Charlotte wore her kimoyo beads religiously after that day, even though her symptoms were subsiding. She told herself it was to oblige by Shuri's rules, but the gnawing truth was that she couldn't stand the thought of another embarrassing encounter with Bucky. One more fall into his lap and he'd think she was a complete invalid who needed a full-time nurse.
"I'm going to be here longer than I thought," Shuri groaned, her holographic bust floating in front of Charlotte. "We need to stabilize their vibranium supply before it starts affecting the submolecular structure."
"How long will that take?"
"Maybe a week. We have to make sure the weakness hasn't spread to vibranium in any nearby regions. How are things there?"
"Uneventful, because you told me I couldn't do anything fun."
Shuri made a face and drawled, "She said, forgetting that she was in Wakanda." Charlotte laughed. "Have you seen Barnes?"
"Yeah. He seems…stable, I guess." Charlotte paused. "Do you really think what we're doing is helping?"
"Yes. I'm sure of it. Why?"
"He still just seems so detached. Uncomfortable, almost."
"Charlotte. The man is from the 1930's and was used as a killing machine for the past sixty years. We're not going to normalize him overnight. It's going to take time. Not to discourage you, but it could be another year or two before he may be fully recovered."
Charlotte looked somewhere at the ground, doubtfully. "Right. I just hope…I don't want to put him through this for nothing." She thought carefully for a moment, then added, "Shuri, would you…will you let me know how he does after I leave? Keep me updated?"
"Are you in such a hurry to leave?"
"No, but if it really does take years, I can't stick around that long. I just want to know that he's going to be ok."
"I know," Shuri said, grinning. "You've been worried about that since before you even met him."
Charlotte replayed the conversation in her head as she ferried the bags of feed from the side of the hut into the small wagon. The sun was low in the sky, filtering the land in a fading orange glow. The air vibrated with the buzzing serenade of hundreds of insects. Somewhere in the field a goat bleated loudly, screaming its disproval of a late dinner. Charlotte smiled at the sound. It reminded her of home.
She dropped the last bag of feed into the wooden wagon. The motion sent a fiery bolt of pain through her neck and up into her head. She froze, eyes clamped shut, waiting for the pain to pass. When her breath finally returned, she let out a long sigh.
"Can I help?"
Charlotte spun around, her hand flying to her chest in an effort to keep her heart from leaping out of it. "Shit, you scared me!"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to."
She was caught off guard by the sunlight on the man before her. She took a second to admire the way the golden rays warmed Bucky's skin and haloed the traces of red in his dark hair and beard. It glowed through his eyelashes, igniting his eyes the color of Caribbean water.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Staring rudely.
"Ota and his son are out hunting and I offered to feed the goats for him tonight and tomorrow morning while they're gone." She caught him staring at her blackened hands. "I may have played in the garden a bit, too. What have you been up to?"
"Well," he glanced at the poorly wrapped shawl around his shoulders, "I spent most of the afternoon trying to tie this damn scarf with one hand." He gave her a lazy grin.
She smirked. "Come on. Help me feed the goats and I'll help you get dressed in time for bed."
She lifted the handles of the wooden cart and started pulling it behind her, down towards the field. When the load suddenly lightened, she glanced back and saw that Bucky had removed one of the bags and slung it across his shoulder. He looked at her but said nothing.
"When I was here a few years ago," she started saying, "I used to help on the farms almost every day. It felt good to do some physical labor after lying in hospital beds for so many months. It also reminds me of my parent's farm back home."
"You grew up on a farm?"
"Bristol, New Hampshire. Not too far from your Brooklyn neighborhood."
"But two very different worlds. Not to mention two different eras."
She hesitated a moment, then asked, "Have you been back?"
Bucky's gaze fell to the ground and Charlotte sensed a seal of energy closing around him. "No."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. As they descended down the hill, the sunlight disappeared beyond the ridge behind them and the golden glow was replaced by a cooler, shaded world of violets and blues. A herd of goats eagerly trotted up to the fence line, bleating and screaming as the familiar bags of grain approached.
"Here," Charlotte explained as she weaseled her way through the wooden gate, smiling at all of the curious muzzles that impatiently nipped at her fingers. "Open the bags and hand them to me and I'll do it."
Bucky obliged, watching passively as she fought to keep herself upright against the onslaught of hooves and headbutting.
"Did you have goats on your farm?" he asked.
"For a little while. We had milking goats and made goat cheese. They're funny animals. Stupidly mischievous and they'll eat the hair off your head, but my favorite animal we ever had."
When all of the bags of grain had been emptied and dozens of short, wispy tails were happily wagging, Charlotte leaned against the fence and watched them graze. She glanced over at Bucky, noticing dark circles beneath his eyes that she had failed to see in the sunlight.
"Did the children wake you up this morning?" she asked.
"No. Why?"
"You look tired."
Bucky gave another one of those weary half-grins. "Sleep is hard to come by these days."
"Because we've been scrambling your brains about."
He shook his head. "Even before that. It's this restless paranoia. And even if I do manage to sleep, the nightmares alone are incentive to stay awake."
"I take it Shuri is aware?"
"She's tried a few things. Her theory is that the treatment should help."
Charlotte thought quietly for a moment, then crawled over the fence and walked over to him. She started to unravel the shawl wrapped around his shoulders.
"How do you usually do this?"
"One of the villagers usually help. I try to keep it on for a few days if I can."
"Ah, so that's that smell," she said, teasing him with a smile. She re-draped the fabric around his broad shoulders, taking care to cover his amputation site as best she could. "Does it ever hurt?"
He shook his head. "Best doctors in Wakanda."
She nodded in agreement and finished tying the shawl in the cradle between his neck and shoulder.
One more blow to your brain and he is without a cure for his.
"We could finish it," she suggested.
His chuckle surprised her. "Shuri said you wouldn't listen to her. Do you just have a general disregard for rules or…?"
She grinned. "Says the guy who helped Captain America defy the entire U.N. over a book of rules."
"Ah, I think that was a bit different."
"You're right, your offense was way worse than mine."
She saw a hint of eye-rolling before his face sobered and he looked back at her. Silence stretched between them as he contemplated her offer. "I can't risk it," he murmured.
Charlotte met his pensive gaze, suddenly very aware of their close proximity. At a loss for a good rebuttal, she casually sidestepped around him and began to pick up the discarded grain bags.
"I stand by what I said when we started," she said. "I don't do anything unless you agree to it. Just let me know when you're ready."
She started back up the hill, leaving Bucky alone in the cooling shadows of dusk.
The next morning, Charlotte trekked her way down to the goat paddock in the chilly morning air. She clutched her oversized wool shawl tightly around her and wiped the sleep from her eyes, still bleary as she picked her way through the African brush. As she neared the enclosure, she strained to hear the bleating and screaming that always greeted her at the fence. Instead, an unusual sound filled the hillside – silence.
The goats were peacefully grazing on a scattered trail of grain and freshly emptied feed sacs were thrown onto the cart she had left the night before. She spotted him leaning against the cart and for the briefest of seconds, a flash of irritation snapped through her as she realized she could've slept in.
"Morning," she croaked.
He nodded at her but said nothing. Had she not seen him just the night before, Charlotte would've thought that weeks had passed since their last encounter. His cheeks looked hollow and the dark crescents beneath his eyes seemed deeper. Heavy lines etched across his brow and his shoulders were slumped in a defeated bow. She reached out with her current and blinked in alarm when she could barely find his. It felt cool and still, like the dead air within a cave that never moves.
She walked over to him. "Couldn't sleep?"
"It's getting worse," he mumbled without looking at her. "I needed a distraction."
Underneath her shawl, she wrapped her arms around herself. "What can I do?" He didn't answer. "You told me that if there was any chance at all, then it was worth it."
"That was before."
"Before what?"
"Before I nearly killed you," he said, the defensive tone in his voice rising. "Before I realized that I don't even have control over myself."
"But you do, Bucky," Charlotte felt a twinge of shame at hearing the notes of frustration in her own voice. "It's because of your control that I'm still here."
"You're still here because someone intervened."
"I don't believe that," she said flatly.
"Then what you do you believe?"
The words, laced with a throaty tightness, came tumbling out, "That you're no different from anyone else. That when someone hurts you - like I did - you lash out. When you're afraid, you withdraw. It's what makes you human. And I wish you would take the risk of being human instead of believing you're the machine they created."
Bucky stared at her, his face void of expression. Charlotte placed a cool hand over the throbbing scar on the back of her neck and sniffed.
"That's what I believe," she said quietly. "Steve, T'Challa, Shuri…all of us want to help. But maybe you think you don't deserve it. And that's what I'm afraid of." She looked back out over the paddock again. "Anyways…thanks for feeding the goats."
Bucky watched her retreat up the hill. He could tell by her stiff and slow gait that she was in pain today. He wished Steve was here. Steve always knew what to say, how to shed silver linings over the shadows he seemed to cast everywhere he went. And if he was here, the punk would probably…
"Charlotte." She turned around and watched as he easily covered the distance between them in a few strides. "You know, when it comes to taking no for an answer, you're almost as bad as Steve."
"I don't know what that means, Bucky."
"It means I should probably never have you two in the same room together." He took a deep breath. "One word at a time. And you promised to hit back."
She said nothing for long enough that Bucky began to doubt his decision. He held her bottomless gaze for as long as he could until she finally asked, "Are you sure?"
"No." He almost grinned at her wilted expression. "But that's why they call it a risk, isn't it?"
A/N: HA! I'm sure you guys thought I had given up on this story. So sorry for the long breaks between chapters - full-time jobs are not conducive to writings. Anyways, feedback is always appreciated! Cheers, have fun, be good!