Author's Note: Marvel owns what it owns, and I own what I own, let's keep it that way shall we? Don't Sue me!
Recommended Listening: Ramble On by Led Zeppelin, Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant, The Lonely Shephard by Gheorghe Zamfir, Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Running with the Devil by Van Halen
Ch 30- What Does it Mean to Disappear?
She'd found it by accident. It was a little garage, more of a metal shack than a mechanic's shop, which was precisely the kind of place that would deal in cash and not ask too many questions. It was the type of place Maggie needed.
The air was dry and hot, the only relief from the oppressive heat boring down on her was the shade of the little building, and the slight breeze offered by the creaking oscillating fan.
Once upon a time she would've been almost acclimated to this type of weather, but after nearly a decade of living north of the Mason-Dixon line, sweat was pouring off her. That, coupled with everything else going on, she probably wasn't fitting in as well as she wanted. Regardless, she was too far in to this to chicken out now, she'd have to see this through to the end, and whatever that meant.
Maggie had been off the grid for over 72 hours. She'd made her way to the border the moment that Sam had told her to lay low. She'd switched out plates, and had crossed the border under an alias. Now she was trying to get rid of her vehicle so that she could disappear entirely. Don't run, walk. That's what Natasha had always told her, and now it could mean life or death.
Adjusting her backpack and the straps of her tank top, her ears strained to listen to the news report on the radio, hungry for news of Steve, Sam, and the others.
"The manhunt continues for UN bombing suspect James Barnes, who escaped UN custody two days ago. The search for Barnes's accomplice Steven Roger, formerly of the Avengers, also continues. Anyone with any information has been encouraged to come forward. A reward is being offered for any information that leads to the capture of Barnes or Rogers."
So they'd found Barnes. Well, she hadn't found shit. The end of a two and a half year manhunt where she'd risked life, limb, and sanity, and they'd managed to flush the bastard out of hiding with a bombing. Maggie found that she couldn't quite shake the bitter taste in her mouth. It really all had been for nothing.
Figures.
Still, it didn't change what had happened, or the fact that now she had to lay low until she could be sure the U.S. Government or anyone else wasn't interested in what she knew. Better to be safe than sorry, particularly when there were Super Soldiers and a very pissed international community involved.
"Can you believe this shit? A 24-hour news cycle and the best they can come up with is this fucking bullshit with the UN." The garage owner swore in Spanish, pulling Maggie's attention away from the radio.
"Yeah. It's fucked," She agreed, turning to focus her attention on the mechanic and apparent owner of the establishment approached the counter where she'd been waiting. He was a Mexican man of slight build and stature in a dirty grease smeared jumpsuit. Was he an honest man? She didn't know, but he certainly looked like someone willing to make a shady deal with a woman who was all alone.
He gave her an appraising look. The kind car mechanics give you when they're about to tell you that they can fix it, but it's going to cost you, which was, in general, not good news for her.
"So, what are you gonna give me for the car?" Maggie asked brightly before he could say anything.
This was the last thing she had to do before she could disappear entirely. It was the most important thing, and it could be a significant stumbling block if not handled appropriately. To say that she was a little anxious would be understating this.
"Best I can do is 9,200."
"Pesos?" Maggie raised an eyebrow.
"Pesos." The man confirmed, his expression grim.
That was about 500 USD. He was intentionally lowballing her. But that was always the case, wasn't it? There were two options, take the offer or walk. She could always haggle, but that might attract the wrong type of attention. Still, she needed the money, and anything extra would be a big help. Maggie put her elbows on the counter and leaned forward, allowing her tank top to slide and stretch strategically. "Come on now." She smiled wryly, "You know it's worth double that." She paused, making prolonged eye contact, "But I understand you're doing me a favor." She stood back upright. It had been a long while since she'd tried anything remotely approaching flirting in Spanish, so it felt awkward, but looking at the garage owner's face, it appeared to be working.
Clearing his throat, he glanced around before scratching out a number out on a scrap of paper before shoving it across the grimy countertop to her.
"Cash?" She glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course."
Maggie paused, making a show of mulling over her options. She was going to take the cash, she needed the money, but it was always a good move to at least look like you were giving it a little bit of thought. Besides, if she seemed too eager, she'd be memorable, and that was really the last thing she needed.
Be the little grey man. Be able to get on and off the elevator, in and out of a location without anyone ever noticing you.
"We have a deal."
He nodded, "I have to get it out of the safe."
"Of course. Of course, take your time." She said, backing away from the counter.
The man disappeared into a little back room, and Maggie returned her focus to the radio. It had moved onto something else, but she still listened, hoping, perhaps that by focusing all of her energy on the radio, it might give her the answers she was looking for.
Namely, what was going on with Sam and Natasha. The manhunt was on for James Barnes and Steven Rogers, and immediately after the bombing, Sam had been mentioned as well, but now, Sam had disappeared from any news reports or mentions. Likewise, Natasha hadn't been seen or discussed in the news since just after the bombing.
Maggie wanted to reach out to them, make sure they were okay, let them know that she was safe, for the moment, but she couldn't. They didn't know where she was, and she didn't know where they were. It was the best possible arrangement for everyone.
This was what it meant to disappear. The lack of connection, the not knowing, the feeling that she was completely separate from the world around her, and not a part of any community or family. She had been gone a long time, so she knew disappearing was safe, but it was also lonely. Maggie knew how to be lonely, she'd been lonely a lot over the past four years, since Riley's death, and almost more so when she'd come into the hunt for Bucky Barnes. Surrounded by people but lonely. Now not only was she lonely, but she was alone, without another soul in the world.
However, lonely as she was, she'd rather be alone than in a government cell, or worse. Like it or not, this was the better option.
The mechanic returned from the little room and counted out the cash. Nodding satisfactorily, Maggie slid the keys and title across the counter toward him and collected the bills. "Thank you very much." She said.
"You know, Miss, I wouldn't normally ask." The mechanic's voice stopped her before she could turn to go. "But you're not in any sort of trouble, are you?"
Was it that obvious? She probably looked like a deer in headlights, all things being what they were. "Ex-husband's car. Couldn't stand looking at it, but knew couldn't get much in re-sale." She smiled. "Thanks again."
Turning, she walked from the chop shop, and into the bustling streets. She turned a couple corners, and then she disappeared from view and into the crowds without a trace.
Bucky focused on the massive floor to ceiling windows, to the glittering vibrainium mines that spread out before them, sparkling like the night sky, and humming with the same energy and purpose of an anthill. His eyes searched the scene for a sense of order, some idea of how the people and machines knew what they were doing. It was all beyond him.
He glanced over at the Wakandan technician dressed in white, who was working diligently on his left side. Had he been feeling up to it, he would've asked the man for further explanation of the scene going on just outside the windows. Instead, he just kept his mouth shut, his jaw clenched.
It wasn't just the mines that were humming with energy, but the entirety of the Wakandan science and research division was filled with activity, led of course by the Princess Shuri. They had been nothing but perfectly polite, but he could tell they were all wary of him. He couldn't exactly blame them, with everything that had happened over the last few days.
"Buck?" He looked over at Steve, who had reemerged in the lab after being led away by several of the Wakandan attendants to shower and change. He was wearing civvies but looked just as tightly wound up as he had when they'd first laid eyes on one another back in his apartment in Bucharest.
It always ends in a fight. He wished he'd been wrong. He really wished he'd been wrong, but now none of that mattered. The other Winter Soldiers were dead, the real mastermind of the UN bombings was in custody, the Avengers had dissolved, and he was sitting in Wakanda through the generosity and good graces of King T'Challa and the Wakandan people.
Bucky winced as the technician clipped away more of what remained of the Winter Solider prosthesis, working to get it down to the attachment mechanisms and joint.
"You okay?" Steve asked, brows furrowed, concern coming off him in waves.
"The sound." He answered shortly. Thankful that Steve couldn't see his right hand, which was gripping the examination table so hard his knuckles were a pearly white.
They weren't hurting him, but the sensation buzzing in his spine was telling him something was wrong with the prosthesis. It's missing, you useless piece of shit. He would've found the whole thing ironic if not for the pained expression on Steve's face.
"Any word on what happened to Wilson and the others?" He asked, deflecting away from himself to something equally painful and uncomfortable.
"I have a heading."
Bucky nodded. It had been over 48 hours since the fight at the Leipzig airport and little under 40 hours since their showdown with Stark had resulted in the prosthesis being blown almost completely from his shoulder. How long had it been since the bombing and the apartment, and the chase from Bucharest and the fight in Vienna? He couldn't quite recall. He squeezed his eyes shut, it felt like a lifetime ago, a blur in his already fuzzy memory.
He opened his eyes and looked up at Steve. 'Any word from Ramirez?' He felt the words very nearly speak themselves, but he stopped himself. Steve looked worried and upset enough as it was; there was no need to compound it. He'd heard Steve and Wilson exchange tense words during their trip from the warehouse to the train depot. They hadn't heard from her in over 72 hours, which wasn't a good sign.
Bucky winced. This time he flinched nearly pulling away entirely from the grasp of the technician. "Sorry." He mumbled, focusing down on the lab floor.
He could feel Steve's eyes on him. There were so many questions that Steve wanted to ask, so much that Steve wanted to know. They'd talked on the quinjet between Germany and Siberia, but that had been frantic, near feverish as they'd tried to grapple with what he'd gotten them into, and what they were going to come up against. Sure there had been some banter between them, some reminiscing on the past, but they hadn't had any time for the real questions that Steve so desperately wanted to ask. The past they could talk about, but the future, their future was uncertain.
When Bucky glanced back up at Steve, he found that Steve's gaze had moved on, and he was watching the technician as he worked, wincing and grimacing.
Could Steve love him as he was now? Would he still love him if he knew what he'd done? He shouldn't. Steve should put a bullet in his skull and be done with the whole thing. It would be mercy. It would be no more than he deserved.
What you did all those years, that wasn't you. You didn't have a choice. That had been Steve trying to justify, trying to rationalize what the Winter Solider had done, versus what the man he considered his friend might have been a party to.
I know, but I did it. He'd responded, and Steve hadn't known how to react. How could he? How could even begin to reconcile what Bucky Barnes had been and what Bucky Barnes had become? Steve wanted to pretend they could go back to the way they had been in '45. No. Even before then, that they could go back to the way it had been when they'd been stupid kids when it had just been them versus the world.
He couldn't do it. It wasn't possible. How could he ever be the person, ever be the man he'd once been when he'd been the Winter Solider far longer than he'd ever been James Barnes. What did it mean to be Bucky Barnes? How could he possibly know? How could he even guarantee he'd stay that way? That Hydra wouldn't crawl back inside his head and make him their plaything again. The bastard who'd lured them to Siberia hadn't even been Hydra. How could be sure the code words wouldn't surface on the black market and auctioned to the highest bidder? That's why it was better to go back under and let the Wakandans have a go at the shit Hydra had shoved in his brain than risk another incident like Berlin.
Bucky glanced up at Steve, who was watching him. Did he know what he was thinking? Bucky certainly hoped not. Not after all that Steve had done for him.
"How are you feeling, Sergeant Barnes?" The Princess, Shuri, inquired as she walked up, a small wool cap edged with leather in her hands.
Bucky's gaze darted to Steve, who waited, breath held, for him to answer. He couldn't let the side down, couldn't let Steve know how much he was hurting, not after everything. "Can't complain." He shrugged with as much bravado as he could manage, hyper-aware of how off-balance he felt now without the arm tugging at his spine and shoulder.
"Good. Glad to hear. Your initial brain scans are back and are looking very promising. But first." She presented the cap to him. "As discussed. We removed the damaged exoskeleton of the old prosthesis, leaving behind the attachment mechanism and joint should you opt for a replacement at any point in the future. However, to protect you and the joint, I've designed this. It is magnetic but won't make you stick to anything else. It's waterproof and will protect the internal mechanism." She extended it to him.
He nodded, taking it wordlessly and sighed as he slid it over the numb of what remained of the Winter Soldier Prosthesis.
"Once we get you under," The Princess continued, "I'm going to remove and replace the chip that allowed you to control the prosthesis, it's what's causing you some discomfort."
Steve shot him a look.
"Nothing I'm not used to."
That comment did not have the desired effect as a pained expression cross Steve's face, "Buck?"
"I'm okay, Steve, I promise." He murmured before directing his attention back to the Princess, "How long will I be under?"
"As long as it takes. This is your brain we're talking about. What I'm going to do is create a copy of your brain, run some simulations and programs to see what works, and perfect my technique before I apply it to your brain. I also want to have a number of redundancies and workarounds in place should anything unexpected happen." Princess Shuri explained.
"You are in good hands," King T'Challa announced his presence.
"You mean the best hands." Princess Shuri corrected shortly.
Bucky opened his mouth to address the young monarch but was cut off by Steve, "Your highness, I can't thank you enough for doing this."
The king nodded, turning to face him directly. "My sister, while young, is the head of our research and design labs here in Wakanda. She will find a way to remove what Hydra put in your brain."
"Thank you, your highness."
"Thank you for trusting us enough to allow us to perform such a task," he replied.
Trust. Right. That. Well, it wasn't like anyone else was lining up to help out that boasted the same level of technology the Wakandans had access to. And if anyone deserved to poke around in his brain, it would be the Wakandans, particularly after what he had inadvertently caused.
He looked back up into the face of the man. They had been enemies, albeit through a serious miscommunication, and now they were hesitant allies.
Bucky should be worried. He should be concerned. He should be more hesitant, more resistant to going back under, to trusting T'Challa and the Wakandans to not auction him off to whoever.
King T'Challa had approached them shortly after they'd walked from the bunker in Siberia. He had Zemo in custody, and he'd offered his apology and his help.
Naturally, Steve had been wary, but the king had given them coordinates and all the necessary security clearance to enter Wakandan air space, and they'd gone their separate ways. He and Steve had talked through the various pros and cons and possible outcomes.
What if it's a trap? What if he just turns them over to Ross and the United Nations? What if they imprisoned them in Wakanda? There was an endless list of things that could go wrong. But there was also the tantalizing possibility that The King was genuinely offering to help, that the Wakandans were going to help them, and that maybe just maybe it might work.
Then six hours after trying to manage a skull-splitting headache, a seizure, and what to do with the charred, twisted remains of the metal prosthesis Stark had blown from his body, they'd come to a consensus. He needed help, professional help, and if the King of Wakanda was willing to give them quarter, they would take it. They didn't have any other options.
When they had arrived, they'd been greeted by Okoye, the head of the Dora Milaje, a squad of the Dora Milaje, and the King's younger sister Shuri. While it took a little bit of explaining, ultimately, they'd been allowed to leave the landing pad and were escorted up to the Wakandan laboratories. The rest, as they say, was history.
They'd hooked him up to an IV, fluids, antibodies, and stuff to help with the pain. That, combined with a long hot shower and clean clothes, he felt better than he had in a really really long time, aside from his prosthesis being blown from his body and nearly having his face kicked in by Tony Stark.
Bucky glanced back at Steve. Somethings would be much harder to heal than others. He wanted to ease the pain in his eyes, be able to make it right, but he couldn't, at least not right now, not the way that Steve needed or even wanted.
He had to disappear again, just for a little while longer. But there would be consequences, there always were, just as there had been over the past two years. Casualties of choice. That's what it meant to disappear. You removed yourself from everything, yet you and everyone around you were left with the consequences of that action, consequences of the void you'd left in your wake.
"You sure about this?" Steve asked. He really didn't want Bucky to go back into cryo. Everything about his body language screamed that. He could understand, Steve had just gotten him back, but after everything that had transpired, there would be no way for them to continue forward unless he did this.
"I can't trust my own mind. So until they figure out how to get this stuff out my head, going back under is the best thing for everybody." He smiled. It was thin and forced, but it seemed to ease some of the concern that radiated off him.
Steve nodded. He was trying to be brave; they both were. If only he could make Steve smile, it might make everything seem okay, or that it might be okay sometime soon.
Steve opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the Princess who'd marched back into the lab where they were preparing him for cryo. "Everything is ready when you are, Mr. Barnes."
"Yeah. Just a minute." Bucky nodded.
"Of course. Take all the time you need." The Princess nodded, retreating a fair distance to give them the space they needed.
They exhaled sharply, glancing at one another and then over at the cryo chamber that stood several yards away.
It was nothing like the set up back with Hydra. It would be nothing like with Hydra. He was doing this willingly. These people wanted to help him, wanted to help reverse what Hydra had done to him.
Is it possible?
Bucky glanced up at Steve, who was watching him with those eyes, filled with such tenderness, yet with a sadness that approached despair. Bucky had to hope, for Steve's sake, if not his own.
"Steve." Bucky began.
"Yeah?"
"No matter what happens, I'm going to be okay. You know that, right?"
"Yeah." Steve nodded, swallowing hard, he looked at the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, of course."
"I'll see you on the other side."
"And I'll be here."
There was a pause, an anticipation of sorts as if they expected the other to say something. He knew what 1940s Bucky would've said, but he couldn't say that, not yet, not right now, perhaps not ever.
Instead, Bucky looked to the attendant who was observing them. "I'm ready."
Steve backed away as a flurry of nurses and technicians descended upon him. He rose unsteadily to his feet, feeling lightheaded, but managed to make it to the cryo-chamber under his own power. The voices of the Wakandans seemed far away as they explained what they were doing. His eyes were focused on Steve, who was watching the whole scene, his jaw grit, his face grave.
"Okay, Sergeant Barnes, we're going to give you a sedative before we put you completely into cryo-stasis." The head of the cryogenics lab explained gently, drawing Bucky's attention away from Steve.
His heart pounded, and it took everything he had not to wrench away as they secured him into the cryo-chamber. They aren't Hydra. They're here to help. They aren't going to hurt you. He chanted to himself, trying to keep his heartbeat even and steady.
"I understand your worry, but we're going to take good care of you," The Princess said somewhere out of his line of sight.
"Thanks for that." He called out, trying to ignore how his voice shook.
Bucky turned to Steve, watching as the cryo-chamber started to close, he shut his eyes, holding the vision of Steve in his mind. Do this for Steve. Do this to fix what you've done.
"Okay, Sergeant Barnes, breathe deeply and count backward from ten." A voice called.
Bucky inhaled deeply as the cold air entered the chamber, and the world around him disappeared.
A/N: So what do we think y'all? Never you fear, Bucky and Maggie are going to wind up geographically very very close to one another very soon. (The BEST IS STILL YET TO COME!) but for now a bit of a cliff hanger. :D Hope you're all enjoying and keeping sane and safe during this whole pandemic thing!
Until Next time, Happy Reading!
