"Steve, wait."
Steve let his hand hover over the rear door release button for a moment, then he settled back in his seat. With the engines shut down, the silence pressed on them like a physical weight, broken only by the small popping noises the fuselage made as it expanded in the warmth of the late evening sunshine. "What's wrong?"
Bucky didn't answer right away. He looked out at the airport buildings and the jungle growth that pressed against the grassy verge on the far side of the runway. Pretty, all that green, with the mist rising above it. The view should have given him peace, but all he could think of were the dangers hiding in the shadows of the trees. Just like the dangers hidden in his mind. "I… if…"
Steve waited patiently for Bucky to sort out his words. Steve always had been patient with him. He remembered that from those horrible first days after Azzano, when Bucky was lost in his head, half the time still convinced everything was a dream and any moment he would wake up and be back on that table, strapped down, staring up at machines and needles and...
"Buck? You with me?"
Bucky rubbed his face. God, he needed to focus, say what he needed to say. But his mind kept drifting back in time. He knew why. He didn't want to say what he had to say. "Just remembering Azzano. How you never got mad when I was all..." He twirled his fingers in the air by his temple.
"Well, yeah. You were sick, weak and out of your head from what they'd done to you. No way I could be mad at you. Except maybe when you refused to ride in the truck and I had to pull rank."
Bucky nodded. He pushed his hair out of his face. "I don't remember if I ever thanked you for getting me out of there."
"You did, but you didn't have to."
"Well, thank you again."
"You're welcome."
They sat in silence for a full minute. Steve didn't budge. Didn't fidget. He just waited.
Bucky stared at his hand. His only hand. "If HYDRA is here, somehow… or if… even if they aren't, but the doctors can't figure out… can't get HYDRA out of my head…" He formed a fist. The IV pinched, so he relaxed his fingers. "You have to… I want you to… stop me."
"I won't let you hurt anyone."
Bucky shut his eyes. Steve wasn't getting it. "No. I want you to stop me." Then again, maybe he wasn't getting it because Bucky couldn't seem to say it.
He glanced at Steve. Saw realization turn his eyes bleak.
"Buck…"
Bucky dropped all the pretense. Pulled down the walls of humor and banter he had erected to hide the fact that he was not all right. He let Steve see the raw despair. "I can't—" He cleared his throat. "I can't keep on like this. Can't live with the thought that someone could come along and… and say words that make me lose myself. Turn me back into a monster. Can't wake up and realize I killed an innocent person and don't even fucking remember doing it. I won't live that way again." Tears burned his eyes. He blinked and they trailed down his face, making his unhealed cuts sting. He didn't bother wiping them away. He just watched Steve, waiting to see if he would agree to do the one thing Bucky might need the most.
Waited to see if Steve loved him enough to kill him.
"Damn it, Buck," Steve whispered. He stared out the window without speaking for the longest time. He finally took a slow, deep breath. He set his jaw and when he turned back to Bucky, he wasn't Steve anymore, but Captain America. "I understand. I might not be strong enough to carry it out, but I promise, if all else fails... all else... I'll try to respect your wish. That's the best I can offer." He swallowed hard and suddenly he was just Steve again, the skinny kid from Brooklyn looking out through the eyes of a man three times his size. "I just pray to God it doesn't come to that."
Bucky nodded. That was good enough for now. Who knows, maybe Steve's prayers would be answered, somehow. Bucky knew he didn't merit any of God's mercy, but, as he had thought many times before, he also knew God would likely answer Steve just because Steve wanted it so badly and because Steve was a good man through and through. Not that Bucky deserved to benefit from anyone's prayers, but he'd have to sort that out with God later. Do penance. Make amends.
Steve interrupted his thoughts as he pointed out at the jungle. "Look out there, Bucky," he said, hopefulness and his own stubborn, serum-sized brand of optimism lightening his voice. "It may not look like it from here, where all we can see is a building and a runway and nothing else but jungle, but Wakanda is the most technologically advanced nation on Earth. Surely they'll be able to find a way to heal your mind, maybe even with Wanda's help. And if not, you can be damn sure we'll find something on some other planet."
Bucky had to laugh at that. He sniffed and swiped the tears off his cheeks with the heel of his hand. He winced when he rubbed a cut too hard. His hand came away smeared with blood. "Sure, Buck Rogers. Fly me to the moon."
Steve didn't laugh. "Ever hear of Thor?"
"He the guy with the hammer?"
"Yes."
"What's he gonna do, knock me upside the head?"
This time he did laugh. "Maybe that's all you need. Nat calls it cognitive re-calibration."
Bucky rolled his eyes, but he smiled a little as he watched some sort of long-legged white bird fly slowly across the runway into the trees. When it landed, a flock of smaller white birds exploded upward, circled and then resettled in the treetops. He felt marginally better. Joking with Steve took some of the terror away. He clenched his trembling right hand. Some of the terror.
"So, you ready to meet your new best friends?" Steve asked.
"Only got one best friend, and that's you."
Steve grinned. "Aw. I'm touched." He climbed out of his seat, jabbing the door button as he did. "Come on. Let's open the doors, let the pros come in and unplug you from this plane."
As the rear door clanked and whirred, the pterodactyls in Bucky's stomach clawed their way into his throat. Bucky did his best to ignore them as he stood. He staggered a little and had to grab the back of the seat. Steve didn't say anything, just grabbed him around the waist and helped him to the bed. He sank onto it without looking out the open door to see who might be waiting. He didn't look at anything. He just kept his eyes shut until the plane stopped doing barrel rolls.
"You all right?" Steve asked softly.
He nodded, but also shrugged. He didn't know what he was, really. Mostly he felt like a used rag someone had wrung out and flung into the street. He cautiously opened one eye, and when all seemed still, opened the other. With both eyes open, everything still swung back and forth a little. He grimaced. "Guess everything's kinda pilin' up all of a sudden."
Steve gave him a wordless look of sympathy, then hurried out to meet whoever was there to greet them. Bucky lay back and listened as Steve introduced himself. There were murmured replies, Steve said something, and there were more replies. Bucky tried to listen, but the voices were too indistinct, just another layer of noise against the screeching birds and humming insects of the jungle. Steve talked for a long time, long enough that Bucky drifted off.
"Bucky," Steve said softly, jarring him from his light doze. Beside him stood two Wakandans, a man and a woman, with a wheeled gurney between them. Behind them, standing on the tarmac, was a phalanx of very tall, very fierce-looking women, each holding what looked like a bo-staff or a spear. All were lean, muscular. Dark skin, like T'Challa's. Some had long black hair pulled into a high ponytail, some had close-cropped black curls, others were shaved completely bald. All had some sort of tribal face paint or tattoos, each with a slightly different pattern. All wore long red capes with high collars trimmed in white fur. They seemed to be standing at parade rest, but Bucky still felt a flutter of fear as he met their implacable gazes.
It always ends in a fight…
"Steve? What…" He struggled upright.
Steve immediately put a restraining hand on his good shoulder. "Shh, it's okay," he murmured, just as the two people with the gurney rushed forward with their own cries of protest.
"No, no, please be still," the woman said. She wore what looked like a dark gray flight suit, with a red cross sewn onto one sleeve."You are injured. We are here only to help you. Be at peace." She spoke with the same lilting accent as T'Challa.
Bucky looked at them, then back at the soldiers—because from their demeanor, that's what they had to be—and then at Steve.
"They're sort of an honor guard, I think," Steve said. "T'Challa's own. No one's going to hurt you or take you into custody."
The two medics nodded vigorously. "We are paramedics," the man said. He turned his shoulder so Bucky could see his red cross patch. "We wish only to get you to the hospital where your wounds can be treated."
Bucky licked his lips. Took a shaky breath. "Okay. Sorry."
He received respectful bows of the head from both paramedics. The woman stepped forward. "Sergeant Barnes, my name is Adaoma, and my partner is Mobo. Your friend, the Captain of America, has told us what happened, how he treated your collapsed lung. He is to be praised for his skills, for it sounds as though he saved your life."
Steve blushed as he crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. Just like when he was a kid. Can't take a compliment from a pretty woman for love nor money. Bucky would have rolled his eyes—the punk did save Bucky's life, no two ways about it—but he didn't think that would be appropriate. "Nice to meet you. You can just call me Bucky."
She bowed her head briefly while holding her closed fist over her heart. "To reveal one's true name to another is a great gift. I will hold it dear in my heart, Bucky. Thank you."
Bucky couldn't help raising his eyebrows. "Um, you're welcome. I'll, uh, keep your name close, too." He glanced at Steve but received only a tiny shrug.
"Bucky, if you would permit me," Adaoma said, "I would like to do a simple examination of you, before we disconnect the chest tube. I will take your pulse, check both of your eyes to be sure your pupils dilate and constrict as they should, and I will use this stethoscope"—she held it up—"to listen to your heart and especially your breathing. I will also put a cuff around your upper arm, to monitor your blood pressure. I will tell you before I do each one of these things, and you may stop me at any time. May I begin?"
Bucky nodded.
She proved true to her word. Twice Bucky had to ask her to stop when flashbacks of other medics, other procedures, made his breath catch and the pterodactyls soar, but Bucky tolerated all of it without attacking either paramedic, which made him feel much better about their chances of getting out of the plane without an actual fight. Adaoma and Mobo were the personification of gentle kindness, and if the fierce-eyed women watching from outside had any designs on arresting them, they probably would have done so by now.
Mobo stepped forward. "I will now switch your IV line to this bag. It contains only saline solution, no drugs." He held it up so Bucky could inspect the label.
"Yeah, I mean, yes, that's fine."
Mobo smiled and deftly switched the line from the empty bag to the full one. He hung it on an IV stand on one corner of the gurney.
"Sargent Barnes," Adaoma said, then smiled as she corrected herself, "I mean, Bucky. We are now ready to disconnect the chest tube from the wall unit, but to do that, I will need you to do this." She pinched her nose shut, closed her mouth and puffed out her cheeks. "Like you are blowing up a balloon. Can you do that?"
Mystified, Bucky nodded.
She let out a merry laugh. "I know, it looks silly, does it not? But it will help ensure no additional air goes where it shouldn't as I move the tube to the portable unit. On my count…" She put her hand on the wall port. "One, two, three."
He pretended to blow up a balloon. Nothing much happened, that he could tell, other than his ears popped again. It seemed to satisfy her, for while he was blowing out his eardrums, she swiftly moved the tube from the wall to a gizmo hanging on the side of the gurney.
"Oh, well done, thank you," she said, with another kind smile. She seemed to have an endless supply of those. "Now, if you can, you may transfer yourself to our gurney. If you cannot, we will assist you, or perhaps the Captain of America can."
"Really, just call me Steve," Steve pleaded. Bucky wondered how many times he'd asked them to drop the Captain title. From his expression, more than a couple.
She graced him with yet another wide smile and repeated the gesture of her fist over her heart. "As you wish, Steve."
Steve nodded, returned the gesture, then turned to Bucky. "Waddya say? Okay on your own or do you want me to lift you?"
Bucky scowled at him. Damned if he'd let them see he was too weak to walk two lousy steps. "I'm fine." He stood up, ignored the black spots that bloomed in his vision and sat down on the gurney. He quickly laid back—he did not collapse, no matter how it may have looked—and Mobo tossed a blanket over him. Then, with a few bumps and some squeaking wheels, he was down the ramp and squinting against the still-bright sky. As they passed the red-caped women, he was shocked to see each one bow while briefly leaning her staff toward him. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to salute in return or say thank you or something else entirely. By the time he decided to simply nod, they were already behind him. He glanced up at Mobo. "I hope I didn't offend anyone," he whispered. "Wasn't sure how to respond to that."
The man laughed. "No, you did not offend them. They are the Dora Milaje, the king's guard. The Adored Ones, from whom King T'Challa will choose a wife. They simply gave you the respect owed an injured warrior. You are not expected to reply in kind, unless of course someday you find yourself in their position, saluting another fallen warrior. For now, you are expected only to rest and to heal."
He glanced over at Steve, who raised his eyebrows in an "imagine that" expression. "New best friends," he murmured.
Bucky glanced at the two paramedics, then back at the warriors who were now following in a two-line formation. The one in the lead nodded once, breaking her fierce stoicism to give him the faintest of reassuring smiles. He smiled tentatively back.
Best friends? Probably not.
Safe hands? Definitely. The Adored Ones looked like they could shred their enemies into atoms without breaking a sweat. And thanks to T'Challa, they did not look upon him as an enemy.
He straightened around and let out a long sigh. Weariness settled on his bones like a heavy blanket, but the pterodactyls finally came to roost and went to sleep, just like those white birds in the jungle. Bucky shut his eyes and allowed himself to fully relax for the first time in... months? Years? A century? He wasn't sure how long, but it seemed like a long, long time. As they lifted his gurney into the waiting ambulance, he heard Adaoma start to hum a slow, peaceful song under her breath. She laid her hand on his forehead, and he faded gently to sleep.
tbc...
