Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 24 - Oasis
Many years ago…
Slowly, the blackness morphed into streams of undulating colors.
Initially, every movement was formless, like looking out through the stained glass of a twisting kaleidoscope. As he focused, his mind began to make sense of the way the light moved, and in time, evaluated the churning pockets of color and turned them into tangible shapes.
It took longer-yet for him to identify the closest three-dimensional object to him and put a word to it, then its purpose.
Bowl: A round dish. Often used to contain liquids or foods.
The words were rote and without form, but he felt certain they were correct, and given enough time, he hoped he could put an image to "dish," "liquids," and "foods."
His mind struggled to make sense of the world around him, yet the familiarity of the feeling was ever-more daunting and overwhelming. Was this what it was always like? He wasn't sure.
The woman sitting across from him regarded him with intense focus. He identified her first as "Handler" and then as simply "Ayo." He recognized her, but she made no requests of him. Was his mind lagging? Did he have another handler now?
He seemed to recall her speaking to him, suggesting they come to a location here because she hoped it would be familiar. There'd been an event. He was foggy on what that entailed, but he was certain it wasn't a good thing. He felt like he should be able to remember.
"The confusion should pass soon," his handler's tone was reassuring, "Be patient. You're safe."
He wasn't what exactly he was feeling right then. Was he supposed to feel anything at all? He felt like he should, but even the shapes of the world around him were confusing, like ribbons of movement that didn't coalesce into objects his mind could readily identify.
"Close your eyes if it's too overwhelming," her voice continued. "Slow, deep breaths. Like I showed you."
He would do as his handler suggested. She would know best, after all. It was not his place to question.
He breathed in and out, slowly focusing on the sensation of the air flowing from his chest out through his mouth and back, and not the weight of the confusion swirling about him.
Another voice spoke up from nearby. A woman's voice. It was one he recognized but couldn't place, "He looks pale."
"Another setback," his handler stated plainly. "This one took from him, like a kickback from a mule. We might... be here awhile."
"Awful business," the other voice commiserated, "And never you mind. Take as long as you need. I'll put out some things to tide you both over. Familiar things."
"Thanks, Mamma."
He couldn't piece together the implication of their words, but he suspected it was about him. Had he done something wrong?
He risked cracking open his eyes again, and this time he was able to piece together a bit more of what he was seeing.
His eyes focused first on a figure across the table from him: Handler. Ayo. She was leaning forward towards him, and he took note that she appeared unarmed. This felt at-odds with a recent memory of her, but he couldn't be sure. Between her hands rested a ceramic bowl much like his, and beyond her were tables and chairs. A figure with a silver spear stood nearby, and the moment he saw her, he felt his mind start to quickly slip into gear and begin calculating the proper level of threat assessment for the situation.
He kept his head still as his eyes regarded nearby objects that could be used if-
His handler's voice was plain and direct, with a hint of a reprimand to stand down, "We'll not be needing any of that. You're safe, and none of us need protecting."
He felt his muscles relax in reaction to her statement and he drew his focus away from the thought of the manner in which the nearest chair to his right could be used as a weapon if the need arose. He was casually aware of a peculiar scent on the air, but it wasn't one he could readily identify. It was not unpleasant.
"What is your name?" his handler asked. Her voice was patient but direct.
He rolled the question over in his mind, and came up with more than one answer, which was confusing, and wasn't what she asked. It was important he answer precisely what she asked: nothing more, nothing less, "I have conflicting responses. Would you prefer them in chronological or alphabetical order starting from 'Asset'?"
She waved a hand dismissively, "Nevermind my question. Are you aware your will is your own? You have no active handler."
The statement was unexpected, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn't his place to question. But if she was not his handler, then who?
"Let me try then. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You are in Wakanda at a favorite cafe. You are here because we are trying to help you. Others once sought to force you to act against your will. We are doing what we can to wrest that programming from your mind. We've made great progress, but…" her voice faded momentarily, "...but yesterday we had a setback, and I had to speak the countdown words to ensure you couldn't hurt anyone. Do you remember now?"
He didn't, not really. Just flickers of motion. Pain. Tumbling. Colors. A flash of pain on his side. Pressure on his wrists. Darkness.
"I am not your handler. I am your friend. Your will is your own. You don't need my permission to speak or to act. Do you understand?"
He understood her words, but it still didn't align with the ongoing jumble inside of his head.
"Do you recognize where we are?"
He looked up and around him regarding his current vantage point, if it could be called that. Some part of him thought he recognized flickers of his surroundings, but he couldn't place when he'd last been here. It didn't seem like it related to a mission. He'd remember that, wouldn't he?
His previous handler appeared to be waiting for a reply from across the table from him, so he responded, "Not clearly."
She shifted her weight to her other elbow, "What do you like to eat?"
It was a strange question, but one he felt capable of answering without delay, "Whatever nutrients I am supplied with. Most common by frequency: Intravenous parenteral nutrition, pre-prepared purees, semi-solid protein supplements-"
His prior handler tilted her head and her face shifted. He couldn't deduce the implication, but it felt significant and she held up a hand to cut off his report, "Okay. That gives me a frame of reference. But I didn't ask what you have been offered for nutrition, but what you like to eat," she specified. "Your preference."
Preference? What a strange question. Did she mean the consistency of the nutritional load? He didn't usually consider such things. He ate what he was given without question.
She saw fit to clarify, "You can start simple: Sweet. Savory. Salty. You don't have to be specific if it's not coming to you immediately."
He rolled the question over in his mind, trying to focus on any memories of flavor, of taste. The purees had the most range. He rarely knew what components were in them, but he felt like he consumed the sweeter ones quickest. Did that constitute preference? Close enough. "Sweet?" He inquired, but he didn't like that it came out as a question. He didn't want to be reprimanded for being insubordinate.
"Okay, sweet," his prior handler seemed satisfied with the answer, and pushed a small tan bowl across the table towards him. It was much smaller than the bowl nearest him, and this one contained a thick semi-translucent substance with darker chunks within the lumpy globules. "Orange marmalade. Taste it. You can use your finger."
He reached a tentative finger forward and did as instructed. When the tip of his finger made contact with the substance, he processed the odd consistency of the thick, chunky gel on his finger before he retracted it and pressed it evaluatingly to the tip of his tongue. He wasn't sure what response Ayo was searching for, but when the substance made contact, he felt a rush of… something. He wasn't sure. But it was familiarity. Preference. Yes: he was certain he liked orange marmalade, even if he couldn't recall what either "orange" or "marmalade" meant separately, nor when he'd last had it.
"What do you think?" her words were encouraging, searching.
"I don't remember this taste while-" his words faded off momentarily, "-while I was given nutritional supplements. It might be from… another period of consciousness?"
"It is," Ayo confirmed. "Multiple, actually. It is a taste you told me you enjoyed in your early life in Brooklyn, when you lived with your family and made yourself sandwiches of white bread and creamy peanut butter. But it is also a spread you use here on Mamma and Ch'toa's crepes and fresh pastries."
He didn't remember either of those things, but something about the way Ayo said it made it sound like it was an accepted fact and not up for debate. As he dipped his finger back in the marmalade and pressed it to his tongue again. He felt like he could almost picture those little triangular sandwiches that were cut twice diagonally. And other set of small hands. Where had that image come from? Was it a memory of some sort? Was he malfunctioning? Should he tell her?
A moment later, he realized he'd taken more of the marmalade without seeking or being granted permission. Was that the free will Ayo spoke of? It felt scandalous.
Fueled by a renewed sense of curiosity, he dared to take another taste.
The woman across from him did something else with her face that he identified as smiling, but he wasn't certain why. He took the positive expression as a form of permission that he was welcome to continue and was not on the verge of reprimand.
With graceful fingers, she reached towards her own food and silently began to eat. At first he simply observed, watching for patterns in her movements.
After an adequate time spent evaluating her gestures, he strove to mime her. Certain substances were apparently meant to be portioned into other substances, but not the other way around. Liquids could be layered onto solids, but not the reverse. The complex ritual of the experience was quite different from the ones he remembered, especially when it came time to segment nutritional material into his mouth to eat.
Quite unexpectedly, he found there was something satisfying about the act of chewing, of maneuvering food of various consistencies around his mouth and letting it dissolve on his tongue. There were different manners in which he could order and combine the foods, and he explored potential patterns with focused curiosity. Each was as fascinating as the next.
The flavors and textures were overwhelming at first, and he reduced his consumption rate to match that of Ayo across from him. With intense focus, he allowed himself to sample freely from the bowls and plated food items surrounding him. At first, he was unable to do more than identify colors and guess at implied consistency, but soon he connected them to broad categories: rice, vegetables, fruits, meat, crepes, and more. Then he found himself able to categorize them into further specifics: plantains, beans, berries, and more.
Next came food profiles: spicy, savory, salty. Still longer, he found himself comparing and contrasting them to not only one another, but previous times he'd had these and similar foods. Though the memories were not discrete or fully formed, he was certain he remembered. That food was not just a bland form of sustenance, but it was connected with other parts of his memories he was having difficulty sorting out. People. Expressions. Places. Experiences.
Emotions. Yes: food was connected to emotions.
He wasn't sure how long it was until he looked across the table to Ayo again, but when he saw her this time, it was as if he was seeing a completely different person. This was a person he knew, and someone he trusted. They had shared history and had sat many times together at this exact table. She was no longer a prior handler in his mind's eye, but a compatriot in shared experiences like orange marmalade. He remembered the full range of emotions that he'd seen play over her face since he'd first encountered it: that steady intensity, frustration, sadness, fear, joy, and even laughter. He was certain there was laughter there too, and that it was rare, but just as potent and wonderful as the marmalade.
"You're starting to remember," Ayo observed, and James, yes, that was what she called him. He could identify hope and relief on her features as well.
"A little," James admitted, but his voice was no longer so tentative and demure. He was free to speak. He didn't need to ask permission, though he was certain she would have granted it regardless, "It's still foggy, but I can see a wider view of things now. Like memories are trickling back in."
He regarded the marmalade and slid it back across the table to her so she might enjoy it as well. He felt certain he remembered her being fond of it too. Had he been the one to introduce it to her?
Ayo accepted the dish with a nod of her head and proceeded to dip a corner of her crepe in it, "I'm relieved to hear it."
Behind her, a similarly dressed figure with a spear also appeared to be smiling: Yama. He felt his own face return the expression, as if it was second nature to do such things when other people smiled. He liked that custom.
Ayo spoke, "Do you have any questions for me, or do you just want to finish eating?" She offered him the power of choice.
He considered the decision, "I think I'm still hungry," he admitted.
"Then eat. We can stay as long as we like," her voice was filled with a warmth he found strangely comforting, like a salve over his nerves.
She let him continue his food explorations in a quiet shared silence that held its own type of peace and mutual understanding.
As his efforts slowed, he spent time drinking in the world around him and regarded his instinctual responses to everything, but particularly her. In a sea of people, of colors and movement. Of smells and sounds. Rhythm and voices. The woman sitting across from him was unique. He recognized her in a way that was as decided as it was profound: She was his oasis. In a sea of confusion, in a world barren of connection and meaning, she helped guide him back so he could come into himself again and drink from the well of his own experiences.
He knew this wasn't the first time she'd helped him find his way back, and after some consideration, he found himself compelled to understand, "Why do you do this? For me, I mean."
The question apparently caught her off-guard, which somewhere in his mind, he knew was an accomplishment of sorts. She considered the inquiry carefully as she cleaned off the fingers of her right hand and regarded him, "I do it because it is the right thing to do. Because we should judge ourselves by how we treat others, and if we are capable of helping, then I believe we should."
She tilted her head slightly, as if the slight change in perspective offered a subtly different point of view, "That is why I offered aid when this all began. For duty, and because it was right. But in the years since, I find it is more than that. You have endured more than most, and you have every right to be angry, to not trust. To let your past define you, and yet... you persevere."
"I wish to see you free from this strange curse of yours, certainly, but that even in the trying times, even in the moments where you seem furthest from yourself, I still see a spark of that gentle wonder in you, James. And it would give me no greater pleasure than to see you at once able to embrace the man you want to become on your own terms. For that is someone I would very much like to meet, and I am honored to feel in some ways I already have."
With that, she sat back in her seat, and he regarded her in-turn.
She'd said the words with a conviction that was staggering, but he felt disappointed in himself that he didn't remember them, "I've asked that before, haven't I?"
Ayo shook her head, "You haven't, actually. On more than one occasion, you've tried to convince me you're not worth the effort, though."
He made a face, "And what did you say to that?"
"That I can see your worth as clear as the sky above. And that I'm too stubborn for my own good to not see important things through."
James swirled a finger around the rim of his bowl, and a hint of one of his signature wicked smiles touched the corners of his mouth, "The stubbornness?" he casually observed, "That part I remember."
Not only did Yama snort at the boldness of the declaration, but after Ayo recovered from a moment of complete shock at the unexpected remark, her face lit up as she threw back her head in a resounding laugh that filled the space around them with a wave of utter joy and mirth.
He remembered that sound: it was even more wonderful than the marmalade.
Yes. This was his oasis.
He was certain of it.
Author's Remarks:
For any of you who asked for some scenes with Bucky and Ayo in the past… this one's for you.
I remember way back when I started writing this story that I wanted to try to show some of Ayo's inner-life, and somewhere along the way, I recall hearing a song called "Oasis" that really resonated with me. It gave me a bit of a feel of Ayo and her relationship with Bucky in Wakanda, and that sort of steadfast nature of hers just doing everything she could to help him. Yes, I imagine that included disarming and subduing him when he got triggered by code words and failsafes, but I also imagine there were quieter moments between the two of them. I'm sure a lot took place when Bucky was more "himself," but I imagine there were also rougher times when he was in a fog and having trouble finding his way back.
In those times, I imagine Ayo made herself available to help him in whatever ways she could, and I find the idea of that sort of steadfast dedication incredibly sweet and profound. Certainly her first priority was to protect Wakanda and its best interests (hence why Bucky's later betrayal hurt so much….), but right close behind was to help Bucky.
I can't say this is truly a "good" dream, for I'm certain sections were remarkably uncomfortable for Bucky, but I also think it's not a wholly "bad" dream either, and it probably a good reminder of the sort of unique bond the two of them had many years ago. Also: That even strict and steadfast Ayo is capable of laughter. :)
There is another dream ahead, though...
In any case, I am so absolutely *thrilled* to be heading into the weekend, and I wanted to give you a morsel of story to enjoy. This chapter is a good example of the idea of Bucky's mind sometimes being a blend between different times of his life. And…. now you have a possible headcanon for the idea that while he was with HYDRA, they basically just used IVs, protein shakes, purees (read: baby food), and similar for nutrition. So once he was on his own again, he had to "rediscover" his relationship with food.
Thank you once again for all your wonderful comments and words of encouragement. It truly keeps me fueled to keep on writing. :)
Written to "Parhelion," by Ursine Vulpine and "Oasis," Danny Olson feat. Sammy Plotkin
"Oasis," Danny Olson feat. Sammy Plotkin
"You got two choices, runaway or stay frozen
Hear my voice, it calls your name, did you notice?
When you don't know where your place is
And all you see are strangers' faces
Find me in the secret places
That break you open, just let go and
Reach for me, I can be
I can be your oasis…"