Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 16 - Patterns

While the hallway outside was the same as it was the night before, it felt completely different to Sam in the morning's warm light.

It could have been that the illumination was different or that there were more people strolling by at this early hour, but he was pretty sure it was because he could actually spare a few moments to look around him and just take everything in rather than worrying if Bucky was still upright and trailing behind him.

The hallway felt strangely timeless. The closest thing Sam could compare the hallway to was if someone had taken part of a world-class hotel and decided to theme it out with an aesthetic that pulled from hundreds of years of tribal motifs, but handled in an expertly-designed, respectful way that was anything but garish. It wasn't the look of a cheap gift shop or the faux-grandeur of places like the themed hotels along the strip in Las Vegas. Instead, it felt like they were quite literally walking in halls of hallowed history that had been respectfully updated over the years to account for changing tastes, while still finding ways to infuse references to a complex past. Colorful wallpapers, tapestries, paintings, photographs, and relics hung throughout the halls, hinting at stories of a people he was realizing he knew factually little about.

The realization settled strangely over him. He felt like he grew up with his eyes open to what struggles continued to wage in the present, as well as those that trailed only years before that too many were quick to kick under the rug as a bygone era. He knew better. People like Isaiah Bradley and others were testament to that.

He tried to stay informed, stay timely, and learn about the painful waves of history he'd seen around him that stretched back beyond slavery to the atrocities that had taken place across the in Africa and elsewhere. Had Wakanda been able to keep itself safe and hidden from all of that horror? He wasn't sure, but he was certain places like the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC didn't mention them the last time he'd visited, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Regardless of that, he found his searching eyes wanted to know more about the significance of the people in the photos they were passing, though. He'd have to drum up a tactful way to ask when things weren't so well, so sideways.

Bucky had taken it upon himself to take the lead in their little mealtime adventuring party, and was presently heading towards a Dora Milaje who he was pretty sure was Yama a distance further down the hall. While Sam hadn't gotten the impression either of them were prisoners, he had to admit the idea of having a pair of Dora Milaje standing guard outside their door all night wasn't exactly his idea of a lullaby, and seeing Yama and another Dora further down the hall told him it was duty rather than something personal.

He caught the subtle bow Bucky offered her as he approached, as well as how her eyes flicked to that friendship bracelet on his right wrist. He didn't know Yama well-enough to read her expression, which she kept zipped to a soldier's tight neutral, but if he had to guess: she didn't seem unhappy to see them.

That was a start.

"I hope you slept well," Bucky began, his voice low and candid, as if he was still trying to keep his emotions closely in-check, "Thanks for helping with my luggage the other night. And sorry for… all of... well, all of the other stuff too."

Yama regarded him for a long moment, as if trying to evaluate him against some unknown metric. It occurred to him that he wasn't sure if he'd ever actually heard her speak aloud when she replied in a rich Wakandan accent, "I took no pleasure in your suffering," she let the words hang in the air with meaning Sam was certain was layers deep before adding, "But it is not for me to determine the buoyancy of your words." She shifted her weight from one side to the other, as if she debated saying more. Bucky stayed silent: he must have sensed it too.

Her eyes flicked to Sam and back to Bucky before she added, "But you are welcome."

Bucky acknowledged the statement with another subtle nod of his head.

That was encouraging.

"Are we on our own or…?" Bucky inquired.

"Birnin Zana has changed much since the Decimation. Ayo thought it best you had a guide." There was another one of those pauses where it seemed like she might say nothing more, and the both of them waited her out, "I volunteered."

Interesting. So this wasn't just a security detail.

Sam raised an eyebrow and asked the obvious, "You gotten breakfast yet?"

Sam kept pace by Bucky's left as his two companions flipped conversationally into Wakandan and then back to English before Yama stepped in front of them, making way so a group going the other direction could easily pass with space to spare.

"Yama said the place I mentioned survived the Decimation," Bucky said with such relief, that the news of this small saving grace prompted one of those little genuine smiles out of him, which he glanced over to share with Sam. "I think you'll like it. Sort of the Wakanda-equivalent of home-cooking."

The smile lasted for approximately ten seconds before they rounded the next corner and Sam caught the sudden shift in friend's expression slip to that neutral staring-thing coupled by a hearty side of worry.

Standing not fifteen feet in front of them was King T'Challa, who was flanked by General Okoye, and four members of the King's Guard. It was abundantly clear they'd been waiting for them to arrive.

Bucky's feet initially stopped cold, but he had to take an extra step forward to still his momentum in something that became awfully close to a full-blown stumble. Sam stopped a moment later, and immediately took a quick read on the situation and the body language and expressions of the group assembled before them. He couldn't imagine any of them were oblivious to what had transpired the night before, but he was really, really hoping that they had more decorum than to pull Bucky into a second round of grievances and complaints out here in the open.

Sam regarded the King first. T'Challa's expression was surprisingly neutral, warmed with the gentle charisma of a leader who was accustomed to political maneuvering around tricky topics. He wore a black and silver-trimmed suit and stood with his wrists crossed as they rested leisurely over his stomach. Beside him, Okoye regarded Sam with only passing interest before turning her full attention back to Bucky, her spear gripped firmly in one hand. There was an attention in her eyes that was alert and calculating, like a jungle cat waiting to see if their prey would make the first move, and if they dared: she remained ready to strike at a moment's notice.

The person to make the first move was none-other than King T'Challa himself. A warm smile crossed over his face as he stepped forward and reached out a hand to clasp first Bucky's forearm in greeting, "White Wolf," then he made it a point to acknowledge Sam and offer him the same forward greeting, "and Sam Wilson. Or Captain America, so I've heard."

"Just doing my best," Sam offered succinctly, chancing a glance over to Bucky. His white-knuckled hand was clenched protectively over his stomach, and his expression was anything but easy-going. For a moment, he considered speaking on Bucky's behalf, but it didn't seem like the right tactical move, all things considered.

Bucky swallowed and his lip trembled as he clearly tried to parse through what he should say next. He went for a succinct three-parter Sam definitely didn't see coming, "It's good to see you. And I… I'm sorry for... everything." His voice grew even quieter, "And for not returning any of your messages awhile back."

Wait, Bucky'd ghosted the freaking King of Wakanda as well? Wow. That was impressive, even for him.

"It was a busy time for all of us when the dust settled," T'Challa said much more reasonably than Sam would have been able to.

Bucky nervously licked and then bit his lip, "I take it you've spoken with Shuri and Ayo?"

T'Challa's response had a manner of being easygoing on the surface, but it was clear he'd had some time to prepare his words, "Of course, and I consider my sister and our security chief as both supremely good judges of character." He took a moment to consider his next words carefully, "So I've decided it is sensible to defer to their wisdom in this particular matter," his tone remained even, but his words were for Bucky alone, "I suspect there is not much I could add that has not already been said."

The amputee beside Sam was struggling to control the face he was making, and was only barely holding it together, "If there's more you need to say, you can say it. I understand."

Sam understood, but he also hated how much Bucky sounded like a puppy that was willing to be kicked if it held even a chance of making the other person feel better.

King T'Challa shook his head, "There is value in many things. Intent is one of them. If I believed that your intent was to harm Wakanda, we would be having a very different conversation. But I would like to think you were blinded to the harm your choices would bring on others around you, and that now that your eyes have been opened: that you can begin to learn and make right those mistakes."

Bucky numbly nodded, and that was probably for the best because Sam was pretty sure he wasn't capable of saying much of anything at that moment. His eyes were already getting glossy and the muscles in his jaw were strained tight across his face.

T'Challa wasn't focused on anyone in particular as he added, "I'm disappointed, certainly, but both of us have made decisions fueled from the fires of passion rather than honed with tempered logic." The King in that moment looked more thoughtful, more human, as his gaze softened as it returned to Bucky, "I am not unaware that my own lapse of judgement would have meant the death of an innocent man. One who I maintain deserves peace after being a victim for too long." His voice was for Bucky alone, "That has not changed."

There was a moment of reflective quiet before T'Challa appeared to remember there were more people gathered around them, and his voice returned to his calm, diplomatic timbre that was gracious as it was genuine, "If and when both my sister and Ayo are satisfied, then I will be as well." At this, he glanced to Okoye beside him, adding pointedly with the smallest of private smiles, "I can speak only for myself, of course."

Okoye didn't say anything, but it was abundantly clear she didn't need to.

Yep. There's going to be a round two versus Okoye at some point. Sam silently confirmed.

"That being as it is," T'Challa glanced between Sam and Bucky, "Wakanda is open to you, and if we can be of any assistance in the matters you are investigating, we will." T'Challa turned and made a gesture to one of his King's Guards, who promptly passed him a folded blue bundle of cloth. The King smiled and stepped forward to hand it gracefully to Bucky, who seemed almost confused at what was happening. "A gift," T'Challa said simply, "To remind you that you are among friends and allies."

Bucky's voice was barely audible as he managed to all-but whisper a reply, and then a promise, "Thank you. I'll do better."

The expression on T'Challa's face was layered in emotions Sam didn't have a chance at reading, but he was certain he saw genuine care among them, "I do hope so." He stepped back beside Okoye, "I have other matters I must attend to, but I'm certain we will talk again soon."

Bucky nodded, and Sam stepped in with what he hoped was a helpful, "Thanks. We appreciate the help."

T'Challa nodded and acknowledged Okoye before the two of them stepped past them with the King's Guard trailing silently in their wake.

Once they were far enough down the hall to be out of easy earshot, Sam looked back to Bucky, who remained focused on the folded triangle of fabric in his hand. Yama had turned and was watching him as well, but something in her confident expression made it clear she'd long-since grasped the relevance.

The dark blue fabric was lightly textured and woven with undulating curves of black and gold that interlocked into prominent geometric patterns. It reminded Sam of a number of things, not the least was the patterning on the absent vibranium arm as well as Bucky's standing penchant for dark colors.

"What is it?" Sam ventured.

It took Bucky a few long seconds to formulate a reply, but eventually he found his voice, stating simply, "A reminder," He tugged the tucked-corner free and let the rectangle of fabric fall open. The care put into the textile was even more apparent when it was open like that, "Can you hold the end there?"

Sam did as he was instructed, and watched as Bucky used his free hand to tie the ends of the fabric together in a fisherman's knot. The man did it faster than anyone had right to. Once the pair of knots were set and was pulled taunt, he regarded it for a moment before he slipped the opening over his head and settled the wrap so that the wider end wrapped around his left side, falling just below his waist.

The waves of fabric had a strange way of obscuring Bucky's injury, making it into an almost ornamental fashion statement, and one that Sam felt pretty certain had a whole heaping of history he was yet again lacking. It was like bearing witness to yet another layer of someone he thought he'd had at least partially figured out.

You could never really know a person in and out, not really. Especially someone like James Buchanan Barnes, but not even twenty-four hours earlier, Sam thought he'd had all the broad-strokes pegged, or at least roughed-in. But after everything yesterday and and the talks from this morning, and the little pieces and breadcrumbs and bits from not only different continents but different time periods: right then as he stood there watching Bucky process what had just happened, Sam realized he really did know next-to-nothing about this part of Bucky's life. He'd previously just… written it off as two more years of cryo and that was that.

But there was history here. Sizable history. Not just surface-level stuff, but deep history, and even though Bucky'd barely said a word about it until yesterday, it was growing abundantly clearer by the minute that part of his past here in Wakanda meant an awful lot to him. Probably significantly more than he realized.

T'Challa may not have given Bucky the arm back, but it was clear the gesture held a promise of hope for reconciliation. Sam was certain it wouldn't be an easy road ahead of them, but after all that the man beside him had done to help give him the steadfast (if not sometimes extremely annoying and often overbearing) encouragement to take up the shield, he could be damn well sure he'd spitball that stubborn support right back his way.

As Bucky stood and silently ran his fingers across and between the folds of the fabric, Sam saw fit to toss out an observation, "He called you White Wolf."

Bucky's expression remained understandably confused and inconclusive, but he hadn't missed it either. He kept his eyes focused on his hand until he was apparently satisfied enough to pull it away from the fabric, "Yeah." He looked back up to meet Sam's eyes, and Sam was certain he saw a flicker of hope lingering somewhere in the periphery, "Yeah, I guess he did."

They stood in a comfortable silence a moment more before Sam saw fit to keenly observe, "...I still think White Panther would have made more sense thematically."

"Americans and your primitive humor," Yama muttered in mock-distaste from somewhere ahead of him as she got moving again.

Even Bucky managed a hint of smile at that.

Author's Remarks:

Thank you to all my readers. I re-joined this site a little over two weeks ago on a whim because I'd written "Closure for Yori Nakajima" to seek out my own sort of closure, and a friend suggested others out there might enjoy reading it too. So here we are.

Now I find myself outlining a story whose sheer scope feels almost like a second season and... and other people out there are following along with me as I write? It's an utterly insane, and humbling feeling, and just thank you.

One of the things I loved about "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier" was that we got to pull the door open on Sam's life in Louisiana. While we saw a bit of Bucky in Brooklyn, that never felt like it was truly a "home" to him, and so I'm eager to explore and dig into more of those missing two years in Wakanda, and how all of that folds into the evolving story at-large…

Also: I find it really strange to try to write characterization and dialogue for Yama and Nomble since they haven't had any speaking lines in the actual show, but I hope you're enjoying my take on them, regardless.

As always: Thank you for your continued support. I can't express just how nourishing your kind words and comments continue to be to my creative soul.