Winter of the White Wolf

Chapter 39 - Law of Inertia

As sunlight poured into the cockpit, Barnes spared a moment to glance between the circular mouth of the opening above him and the darkness below, and without another thought, he brought his fingers together and rolled his right hand clockwise. Immediately, the nimble ship complied, twisting in midair as it pivoted and shot them straight down.

In response, Sam Wilson shrieked so loudly that it made his ears ring.

Barnes spared a glance to his left to ascertain if the man beside him was in any undue distress, but nothing had changed from the last time he looked. It appeared his vocalization was likely purely psychological in nature.

He chose to ignore it.

There were more pressing questions running through Barnes' head as he steered the ship through the central shaft of the complex. As the light from the sky above fell away, Barnes' eyes adjusted to the half-darkness below, and the undulating patterns of black and blue stone. Thankfully, Sam remained silent after his initial outburst. He was conscious, but remarkably focused on the viewport.

"Holy shit…"

Well, mostly silent. The volume was tolerable.

Barnes could not ascertain the meaning or intention behind the other man's expression. It was not one he recalled cataloging previously, but his instincts told him it was not worrisome. He refocused, doing his best to keep the viewport centered in the shaft while his mind rapidly stack-ranked and prioritized his inquiries, shuffling away the outliers so he could focus his attention on piloting the unfamiliar craft.

He felt certain he'd never been at the helm of a ship with this particular design, but the navigation array was not wholly foreign, though he was having difficulty sourcing when he'd been given training on it, no less the language displayed on the holographic heads-up display. His mind drew parallels between the symbols on the display and the spoken language that the warrior in the lab had uttered, as well as the runes etched into the bracelet around his right wrist.

Not a bracelet, a beneficial device.

But did that language relate to the words that the other warrior out on the grass had shouted to him? The connections in his mind struggled to ascribe significance, but he wasn't sure what to make of his instincts on the matter. They treated the words like some sort of secret code. But for what purpose? They did not force his mind to be muddled nor obedient, yet the surrounding women appeared unfamiliar with their meaning or intention.

'All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'

He'd read those words, but not in that other language. In English. And he'd heard them in English in a recording as well.

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard them spoken aloud in that other language only once before, and by the same woman.

But when? Why?

He forced the considerations aside for later investigation as he sought to adjust his legs in the chair in a position that was optimal. The dip in the center of them implied that perhaps they were meant to be driven from a cross-legged position, but he didn't recall that being standard protocol in the majority of he'd occupied vehicles.

Barnes did it anyway, suppressing a pain-driven vocalization as he frowned at the way the combination of tight denim and positioning constricted his legs. Who had thought to dress him in such troublesome clothing? Even still, he acknowledged the revised positioning was a suitable way for him to monitor the continued bleeding coming from the opening of his left boot, and it moved the wounded foot further away from the other man in case he thought to try to take advantage of the weakened appendage.

Sam glanced his way at the motion, moving his eyes between the metal hand holding the spear, Barnes, and the wounded foot now resting securely under his right hand, "...You should really consider trying to stop the hemorrhaging on that foot of yours, else you're liable to bleed out."

Barnes chose to ignore the comment. It was not an unsubstantiated observation, but properly tending to such a complex injury would be time consuming and could be handled once he was certain he was not being actively pursued. He turned his attention back to the viewport and adjusted the fingers of his right hand in three-dimensional space and cross-checked the ship's relative positioning with the dark, sand-like map protruding from the console in front of them. He pinched his fingers together and spread them apart to zoom in on the area at the bottom of the mine shaft, then flicked his wrist to bring up additional options on the HUD overlay. With quick, intentional strokes, he prompted the viewport as well as the sand table to begin actively tracking nearby aircraft.

The outlines of about two dozen orange ships sparked to life. With a few pointed gestures, Barnes sorted them, flagging both inactive and unarmed vessels orange, while tuning the others to read as neon blue.

While only orange ships appeared within the mines and tunnels below, six blue ships showed up on the display at various distances above and around the mountain. By their movements, Barnes felt certain they were already tracking him and were intending to head him off and converge on their relative position when the opportunity presented itself. He dragged his fingers over the nearest two that were lying in wait a short distance beyond the nearest opening of the mines, pulling up schematics on their dimensions, standard crew occupancy, armaments, maximum payload, and other relevant stats.

He hadn't piloted his own ship long enough to feel confident in an offensive dog fight with two combat-ready ships, so he'd have to take the long way through the mines.

Acceptable.

Barnes leaned into the dive and increased their speed as he drove the craft downward, preparing to reverse the thrusters and lift the nose of the vessel in just enough time to clear the ground and allow him to dart deeper into the mines without losing significant speed from the maneuver.

That was the plan.

From beside him, Sam flailed his hands and let out another anxious scream. A muffled voice higher pitched than he remembered wailed, "Oh god what are-! Who even taught you how to fly!? Pull up, pull up, pull up!"

Nomble knew the broad strokes of what to expect when she reached the Propulsion Laboratory, but hearing fractured pieces of the live updates did not make seeing the aftermath of the battle that had been fought moments earlier any easier for her heart to bear.

As she stepped through the doors of the laboratory, Nomble dipped her head to acknowledge two Doras that had moved themselves to guard the front entrance, but her own pounding footsteps only slowed once half the room was to her back. As she came to a stop, she found herself surrounded by a swath of scattered tools and electrical components intermingled with telltale trails and smears of fresh blood that led in more directions than she cared to consider. The room smelled of oil, musk, and the distinct scent of burnt hair: a tell-tale sign that electric weapons had been discharged against angry flesh.

It was horrifying. The scene was like something out of a long-forgotten nightmare, heightened by the unsettling juxtaposition between the normally clean and orderly alcove that was usually cast in monotone greys accented by figures in neat white lab coats.

On any other day, the ornate red, orange, brown, and gold armor of their guarding Doras were organized, like evenly-spaced paintings in a hallway, but now the swaths of color, the blood and disarray stood out like crumpled rose petals tossed carelessly in ashen snow.

It was not simply disarray, but a scene of immense distress. Even now, lives remained in precarious balance.

Before Nomble even lifted her hand to summon aid, the audio of Princess Shuri's incoming call connected. Her normally upbeat voice was pained with a distinct guilt and heavy responsibility Nomble found she shared, "The medical staff is closeby and already on their way."

"Tell them to hurry. It is as dire as we feared," Nomble confirmed, doing what she could to steady her voice. She tried not to think about who the blood spread across the floor might belong to, and if all of them would survive this violence marred day, but she did not miss that a large swath of it led off and to the left before it disappeared, likely to the location of the ship James had stolen.

Clean-up drones were already in motion as she took quick inventory of the room and its remaining occupants.

Shuri must have been watching Nomble through one of the lab's many cameras, "I think most of the blood belongs to James," Shuri offered, though it was unclear if it was meant to be a reassurance or one of her simple statements of clinical fact. "I must go," she apologized before remotely ending the call.

A short distance ahead, two Doras stood in a guard's ready stance along the landing platform. Their heads were tilted down, casting their attention to the vibranium mines far below, no-doubt tracking the stolen experimental ship as it descended. To her right, scientists in fitted lab coats and Doras in bloodstained regalia clustered themselves in small groups as they offered what aid and comforts they could to sprawled figures on the floor. Nomble eyes darted, counting three scientists appearing injured, one moderately, and two Doras: both more gravely injured, but alive.

M'yra was furthest away, and Nomble did not miss that though her head moved, the rest of her did not. What remained of the top of her right arm had been wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, but her hand and fingers had already gone sickly black. Scientists and engineers huddled around M'yra and spoke with her while one held her left hand and soothed it. Nomble was certain she could overhear Shuri's voice speaking through distant Kimoyo Beads around one of their wrists, offering instruction and encouragement until medical personnel arrived.

Nomble wished for not the first time that she wielded more of Yama's medical training so she might offer aid, but those were not her strengths, and she knew the scientists here were better suited to help. She frowned as nearby machinery moved and her attention was drawn to a gathering of two scientists who crouched over a huddled Dora that bore fresh wounds from battle. As the blood-splattered scientists got to their feet to help see to the fallen warrior, Nomble stepped towards them and was joined by a nearby Dora, Teela, who ducked down and gently maneuvered the injured Dora into a seated position on the floor.

Nareema's pained brown eyes blinked up at Nomble. They were hazy and unfocused, though her left hand remained rigid around the staff of her spear, which she used to help balance her. It was clear her nose as well as one of her wrists was badly broken, and her far shoulder appeared to be cruelly dislocated.

"Lay back," Teela instructed, "I will see to your shoulder."

Nareema nodded faintly and closed her eyes as she was coaxed to lower her back against the floor. With skilled intention, Teela put her spear aside as she cupped one hand in front of Nareema's shoulder and placed the other behind. Then she feigned the oldest trick in the handbook, "On three. One. Two.-"

Teela thrust her top hand hard against Nareema's shoulder and she cried out as it as the joint audibly popped back into place. At the sound, Nomble felt a fresh wave of guilt rush through her spine, and she wished for not the first time that and any other day, that they'd been able to prevent the demons James danced with from harming so many so terribly.

It had been years since anyone had sparred with the Soldier, and time yet before since he turned his ire against someone other than she, Ayo, Yama, or Shuri.

Not that such things were wholly preferable. But part of Nomble acknowledged an ideal that at least the four of them willingly consented to such risks. Those in the Propulsion Laboratory had not been so lucky.

Her worries must have shown on her face as Teela turned her attention to Nomble and dipped her head, offering the other Dora a fist to chest soldier's salute. Nomble was keenly aware of the bruises she bore from the confrontation in Shuri's Lab, but Teela's own regalia and armor were cast in splatters and grimy fingerprints of fresh blood. Her hands and side of her face were marked with dark bruises and she met Nomble's own eyes with concern, but without judgement.

Nareema spoke up from where she lay on the floor below. Her eyes remained squinted, but her voice held intention, "We were taken by surprise and unable to subdue him. It was like fighting a panther." Nomble knew she did not mean the great cat, but one like Killmonger after he'd been infused with the power of the black panther. Nareema turned her head, and Nomble traced her gaze to where it rested on a spear that stood planted tip-down in the ground. The blade was bathed in blood, and a pool of crimson spread out from across the point.

"M'yra thought to spear his foot to pin him in place so we might subdue him," Teela offered as way of explanation, "But your White Wolf was willing to chew through his own paw to release himself from the bite of the snare." Her bruised expression was serious as she regarded Nomble, "He tracked us. I watched it in his eyes. He sought to punish M'yra specifically for her actions."

Nomble frowned, "I do not think he knows who he is, but I feel certain he will harm more unless we catch him."

The edge of Teela's mouth twitched and she lowered her voice, as if her words were meant for Nomble alone, "Nearby Dora fresh to the fight saw an opening and sought to put an end to things to save Sam Wilson and potentially other lives at the cost of the Wolf's own, but Sam chose to intervene."

Nomble felt her heart lurch at the thought, but before she could say anything, Teela continued, "He traded himself to quell the fire in the Wolf. I saw it. It was not the blind rage of the Winter Soldier so many have spoken of in stories and quiet whispers."

Nomble swallowed, glancing to her right at the sound of a new wave of approaching voices and equipment as medical personnel hurried into the room and quickly spread out to see to the injured. She stepped back to make room as two immediately sought to Nareema, using their specialized Kimoyo Beads to run scans over the fallen Dora. Keeping her voice low, Nomble found the words she wished to speak to Teela, "Would you face him again with me, and choose to subdue him if we can?"

"Without question," Teela responded without hesitation, and with a conviction Nomble felt deep within her. Teela spun her sonic spear and retracted it in a fluid movement that reminded Nomble of gunslingers from old American films before the other Dora inclined her head to the far side of the Propulsion Laboratory and discreetly snagged a spare compact medical kit from off a nearby cart. "You're a strong pilot, yes?" Teela's feet were already in motion as Nomble hurried to catch up with her.

"I am," Nomble's voice was certain of her skills, "But we have much distance to make up. Yama has called the other ships back and some already give chase to coax James away from populated areas."

Though Teela's face was bruised and her uniform was crested with blood, there was intention in her eyes, "Ah, but your Wolf stole the closest experimental ship, not the fastest one." She led the way to a small, triangular black ship with upward-folded wings whose interior was no larger than that of an automobile. She placed the loop of the compact medical kit around a nearby hook and then smoothly hopped into the co-pilot's seat, crossing her legs and she turned on the systems, "The front position is yours. Let us see firsthand what the Wakandan Design Group and their 'Sun Falcon' has to offer us." She spared a knowing glance to Nomble, "It is a fortuitous name, I think."

"It is," Nomble agreed as she collapsed her own spear and ran her fingers across the console, saying a silent prayer to Bast for strength and good luck. With that, she stepped into the pilot's seat, crossed her legs, and flourished each hand in tight, controlled motions. The optics responded, connecting the HUD's controls to her fingers as she willed the sleek craft to life. "It is flight tested, yes?" she had the wisdom to inquire.

Teela's face had the faintest hint of a smile as she rolled her shoulders and easily replied, "I suspect it is not the maiden voyage our skilled and thorough engineers had planned, but it will have to do."

"You are certain we will not be reprimanded for selecting this particular vessel, Teela?" Nomble raised an eyebrow, but had already prompted the controls to close the rear hatch. She used her other hand to lower and extend the wings of the craft, and noticed someone in a white lab coat hollering and waving for her attention as she did.

She pretended not to see him.

Teela casually shrugged off the concern, "You know better than I what Ayo says," the woman beside her did her best impersonation of Wakanda's Chief of Security, "The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be."

"I do not think this is what she had in mind," Nomble admitted as she gunned the thrusters and sent them out into the sky above.

Ayo would not have been ashamed to admit that the sight of a small ship coming out of the central shaft momentarily startled her into motion.

So, as any instinctive Dora Milaje would do, Ayo immediately inserted herself protectively between the craft and her royal charge and flourished her spear, and those around her reacted in kind, shielding Shuri in case the unfamiliar craft chose to open fire.

Yama was the first to break formation, "It is Nomble and Teela!" her lieutenant loudly announced as she raised a hand for attention and motioned the craft to land to their left.

It turned so the rear hatch was already open to them by the time the vessel settled along the hardy vibranium tile. Yama ran up to the stairs, and Ayo and Shuri followed closely in her wake, with accompanying Dora flanking Shuri's back "I was not aware we had flight-tested this model," the princess observed, curious.

"We are planning to go after them," Nomble volunteered as she and Teela spun their chair around and got to their feet to come to attention for Ayo, "But we must hurry."

Ayo did not miss the assortment of blood and bruises cast like tiger stripes over Teela, and she was quick to see if she needed to step in to prevent Shuri from volunteering to come along.

She would not permit it.

Instead, the princess began rummaging around on her person, trying to figure out what had become of the items that she'd pocketed on her prior to triggering the skin tight black vibranium suit of armor she now wore, "Hold on, hold on, I will find it."

It was Shuri's way of admitting she would not press Ayo's patience further and insist she should come along. A small grace.

Her commander's quick math eyed the interior of the small vessel: It would be a tight fit, but there was room for one more. Part of her wished to join them, to be present and hopefully diffuse the worsening situation further, but the wiser part of her knew not only was her own leg injured, but James had shown anger towards her and fear for the Russian words she'd chosen to try to wield against him in a feeble attempt to de-escalate the violence he sought against them.

Though it pained her to admit: she knew the sight of her was likely to only bring him further distress, and unnecessary complications to their cause.

No, Yama was a better choice. She was yet uninjured, and her medical training might be the only thing that prevented one or both of them from stepping into the mist to be with the ancestors.

"Yama, you will go with them. I will stay behind with Shuri to help from the ground. I will take over communication with the other fliers."

Yama bobbed her head in acknowledgement, "Our vessel and another transport ship should be landing here shortly. The others and Okoye aim to intercept and herd him towards the fringes of the Border Tribe. Local traffic has been instructed to return to port or go to ground and remain uninvolved."

"And Birnin Zana?"

Her lieutenant frowned, "I have sent word ahead, though I cannot imagine he would choose to run towards such a busy place if he wishes to escape."

"We do not fully know his mind," Ayo admitted, looking out past the towering structures of the Wakandan Design Center. She caught motion beside her as Shuri fiddled with four Komoyo Beads in her hand. Ayo wasn't certain exactly where Shuri'd managed to pluck them from, but the princess quickly modified and then opened a small case and plucked out two remote communicators before she handed the beads and the remaining communicators to Yama, "Two Medical Stabilizing Kimoyo Beads. Two Remote Access Kimoyo Beads. You would do well to not confuse them. You will need to install the Remote Access Beads along a primary access panel on the ship."

"The White Wolf's chosen ship is well-shielded and well-armed," Teela noted, "If he takes note of such strengths. We may need help breaking through the shield."

Ayo wasn't fond of using Jame's Wakandan title during such strained times, but it was not a comment worthy of reprimand. Her irritation at the situation was her own, "I will let the others know."

By the time Ayo had spoken the words, Shuri had already seen fit to pull up a secondary holographic window with further information about the other ship's shields and weapon systems. She used her fingers to flick it aside as she applied the communicator behind her ear and toggled it on. The princess made an impatient gesture with one hand for the others to do the same, "Put them on now or you will forget."

Ayo followed Shuri's lead and Yama took the four beads and the remaining three communicators with her as she stepped into the plane, handing one communicator to each Nomble and Teela before she applied her own and retracted her spear so she could use both her hands to brace herself to stand in the ship, since the only two seats were already occupied. Yama nodded to Ayo in respect and Ayo returned the gesture with a hand-to-chest soldier's salute that she partnered with a pointed series of resounding strikes from the butt of her spear against the vibranium tile at her feet. The other Doras joined her, pounding their spears against the ground in rhythmic solidarity as they watched the rear hatch close.

Ayo wished to imagine that their silent prayers to Bast might be heard.

Nomble's voice was the first to come through the communicator in Ayo's right ear, "We will bring them home," she said simply, and Ayo could feel the conviction in her lieutenant's voice. With a surprisingly smooth motion, the streamlined black jet pivoted and leapt to the air.

When the avian-shaped ship was just beyond the edge of the mountain, Yama's voice spoke to them, clear as if she'd been standing beside her, "I know what it is now," her voice held revelation in it, "The proper language that has eluded us for the unspoken bond we share with our White Wolf and one another. It is a 'Ukupakisha ibhondi,' I am certain of it."

Ayo watched the ship dip below the mountain as she repeated the words aloud, letting the language of them settle onto her tongue. Like a promise, a declaration, "Ukupakisha ibhondi."

'Pack bond.'

Sam Wilson had already ran himself through at least a dozen different ways he could die today, but "Hapless Passenger on Grand Theft Aero: Wakandan Edition" had definitely not been on his bingo card.

One moment they'd been hovering out in that tube in the center of the Wakandan Design Group, and the next, Not-Buck- Barnes pointed the craft straight down and they just dropped.

He was glad his seat had a back to it, or he would have been thrown out of it completely, because it wasn't as if his damn ornamental hands were useful for gripping squat at this point, thanks in no point to HAL 9000's moody whims.

On second thought: the shift in G-forces inside the ship wasn't altogether normal. Was there something else-

Whatever tech considerations he'd been running his head threw came to an abrupt halt when he got a better look out the rapidly changing viewport ahead of them.

First off: quick math told him the width of the ship was barely smaller than the opening to the shaft itself, and moreover as the vessel sped up and corkscrewed, he was having an awful lot of difficulty imagining they weren't going to simply impact that ground that was rapidly approaching them.

Before Sam could learn if Wakandans believed in airbags, he may have used his mouth to say some words that crescendoed into a pitiful scream that he would never admit to making, as the craft rolled in midair in a way no jet should have been capable of managing and shot right.

He had to blink his eyes a few times to realize what he was seeing: the view inside the mountain was an expansive swath of blue and black stone: vibranium. The natural formations and support pillars were utterly massive in a way that didn't seem remotely possible from outside. Pockets of orange lights lit up the far corners and alcoves of buildings like fireflies, while stretches of what looked to be tracks stretched and curved across the expanse of the room like interconnected highways. If he squinted hard enough, he was pretty sure he could see some dragonfly-like ships hanging off of various structures in the distance.

It might've been quite a sight to see if the madman beside him wasn't so intent to turn it into a goddamn theme park ride.

Sam was pretty sure he saw sunlight streaming in from somewhere off to their left when Barnes gunned it straight ahead and sent the ship charging deeper into the mine at a speed that thing had no right being able to hit without at least some loss in handling.

Barnes wove the small ship close to one of the stretches of transport rails and suddenly shot them right over the track, narrowly missing an oncoming train as it barreled by.

Sam must have made at least one noise with his mouth, because the man beside him swiftly remarked, "Stop yelling or you're going to make us crash."

"I'm going to make us crash?" Sam's voice was higher-pitched than he remembered.

Barnes shot him a look and Sam shut the hell up and wondered if his life insurance covered contingencies like this. Would they count the years lost to the Blip as part of his good driver discount? Probably not.

The ship reoriented itself and darted left.

"Do you even have any idea where you're going?" Sam found himself asking, because his nerves wouldn't allow his mouth to stay closed, apparently, "Pretty sure I saw daylight back the other way." He gestured over his left with one mangled paw.

Barnes considered the question before replying, "Shortcut." A pause, "I think."

"You think?"

Fullmetal Asshole ignored the remark and rapidly changed the subject, "Why did you stop them back there?"

Sam blinked, trying to catch-up to the conversation and ignore the fact that this guy was seeing fit to weave through skyscraper-sized vibranium pillars like it was a goddamn video game. Whether it was the pain, the blood loss, or that bold southern temper of his that he was usually a lot more inclined to keep in-check, he found his smart mouth responding, "From turning you into a lifesize shish-kabob? Because we're supposed to be friends." He wanted to add 'dumbass,' but he kept that part to himself.

Barely.

Sam caught the brief moment of side-eye from the man beside him who saw fit to state the obvious, "I don't have friends."

"You made that current sentiment pretty damn clear with what you did to my hands," Sam saw fit to remark.

And then the Vibranium Giant had the absolute gall to retort, "You shot at me first."

Sam's lips flapped at that one as he struggled to keep up, which was mighty difficult considering he was still a bleeding ball of pain, "This isn't fucking Star Wars, man. You don't get to say that when the last time I can even remember shooting at you was over ten years ago, right after you bull-rushed Steve off the side of a helicarrier. Or are you forgetting that first part? It's kinda important context."

Barnes set his jaw, but he didn't lash out. Yeah: Sam was pretty sure this asshole remembered.

Fine then, "We didn't meet on the best of terms, because by all accounts you were trying to kill Steve, and by proxy: me. And then suddenly," he spread those twisted mittens of his apart, "you weren't. You beat the shit out of him, then apparently had enough second-thoughts to drag his bullet-ridden ass to the edge of the Potomac before you ghosted both of us for the better part of two years."

There was silence for a few long moments as Barnes banked the ship around another pillar and Tokoyo Drifted through an opening at a ludicrous speed that made even Sam's flight-savvy nerves curl. Then this guy, the one with Bucky's bruised and bloodstained face and not nearly enough emotion in his voice, had the absolute nerve to clarify, "I was the one who called 9-1-1."

Sam's mouth went open, but nothing came out. Nothing at all.

...Wait.

...Wait what?

...He…

...This guy…?

...the actual Hell?

"You called that in?" Sam tried to piece things together in his head as he twisted his torso sideways to get a really good look at this guy, "You once told me you stuck around DC for a while until Steve recovered and HYDRA picked up your trail, but you definitely didn't mention anything about being the one that called for an ambulance to begin with. Also: You know who could use medical attention right now?" He put emphasis into his declaration, "The both of us. And just so we're clear: If you find yourself inclined to be so goddamn stubborn that you just up and bleed out on me, the ship's going to go down faster than a lopsided paper airplane, because I don't have a damn clue how to fly whatever the hell this even is."

Sam didn't miss the fact that Barne's hand tightened around the spear, but the assassin with his friend's face didn't make any move to reprimand him for flapping his mouth either. Best as Sam could tell: the Humanoid Cylon there was processing his words, same as he was.

"Okay then, Barnes," Sam threw decidedly more emphasis into the name than the moment necessitated, "if you're so convinced there's nothing good between us, why'd you protect me from that landing back there then, huh? I think you knew exactly what you were doing."

Barnes shot Sam another one of those narrow-eyed, empty looks of his, but his latest threat was half-hearted at best, "Stop trying to manipulate me."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you, man. I'm trying to get on the same damn page with you." Sam was well-aware of the exasperation and frustration slipping into his voice, "And that's really fucking hard when I'm playing a guessing game with someone who apparently thinks I could've been working for of all things, HYDRA. I'd be downright insulted if I didn't think you were genuinely oblivious to just how fundamentally ridiculous that is. You realize they are literally Nazis right? Have you looked at me lately?"

Barnes spared a moment to cast a glance over to his left, but there was enough confusion in his tight and guarded expression that Sam realized maybe... it wasn't obvious?

"...Holy shit. You honest-to-god don't get it." Sam sucked air in through his teeth and coughed once before he continued, "Well, newsflash in case you missed the memo: I'm black. Having a skin color high in melatonin like mine is practically a capital sin in HYDRA's racist-ass playbook. How many people like me do you remember seeing when you were back with HYDRA, huh? I'm betting exactly none."

Barnes didn't say anything to that, but Sam got the distinct impression he was letting the information roll around that cyborg brain of his. He drove the ship below another one of those transport tracks and back up again before banking it hard left towards a narrow tunnel so small Sam hadn't even caught sight of it initially.

You know what? If Barnes was busy piloting this damn ship like he was half a second from missing a turn and ending them both, maybe this was the perfect time to run his mouth, "Look, I don't have any beef with you, man. That all dropped away the moment you stopped trying to kill Steve. I'm not your enemy, and I think deep down, you know that."

Sam was about to say something else, but it was Barnes that forcefully cut in next, "You talk too much." There was a brief pause before he added with decided emphasis, "And I'm not going back."

Sam's eyes crinkled together as he tried to wrap his head around that last bit, not following, "Going back?"

Barnes didn't offer any further clarification as Sam tried to shuffle that particular puzzle piece into the mix of whoever the hell the amalgam was that was sitting beside him. He didn't get the impression this guy was maybe even capable of lying. So that meant... "Wait. You're running. From-?" He cut himself off as he heard himself complete the thought out loud, "-HYDRA?" He deadpanned, "That's what this is all about?"

Sam didn't miss the way Barnes kept his head set forward as he steered the craft, but those icy blue eyes glimpsed his way just long enough to meet his own.

...Holy shit...

That was it.

...And that was in some way... even worse than he thought.

This stunted manchurian candidate with the metal arm, the one glowering with intention from the pilot's seat beside him, was set tooth and nail on running away from the only people who could possibly help him.

And he was clearly more than willing to do whatever was necessary to remove any obstacles that stood in his way.

Sam's wide eyes returned to the ever-changing three-dimensional sand map spread across the console as well as the colorful holographic readouts projected in front of them: He couldn't read a damn word of the displayed runed text, but he would have bet his wings that the sections along the sides and edges gave readouts of the ship's current shield and weapon status.

Shit!

Author's Remarks:

I had multiple people ask me what the Dora's name was that offered Sam the soldier's salute, and so... everyone meet Teela!

This is a great example of how this is a living, breathing story: Because as of a week ago, I had *no* intention to name/feature any further Dora, but here we are…

Though I haven't read them, Wikipedia tells me that Teela, M'yra, and Nareema are Dora Milaje that exist in some form in the comics, but as far as I know, they are not presently in the MCU, so I'm going off-script here and doing my own thing with them because I much prefer imagining the Dora Milaje as vibrant individuals.

I love being able to share the call-back to prior chapters about Ayo (and others) trying to pin-down a language for the unique bond they share with Bucky that goes beyond the Bodyguard's Bond between the guard and the guarded, and isn't as straightforward as a 1:1 bond of brother or sisterhood made by conscious choice. It felt utterly appropriate that Yama feels it's instead a community, a "pack" that watches out for one another, even during difficult times.

It remains a standing mystery on how the pockets of a Black Panther-like vibranium suit function. The world may never know their secrets...

Beyond that: Sam and Barnes are making some headway (of sorts…) at last! It's almost like actions mean more than words, *especially* for someone like Barnes…

One-sided Sam banter still qualifies as banter, right?

Are all of you ready for a high-speed chase? Because I sure am! (even if Sam isn't…)

Once again, thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement on this ongoing project. I can't begin to express how much your comments, kudos, questions, conversations, and help fuel my creative fire. Just: Thank you. Your words make a difference.

Written to "Younger" and "Darkest Night" by Tony Anderson, and "Making Amends," by Henry Jackman off 'The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Vo. 2 (Episodes 4-6) Soundtrack.