadful descent as the details from countless articles and history books came rushing back to her. "More than I thought I could take."
"But not enough to completely desensitize you, right?"
She shook her head. "Not by a long-shot."
"Then you'll probably want to prep your stomach for this."
She had a feeling she knew where this was going. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she watched through the screen as he tapped on a file folder, then handed the tablet to her. To her relief, it wasn't a graphic image, but a digital copy of what appeared to be someone's hand-written notes from long ago. She couldn't decipher the meaning behind them, as they were written in a foreign language, but 1939 was clearly scrawled in the upper right hand corner of the document. What unnerved her, however, was that there was already something eerily familiar about the formation of those cursive letters.
"Look familiar at all?" Stark prompted.
She nodded immediately. "This was written by Zola." She looked at him. "What is this?"
He crossed his arms over his chest. "If you swipe to the next page, you'll see the translations."
Doing so, she saw the same document, only this time it was surrounded by boxes of translations in the margins. Reading each one, she gradually felt the blood drain from her face. Trial #4: Subject is male. Jew. 24 years of age. Weight: 66.68 kg. Height: 187.96 km…Injected 14 CCs of serum 2294 into subject. Immediate spasms visible in pectoris major and SCM. Facial tissues began deterioration after 3 minutes, spread instantaneously to arms, hands, and torso. Resulting blood loss led to death 7 minutes later…Autopsy revealed evidence of massive disintegration of cardiovascular system. Outcome negative. Serum 2294 must go back to formula. Trial Status: Failure.
She swallowed, but it seemed to take her a full minute to do so. Deep down, she'd suspected that Zola had played a much bigger role in the Nazi's sick experiments than what she'd been led to believe, and now the proof was staring her right in the face. Trial #4. Just how many of these "trials" were there? Her voice was barely a whisper when she uttered, "Jesus."
"Not his style," he attempted to joke, though neither of them smiled. "Now, this is only going to get worse from here, kiddo: the next few images show the results of this so-called trial."
She took another breath and blew it out through her lips, silently grateful for his forewarning. Swiping to the next page, Kim's eyes widened in horror as her stomach lurched violently.
"Oh my…God!" She turned away, clapping a hand over her mouth. It had only been the briefest of glances, but it was enough to burn the image into her mind forever. "Oh, God…" She'd seen gruesome photos of mass graves, skeletal forms of malnourished prisoners, the pain-stricken faces of children who'd been crudely sewn together in the hopes of creating Siamese twins.
But none of that could have prepared her for what she saw in this black-and-white photograph. Oh God…oh God…Though her stomach continued to churn, she managed to push her revulsion aside and forced her eyes back to the screen, taking in the details of Zola's sadistic handiwork: a close-up of a dead man strapped to an exam table, whose flesh had melted almost completely away from his face…what used to be his face, anyway. Liquefied tissue and dark blood dripped from him like candle wax, revealing white patches of the skull underneath. His eye sockets were dark and empty, but that was because the eyes themselves had oozed out onto the table with the rest of the gore. No hair, no lips. Nothing discernible about the man he once was except for his crooked teeth. What struck her most was the way those jaws were wrenched open, as if in an endless, silent scream. She could almost imagine such a scream inside her head…
"Now you have an idea of what's been keeping me up at night," Stark offered. "Don't puke, okay? I'm prone to the whole domino effect if someone gets sick in front of me, so if you think you're going to let loose, I need as much forewarning as you can give me so I can grab you that trashcan over there. No one will find it pretty if they walk in here and find a huge mess of—"
Kim raised a hand, cutting him off. As sickening as the image was, she knew she wasn't going to throw up. Instead, she just sat there and continued to stare, her initial horror gradually morphing into an entirely different emotion: a great, overwhelming sense of sorrow. It took a couple of tries before she managed to whisper, "His name."
"There was nothing indicating an identity in any of the notes."
Tears blurred her vision and fell from her eyes once more, but she made herself to look at the next few photos anyway. Four in all. Each one accurately displaying the horrid autopsy results Zola had described. Trial #4. Trial #4. Her lower lip quivered. This young man once had a name, a family, perhaps a wife and children. But for the rest of her life, Kim would only know him as Trial #4. One of Zola's failed experiments. Lost just like so many other victims of the Holocaust.
"It looks like," she bit back a sob, "like he was…boiled from the inside-out."
"For lack of proper medical terminology, I'd say that's an apt description. Zola was renowned as a pioneer of genetic engineering back around the Depression era, but he found some veritable soul mates within the Nazi regime a few years later. It wasn't long before he was transferred to their science and research division, which we, of course, know and love as HYDRA," he said dryly. "I'm pretty sure you can venture a guess as to what it was he was trying to develop during those trials."
"Erskine's formula," she answered in a hushed voice.
He nodded. "When Steve successfully underwent the process to become Cap, the axis powers were scrambling to respond by replicating a super soldier serum of their own. In Erskine's absence, they were hoping Zola would be the one to crack that code."
Trying to create more versions of Steve…Tearing her eyes away from the tablet screen, she looked up at Stark with a tear-streaked face. "How many trials were there?"
"You sure you want to know?"
"Tony," she quietly pressed.
He gave a conceding look. "In total, eighty-seven."
She felt her eyes bulge, her stomach sinking even further. "Eighty-seven?"
"Yes."
She gaped at him disbelief. He'd done this to eighty-seven people? "You've seen them all?"
There was the barest hint of strain behind his eyes all of a sudden. "I have, and most of them didn't fare any better than this guy, but each time Zola restructured the serum, his trials gave way to different set of complications: dementia, cardiac arrest, severe brain damage, quadriplegia—"
"And they all died?"
His jaw seemed to tighten. "Not all of them died after undergoing the process, but those whose results were considered 'insufficient' were executed shortly after. He had a lot of time and plenty of Guinea pigs at his disposal before he got his hands on Barnes in 'forty-three."
If she wasn't already sitting down, her leg would have given out. One hand covered her mouth again as she sagged against the back of the chair, trying to stifle her sobs as she scrambled to make sense of it all. But that was the problem: there really was no good explanation for why he'd done this to so many innocent lives, which only served to leave her mind and heart reeling in anguish.
All those people. Jesus Christ, she silently lamented.
And Bucky. He could have suffered a similar fate if his unit had been taken before 1943…Shutting her eyes, another pair of hot tears streaked down her face. Monster. That monster, she clutched the tablet tightly in her other hand.
"No doubt you're wondering what all this has to do with your leg," he pulled the screen from her grasp, probably fearing that she'd crush it, "but I'm coming to that. There's no question that Zola had a brilliant mind, but the slimy little toad was never going to be a candidate for the Noble Peace Prize with HYDRA's credentials on his résumé." He tapped a few icons as he spoke. "After going through those files, though, even I had to admit how incredible it was seeing how his knowledge of genetics crossed into the realm of bionic engineering. I only needed to glance at these photos of Barnes to know that the design of his arm was nothing short of a technological masterpiece."
He handed the device back to Kim, her eyes saddening at the familiar image of Bucky from long ago, strapped to an operating table during what was labeled Этап 5. Phase 5. The final procedure needed to fully attach that arm to his body. It was a picture she'd first come across on Saturday. She sniffed, suddenly wondering how much pain he'd endured during the entire process. "Why didn't you send the Nazi files when you sent me the information on HYDRA?"
"Your grandmother's dying, Kim," he said sympathetically. "The last thing I wanted to do was contribute to your heartache by bringing up a subject like this."
Although his words filled her with gratitude, she found she couldn't take her eyes off the screen. Absently, she stroked a thumb over the image of Bucky's newly attached arm. "That arm—it's not just a bionic prosthetic. Zola actually made it part of him."
"You're right about that. Somehow, they managed to successfully and—as far as I can tell—permanently link it to his peripheral nervous system, which would explain why he has complete motor control over the device. That procedure must have taken a team of specially-trained surgeons to pull off, and modern medicine has a long way to go before becoming that sophisticated in their techniques."
Kim listened closely, grimly fascinated not only by this glimpse into Bucky's past, but also by the idea that such a procedure had been made possible. Permanently connecting a bionic limb to one's nervous system. Incredible. Risky, perhaps, but incredible nonetheless.
"It really is hands-down incredible," Stark went on, "but it's a damn shame Zola chose to turn it into something so grotesque. Still, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to build something significantly better than what HYDRA had intended it for, and I especially couldn't pass it up when you're the first person who could benefit from a project like this."
Something entered her line of vision, and she looked at the Kleenex box Stark was offering to her. She mumbled a thanks as she grabbed a tissue.
He set the box back on the opposite end of the counter while she wiped her eyes. "Zola's unethical practices with gene manipulation destroyed more lives than I can count, and in the process, he turned your uncle—who was once a good soldier—into a vicious weapon. I showed you this because I need you to understand that there is a vast difference between the kind of work he did, and what I'm trying to do now. I'm not out to ruin anyone's life, Kim, which is why I will never take that route with another human being. Ever." He leaned down to place a hand on her shoulder, making sure he had her full attention. "And that leg that you wear might have been inspired by Barnes' arm, but it's ultimately a design that came from my mind, not Zola's. You are not a continuation of his work."
An overwhelming sense of relief flooded her chest, and she pressed the tissue back to her eyes as her sobs became a little steadier. She'd needed to hear that. Badly. Needed to hear that what she wore was a product of Stark Industries, and not HYDRA. Needed to be assured that Sammy wouldn't be in any immediate danger if he eventually received legs like this someday. Needed to know that Stark would rather drop dead than turn her into one of Zola's oddities, and that her future was not going to glorify his twisted legacy.
Not his work…not his work, she repeated to herself.
I'm not his work…but part of me is still like Bucky…
For a time, Stark—who'd grown accustomed to moments like this—remained quiet, giving her a chance to get it out of her system before speaking again. "You okay?"
I'm okay, she thought, eventually lifting her gaze back to his. "What Zola did…" Trailing off, she just shook her head. "I don't want that to happen ever again, Tony. To anyone."
She blinked when he brought his thumb to her cheek, wiping away one last tear she hadn't felt escape. "You and I are on the same page, Kim," he took back the tablet, laying it on the counter, "which is why I need to ask for your help."
There was no hesitation on her part. "What do you need me to do?"
Almost instantly, a glimmer of approval returned to his eyes. "Just like that, huh?"
"For all you've done for me? Yeah."
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "If I haven't told you lately, you're a good kid."
Mirroring his expression, Kim gave a small half-smile of her own.
"That being said, what I want you to do is put your blog on hiatus for the time being."
Her brow furrowed at his request. "Hiatus? Why?"
"So you can focus on doing some private research for Stark Industries."
Research? Now curious, she tilted her head. "On what?"
"The physical changes you encounter with this prosthetic as you increase the intensity of your workouts. But instead of sharing your results and experiences with Iron Wings and the rest of the world, I want you reporting everything directly to me."
"But so many of them have been following that blog since I—"
He lifted a hand, silencing her. "I'm sure they'll understand you needing to take a break with Rebecca's condition. Trust me when I say this is in the best interests of everyone involved."
That protective edge had returned to his voice, causing her eyes to narrow in thought. "What are you thinking, Tony?"
He sighed very softly. "It's hard to say what'll occur as you continue to gain strength, but we need to see if certain abilities become amplified as a result," he rubbed at his goatee with one hand. "That bouncing you're experiencing could merely be a precursor of other things to come."
Her eyes never left his. "And if it is?"
"Then I'll be a lot more at ease knowing that we're the only ones with access to my designs, and any data we collect along the way," he shoved his hands into his pockets. "What you've stumbled upon could be a clue to unlocking some great potential with this piece, and I can't have that information falling into the wrong hands."
As that gradually sunk in, her eyes widened slightly. "You didn't…"
"No, not intentionally," he practically read her thoughts. "But if I somehow put you on the path to acquiring some sort of superhuman ability, then I'd rather it be you than anyone else."
Me? She stared at him incredulously. "Why?"
"Because I know you're not the kind of person who'd abuse power that's given to you."
"No," she automatically answered, in spite of the uncertainties currently swimming within her. "I wouldn't do that." And she meant it.
He bent closer to her, making it clear that he wanted her to listen. "The fact that you're Steve's friend had little to do with my decision to make you the recipient of my prototypes. It's because I trust you implicitly, Kim." A knock sounded at the door, and Stark went over to answer. "You obviously understand the value of power, but you also recognize the responsibility that goes along with it."
As Stark greeted and spoke to her PT, she released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. According to her past talks with Steve, Erskine had said something very similar to him the night before injected with the serum.
God, Steve…
Distantly, she heard Stark explain that they needed fifteen minutes to recalibrate her prosthetic before she was ready to begin her session, which was met with an agreeable response. Once he'd shut the door again, he crossed back over to the exam table to retrieve her metal leg.
"Another thing I want to point out," he came back to stand beside her, "is that you've been nothing short of selfless in your work for me since day one. I've seen the way you interact with people in the group; the way you encourage them; the way you work tirelessly with these models in order to expedite the process of getting them on the market. You clearly give more of a damn about others than you do about yourself."
Staring at the prosthetic, she very evenly stated, "I want them to have better lives."
"And that right there sums up why you're the best person for this task." Then he sighed somewhat reluctantly. "However, I ultimately don't want to pressure you into doing something you're not comfortable with, so…I'm going to give you a choice. We can remove the implant entirely, and have you go back to wearing your previous C-model until—"
"No," she answered quickly, and Stark cocked his head as he waited for her to go on. Gathering her thoughts, she said, "I don't want to do that."
"You don't?"
"No," she reached out to stroke one hand of the prosthetic's metallic surface. "Having this leg has already changed everything for me, Tony, and I'd rather help you learn more about it than lose it completely." She met his gaze once more. "And you said you want to help me control whatever's going on with it, right?"
"Right."
"Okay," she nodded. "So then teach me how to control it."
He was smiling softly before she'd even finished speaking. "So you're agreeable to working on the project with me?"
She took an extra moment to consider that. "Will you send me all the files on Zola's involvement with the Nazis?"
The request had him eyeing her carefully. "Is this out of morbid curiosity, or just further fascination with events pertaining to the Holocaust?"
Her voice was steady as she proclaimed, "I need to know everything that Zola did to those people. I just…" Need to know everything that led to what he eventually did to Bucky, she whispered to herself. "I need to see it for myself."
For a several seconds, he simply looked at her with what she could only describe as a kind of grim respect. "I'll send them to you later today, but on one condition: promise me that you'll wait until things calm down in your life before you even consider looking at those files."
You mean wait until after Grandma's gone, she thought sadly. Still, he was doing everything he could to soften that blow, and his request wasn't at all unreasonable. Nodding, she told him, "Okay."
"Promise," he insisted.
Yeah, you've been talking to Steve way more than you want to admit, she thought with a subtle half-smile. "Promise."
"Good. Shake on it, then? It's not official until we shake on it."
Her smile grew as she reached out to accept the hand he offered. "Satisfied?"
"That I am," he released her from his grasp. "And just so you know, you'll receive a raise in pay for your efforts."
At that, her eyes widened a little. "But you already pay me—"
He raised a hand. "Don't even think about arguing with me on this one. Your research is good, Kim—really good—and that's been translating into every single one of your posts. Your accounts are thorough, organized, thought-provoking, surprisingly fluid with your writing style; plus, as is evidentiary by last night's entry, you're not afraid to put yourself at risk by examining the potential flaws you discover with your prosthetics. The very least I can do is compensate you for all the work you've put into this organization."
She chewed on her lower lip. He'd been paying her to maintain the Iron Wings blog the past few years, though she hardly felt worthy of the generous compensation he'd been providing her. "You do so much for Grandma and me, and I just…" She sighed heavily. "Aunt Laura's going to ask more questions abou—"
Again he cut her off. "One: it's none of her damn business," he said with a stern look, though it was hardly directed at her. "And two: you let me take care of matters with your aunt when the time comes. Rebecca and I have already made some very specific arrangements, and Laura and I are going to be sitting down to have a one-on-one chat at some point."
"What are you…" She started to ask, but Stark shook his head once.
"Don't worry about it, Kim. I'll take care of the things Rebecca has asked me to do."
She bowed her head, knowing he'd had the final word on the matter. There's no way I'm ever going to be able to thank you enough, she thought to him. "I owe you so much."
"You're providing me with vital information that I've been able to integrate into my current technological research," he knelt in front of her, placing the leg back against her stump. "You've done more than your fair share to earn it." Kim assisted him as he slipped the leg back into place, and with a short turn, they heard it lock back into place with a softer pfft! "Groovy," he smirked.
She had to smile at his Ash Williams reference. "So, have you given this project a name already?"
"The project itself, no, but," he went to grab his tablet from the counter again, re-activating the screen, "I'm glad you asked anyway, because I finally settled on a moniker for this particular model."
"You have?"
"Indeed I have, and I'd like to see if it meets with your approval."
"Why? Is it something nerdy?"
His face gave away nothing as he tapped on a file, then handed her the screen. "See for yourself, kiddo."
On display was the familiar summary sheet for her prosthetic—which consisted of 3-D images and paragraphs of obscure data—and she glanced at the new title prominently displayed across the top of the page. What had once been simply referred to as Prototype #5 now had a new name:
Really Elegant Bionic Equipment Can Conquer Anything
She re-read it. Twice. A genuine smile slowly spreading across her lips as tears began welling in her eyes. She looked up at Stark, and a knowing look passed between them. That mnemonic device…He'd named this model REBECCA.
"Since I can actually see your teeth now," he said, "I take it you approve."
Kim released a small laugh, letting the tears just spill over as she looked up at him. "How could I not?"
"I thought it'd be a fitting tribute to the person who means the most to you," Stark explained.
That is was. Not that she didn't have incentive before, but now she had even more of a reason to figure out the intricacies of how this leg worked, and how to control what was occurring with it. From now on, wearing it would be a way of honoring her grandmother and keeping her near, and she refused to let her down. Ever. "Thank you," she said sincerely, wiping the tears away.
"It's been my pleasure, Kimbo. I mean that."
"And hey, it beats getting a tattoo," she remarked.
Stark chuckled. "Oh yeah, I'll bet Rebecca would be thrilled if you got yourself inked in her memory," he said sarcastically.
She smiled. It was a well-known fact that one thing Rebecca Proctor absolutely detested was tattoos, and whenever Kim entertained the idea of getting one, she'd get the tired old speech of If God wanted you to have markings on your body, He'd have sent you here that way. Okay, Grandma, she mentally replied out of habit. No; what Stark had done instead would be a better way to immortalize her.
"I think we've had enough time to ourselves in here." Standing to his full height once more, Stark held out a hand to her. "Now, what do you say we go out there and see what's making REBECCA tick, hmm?"