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: Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas, Have you Ever Seen the Rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival, Ain't No Grave by Johnny Cash, Stay with Me by Sam Smith, 20 Years by the Civil Wars
Chapter 31-Regrets and Remedies
Cold. Blistering unrelenting cold.
He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't move.
"They're pulling me. They have a mission for me for the soldier." The thought cut through the din with amazing sharpness and clarity.
His limbs tingled, so cold they felt like they were on fire. His left shoulder felt lighter.
"My Arm. The Arm. Hydra had taken the Arm." That was his next thought. They'd taken it, for punishment or humiliation, he didn't know, but they'd reattach it. This was there was of reminding him who they were, of who the soldier belonged to.
He tried to breathe but was met with crushing, freezing cold. He was drowning like he was under a frozen lake. His lungs ached, and any moment he 'd suffocate. He gasped for air, breaking the surface of the invisible frozen lake of cryo and into the waking world. He gulped down air, his chest heaving, vision blurring in and out of focus, his limbs burned.
Voices warbled far away, they were speaking to him. He grasped helplessly at the words, trying to decipher their meaning. What did they want? Oh God, if he didn't respond they'd punish him, they'd hurt him.
" Bucky, Bucky, are you with us?" A voice broke through the fog.
" Steve?" He recognized that voice, and he could feel his face being cupped by two very warm, strong, but gentle hands.
" I'm right here, Buck. You're all right. I've got you." Steve's voice floated in through the fog.
" Steve?" He managed again, with a little more strength.
" I'm here, Buck. I'm not going anywhere."
Bucky exhaled, blinking. The hot Wakandan afternoon sun was bearing down on him, but he didn't mind the heat, he'd had enough cold to last a lifetime.
He glanced around at the rolling fields. His small herd grazed contentedly, not too far away. The grass was tall and yellow from the heat and sun. The skies were blue and cloudless, making the horizon stretch one for miles where the snow-capped mountains loomed overhead, and the lush jungles tinged the landscape with hues of greens. It was a scene worthy of poets or painters, of which he was neither.
Did Steve still paint and draw? He couldn't help but wonder. He could remember the mess of papers and crushed graphite strewn across the floor, the countless drawings and redrawing that Steve had done. He remembered the pennies scraped together to afford more paper and pencils, and the smile that the small gift had brought to Steve's drawn face as he lay recovering from some illness or another.
No, he wouldn't have had much time to draw. Bucky shook his head and looked down at the journal spread across his lap.
He'd never had much of a mind for drawing or painting, or anything like that. That had always been Steve's particular gift. He hadn't even been much of a poet either. He had penned a few lines of poetry as a lovesick teen, though he'd forbidden Steve from letting anyone else see, and well, the girls he'd written poems to weren't exactly around anymore to share what they'd read.
Bucky exhaled, examining the bright white crisp pages, still blank and untouched. The pages crackled with potential, of everything he could say, might say, everything that he should say. He held the pen poised, ready to make its first marks. What was there to say? What would be the best way to summarize what had happened since he'd been pulled from cryo-stasis? What was there to say now that he was a free man, cured, and now able to live his life? And If he really was a free man, then why didn't he feel like it?
It had been about a month and a half since Princess Shuri had pulled him from cryo and a month since he'd moved to a remote goat village in the Wakandan countryside.
The village had agreed to take him in. Omondi, the village elder, had pledged to keep an eye on him, give him something to do, and make him a member of the community. They called him the White Wolf. Not exactly the most subtle of honorifics, being the only white man in an African country, but it did mean that he was apart of their community, apart of Wakanda.
They'd given him a little hut, on the edge of the village, and a small heard of goats to look after, in addition to helping Omondi bag and distribute feed to the nearby villages. It was quiet, peaceful, and it had given him a lot of time and space to try and think through everything that had happened since June and since the fall in 1945.
While he'd thought about it, he hadn't been brave or stupid enough to ask The King if there was any way he could get his Journals back from his apartment in Romania. It was why he'd asked The Princess for the journal and pen. Yet, he still couldn't bring himself to start to write. There had been so much in his first one, so much research, so much time. The task of recreating that journal from scratch was daunting. Could he re-live the anguish and the pain that had forged the other one? The hours upon hours spent, pouring over documents and starring at names, wracking his brain for any detail or hint of what his life had been, and doing his best to forget the blood that had been spilled by his hand.
The wind stirred, blowing the grass and rustling the trees. Shaking his head, he closed the journal with an irritated snap and stowed the pen and journal away in his satchel.
He'd have time later to write. It would come to him. It wasn't as though he didn't have the time. He had all the time in the world. He hadn't received many visitors, other than the local children who liked to watch him work. Communication with Steve had been sparse as well. While he'd been there when Bucky had been pulled from Cryo, he'd been called away while Bucky had still been in the middle of tests and scans. They'd said goodbye, and Steve had promised he'd be back as soon as he could, but since then, he hadn't heard anything else out of Steve.
It didn't surprise Bucky, the man was on the run, while also trying to keep acting as a de-facto Avenger. That took a lot of time and energy. Steve had his hands full without having to deal with him.
Bucky stopped, turning at the sound of approaching footsteps, and immediately found the Princess Shuri followed by none other than Steve Rogers approaching where he was sitting.
"Hey, white boy! I come bearing gifts!" The Princess called, waving as they continued toward him. "Gift!" She amended, motioning with her head to Steve. "I would've called to warn you, but you never wear the Kimoyo Bracelet I gave you."
"I don't like the idea of being tracked," Bucky answered dryly as he rose to his feet and turned to face them squarely. Given my history. He added silently. "But, I appreciate the personal delivery."
"Well, since he's never been out this way before, figured we didn't want him getting eaten by panthers before he could make it to you."
"Very thoughtful."
Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve following their exchange like he was watching a tennis match, his gaze moving intently back and forth, uncertainly written on his expression. He looked grave. His features pinched, though most of his face was hidden behind the beginnings of an ample beard.
"Well, my job is done. Mr. Rogers, I have helped you to your Mr. Barnes, I will let you two get properly reacquainted." Princess Shuri said lightly, "Are we still on for our appointment at the end of the week?" She asked as she turned to walk back down the path they'd come.
"Of course. Unless something changes."
"Unless something changes." She echoed. "See you later, white boy." She called before walking away and down the path out of sight.
It was only when the Princess had gone that Bucky turned to Steve. Beyond looking grave, Steve looked beaten up and exhausted. He was still wearing his Captain America Uniform, though much of the adornment had been removed and spray painted over. While he bore no dark rings or sunken features, Bucky could see other signs of exhaustion. A certain weariness in the way that he carried himself from his hunched shoulders to the way he just let his arms hang beside him.
"How you been, Buck?" Steve asked. Bucky couldn't help but not the slightest edge of tension in his voice, as the other man surveyed him. Like he was trying to read him like he was trying to figure out where he stood before he made a wrong move.
Because you flinched.
Bucky hadn't meant to. He'd still been in a post cryo fog. Steve had been hovering, warmth and concern radiating off him in waves. Then he'd put his hand on Bucky's shoulder. Nothing more, nothing less, but he'd flinched, pulling away from Steve's touch.
He'd looked up to see pain in Steve's eyes and chiseled into the grit of his jaw.
Bucky had managed an apology, but it had been shortly after that Steve had gotten the urgent call.
I will let you two get properly reacquainted.
The Princess knew something was up. Of course, the Princess knew she'd been prodding around in his brain. She probably knew more about him than he did at the moment.
So what could he tell Steve? What should he tell Steve? That he was still having nightmares and waking up in cold sweats? That he could remember in vivid detail the color and shape of their couch back in Brooklyn in addition to the hundreds of deaths he'd been a party to? What would put his mind at ease without completely lying about the reality of the situation? He was him, but he wasn't entirely sure what that meant still.
"Better." He managed, surveying Steve as carefully as he was surveying him. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Yeah. Sure." Steve nodded.
They sunk on the ground, in the little patch of grass that Bucky had flattened throughout the afternoon. His bag and water skin were arranged atop a blanket woven with blue and black designs, a red stripe accenting the pattern. From the nest he'd made, Bucky could see his small herd of goats and the Wakandan children who were playing some distance away. Steve sat down carefully as if he was afraid he might break something. His entire being looked tightly coiled and ready to snap as he sat cross-legged on the blanket beside him.
Bucky cracked a small smile, trying to put Steve at ease. Not only that, but it had also been a long time since they'd been alone together, and after everything that had happened, they were fortunate to get this chance. He was happy to see Steve. He'd thought about the man a lot while he was on the run and almost every day since he'd been pulled out of cryo. If he could dream in cryo, he would've probably had seen him in his dreams while he was under too. Now, he was sitting here next to him, there was so much to say, and little indication of where they should begin.
"I'm sorry. I tried to get away sooner." Steve began after a moment.
There was a twinge of guilt in Bucky's stomach at Steve's word. He should be out there, with Steve and the others. He'd helped get them into this mess. He should be out there trying to make it right. "You haven't missed much." He shrugged as casually as he could manage with only one arm. "Mostly scans, tests, and—" He was cut off by the sound of a bleating goat.
"Goats?" Steve supplied with an amused smirk.
"Yeah. Goats." Bucky suppressed a wince, waiting for the, "Really Buck? You Goats?" comment that was going to come. He'd spent most of his life in the city, and the most he'd been around farm animals was likely the two weeks he'd spent on Last Chance Ranch. He wasn't necessarily predisposed to looking after farm animals, never mind in the middle of nowhere.
"The Princess told me she moved you out here while your brain is healing. Minimizing stimuli." Steve continued.
"She told me she kept you up to date on all news while I was under."
"Yeah. She did." Steve paused, giving him a once over. "It's good to see you up and walking around again."
"Yeah. It's good to be upright." He agreed.
What Steve had failed to mention was that he'd been an absolute wreck the entire time he'd been under and that she'd kept him up to date so that he would stop checking in every few hours. In Steve's defense, he couldn't blame the man, exactly. He understood why the man would be nervous about the whole thing. Yet the picture the Princess had painted for him in the weeks that followed "The Great Thaw Out" as she'd put it, was not a pretty one, which begged the question of how the rest of the group was doing.
"How's Wilson?" He asked.
"Sam's good," Steve answered shortly.
"That's good."
That had been one thing he and Steve had managed to talk about in his brief lucid moment before Steve had been called away. Shortly after he'd been put under, Steve had sprung Wilson and Maximoff, while Scott and Clint had taken a plea deal. Romanoff was still MIA. It was a small consolation of sorts, knowing that they were safe, or as safe as anyone could be while on the run, but it still didn't completely curb the guilt that he felt for being responsible for getting them into this mess in the first place.
There was a long pause before Steve spoke again. "He does ask about you. Wants to know how you're doing." He said slowly.
Of course, he does. Bucky wasn't sure about how he felt about that. After all, he had tried to kill the man three times and had gotten him into life-threatening situations more than he cared to think about. They were no longer enemies, but after everything, Bucky felt that Wilson's kindness was unwarranted and undeserved. "It's good to know you have someone like him, watching your back," Bucky said, lamely. What else was there to say? Sorry that I tried to kill your partner, like three times? Bucky didn't foresee that having the desired effect.
"I don't deserve him. Especially after everything I've put him through."
Bucky snorted, "No. You don't. But I am glad you have someone like him."
Steve surveyed him carefully before proceeding. "How much do you remember about...about us?"
Ah. Here we go. This was what Steve had been trying to get at, trying to find a way to bring up ever since...well ever since Bucharest. It was something he'd also been puzzling through and trying to get a handle on. He knew what they were, or what they'd been, what was really the problem was, could he return to that?
"A lot, most of it now, I think." he paused. "You and Wilson...are you...I mean." Bucky struggled to find the right words. "Stepping out..together?" It sounded so old fashioned, even as the words crossed his lips and reached his ears. If he'd been inclined to it, he would've been embarrassed for himself. But the words had gotten their point across, and that was all that mattered.
"Yeah." Steve nodded.
"I'm glad."
"Buck, it doesn't mean—"
"I've been gone a long time, Steve." Bucky cut him off. "I'm glad for you and Sam. Even if the guy has zero sense of self perseveration, I'm glad you've got someone like him. Someone stable."
It still didn't answer Steve's unspoken question, "what about us?" Bucky could still see Steve's expression when he had pulled away from his touch. It was burned, seared into his memory, and it still stung, for both of them.
Ultimately, this wasn't about Wilson. Steve being in a relationship with Sam, didn't change anything between them. Back before the fall, before life had made things even more messy and complicated than it already was, they'd had an understanding. They had always possessed the capacity to love more than one person, and so it was understood they would date and likely marry other people, but that they would love each other no matter what. In a small way, Bucky was relieved that for Steve, at the very least, that hadn't changed.
This was about him, what he wanted, and what he was capable of. It didn't matter what he wanted. At the moment, it was about what needed to happen. He didn't know if he was going to wake up the same person he went to sleep as if he woke up at all. After everything that had happened, he didn't know who he was or who he wanted to be, never mind what type of person he'd be in a relationship. He was Bucky Barnes, but he wasn't the Bucky who had fallen from the train. He wasn't what Steve needed right now. There was no way he could be.
"I'm glad you have Wilson." He said.
But what did he have? Sure he had Steve. And Steve would be more than happy to pick up right where they'd left off. But he couldn't just pick back up where they'd left off. He was different, and he wasn't entirely sure that Steve would take him as he was now.
Bucky wanted Steve to hold him. He wanted to be held. He wanted Steve to tell him that things were going to be okay. But he couldn't, not when he couldn't trust himself not to flinch, not to pull away, and it would be even harder to bear the look of pain he'd cause on Steve's face.
After a moment, Steve nodded but said nothing, as both of them searched for something to say.
How long had they been together? What did Wilson think about all of this bullshit with him, Hydra, and the UN bombings? Had Steve met Wilson's Family? What were they like? Had Steve taken Wilson to meet Carter before she'd passed away? Had Wilson met Becca? They'd been practically family back before the war, and thick as thieves when it came to getting him into trouble, it would only make sense if Steve had sought out Becca's blessing with his new beau. "Did you take Wilson over to meet my Sister?" Bucky asked.
"I did." Steve nodded. "She liked Sam."
Liked. Past tense. They glanced at one another in the long pregnant silence, as mutual looks of grief and sorrow passed between them.
"I'm sorry Buck—"
"We've both lost people, Steve." He cut him off. There was nothing more that needed to be said. He'd lost Becca recently, and Steve had lost Carter. No amount of condolences was going to touch the pain they both felt.
He'd read about Carter's passing, shortly before everything had happened with the UN and his escape attempt from Bucharest. He couldn't imagine the pain that Steve was feeling. Sure, to him, Becca had been a connection to a past, his past, a time of innocence, a time before the bloodshed, and war, and time had had its way with him. But for Steve, Bucky had a feeling that Carter meant something slightly different. Carter was less about what had been, and more about what could've been. Which Bucky, for his part, would argue was worse. Becca had lived a full life: she'd gotten an education, she'd traveled, started a family and created a family of her own, she'd been an activist and an all-around amazing human being. While Bucky had his regrets, he couldn't say that he regretted the type of person that Becca had become, even in his absence. She'd lived her life, and he was glad for that.,
However, for Steve, Carter had been the last link to what could have been, the reminder of what he'd lost. The chance at a normal life. Carter was the representation of every hope, every dream, every past and future that should have been that could now never be. That Steve could never have. More so than even that, Carter had seen Steve and loved Steve as Bucky had loved Steve. Not as Captain America, war hero, and now Avenger. No, Carter had seen and loved Steve, the kid from Brooklyn, small, fragile, asthmatic, too dumb to run away from a fight. That was worth something, that was worth everything. To be loved as the person you are, rather than the person people expected you to be, the person the world had transformed you into.
Bucky's thoughts drifted back to the obituary photograph, at the smiling faces, preserved in time. A family and a life that he hadn't been able to participate in. Yet he felt so intimately attached to them. Then, his thoughts turned to Ramirez. She had been in that photograph, enjoying and partaking in a life and a moment that by all rights should've been his. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't. She hadn't chosen that, she hadn't chosen to have her life ripped away from her violently. She was a victim just like the rest of them, more so than the rest of them even.
He looked over at Steve. He'd turned his eyes to the grassland, surveying the herd of goats, and watching the children as they laughed and played their games. Steve hadn't mentioned anything about Ramirez, at all, not during their flight between Berlin and Siberia, not between Siberia and Wakanda, and not before or after he'd been in cryo. What was she to Steve? Bucky had heard Wilson and Steve whispering, trying to get ahold of her during the few hours they'd had before the brawl at the airport. But since then, Steve hadn't said anything. He needed to know. Needed confirmation that he wasn't imagining it. She was alive, and she was missing.
"You haven't found her yet, have you?" He asked absently.
"What?" Steve turned his head so fast Bucky was almost sure he'd have snapped his neck if not for the serum.
Steve's eyes searched him; his expression bent in equal parts surprise and pain. Panic surged in the pit of Bucky's stomach. He could always play it off, ask about Romanoff, ask about anything other than Ramirez. No. He'd asked, and he wanted answers. This was the only way forward. "Wilson's friend, Ramirez."
"How'd-"
"Becca's obituary photo," Bucky explained shortly.
Steve's mouth formed a silent, "Oh."
"You haven't found her, have you?" He repeated.
Steve looked down at the ground, shaking his head.
"She was helping you track me down."
"Yeah." He sighed, combing his hands through his hair.
Becca, what did she tell Becca? Bucky wanted to scream, but he clamped down on the urge, shoving it away. There were other things at stake here—bigger things at stake.
"I should never have gotten her involved in all of this," Steve said as he rubbed his face with his hands.
You're just now figuring this out? He would've asked, but he didn't. Steve looked horrible already, and if blame were to be laid at anyone's feet, it wouldn't be Steve's, it would be his.
Blame, however, wasn't going to get anything done. Blame and guilt weren't going to fix this problem, and it was a problem. A HUGE problem. Bucky's mind kicked into gear, pulling out the journal and pen from his satchel he started writing. 'M. Ramirez, person of interest, connections to S. Rogers, S. Wilson, and R. Romanoff, information about B. Barnes,' He paused. 'In journal collected as evidence in Romania.' Fuck. She was in trouble. Bucky looked up at Steve, "How much does she know?"
Steve, who'd been watching him write, met his gaze, and the expression on his face spoke volumes. He didn't even need to say anything for Bucky to know the answer. A Lot. Why had Steve done that? Why had he allowed her to immerse herself in this world? Well, Steve's reaction made sense now, at the very least.
"Could she compromise us?" It was a cold question, a self-interested question, but a necessary one.
"I'll take care of it."
"Steve, could she compromise us?" Bucky asked, his voice taking on a harsher tone than he'd meant it to.
"I don't know," Steve said after a tense moment. "Probably. Yes. Romanoff would know more about it than I would."
Of course, she would. Romanoff had probably trained her up, taught her how to survive for when things went sideways. Natasha had never liked an unfair fight, and Ramirez versus the entire international intelligence community was not exactly even odds.
Bucky looked Steve over. He could see the anguish and frustration in Steve's features, from the grit in his jaw to the tension in his shoulders and back. Steve felt personally responsible for what had happened to this woman. For his part, Bucky did too. Most of this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't stumbled onto her ranch. But that wasn't the source of Steve's pain. It wasn't the initial injury, the initial hurt, the initial reason that she was involved in all of this. It was what had transpired the two years after Last Chance that was putting her in danger now. It was putting them all in danger. If someone got ahold of her, she could likely be pumped for information or used to lure Wilson and the others out of hiding. Steve was a loyal person, to a fault, and it seemed that Wilson was the same way. She would be a useful bargaining chip to anyone who knew how to apply the right pressure.
"Where have you tried looking?" Bucky asked.
"We know she crossed the border, but we haven't been able to find anything else." Steve shook his head. "We haven't been able to do much since we've been on the run."
"That's understandable." Bucky nodded.
"How'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Stay on the run for that long?"
What was there to say? It hadn't been fun or comfortable. It had been about survival, about keeping out of enemy hands, including Steve's. "Well, I wasn't hauling around extra people and a quinjet, Steve. That tends to attract a lot of attention." He tried to play it off for a laugh but cleared his throat when he saw Steve's expression. "It's about making your footprint small, wherever you go. It's about having contingencies, and knowing when to move and when to stay put. It's a skill. It takes practice." He paused.
Romanoff must have helped her, must have trained her up. It was the only explanation. If Steve and the others couldn't find Romanoff, he was the next best chance they had at finding Ramirez. But first, he had to know.
"The woman. Ramirez, was she-I mean were she and Becca friends?" He managed after a moment. Steve's answer wouldn't change anything. He was still going to help him find her. She had risked her neck for him, and now was in trouble because of him, but he needed to know what kind of person Ramirez was, beyond his own recollection, and what type of person his sister had thought she was.
"Yeah. They were." Steve nodded. "They got close. Becca loved Ramirez. Ramirez took Becca's death hard." He chuckled sourly, shaking his head, wincing, "really hard."
Bucky didn't say anything, pulling at some of the grass just beyond the border of the blanket. There was a story there, a story they didn't have time for at the moment, but perhaps if they managed to find and rescue Ramirez, he'd get to hear it. He was going to find Ramirez for Steve, and for Becca, and because this wasn't just about a single person. This was someone who could compromise Steve, Wilson, and expose him and the Wakandans. She wasn't just someone who knew a lot about him. This wasn't his sister's friend or the woman who'd sheltered and protected him. Right now, she was a threat. He glanced up at Steve. Of course, that wasn't how Steve saw it, but perhaps he should.
"Steve. I'm going to help you find Ramirez."
"You don't have to do that."
"Yes. I do." Bucky said shortly. "Romanoff was your best chance at finding Ramirez, but I'm your next best option." Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Bucky charged on. "You may not want to hear this, Steve, but she's worth more alive than dead." He faltered a moment at Steve's expression. He didn't regret saying it. It needed to be said. "She's dangerous, Steve." He continued. "If Ross or anyone else gets their hands on her, this will end badly. For you, for me, for Sam, for the Wakand-" He stopped. "Fuck."
"What?"
"Have you told the King about Ramirez?"
"No? Why?"
Bucky hesitated. How best to say what needed to be said. "While I was on the run, I kept a journal." He began haltingly, "It was the one in my apartment, in Bucharest." Bucky exhaled slowly before continuing. "It had pages on Ramirez, what I remembered about Last Chance Ranch and about her. If the UN collected that journal as evidence for the bombings, then they already know about Ramirez and the implications of aiding and abetting a known international war criminal and fugitive. She's a threat to Wakandan national security."
Steve nodded, rising to his feet. "I need to go."
Bucky rose as well. "I'm going with you."
"No." Steve shook his head. "I can't ask you to get involved in all of this."
"I wasn't asking permission, Steve," Bucky replied shortly. Pausing, he added, "She's in trouble because of me. It's the least I can do."
"She isn't in trouble because of you, Bucky."
"It doesn't matter who's at fault," Bucky's voice was sharper than he meant it to be. He took a deep breath and shook his head. "She helped me, and it cost her everything. If I don't help, what does her sacrifice mean?" It sounded nobler than it felt, but it was the truth.
If he didn't help now, that was a choice, that was a choice he would have to live with. This was his fault, and it would be part of making things right. Regardless of blame, he would bear some of the responsibility for what happened to Ramirez.
"Okay."
"I'll get the kids to look after the Goats, we'll go back to my place, and I'll call ahead to the Princess. You should get a hold of Wilson, whatever intel you have on Ramirez will be useful and be a useful peace offering."
"Peace offering?" Steve echoed.
"They're not going to be pleased that Ramirez has been walking around with all that information in her head, never mind that it could compromise and put Wakanda at risk."
"Right."
They worked quickly, and after dropping off the blanket and making a few calls, they made their way to the capital in silence.
It wasn't a far walk, Wakanda as a country wasn't huge, and within half an hour they were across the prairie, and the massive skyscrapers of the capital rose before them. They wound through the busy streets receiving plenty of double-takes and stares. It was loud and crowded, and it put Bucky on edge. People mercifully created a path for them as they walked, but he could feel his heart pounding in his throat, and his eyes swiveled back and forth, prepared for just about anything. The Princess had said that a low stimuli environment would be good for him while his brain repaired itself, but he had to admit, he did appreciate the isolation of his little hut in the countryside and was eager to return to it. However, despite his discomfort, they had to take care of this one thing, and then perhaps he could find a more restful peace amongst the goats in the grass.
As approached the front steps of the palace, they were met by no less than The King, The Princess, The General, and several Dora and War Dogs Bucky didn't know, who wordlessly ushered them inside an office. It was high above the city, and Bucky could see the comings and goings down in the city below, and well out to the plains and mountains that created the border of the small country. The Doras and the War dogs filed in, The General closing the door behind her with a snap.
"Please, take a seat." T'Challa motioned to the squat chairs around a low table. It had a diorama of Birnin Zana, the Capitol of Wakanda, but Bucky was almost positive that it could be configured to suit the needs of whatever the King needed.
The King sunk into his chair at the head of the table, and Steve followed, and The Princess followed. Bucky hesitated, watching the General for his cue, she nodded, pointing with her chin to a seat. He nodded in response and did as quietly instructed before she also sat down, laying her spear across her lap. The War Dogs and other Doras remained standing, providing more than enough in the way of security should he or Steve decide to do anything they didn't like.
"So, what is it you have to tell us?" T'Challa inquired pleasantly, his cat-like eyes surveying them cooly.
Steve glanced at Bucky, who nodded, silently urging him to proceed. You know more than I do.
Steve took a deep breath before he addressed the King's quiet, piercing gaze. "Magdalene Ramirez, a civilian operative working with Samuel Wilson and myself to track down James Barnes over the last two years, went missing shortly before the bombing at the UN in Vienna June 22, 2016. Since her disappearance, we have, thus far, been unsuccessful in our attempts to make contact with her. We have reason to believe she possesses sensitive information that could potentially compromise," Steve faltered, taking another deep breath charged on. "We have reason to believe she has information that could compromise Wakandan security, should she be found and interrogated by hostile parties."
Hostile parties, yeah, that's certainly one way to say anyone and everyone who might want to know where the Winter Soldier ended up. Bucky couldn't help but think, as he watched the young monarch's expression closely.
For his part, T'Challa's expression gave away nothing, and after a moment, he spoke. "This woman, Magdalene Ramirez, is she a personal friend of yours?"
"Yes."
T'Challa glanced over at the General before Okoye turned her eyes to Steve. "Why was this not brought to our attention before?"
"Because he didn't know she was mentioned in the property seized by the UN, and I didn't know she was missing." Bucky cut in, addressing The General directly.
"When Barnes brought this to my attention, he immediately recommend that I advise you to the situation and turn overall intel we've collected thus far in our search for her," Steve said shortly, his attention now turned to the General.
The glower they shared would've been enough to cut diamonds, vibranium, or anything else for that matter. But Okoye wasn't wrong. Steve should've said something, but then Steve hadn't known that she was in Bucky's journal either. So once again, this all came back to him.
"I understand your concern, General, but what's past is past. Barnes and Rogers are trying to make amends for their previous inaction." T'Challa interceded, graciously. "Would you be averse to presenting that intel for us now, Captain?"
"Not at all."
Steve flicked the data file from the Kimoyo bracelet Bucky had let him borrow, out into the center of the room, and the scant traces that they'd found of her circled just over their heads in flickering purplish-blue holograms. Bucky grimaced. He'd honestly seen better intel written on the back of a napkin in lipstick. But then again, Wilson and Steve weren't spies, they were soldiers, and had taken a soldier's approach to try to find Ramirez.
A cell phone taped to the undercarriage of a semi, clothes waded up and thrown into the bottom of a trash can at a rest stop, bus tickets, plane ticks, receipts, a passport scan at the U.S. Mexico border. There was also her banking statements, where there were charges for a Bus ticket from Abilene to Mexico City. Then she'd bought a bus ticket for a few days later, leaving Mexico City to Cozumel. There was a receipt for a cruise and a booking confirmation number at an all-expenses-paid resort. She'd even used Groupon. There were also consistent withdraws of five-hundred dollars dating back months.
It was a smokescreen, an impressive and elaborate smokescreen, but hastily and inexpertly executed. The purchases were made to look like she was headed in a particular direction. Bucky knew without asking that Steve and Sam had checked up on every one of them. It was the ATM withdraws that intrigued Bucky.
Ramirez had been making ATM withdraws of about five-hundred bucks a week for at least six months before her disappearance. She'd been trying to make it look random. She'd draw it on different days in different amounts from different ATMs, but it came out to the same amount every week.
She'd been creating a cache. About twelve-thousand dollars worth. Smart. The most she could've crossed the border with without declaring it was ten grand, and that would be pushing it.
She knew she was going to disappear; she was planning on disappearing. The thought hit Bucky with such force he almost had to sit back in his seat. Okay, so she went to ground, meaning she didn't want to be found. So what was the leading theory here?
She'd be somewhere densely populated, where she could blend in. Somewhere she knows the terrain and can quietly cultivate and navigate a cover. She probably has fake identification, and probably has changed her appearance somewhat, nothing too drastic, nothing that would draw too much attention, but enough to throw people off. Her hand was crushed, meaning surgery scars, identifiable marks so she'd be somewhere she could either cover-up or that they would be inconsequential.
He stopped himself, glancing around the darkened room at the faces looking up at the intel that Steve had gathered. The King, The General, the Doras, the War Dogs, all of them had cool, nearly placid expressions as they surveyed the information in front of them, what they were thinking Bucky couldn't rightly say. The Princess, by comparison, was an open book. It wasn't so much any one thing as a combination of everything. The young woman sat at the edge of her seat, her hands working a holographic keyboard, her eyes darting between her screen and the intel overhead. She was always multi-tasking, but the way her jaw was set, and the intensity of her expression, something else was going on here.
They knew. They knew about Ramirez and likely knew where she was.
Looking away from the Princess, he found that the King had his eyes on him. Was he watching him for a reaction? Was he trying to see what he and Steve knew before he played his hand? Bucky didn't know. Looking away and then back up, he tried to think through what the King must be thinking. What did the sovereign of a nation think about shit like this? He thought strategically, and he probably was thinking two or three moved ahead. If he knew about Ramirez, then he also probably knew where she was. Now the next step would be determining what they would do with her. Leave her in place under Wakandan surveillance, pull her from her hiding spot, or eliminate the risk entirely. No option was without its faults, but some options created more issues than others.
"Thank you, Captain, I think that's more than enough," T'Challa said, motioning for the lights to come up.
The lights came up, the windows undimmed, and Steve looked slightly taken aback as the images disappeared from view.
"Tell me." T'Challa began slowly. "Does the Llorona Network mean anything to you?"
Steve frowned, shaking his head. "I know the story of La Llorona. It's a Mexican folk legend." He paused, glancing around the table. "I don't quite follow."
T'Challa exchanged glances with select people in the room before turning back to the table and flicking open a data file from his Kimoyo bracelet. Ramirez's face projected into the center of the room, an array of documents, maps, and videos appeared beside it. In several of the pictures and videos, she was wearing a platinum wig, but it was very clearly her.
So she didn't want to be found.
"We have been monitoring the situation since Berlin, and doing our best to keep other interested parties off her trail, including you and Mr. Wilson, particularly after she became embedded in the Llorona network."
"Ramirez is involved in the Llorona Network? What is that?"
T'Challa motioned to one of the War Dogs, who stepped forward. She was a younger woman, probably in her early 30s, but moved with the assurance of someone trained to kill, and comfortable in her own skin. She looked as though she'd been called from leisure time, as she was wearing a bright green jumpsuit printed with the pattern of the River Tribe. Her eyes were bright and sharp as they surveyed the room, falling briefly on him and then on Steve. "This is Nakia, head of international intelligence and outreach. Tell Captain Rogers what you've found."
"La Llorona Network is an anti-trafficking network. Compromised of mostly older women, mothers, and grandmothers, they've been disrupting the cartel's trafficking operations for almost five years now." Nakia explained, moving around and manipulating different files. "Our operatives working within the network claim Ramirez has been actively involved for about two months. At first, we thought she was working cooperatively with vigilante agents outside the Network, but have now been able to ascertain that she is working as a solo operative within the Network." Nakia paused. "There are are several operations ongoing throughout the Network at any given time, but we have received intel that indicates the network is going to make a large move against the cartels in the next 24-48 hours."
Steve glanced between Nakia, The King, and The General. "Is there any way to extract her before then?"
T'Challa looked pointedly at Nakia, who shook her head. "It's more complicated than that. We believe Ramirez has been positively identified by American agents as well, and they are planning on extracting her during The Network's next action. If we extract her from the Network now, we risk not only her but everyone in the Network."
Steve exhaled, nodding, "Okay, so what's our move?"
"You won't be doing anything, Captain." T'Challa said shortly, Steve opened his mouth to protest, but T'Challa continued, "As you said, this is a threat to Wakandan security. We will do everything in our power to extract Ms. Ramirez during planned action. I will also grant Ms. Ramirez asylum within my countries borders until that time when her protection is no longer needed. No further action on your part is desired or needed."
Steve grit his jaw, and Bucky was almost positive he was going to have to keep Steve from lunging over the table at the young monarch. Though Bucky knew that T'Challa was more than capable of holding his own against Steve, he really didn't need another international incident on his hand.
"Understood," Steve said tersely.
"Good," T'Challa said, before leveling his gaze at Bucky. "Go back to the countryside, look after your goats, Mr. Barnes, we will update you as necessary," T'Challa rose to his feet.
That was a dismissal if ever Bucky had heard one, but they were guests in this country. But he wasn't done. And something possessed him to push his luck a little further. "Can we inform Wilson that his friend has been located?"
"You may." T'Challa nodded, turning to go.
"Out of curiosity, where was she?" Bucky's question stopped the monarch, who turned back to him.
"Why?" He asked, arching a graceful eyebrow.
"Ramirez is from west Texas, Midland-Odessa area, she'd go somewhere she was familiar, where she'd blend in, and that was densely populated. She wasn't looking for rescue, but instead to disappear or go to ground." T'Challa and his advisors remained blank-faced, but Bucky charged on. He had to know if he was right. "She's in Ciudad Juarez."
"That is a fascinating theory, Mr. Barnes," T'Challa replied, barely hiding a look of amusement. "Have a good rest of your afternoon."
Bucky nodded, watching as the King and his entourage left the briefing room, Shuri being the last, cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder back at them. He could feel Steve coiled up beside him, whether it was anger or frustration or a good combination of both, Bucky didn't know, but he did know that there was nothing further to be done.
"Come on, Steve," Bucky said gently. "The King said he'd keep us updated. I need to get back to my goats, and you need to call Wilson to let him know what's going on."
Steve nodded, wordlessly following him from the briefing room.
So she's in Juarez working against the cartels. Bucky couldn't help but shake his head. Either she's a bleeding heart case, or she's just downright suicidal. Either way, she was in tremendous danger, and Bucky hoped, if only for Steve and Wilson's sake, that the Wakandans could pull her out of this mess in time.
And then what? You heard T'challa. She's going to be placed under Wakandan protection, meaning she's stuck here. It meant that sooner or later they'd have to face one another, sooner or later he'd have to reckon with what it was that Ramirez had been to his sister, and what therefore she meant to him.
Bucky shook his head again. They'd worry about that after she'd been pulled out from under the cartel and the United States government's noses and not a moment before. After all, a lot could happen in 24-48 hours. Anything could happen.
Sorry that update took a little bit longer than normal, life and such. I always enjoy hearing from you! Please R&R!
