Bucky stepped out of the shower and grabbed the towel from the warming rack embedded in the wall. The bathing room was small but luxurious, with a high-pressure shower nozzle and steam jets in the walls. Even the temperature of the hard, stone-like floor could be adjusted.
He wrapped the towel around himself and stepped into a separate changing room area. Fresh clothes hung on a small rack in a small doorless closet. A pair of black lounge shoes sat underneath the clothes.
When he'd first arrived in Wakanda, the technology had almost overwhelmed him, but after he'd been freed from the code words, Shuri had delighted in showing him the ropes. He suspected she got a kick out of amazing some old guy from the 40s with the developments of her homeland. At the time, so much of it had seemed like magic to him.
Wakanda was also a land of contradictions. It wasn't lost on him that, in the world's most technologically-advanced nation, he'd lived for months in a hut on a sloping hill with a couple of goats and other livestock for companionship.
He slipped the clothes off the hanger. There were a pair of pants, some cotton boxers, and a blue shirt. He knew they'd fit, as would the shoes. Shuri knew his size, probably better than he did at this point, after all the ways she'd scanned and probed various parts of his body.
The shirt was dark blue, textured between silk and cotton, soft and breathable. The pants were similar to denim, but charcoal in color and softer. He slipped into the boxers and pants first, then the shirt. The arms on the shirt came exactly to his wrists. The shoulders were a perfect fit—roomy enough to be comfortable without extra material. His vibranium arm felt unrestricted in the sleeve.
He slipped his feet into the shoes and padded into the room. He heard Sam talking softly and made out the name "Clint" but made a point not to eavesdrop. It sounded as though Sam were on the phone with Barton. Sam gave a muttered, "talk later," and hung up the phone, slipping it into his pocket. Steve sat on one of the two beds in the room. They both eyed him as he entered, and he managed what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He met Steve's gaze only briefly, then he distracted himself with the assortment of food spread out on a wheeled buffet table against the wall.
He felt a bit embarrassed about crying like a toddler on Steve's shoulder. He knew he shouldn't. He and Steve had seen each other through good and bad times. Hell, Steve had drunk-cried all over Bucky's chest after his own mother had died. He was self-aware enough to realize that what Shuri had told him in the other timeline was true—his brain had undergone decades of conditioning. The Winter Soldier had had emotions burned, beaten, and programmed out of him—or, at least, to the best of Hydra's ability.
But he remembered enough to know that the emotions had still been there…that sometimes, they'd surface, and sometimes Hydra would find out and either force him back into cryo, if they were finished with him, or ramp up his sessions in the chair until he couldn't feel or remember anything for quite some time.
"You hungry?" Sam asked.
Bucky nodded. He was starving. He walked over to the spread of food. There was an assortment of local fruits and vegetables. There were also slices of seafood on a frosted, vibranium plate that Bucky knew kept the fish at the proper temperature, and a pot of hot root-vegetable stew sat next to it that immediately set Bucky's stomach grumbling.
A stack of plates, bowls, and utensils rested on the end of the buffet. He grabbed a bowl and filled it with the stew, then piled the fish and vegetables on his plate and took his meal to an armchair a few feet away, opposite the set of double beds on the far wall, and sat down. A side table was next to the armchair, and he set the plate on it, then held the warm bowl in his lap and sipped the stew's broth from the rim.
"I don't know what that is," Sam said, gesturing to Bucky's bowl, "but I had some while you were in the shower, and it's amazing."
"They usually make it from whatever's growing locally, in season," Bucky said. His eyes darted to Steve, who was sitting silently on the edge of one of the double beds, an empty plate next to him.
"Are you feeling better?" Steve asked him.
Bucky nodded. He did. He felt spent all around—physically and emotionally—but he was rested, clean, and on his way to a full stomach.
Sam walked up to the small chest of drawers against the wall, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a large yellow legal-style envelope.
"Here you go." Sam strode toward Bucky and held out the envelope.
"What is this?" Bucky took the offering.
The envelope was heavier than he expected. He set the bowl on the side table and opened the flap on the envelope, then dumped the contents onto his lap.
His cell phone and dog tags fell out.
He stared at the silver plates and thin chain of the necklace. His fingers closed on the cool metal and he read the familiar inscription—his name and serial number followed by R. Barnes and her address in Shelbyville, Indiana. He ran his thumb over the imprint of his sister's name. He'd put her down as his person to contact because he knew she'd do a better job of breaking the bad news to his parents than would a stranger reading a telegram.
He'd thought these had been lost…again. He blinked through the sudden heat in his eyes.
Damnit. He was a fucking bowl of gelatin these days. He cleared his throat, looked up at Sam, and managed a shaky "Thank you."
He slipped the chain over his neck and set the cell phone and envelope on the end table. The recognizable weight of the tags settled against his breastbone. From the periphery of his vision, he saw Sam sink down on the edge of the other bed. Bucky took a deep breath and looked up at his friends. They were watching him silently.
"Thank you both," Bucky began, "for getting me out, for…everything. Thank you."
Steve smiled softly at him. "You're welcome." He paused a moment, then tilted his head encouragingly. "I delivered the letter. I meant to tell you that earlier."
Bucky swallowed, remembering his dream. "I was thinking about that…when I was dreaming. Did you leave it on their door?"
Steve nodded. "Yeah. How did you know?"
Bucky shrugged and managed a smile. "I guess my subconscious knows you well."
"I'm not sure I understand," Steve answered.
Bucky shook his head. "Just something in a dream."
"About your family?"
Bucky nodded, taking a deep breath. "I was home. Christmas, just before my 18th birthday. I was taking a batch of my mother's walnut chocolate chip cookies over to you and your mom."
Steve nodded with a smile. "I remember that Christmas. You kept trying to get one of your father's beers and your mother was always way ahead of you."
Bucky laughed. "Yeah. That was in the dream, too."
"That Christmas, you gave me a notepad and a set of colored pencils," Steve said, looking over at Sam. "They were expensive at the time, newer to the market. I remember it being one of the best gifts I'd ever received."
Bucky smiled. "I'd bartered with the shop owner's son. I paid half price, and I fixed him up with the friend of a girl I knew."
"Your mom sent you over with the recipe for her banana bread," Steve recalled.
"Yep. I miss that banana bread, even though we only ever got it because mom was too frugal to throw away overripe bananas. Her recipe was just a guideline. It never came out the same way twice because it always depended on what ingredients we had in the house."
Steve shifted on the bed, pulling his legs up and leaning forward. "Yeah, I remember one year she put canned pineapple in it."
Bucky laughed. "I'd almost forgotten about that. That was the worst batch she ever made. I didn't have the heart to tell her, but Becca did. She took one bite and spit it out." Bucky looked at Steve and shook his head. "We had you over for dinner and you ate every single bite, then asked for seconds."
Steve chuckled. "I didn't want to hurt her feelings."
"I thought you deserved a medal for that."
"So as the only person in this room who wasn't alive in the 40s-"
"Thirties," Bucky corrected. "I grew up in the 20s and 30s. Went to war in the 40s."
"Okay the thirties," Sam replied. "So, I know you had siblings."
"Sisters," Bucky confirmed.
"That must have been fun," Sam lamented.
"It had its moments. Sharing one bathroom hadn't been fun. My father and I had to learn how to hold it really well, or go outside…even in the snow, and not get run in for indecent exposure."
Bucky grabbed the plate and picked up a slice of thick fish with his fingers, popping it into his mouth. It was white-fleshed with a meaty texture, and he was pretty sure it was swordfish. His stomach grumbled, and he shoveled a few more bites into his mouth.
He wondered how his parents had reacted to the letter. "I visited their graves," Bucky said, and the words rang softly in the silence of the room.
"When was that?" Steve prodded.
"After the helicarriers," Bucky answered. "After I visited the museum. I paged through a book about Captain America in the gift shop…read a brief biography of myself. Found out my parents' names. It was all jumbled, but familiar. I visited their tombstones shortly before I fled the country."
Bucky looked at his friends and then eyed the spread on the buffet table. As far as wakes went, this one was low-key but…just what he needed.
"I wish I'd been able to help you through that," Steve offered.
Bucky set his empty plate on the table and grabbed the bowl of lukewarm stew, taking another sip of the broth. He stared into the murky liquid and swirled it gently against the sides of the bowl. "I was a wounded animal," he admitted softly. "I needed to lick my wounds alone." His flesh fingers rubbed at the cool metal of the dog tags hanging against his chest.
Remnants of the dream came back to him…Becca's last few words played in the corners of his mind. "I think I need to see her."
"Who?" Sam asked.
"Becca?" Steve prodded.
Bucky nodded. "I saw her once, after the pardon. She was napping in her chair. I didn't have the nerve to go in. I didn't know what to say or even whether she'd know me…I think I kind of hoped she wouldn't." His gaze slid between Steve and Sam. "I know she's not in the best of health. Her memories come and go. I figured it was best to leave her be. But…"
His voice trailed off. He couldn't shake the feeling that the dream was a portent, even though he didn't really believe in such things. It was irrefutable, however, that if he didn't talk to Becca soon, he'd lose the chance forever.
"Okay, let's go see her," Sam said. "All we need is a plane. We can be there and back in a day. How old is she now?"
"She got caught in the blip," Bucky answered, "so minus those years, she's almost ninety-five."
"We can get a plane," Steve said.
"Can I go back to the U.S.?" Bucky asked. He wasn't sure what his legal status was. He got the sense earlier that he was free. Steve had indicated the charges had been dropped, but he wasn't sure if there were any conditions attached, especially considering that they'd transported him out of the U.S. in chains.
"Absolutely," Steve answered. "All charges were dropped, the Louisiana Governor pardoned you for the jailbreak. There's nothing keeping you from returning."
He was surprised how much relief that news brought him. He could have dealt with having to spend his life outside of his homeland, but it would've hurt never to be able to see Brooklyn again, or realize he'd missed his chance to say goodbye to the one immediate family member he had left in the world.
"Where does she live?" Sam asked.
"A nursing home in Indiana," Bucky replied.
Steve tilted his head inquisitively. "Do you intend to come back here afterward?"
Bucky nodded. "For a couple of months, maybe. Now that I have the chance, and Shuri's offering, I think I'll take it. She figured out how to get the code words out of my head. If anyone can help me figure out this jumbled mess of bad memories and Hydra conditioning," he waved fingers at his head, "it's her."
Sam slipped off the edge of the bed and plopped his butt on the floor, leaning his back against the mattress. "So, you did it? Saved Tony. Saved the Universe. You wanna tell me about it?" He glanced over at Steve, as though he could barely believe the man was from another timeline.
Bucky drained the last of the stew broth. All that was left were bits of vegetables, roots, and leaves used for spice. "There's actually not much to tell." He set the bowl on the table next to his chair. "When I arrived, I made my way to New York. I went over the notes and footage, formulated a plan, got to the complex ground in advance and found a good spot to stay out of the fray until the right moment. It was right after Steve," he cocked his head toward the man in question sitting on the edge of the bed, "and Thor attacked Thanos, shortly before Tony got the glove."
"And you died?" Sam asked. "I saw the video," he shook his head, "but what happened after? Steve's told me a little bit…like that you got blackout drunk on high-end Vodka Tony managed to round up as a thank you for saving his parents."
Bucky looked quizzically at Sam, then at Steve. "What video?"
Steve cleared his throat and shifted on the bed. "From the Stark suits. Tony loaded various recordings onto a portable drive. I used the footage to show people what kind of man you really are."
"Oh." Bucky stared at Steve.
He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know what footage Steve had shared. Maybe later, he'd ask, but he trusted Steve, even after the debacle with Shuri and the memory scan. Steve had gotten him this far—out of a cell and back in Wakanda. Quibbling over the how would come across as ungrateful.
And he was grateful. He was grateful to be out of that cell and to be in Wakanda, where he didn't have to pretend to be a normal person while covering up a vibranium arm and avoiding questions about his age, family, and other casual inquiries people ask to make conversation.
He certainly didn't dare ask what kind of man Steve thought he really was. He knew Steve would say something nice, but the truth is, with all the conditioning Shuri had made him realize still affected him, he wasn't sure what kind of man he actually was. He knew who he used to be, and he knew who he wanted to be. Maybe, for now, that was enough.
"I know that's probably not what you would have wanted me to do," Steve explained, breaking the silence, "but it was what I had to work with, short of staging a prison break and forcing you back to the other timeline. I couldn't do nothing and let you spend the rest of your life locked up."
Bucky smiled, but it was mostly for show. "I know. I'm not mad. It doesn't even matter, anymore."
Steve's brow furrowed and he leaned forward. "What do you mean? Of course it matters."
"It's not like that." Bucky shrugged. "I just mean that so many people have already seen things about me. Madripoor. Shuri's scan. The stuff Tony salvaged from the bunker. I just…I have to accept that it's out there and there's nothing I can do about it….or at least I have to try to accept it. I can't go around wondering what deep, dark terrible things in my past people have seen or what images play in their heads when they look at me."
There was a knock on the door. Steve got to his feet and walked to it, opening it without asking who was there. Shuri and Ayo stood on the side. Ayo was stiff and formal as usual, a spear in her hand. Shuri smiled instantly, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as her eyes went to Bucky.
"Hello," she walked forward, and Steve moved aside to allow them entrance. "How are you feeling, Bucky?" she asked him.
He stood and gave her an appreciative nod. "Better." He managed a smile. "A little embarrassed, maybe." His eyes went to Ayo. He tried to read her expression, but she was inscrutable, though she met his gaze with an unyielding one of her own.
"You have nothing to feel embarrassed about," Shuri said, dragging his attention back to her. "It is normal to grieve the loss of loved ones. For you, it is a necessary step in your recovery, and that is what I have come to discuss with you."
"Would you like some privacy?" Sam asked.
Bucky shook his head. "It's all right. You can stay." They'd both already seen him at close to rock bottom.
He'd been mercifully alone when he'd actually hit rock bottom. He almost hadn't made it out of that hole.
Shuri nodded and gestured to the arm chair. Bucky sank back into the seat.
"As I mentioned earlier, you are welcome to stay with us for as long as you need. The other version of myself has provided some helpful information, and I believe that we have the resources and knowledge to help you. I will not promise a cure for all that ails you. However, I can help lessen your nightmares, or at least take some of the sting from them. I can also help you recognize and counter the decades of Hydra conditioning that still affect you. You may be free of the code words, and that is an excellent start to your recovery. Recovery, however, takes time."
He nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate that, and yes, I'll stay. How much time do you think?"
"It is hard to say. Perhaps a few months, at least to get you to a place where you can return to whatever part of the world you call home. Brooklyn? I can even reach out to other skilled neuropsychologists that I trust, now that Wakanda has opened itself to the world, and allow you to continue therapy outside of Wakanda. Or I can set up remote sessions. You do not have to stay here forever, White Wolf, though you are welcome to do so."
"I like it here," he smiled at her. "No, in fact, I love this place. But, I can't hide here forever. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet and find a way to live, not just survive.
She smiled brightly at him. "That is the first step in the rest of your recovery."
Steve shifted to lean against the wall. "Bucky would like to visit his sister. She might not have much time left. We are hoping to leave and return shortly.
Sam rose from the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'll reach out to Pepper about a plane."
Ayo tapped her spear on the floor. "That would be absurd. The Stark planes are slower and would require unnecessary trips to pick up and drop off. If you intend on returning, we can easily arrange transport."
Bucky swallowed. "We didn't want to be presumptuous…"
"I will speak with the King. I anticipate we could leave in the morning, if that gives you enough time to prepare."
Bucky looked at Steve, who nodded affirmation.
"Yeah, no problem," Sam said. "Not like I need much time to pack for a one-day trip."
Bucky cocked his head at Sam. "You're welcome to come, but I'm not sure how large the plane is, and I know you have other things…a life…"
"You think I did all this just to miss out on the good stuff?" Sam interrupted. "You have a living sister, and I've got to see her for myself—find out if that smoldering stare is genetic or you just perfected it by practicing in the mirror."
Bucky chuckled at that and was surprised to realize that he actually missed Sam's ribbing.
"There is sufficient room in the aircraft," Ayo assured them.
"Well then," Bucky began, "I guess we're going to Indiana."
-0- -0- -0-
They had some time to kill, and Sam was incessantly pestering him with questions about his time in Wakanda, so Bucky decided to show them the hut he'd stayed in. As they walked to the top of hill, the warm sun on their faces, Bucky was pleased to see that the hut still remained. Shuri had told him that the goats pretty much foraged wild, occasionally venturing into neighboring communities and rummaging for vegetables and fruits. They kept the grass at a manageable level and helped prevent brush fires.
"That's it?" Sam asked, a slight huff to his voice. It had been a bit of a trek.
"Yep," Bucky adjusted the small pack slung across his chest; it held his cell phone, a knife, a couple of bottles of water, and snack bars.
They'd caught the vibranium rail train to the outskirts of the city and walked the rest of the way, which provided a nice outing, but the day was warm. Steve, of course, was as unaffected by the hike as was Bucky.
Two goats came up to them, immediately descending on Bucky's pants pockets. He smiled, reached in to grab the dried carrots he'd stuffed in his pocket, and fed them to the two goats. Suddenly two more goats and a couple of Arado cattle were trotting up the slope toward them.
He was all out, and he showed his hands to the animals, but that didn't stop them from pestering him. The goats were inspecting his pockets while the cattle nudged his chest. He couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him as he gently pushed them away. They apparently realized he wouldn't pay off and immediately moved on to Sam and Steve.
"Hey! Hey! Watch it!" Sam back-peddled, nearly tripping over his feet. He looked alarmed. "Ouch! Hey!" He jumped as one of the goats nipped his thigh.
"What the matter, Sam? You don't like it frisky?" Bucky teased.
Sam shot him a glare. "Tell me you didn't just make a sexual innuendo about the livestock, man? You were out here how long alone?"
Bucky laughed at that, and for the first time in a long time, he felt it deep in his gut. He decided to show mercy on Sam and clapped his hands, then gave a sharp "Ondoka!" The animals ventured away to munch on some of the taller grass near the tree line.
"How long did you live here?" Steve asked, moving ahead toward the hut. "it's a beautiful area."
"About ten months." Bucky took a moment to survey the land. "T'Challa offered me this place around the time Shuri removed the code words from my head. It gave me…peace."
The landscape hadn't changed too much since he'd left. The grass was a bit taller, and there were more weeds. The hut looked slightly worse for wear, worn by the sun and rain, and covered in parts by webs and dirt, but Shuri had said some of the children from the village often came out here to play, so it had obviously had some care in the approximately five years it had sat idle during the blip. He could see a bit of the glistening lake above the tree tops. A gentle breeze caressed his face.
He didn't realize how much he'd missed the tranquility of this place until now. So much had happened after T'Challa had arrived with a new arm and told him about the impending alien attack. His time here seemed so long ago, even though it had only been about a year for him, thanks to the blip.
Sam was at the hut, peering inside. "Whoa!" He leaned back immediately. "Something straight out of a Halloween display has taken up residence in the ceiling."
Bucky smiled. Africa had its share of large arachnids.
"Where did you go to bathroom? Did you shower?" Sam asked.
"The lake made a nice bathtub," Bucky explained.
"And you took a dump where?"
Bucky smiled and shook his head. "There's a compost basin in the ground a few yards that way." He pointed to toward the tree line to the right. "The most sophisticated compost machine you'll ever see."
Sam's face scrunched. "You pooped in a bucket in the ground?"
"A high-tech bucket," Bucky corrected.
"No wifi?"
Bucky sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I grew up without the Internet or television."
Sam actually rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you had to walk to school in the snow, uphill, both ways."
"Only one way, actually," Steve interjected as he passed Sam to peek curiously inside the hut.
Bucky smiled and took in a deep breath, enjoying the warm air and the soft breeze. After contemplating life in a tiny, windowless cell and spending too many hours over the past few days staring at a wall, being out in the open beneath an endless sky felt wonderful.
"You guys can head back if you like," Bucky told them. "I think I'll camp here tonight, meet up with you back in the city at first light."
"What?" Sam marched up to him. "You want to sleep out here tonight?" He jerked his head to the hut. "You should go look inside that thing, man? Nature isn't kind. There are more spider webs than I've seen in my lifetime. One of them is still in there, and it's about the size of my hand."
"I'll sleep out on the grass, beneath the stars," Bucky said. "It'll be a warm night. The night sky here is incredible. It reminds me a bit of our trek back across Austria. You won't find anything like it in Brooklyn or even Louisiana. Too many lights drown out the stars."
"Look at you, being all stargazy." Sam teased.
"Camping sounds fun," Steve came up to him and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "But we don't have any real food or mats, and we're low on water."
"The lake provides everything we need," Bucky said. "It's fed by rain and the river that snakes beneath the mountains. It's tested regularly for the villages, so the water's usually clean, but one of the bottles in my pack has a purification feature. As for food, we can fish for our dinner."
"We don't have fishing rods," Sam said.
"We don't need no stinkin' rods," Bucky retorted.
Sam gave him an incredulous look. "How do you know about that line? You saw the movie?"
"I read the novel. It was published in 1927, long before it ever became a movie," Bucky said. "And, no, I haven't seen the movie."
"How are we gonna fish without rods? Or bait?"
"Bait's easy." Bucky said. "Watch and learn."
"You can't be talking about noodling. That's for catfish holes. Are you telling me there are catfish here?"
"There's a sharp-toothed catfish that looks like an eel," Bucky informed him, walking past Sam and Steve toward the lake.
It would be a short ten-minute hike downhill. The sun would be setting in a couple of hours, so if they were going to eat tonight, he needed to catch dinner soon.
"Hey, you're not going in the water, are you?" Sam trotted after him. "Aren't there alligators in Africa?"
"Crocodiles," Bucky corrected with a shout over his shoulder.
-0- -0- -0-
"I can't believe I'm watching this," Sam told Steve as they stood on the lakeshore watching Bucky crouched still in the water several feet from shore. The man had stripped down to his boxers, using an insect he'd pierced with a thin stick as bait. "He's going to get eaten."
Steve's eyes scanned the lake surface. It seemed tranquil. "He obviously knows what he's doing. He lived here for some time, and nothing ate him."
A sudden explosion in the lake sent water into the air, and Bucky emerged with a medium-sized silvery fish in his right hand that looked something like tilapia. He gave a cocky grin at Sam and tossed the fish onto the shoreline. It landed a foot in front of Sam, a few feet away from Bucky's discarded clothes and hiking pack, and flapped wildly.
"Well, score one for enhanced reflexes," Sam muttered.
Twenty minutes later, another fish came sailing out of the lake. This one was long and slender, with the mouth of a catfish and a body reminiscent of an eel.
Sam looked down at the two fish that would make up part of their dinner and sighed. "I like fresh fish, but all things considered, I'd much prefer the buffet feast the Wakandan's laid out for brunch."
Another fish came sailing out of the lake and hit Sam square in the chest. His arms came up reflexively, too late to be of any use, and he stumbled backward as the fish dropped to the ground in front of him.
"Not funny, man!" he yelled at Bucky. "Not funny at all."
Steve laughed.
Sam shot him a look. "Oh, so you're teaming up with him, huh? It's gonna be two against one tonight, isn't it?"
Steve held up his hands. "I'm Switzerland."
-0- -0- -0-
They sat around the campfire a few yards in front of the hut. Steve held his makeshift spear with the cleaned fish at the end over the fire like a marshmallow. The scent of the roasting flesh made Steve's stomach grumble. They'd burned through the snack bars a couple of hours earlier, and while they wouldn't starve by any means, Steve was ready for real food.
"Man, you're right," Sam's voice broke the evening silence.
Steve glanced over at the man who now carried the shield in this timeline. Sam's head was tilted up, his eyes on the blanket of stars in the sky. He raised a hand and pointed to a dense streak among them.
"Is that the Milky Way?" Sam asked.
Bucky looked up and nodded, turning his fish over the flame. "It's something else, isn't it?"
"I thought we'd be too close to the city for it to look like this," Steve remarked, admiring the view.
"Nope, and Wakanda doesn't give off a light pollution," Bucky explained. "The forcefield blocks it the same way it has shielded Wakanda from the rest of the world, and we're outside of that."
Steve dropped his gaze to Bucky. His friend was looking up at the sky, turning the spear with his fish lazily over the fire. The glow from the orange flames danced over his features. A tiny smile hovered on his lips, and his shoulders were relaxed. All hint of the wounds around his neck had vanished. He looked at peace, and it was wonderful to see. Wakanda was definitely good for Bucky.
"So, Cap," Sam began, "how long are you planning to stay here?"
Steve saw Buck's gaze drop, briefly catching his before going to the fire.
"I don't know." Steve shrugged, turning his fish again. It looked almost done. He'd considered the question, and he decided he'd stay for a while. He hadn't been there the first time around for Buck's recovery. He hoped to be there for Bucky this time. "I have time on my side. I can stay here a few weeks, a couple of months even, and go back to my timeline moments after I left."
Steve studied Buck's face for a reaction but noticed only the slightest twitch of the edges of his mouth. He'd wanted to ask Bucky about the other Steve's decision to leave, but the right opportunity had never presented itself. Now was about as perfect a moment as he'd ever get.
"Bucky, did you know I was going to leave? The me from your timeline, that is."
Bucky's gaze slid to his and he nodded. "Yes."
"I told you?"
"Before you left, you said you were thinking about retiring and you thought Sam would be the right man to carry the shield. You asked me what I thought about that, and whether I'd be okay." Bucky looked back at the fire. The flames danced in his eyes. "I knew what you were saying."
"What did you say?"
Bucky took a breath and looked back at him, pulling his fish from the fire. "I told you that you deserve to be happy."
"You didn't ask me to stay?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Bucky looked straight at him. "I wouldn't do that to you."
Of course you wouldn't, Steve thought sadly. He pulled his fish out of the fire. He rested the blunt end of the stick on the ground so the fish could cool in the air and tried to think of a reply, but he was having trouble finding the right words.
He opted to just go with how he felt. "I wish I could punch the other me in the face."
Bucky gave him a faint, sad smile. "Maybe I should have said something. I don't know, but I know losing Peggy has affected you. There's a sadness about you that lingers. I wouldn't want to stand in the way of you being happy. I can get by on my own."
"I know, but you've been there for me my whole life," Steve said. "The thing is, there are two very important people to me, and they're in different times." He took a breath. "I wonder what the other me did. What kind of life he had."
Sam set his stick across his lap, letting the fish hang in the air. "He had a beautiful life. That's what you—he—told me."
"I'm glad, but it doesn't sound like me. I can't imagine I sat out the rest of history on the sidelines." Steve shook his head, trying to imagine what that version of his life had looked like. He had never been one to stand by and watch things go sideways if he could do something about it. "I really can't believe I would leave Bucky in the hands of Hydra, knowing he was alive, going through…" his stomach churned suddenly as he imagined himself in the past, living a happy, beautiful life, knowing that Bucky was thousands of miles away being tortured and broken.
"I'd rather not talk about this, anymore," Bucky said softly, raising his gaze once again to the sky, "if it's all the same to you."
"Of course." Steve felt like an ass suddenly for putting a damper on what had promised to be a nice evening by the campfire. "I'm sorry."
Bucky shook his head and gave that almost apologetic smile that reminded Steve of the old Bucky. "Don't be. I'd just like to enjoy the evening. There's no point in talking about a decision another version of you made."
Steve nodded.
"So, where are we sleeping tonight, exactly?" Sam said, then raised the stick and took a cautious bite of the freshly cooked fish. His eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "Th'sant bad," he muttered around the mouthful.
Steve thought he understood that to mean that Sam approved of the meal. He looked at his own dinner. He'd ended up with the tilapia-like fish. With his finger and thumb, he tore off a piece and popped it into his mouth. It tasted very much like tilapia. The fish was fresh and warm, and although it had no seasoning, it was still pretty good.
"Near the fire. It'll keep animals away. There's a large rolled up mat in the hut I'll pound out. Should get it pretty clean. We can lay on that."
"Okay." Sam acknowledged, then tilted his head and looked at Bucky. "So, exactly how much alcohol did it take you to get drunk? And what kind of a drunk are you?"
"Why," Bucky shook his head, "out of the whole story about me time traveling, saving Tony, stopping Thanos, and reversing global warming, is that the thing you keep focusing on?"
Steve smiled, grateful to Sam for changing the subject and interjecting levity into the evening once again. "He makes a sulky drunk. He went to the gym and pounded out his frustrations on a bag. He ended up sending it through a wall. Then he and Clint did some target practice on the compound grounds. Bucky passed out, and we carried him up to my room so he could sleep it off."
Sam chuckled and leaned back as he took another bite of his fish. "I wish I could've seen that."
"You were there," Bucky said.
"A different me." He shook his head. "It's just weird to think about."
Steve nodded. For a guy from the 40s, he'd been doing a lot of very weird things that he'd only ever read in science fiction, growing up—like fighting aliens and traveling through time. The world was, indeed, a strange place, and it was getting stranger all the time.
-0- -0- -0-
Bucky woke up to something nibbling his ear. He opened his eyes to see Wilson invading his personal space. The dark brown goat with the white patch on his nose huffed at him, spraying spit in his face.
"Uggh, come on," he closed his eyes, wiped a hand over his face, and sat up.
He heard laughter and opened his eyes to see Sam and Steve sitting by the dead campfire a few feet away, staring at him.
"She likes you," Sam said.
"He."
"Whatever floats your boat. It's 2024, after all."
Bucky shot him a glare and pushed the goat away from him, "Scooch, Wilson."
"Wilson?" Sam cocked his head.
Bucky nodded. "Yeah, your namesake."
"Why? Because of his color?" Sam asked.
"No, because he annoys the shit out of me all the time."
Steve chuckled at that and slapped Sam on the arm. "You had to ask."
Bucky stared at them. How long had Sam and Steve been awake? It wasn't like him to sleep so soundly, not being rustled by their movements or even the sound of Wilson's approach. He glanced around. The sun was very low in the horizon. It was just past dawn.
He felt refreshed. He couldn't remember dreaming last night. In fact, he couldn't remember waking up once during the night. He hadn't slept so well in….a very long time.
"So, are we ready to head out of here?" Sam asked. "I'd love to get a real breakfast before we head off to Indiana."
Bucky got to his feet. Becca. Today was the day…if Ayo had managed to get them an aircraft. He'd see Becca in a few hours. He had no idea whether she would recognize him or what state of mind she'd be in, but he was determined to at least talk to her while he had the chance, before time stole her from him forever.
"Yep, let's go," Bucky said.
-0- -0- -0-
When they arrived back in the city two hours later, Ayo was standing in front of their door, spear in hand, disapproval on her face.
"The plane is ready. Neither it nor I am available at your leisure," she berated them as they stopped in front of her. Her dark gaze swept over them, and she wrinkled her nose. "You all stink."
Bucky sighed. He still wasn't sure where he stood with her, and she was giving nothing away. "Could we get thirty minutes to shower and eat?"
"Bucky was showing us his hut," Steve explained. "We slept under the stars."
Ayo studied Steve's face for a moment, then her gaze went once again to Bucky. Her expression softened infinitesimally, and she nodded. "You may have forty-five minutes. I will have food sent to your room. Meet me outside, at the plane. Do not be late."
Bucky nodded. "Understood." As she turned to leave, he added, "Thank you."
She paused briefly, her back to him, and gave him a brief, acknowledging tilt of her head, then marched down the hallway and out of site. He supposed that was a good sign. The fact that she was apparently going to be their pilot was another good sign. Perhaps she was beginning to forgive him for breaking Zemo out of jail and interfering in the fight with Walker.
He'd already forgiven her for the arm. He knew she had been trying to make a point—literally with her spear and figuratively in every other way. The arm had been a gift. He had used it against her. They had given him the arm, and they could take it away. She was putting him in his place.
That still stung a little, when he thought about it, but the fact that T'Challa had offered him sanctuary in Wakanda yet again, Shuri was still willing to help him, and Ayo was flying them to Indiana told him that perhaps he had found genuine friendship here. Maybe they didn't just see him as some broken animal they felt a moral duty to rehabilitate but would never fully trust.
"Come on," Steve put a gentle hand on his arm, and it was only then that Bucky realized he was still staring at the empty space at the end of the hallway where she had disappeared.