He Who Fights With Monsters
3. The Palace
Flying over the untamed jungles of Wakanda was like diving head-first into a National Geographic documentary. White threads of mist rose slowly from the emerald canopy, kissed away by the rising sun's warmth. Flocks of birds wheeled above the treetops in search of breakfast, and in a distant clearing Drew thought he saw the cumbersome bulk of an elephant, before the quinjet carried him out of view.
"Quite the setting," Drew said appreciatively.
Mr. Rogers offered a warm smile. "Wait until you see the view from the palace."
He had no doubt the view would be astounding. Though he didn't know much about Wakanda—who did?—he'd heard that its landscapes were pristine, and its citizens wealthy. Royal residences were usually beyond extravagant. Whatever they had in store, it would put his little office in the University to shame.
Mr. Rogers seemed a capable pilot. He activated the radio and began talking about approach vectors and landing co-ordinates. Drew took the opportunity to lean back in his chair and enjoy the view, while the in-seat heating continued to pleasantly warm him. He really needed to speak to Coulson about getting some upgrades for SHIELD's quins.
As soon as the palace swung into view, Drew understood what Mr. Rogers meant about the view. He didn't need to be inside the palace looking out of the windows; he could see how impressive the views were. Positioned on a cliff overlooking a hundred sparkling waterfalls, bordered on one side by an expanse of virgin forest, and protected by an enormous, shining black panther statue that seemed to cling to the rock it had been intricately carved from, the palace was something beyond his imagination, and he couldn't help but be impressed with the fellow who'd designed the whole thing.
In comparison, the city nestled in the palace's shadow was missable at first glance. Its buildings were constructed from brown stone, and they blended with the encroaching jungle in a way that seemed organic. Cars crept along the paved road, but so did horse-drawn buggies and ox-drawn carts. And the roads themselves curved this way and that, merging into each other like a plate of spaghetti, so that not a single road took the form of a straight line. New York's city-planners would've had a fit if somebody suggested they build their city like this.
"First time I saw it, I had no words," Captain Rogers said. "Bucky used to joke that the only thing in the world that could render me speechless was Peggy, but I think Wakanda did a pretty good job, too."
Drew merely nodded, and let the silence return. You only got one chance to make a first impression, and he dearly wanted to enjoy and remember the first impression Wakanda was making on him. Part of him wished he'd brought along that fancy camera Melinda had gifted to him during their last Christmas together. The other part of him knew that the Wakandans would likely not tolerate their secrecy being breached in such a way.
Everything grew larger as the quinjet descended. At first, Drew thought Mr. Rogers was going to touch down outside the palace, in an open clearing that looked like a public garden, but he turned the craft at the last minute to make for a waterfall cascading down the cliff. Even though he knew he was in good hands, Drew's fingers clasped the arm of his chair as the falling water—not to mention the rock cliff—loomed like some roaring behemoth before the fragile quinjet.
"Am I going to wish I brought my galoshes?"
"No need to be nervous, Doc," said Captain Rogers. "I've done this at least once before."
"What makes you think I'm nervous?"
"Because when I get nervous, I make tension-busting bad jokes, too." Bad joke? Mr. Rogers smiled to take the sting out of his words. "Besides, I can hear your heart-rate increasing. Super-hearing is good for more than avoiding Nazis."
"Perhaps you've missed your calling as a counsellor," Drew chuckled.
"Well, I am on the lookout for a new career. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be Dr. Rogers."
He didn't need to be told that the next part of the landing required Dr. Rogers' full attention. With the jet hovering mid-air before the waterfall, this seemed a particularly perilous moment—especially since their pilot had only done this 'at least' once before.
The jet moved forward, and water came crashing down over the reinforced glass of the window. The whole plane shook, but Mr. Rogers kept it straight as it moved forward into the cliff. Drew glanced up through the window, at raging torrent being hurled down by gravity.
"I wonder what would happen if the river washed a few rocks down," he muttered to himself, forgetting that his pilot possessed better hearing than the SHIELD men who ferried him from Inhuman to Inhuman.
"I wondered that, too," said Mr. Rogers. "Figured the glass might take the water, but probably not rocks. I asked T'Challa, and he said there's a fine mesh cover at the top of the waterfall, that catches rocks and—um, trees—that get washed down-river. They clean it out on a regular basis."
"I hope for our sakes that mesh doesn't suddenly decide to break."
Captain Rogers let out a wry chuckle. "Unlikely. It's made from vibranium. The Wakandans use it like we'd use steel. I'm pretty sure even their dining cutlery is vibranium. Probably explains why the cook watches us like a hawk as we eat."
The jet slid forward, cutting swiftly through the waterfall, and was swallowed by the darkness of a wide, lamp-lit tunnel. Drew would be the first to admit he didn't know a damn thing about caves, but he didn't think this was an entirely natural formation. The walls were too smooth, too flawless, to have been created by Mother nature's rough hand.
He wasn't surprised when the tunnel terminated in a well-lit subterranean hangar bay; his first thought was that Coulson would drool with envy if he could see this place. The man liked his hangars.
At least a dozen quinjets slumbered in the hangar, their engines silent, their lights dark, and Drew was willing to bet that this wasn't the only hangar, and these weren't the only jets the King of Wakanda possessed.
A blur of light trailing in the darkness caught his eye. Below, on one of the jutting platforms, stood a dark-skinned Wakandan man in a high-visibility jacket. In each hand he held a kind of flashlight, and he waved these through the air to direct Captain Rogers in for his landing. The jet touched down with only a small bump, and Drew finally felt his heartbeat begin to slow. He didn't mind flying, but there was always that niggling voice of doubt that whispered into his mind. One failed engine, one damaged wing-foil, one high-flying duck, and gravity will drag you back down to Earth.
"The Wakandans are a very contradictory people," Mr. Rogers said as he flipped off all the switches on the flight console. "They'll offer to serve you in any way they can, but they respect people who aren't afraid to do things for themselves. At the same time, if they make a verbal offer to help you, they'll feel insulted if you turn them down." He shook his head as if clearing the cobwebs of some recent memory. "It's all very strange. From what I gather, how you answer is more important than what you answer. I'm still trying to figure it all out."
"Don't worry, I'll muddle my way through."
He grabbed his holdall from the overhead compartment and followed Captain Rogers to the rear of the quinjet as the loading ramp lowered with a mechanical whirr. Two dark-skinned figures stood waiting outside the ramp, one man and one woman. The former wore what Drew guessed to be traditional Wakandan attire, a deep ochre tunic with a dark fringed sash, and leather boots that came to mid-way up his calves. Though his face looked smooth and youthful, his dark hair was whitening at his temples. Whatever his age, his eyes spoke of wisdom and experience as he made a quick visual assessment of Drew.
The woman's grey tunic and loose trousers were simple by comparison, but her black hair was pinned in an intricate braid, and shot through with colourful beads. Her wide, genuine smile was the most welcoming thing Drew had seen in a long time, and it reminded him of how Melinda had smiled at him—before Bahrain.
"T'Keni!" said Mr. Rogers, stepping forward to shake the man's hand. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."
"Such an esteemed guest requires the respect of an official welcome." The man turned a to face Drew, and offered a slight bow. "Dr. Garner, I extend to you the welcome of the King of Wakanda. His Highness, King T'Challa, is occupied with affairs of the state, but as his Chief Advisor, I have been asked to extend his hospitality to you. I am T'Keni, and you may call upon me any time, day or night."
"You honour me with your welcome, T'Keni," said Andrew. He returned the bow, just to be on the safe side.
"It is you who honour us with your presence," the woman said, stepping forward. She held out her hand in a more familiar gesture of welcome. "I have long been an admirer of your work, Dr. Garner. I am Yewande Akindele, and it is my great pleasure to meet you in person."
He shook her hand, unsurprised by the firmness of her grip. "Ms. Akindele, you are too kind. In fact, I've recently read your paper, Behind the Warrior Spirit of Mankind, and found it both fascinating and insightful. If time permits, and you're amenable, I would very much like to exchange notes."
Somehow, her smile widened even further, and became infectious in the process. Only the fact that he was in the presence of the most trusted advisor of the King of Wakanda, plus Captain America, kept Drew from grinning like a kid.
"I was hoping you would say that, Doctor Garner. And I look forward to discussing things with you further. For now, though, I would not dream of monopolising your team while you have a patient in need of your help." The woman turned to address Mr. Rogers. "We have prepared room twenty-six in the lower east wing as a consultation room for Dr. Garner to use, and furnished it sparsely."
"I wasn't sure how you'd want the place decorated," Captain Rogers told him. "Bucky… he doesn't respond well to clinical environments. Triggers too many bad memories. I considered decorating the place like his family home—King T'Challa offered to buy some genuine 1930s antique furniture, for authenticity—but Yewande felt it would be best to consult you before doing that."
Drew nodded in agreement. "Sparsely furnished is fine. I'll add any additional touches myself." The mind was a powerful thing, and he knew only too well how easy it was to trigger unwanted memories. There would perhaps come a time when he'd need to take Mr. Barnes back to those old days, before the war, but he didn't want this therapy to exist there. Chances were, that time during his life would have too strong a hold on his mind.
"Do you want to meet the rest of the team?" Mr. Rogers asked. "Bucky probably won't come down to our shared living area, because he's avoiding social gatherings at the moment, but that doesn't mean you can't meet the people who fought with us to get him this far."
"And what do you think Mr. Barnes will think, if he learns that I've met with you and your friends without him present?"
Mr. Rogers frowned into the silence before speaking. "Probably that you're meeting behind his back on purpose, to talk about him without him being present. I guess it's not exactly a great way to build trust."
"Indeed. I'd like to meet Mr. Barnes before meeting anybody else, and I'd like to do it before the end of the day, if possible."
"Perhaps," said Ms. Akindele, "I could first show you to the room we have prepared for you to stay in, Dr. Garner, and have some light refreshments sent up from the kitchens. Then, when you are feeling recovered from your journey, we can take you to the consultation room so that you can make any adjustments before meeting Mr. Barnes."
"That sounds like an excellent idea, thank you."
"Would you allow me to carry your bag?" T'Keni offered.
"Is it far to the room?"
"No, it's quite close."
"Then I'll be just fine carrying my own bag, thank you."
T'Keni offered another slight bow, and Drew suspected he'd given the right answer. Mr. Rogers offered him a swift, encouraging smile, and he was guided down the corridor of his temporary new home.
Author's note: I bet you thought I'd forgotten about this story! Not so. I've just been quite focused on other works, but now have a little time to dedicate to a little Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier counselling, courtesy of everybody's favourite psychologist.
