So this was my first fic ever. (!) I owe so many people for inspiration and direction, especially Megan for kick-starting me. (Hola, girl. See you in July!) I love these guys to pieces, and writing historical fiction has always been a dream of mine. With this I got to put the two together! Thanks to the conflicting stories surrounding the pre-Captain America Steve Rogers I stick to the MOVIES ONLY in creating all my stories in this arc. Also gives me a much broader canvas to work with. Totally canon-compliant (I think!).
Any constructive criticism is welcomed, especially regarding historical accuracy.
Dedicated to my sis. To the end of the line, girl!
Prologue
3 AM, July 3, 2017
Yuty, Paraguay
Steve Rogers fumbles with his key, finally getting the motel room door to open. The cool of an air conditioned interior rolls over him. He enters the dark room, and softly shuts the door behind him, before pausing to listen. He can hear snores coming from the bedroom; Sam is asleep.
With a sigh, he makes his way to the couch without turning on the light. He flops down, reaching for a water bottle on the coffee table, gulps half of it down. He hopes Sam doesn't know about these little excursions. The combination of constant hiding, brooding over Tony Stark and the rest of his Avengers 'family', and wondering why Bucky hasn't Skyped him in two weeks eliminates any possibility of sleep. At least, until he's worn himself out physically. But being a super soldier, the only safe time to run is at night.
He spots the glow of his phone, tucked half under his pillow; he always leaves it behind when he's running. Untying his shoes, he kicks them under the table, grabs his phone, and stretches out on the couch; the sweat has dried, and he's happy with sleeping in his clothes.
There is a voicemail waiting for him from Shuri, King T'Challa's little sister, the technological genius who has been working with Buck.
Steve catches his breath and chews on his bottom lip, instantly worried. A setback? Another breakdown? Why isn't Bucky contacting him personally?
Swallowing hard, he stabs at the screen until the message begins playing.
"Captain Rogers, I hope you get this message in time. Please come to Wakanda as soon as possible. You may land at Birnin Zana. We will be waiting. Do not worry, nothing bad has happened. We hope to see you soon."
Steve sits for a long moment in silence before responding to his phone's prompts. He turns it off and lies, staring into the darkness. Get this message in time… come as soon as possible… do not worry…
He huffs out a sigh. It's easier to fight Iron Man than stop worrying, especially when it comes to Bucky Barnes. The spectre of losing the only brother he ever had, again, has been unshakable for the last year or so.
Come as soon as possible…
With a jolt, he is on his feet, reaching for the duffle bag tucked between the couch and armchair. Rapidly, he strips the blankets off the couch, stuffing them into his bag on top of his clothes. He tosses his phone in, before zipping it shut.
Now he pauses, staring at Sam's door, and thinking of Wanda and Nat in the next room over. He realizes something. This time, he wants to be alone. Whatever surprises are in store in Wakanda, it is his business, and his only. Switching on the light over the kitchen sink, he then grabs some paper out of a drawer. Scribbles a note: Taking the Quin for 3/4 days. Sorry, got business to take care of in Wakanda. Call if you need me –Steve
Wakanda will tell them it's about Bucky. They'll understand. He lays the note on the coffee table, grabs his keys, throws the bag over his shoulder. The Quinjet is hidden in the woods about a half-hour walk from the outskirts of town and he is suddenly itching to be gone.
Stepping outside, back into the blanket of humid air, he locks the door behind him, and pockets the keys. Striding across the parking lot, he looks up to see an almost full moon breaking out from the clouds. He is suddenly reminded of something T'Challa said to him, one time when his face must have given away how much he hated to leave Bucky. 'It is still the same sun and moon, wherever you go.'
"Please," he whispers. "Please let Buck be alright." A thought hits him: why is he only thinking about what could be wrong? Perhaps… perhaps something is right.
Hope blossoms in his chest, like the feeling he'd get from Buck's hot chocolate on a wintery day, home from classes. Two days a week his art classes ran later than Bucky's work...
Steve sucks in a deep breath, and blinks, trying to hold back the memories. But why should he? He has a long walk and a heckuva long flight to remember anything he wants to.
Then he is humming, his mother's favorite song, dum-da-da-da-da-da, what's it called again? …but when Irish eyes are smiling… Aha. She was always humming it in the mornings, especially on the way to dropping him off at school…