Chapter 11

Heroes and Friends

The smell of cooked rabbit brought a rush of memories: a jumble of faces and voices, laughter and firelight, and Dum-Dum singing something.

"Got pretty good at cooking rabbits in Europe." Bucky sliced the blade of his knife down the flank, the meat dropping onto Nontasasa's plate. "Squirrels too," he added. "They weren't as good."

"What about lion?" Mabhuti asked, using his hands to tear apart his own piece of roast rabbit. Actually Bucky was pretty sure it was hare, but whatever.

"Definitely not." Bucky kept his face serious. "The only lions in France were in zoos."

He held out a full plate to Khanyiswa and she smiled gratefully. "Enkosi." Settling between her children, she hesitated and cocked her head, looking almost shy. "Have you ever seen a… kangaroo?"

Between mouthfuls, Bucky regaled his guests with every crazy animal story he could think of. He enjoyed the sound of Khanyiswa's laughter mixing with Mabhuti's giggle and Nontasasa's chatter. It was she who pointed out the beautiful colors the sunset was painting in the sky, which Bucky thought made a lovely contrast with the blue-green of her dress.

But the picture also made Bucky think of Steve, and wish he could be here too.

The sunshine through the window made brilliant squares on the floor, which Steve kept staring at, fascinated. Bucky took another massive bite from his sandwich, and chewed as hard as he could, grinning at his sisters across the table.

"Ick!" Becca squealed and threw her napkin across the table at him. "You're disgusting, Bucky!"

"Children!" Winifred Barnes came hurrying back into the room. "James Barnes, stop terrorizing your sister, or I'll make you stay in this afternoon, and Steve can take the girls to the park himself."

"Aww, Ma–"

"And don't call me 'ma'!"

"Beg pardon, ma'am," Bucky said, his mouth finally clear. Sufficiently cowed, he finished his sandwich quickly and quietly.

They were headed to Prospect Park, Becca skipping beside them, the twins squealing in the wagon, when Steve asked, "Don't you ever see the way the light works with the shadows?"

When Bucky looked at him blankly, he tried to elaborate. "The lines the window makes on the floor, in the sunshine. The shadows look so black, until you stare at them long enough and then you can see the floor. And then the light looks so bright... It's-it's… beautiful."

Steve's face reddened under Bucky's stare, and he looked down, scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk.

"I didn't really notice," Bucky answered honestly. He knew Steve liked that kind of thing, it was part of what made him such a swell artist.

"Yeah, well." Steve shrugged, lifted his head to wrinkle his nose at Bucky. "You notice other stuff, I guess."

A hand landed on his shoulder and he grabbed Nontasasa's wrist, then quickly turned to smile up at her.

"Is Steve coming home soon?" she asked.

Bucky stared, before he laughed softly. Gently he tugged her down next to him, wondering if she could have any idea of what she had just said. "Soon. Very soon, I hope. Probably in a day or so."

The little girl's face brightened, and she hopped in place. "Will he draw a picture of me?"

"Of course! Just ask him, he'll be happy to." Bucky rested his hand on her smooth, tightly braided hair; loose it fell about half-way down her back. "What do you want it for?"

"To put on Baba's grave so he knows how big I am getting."

Bucky exhaled slowly, kept his gaze on the fire. "You miss him, don't you?"

"I wish he could watch me dance with the other girls," she said. "In a few years Mabhuti won't remember him." She was quiet for a minute. "I have pictures of him on my bracelet. Do you think Steve would do a picture of him for me too?"

"I think he'd be honored."

There was a long quiet spell, but not heavy. Khanyiswa broke it with a whisper, "Mabhuti's asleep. We should go home now." She stood, hoisting the little boy up to slump against her shoulder, smiled at Bucky, firelight dancing across her face. "If you don't mind?"

"No, you should get the kids to bed."

"I'm not tired," Nontasasa protested. But she yawned as Bucky got up and pulled her to her feet.

"Could have swallowed the moon with that one," Bucky teased, and he knew she was tired by the way she just stuck her tongue out at him, before shuffling to take her mother's hand. "Ndiza kubona ngomso."

Khanyiswa's hands were now full, so she just smiled at Bucky again. "Enkosi kakhulu."

"Ndiyayonwabela."

Bucky watched them go, lifting one hand in response to Nontasasa's wave. When they had disappeared around a corner, he sighed and turned to clean up the supper dishes. One nice thing about Africa, Bucky thought, as he tried to juggle a stack of plates and cups and dropped some: wooden dishes. Bucky's were a set gifted to him by Nomlanga himself.

He rinsed them quickly in the bit of lukewarm water left in the kettle, dumped them on the shelf, then stood in the front room, staring aimlessly out the door at the flickering fire light. He felt like he was waiting for something, waiting… for Steve, of course. He suppressed a sigh, and decided to get ready for bed.

Check the animals on the way to the outhouse, check on the animals on the way back. Put out the fire… He stopped there, feeling the warmth of the embers on his arm, the little flames still dancing in the red glow. With a half-smile, he got up, padded into his hut, to the backroom, grabbed Steve's sketchbook, The Hobbit, his pillow and blanket, and headed back outside.

After stirring up the fire and throwing on some more wood, Bucky settled down, blanket thrown around his shoulders. In the uncertain light he opened the sketchbook on his lap.

He and Steve sitting in a wagon, probably his, legs dangling, at least Steve's were. Bucky's arm protectively around Steve, they leaned together, smiling.

A giant Christmas tree, covered in decorations, surrounded by presents.

Bucky, in the outfield, gloved hand reaching up to catch a fly ball. One knee of his pants torn and a dirt smear across his hip.

Anna and Elizabeth, peering over a railing, giggling.

Bucky's mom standing at the sink, elbow deep in dish suds, hair all tied up in a kerchief, head turned away, staring out the window. Her apron had little flowers embroidered on it.

Purple. Purple flowers, Bucky remembered. And Becca had put red flowers on hers. Becca was a good seamstress. He smiled.

Bucky's dad standing on the dock, line in the water, fishing.

Killer whales in the bay at Gravesend… Bucky was pretty sure that had been after Aunt Sarah died, and he must have been trying to cheer Steve up, because he remembered his friend's face lit up with sunshine, and an immense relief as they laughed together.

Bucky swallowed hard, closed the sketchbook, stared into the flames. He'd always been able to help Steve then; he just hoped he could now.

He blinked suddenly, yawned, rubbed a hand across his face; Sandman working on him. He lay down on the well-packed earth, still giving off the sun's warmth, and let his eyes drift shut.

He woke suddenly, his eyes snapping open, staring into the dark; he'd fallen asleep with his back to the fire and his hut. For a moment he lay still, his eyes taking in the stars, the earth, listening to the whisper of a night breeze.

This wasn't uncommon. Sometimes he would wake for no reason, and be unable to go back to sleep, so he would either lie awake, or if dark thoughts haunted him, he'd go take a walk.

His ears perked up at a different sound, as of someone breathing, somewhere behind him. Bucky stiffened, instantly on alert, before he silently, smoothly rose up into a crouch and pivoted toward the hut. In the moment he was wishing he still slept with a knife… before the tension drained away. He rocked back on his heels, rested his arm across his knee, and gazed across the still faintly glowing embers at Steve.

Curled up in an uncomfortable looking position, still fully-dressed in his uniform and boots, his head pillowed on his duffle bag, Steve slept. An uneasy sleep, Bucky sensed, reading the lines in his face like a handwritten letter.

For a few long minutes, he watched his friend, feeling that old, familiar surge of love and protectiveness. Slowly he got up, gathering his bedding, and stepping softly around to bend and drape the blanket over Steve. He turned and crouched to bank up the ashes, heard Steve stir.

"Wah-?"

"S'okay," Buck murmured, twisting to look down at him.

"Mmph. Buck…"

Steve squinted blearily at Bucky in the starlight, and Bucky reached to rub a hand over his hair. "Go back to sleep. I'll watch your back."

A sleepy smile crept across Steve's face and he stretched out a bit more, one hand pulling the blanket a little further up his shoulder. Bucky smiled back, before stretching out next to him, rolling over to face out into the night. He could hear Steve shifting around, before his bulk nudged up against Buck's back.

Bucky groaned. "Okay, punk, gimme some blanket then." There was some more shifting and grunting, before they settled down, with Steve's shoulder—uncomfortable thanks to the uniform—pressed against Buck's spine, and the quilt sort-of covering them both.

It had taken Bucky awhile to accept physical contact of any kind as potentially harmless, but he always knew Steve was different. Steve was... gentle friend, strong protection. Even in the days after he had first found Buck—still a fugitive, still haunted and hungry and afraid—a hug from him, or simply a touch on the shoulder, had been like balm on an open wound. A sting at first maybe, before the familiar sense of comfort crept in. A sense of… home.

Steve's warmth was already seeping through Bucky's shirt, and he sighed, felt Steve do the same.

"G'night, pal."

Steve's reply was unintelligible.

Bucky made sure Steve woke to a large mug of coffee, and the smell of bacon beginning to sizzle. Other than a brief exchange of 'hey's, the two men didn't really speak over breakfast.

In fact, they didn't have a single conversation that lasted longer than a minute that day. Bucky didn't know what to say, so he just didn't. And Steve seemed content with his friend's mere presence.

Bucky caught his half-smile at the writing on the coffee mug, one of a set Sam had given Bucky for his birthday: We'll be friends 'til we're old and senile… then we'll be new friends! Bucky lifted his to read: We've been friends for so long I can't remember which one of us is the bad influence. Steve caught his eye and Bucky leaned over to tap his mug against Steve's. "Drink up, pal. You can help me do laundry."

"The only reason you invite me back," Steve muttered, attempting a joke, before he polished off the last of his drink.

Nontasasa and Mabhuti were the only ones to show up, after the morning washing up was done. With a cry of, "Steve!" Mabhuti threw himself at the big man. Steve stiffened for a moment, as the little arms went around his neck, before he wrapped him in a hug, his blond head bending protectively over the dark one. Bucky could only imagine how Steve felt right then, so he collared Nontasasa and asked for her help pulling the load of washing together. No doubt Steve would be happy to fulfill her request, later. Right now he needed what only a little child could give him. Which Bucky knew all about, having gotten it from Khwezi more than once.

Normally Bucky would join the group of women, take the teasing, share some jokes, and entertain the kids. Today the four of them meandered down to a quiet spot along the river, and got wet. The clothes and things got clean too.

Bucky prided himself on figuring out how to do things one-handed on his own, but some days he was happy to get help. Especially when that help was Steve, and it was helping him as much as it helped Bucky.

"Remember how Mom used to do the washing in that big tub?" Steve asked suddenly. He caught the sopping shirt Mabhuti threw, and set about rubbing soap into the fabric. "She used that soap, what did it smell like again?"

Bucky paused, a pair of Steve's jeans dripping in his hand. "Lavender!" he blurted. He smiled suddenly. "Lavender from that lady's garden."

"Mrs. O'Riley? No." Steve made a frustrated noise and slapped the shirt, a few soap bubbles catching on the breeze. "Aw, can't remember." He sat back on his heels and looked over at Bucky. "Maybe I am getting old."

"Still younger than me," Bucky threw back. "And that's our parent's fault, not mine."

It turned out to be a good day.

They built a chicken coop, Steve drew Nontasasa's picture, and after the children were called home, late in the afternoon, the two men took a walk.

They ended up in Eden, where the butterflies were all gone, but the waterfall made rainbows when the sun slipped through the gathering clouds, and the moss grew thick and green around the pool. They took their boots off to dangle their feet in the pool, the water cold but not icy.

Steve glanced up at the rocky wall, over which the stream tumbled. "Ever tried climbing up there?"

Bucky tilted his head back, assessing the prospect. Maybe 20 feet, plenty of handholds and vegetation, but all slick with spray. "Only been here the one time with you."

A moment of quiet, neither man looking at the other, before Steve cleared his throat. "Let's do it."

Bucky quickly stepped ahead of him, balancing between one rock and another. "Me first. You can catch me if I fall."

He heard Steve's sharp intake of breath, but knew he couldn't take time for the mental gymnastics of wondering if he'd said the wrong thing. He stepped from one wet rock to another, until he was right up against the cliff, the spray wetting his left side.

He put up his hand above his head, felt for a solid hold, found one. One hand, two feet, he reminded himself. He was just getting his grip, lifting one foot to find another support, when Steve spoke, almost in his ear.

"We don't have to do–"

"Want to," Buck interrupted. "Together."

Neither spoke for a minute, while Bucky found a foothold and flexed his hand, prepared to swing off the ground. He hadn't done any climbing with just the one arm, but, what the heck, it couldn't be that hard. And he really did trust Steve without question.

"Okay." Steve's voice was firm, with no hint of the worry Bucky knew was somewhere under there. "It's pretty straight up, so once you start, try not to stop."

Bucky's answer was to push off the ground and swing his right foot up to find another support. The shirt and pants he wore were loose, African style, easy to move in, and his feet had gotten a lot tougher, thanks to wandering around barefoot so much, but he quickly figured out that, yes, this was hard.

He could move only his feet until he was in a position steady enough to let go with his hand and reach up for another hold.

The first time he stretched his hand up, one foot slipped, and he gasped, before a strong hand pressed against his lower back, catching him.

"Hand first," Steve said, so he found a rough place to grab, before steadying his feet.

"O-kay," he managed to say, and the pressure eased to a light touch, giving him the courage to keep moving. Thankfully next time he had to shift his hand, it was to reach over the edge, to pull himself over the top. He knelt in the scrubby grass of the plateau that ran up into the foot hills, surprised to find he was breathing quickly, though he hadn't come close to breaking a sweat.

He turned to grab Steve's hand, hauling him up beside him, and somehow forgot to let go. They settled on the ledge, legs dangling, a few pebbles skittering down. There was the slightest tremor in Steve's hand, and when he did let go, Bucky had to resist flexing his fingers. Instead he shuffled closer, 'til there was maybe a few inches between their shoulders, and let himself relax.

They were high enough to catch glimpses of the country beyond the forest, with the mountain a silent sentinel at their backs, and the stream a chattering companion.

Bucky squinted at the clouds, closed his eyes to feel the breeze. "Rain tonight maybe," he said.

Steve just nodded.

They sat for a long time, not speaking.

Steve woke slowly the next morning, and lay listening to rain pattering on the roof of the hut. Huh, first time he'd seen rain here, though the Lord knew he'd seen enough in Texas. He let out a long sigh and rolled over, then saw that Bucky was gone, probably checking on his goats.

Already Steve could feel his strength coming back, and not just because of Bucky's delicious rabbit stew last night. It was that inner resolve, the fire of hope that kept him going in this crazy life.

He yawned and got up, shuffled into the main room. Clearly Bucky had been up for a while: a dirty bowl and spoon sat on the table, beside a box of cereal, and one of his notebooks, open. Steve chuckled a little over eating cereal after the hot breakfasts of most mornings. It seemed oddly modern and out of place, in a hut in the middle of Africa.

He ate quickly, and cleaned off the table: dishes in the washbowl, which he stuck outside to fill with rainwater, and cereal box on the shelf. He picked up the notebook, intending to close it and put it away by Buck's bed; he did not intrude on Bucky's journal keeping. As he glanced down though, his gaze caught on the words, Dear Steve, at the top of the page. He paused and glanced up, as if expecting Bucky to be standing there, raising his eyebrows. But no. It was almost as if he'd left this out on purpose…

Steve's eyes were drawn back to the page.

Dear Steve,

You are my hero. Always have been, always will be.

Back then everyone said you were skinny and weak and a little punk. Well, the last one was definitely true. Now, everyone says you're big and strong and a brave soldier. And yeah, that's all true.

You still fight for what you believe in, you still defend the weak, you still save lives. And I know you always will.

But… I see you break, I see you hurt, I see how hard you try to fix things you might have done wrong. You've seen some of the worst this world has to offer. And I still see you smile at a sunset.

So when people say 'hero', here's what I see: I see you.

You're my Captain, so I'll follow you to the end of the line. You're my friend, so I'll keep making fun of you. You're my brother, so I'll always love you.

I left you, you never forgot me. I punched you in the face, you wiped the blood off mine. I tried to kill you, you wouldn't let me give up on life. So here's the deal: I'm never gonna forget you, I'll clean up the blood whenever I can, and I'll never let you give up. Like climbing the cliff in Eden yesterday. We can do this: together.

I don't know if any of this is what I should say. But I felt stupid trying to do it out loud. And this way I could think while I did it.

I think you were always my hero. And I want you to know that. Because you saved me, you caught me. My hero saved me.

I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. Yeah, I've done a lot of things I wish I hadn't. And I know I don't deserve you. But you stick by me anyway. So I'm sticking by you. I'll do everything I can to make a good reason for still being alive.

Okay, I think school papers were easier than this. Only for you, pal, only for you.

I love you, pal.

Back with you to the end of the line,

Bucky

Steve didn't know how long he sat there (when had he sat down?) reading, and re-reading the clear handwriting that was so distinctively Buck's. His hand was shaking slightly as he laid it on the page, and stared out the doorway at the mist and rain.

"Buck," he whispered, without knowing.

He looked down at the letter again, then at the blank page opposite. He reached for the pen.

Bucky ducked into his hut, and stood dripping. "Steve?" he called.

No answer.

He squeezed the worst of the water out of his pants, before making his way to the back for a towel. He'd expected rain over night, but not all day too. Rubbing his hair dry, he wandered back into the main room and finally saw his journal, still lying open on the table. He paused, and swallowed hard. Had Steve read it? Had he said the wrong thing, and hurt Steve somehow? Was that why he wasn't here?

Slowly, he moved to stare down at the book, the towel settling around his neck. His hand froze, hovering over the paper.

Dear Buck,

Funny. Every word there I could write about you. You're my hero.

To everyone else you were strong, fast, smart, handsome. But I saw your incredibly big heart, the way you took time for weaklings like me. The way you knew stuff without being told. The way you made my mother laugh. The way you fought to get to where you are now. Of course only I and your poor sisters saw the jerk you are. Hmm, Sam would disagree.

I guess we were both born to protect. When I first came back I thought that would be enough. But it wasn't and everything started to fall apart. Before I found you. And I knew the real reason I was still alive.

When people say hero I see a man with long dark hair, blue eyes, and a brilliant smile, surrounded by children and butterflies, kneeling down to examine a scraped knee and wipe away tears with his only hand.

You once said you only ever wanted to make the world better. You have. Your words mean more than I can say. You make it all worthwhile. Thank you.

I love you back.

Your friend to the end of the line,

Steve

It only took Bucky a few moments to spot Steve's silhouette, blurry through the rain, leaning against a tree, looking out toward the river. Bucky walked across, hesitating a moment before stepping up beside him. Steve didn't say anything, just reached out to pull Bucky into a hug. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders and smiled.

He could feel Steve's warmth through their wet shirts, where their chests pressed together, and he closed his eyes, rested the side of his head against the blond's. The rain washed over them, drops running down Bucky's face, cool and fresh.

At some point, Steve eased back, so he could look into his friend's eyes, his smile like the sun slipping through the clouds.

"Thanks, pal."

"Anytime, buddy." Bucky discovered he was smiling back. "Anytime."

They stood out there in the rain for a long time, but neither of the men felt cold.

Your heroes will help you find good in yourself
Your friends won't forsake you for somebody else
They'll both stand beside you through thick and through thin
And that's how it goes with heroes and friends

-'Heroes and Friends' by Randy Travis

Notes/Translations:

Wakandan:
Ndiza kubona ngomso: See you tomorrow
Ndiyayonwabela: My pleasure