"Cody. C'mon, big guy. Back seat."

The large mutt blinked at his father as if the words "back" and "seat" did not exist in his vocabulary. Needless to say, he did not make the requested move to the back portion of the transport but grumbled in protest instead.

"I don't care what your mom lets you do in her car-" While it could hardly be described as a "car" (lack of wheels shifted the definition slightly), it did contain a spacious back seat – an ideal family vehicle. "But this is my car and we had a deal: You can ride shotgun when we're pickin' Steve up and when we've dropped him off. Back seat otherwise."

As if bested by the logic and grudgingly honouring the "deal", Cody gave one last offended sniff and pounced into the back seat. No sooner had it been vacated (and still warm) did the passenger door click open. The air conditioning held firm against the wall of heat presented by the open door; managing to stave it off from entering the vehicle as the blonde's booted foot crossed the threshold.

"Hey jerk."

"You ready to go, punk? We got hooves to scrape."

"Coffee first."

"No shit. Get in."

The Brooklyn pair (and their faithful Heinz) gravitated towards the café Elsa had treated her husband to lunch upon his return; a haunt of theirs subsequent to that successful visit.

"I'm just dyin' for a pastry." Bucky groaned, seated as they waited for their takeaway order to be prepared; despite only having a sufficient breakfast an hour or so previous under his wife's loving provision.

"You'll have more than one soon, Buck." Steve sympathized, checking over his shoulder for the umpteenth time; Bucky may have already had a breakfast but the blonde remained unfed. "That box is better value when we're both eating it."

"And I'm all for value. Hang on, this us?"

"Two extra-large coffees and a corporate catering box? Finally. Let's go."

The drive to the farm from the café was short and uneventful; pleasant, even, with breakfast being consumed as they drove and chatted.

"Hey, Buck? Did you Els's full name is Elizabeth?"

Bucky cast his friend a weirded-out side-eye; coffee in one hand, pastry in the other. Autopilot took care of the rest with the remarkable (but common) standard of Wakandan vehicles. He indulged in another bite of a gooey, chocolate-filled pastry before voicing his palpable confusion.

"Yeah, Steve. I know my wife's name."

"Huh. I just… It didn't come up till… After you were gone." Technically true though Steve would avoid the precise reality like the plague. "I guess I just never thought about it."

"Oh man, lemme tell you." The brunette chortled, releasing his pause and taking a sip from his coffee as the halfway point to the farm presented itself. "I called her Liz once, just to see what would happen. You know what happened? Know what she did?"

"No, but I know you're gonna tell me."

"That morning, I got one egg for my breakfast. One. Hardboiled egg. Never again. Lesson learned. Worst day of my life."

"Thatwas the worst day of your life? Sure you can't fish around in that brain of yours for a worse one?"

"Hey, even what Hydra cooked up couldn't match up to a pissed off Elsa! I love her more than anythin' but damn, we were warned about those Irish girls for a reason!"

Once the twin laughter, the murmurs of agreement died away and a lapse in conversation arose, Bucky mulled the events of the night previous over. Options weighed up and comfort established, Bucky chose to take the bull by the proverbial horns; folding his lips to wet them, he prepared himself to admit defeat. With the farm nearing by the second, hopefully the concession would be short.

"So uhh… Speakin' of Els. Last night, we were talkin' while gettin' ready for bed… And I think she has me convinced to go to the funeral."

As expected, the following silence simmered with a subduedly surprised nature. Steve, leaning forward in his seat to observe his darker companion as he drove, realized the significance of this admission. How long had he pestered him? Tried to reassure him? But of course, it should have come as no surprise that Elsa would find a way around Bucky that Steve could not.

"Not that it's anythin' to be jazzed about but… you don't sound too sure."

The White Wolf stared ahead; eyes on the road to feign the responsible attention of any diligent driver. The thoughts and protests he had articulated to Elsa seemed to re-form for another party that had the same pure intentions. His reasoning remained the same but he should have known Steve's understanding would match his Lioness'.

"I just… feel like I mightn't be welcome." Bucky rasped, automatically scooping back a hand to bestow the last bite of pastry (chocolate free) to quieten Cody's insistent whines. "I mean, what I did to that family-"

"I'm gonna stop you there, Buck." Steve cut in smoothly; confident in his interruption. "Did Elsa ever tell you about when me and Tony went to the farm to tell her we were tryin' to bring everyone back?"

"She mentioned it but she never really went into detail. Why?"

"Well, Tony said he hadn't had his ass handed to him like that since he spent the night with an MMA fighter- Don't ask." The pre-emption of Bucky's predictable curiosity came just in time as he opened his mouth to ask just that. "Anyway, what Els said struck him to such a degree that when we were on the jet headin' back with our tails between our legs, Tony said that when it was all over, he was gonna bring you for beers. See what he could do to upgrade your arm." The White Wolf absorbed all this game-changing information in silence; never taking his eyes off the road. "I'd say that's pretty solid in the "Forgive and Forget" camp, wouldn't you?"

"Did he really say that?"

"Yeah, Buck. He did. I promise he did. Your wife told him off so hard she made him rethink stuff that had been ingrained in him for years. I knew Tony a long time, he was as Goddamn stubborn as they came but he met his match that day. The Lioness took on Tony Stark and won."

"Yup. That's my girl." First the CIA, then Tony Stark. Baby, is there anything you can't do? Steve would not address the relieved tears clouding his companion's eyes nor the hoarseness that emotion brought but hopefully that titbit of information would bring a great deal of comfort (maybe even healing) in one of Bucky's worst traumas. "Guess I better get packing."

PTSD is not an easy thing to live with.

It certainly is not made easier when the sufferer knowingly and willingly puts themselves in a situation where said PTSD could be triggered. Where it could be witnessed by so many if it was. And placed high above the crowd with Wakanda's elite? It didn't get much more public than that.

But James Buchanan Barnes had a secret weapon. A coping mechanism so special that only one existed on the entire planet, through every vale of time. This utterly unique lifeline did not need to be carried or maneuvered, nor was it bulky or cumbersome. It moved independently and freely, even if Bucky found it difficult to be separated from it for too long.

It was for this reason that the White Wolf's cheek found his wife's crown as more celebratory fireworks painted the night sky above them. Everyone had returned, Wakanda's royal heirs included, and that demanded such an occasion to be marked. Even if not everyone found themselves at ease.

"Are you alright?"

The soft, considerate question had been timed to be punctuated with another explosive BANG erupting from overhead.

"Yeah..." Bucky breathed, eyes locked on the sky as the blackness temporarily gave way to more spreading colours and sparks. "Yeah, I'm okay…"

"Not long now." His beloved partner comforted, turning her head just enough to keep his stance unchanged but enough for her words to find him. "A few more minutes, we'll go inside, have a glass of wine and into bed. We have an early start tomorrow."

"My social battery's kinda low."

The guarding mantle that enveloped her from behind sagged with weariness, though his eyes remained skyward. He could not claim the stress of preparing to travel, not that his wife inflicted it on him; not when he had enough to contend with. She happily carried the burden of packing, organizing a guardian for the farm and rounding up whatever paperwork (Elsa required a visa) they needed in a bid to minimize Bucky's anxiety surrounding their imminent trip.

"Not to worry, my love." Came the soft assurance paired with an affectionate nuzzle of her nose into the stubble of his jaw; something endearingly witnessed by her mother-in-law. "I'll do the talking."