The fitting. And a vacation.
There was a flurry of activity on my part, as I got the package from T'challa containing the servos and the guts of what would make the arm work--I'm not an engineer, though I can follow instructions well enough to do the work--the directions, and the tools that had been used to take Bucky's measurements. I was glad to see them; it meant that there could be no discrepancies in the measurements due to differences, however slight, between tools, and the arm called for tolerances as tight as we could make them. Nick and T'Challa had gone to Siberia to the old HYDRA facility and stripped it clean. We--well, the personnel who did that sort of thing--did data mining on the computer records and had found plans for a new, hugely sophisticated arm for the Winter Soldier, and we were creating this for Bucky. It should do just about everything a biological arm could do except sweat and feel through nerves. I had a house for Bucky, in a commuter town outside the city, a freestanding single family residence with a yard in an older neighborhood; I was hoping that the Craftsman style of the house would be soothing, and it was quiet enough to relax but the city was just a train ride away. Clint's wife looked it over to make sure it was in good condition and recommended a company to repaint and refinish the floors. It needed a new furnace and water heater, and I had an AC unit put in as well, along with new kitchen appliances. I wanted to go out, but I was busy with the arm and other work, and we got called out a couple of times to fight the forces of evil. Plus, nobody was available to go with me.
Closer to the time Bucky was due, I had a conversation with Nick, a fairly lengthy one. When the various government agencies involved with clearing Bucky's name, doing press releases, resurrecting his Social Security number, updating his military records and getting him an honorable discharge, and a bunch of other things had finished their work, a diplomatic pouch went out to Wakanda with Bucky's passport, Social Security card, the military paperwork, all of it, and his return was scheduled. It must have been nice to return as a normal citizen instead of a hunted terrorist. I flew over early to New York with my work and also so that I could get some furniture in the house, shopping with a tolerant Clint in the background. I just did basic things, including what I thought might be the world's most comfortable sofa. T'Challa had gotten some preferences for me, and the walls had been painted in blues (Bucky's favorite color) with white trim; I got upholstery in darker grays so that it would look nice and modern. The mattress was quite firm, but I went with nice soft sheets and blankets. There were blinds instead of curtains, and where there were long-gone flowerbeds, I put in some low-maintenance bushes, including a few roses, nothing too high or dense for security reasons. Clint's wife and kids came over to help us set things up; she's a lovely woman. She and Clint had agreed to move the family to Seattle and were in the process of packing up, so taking the time away from their own concerns was especially thoughtful. As a thank you, I promised to babysit five times when they got resettled, so they could have some time by themselves. I finished up by setting up an account for expenses associated with the house and Bucky's resettlement at the local bank, and right on schedule, a dark sedan pulled up with T'Challa, Steve, Sigurd, and Bucky.
T'Challa greeted me; Steve looked a little nervous, patting me on the back, and finally I was face to face with the notorious Winter Soldier. He looked a lot less snappy than the news footage; he'd had a fresh haircut and instead of his armor, he was in a t-shirt and jeans. It was hot outside. While I felt that an inpenetrable stare was his normal facial expression, he managed a smile when we were introduced. I couldn't help it any longer.
I took his arm and tugged him toward the dining room table. "I'm so excited to see how this works, Mr Barnes," I said, babbling only slightly. "This is my first prosthetic, so I want it to be perfect." He sat down at the table, bemused, and took off his t-shirt. I kept my reaction to a blink--he was really cut-- and picked up an object, unwrapping it to a standard prosthetic arm. "I made this for you in case you don't want to draw attention with the deluxe model. When people see this, all they'll see is a guy who lost an arm, and there might be times when you want that anonymity. It's got the easy-lock collar, so changing them will be a snap one handed. If it works," I said nervously, and Bucky waited patiently as I slid it on, turned it to lock it into place, and stepped back. There wasn't much he could do with it, so it wasn't long before I unwrapped the second one.
"I made this as lightweight as possible, but it's still kind of heavy," I said worriedly, and handed it to him. He hefted it.
"It's lighter than the one I lost," he said in surprise.
"I wanted to make it easily detachable, in case of upgrades or if something needs repair," I said. "This cable attaches to the network in your shoulder and allows for the mechanical movement. It just snaps together," I gingerly connected the two assemblies "and the arm goes on." The collar worked smoothly with the part that had been surgically implanted. I checked the look; it was symmetrical with his other shoulder and arm; I'd put a satin finish on the metal so it didn't glare in the light and would hide scratches from normal wear and tear. "Give it a go," I encouraged, clutching a tool roll I'd brought with me just in case.
He started out moving his fingers, then rotating the wrist, testing the function of the elbow joint and shoulder. The servos operated silently and I couldn't hear any scrape of metal as the components moved. The design had metal and synthetic "muscles" under a flexible metal skin like a real arm, which, frankly, had been a bitch to make. HYDRA's notes didn't work, and I'd had some sleepless nights pummelling my brain for a solution. He stood for more vigorous motion, then stopped and examined it. Finally he looked at me and smiled, a real, full-on smile. "Thank you," he said. "This is amazing." I grinned back.
"You're welcome," I said, and tamped down hard on the urge to do a dorky happy dance in front of everybody.
Steve looked at me and smiled. "Go ahead," he said. "You deserve it." So I busted out a brief, heartfelt interpretive dance. T'Challa suppressed a snort, Steve just smiled, and Bucky looked at me like he didn't quite trust my sanity. Sigurd swayed with me in support.
After the success of the arm, I didn't have anything else to do and I didn't want to intrude, so I handed Bucky an envelope with the debit card and checks, a list of repair companies in case something went wrong with the house, the contact information for Constance, and my cell phone number. "Good luck,' I said briskly. "Let me know how the arm is working." Clint was waiting for me at the curb, and he drove me and Sigurd back to the hotel I'd chosen. We talked about how it had gone, and he told me that there was a car waiting for me in the hotel parking lot, giving me a card for the valet. I could have stayed at Stark Tower, which the others did when they were here, but I wanted to--not forget what I did for a living, but distance myself from it, just for the weekend.
"Nervous?" Clint asked as we negotiated the traffic.
"A little," I said. "I haven't been back since I left for South America. I'm kind of wondering if I'm doing the right thing. Nick compromised and agreed to Sigurd for my protection, but he's going as my support animal, which means explanations." Sigurd looked very handsome in his official service dog vest, but he was still a lot bigger than normal dogs, and he was going to cause a lot of comment.
"Just tell them that you were in a private plane accident," Clint said, shrugging. "It's the truth, and those aren't reported like commercial aircraft accidents." I nodded. I was already going to be telling people I worked for a firm with a confidentiality agreement, in order to avoid questions about my employment. "People will think you're with the CIA," he said, and we both laughed. "But you signed up last minute, so there really isn't much to be worried about security wise, you can just have a good time," he said by way of a pep talk, and then we were at the hotel. "See you Sunday," he said as I held the door for Sigurd and he got my bag out of the trunk.
I checked in and produced some paperwork that 'proved' that Sigurd was trained to a high behavioral standard as a support animal to allieiviate the concern of the front desk personnel, and then we went up. The room had a nice view...of the Stark Tower. Sigurd grumbled in his throat when we saw it, and I swept the sheers shut on the view. I had time to shower, then got ready for my high school reunion.