One Year Pre-Snap.
"Wait… So, where're we going?"
"You'll see, Sergeant Barnes. You'll see."
James Buchanan Barnes did not survive the fall from the train. Not really.
He did not return from Europe. Not really.
Physically, he had.
Mentally… After a fifty-year reign of brainwashed terror…
Barely.
It was that motivation that pressed a certain Princess to take the Winter Soldier's restoration to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes as her personal project. Perhaps project is too mild a word for the dedication, focus and sheer determination that Shuri would pour into the recovery of the "Broken White Boy". Upon his release from hospital, with talk of a goat farm still being processed and digested, it only made sense for her to disguise one of their regular, rigorous, intensive sessions as something more… relaxing.
And speaking of relaxing…
The chamber, long and narrow, seemingly an outcropping, unveiled itself as a protrusion into something altogether otherworldly. Bathed in a soothing, wavering wash of sapphire set against a backdrop of purposeful darkness, that blue seeped through large, round windows; the half-crescent of the bottom large enough to seat a grown, entranced man. The foresight of a morning visit, with few other patrons, allowed for privacy; privacy for vulnerability very much to the benefit of the fresh White Wolf (a title so fresh, he still had trouble reconciling with such a gracious thing).
Standing back to observe its effects, Shuri indulged in the stoke of pride at this particular stroke of genius; unable and unwilling to deny herself the pat on the back for the ingenuity. As if the tranquilization of the darkness would not be enough, the soft blue emanating from these spheres, set back into the walls like bubbles, proved themselves to be too tempting. Bucky, utterly hypnotized and subdued, could do little else but stare; his body almost completely at rest in the cradle of the bubble seats. Propriety (whatever he possessed of it) forgotten, sandalled feet lifted and curled against his legs, drawn almost completely into his torso like a fascinated child.
And why wouldn't he be? It had to be… what? Seventy-three? Seventy-four years since James Buchanan Barnes, in any state of mind, set foot in an aquarium? The last time, undoubtedly, had to be 1942 when the somewhat displaced aquarium had taken refuge in between permanent locations in the Bronx Zoo Lion House. Looking at an octopus on one side and a lion on the other had been, some would say, surreal. Or it might have been if he hadn't been more focused on a girl who he would never see again. She may have been the Prettiest Girl in Brooklyn then (if he could even remember her face) but that would change soon; Christ, would it change soon and even now, he was closer than he realized.
Had Bucky survived the fall from the train and the subsequent shitshow that followed, he would have seen the aquarium moved to a more anchored home in 1957 in one of his favourite childhood places: Coney Island. In an ideal world, free from cruelty and unfairness, his family and Steve's would have established a new joint tradition of a day out every year; most likely the anniversary of their safe return from Europe.
Unfortunately, that is not the world that you, I or poor Bucky Barnes live in. Fortunately, however, in an outlandish turn of events, the former Winter Soldier (he worked extremely hard to make the former a reality) found himself in the largest, most exhibit-rich aquarium in the world that no one outside of Wakanda's landlocked population knew of.
Fish of all colours, sizes and species swam together and separate; in schools or solo, depending on their breed. Sharks, rays, jellyfish and even the occasional turtle glided lazily past, lulling Bucky into a similar zen without even the slightest inkling on their part. Hypnotized by this glimpse of the watery depths, James Barnes' mind seemed to drift to nothingness; a beautiful, seamless meditation just by… watching.
The graceful, effortless bend of the sand tiger shark's mostly cartilage frame, mid-patrol.
The slippery slither of the conger eel winding through coral with exacting precision but without trying.
The perfect unison in which the rainbow-reflecting school moved; hundreds of them, small made big.
The curling sweep of the spotted ray's entire body, its extended spine its only truly distinguishing feature.
The smooth brush of the green sea turtle's flipper painlessly cutting through the environment's green-blue lifeblood.
It all moved so… slowly.
So… carefree.
This other world, so close but so far, offered a lesson and as James Buchanan Barnes stared into it, became spellbound and mesmerized by it, he understood.
I'm somewhere else now. I'm safe. I can integrate myself into these new surroundings and I can exist peacefully; live, even, like these creatures do. So I will.
Bucky, as of late and as a symptom of his newfound freedom, had grown an affinity for the sun on his face; too long had he been locked away in a cellar or a bunker in the freezing damp or in his self-imposed isolation in Bucharest. With that said, the cool casting of oceanic calm (or captively close) colouring his face ebbed at the edges of his tortured soul; easing it, if only while he basked in it.
Tilting his shaggy head back against the curvature of the window seat and its unique observatory slant, Bucky closed his eyes and took a deep, blissful lungful; its exit fogging the plexiglass at the points beside his nose. The clear sound of the water undulating in his ears and the support of the frame under his foetal-like rest would be the closest he would ever come to returning to the safety of the womb.
Time eluded him. Minutes. Hours. Days. However long, it mattered not, the relaxation and peace he took from the visit dwarfed any session he had so far; not that the efforts of those involved in those sessions went unappreciated. So much so, he made a mental note to return when the time and schedule of another person would not be hindered by his indulgence of this new, serene therapy. No sooner had he thought it and the reason for that deduction reminded him of her presence.
"Come, White Wolf." The voice of the Princess roused him, considerate and benevolent; he had either not been zoned out for as long as he assumed or… Shuri had been gifted with remarkable patience. It may also have been a combination of watching as Bucky had and translating it with inspiration into an idea, a prototype for something or other, in her own brilliant brain. "Lunch is on me. You haven't been to Kinsa's yet."
"It says the seal exhibit is closed until the afternoon. They have their routine veterinary checks today, but they will be out for their scheduled feeding at 1pm."
Bucky politely smiled and nodded along, opting to neglect pointing out that he already knew what the notice stated; apparently, Hydra had seen fit to include Xhosa as one of his many languages as standard of the Winter Soldier program.
"Maybe next time." He offered, hoping to allay the twinge of disappointment the empty exhibit (usually alive with barking, honking and splashing) had prompted in the teenager. "And hey, they're eating the same time as us." It remained true that even Princess Shuri needed a reservation for Kinsa's and the deadline to leave and make it in time for it loomed; it lifted her spirits though. "C'mon, you've been talkin' 'bout Kinsa's since I woke up, I'm dyin' to see if it lives up to the hype."
It would, as it happened; enough to partially cater Bucky's wedding a year or so later alongside a barbecue.
The seal enclosure, vast and all as its rocky expanse spawled for the comfort of the animals it housed, was one of the final exhibits on the trail to leave the aquarium; one or two more tanks proceeded it but ravenous and pressed for time, the strange duo made straight for the parking lot.
"Hey… You a'right?"
Bucky had several paces on his friend before he noticed she no longer kept step with him, that she lingered on something that had snagged her heed. Retracing his steps and returning to Shuri's side, the White Wolf surveyed the stationary (and seemingly inconsequential) vehicle with something akin to his trademark confusion massaging his handsome features. Those jeeps, especially in safari and game hunting areas, were not uncommon. What was so special about this one?
"It's a jeep, what about it? Looks like the ones we had in Europe. Seen better days too."
Shuri didn't really answer; just narrowed her eyes, clicked her tongue and tilted her head in the way Bucky knew the gears in her mind were grinding to conceive something incredible.
"I know that jeep. I know who it belongs to."
"Oh yeah? Who?"
The Princess, the wonderful, brilliant Princess, almost parted with a more specific answer than the one she ended up giving; an answer that might spoil what had just jolted into her genius brain. Lingering thoughtfully on the jeep for a moment longer, Shuri decided that to stay risked discovery by the jeep's owner and she would be robbed of careful and diligent planning as a result. To that end, and taking off at a brisk stride for their own transport, the teen simply replied:
"Just a friend."