The fallout is nuclear
"What are you thinking?" Bucky said after awhile.
"Various revenge scenarios," I said, drooping. "I don't see how they'd really help, though." We just sat there. Claws clicked on the wooden floor and I got up automatically for the bag of treats as they lined up. Bucky smiled.
"They've got you pretty well trained," he observed.
I would have smiled, but it was too much work. "What happened with you and Natasha?" I asked instead. Let somebody else be on the hot seat.
He poured some water. "Well, this whole mess, basically. You know Natasha, she's very goal oriented. She usually considers emotions as something to be manipulated. Doesn't take time to understand the feelings very often unless you hit her over the head with them. I had to ask her how she'd feel if Clint did that to her. She thought you should be grateful that the procedure worked and Steve was back. She doesn't really do guilt, which usually I understand. There's no point in dwelling on what you can't change, but I knew it wasn't good while we were doing it. I don't compartmentalize anymore. I want to face everything. But being able to separate things into boxes helps keep her together. Don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful Steve's back again, but the way we did it was wrong. She's an original Avenger, and she's fiercely devoted to the team and to Steve, they've been through a lot together. I visit Loki often, I know you send him new movies and books and letters. He's grateful, but he misses you. She got mad about that, saying that I wasn't there for New York and I should leave him to rot, but I know what it's like to be in solitary. She hasn't forgiven him for what he did to Barton. But sometimes I wonder if that stone thing wasn't influencing him as well." He shrugged. "When you left, Stark wanted me to track you down, but I wouldn't. Steve and I had a big argument about it. Stark finally came up with a PowerPoint presentation to show him what happened after his memory fuzzed out. I went through his boxes with him, he found his sketchbooks, his cell phone, all the cards of videos and pictures he'd taken of the parties and everyday and you. He watched the wedding ceremony again, looked at your album, the pictures of the honeymoon, spent some time in the visitors center. There was a government inquiry about... the situation. Tony didn't have to turn over anything because the doctors didn't create a new Super Soldier serum, they just worked on what was already there. Steve's memory started to come back. It's not perfect, there are still come gaps, but it's better than mine."
"I doubt very much if they brainwashed and tortured him," I said dryly. "Could account for the difference." The corner of his mouth turned up. "With your hair longer like that, you remind me of Aragon from the Lord of the Rings movies," I said absently. He huffed a laugh.
"So Natasha and I just...trailed away. Turns out that shared experiences only take you so far." He sat there, playing with the water glass.
"I can't go back, Bucky," I said steadily. "I'm still just barely holding on as it is."
He nodded, his eyes still on the water glass. "Do you miss it?"
"Honestly, it feels like it happened to somebody else, mostly," I said. "Then there are times when I know it happened to me. When that happens I can't really move for awhile. It's hard because I'm driven by facts. They're my anchor. I don't do well when it's just emotions. I wonder if I'm overreacting, but I can't help how I feel. And the fact is that there was a conspiracy to keep me from knowledge that I both needed and deserved. I remember how it felt to get a new challenge and how good it felt to do the work and find solutions or a way to do something. I can't imagine doing that now. I don't have the energy. I used to think I was part of a team. I don't feel like my feelings of belonging, of...helping, or whatever, went both ways." The tic started up in my eyelid again and I pressed to still it. "It's just dismaying to hear the emotional investment I had in the whole thing wasn't reciprocated. Even now, it's just, 'we're in a mess, we need somebody to straighten it out.' Like I'm a dog who can be brought to heel when people snap their fingers. Convenient." I looked over at my dogs, lying on the floor after their treats. "Not my dogs, though. Scotties in particular don't do obedience well. And I know that there were phone calls and emails, but I don't care. That's like sweeping up after a bomb went off. It doesn't address the bomb crater."
Bucky nodded and his hands fell away from the glass. "I thought you'd have recovered more," he admitted. "But I'm not the best judge of what to expect. And Stark says you quit talking to Con after you found out she and Tony were seeing each other and that she knew about Steve."
I snorted. "I understand the privilege of doctor-patient confidentiality very well. I understand it intellectually very well. But emotionally, knowing she was keeping that secret from me isn't something I can deal with. So I feel like she chose too. She chose Stark over me. It's not like she needed the money from his sessions, she's been one of New York's top psychiatrists for well over a decade now. It feels like a betrayal. We were friends for over twenty years." I shrugged and thought about that for a bit, remembering how we got to be such good friends. We'd been on the same floor on the dorm and had been friends, but it hadn't been until she'd been assaulted on a date--not raped, fortunately, although it was pretty close--that we became close friends as I helped her through that. And we'd been tight ever since, with an easing when she did med school and then when I went into the jungle and my emails got a lot more sporadic. We'd resumed our friendship when I got to Austria. I'd always thought we'd be friends forever, but forever turned out to be a lot shorter than I'd previously assumed.
'Stark wants you back to save us from ourselves. But I don't think you'd do it now even if you could." He looked at me steadily.
"I haven't done any work like I used to since I walked away."
"Not even that, although it's kind of a surprise to see you planting flowers. You always said that biology was the squishiest of all the natural sciences." He laughed. "You said once after a few too many drinks at a party that you liked your science the way you liked your men, hard and hands on. I hadn't known you very long at that point." I huffed an unwilling laugh.
"I came mostly to keep a lid on Steve and Stark, but I also have a favor to ask you." I frowned. "This is personal, not for the group, and I know it's an enormous imposition, so I wanted to talk to you alone. I understand if you don't want to do it." He wiggled, then sat up straight. "T'Challa's people developed some sensors for my arm that work like nerves. I'd be able to feel some sensations again. But they can't attach them because whatever metal you used for the arms isn't letting them. They don't stay on the metal. They could make me another arm, but I want this one."
I could see the problem. I'd tried to make the alloy as impervious to outside manipulation as possible, which explained the difficulties the Wakandan scientists were having. It would be cruel to deny Bucky the opportunity to have sensation again. I rolled my eyes at myself. I normally couldn't really make heads or tails of cruelty anymore, but here it was, staring me in the face. "I'm not going to Africa," I stated. "If you can get them to send the sensors to the States, I'll do it here. If you can keep it between us."
Hope blazed in his face and I felt like a shit for even considering saying no. Of course, it helped enormously that he'd apologized and it seemed heartfelt. "Ok. I'll send an email as soon as I hear?" His voice was tentative. I nodded. "Thanks. You'll never know how much this means to me," he said fervently, then he left. I trudged upstairs with my pups, and we went back to bed.
The sun had been up awhile when I woke up the next time, and I decided to treat myself to breakfast at the diner. The diner was busy but not crowded, and I smiled at the waitress as she came up with coffee. It kind of hurt. But then again, Marisa wasn't my favorite waitress; she was the prying type. "Quite the buzz around town," she said, plunking down a little pitcher of half and half. "Iron Man, the Winter Soldier, and Captain America in town. Going to your house. It's odd that your ex-husband needs world-class superheroes with him just to talk to you. Does he need that much protection? Or were they there to do more to you than talk?" She laughed.
I handed her my menu. "Short stack of buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and well-done sausage," I requested. "And an orange juice, please."
She didn't write down my order, just watched me. "I'm here for breakfast, not gossip," I said pointedly. Her eyes narrowed, still no writing of my order. "You might want to try having a life of your own if yours if salacious speculation about other people is the most interesting thing in yours," I said cuttingly. Her mouth hung open.
"You bitch!" My eyebrows raised. There went her tip. A gasp went through the nearby tables and I flushed. The owner came over, looked at us both, and told me to leave and not come back since I couldn't be civil. Apparently he thought I swore at the waitress. I didn't argue, just grabbed my purse and left.
I'd have to go to the other diner for breakfast now, and I didn't like their sausage as much. Maybe it was time to switch to bacon. Absorbed in my breakfast machinations, I almost ran right into Rogers. I crossed my arms over my chest tightly and started to walk around him. "Emma, come on," he said, his tone reasonable but with an edge on condescension. "We need to talk."
"The time for talk is past," I said, the hollowness that I'd felt for so long coming back. "It was over when you didn't tell me about your little plan."
"It was for your protection. That's not fair--"
"Bullshit! Don't you dare talk to me about fair! What did you think I needed protection from---you? Or did you just think "in sickness and in health" were just words? I'm not some fragile thing that shatters under pressure, I was your wife, goddamn you. I deserved to know." My voice was way too loud and there was too much emotion in it. People had come out of the diner and stopped on the sidewalks to watch. Too public. "For better or worse. Because they weren't just words to me. I meant them when I said them," I said, almost in a whisper, then I literally couldn't stop myself. I slapped him with all my strength. It was probably the best slap I'd ever delivered and it forced him back a good pace and a half. My palm felt like it was on fire. "You're a bunch of emotional cripples and I've had enough of friendly fire," I hissed at him. "Stay away from me."
I stomped off. By the time I got to the other diner, I had managed to focus enough on impending bacon to be able to eat. I was served here without comment. Then I went home and burrowed in the dirt all day. The pups helped me create a new flower bed. It was with quite a bit of irritation and annoyance that I realized, as I chopped vegetables for salad that evening, that something had changed in me that morning. Confronting Rogers had done something essential. I felt like my spine had returned after an extended vacation, god help me. My heart still felt like a pathetic muscle that had been worked over by a baseball bat, but my mind felt sharper and more in focus. I was done being a sad sack of water and cell membranes.
What that meant for my future, I didn't know.
The next morning, I went back for breakfast and picked up a copy of the local bi-weekly paper to read with my bacon and coffee. "Just a warning," my waiter said as he poured my coffee. "There's a letter to the editor in there about you." My heart sank as I thanked him for the alert, and I looked until I found the editorial page. I firmed my mouth and started to read.
"We've been hosting quite illustrious guests this week," the letter started. "Inspirational Avengers Captain America, Iron Man, and the reformed Winter Soldier have been spotted on the streets, apparently to visit the former Mrs Captain America, who has taken up residence in Breckenridge. The three superheroes aren't talking about why they are seeing the sights, and Emma Harrington isn't saying anything either.
"However, one of the waitresses at Calhoun's Diner apparently thought to taunt Harrington about her former husband. It wasn't until she made a nasty insinuation about the heroes' visit that Harrington told her to get a life and stay out of hers. The waitress swore at her, and the owner kicked Harrington out of the diner.
"Leaving the diner, Harrington encountered Captain America. From what was overheard, it sounds like the Captain did not inform his wife about the efforts surrounding his unexpected resurrection. Judging from the titanic slap she gave him, she hasn't forgiven him for whatever happened.
"I know practically everyone has at some point speculated about why Harrington came here and what happened to her marriage. You've probably heard people goading her about it; I heard somebody pointing out stories in magazines to her in the bookstore one day. But enough is enough, people. We should be compassionate and--" I stopped reading. The waiter put down my breakfast.
"Bit much?" he asked, putting down my orange juice and topping off my coffee.
"I thought, in a small tourist town, that people wouldn't care," I said. "Or that interest would wear off fast."
He smiled sympathetically. "For anonymity, you need a big city," he said, patting my shoulder, then moving away. As I poured syrup on my pancakes, I reflected that peace and quiet had its price. The question was whether I liked it enough to look past the snoopiness to stay.
I overheard in the grocery store that the Avengers had left town that morning, and relaxed a little. I settled back into my routine and went back to ignoring too personal comments and questions. The letter to the editor hadn't stopped anybody, and I never got an apology from the diner's owner. A couple of weeks later, I got an email from Bucky asking me if I could meet him in New York to do the arm. T'Challa was sending over a specialist with the sensors.
On the one hand, it would be good to do this project. On the other hand, barf. I bet the work would have to be done at the tower. And there wasn't any real reason not to, except that I just didn't want to set foot in it again. The desire to do the project perfectly won out over my reluctance, and I agreed to meet him there. I also texted Peter to let him know that I would be in town and wanted to see him. He texted back almost immediately and his enthusiasm made me smile. So I put the dogs in a luxury kennel down in Denver and caught a flight from Denver International Airport to New York. I got a window seat in first class. It was slower than the quinjet, but a lot more comfortable. And no attached memories. And booze.
Once in the city, I chose a good hotel at random and requested a room without a view of Stark Tower. I picked up Peter for dinner; May gave me a spontaneous hug and declined my offer to come with us. She had a date, and we exchanged grins.
"You're looking pretty good," Pete said over dinner. "I can't believe you're staying in such a small town, though."
"Feeling better." I poked around on my plate. "Denver isn't far, and it's a decent sized city."
"You're dinking around with flowers," he said with disbelief.
I pointed my fork at him. "Flowers are going to be very important in your future with the ladies, sunshine." He snickered.
"Don't you miss real work? Avenging?" he asked quietly.
I sighed. "I miss making a difference," I finally admitted. "I just can't go back to the team."
He was silent as we finished the entrees and ordered dessert. Peter's a growing boy, after all. He leaned in and smiled a crafty smile. "If you moved here, even part time, at least you could keep an eye on me." I dropped my fork and leaned back in my chair.
"Kid, you fight dirty," I said with resignation.