"My Lord, a foreign ship approaches." the technician said softly to the King of Wakanda who stood arms held neatly behind him, looking over her chair at the radar image on the display. A small green dot moved across the gridlines toward the airstrip of the Wakandan capitol.
"I know. Let them come." he replied calmly, "They are friends."
"Yes my lord." the technician replied and then pressed several buttons and gently cleared her throat, "Foreign aircraft. You have permission to land. Runway Bravo Romeo 10."
"Understood, control. Rogers out." the barely audible voice of Steven Rogers crackled over the comlink.
T'Challa looked worriedly at the speaker at the tone of Rogers' voice. "Send a full medical team to meet them at the runway. If their aircraft falters during approach, then take it over with the computer and guide it here."
"Yes, my lord." the woman again responded, not taking her eyes off her computer station but rapidly sending out commands via her touch screen.
Soon, the red light of fire trucks and wails of sirens illuminated below as they raced towards the runway. Tucked inside the mists of Wakanda, tiny pin points of light could be seen: the lights of a quinjet carrying two best friends to their new home.
Rogers could barely keep his eyes open, one was partially swelled shut anyway, to see the runway. His broken ribs ached and burned as he moved the throttle levers back and pulled on the yoke to make their approach for landing. His mind despairingly wandered to Peggy when he put the Valkyrie in the ocean, how soft but brave her voice was trying to choke back the tears she knew were coming because Steve was going to die.
Now she was the one who had gone and he'd never hear that voice again, young or aged.
The bitterness of how his life was one large loss began to well up making his wounds hurt more; pulsing with anger with each heartbeat.
A faint groan in Russian pulled him back from red tinted vision.
Steve spared a one eyed glance back at the stricken Bucky who was haphazardly strapped into a panel of seats, no bed being available on the plane. His amputated arm stuck out at a jagged angle, wires and metal twisted into a wrecked stump. Fluid dripped out and pooled on the floor. It could have been blood or brake fluid, for all he knew. Regardless, Barnes' survival pulled him back from the abyss of rage had been teetering over just seconds ago.
"Hang on, Buck." Steve muttered more to himself than to Barnes, tightening his grip on the yoke, as he tried to take his double vision and square it up on the swimming dashed white lines approaching at a frightening speed. "You're all I got."
The Wakanda technician noticed the plane was coming in at far too fast and steep to land. She quickly used her terminal to take over the flight controls and slowed the plane down adjusting for pitch. She never openly questioned her king, but in the back of her mind she wondered who was so special that he'd take such pains to help especially with the turmoil the world was suffering. Under her delicate touch, the quinjet landed with nary a bump and slowed to a stop. From her vantage point, she could see the medical team rushing to the plane. She had done her part.
Sagging forward, Rogers lowered the cargo bay doors with an exhausted swipe of a hand. Light poured into the plane with the smell of tropical plants and humidity. Steve, barely conscious, wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. The Wakandan EMT's face was the last thing he saw before passing out.
Rogers heard a noise, but it wasn't a city sound. It was a cricket. It's chirping was not annoying but rather soothing reminding him of Barton's farm. A safe place with family, away from the hurt and pain of the city.
Where was he that there was peace? Ultron's voice mocked him, "Without war, who are you?"
"It's not important how we stay together." Widow implored from memory, "Just that we stay together."
Cautiously, before opening his eyes, recalling the rude awakening he received from Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. years ago after they thawed him out, he listened closer. There was the cricket and the sound of machines, but it sounded like medical apparatus. His fingers told him he was in a bed with soft sheets, his body cushioned comfortably. It was warm and he could smell tropical flowers and antiseptic just hiding below the floral notes. Then he noticed the IV in his arm.
Suddenly it smacked him across the face: Wakanda, T'CHalla… Bucky.
Eyes flying open, he gripped the sheets and tried to sit up. His injuries had other ideas as stars danced before his eyes and his ribs spiked him in pain. Rogers looked over the bed and noticed a tube from his side draining fluid that looked a lot like yellow syrup tinged with blood.
Sagging back, he closed his eyes again, his non-IV arm reaching up to massage his temples as his concussion asserted itself with a crushing headache.
A nurse entered quickly, alerted by the monitors that Steve had begun to move. "Captain Rogers, please. Remain calm." Her accented voice was so soothing. Briefly, Steve wondered if all Wakandans could charm snakes with just the tone of their voice.
"I'm not a Captain anymore." he whispered, the rasp in his voice hurting his head even more.
"Well then, Mr. Rogers, please remain still. You have sustained many injuries." she responded neutrally.
"Just tell me one thing." He turned his head barely to look at the serene nurse, "Is Bucky ok?"
She smiled a kind smile not to sugar coat but to reassure, "He will be fine."
"Good." Steve sighed and passed out again.
It was dark the next time he woke.
Opening his eyes wide in the dark hurt less than in the daytime and he waited for his vision to adjust. The moonlight streamed in through huge windows like slivers of frost which was strange in this tropical paradise. As Steve looked around it seemed Wakandan architecture did not like corners; the walls were smooth and rolling like gentle waves painted in soothing greys and pale greens that were discernable in the bright moonlight. Outside, lights of modern buildings twinkled against the wild, dark jungle.
Feeling an itch, he absently scratched it and noticed the bandage where his chest tube had been. How long had he been unconscious?
A nurse came to check on him, the door to his room sliding silently open. He paused, "Mr. Rogers?"
"I'm awake." Steve replied surprised at the weakness in his voice.
"Are you comfortable?" the nurse replied, approaching. As he did, gentle ambient light began to fill the room, just enough to see by but not be shocked from darkness.
"How long have I been … asleep?" Rogers replied as the nurse took vitals from the surrounding machines and assessed Steve's injuries.
Glancing down at his tablet computer, he replied, "Approximately two days." A pearly smile formed over the nurse's face, "You heal surprisingly fast."
"Thanks. It's a gift." Steve could feel the hints of his concussion cramping in the back of his skull. "Say, my friend. Where is he? Is he alright?"
"Mr. Barnes is also resting." The nurse replied neutrally finishing his inspection of Steve.
"Can I go see him?" Steve asked almost plaintively.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Rogers. It's two in the morning." The nurse smiled politely at him.
Rogers sighed, "Then can I get two Tylenol for my headache?"
"Certainly. I'll be right back." the nurse replied and left out the same silent sliding door.
Steve waited a moment and then pulled his body into a sitting position. The room swam slightly like a rocking ship. His sore muscles and the stitches they had to put in him pulled and ached making him wince in pain. As he contemplated his next move, a memory came to him.
"Rogers! C'mon!" Bucky's voice hissed from the fire escape, "The show starts in ten minutes and you still have to run your skinny ass there."
"Yeah yeah. I'm coming." Steve replied putting the last dab of pomade on his
blond hair and patted on some of his dad's left over Old Spice cologne as he looked furtively over his shoulder at the door to his room, half expecting his mother to crash in and bust him. He had told her he wasn't feeling well and went to bed early. Laura, being exhausted from her late shift, hardly noticed as she moved woodenly around the small tenement picking up after her and her son. It sort of made Steve feel bad that he was being dishonest and sneaking out to the movies instead of helping her.
"C'mon!" Barnes persisted at the window pane, his dark locks smoothed back and shiny in the moonlight. His shirt collar was neatly pressed and a scarlet tie knotted at his throat. Barnes smelled of Old Spice as well.
"Shut your yap, Buck. Momma will hear you." Steve whispered fiercely as he pried the window open just enough to squeeze his body through.
"Well hurry it up and you won't get caught, slug." Bucky stated as he helped the shorter teen out of the window sill.
Steve stood up on the grating and straightened the blue vest over one of his better dress shirts, "How do I look?"
Barnes smiled benevolently at him, "Like a real lady-killer." He shoved Rogers lightly in the shoulder, "Now let's go see that movie."
Steve smiled lightly at the memory. He still felt guilty he had snuck out on his mom that night. She never knew, or if she did, never told him. The movie hadn't been that good. As usual, Bucky was a hit with the ladies, while he continued to strike out for a negative batting average.
Now he was sneaking out a foreign country's hospital, no mother to catch him red handed.
Cool tile met his feet as he tested his strength of his legs. Satisfied that he'd be able to walk without collapsing and his gown covered all of himself, he made for the door before the nurse returned with the Tylenol, his IV tugging in his arm with a pinch. Damn, he thought, I hadn't considered that. Not to be deterred, he pulled it along with him, grateful it had silent wheels.
The door was missing any key pad or door knobs of any kind, but they yielded to him once he approached. The rounded hallways were lit with a type of ambient night light casting warm light upon the floor and the ceiling. Steve looked right and left noticing that there were no alcoves or closets he could dive into if he needed. He didn't even know what room Bucky was in. Brilliant, Rogers, he chided himself and decided to go right around the bending hallway. What will T'Challa think if he finds out you're sneaking around.
Rounding the bend, it was as if the super cat-like hearing of the King of Wakanda heard Steve's thoughts. T'Challa stood confidently, a slight smile of amusement on his lips, in the middle of the hallway.
Steve froze, suddenly aware of the preposterous way he must look to T'Challa at that moment. His cheeks colored.
"Out for a late night stroll, Mr. Rogers?" T'Challa sounded amused, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Your Highness." Steve straightened as much as he could without pulling on broken ribs and stiches.
"Please. It's is very late. T'Challa will do. I cannot be the king every second of the day." T'Challa approached warmly, "Sometimes you need to be a friend, not a monarch."
"T'Challa." Steve echoed tiredly.
"Are you comfortable or has something disturbed your rest?" Genuine concern pinched at the corners of his deep brown eyes.
Steve decided that two in the morning was not a time to be evasive. "I was going to see my friend, Bucky."
T'Challa smiled a gentle smile falling in beside the former Avenger and gesturing with his hand to walk. Steve hesitantly followed, curious about his intent. "You and he have an interesting history. A deep and remarkable friendship."
"You might describe it that way." Steve replied thoughtfully, holding his IV pole.
They continued down the smooth curving hallway in slow silence. To Steve, one doorway looked like every other. How did the staff find their way around in this maze?
After several more feet of quiet, they arrived at a door. Rogers noticed the smooth automatic entry had a slightly different color than the ones in his section. Perhaps it indicated an ICU or similar type of designation. T'Challa turned to him, "I know it would be foolish to keep you from seeing your friend. Wakandans have stories about men who are brothers in spirit, though be of different flesh. You and James are of that nature; brothers before birth, connected at the soul. Who am I to keep you separated longer than Fate intended?"
Steve was humbled. He never thought of his friendship with Bucky in that way, but expressed that way, it did make perfect sense. "Thank you, your highness."
"We are warriors. T'Challa is my name, Steve." T'Challa gripped Rogers's better arm by the elbow.
Steve nodded and then turned away to enter Bucky's room. T'Challa watched him enter and hoped both men would get some rest.