Android AU

[worthallthis]

Coming in out of the snow, he says, "Hey, Misty, I'm home."

Since the robot isn't even finished, let alone powered up, she's not actually able to answer. He doesn't care. It's not like he's got anyone else to talk to besides the cat, and the cat's not in here, out catching mice or maybe sleeping in the attached little barn.

"Got some parts that might finish you up, finally," he continues, stamping snow off his boots and hanging up his coat. The metal arm vibrates a little, trying to shake the cold from its circuits, and he puts a kettle on the stove before padding over to the mostly-finished robot in the corner and dropping his pack next to her. She doesn't look perfectly human, but she's as close as he can get with the spare parts he's been scrounging up on his trips out into the world.

What's left of the world, anyway. War and disease and famine have made a mess of things, and he's long since given up on trying to do what he can do to stop it, and just helps where he can. The arm makes him stand out, though. That and his general good health. It's getting harder and harder to keep a low profile, except among the one local group that considers him "theirs". Hence, android. With more clothes and a better wig, with a few upgrades once he knows he can make her work, she might pass better than he ever will, especially with the awkward way he imagine's she's going to move until he gets some better upgrades. Besides... he could use the company, way out here.

He puts together a little sandwich and mixes the cocoa into the hot water, then comes to see if what he's found can at least get her running.

It's late in the night, another sandwich and cocoa later, with only a brief break to let in the cat and give her a pet and dinner, that he finally sits back and says, "Well. Let's give this a try." And he reaches behind her, finds the series of switches, and sets them in their careful order. There's no one switch, there's a pattern. Then nobody can turn her off who doesn't know how.

Then he sits back to look up at her, and wait for her system to power up.

Comments

[shadowsran]

"A century?"

Now he's lost her. Brows descend and furrow, head lilts.

"What do you mean?"

[worthallthis]

"Let me eat that and have my coffee, and I'll give you the whole story," he says, a little wearily. "It's complicated. But I'm about a hundred and thirty years old, going by my birth year." Whatever that day actually is.

[shadowsran]

Her eyes widen, and with one urgent nod she fetches him silverware and sits.

He needs to eat, of course, and that's an important thing to have hanging overhead, so she.

Sits, silently. The silence she hopes is companionable.

[worthallthis]

Fortified with a couple sips of his coffee-- the caffeine doesn't do anything for him unless he drinks the whole pot at once, and that's wasteful; it's just a comforting effect, at this point-- and a couple bites of the omelet, he starts off. "Those people who started the war, who made the world the mess it is. They used to own me. Like someone would own say they owned you. They'd keep me in cryofreeze whenever there wasn't a mission or. Training to be done."

He skips past the word "programming", not wanting to confuse her.

"So I spent about seventy years in and out of cryo. That accounts for some of my age. The rest. Well, I'm enhanced by more than just the arm. I've got an enhanced metabolism that apparently also keeps me from aging as fast as most humans do." He's got a handful of silver hairs, now, but by all rights he really ought to be an old man, not looking like he's just hit 40.

[shadowsran]

Horrendous, horrendous abuse of her owner. Or not-owner. Director.

"I'm sorry," she says, reflexive, but somber. "Are there any complications? Conditions? Things I could look out for-?"

[worthallthis]

"Just needing to eat a lot," he assures her. "Occasional nightmares. Some leftover scraps of conditioning, but that's mostly the useful stuff, so it doesn't get in the way of anything." He doesn't disassociate anymore, hasn't in over a decade; flashbacks happen now and then, but not often enough or bad enough that she'll have to deal with them. He tries to think through what about his life wouldn't be close enough to normal to worry her. "Might be a panic attack on rare occasions, but I know how to manage those myself, you don't have to worry about them."

[shadowsran]

He says that, but she's slotting what incredibly limited information she has about calming techniques and helping people through fits into higher tiers of priority before the last word is out of his mouth. This is her purpose, s help her, she'll be serviceable.

"Does anything help the nightmares?"

[worthallthis]

"Not really," he shrugs, after another couple bites of omelet. "They come when they come. Just get myself some cocoa and a book, then go back to bed when I'm calmed down enough. Or not, if it's close to dawn."

He flashes her a brief, apologetic smile. "Sorry, you managed to get the slightly banged-up roommate."

[shadowsran]

"Oh, I don't mind at all! I just want to make sure I'm not any hindrance, and make sure I'd know how to best help in an emergency. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

Worst case scenario. And, almost on a humored note, she's sure to raise a hand and flex her fingers, displaying exactly how much fine-tuning the delicate joints could do with undergoing.

"Banged up doesn't mean anything."

[worthallthis]

He chuckles, then reaches across the table with his own metal hand to give hers a gentle high-five. "Yeah, okay, point taken. We're both a little banged up, and we'll do just fine. If I think of anything you can do about me, I'll let you know. For now, I've got a timeline for you, and some new terrain data for your internal maps, and I can show you around my plot of land. Then we can do something about those finger gears."

[shadowsran]

"After breakfast, then?" Good news, all of that, and as eager as she is to be more properly updated for this new user, new uses, he comes first. The hand hardly phases her beyond functionality. If that portion took years to reach, she wouldn't be any more terse.

"I'll be happy to get to work."

[worthallthis]

"Yeah, I know the feeling." He remembers that aimless feeling without having anything to do. It still crops up, now and then, but he has enough to actually do, and set "when I'm bored" tasks that are technically "fun" but which he still has to fucking assign himself like jobs, that he can manage. He'll have to find things to keep her busy now, too. Hopefully more time spent on the road will mean less busy work for both of them.

He finishes up the omelet, and takes the plate to the sink. "I'm not sure about your joints' ability with water yet, so I'm gonna do the dishes, all right? You can hang out in here with me, though." Not like there's that many places to go.

[shadowsran]

His objection is a practical one, so she agrees without reluctance or dissatisfaction. The wisest course of action is caution. Remaining seated, she's grateful they can at least keep conversing.

"How soon will there be work, helping others?"

[worthallthis]

"We can do a little bit from here in the cabin, and the area around it," Bucky answers, over the sound of the water running in the sink and dishes-- and metal hand-- clinking together. "I've got some raw materials here we can use to make things. I'll be doing some hunting so we can freeze and smoke some meat. But we're not heading out to other towns until winter's over. It's January now and I was gonna take you out in late March, so that's two months or so until the snow starts to melt. Nobody will believe we made it down the mountain in this cold. I can show you around the one just down the mountainside in late February, they already know I'm weird, but they don't need our help as much as other places out there."

[shadowsran]

Information to take in, sort through, and ultimately confirm with a dutiful little nod.

"Am I in inadequate condition for hunting, or is it about specialization?" She doesn't have any experience whatsoever, but there's a degree of improvisation, imitation, a decimal's worth of spontaneity, she's capable of aping and learning. A clearer outline of her function, whatever his answer.

[worthallthis]

"Nah, you don't need to hunt. Pretty sure you won't be very stealthy out there, no matter how well I reinforce your joints," he says apologetically, setting the cleaned dishes aside to drip dry and using a dish towel on his hands. "Your job is mostly going to be interaction. Trade, support, negotiation. Medical help and sharing intel. Things a big, scary guy like me gets rebuffed for. I'm going to be your guard. We'll strike out together for towns that need help."

[shadowsran]

"Understood." A mission statement and a purpose. She'll serve well.

"You're rebuffed for those things?" He's big, objective truth. But he seems so kind.

[worthallthis]

"I'm big, strong, healthy, and enhanced." He sets the towel down, moves to the bookcase over by the workspace he'd had Misty in, pulling out a couple of books: one neatly made, one clearly handwritten. "And some people still have stories of how the war started. I was involved, and I'm pretty singular. I may have switches sides, but not everyone knows that. As soon as someone figures out I'm that guy, it's over."

He brings the books to the kitchen table. "These are histories of what happened. You should know. One of them's an official record, made at a publishing house and everything, the last of them left in America as far as I can tell. The other one's mine."

[shadowsran]

"Would they harm you?" She asks, with concern that could almost be mistaken for timidity it leaves her tone to inoffensively soft. He has to be safe. It's her job to ensure he's as well off as possible.

Thumbing the topmost cover, she waits for an answer before beginning to read. Both could be done at once with no focus lost or wires crossed, but it's another of the scripts for comfort. Eye contact. Limited multitasking. Prioritization.

[worthallthis]

"Nah. They might try, but nobody's managed in a long time. I can handle the kind of shit people can pull, for the most part."

The top one is the official one, and it's longer, with some details of HYDRA's early years during World War II and how it wriggled its way into SHIELD and half the governments of the Western world before it gets to Insight Day maybe a third of the way in. The chapter before that had been on Captain America's unfreezing and fight with the Avengers in New York, and then his death at the hands of the DC Hostile, the Fist of HYDRA.

Well, at the end of his rifle, anyway. The book doesn't include any of his actual names. Not the Asset, not the Winter Soldier, certainly not Bucky goddamn Barnes. He likes it better that way.

Bucky collects some mending of his own from his laundry and settles in opposite Misty at the table. "Feel free to ask me any questions that come up."

[shadowsran]

With a nod, she sets about reading. Intake of information was a point of specific care when it came to updates, as she settled into her hastily applied role as lab assistant. There are handicaps applied, memorization at a glance unnerved people, but not many. Her typical company were, in fact, lab types with no need for fostered attachment.

All of this to say, she clears the first book quite quickly.

Upon finishing, he has a question.

"There were aliens?"

[worthallthis]

"I know, kind of crazy, right? I mostly missed that part," Bucky admits, shaking his head with a little smile, and without actually looking up from the neat stitches he's making in a shirt with a torn-out sleeve. He's been busy while she reads, and the mending pile is about half where it was when she started. "But I've verified it. There were definitely aliens."

[shadowsran]

"Are they a continued threat?" She asks, solemnity softened only by the fact he seems amused and that indicates an answer already. Secondary is, "And you were the Hostile?"

[worthallthis]

"No. The one invasion back in 2012 was dealt with, the portal was closed. The Aesir show up now and then, or one of them does. He helped the last of the Avengers take out the last of the helicarriers. But he's not a threat." Bucky's never actually met Thor, but he's seen him from a distance. Done a little sniping on his behalf.

He tosses the shirt into the "mended but now needs cleaning" pile, picks up a pair of jeans that need a back pocket re-stitched on, after getting torn off by some half-hidden barbed wire. "Yeah, that was me. I switched sides shortly after that mention in the history books. But that was still me."

[shadowsran]

She nods with a literal absence of judgment, clarification accepted. It isn't her position to puzzle over morals or doubt his honesty. Even if he were dishonest-- the functions are the same. It's all in the name of better serving, better understanding.

"I'm going to start the second now," she announces, to signal a pause in discussion. The more pressing matters settled, the rest can wait until she's taken in the second volume.

As before, it's speedy reading. Both books are slid gently back toward him, to indicate she's finished.

"You've lived a very complicated life," she surmises, "And things seem very difficult currently. I'll help however I can."