Winter is coming
I like the weapons that were found for me, Nick approved of them, Tony is already planning to add them to my action figures (that finally have some action to be doing) when it gets out that I have signature weapons, and everybody seems happier that I'm not going to be helpless. I start to work on new versions of the fan and the poleaxe; the ones I was given are absolutely functional, but there's no doubt about it--to play in high-stakes superheroing, style counts a lot. I look at photographs from museum collections for inspiration, and I start by working on the tessen. My reading indicates that war fans' real beauty is in their multifunctionality--different kinds can be used to parry blows, for signaling, as a hand fan, as a club, fending off arrows and darts, as a throwing weapon, and as an aid in swimming. I watched YouTube videos--a lot of them had people flipping them around and looking like they were auditioning for movies, but there were some very good ones that showed how they could be used in combat and self-defense, including how to immobilize an attacker. I used a heavier alloy that would be rust-proof, unlike earlier iron models, and allow for full strikes and blocking without being crushed or mangled. The textile division produced a couple of pieces of silk woven with metal threads, treated to resist stains, punctures and tearing where it would be attached to the fan. One piece was charcoal colored, woven in a tiny repeating pattern that looked like maple leaves, and the other was an elegant colorful design of a branch of cherry blossoms painted on the silk. I made two of the fans, liking the stealth aspect of one and the signalling capability of the other. And they were fully functional as a hand fan, which would be helpful in missions during the summer. I darkened the metal of the stealth fan so it didn't gleam, but left the cherry blossom fan's ribs with a silver satin finish. I put a pebbled texture on the guards, the outside metal spokes where I'd be handling it, to improve grip, and called them done. After awhile, nobody came by my workshop because I was always pouncing on them to test a move I'd seen in the YouTube videos or working to make them an ingrained response. Steve let me practice on him and Tony during our workouts, so that helped keep me motivated. Tony's master showed me pressure points on the body where I could strike and at least distract an opponent.
Then I started to work on the poleaxe. I selected a beautiful piece of ash wood for the shaft, feeling that if this wood worked for baseball bats, archery longbows, and the frame for Morgan cars, it should hold up to a few supers or mercenaries. I stained it rosewood and constructed a pierced metal sleeve for it that would provide additional strength as well as an attractive element. I fluted the top spike for aesthetic purposes, and etched a floral design similar to the one on the seams of my uniform pants on the blade, which was also made to curve gracefully. My research had shown a lot of variation in all three components of the poleaxe, but perhaps the hook part was the most modified; in some places it was replaced by something that looked like a meat tenderizer, allegedly for bashing through plate armor. I decided to stay with the hook, used for catching something and moving it toward you since I could use it to force somebody off balance. It looked elegant and wicked, and it was etched as well. The only part of any of these weapons that were sharpened was the blade of the poleaxe. I chose the metal carefully so the balance of the weapon would be ideal for me and I used a dead tree near the workshop to practice with it. I was a lot more comfortable with a tree than the prospect of slicing my friends or puncturing them.
As for the weapon I'd found for myself, I approached that with extreme care. The urumi was essentially a flexible metal sword that was wielded like a whip. I could immediately see the potential for disaster, especially when learning how to use it, but this was one weapon where my skin condition would be a real help; I wouldn't be able to cut myself while learning if I protected my eyes. Before investing a lot of effort into making this thing, I ordered a bullwhip to see if I could even use it. And why I developed a certain amount of skill, I didn't really feel comfortable, and training with the metal version would take up a lot of time. Reluctantly, I abandoned the urumi in favor of the two weapons I had that I knew I could use pretty well.
As fall deepened and prepared for winter, the big excitement was that Bucky was coming out for a visit. Tony and I had talked off and on about loss, regrets, lost opportunities, and blame as I'd tried to beat him up with my fans in practice sessions, and he hadn't made any objections when Steve had tentatively brought up the idea in a team meeting. One afternoon, as the light was gently fading away, Steve brought Bucky up to the rec room. I watched over my Kindle as Steve introduced him to those he didn't know; most of the Avengers were friendly. Natasha, having faced him in combat, was a little more wary, and Tony, while he didn't shake Bucky's hand, was curt but not hostile. I caught Steve's eye, and he raised his eyebrows. I lifted one shoulder in a little shrug, then Steve brought him over to me.
I stood and put out my hand. "Nice to see you again, Mr Barnes." He shook my hand in bemusement, and we sat. We started to chat about the house, his forays into gardening. It was interesting to see the changes in him. Although our first encounter had been brief, he'd had a depressing air about him. Now, although darkness would probably always be with him, he smiled like it didn't hurt and seemed more wary than weary. His demeanor warmed as we talked.
"Why do you call him Mr Barnes but use his nickname if we talk about him?" Steve wanted to know.
I shifted, a little embarrassed. My grandparents, who had had a big hand in raising me, had taught me to use surnames for people unless invited to use their given names. Manners had relaxed a lot, but I didn't know where the Winter Soldier stood on the topic, so I thought I'd give him the respect of the old-fashioned address. "'Mr Barnes' is a little cumbersome as a reference, don't you think? And I don't know him well enough to use a nickname." I wasn't ready for Bucky's grin. Wow. I could totally see the ladykiller of Steve's stories.
"You can definitely call me Bucky," he said. I smiled back. It was impossible not to.
As the conversation continued, the other Avengers, including Tony, drifted over to listen, then started joining in. It was an excellent result, and I tried to monitor everybody's reactions. Then we went to the caf for dinner, then back to the rec room to have some fun. Pretty soon, Wanda had coaxed Bucky to play video games with her and Tony had joined Steve and me at the pool table. I counted that as a good sign. We did not discuss Bucky at all; instead, we talked about a trip Natasha, Wanda and I had taken; a girls' night out. We'd taken a quinjet to New York, left the jet to be loaded with some parts for the jet under development, changed, and had dinner at a trendy restaurant before going to see 'Hamilton.'
After the game, which Steve won, we stood at the pool table discussing the merits of singing, rapping, and dancing Founding Fathers, and Tony said he should have come with us.
"Didn't know you had an interest in musical theater," I said. Tony did jazz hands and a kick-ball-change. Steve grinned. "The larger problem is that you're not a girl." Steve snorted, and Tony had no rejoinder.
"Mind if I join you?" Bucky said tentatively, and I saw that Vision had taken his place at the video games. We all looked at Tony, who clipped out "Sure" after a moment, and Steve and Bucky teamed up against Tony and me. Best of three turned into best of five, then best of seven, but in the end, Tony and I squeaked a hard-fought victory. I said goodnight, having some research I had to read before work the next day, and left, Torburn and Sigurd racing ahead to play in the cold air. Tony caught up with me about halfway to the residence. We walked in silence for a bit.
"I was really impressed with you back there," I said abruptly.
Tony smiled slightly. "He's not so bad. If you can get past the whole parent-killing thing." I nodded, and we dropped the conversation. I patted his arm as we separated at the residence.
The next morning I was working to come up with a suitable metal for the quinjet interior--weight was an issue, but safety and strength couldn't be compromised. Finally I took a break, grabbed my poleaxe and walked outside. Then I walked back inside and grabbed a fan, trying to establish the habit of having one with me. I set to work with the tree, jabbing with the point, slashing with the blade. You don't have to be skilled to use a poleaxe, just strong.
"What did the tree ever do to you?" a voice behind me said, and I whirled to see Steve and Bucky.
"Better the tree than me," Steve said self-protectively.
"Come at me," Bucky said abruptly, stepping forward. His stance, his way of carrying himself changed, and I figured that I was seeing the transformation into the legendary assassin.
"Buck--" Steve said, and was cut off by a gesture. Bucky's eyes and expression went flat, and he stepped toward me. I slashed instinctively with the blade, clanging against the metal arm. I stepped back and lowered the poleaxe, which irritated Bucky.
"That's my best work!" I said. "I don't want to hurt it." Steve looked at the area where the blade had hit and shook his head; no damage. Bucky strode toward me, and I jabbed at him with the spike, using the additional reach the weapon gave me, but he swatted away my attacks and in a swift move disarmed me, the metal arm pressing into my throat, cutting off my air.
"Fight like you mean it," he growled into my ear as my fingers clawed uselessly on the metal. His words stiffened my spine and I jerked the tessen off my belt, smacking Bucky's head hard with it, making his grip loosen. I belted him again to get away and picked up my other weapon. This time the sparring wasn't practice. I knew I was up against an assassin even more ruthless than Black Widow, and while deep in my head I knew he wasn't going to kill me, he was so scary that I put everything I had into it. My big victory was using the hook on his ankle to take him down, but he was right back up and it was just a matter of time before I was down and out.
Bucky stepped back, hands raised, and I collected my weapons from the ground. "You need to find an opponent so you can really learn how to fight," he said, more friendly although the attitude of the Winter Soldier clung to him like shadow armor. "What is that thing?" he asked, pointing to the tessen, which I'd never unfolded.
"Nuh-uh," I said, shaking my head and folding my arms. "I'm not giving away even a small advantage."
Unexpectedly, Bucky grinned and the aura of the assassin dissipated. "Well done," he said. "Never give away more than you have to." He rubbed his head where I'd really cracked him with the tessen.
Steve grinned at me, and we got to the real purpose of the visit, which was to show Bucky the workshop. He was interested and asked intelligent questions, then they took their leave and I got back to work.
By the time I came in for dinner, video of my trouncing had made the rounds. Nick sat beside me as I was tasting the soup and asked me questions about the training bout which I answered to the best of my ability. Nick nodded.
"You looked scared," he said conversationally, and I flushed. "What would you have done if he'd been there for you?"
"I would have used my weapons and tried to get into my workshop," I said instantly.
"You've trapped that too?" Steve asked, apparently remembering the workshop where I'd met him, and I nodded. Nick perked up at that, and I explained in no detail that I had some self-defense stuff built in. There was no point to it; now that he knew, I knew Nick would be poking around until he found out what they were, and I thought I'd let him have his fun. Some were obvious; the bleeding-edge glass that could survive anything less than a daisy-cutter bomb almost unscratched. Other aspects, like the nightingale floor on the porch, were subtle and completely low tech; but the weapons designers had also outfitted my workshop since it was a freestanding structure and there was no way that the whole compound could be perfectly defended.
"Why didn't you do that?" Bucky asked quietly, and those who were eavesdropping from the surrounding tables shut up to hear. "You know what I could have done to you."
"Because I felt, at that moment, that you were trying to teach me something," I said after some reflection. "I think that if you'd wanted to hurt or kill me that there would have been no fight."
I didn't add that I'd been too terrified to run.
Bucky and Nick got into a discussion about my defensive capabilities, and I ate. Steve ate too, although he was monitoring the conversation more obviously. They were still chatting when I left to do my homework for the next day. Somehow I wasn't surprised when Tony caught up with me.
"So what was it like facing off the Winter Soldier?" he said without preamble. "You looked like a mouse facing a leopard."
"Not the Winter Soldier," I said slowly. "It was Bucky; just because he's no longer programmed doesn't mean he doesn't still have the skills, though. I've never been so afraid in my life, and that takes into account both aircraft crashes."
"But you didn't think he'd kill you."
"No. If he came here to kill me, he would have and there was nothing I could have done but delay the inevitable for a few seconds. I felt that he wanted to give me something. Knowledge. Or experience. Because whacking the bark off a tree might have given me familiarity with the weapon, but there's nothing like using it against something that can fight back. He could have killed me four or five times before he even got his arm around my neck, and he could have snapped my neck easily." Tony grunted. "I think he was irritated that I don't train harder or more effectively. And besides, if he was here to kill anybody, it would probably be you." Tony stopped to consider this, and I went inside to hit the books.