A/N: qmione – the possibility of romance between Bucky and A'di is there, but not the focus of the story. Her character is based on a friend of mine who essentially dragged me through the worst of my depression.
XxXxX
Chapter 4.
The World Breathes.
"Do you want me to loosen the straps?"
Bucky shook his head, having a hard time breathing through the restraints blanketing his chest. He insisted they were tighter this time, thicker. Shuri refused to use vibranium, worried he would break his sternum trying to get out of them.
She was on the other side of the glass, her sympathy making it worse for him. Ayo stood by her, as always, ready to intervene if he went off the rails. It was a small comfort to know that she might be capable of stopping him – but then again, even Steve could barely handle him. Bucky was a juggernaut. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature.
"Initiating the radiation treatment," Shuri said, drawing out every word. She was reluctant to do this, but they both knew it was the only way to proceed. "Beginning shock therapy."
Bucky shut his eyes, retreating.
Shuri began speaking the words.
A brief, overwhelming barrage of rage and fear blacked out the world. He struggled in his restraints, unable to stop himself, reacting viscerally to the threat of control.
In the end, the result was the same.
Bucky drifted, the conscious part of him somewhere else, the basic, thoughtless part of him awake and aware in that room. He heard echoes. Questions, responses. His fear faded, replaced with a cold void. He saw the faces behind the glass, recognized them, but he was detached, dissociated, missing the connections he had to them.
Somewhere inside, the other part rebelled.
It was not enough. It was never enough.
When Shuri spoke the words that released him, it was like surfacing from deep underwater. She flattened the table, released the straps, said something that was probably comforting.
Bucky lay there taking long, deep breaths.
Shuri came to his side, reaching out, but smartly thinking better of touching him at the last moment. "Sergeant Barnes? How are you?"
He gave a weak thumbs up.
"Do you remember what happened?"
Bucky had crystal clear memories of everything that happened while he was under her control. He said, "I always remember."
"I believe, in part, your negative reaction to our last session was due to using a recording of the words rather than saying them. I think the programming is based on voice recognition, though I am not sure how. I have some promising data and I can work virtually, for the time being. I will let you know if and when we need to do this again, but I will try to make it unnecessary."
He sat up, plucking wires off of his forehead. "Good. That sucked."
XxXxX
Bucky leaned over the railing, absorbing the details of a two-story greenhouse. Bright, exotic plants filled every space, every corner. Vines were draped over the railings, crawling up the walls. Birds flitted around, singing, chirping, fighting. Small animals dashed on the ground along little tracks, passing by without noticing he was there.
Sometimes Wakanda seemed less like another country and more like another planet.
He had seen some beautiful places in his life, starting after he joined the army. He had been many places as the Winter Soldier, and he had those memories sitting in his head like photographs. But with all the fighting and bloodshed, the way the world looked never seemed to matter.
It was nice to focus on the plants, the animals, the atmosphere, rather than potential threats, the exits, coordinates, flanking patterns. A'di was trying to convince him that the things that made him a good soldier, a good assassin – perfect recall, adaptability, ingenuity – were useful for other things, like learning languages and embracing new cultures.
Bucky was on the fence about it.
"What do you think?" A'di asked as she rounded the corner. She moved at a glacial pace in the greenhouse, stopping to touch every plant, to name it, to talk about its habitat and cultural significance. Bucky had gone ahead of her a few times, only to hear her coming around the corner explaining those things aloud like she hadn't noticed he was gone.
He watched a group of children run down the pathway below him, cutting diagonally across the first floor of the building. "It's… full."
"You are a strange man," she said, joining him, smiling when she saw the kids. "Wakanda is one of the most biodiverse regions of the world. You can see it in the streets, on the buildings, in the distance where the hills blend into mountains. But here you can see it the most. I think that in a place like this, you can truly appreciate that life is complicated." She nudged his shoulder, smiling, "Most people would come here and think they were very lucky to have seen it. You are one of very few outsiders who has stepped foot in this building – and I think the last was probably before your country even had human life, and it was not with permission."
"I'm not trying to sound ungrateful."
"I know. But you speak at least one language fluently, and yet you say so little."
"What do you want me to say?"
A'di shook her head, disapproving, "You must learn to enjoy things again."
"I read sometimes."
"Yes, you read the magazines, and I tell you our stories – but there is something missing from that, don't you think?"
A'di told him the names of every plant they passed in her own language. Some were songlike, matching the flowers well, and some were so foreign that Bucky couldn't even begin to repeat them. A'di was youthful every day, engaging, interesting, but her passion for stories and teaching could not match the way she talked about life. She laughed and smiled, spun so her dress fanned out, tucked fallen flowers into her elaborate braids.
"I have a favorite," A'di said, as they came upon an unassuming, dark green stem protruding from the ground. It looked like a thick blade of grass. "It is at the top of my list. It blooms once a month, with the full moon."
"What does the name mean?"
"Flower of the Moon."
"A little on the nose."
She laughed, noticing the leaves he had been accumulating in his hair from all the plants he ran face-first into. She started picking them out. "How long have you been this tall? Do you not know where your eyes end, and your forehead begins?"
He liked her, even when she was scolding him.
"Can you remember the name of the Flower of the Moon in Wakandan?" she asked.
"Absolutely not."
A'di smiled. "You did not even try."
"I wouldn't know where to start."
"You learn so many letters without learning a single sound – how is that?"
"You're the one who's supposed to be the teacher."
She said, "Yes, a teacher of children, not mules." She grabbed his arm, turning down the last path before they made it to another set of spiraling stairs. "I have one more thing I want to see. It is my second-favorite plant."
"How long is your favorite plant list?"
"Hush."
She took him to a patch of ground occupied by thirty or more plants that looked like uncooked noodles sticking straight out of the dirt. Bucky crouched to get a better look, unsure he was seeing them correctly.
"Curious, yes?" A'di crouched beside him, putting her hand on his shoulder for balance. She used the other hand to bend one of the plants. "Black and white. Black is not a typical color for wild plants, nor is white, but the badger plants have both."
He said, "Weird."
"I think the word you want is 'beautiful.'"
Bucky looked at A'di, and he couldn't disagree.
He found more peace in how she saw the world than how he did. Sometimes it felt like every part of him was corrupted, stained by Hydra, that he might never be able to look at things the way she did. But he was holding onto that hope. She inspired him.
"I was hoping to see them bloom before I left," A'di said, rising. "It is very unpredictable. In the wild they live on mountain tops, where volcanic activity has given rise to many strange creatures. Shuri and a few other-"
"You're leaving?" Bucky cut in.
A'di nodded solemnly. "School is starting again. You will miss me?"
"Your cooking is top notch."
She laughed. "I am going tomorrow. It is not very far. Perhaps when you are prepared to walk a little further, you can visit."
It made sense, now, why she insisted he leave the Citadel to see the greenhouse. She wanted to show him her favorite place before she left.
"I'd like that," he said.
Her smile was something he treasured. She gestured onward. "We can still enjoy the rest of the greenhouse. No need to feel sad. It is not goodbye."
XxXxX
Bucky closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.
A couple of weeks had passed since the last time he heard the words. He still felt the aftershocks of activation. Shuri thought bringing him in and out of his compliant state so rapidly had given him whiplash. While he was a puppet, he was out for no more than a week at a time, and then in stasis again. He went through resets, had the mercy of feeling no regret, no fear, no anxiety. Bucky was almost in ruins, but he pushed Shuri to keep going. He wanted her to have everything she needed. She didn't have the stomach for torture.
Sleep evaded him.
He bounced the ball off the wall in the dead hours of the night, so used to it that he could study the alphabet chart without missing a single catch. His reflexes were intact, perhaps even sharper now, and he wanted his mind to catch up. His isolation had stirred a few memories. When he was in the middle of writing the word 'construction' – or what he hoped was construction – he remembered that his cousin was named Connor, and that he was an asshole. A genuine memory. It was not in the museum and Steve had not mentioned it. Connor was an asshole, but he was real.
Ayo came in just before seven in the morning, dropping a tray of food unceremoniously on his table. "You have not left this room in days."
Bucky caught the ball, kept it. Ayo had no patience for him on the best days. It was refreshing, after the unrelenting kindness Shuri and A'di had shown him. Ayo reminded him of reality. She was an unintentional anchor in this fantasy land. Bucky hadn't seen her since his last session with Shuri.
"I like it in here," he said.
She seemed to restrain herself, "You cannot stay in here forever."
"Why do you care where I am?"
"I do not."
Bucky threw the ball again, "Why are you here, then?"
Ayo hurled her spear, hitting the ball in the air and pinning it to the wall. It was impressive, not only because of her aim, but because the wall was made of metal. Her spear was a good ten centimeters in, creating dents that radiated outward.
"That was unnecessary," Bucky said.
Ayo retrieved her spear, dropping the ruined ball in his lap. "Get up."
"I was-"
"Get up, before you become like your toy."
Bucky stood, tucking the ball into the pocket of his flared, Wakandan pants. A'di brought them from the Border tribe. "Fine. What do you want?"
"The king wants to see you."
Bucky owed a great debt to T'Challa. The king was busy organizing outreach programs all over Africa, finally opening up his country to the wider world. A'di would occasionally mention what T'Challa was up to, but Bucky had not seen him since he was put in stasis.
"Why?"
"It is not your place to ask why. Come. You will not keep him waiting."
Ayo led him through a maze of metal corridors, to an elevator. "Some wallpaper would lighten this place up," he said.
She said nothing.
He watched the floors flash by.
T'Challa stood alone in the throne room, looking out over the city. He was dressed in traditional robes, tied at the waist with a braided rope belt. Oranges, blues, and browns zigzagged in striking patterns from his shoulders to his ankles. He was remarkably like his sister, and also very different. Where he was quiet, contemplative, Shuri was wild and free-spirited.
When the king turned to face them, the spiked necklace around his collar glinted.
Since the death of his father, T'Challa inherited both the mantle of king and that of the Black Panther – and he wore them with unparalleled grace and dignity.
"Sergeant Barnes," he said, in a smooth, kind voice, "How are you feeling?"
"Good," Bucky lied, joining him by the window, aware that Ayo was shadowing him. Her comrades lined the room, standing stiffly, ready to defend the king with their lives.
T'Challa said, "Shuri tells me she has many theories about your condition. It is surprisingly complex, given the time period. It appears you were a significant investment." His words made Bucky tense, but they were quickly followed with, "I, like them, think you are capable of great things. I have been busy, so you must forgive my absence. Do not interpret it as lack of interest."
"I'm grateful for all of this," Bucky said. "For you giving me sanctuary."
"What do you think of my country so far?"
"It's like another planet."
T'Challa smiled. "Wakanda is many things to many people. I can see how an outsider might feel that way. It is my home, my greatest comfort, my pride, my hope for the future."
"I didn't mean to-"
"I know what you meant. You can relax." T'Challa focused on the window again, the city beyond. "I hope that this can be a place of healing for you. It is full of wild and wonderful things. And Shuri quite likes having you around. It keeps her out of my hair."
"If she heard you say that, you would have a mutiny on your hands."
"Oh, certainly. She is a phenomenal person, my sister." He pointed at a break in the rainforest in the distance. "Do you see that trail of smoke there? It marks Khemba. It is one of the many villages of the Border tribe. Shuri has assured me that you are not a threat – and you are not a prisoner here. I am sending you to live there while Shuri continues her work. I think that you may find it more restful than being in the city. Perhaps you might even be able to sleep."
Bucky watched the smoke as it curled into the sky. He could only think of his own instability, of his nightmares, of the strange places he woke up when he actually managed to get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. "Are you sure?"
"I am sure." T'challa put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Khemba is the first step for you. It is not enough to simply be breathing. You must also be living."
XxXxX
Shuri banked hard, nearly throwing both of them off the bike. Dust billowed in their wake and the skidding sound turned a lot of heads.
"Sorry," Shuri said to both the villagers and Bucky. "I am not used to driving it."
Bucky climbed out of the sidecar, staggering. It had been a wild ride from the city. He began to wonder if Shuri had ever driven anything. "I could have done better, one-handed."
"Don't get sassy with me. I could have made you walk."
They were on the edge of Khemba, a tiny village spread in the gap between the lush Wakandan rainforest and a small lake. It was made up of less than fifty circular mudbrick houses, scattered over a large area. Skins and skulls hung from some, blankets and windchimes from others. Khemba had no cars, no computers, no electricity. Its people were dressed in striking greens and reds, walking barefoot on dusty dirt tracks. He had a lot of weary eyes on him the moment the bike stopped, and when the engine was off, whispers floated on the wind.
A group of children dashed out of a nearby home, circling the bike with wide eyes, chanting something in Wakandan.
"What are they saying?" Bucky asked.
Shuri said, "If you learn Wakandan, you might understand."
He sighed.
She took him to a hut on the edge of the lake. A dozen eyes followed him the whole way. He had to swallow his paranoia, to remind himself that not everyone wanted him dead, not here. He was just an oddity, a clear outsider.
"Give them time," Shuri said.
"It doesn't bother me," he said honestly.
Shuri gave him a curious look, but dropped the topic.
She pulled the curtain from the door of the little hut. "You will live here."
It was a round home, the walls coated with orange clay, a thatched roof forming a point at the top. The walls were adorned with antlers, hollow gourds, and a couple of intricate tapestries. His bed was a mat on the ground, covered in blankets.
"They wanted to make you an American bed," Shuri said, "But I told them you would be more comfortable with one of theirs."
"They?"
"The villagers." Shuri had a look of pride in her eyes. "Apparently, A'di has been telling the Border children tales of a gentle white wolf living in the city and so everyone has been waiting anxiously to meet him." She gestured to the tapestries, the antlers, "In preparation for your arrival, the children brought you these. I expect they will be asking you every question under the sun."
Bucky wasn't sure how to react.
She put her hand on his shoulder, "Rest. I will come to see you tomorrow."
It was quiet when she was gone, but not silent.
Bucky sat on his new bed, listening to wind, water, laughter – the things you hear when the world breathes. He never imagined such soft sounds could keep the noise in his head at bay.
A memory surfaced.
His childhood bed, a broken mattress on the floor. He ruined the frame so often that his father stopped bothering to repair it. He said if Bucky wanted to be stubborn, he could sleep on the floor. It was an asset in the war, and now, a curse.
He took a deep breath, thinking maybe he could finally rest.
XxXxX
Bucky woke with faces very close to his.
Children, three of them, with white and yellow paint swirling across their dark skin. When he opened his eyes, they scattered.
He smiled.
Bucky had slept at least half the night before the nightmares woke him. It had been years since he slept so soundly, for so long. Just one night away from the city made the Citadel seem like a fantasy – this place was real, grounded, beautiful.
Shuri was waiting for him by the lake, her outfit a sharp contrast to her surroundings. She seemed to prefer a modern way of life. He joined her, and the children that had been surrounding her ran off, shouting, the words 'White Wolf' echoing in the fresh morning air.
"Good morning, Sergeant Barnes," Shuri said. Her voice was soft, gentle, and it made him wonder what had changed in him overnight.
"Bucky." It had been too long since he heard his own name.
She nodded. "How are you feeling?"
He looked at the lake, the sun reflecting on the water, the children running between houses, the forest stretching out beyond. Bucky was not a poet, lacking the eloquence that the Wakandans spoke with, so he gave a simple, "Good," and a genuine, "Thank you."
Shuri smiled, tapping his chest. "Come. Much more for you to learn."
He was reluctant to leave the lakeside, afraid that this peace he had found was too fragile to risk. But the village was as beautiful as the landscape. They wove between homes, across fields, along a small stream. Bucky recognized more curiosity in the villagers than he did the day before, wondering if the weariness he saw in them was imagined. Or maybe he looked less intimidating now, at dawn, with a few hours of sleep propping him up.
"Bucky," Shuri said, as they joined a group of old men who were gutting fish, "I would like you to meet Obeze. He is the first elder of Khemba."
Obeze was a wiry man with pale brown eyes, his hair tied up in dozens of small knots that stuck out like orbs on his head, coated in orange clay. He wore a colorful smock, adorned with beads, with one of his shoulders exposed. It was similar to the one Bucky had, with zigzags running horizontally across the chest. A'di wore the same patterns. It must have been a Border thing.
Bucky nodded, "I'm Bucky."
"She has just said that, boy," Obeze said, in a deep, gritty voice. He said something to Shuri in Wakandan, gesturing at Bucky with his gutting knife.
Shuri responded in her own language, and then said to Bucky, "He has asked where your other arm is."
"Germany."
Shuri repeated his answer, and Obeze laughed. He responded again in his own language and went back to his fish.
"Obeze has said you will join Imo," Shuri said, leading Bucky away. "You cannot cut fish with only one hand, but you can cook."
"Good. I hate fish."
"Imo is a baker. I know you like bread."
Bucky took a better look around on their way back, committing the layout of the village to memory, and searching for a familiar face.
"A'di is here," Shuri said, "Working, as you should be." She stopped outside of a particularly large hut on the border of the forest. "Do you think I would separate you from your only friend?"
"Does that mean you're not my friend?"
"It depends on the day. I will visit you tomorrow. Imo is inside." She took on that serious tone again, warm, honest. "Good luck, Bucky."