If you came here from "Step Into the Light", welcome! :) If not, you should definitely go read the fic that inspired these stories - It's not totally necessary to but recommended!

After this initial chapter, my plan is to post every Sunday, so please subscribe for notifications on updates!

Also, please note that a few lines of dialog between Bucky and Steve were taken from the post-credit scene of CACW. I am in no way affiliated with Marvel or its characters.

May 2016
Wakanda

"You sure about this?" Steve asked tentatively, approaching Bucky who was seated on an exam table while a Wakandan doctor prepped him for cryosleep.

"I can't trust my own mind," Bucky said, smiling wistfully. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing. For everybody."

Steve rested a hand on his best friend's shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug, "I'll miss you, Buck."

Bucky squeezed him back, then stepped into the cryochamber. Shuri pulled the straps into place across his chest and legs and checked his vitals, "Are you ready?"

He gave her a single nod and turned to Steve, who was standing next to Shuri with his head hung. Bucky smiled, feeling a true sense of calm for the first time since he could remember, "It'll be ok, buddy."

Steve returned the smile, not wanting Bucky's last memory of him to be one of apprehension. He stepped back, giving Shuri space to lock the chamber. Within seconds Bucky was suspended in cryofreeze, and Steve was alone again.

"We'll figure this out, Captain," she reassured him. "Ayo and I are already working on a deprogramming technique we think will work. In time, he'll be free of everything HYDRA put inside his mind."

Steve inhaled deeply. He'd only recently met Shuri, but he knew her work with science and technology went far beyond anything even Tony or Bruce had achieved. If there was anybody he trusted to make Bucky whole again, it was her.

"Thank you for this."

She nodded and took her leave just as T'Challa entered the lab, "Walk with me, Steve."

He followed T'Challa down a long corridor pausing in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. "Bucky Barnes, like my father, was a victim," T'Challa said eventually, turning toward Steve. "If I can help him find even a little bit of peace…"

He trailed off. Steve stared out the window, into the expanse of the massive city below, not meeting T'Challa's eye. "You know they'll come for him if they find out he's here."

"He's safe with us," T'Challa said. "Come. There's something I want to show you."

They made their way out to an artillery bay where Oyoke was talking to a blonde woman. Steve glanced at T'Challa as they approached and was confused by the knowing smile on the man's face. It took another moment, but Steve eventually recognized the Quinjet, just before realizing it was Natasha standing there with the Dora Milaje general.

He stopped in his tracks a few paces from her, stunned.

"Happy to see me, Rogers?" Natasha asked, pulling him into a hug.

Her arms around him sent a rush of familiarity and comfort through Steve. He wound his arms around her back, drawing her tight against him. "Hey," he whispered into her hair.

After a few seconds, she pulled back, but let her hands linger against the sides of his arms and smiled up at him, "I guess that's a yes."

Steve smiled back, still trying to reconcile the last time he'd seen Natasha with the woman standing in front of him now, "What are you doing here, Nat? And… what'd you do to your hair?"

"Uh, it's a long story," Natasha chuckled uncomfortably and tucked the newly dyed blonde strands behind one ear. "But I figured, since we're both on the government's shit list now, we might as well go at it together."

He furrowed his brow in frustration. Natasha had helped Bucky and him escape Germany with the Quinjet, so he shouldn't have been surprised that Secretary Ross had her declared a war criminal, too. He was disappointed, though, that Tony didn't try to stop it.

"This isn't right," he said, shaking his head. "You shouldn't be on the run."

Natasha shrugged, "Neither should you, Steve, but here we are."

T'Challa cleared his throat, "I feel like I should apologize, Miss Romanoff. I'm the one who informed Secretary Ross of what happened at the airport."

She turned toward him without an ounce of ill will in her expression, "There's no need to apologize, T'Challa. I would have done the same thing."

He gave Natasha an appreciative nod and turned to Oyoke, "I'm going to show the Captain and Miss Romanoff to their quarters. Will you please ensure their jet is fueled up and fully stocked with supplies prior to their desired departure?

"Of course, Your Highness," Oyoke said, then turned back to Natasha. "It's good to see you again, despite the circumstances."

"Likewise, General," Nat smiled and threaded her arm through's Steve's as they made their way back up to the palace. He stilled, momentarily, at the casualness of her touch but welcomed the warmth her body radiated onto his.

T'Challa led Natasha to a room next to the one Steve had been staying in for the last week. To say it was lavish would have been an understatement. Like most rooms throughout The Citadel, this one had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Its high ceilings were adorned with traditional Wakandan tribal artwork and ornate chandeliers. One corner of the room was set up like a study, with a plush sofa, stacks of books that lined shelves on the wall, a fully stocked bar and a fireplace. A four-poster king-sized bed with deep red silk sheets was tucked into a far corner.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here," T'Challa said, turning to Natasha.

"More than comfortable, thank you," she responded, walking over to the expansive windows to take in the view.

He turned to Steve, "Captain, please let me know if either of you need anything."

"We will. Thank you, T'Challa," Steve said before settling into the sofa. He watched Natasha as she looked out into the city below. It was obvious by the way she ran her fingers across the glass as she walked the length of the room, that she was as taken with Wakanda as he'd been upon first arrival.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" she asked, turning to face him, and way the sun light reflected off her face made Steve's lose his breath.

His eyes locked on hers, "Beautiful."

Something passed between them in that moment, though after the events of the last few weeks, neither of them was willing to acknowledge it. Steve cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject, "What happened after you left the compound, Natasha?"

She sat down next to him on the couch and rolled her neck to the side, cracking it. Only Clint knew all the dirty details about her past, and though the rest of the team knew she'd been trained by the KGB, Natasha wasn't sure she was ready to fill in the blanks about the particulars of her former family members or about what had happened in the Red Room just a few days before.

"Right after Germany, I let Ross track me to a train station in Albany, where I ditched my gear, hopped a ferry and ended up in Norway," she explained, crossing her legs up under her on the sofa. "One of my undercover contacts set me up with a safe house, and I was planning to lay low there for a bit, but an old friend found me and asked for help dealing with some … things from the past. Ross caught up with me again a couple of days ago, this time in Russia, but I was able to escape. My contact somehow got his hands on the Quinjet, and here I am."

"You know, I wouldn't believe that story coming from anyone but you," Steve said with a shake of his head. "You think Fury had anything to do with the jet?"

Nat shrugged, "I honestly have no idea, but I wouldn't be surprised."

"Well, I'm glad to see you." Steve shifted on the sofa, so they were facing one another.

"I couldn't leave you out here to fend for yourself, Rogers," she said, winking at him. "Besides, you're going to need my help busting our friends out of that damn ocean prison."

A confused expression passed over Steve's face, and Natasha realized he had no idea where Sam, Clint, Wanda and Scott were being detained.

"Ross has them on The Raft. It's a max security prison in the middle of the Atlantic."

"Oh, for God's sake," Steve threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Does Tony know?

"He does now, but at the time? No, I don't think so." Steve's jaw clenched, and Natasha put her hand on his knee, feeling him relax under her touch, "T'Challa told me what happened in Siberia."

"I did what I had to do, and so did he," Steve rubbed circles into his temples, trying to alleviate the onset of a headache.

Natasha didn't press him to say more, knowing, that like her situation with Yelena, he'd talk about it in his own time. They had more immediate things to figure out anyway, like how they would break their friends out of an underwater prison.

She studied Steve for a moment, taking note of the yellowing bruises across the left side of his jaw and cheek bone and the cuts above his lip and over his right eyebrow. His usually ridged posture was slightly slumped, just enough that Natasha noticed.

She scooted a few inches closed to him, so her knee pressed into his thigh. The contact jerked Steve to attention, and when he looked up at Natasha, she saw in his eyes everything he'd been carrying the last few weeks – the Accords, Peggy's death, the fight in Germany, Siberia, Bucky, Tony. He looked exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she decided that any further discussion of the team could wait another day.

"I have an idea," Natasha said, standing abruptly and making her way to the bar cart stationed next to a massive wall of books. She rummaged through an array of bottles, picking out a brand of brown liquor she'd never heard of, grabbed two glasses and returned to the couch.

Steve raised an eyebrow, "You know I can't get drunk."

"Maybe Wakandan booze affects you differently," Natasha handed him a heavy pour of the golden liquid before serving herself. She held her glass out and clinked it against his. "Only one way to find out."

Steve chuckled into his glass as he tipped it to lips. The smooth, amber liquid burned on the way down and warmed his insides, and he involuntarily let out a content, low hum.

The sound reverberated through Natasha, and she wasn't sure if she was more effected by the noise itself or by how much it made her pulse quicken. Maybe drinking with Steve while they were both in such vulnerable states wasn't such a good idea.

She took a sip from her own glass, chancing a glance in his direction. He was staring at her, his stormy blue eyes locking with hers.

"Definitely a bad idea," she thought, shifting on the couch just enough so their legs were no longer touching. The loss of contact broke the lingering tension, and the two fell into comfortable conversation.

It wasn't until Steve emptied the last of the bottle into his glass that he realized the sun had dipped below the horizon. A glance at his watch told him it was a few minutes past 9 p.m., at least three hours since T'Challa had left them alone. Natasha yawned and stretched beside him, reaching her arms up over her head.

"I can go and let you get some rest," Steve set his glass down on the coffee table, but she caught him by the arm before he could stand.

"No, don't."

He looked over at Natasha. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol. She'd tied her chin-length blonde hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, though a few pieces had escaped to frame her face. The change in her regularly fiery red hair was jarring, but it suited her.

The green utility vest and combat boots she'd been wearing were discarded on the floor, leaving her in socked feet, faded black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. She'd always been stunning, but something about the relaxed state of her clothing and the almost innocent look in her eyes made Steve's heart race.

She grabbed her phone and Steve's drink from the coffee table and handed him the glass before she began scrolling through a music app. After a minute, a soft melody filled the room. Natasha leaned into Steve's side, nudging her shoulder into him, and he instinctively brought his arm up around her. The two of them together that way felt new and familiar at the same time.

Nat's head dropped to his shoulder, and he leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes, letting the song seep into him. It was beautiful and haunting and the exact type of music he'd expect Natasha to listen to.

"What is this?" he asked, rolling his head to the side to look at her.

"Falling by The Civil Wars," she tipped her head up and smiled at him. The alcohol made it difficult to focus on his face, so she squinted slightly.

Steve smiled back at her then closed his eyes again. His head swam, and he wondered if he actually was beginning to feel the effects of the Wakandan-made liquor, "I like it."

Natasha curled herself further into Steve's side, resting a hand flat on his abdomen like it was something she'd done a hundred time before. He could feel her smile where her face pressed against his chest. They were quiet after that, simply existing together while the music played.

Eventually Natasha's breathing evened out, and Steve realized that she'd fallen asleep. He scooped her into his arms, and pulled back the covers on the bed before setting her down and tucking her in. She stirred slightly and mumbled what sounded like "thank you" before turning onto her side and drifting back to sleep.

Steve pushed a few strands of hair back from her face, letting his fingertips linger on her forehead a moment longer than he should have. He flipped off the lights and turned back toward her upon reaching the bedroom door, whispering into the darkness, "Good night, Romanoff."