Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 29 - Constellations

Sam was certain that somewhere in the middle of the day, probably back at the Aeronautics Museum, that he'd hit his capacity on being able to soak in any more new experiences like some sort of human sponge.

Everything since that point was like trying to find room for just one more bite of peach cobbler when your stomach was already loudly protesting that you were utterly full.

Somewhere in there, he'd managed to push through the discomfort and summon up enough spare capacity to be there for Bucky, but with all the whirlwind that'd gone on, sometimes it felt like trying to use a dull spoon to cut a ribeye into more bite-sized pieces. He was still trying to process a fraction of Shuri's tech-speak right alongside coming to terms with the horrors of the whole top-to-bottom cryo process when he entered the Wakandan Design Center's cafeteria. But as soon as he'd stepped in, he immediately told himself he simply had no capacity to spare to process nor appreciate yet another ridiculous helping of Wakandan innovation. It would just have to wait for another day. Any other day. Not today.

So he did what he could to turn his curious brain off. To try to pay no heed to the elegant way some brilliant Wakandan interior designer had seen fit to weave marbled black with stainless steel, blue lighting, and tribal wall motifs together into something so striking it might very well have fit into any number of museums.

He made it a point to avoid picking out each and every nuance that made the setup of the sprawling, window-lined cafeteria seem like it was straight out of a sci-fi movie. Not the levitating displays, the completely automated serving lines, and certainly not the drones.

Yes: there were drones.

Inside the cafeteria.

Drones.

He told himself it was all completely normal enough to ignore, and some other day he could spend time and attention trying to wrap his mind around the sheer alienness of it all.

But… Drones.

Nomble was in her Dora's stride as she led the way and gestured to the entrance of the nearest corral. She didn't say anything, but Sam watched her watching Bucky. It was clear-as-day to him that she was doing close to the same thing he was: making sure Bucky was faring okay after all of that.

If he wouldn't have known better, he would have assumed the man in question was just tired. Granted: he had every right to be, but his slow pace and careful steps spoke to a present state that was well-beyond simple exhaustion. Bucky hadn't said a lot on the way to the cafeteria beyond the observation that cryo took a lot out of him. He reassured Sam that once he got some calories in him he'd, how had he put it? "Look and feel a lot less like death warmed over."

Sam was pretty sure it'd been a narrow attempt at humor, but he'd also seen too much in the last few hours to not immediately go back to imagining his friend with that frighteningly pale skin and quiet blue accents.

He was certain that regardless of the fact Bucky was alive and well in front of him, he'd be replaying some of the worst parts in his dreams in the coming weeks.

That being as it was, Bucky was twitchy and his fingers still trembled now and then, but he appeared stable enough to manage something so simple as walking, and hopefully in short order: getting some food in him.

The man in question glanced back over his shoulder to confirm Sam was still with him as he grabbed the nearest metal tray and passed it back before taking his own. "If you have the option, try to grab things we can take to-go," he advised as he stepped forward and picked up a foil-wrapped hot sandwich, then debated and placed two more on his tray. "After…all that, even just being inside feels claustrophobic. If it's okay with you, I'd prefer some fresh air."

"No argument here," Sam agreed. He considered adding he wouldn't have minded never seeing the inside of that particular lab again, but he was certain they'd be back before they knew it.

He made the mistake of looking down the lane at the sheer variety of food options ahead of him, and it made him feel like his mind was on the verge of shorting out again, so he decided he would just take one of whatever Bucky'd chosen. Based on what he'd had for breakfast this morning, it seemed altogether unlikely anything served here could be truly inedible.

Bucky moved up a few steps and proceeded to place another pre-prepared hot sandwich of some sort on his tray. When Sam approached, he caught the nearest projected menu swap to English. Strange. It hadn't done that to Bucky, "Wait, why did it…?"

His friend glanced back and it took him a moment to parse Sam's question, "You forget to turn in the English Kimoyo Translation Bead from the Aeronautics Museum?"

"Shit," Sam cursed under his breath.

"It's no big deal," Bucky reassured him, "That's what they're there for. Accessibility is king and all. I'm guessing they've been having a lot more international guests in the last few years since we were last here if the food's any indication. I mean, burritos? Seriously?"

His comment didn't stop him from adding another foil-wrapped bundle to his tray.

There were entire sections of the corrals that Bucky skipped in favor of jumping ahead to specific kiosks and machines. Beyond the bottled drinks, even the drink bar was automated from top to bottom, including some sort of voice-controlled barista that was emblazoned with an actual, honest-to-god, Starbucks logo.

Yep! He didn't have the spare capacity for any of this right now.

Bucky strung out an order for a warm beverage that was at least six words longer than any drink order ought to be, and Sam'd followed by requesting his own respectably simple and straightforward tea order. The last thing he needed was some sugar-filled frou-frou junk when his head was still spinning.

Oh god. Another drone. This one had a little claw that-

He forced the thought down with a prompt Not now, Wilson!

By the time they'd gotten to… whatever you'd consider the Wakandan equivalent of a check-out, the drinks they'd just ordered minutes earlier had already just… showed up. Sam wasn't sure how they'd gotten there, if it'd been a conveyor belt, robot, flesh-and-blood human, or flown-in by drone, but there was still something highly surreal about the efficiency of it all. The custom beverages were even served in little air-tight stainless steel (or was that vibranium?) canisters to prevent spills and keep them at the proper temperature.

"They encourage people to bring their own bottles," Bucky explained, because of course Sam must have been looking at the canisters like they were from another planet altogether. "Environmentally friendly and all."

Would the wonders ever cease?

"You better try not to name the drones," Bucky warned halfheartedly.

Sam rolled his eyes, but was appreciative for the spot of humor, all things considered.

Nomble did the honors of helping the two of them get checked out and trade their trays for to-go bags before the Dora wordlessly gestured with her vibranium spear and led the way outside.

Sam wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected to see when they stepped outside, because as far as his tired mind went: It could have been daytime, night time, or anywhere in-between and he would have accepted it as a completely valid fact.

It wasn't completely dark out, but the sun had already slipped below the distant horizon a ways off, leaving a warm glow over the surrounding mountains.

Bucky's voice came from beside him, "Did you want to sit with us while we eat?" It took Sam a moment to realize Bucky was addressing Nomble.

The Dora Milaje appeared to consider the inquiry only briefly before she politely declined with a tilt of her head, "Thank you, but no. I have other matters to attend to, but you can summon me when you're done and I will take you back to the city." She smoothly gestured the tip of her staff to the Kimoyo Beads around Bucky's wrist, and Sam found himself trying to remember if she'd actually said a word specifically to Bucky up until this point.

Bucky nodded, but Sam could tell by his expression he'd honestly been hoping Nomble might accept the offer. You couldn't force an olive branch, though.

Nomble met his own eyes briefly as she spun on her heel and wordlessly headed back to the Design Center. Bucky silently stood and watched her retreat, still holding the to-go back in his hand. Once it was abundantly clear she held no second-thoughts about her decision, he made a gesture with the bag of food in his hand for Sam to follow.

He led them away from the tarmac, out and around the exterior of the Wakandan Design Center towards the drop-off and the overlook that the center was built into. The sun must've set at least a half-hour ago, because the warm afterglow was still visible on the furthest reaches of the horizon, but if you looked hard enough, the first hint of stars were already working to make themselves known overhead.

Once they'd made their way a short distance from the overlook to a spot Bucky must've considered an appropriate location for a make-shift picnic, he gently sat the bag of food and drinks down beside him and used his hand to lower himself onto the grass. He glanced behind him once to confirm Sam was still following, and wasn't about to wander off the edge.

Initially, Sam stayed on his feet as he took in the view and the feel of the wind coming off the open canyon below. It had a way of making him miss his wings, and the very specific feelings of freedom they afforded him. "It looks a lot different up-close. I bet this is even more incredible during the day," he remarked before taking a seat beside Bucky's right so he could be tactically close to that goodie bag of his.

"The sunsets here are something else," Bucky confirmed, "Pity we missed this one. Another time."

"Does this area have a name?" Sam asked, pitching in another round of small talk that didn't involve the nightmares of cryo.

"Mount Bashenga," Bucky confirmed. "You wouldn't know it now, but there was actually a sizable battle between some of the tribes here that took place only a week or so after I originally arrived. Crazy to think about it now."

Sam acknowledged the small-talk with a nod as he made a point of casually reaching a hand into Bucky's bag and pulling out the largest of the three drink bottles. He loosened the lid and sat it in the grass temptingly close beside Bucky's hand. His friend caught the motion as well as the intent of what he was up-to, but it was apparent he wasn't interested in putting up any logic-based argument against it.

"Thanks," he offered as he took the warm beverage and promptly pulled it to his lips. It was hard to miss the fact that his friend's hand was still trembling, and the sight of it reminded Sam of too many moments from the last few hours. It was clear Bucky didn't even know where to start with any sort of conversation regarding what'd taken place over those hours either.

That made two of them.

Sam decided there was time enough for check-ins and probing "how you doing?"-type questions after they both got some calories in them, so he opted to unwrap one of Bucky's hot sandwiches and sit it conveniently on top of the foil before he did the same with his own. He was so far past the point of caring about mundane things like eating right now that he found he didn't even spare a passing thought about what was in the sandwich. All that mattered was it was food and it was warm, and his partner was alive and well and looking all healthy-flesh-colored rather than frosted and twinged blue beside him.

The two of them ate together in shared silence for a while, just sitting and watching the red slowly fade out of the distant horizon. It wasn't a strained or uneasy stillness, but one of those fragile tranquilities where you knew that it wouldn't last, and that the moment it was broken, the worries of the world would come back in full-force.

So instead, they both just sat and watched and listened.

It must have been after-hours for the Design Center, because all of the surrounding jets and transport ships at their back remained grounded. Some graceful ships far in the distance, back towards Birnin Zana, went about their business, but most of what Sam could hear were natural sounds: the light wind playing through the grass while birds, frogs, and a building symphony of crickets greeted the coming nightfall with open arms.

It was peaceful up here, unhurried. Aside from the far-off view of the Golden City, if he closed his eyes, it reminded him more than a little bit of home, only with less humidity and without the constant threat of mosquitoes. The temperature was as close as you could get to idyllic: lukewarm and cozy, like a full-body blanket. It was warmer than the inside of the Design Center by at least a few degrees, and somewhere in the back of his mind he found the idea of fresh air agreeable to his hopes that it would be a boon to Bucky's continued recovery. He'd never touched the skin of a living person that was so terribly, frighteningly cold.

Bit by bit, the longer they sat, the more the tight knot in his chest slowly loosened, and the ever-more aware he became of just how utterly exhausted he was after the events of the last twenty-four hours. It felt like he'd been running on nothing but adrenaline non-stop, and now that he was sitting and not having to do anything, not having to absorb anything, it was all catching up with him at once.

That being as it was, as the warm breeze continued to gather around him like rising thermals on the wing, just as fast as the worries started to rise up in him, he found the quiet wind saw fit to carry at least some of them away, leaving him feeling at least a little lighter than before.

"This is nice," he observed, looking out over the lights of the distant city as he unwrapped another one of Bucky's sandwiches the moment he took notice that the only remnant of the first one was its residual foil wrapper.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed from just to his left. He folded one knee under his other leg and after discarding the wrappings into one side of the bag, he casually threaded his still trembling fingers through the wild grass surrounding them.

Bucky had every right to that distant expression of his, but wasn't expecting him to ask what he did next.

"How are you holding up?" He turned the side of his head towards Sam so that his nearest eye could critically evaluate Sam's response.

Sam offered him a sidelong glance and even a little bit of what he hoped looked like a smile of disbelief as he shook his head, "It's been a day, man. Without trying to hog any spotlight: it's been a long day." He took a sip of his hot tea before he continued, "Definitely not the sort of thing I expected when Ayo called you back to Wakanda. Speaking of which, with due all respect: after seeing what I have today, you really ought to craft some better shorthand for her rather than 'your prior handler.' It's dehumanizing as hell to you, and I can't begin to tell you how much it undersells-" he gestured a hand around him, "-all of this, and each of them as well. I… I just had no idea."

Bucky bit the side of his lip but nodded agreement, "The last day's been a long-overdue wake-up call across the board." He paused before adding, "But you also didn't answer my question, Counselor Wilson. How are you holding up?"

Sam shot Bucky side-eye at that, but his friend deflected it with an expert shrug, "Just because I'm an hour shy of a thaw doesn't mean I'm not allowed to be concerned about my partner. You've gotta give me a little more credit than that."

"Fair enough," Sam took the opportunity to lay back on the grass, as if somehow this conversation might be made easier if he was talking aloud to the sky above rather than looking at Bucky and his expressive blue eyes as he did. "Rough seeing you have to go through all that, especially knowing it was hardly the first time, and maybe not the last. Rougher hearing you talk about some of those memories, of course. But ridiculous as it is, it made me even a little bit more irritated about Steve. Logistics and branches of time and whatever aside: I wish there was some way I could've taken a turn with that stupid time machine and gone back and helped you somehow."

The grass rustled beside him as Bucky pivoted around in place so he was facing Sam before he laid down on his back so they were laying opposite one another. His voice was softer and fringed with a hint of very particular emotion when he finally responded, "I appreciate that. Some of that was on me, though."

"Enough blame to go around," Sam acknowledged, "But I guess I'd also never thought how it would be to just not… understand things like what was going on with your own body, either." He wondered out loud, "Is the touch stuff you talked from way back then still like that for you now?"

Bucky held out his hand experimentally in front of him, "The details of that particular dream are already starting to fade," he admitted, his tone laced with melancholy and a hint of frustration, "But yeah, that's just my normal, so much that it's hard to remember back to when it wasn't this way. You just get used to it, I suppose. Just being careful at all times. It's like living in a world where everything that matters is fragile, made out of porcelain. Doesn't matter what century I'm in, I have to be hypervigilant so I don't hurt other people or myself."

"Yourself?" Sam heard himself ask the question before he quickly added, "Nevermind, you don't have to answer—."

"It's okay," Bucky said from somewhere beside him, "I honestly just… I've never been able to talk about this stuff. I mean, some with the Wakandans, obviously. But it's different, but it's not a bad thing." There was a brief silence while Bucky appeared to consider the question, "I guess the most straightforward example I can think of is if you make a fist or grab onto something, you can squeeze it as tight as you can but it only goes so far. After a certain point, you only have so much strength and your body knows to stop when the pressure of it or the pain reaches a certain point, right?"

"Right. You're saying it's not like that for you?"

"Not anymore. Not since the serum." Bucky admitted, "The pain is mostly what keeps me vigilant from applying too much force and breaking my own hand, or at least bruising it. It's not so bad now, though. I've learned to be careful. I've had to be."

"Had no idea," Sam confirmed, finding himself wondering if things'd been that way for Steve and the other super soldiers as well, or if it was just due to Bucky's unique strain of the serum. "And I'm sure that wasn't the way you would have preferred to broach some of this more… personal stuff, but for what it's worth? It's helped fill in some missing pieces. Makes me feel like I know you, the whole picture of you, a little bit better. And far as the Wakanda side of things goes, it's honestly pretty incredible seeing even a glimpse into the life you used to have with the people here." Sam debated saying more, but the peace of the sweet mountain air saw fit to keep him talking, "For all intents and purposes: they're family. Your family. And you even saw fit to try to welcome me into the fold. You realize that, right? That attempt at an introduction with Ayo was awkward as anything, but it meant something both ways. It's obvious how much you all care about each other when you're not swimmin' in your own heads."

Bucky remained silent, but Sam could hear him shift in the grass beside him, "I guess so. You were always so open and eager to introduce me to everyone in Delacroix. I just assumed I didn't have anything to offer in return."

"You were definitely holding back on Mamma and Ch'toa's cooking," Sam pointed out, "And did I hear right that they even taught you some of that while you were here?"

"I mean, not restaurant quality, but some. You know I did offer to cook for you and Sarah multiple times. You both turned it down at every turn." Bucky defended.

"We assumed you just knew how to boil water and maybe had a white boy recipe for potato salad with raisins or something."

Bucky Managed to swing just a hint of something of a Wakandan accent into his reply, "I'd be downright offended if I wasn't confident that Mamma's potato salad recipe is better than anything you have in your sweet, southern arsenal."

Sam laughed aloud, the sheer release of the emotion seeing fit to loosen his frail nerves, "Wow, Buck. Shots fired. Next thing I know, you're gonna go after the mac'n cheese, and that's downright sacred around our parts."

"I said what I said," Bucky defended, "Speaking of which: Did you hear from Sarah and the boys today?"

Sam felt the joy drop out of his expression in an instant, "She called when you were in cryo. They're all doing fine, and I said we'd call them later, but Sarah said there was another officer-involved shooting a county over. All of them were pretty spooked."

The breeze stilled, and for a moment, all he could hear was the sound of the crickets. Even they seemed to hush a little in respect to the weight of his words.

"...God... another one?" Buck's voice was soft and sympathetic. It wasn't the empty sympathy of someone who only cared because the news sought to teach them right from wrong, but because he had personal stakes and interest in the good fight. "I'm sorry to hear that. Do you need to head back?"

The thought hadn't even crossed Sam's mind, not until that moment at least. He rapidly dismissed it. If he flew back every time something like that happened... "Nah, I don't think so," he said quickly before he could give the thought any more time to manifest, "Torres checked in, too. No updates on that front, and no additional sightings, but he's keeping his ear to the ground while the official investigation is underway."

He'd take work-talk over the other stuff right now. He just didn't have any capacity to spare.

Bucky softly grunted an affirmative before slowly adding, "...I don't know how much use I'm going to be without the arm, though."

Sam hadn't honestly thought that far ahead, but his expression tightened. Laying there in the half-darkness it was easy to momentarily forget… that… but it sure hadn't been earlier when the current state of Bucky's absent arm had been on full display while he was under. He was glad he'd had the courage to broach the subject with Ayo, but he wasn't sure where that left Bucky. They'd been so busy with the fallout from the last twenty-four hours that he hadn't even stopped to consider where that left him in terms of being mission-ready.

Right now, that was the least of Sam's concerns, but the tactician in him knew it was too important a consideration to be ignored outright.

"Let's leave that worry for another day, okay Buck?"

"Fair," he admitted, before the two of them slipped back into silence.

The whole topic of the shoulder, about Bucky's time in Wakanda wasn't as easy for his mind to dismiss, though. Bucky'd gotten less gun-shy about having the arm, or at least parts of it on display these last few months, about not seeing the need to hide it like he did after the trial, and the pardon, and the brief renewed surge of interest in The Winter Soldier. Yet aside from the passing moments where he was in or out of the bathroom or changing clothes, he kept the part that'd been surgically grafted onto him remarkably private.

The truth was, Sam'd never really stopped to consider the whole long process it must have been to remove the bits HYDRA had shoved in him like some teddy bear stuffed with twisted wire and used car parts, nor the idea it would have taken multiple surgeries and long recovery periods to get back to something close to square-one. He knew Bucky healed faster than most but he just hadn't stopped to consider the sweeping logistics and grueling work all of this must've entailed, especially when Bucky had apparently set his sights on a surgically grafted replacement.

Even then, the whole idea of it felt like it was mostly a distant theoretical. Well, up until the moment Ayo sought to intervene and make it real.

He'd never know exactly what went through her mind to decide he should be the one to monitor the heated blanket on Bucky's left side when he was coming out of cryo, but the moment she'd guided his hand to the spot where the vibranium mounting met the flesh of his shoulder, it was like she'd saw fit to open his eyes to the harsh reality they'd all faced.

He could tell by her expression that she hadn't done it as a delayed punishment for asking about the arm, but as something of a way to bring him into the fold and acknowledge his genuine desire to help, even with the tough stuff.

Sam hadn't needed to see the rough, welted layers of scar tissue to know they were there, but being prompted to rest his hand atop them had been a very particular type of intimacy. The buckled flesh trail formed a story that divided Bucky's deeply chilled skin with the smooth vibranium shell of Wakandan innovation. It was apparent why they'd learned it was necessary to monitor the area, because Ayo was spot on that the metal warmed a lot more quickly than he would have expected, and it meant Sam had to make little adjustments all the while to ensure the skin had the opportunity to warm, but the metal didn't get too hot.

Was this a struggle he dealt with when they were out in the heat normally? He'd have to ask.

Still, the whole thing was just… just utterly surreal.

As if reading his damn mind, Bucky spoke up from beside him, "Really though: thanks for sticking by through all of this. Means a lot. I know it hasn't been easy for you, either."

Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. Leave it to Bucky to manage to slip a "thank you" right up against a genuine acknowledgement of how much he valued Sam's own emotional well-being. It was entirely unfair, because it meant he couldn't dodge one without deflecting the other.

The man was getting clever in his old age.

"It hasn't," Sam admitted, "But I'm holding up. Just worried about you."

There was a short silence filled with more of Wakanda's nighttime serenade before Bucky spoke again, though this time Sam had a feeling he wasn't dodging the subject so much as allowing himself to speak his actual thoughts aloud, "I was kinda hoping Nomble might've been willing to sit out here with us for dinner. She's the silent-type when she's on-duty, but I think you two would get along outside of that. She's been quieter than usual, though."

After a moment he saw fit to clarify, "And before you say anything smart-ass: I am in no way implying you should flirt with any of the Doras. If you think seeing Walker get his ass handed to him was entertaining, you would have simply reveled at the sight of me getting promptly put in my place this one time I decided it would be amusing to toss what I thought was some good old-fashioned charm back at Ayo as a joke. When the bruises she gave me from that trespass finally cleared, she delivered a matching set just to make sure to drive the message home. I tell you what: There's a reason you won't hear anyone cat-calling Doras or anyone else in Wakanda."

"Wait, you cat-called Ayo?" Sam remarked in utter disbelief.

"That wasn't what I said!" Bucky defended, "Were you listening at all?"

"I heard enough. What'd you even say?"

"I don't remember the context-"

"-That's all-around suspicious when it seems as though you remembered it well-enough moments ago. Blaming the serum when it serves you-"

"-now you're just going to use that against me-" Bucky countered.

"-because it sounds like you-"

"-you really are awful." Bucky concluded with an audible groan, "It was Shuri's fault anyway! We were talking about slang from when I was growing up in Brooklyn, and the first thing out of my mouth was something to the effect of," he slipped into a deep Brooklyn accent, "'Hey, dollface…' and the next thing I know, that merciless spear of Ayo's buckled in the back of my knees and laid me out in no-time flat. Ayo just stood over me, fuming, and Shuri sat nearby trying to play all innocent like she hadn't been the one to suggest it. She's not nearly as innocent as she looks, Sam."

Sam burst out laughing at the mental image, "-Oh. My GOD."

Bucky waved his hand in the air, "Just trust me that it's a whole lot funnier when it's happening to someone else."

"I would not have minded seeing that play out in real-time." Sam admitted, "Just don't give Sarah any ideas."

Bucky snorted.

As the humor of the moment was carried off by the warm wind, Sam added, "Speaking of which, at some point it'd probably be good to listen to some of the more recent voicemails from the Wakandans."

"Oh?" Bucky inquired, "When we were at the museum earlier, I told Ayo earlier I would see if I could get through the recordings tonight, but… I know it's going to be rough. I'm not sure what I'll find. I'm just so ashamed of the whole deal, but I know continuing to avoid those messages is just burning a slow hole in me wondering. After Steve left, I really managed to do a number on everything. I was just so convinced, that I didn't mean nearly as much to Wakandans as they did to me. And now? It's like someone's pulled back a curtain and shined a spotlight on the fact that the reality I was so convinced of, the one where I didn't mean anything real to them, couldn't be further from the truth, and I feel like an absolute idiot for ever thinking otherwise."

"You haven't lost them, though," Sam observed.

Bucky groaned in polite disagreement, but Sam saw fit to continue, "I've been here with you this whole time, including while you were under, and I'm telling you: They're justifiably upset to various degrees and probably for subtly different reasons, but you haven't lost them."

"Nomble was dusted like we were, though," Bucky observed, thinking aloud.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "But it sounds like she left you some recordings after the Decimation."

"It can't be worse than Madripoor. Or some of the other stuff I've seen today," Bucky said out loud, but his voice wasn't entirely certain of his claim, "...can it?"

"I mean…" Sam started, but he felt his own voice fade off because he knew more than he was letting on, on account of overhearing what Nomble'd said to Ayo when Bucky's been under.

Before Sam could say anything more, Bucky was already holding his wrist close to him so he could use his fingers to toggle on the Kimoyo Beads and their blue-cast user interface. He flipped through a number of dated recordings, settling on one with Nomble's face dated from a few months earlier. His thumb hovered nervously over the playback prompt for a moment before curiosity got the better of him.

There was a momentary delay before a projection of Nomble's shoulders and head alighted inches above Bucky's palm. She wore a black top and matching scarf, and her expression was disheartened, almost hollow. Her eyes glossy and cast pink as if she'd recently been crying. "I just don't understand why you won't even pick up. We're all worried about you. Yama thought you'd at least show up for this funeral, but I don't even know what's worse: The thought of you not listening to these messages at all, or listening, and then ignoring them still." Her voice was raw, pained. "I can't believe you of all people wouldn't want to be here to see my own brother off. He was practically your kin." She started to say something else, but abruptly ended the recording.

Bucky cursed something in a language Sam was pretty sure was Wakandan and pulled up the recordings again, quickly scanning backwards. He hit play on another one. Nomble's face was more collected in this one, but only just, "I haven't heard back from you so I thought I'd call you again to remind you M'Bahi's funeral is later today. I've saved you a seat with us. You don't need to speak if you don't want to, but… I could really use your company. They keep looking at me to be strong, but I cannot. I am breaking inside. Please… please call."

Bucky continued wordlessly parsing Nomble's recordings further and further back. It was like reaching through time and watching someone unravel in reverse. One of them must have been soon after after she'd learned that someone named Tasdi as well as her brother, M'Bahi had perished in the Battle of Earth. In the recording she was holding her spear and still dressed in a Dora Milaje's full ensemble, trailed with tell-tale splatterings of blue Outrider blood, she begged, pled for him to pick up, "Please… please pick up."

After many painfully long minutes, eventually Bucky turned off the recordings and let his arm fall limply into the grass beside him. It was too dark to see his face, but Sam was certain he heard a choking sound from beside him.

Like so much of the last few hours, that… that was all even worse than whatever Sam'd imagined in his head.

Long minutes passed before Bucky finally spoke, his rough voice betraying the horror of realization, "I… didn't listen to any of these. I didn't know."

Before Sam could say anything, Bucky added, "That doesn't excuse it, but I didn't know. God. We saw her in Latvia, on the trip in from Symkaria, and even today she didn't say anything. How do I even…? I had no idea her brother...and Tasdi… Tasdi was here in Wakanda with us. I'd just… I'd assumed she'd gotten another post… oh God..."

"You turned the beads off that early?" Sam tried to keep his voice even. He wanted to understand how things had gone the way they did, not to put a dagger into his friend to make him feel worse.

"I silenced them when I saw what'd happened to Tony. It seemed like the respectful thing to do," Bucky spoke to the sky above him, "I didn't even think. That whole day. Everything after. I just stuck by Steve to deal with the immediate fallout. I didn't know what else to do. My head was all over the place. The last time I'd spoken with Tony, he was trying to kill me, and I thought for a minute there in Siberia he wouldn't have minded taking out Steve as the next-best thing. You weren't there, Sam, but he was… there was just rage. I understood, I still do, but I always thought maybe there could be some closure between us, but then… the battle was over and he was just… dead."

"I know there were a few days between that and his funeral, but even that was a blur. By then, Steve'd already made his mind up about going back with the stones and his plans for the shield and the idiot told me right before Tony's funeral. I'll never know why he thought that was appropriate timing to give me an early heads up that I had countdown timer on the days remaining with my supposed best friend, but he practically had to drag me out."

"Wait, you both knew then?" Now it was Sam's turn to be dumbstruck.

"Yep!" Bucky said with bitterness in his voice, "He pulled the whole card about how it was important for me to show up to support Pepper and the other Avengers. You got a special shout-out, too." His voice was carved with raw frustration, "God. He really did think that a damn funeral was a good way to get the bonding process rolling between us. Remember how he just kinda got the two of us and Wanda together and then politely excused himself?"

"Christ. I knew you looked upset, but I thought it was because you hadn't gotten to have any closure with Tony. I had no idea Steve'd laid the awful weight of his secret plan of his all squarely on you. And right before the funeral? Seriously? Bucky, I-"

"I thought at first he told me in the hopes I could convince him out of it," Bucky admitted to the sky above, his voice pained at the memory and the fallout it would later cause, "I tried so hard, Sam. I don't think in my whole life I'd ever raised my voice with him, but I did then. And he just… It was clear he'd already made up his mind. No turning back. It was like he was just giving me a heads up, hoping I'd come around to the supreme wisdom of it. Just be happy for him and swallow whatever else I was feeling. And I did my best, I really did. I kept it to myself, just like he asked. Kept it secret, just like he asked."

"-Instead, it just meant he gave you a jump-start on the grieving process, all the while the man in question was still around," Sam finished for him.

Once more: Sam found himself finding yet another reason to want to belatedly shake Steve Rogers. He remembered thinking it seemed like Tony's death had hit Bucky hard, but he hadn't stopped for one moment to consider it was because he was having to act presentable around the future recipient of the shield, around a crowd, around T'Challa, Okoye, and Shuri, all the while knowing he'd be grieving Steve soon after.

Holy. Shit. Goddamn it, Steve.

But Bucky couldn't hear Sam's internal monologue, so he just kept on talking, "It doesn't excuse me ignoring the Wakandans, but… I just wasn't thinking straight." He laughed bitterly, "So the only funeral I ended up actually attending was for someone who justifiably hated me and wanted to kill me, and I only came at the request of someone who already had one foot out of our century. All the while, apparently I had people in Wakanda, people who were planning to stick around, and all they were asking of me was to come and grieve together with them, and I didn't even know." He choked back something and added, "How can I even begin to make it up to them?"

"Talk to 'em," Sam offered, his voice soft and honest, "Rather than leaving them wondering what happened: talk to them. Look, that whole era of the world was a mess of chaos and emotions for everyone. You can't change what happened then, but it's not like grief magically evaporates the moment a funeral is over and everyone goes home."

He debated the next part. It was a topic he kept safely locked away in that lockbox of his own making. A box that he'd spent years clearly labeling as being a topic so thoroughly reviewed and dealt with that he continued to try to convince himself that it didn't require any further attention, focus, or emotional energy.

His mind insisted otherwise.

He'd said the name around Bucky once, but his observant friend hadn't pressed for details, and he didn't offer up any on own. But he was realizing now that it was unfair for him to expect Bucky to be open with him about the tough stuff if he wasn't willing to do the same.

So with great effort, he looked up at the stars overhead, took a deep, steadying breath and opened that lockbox he'd kept close to his chest for so many years.

"Grief is… grief is complicated. I don't think I've said much about my wing-man, Riley. Probably haven't said enough, honestly. He was the first and only partner I had up till you. Great guy. Smartass. Had one of those bright personalities that could light up a room."

Sam heard Bucky's breathing quiet, so he continued.

"We were in the 58th Rescue Squadron together, but had gone all the way up through basic training. The two of us were tapped to be test pilots for the EXO-7's way back, and we'd been on countless missions and rescue ops together. More'n I can count. Hundreds. Then one night we find ourselves over in Afghanistan, trying to get in under an area where they were sending up RPGs and preventing our 'copters from getting in. One minute, everything is smooth and under control and going fine, and the next thing I know, there's an explosion and look to my left to see whatever was left of Riley plummeting out of the sky like some sort of charred phoenix."

Bucky'd managed to lean up on his elbow so he could turn his head to regard Sam as he continued to speak from gut to mouth, "I can still see it, clear as the night it happened. Hear it. Like it'll always be stuck on replay in this awful loop where I'm helpless to do anything but watch. If that wasn't bad enough, I got a free second helping back in Germany when Vision aimed for my thrusters and accidentally took out the power on Rhodey's suit. I remember just… watching him drop like a lead weight, doing everything I could to get to him in time, and... just hearing that awful, deadening impact. Then he just didn't move. I… know he's okay now, but for a moment there…."

"I'm..." Bucky breathed more than spoke. His hand reached across and found Sam's shoulder. He gently squeezed it in shared sympathy, "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, Sam."

"Thanks," he laid there, taking a deep, grounding breath as he looked up at the star-speckled sky above them, wishing the sight could somehow numb the raw, aching pain in his chest, "I just wish you could've known him, you know? I think that's one of the hardest parts about this stuff, is that it's the people that are left behind that carry the weight of it. It's more than just survivor's guilt. It's the memories. The nightmares. The wishin' things were different."

Sam continued, "I had people I knew for the better part of ten years miss Riley's funeral too. I got all sorts of excuses tossed my way: Anything from 'They had other plans,' through to 'They were uncomfortable seeing other people upset.' Just… a whole gambit."

"And it absolutely hurt, but grief doesn't end there. People tend to be really good about checking in when the grief is still fresh and new, but not so much in the months after. I think most people that haven't waded through it assume that given enough time, you're fine. They see you managing, maybe even catch you crack a smile and think it's all resolved. Dealt with. In the past. But that hasn't been my experience."

He kept his eyes upward because he could feel them getting glossy, "So if you want my suggestion? You should go talk with Nomble. Sometimes just knowing someone cares does a lot of good. And even belated condolences are still heads and tails above no condolences at all."

"I can see that now," Bucky admitted, his voice soft and compassionate, "Thanks for sharing all of that. About Riley. I had no idea."

"How would you? I may give you shit about keeping stuff to yourself, but it's not like I've been a shining example of openness about some of the heavier stuff, myself."

"Was that why you were initially so quick to dismiss my 'partner' comment back in Louisiana?" Bucky wondered into the night air.

"Not consciously, but about ten minutes after I downgraded us to 'coworkers' I put it together," Sam found himself admitting out loud for the first time in his life, "I'd told myself I never wanted to hurt like that ever again. Easiest way to do that was to just stick to the solo act and help out where I was needed. No official commitments. No responsibilities. No ties. Seemed to work fine enough for me until I saw fit to realize you and I were basically partners, I was just seeing fit to dance around the term because of the fear of loss it drummed up."

"I could tell the word meant something particular to you back in the museum," Bucky admitted, "But I guess I didn't realize it was like that. Steve and I never used that term either. Partners, I mean. We were best friends, we had each other's backs, but it just… it wasn't the same thing."

"I get that," Sam agreed, making an effort to try to lighten his tone as he added, "And maybe somewhere deep down that's why I fought it for months. Maybe I also didn't want to think that being gifted the shield came with a free grumpy 106-year-old man."

"You're an ass," the man beside him deadpanned, seeing fit to try to pull some much-needed James Barnes factual humor into the heavy conversation.

"You didn't let me finish!" Sam countered, thankful for Bucky's picking up on his plea for a little levity. He needed it in spades about now, "Like I was saying: Maybe I was a bit too preoccupied with that, with the idea of being Captain American 2.0 and thinking you were just falling in line out of obligation."

"With all due respect, Mr. Captain America 3.0," Bucky corrected him, his voice edging on a gentle tease, "If this was ever just about an obligation to the shield, then you would have seen me ambling after Walker. And I'm sorry but some of us have standards."

"I know that now," Sam agreed, waving a hand to dismiss the very idea of Bucky trailing behind that walking personification of everything wrong with America, "And really, you're going with 3.0 because of Walker?"

"I don't make the rules, Cap," Bucky commiserated in feigned seriousness.

Sam rolled his eyes. He probably deserved that.

The whole talk, from top to bottom, back to front, actually had a strange way of making Sam's chest feel lighter. He hadn't realized how tight it'd been. He listened to the continued serenade of nighttime wildlife and focused his attention back up at the sky above them. Now that the remaining light of the sun had finally slipped away, the pinpoints of light were even more numerous and shined bright and even more beautiful. The clarity and contrast was really something, even compared to back home.

In no time, the two of them fell back into that easy silence again as they laid out under the night sky.

"They have different constellations, you know," Bucky offered as a safe conversation topic, "And a whole load of mythos around them. Unsurprisingly: lots of big cats, but there are other animals too, famous figures from their history and legends too."

Sam shook his head from where he lay resting beside him, "Every ten minutes or so, for just this brief moment, I start to think I've got you figured out, Buck, and then you go and say something like that."

"Like what?" Bucky countered, not following.

Sam waved a hand as if it was blatantly obvious, "Just the idea of you, sitting out here, having some wise old Wakandans teaching you about their history, what they named their stars and their constellations. It's remarkably humanizing. Genuinely. I meant it as a compliment."

"Is that the sweet sound of jealousy I hear?"

Sam snorted, "I'd be lying if I said otherwise. That museum alone, man."

"Museums," Bucky emphasized the plural.

"Now you're just being a show-off," Sam factually observed, but he felt the much-needed smile resting across his face, "But I feel like sometimes as we get older, life just gets so busy that we forget to tune-in to this sort of stuff. Stars. Constellations. What people before us spun tales about, you know? Just bask in the sheer wonder of the cosmos and all. I can't think of the last time I just… laid out under the stars like this. It's nice. Peaceful."

"It is," Bucky agreed.

They laid looking up at the stars for a few moments until Bucky tentatively added, "...I just wish I could quiet the nagging part of me that's scared about whatever Shuri might uncover."

The candor in Bucky's words sat with Sam as he tried to navigate the best response.

Society seemed intent to teach boys and men alike that it was unacceptable to show weakness, and the confession must've come harder than most to people like Bucky who were bonafide experts and pushing down whatever they were feeling. Hell: They'd both spent the better part of their lives being ingrained in the machismo of wartime culture, but Bucky'd gotten a whole new bucket of awful when literal Nazis saw fit to try and to wash away any useful emotions he had beyond manipulated obedience.

So Sam decided the best thing he could do was to say what he was actually thinking.

"I'm scared too," Sam admitted, because it was the truth, and Bucky deserved nothing less than that from him. "Could be something. Could be nothing. But whatever it is: we'll figure it out together, okay?" He made it a point to meet Bucky's eyes when he firmly added, "Partners."

Bucky met Sam's steady gaze and agreed without hesitation, "Partners."

Author's Remarks:

"I'm just going to write out this short little scene I've been looking forward to getting to. It's probably going to be brief."

*8.5k+ words later….*

"That…. That was a lot."

Bucky being genuinely concerned with how Sam is holding up says a lot about their friendship. Everyone deserves friends like these.

Please enjoy: The idea of Bucky hanging around Shuri and her jokingly daring him to say some 1940's slang to Ayo gives me life.

Bold move, White Wolf.

If you choose to go and rewatch Tony's funeral scene during endgame, keep an eye out for Steve, Wanda, Bucky, and Sam, because my head canon stands.

Sam wishing he could have gone back in time to help Bucky was probably one of the kindest things anyone's said to Bucky. I can imagine Bucky has always wondered how Steve could have gone back, knowing what was happening with TWS. :(

I'm appreciative to finally start to get to the point that both the reader and Bucky start to understand why Nomble has been so quiet as of late... :( Oof.

….And Riley… :( I can tell you that scene at the Germany airport in CA:CW with Rhodey plays differently if you imagine Sam watching helplessly, remembering when Riley got shot out of the sky in much the same way…

I appreciate these two trying to tactically use banter and humor to gently diffuse the tension when it's appropriate.

Standing offer: I have a lot of flashbacks planned, so if there are any Bucky-centric portions of MCU canon you're curious about, I'd love to hear them! There's a chance my take on them might find their way into this very story...

In kinder news: I have had this scene of Bucky and Sam laying in the grass looking at the stars since probably days into when I started to write this story, and it feels so absolutely wonderful to finally get to this particular moment of bonding between them. I honestly feel that rough as some of the topics were, that both of them probably feel lighter for being able to talk candidly with someone who genuinely cares.

Once again: Thank you, thank you for all the questions, comments, kudos, support, shared head-canons, and just… joining me on this journey. I can't begin to tell you how immensely satisfying it is to find myself posting a chapter, and then being greeted with so much enthusiasm and support. Just: Thank you!

Written to "Lifeling," and the entire "Birds of Prey" album by Gisli Gunnarsson