Chapter 10.
Lucky.
Shuri hugged him. "How are you?" She was high-energy, beaming, pulling away to fluff his shirt. "You look well, but this is very American. Shame on you!"
"A'di insisted."
The dining room was almost empty. Bucky took a seat at a colossal black table, running his hand over the unnaturally smooth surface. Each chair was its own work of art, rivaling the landscapes and portraits on the walls all around them. Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed a stunning view of the rainforest, half-hidden in fog, with the center window perfectly framing the black panther carved into the mountainside. The inside was modern, metal, and the outside was as mystical and wild as a storybook.
"I have some quick questions," Shuri sat beside him, activating the hologram on her watch. It showed an empty page, like a digital piece of paper. "The first is, when are you going to shave?"
Bucky touched his beard which, admittedly, was getting out of control.
She went on without an answer, "And the second, how-?"
"Sister." T'Challa entered the room with Okoye and Ayo by his side. He wore a sweeping black robe that split at the hip, with golden lining and an almost unnoticeable sparkle in the sleeves. "He is here for one moment and you are already harassing him."
Shuri said, "I was only doing my job, brother."
T'Challa sat at the head of the table, his guards remaining close. "Sergeant Barnes is my guest tonight, not yours." He fanned his hands. "Where is everyone else?"
Shuri said, "You are early for once in your life."
T'Challa smiled. "Enough. I am the king. I will have silence from you."
"I am the king," Shuri mocked.
"You are so disrespectful, like a little child. You see, this is why I took away your fusion generator. You can have it back when you learn to use it responsibly."
Shuri snorted.
T'Challa spoke to Bucky, "And this is my proper welcome to you. Welcome back to the Citadel, and welcome to my table, White Wolf. It is a pleasure to have you here. I am not sure if you are aware, but it has been over eight months now since you arrived in Wakanda. I know that things have not gone as quickly or as smoothly as we would have hoped, but I can assure you that we will not give up on you. I do not make promises lightly."
Bucky said, "Thank you. That means a lot."
Others arrived, filling the table to an even dozen. The Dora Milaje stationed around the room became more vigilant, more watchful, as people came to greet the king. It seemed to be a gathering of close friends, as Shuri gave out hugs, and T'Challa was all smiles. A woman in a green dress claimed the spot at the right hand of T'Challa, stopping to whisper something to him as she sat down. Bucky knew who she was, though he had never met her before.
Nakia.
He waited for an opening to ask, "Are you Nakia?"
Her eyes fell on him, appraising. "Yes."
"You brought that boy from Niger?"
Her expression softened, "How is he?"
It had been several weeks since Uhirwa arrived. He was slowly gaining weight, quiet, occasionally speaking to ask seemingly random questions. He often asked Bucky what he called himself, and then repeated the name back – Bucky. He did not speak Wakandan, but sometimes asked Bucky to translate a word for him from one of the books. Oddly, he rarely said anything to A'di, even when she asked him a direct question.
Uhirwa hated being touched, avoided the other kids. He had not stabbed anyone else, but that was all that could be said for his recovery. He was the mirror image of Bucky in that way – currently not trying to kill anyone, but otherwise a mess.
Bucky settled on the best description he could manage, "He's been through a lot."
Nakia had a good heart. It was there on her face, the empathy, the love. She reminded him a lot of A'di, only harder, tougher. She was wearing a dress, earrings, laced up shoes, but she gave the impression that she could take up a weapon and fight at the drop of a hat. A'di was not like that at all. She was tranquil, nonviolent.
Nakia said, "I find many children like him. It is an unfortunate reality."
Bucky said, "He calls himself Uhirwa."
Nakia flinched. "Poor boy."
"Why is that a bad name?"
The food arrived before she could answer – if she was even going to in the first place. She welcomed the distraction, turning away from him to greet one of the chefs.
Foreign meats, grilled fruits, and long tube-shaped grasses filled the table, alongside breads and puddings and fried fish. Shuri kept putting things on his plate, explaining what they were in rapid English while the rest of the table spoke various accents of Wakandan. Bucky picked up most of what they said, accustomed to the language. A'di had stopped speaking English to him to force him to progress his learning.
Bucky was only allowed peace until he took the last bite of his meal. Shuri was watching, waiting. She whipped out her notebook. "What do you remember from-?"
He cut in, "Why is that name bad?"
Shuri said, "What name?"
"Uhirwa."
She frowned, the third person to react negatively to its mention. "It is part of our history – not a pleasant part." She tapped the table, getting the attention of her brother, "May we be excused? I want to show Bucky a few things in the city."
T'Challa nodded his consent. "Take Ayo with you."
XxXxX
Birnin Zana was called the Golden City by outsiders.
Bucky learned both names when Steve brought him there. It was an incredible place, its walkways lined with shops, flowery vines growing up the buildings, trees on the balconies. A highspeed monorail passed overhead while barefoot children ran through the grass-lined streets, ducking into dark alleys, giggling. It was evening, quieter than normal, but there were still people out and about, their outfits, tattoos, and languages representing a wide variety of cultures.
Shuri took them along a main street, murmuring greetings to merchants as they passed. Some people seemed a little apprehensive of Ayo, a little curious about Bucky, but otherwise they got little attention. Bucky was drifting, a little overwhelmed by the sights and sounds after spending so much time in Khemba – and spending so little time sleeping – but he tried to engage. Shuri seemed so excited to show him her home.
He gestured to the wooden stands, building frames, and signage all around them, "I thought you didn't use a lot of wood."
Shuri said, "It is spiteful that you would remember that and use it against me. What I meant was, we don't use wild wood. We grow our own."
They stopped a few blocks from the Citadel, at a massive building made of peach-colored bricks. It had stunning murals on its walls, depicting large African predators lounging while a spectrum of birds soared overhead. Bucky read the poems that ran diagonally through the paintings, recognizing some of them from the songbook A'di had given him.
"Is this a museum?" he asked.
Shuri was pleased. "You have learned much since you began studying."
"It's my only hobby."
She smiled. "Perhaps history can be another."
It was empty inside. Bucky stepped into a marble-floored lobby. Monitors formed a ring around the room, playing scenes from around the country. Animals on the plains. People working in the rivers. A camera passing through a dark, quiet mineshaft. Evening was approaching, and the views from the other side of the jungle showed a dozen setting suns.
"How did they do this?" Bucky asked.
"I do enjoy how amazed you are by the simplest things," Shuri said.
"Well, I grew up in the 20s. It's not hard to impress me."
She laughed. "Come on. This is just the lobby."
The museum was just as spectacular as everything else in Wakanda. Statues and videos depicted ancient history, writings on the walls told stories of agriculture, war, and famine. Elaborate, hand-sewn tapestries hung from the ceilings, depicting the birth of the universe, the panther goddess Bast, and other stories he had never seen before. Shuri rushed him through it, promising he could come back later.
She brought him into a room full of photos.
It had no videos, no music, no tapestries or decorations. It was just an empty, rounded room with dozens of framed black-and-white photos on the dark walls. Bucky felt their eyes on him, a wave of unease making him hesitate in the doorway.
Bucky locked onto a photo right away, leaving his guides to get a closer look. He read the inscription aloud, "Liberated war prisoners arriving in Khate."
"You have skipped some of the story," Shuri said quietly from the door.
Bucky barely heard her, fixated. He moved to the next photo, a somberly lit portrait of an old man with more scars than skin. He was missing an eye, missing half an arm, sitting in an old chair with the savanna in the background. He was smiling the way soldiers smiled when they came home from war – that empty, laughing smile.
A phrase was handwritten on the photo.
A quote.
"We are the lucky ones."
The description said he had been captive for twelve years. It told a story of torture and brutality, his memories of the way his brothers fell, the way their bodies were desecrated. Bucky didn't know what war they were part of or where they were held, or why, or how they were freed. He had never met this man and by the age of the photo, he had to be dead already.
Despite everything that separated them, Bucky felt like he knew him. He knew his expression. If he looked in the mirror, he would see it.
Bucky could barely find his voice, "Is this how he sees himself?"
Shuri had her arms crossed tightly. "I cannot imagine what that boy has been through, but that is the answer to your question. Everyone in Wakanda knows of this. Nakia's grandfather was among the warriors who brought them home. It was this event that further convinced the elders to keep Wakanda shut away from the rest of the world – and it is what inspired Nakia to care so deeply for suffering beyond our borders."
"He's not from Wakanda," Bucky said plainly.
"It is not an uncommon thing to say after surviving a war."
He whipped around, responding too harshly, "What would you know about that?"
Ayo stepped in front of Shuri.
Bucky scowled at them, anger rising like bile in his throat. He left the room, unable to stand there with the portraits staring out at him.
He lost himself in the museum, trying to find the exit, ending up in rooms with exhibits that flashed by like blurs on the highway. It was a labyrinth that would have been fascinating any other day. It was something he should be interested in, something A'di would want to explain in overwhelming detail – but there was no room left in his head.
Bucky finally stopped, waiting.
Ayo appeared in the doorway. She always managed to find him, even when he hiked twenty miles into the jungle.
"He's not lucky," Bucky said.
"It is not your place to say what that boy feels."
"That's not how he feels." Bucky turned, finding that softness in her eyes again. Maybe he was worse off than he thought he was, more unhinged. It annoyed him. He needed the harder side of Ayo, not this one. He wanted someone to bite back. "He's not lucky. He's like me."
"What are you like, James?"
"I don't know."
She said nothing, going past him to study the language charts on the walls.
Bucky tried to grasp what had evoked his confusion, his hostility. It was on the edge of his memory, clouded, evading him. But then he had a moment of clarity.
"I've heard someone say that before."
Ayo said, "Who?"
"Lynch." Bucky saw him standing there, plain as day. Lynch was in his thirties, passing through the base on his way to be discharged. He said, I guess I'm the lucky one. "He didn't mean it, either."
"What did he mean?"
"How do I get out of here?"
"Tell me what he meant and I will show you the way out."
Bucky had been trying to make memories of his life before he was the Winter Soldier stick for months. He wanted them back, the good and the bad. But not this one. Lynch should have been bleeding, the way that smile was cut into his face. But he stood there, not a scratch on him, dozens of ghosts in his eyes. Bucky was so young at the time, sixteen, fresh out of basic. He thought those words were genuine.
"His whole platoon died," Bucky said. "He said he was the lucky one, and then he went home and he shot himself. It's not what he felt, it's not what that man in the picture felt." Bucky gestured, as if they were still in the room with the photos. "It's what people want to hear. It's what they want you to say when you come home, so they feel better about sending you out there!"
It was clear now, finally. He said,
"I survived, and that kid survived, but we're broken. I can't even sleep without…"
"I believe broken things can be rebuilt," Ayo said simply.
Bucky stood there for several minutes, first angry that she had nothing else to say, and then filled with grief for a soldier he had barely met. His heart began to slow, to calm, and the fiery emotions drained away. He was empty again, cold again, like the smile the man had in the photo.
"Are you okay?" Ayo asked.
"I'm fine."
"You lie."
"What do you care?"
"I do."
Bucky took a deep breath as the last of the emotion drained away. He wanted the anger back, because it was something, at least. When he was the not the Winter Soldier, and he was not Bucky Barnes, he was not sure who he could be.
Ayo was watching him, waiting.
"I'm not gonna jump in front of a bus, if that's what you're thinking," Bucky said.
"I was not thinking that."
She showed him the way out.
Shuri said, "I'm sorry," as he joined her at the bottom of the steps.
"No, I am," Bucky said, though the apology was lacking. "I'm ready to go back to Khemba."
Shuri glanced at Ayo, uncertain, "I thought you could stay in the city for a while, if that is alright with you. You have seen so little of it."
He resisted saying he didn't care. Shuri deserved better than that. He smiled, "That sounds great." He felt Ayo's eyes on him. "Is it okay if I walk around for a while?"
Shuri said, "Yes, of course. Do you want-?"
"I'm fine alone, if that's alright."
Ayo said, "I am not sure your brother would approve, my princess."
Shuri was torn. She finally said, "My brother is not here to give his opinion."
XxXxX
Bucky spent every day wandering the Golden City.
He learned new words, tried new foods, started getting recognized on the streets. He was so tired now, so muted, that the Dora stopped seeing him as a threat. He was allowed to be alone – and so he was. Bucky found the most comfort in strangers. He had not seen A'di in weeks, had only seen Shuri in passing, and occasionally he ran into Ayo, who came to verify that he was still in the city. She gave him clothes, currency. He rarely went back to the Citadel. Ayo asked him where he had been sleeping, what he had been doing all day. Bucky usually lied. Sometimes he didn't answer at all.
Despite having the entire Golden City thriving around him, Bucky spent a great deal of time in the museum. He read the story of the war prisoners, start to finish. Many of the stories and histories of Wakandan culture were recited from memory, passed on through families for generations in songs, in tapestries, in crafts, and so these written accounts were rare and in dialects that had died out decades ago.
"We are the lucky ones."
Bucky stood in front of the photo of the liberated war prisoner, inexplicably pissed off by the quote. It kept him coming back, kept him standing there, trying to understand why that man would say something so stupid.
He asked the curator one day, "What happened to this man, after he was rescued?"
The curator was a young woman. She helped Bucky understand cultural nuances in the stories, explaining things that a native Wakandan would take for granted. "Who?"
"This man." Bucky pointed to his face. "It doesn't have a name for him."
"His name was M'hosho." She came over, frowning at the image. "He was already very old when he was liberated. I believe he went peacefully, in his sleep."
Peacefully.
Bucky hoped that was true. He hoped this man did not have nightmares, memories. He hoped that when he got back, all of him made it home.
Maybe he was pissed off because he was jealous.
XxXxX
Bucky watched a couple of kids paddle a boat down the river.
Birnin Zana had two major rivers passing through it, breaking the city into pieces. Bridges connected the land, and even the most popular of the beaches was still pristine. He spent his time on the far bank of the second river, which passed out of the city and went on to cascade down into the rainforests beyond. It was a quiet place.
"It is peaceful, yes?"
A'di sat beside him on the bank.
Bucky said nothing, words dying before they could form. He heard her from the bottom of a well, from the other side of a river. It was too much to respond, too hard.
"Where has your voice gone, my wolf?"
Her expression was neutral, her voice as sweet and musical as ever. He wished he could still appreciate it, still see the beauty in it. Even his longing was not as strong as it should be. He was supposed to love her, supposed to care what she thought, what she said.
A'di seemed content to sit there for a while, watching the kids and their boat disappear down the river. The tiny waves touching the shore made no sound, but there was birdsong, and distant laughter, and a warm, persistent breeze. It was the kind of place dreams were made of. In his eyes, there were ghosts on the far shore, trying to go about their lives. Sitting in their cars, smiling, getting dressed up for a big night on the town. Decades of people who never met, never knew one another – never got a chance to grow old. Dozens of families with no answers, losing hope as the years marched on.
He was used to seeing them now, used to them stealing the peace from every beautiful scene in the city. He had seen most of the streets, the buildings, the people – and none of it.
A'di slid her arms around his after a while, the gesture not the comfort it used to be. She said, "I'm going to bring you back from this, even if I have to drag you."
Bucky only had one hope to hold onto. "Shuri is going to figure it out." His voice was rough, unused, and it sounded alien to him.
A'di had a painful sadness in her pretty almond eyes. "I do not think eliminating the words will solve all of your problems. Do you?"
She knew the answer.
He probably should have, but it was the thread he was dangling by. He said what had been on his mind for days, for weeks, his voice cracking around the confession. "I can't live like this."
A'di said nothing. She rested her head on his shoulder, watched his face for a while, and then went back to watching the water. Bucky kept his eyes away from hers, afraid that the things he felt for her would come back, that one emotion would bring them all back. He couldn't face her disappointment. He had too much of that for himself.
They watched the water together until the sun set and the lights from the restaurants and houses across the river blinked on. Reds and blues and greens reflected in the dark water.
A'di got up, took his hand, led him down the shore.
XxXxX
One day it hit him.
Bucky spoke sluggishly, coming out of a deep thought. "I remember the rest of the song."
A'di looked up from her book. She was lying across a mountain of cushions nearby, wearing shorts and a baggy shirt, almost unrecognizable.
Bucky went on, "It was a sad song, like you said. The soldier was my dad, and he never comes back. I don't even know where he was fighting, or why. The war was over."
It was the most he had said in weeks. Maybe it was the atmosphere. They were under an awning, just out of reach of the midafternoon sun. A ceiling fan hummed above. A'di was completely at ease, lounging, and Bucky was sitting against the wall nearby. He could see the sky from his spot, watch the clouds drift.
Bucky said, "I don't remember anything else about him."
He had a few memories – places, events, emotions – but he had forgotten his father's face long before he fell off that train. He was always closer to his mother.
A'di said, "What made you remember the song?"
"I don't know."
She hauled herself off the cushions, stretched, and sat next to him. "Are you opposed to comfort? There are three perfectly good chairs out here. You keep slouching like that, and we will need to add scoliosis to your list of ailments."
"Right under brainwashed."
She poked his cheek, "Now that you mention it, there is a smell."
Bucky almost smiled.
A'di had abducted him the night they sat together at the river. She brought him to a friend's house in the city, said she was taking a break from teaching. Uhirwa was with her. She had given the kid a handheld video game and it consumed his days, kept him calm and focused. Bucky had drifted for a while, restless, finding it hard to stay in one place. His wandering had given him an outlet, at least, burning energy and creating new backdrops for his army of ghosts. Sitting there was harder. Facing it was harder. It gave them time to regroup, to gather.
But there was something special about A'di. She was persistent, a bright spot in the world. When she spoke, he found a way to listen. She told him about her favorite parts of the city, about her favorite places in Wakanda and the surrounding countries.
It was not as calm as living in Khemba, and not as sterile as living in the Citadel, but the middle ground was that A'di was there.
Her persistent joy wore away at the darkness.
Nanwa poked her head out of the back door, "Are you two going out tonight or staying here for dinner?"
A'di glanced at Bucky, and said, "Staying here. Do you want help with cooking?"
"No, no, do not dare." Nanwa shut the door.
Nanwa was very modern compared to A'di. She wore American clothing like band T-shirts and jeans. Her home was very 70s, with a sliding glass door, an awning, wooden floors, and hideous multicolored furniture. It might have been a culture shock if he came straight from Khemba, but he had been wandering the city for so long that he was accustomed to the bipolar nature of life in Wakanda.
It was almost a comfort, a reminder of home.
A'di nudged Bucky, "I think today you have said more things than you have said since I found you by the river."
She was right. His head was clearer today.
"Do you think it is all of the American things in this house?"
Bucky snorted. "No. It's you."
She smiled the kind of smile that only she had. It was pure and sweet and needed.
"I think," she said, talking slowly, purposefully, "We need to talk about what will happen when Shuri gets the words out of your head."
Bucky wanted nothing less.
She reacted to his expression, laughing, "You are worse than Uhirwa – between the two of you, I will never be able to retire."
"When she fixes me, I'll be better," Bucky said, clinging stubbornly to that thread of hope.
"No, you won't." A'di became more serious. She turned to face him. "You are not stupid – quite the opposite. What is happening to you now is more than that. You are depressed."
"I'm not."
"What, are you too much of a strong man for that?"
"When she fixes-"
A'di cut in, "Freedom is the first step. It is. I know that this is not what you want to hear, but when she finds the solution, there will be more for you to deal with, and it will not be instant. You must get this notion out of your head, because when the time comes and you realize the things that hurt you are still there, it will be worse."
He quelled a wave of anger, of frustration. She didn't understand. It was the words. He just needed to be free. He needed to know that he could never be controlled again.
A'di took his face in her hands, "I can see you getting angry. Answer this for me. Do you trust me?"
He resisted saying something biting.
"Do you?" she said.
Bucky relented, "Yes."
"Trust me, then. I do not say these things to hurt you. I say them because I love you, and I care about what happens to you."
He said, "Why?"
A'di kissed his forehead, "Because, no matter what your head tells you, you are worth it. You are smart, and charming, and sweet, and you are capable of great things. We just have to get through today, and tomorrow, and the next day. You have to trust me."
He let out a pent-up breath, wishing he could stay mad. But as the anger left, other feelings lingered. His affection for A'di, his trust in her. It was not just empty, cold, dark.
She got up, stretched, retrieved her book, and returned to her pile of cushions. "I'm doing research."
Bucky got a look at the title. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
He smiled.