Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 41 - Fellowship
"I thought we were trying to get away," Sam Wilson tried to tune his voice down and away from the anxiety nipping at him as the skyline of Birnin Zanai, appeared in the distance. He didn't need to be able to read the rubric of Wakandan holographic displays to know that the moment Barnes pivoted the ship towards the Golden City, that the three ships originally dancing around them like matadors had changed tactics and were now pummeling them far more powerful energy weapons that erupted in bright flashes across their shields.
"We?" The Winter Toaster saw fit to remark.
Sam couldn't tell if the single pronoun was an attempt at humor, which was altogether unlikely, or if his crazed pilot was just being anal-retentive about phrasing all of a sudden. Sam watched as the two matching, oval-shaped ships wove in front of them, trying to deter their change in course. In response, Barnes barrel-rolled their own ship at a diagonal that shouldn't have been possible and returned fire with a large enough energy blast that the first ship was momentarily thrown backwards as its shields collided with its peer. If they were in any other vessel, a shot like that would have earned them at least a hint of kickback.
"I don't know what your play here is, but threatening to go into a populated city like this is like shaking a hornets' nest. They'll find a way to shoot us down before we even get close."
Darth Vader over there had a differing opinion he decided to share with the class, "Once we can make it into the city, they'll stop firing because they won't want to risk hitting their own people."
...Okay.
...Now, on one hand, it was a fair if not downright morbid observation that the Wakandans wouldn't want to risk a firefight near civilians. Sam'd seen firsthand the tremendous firepower a fleet of Wakandan ships were capable of when they'd rained down retribution over the Battle for Earth. He'd witnessed the destruction they left in their wake, and he'd felt the searing heat of more than one passing energy blast while he was out on his wings above the battlefield. He didn't want to imagine any of that in a populated location. Not Mamma, Ch'toa, or anyone else running for their lives.
Sam felt the need to repeat his opinion aloud for Barnes for all the good it would do him, "I still say it's a bad idea, but assuming we even make it there in one piece, then what?"
The expression that fell over Not-Bucky's face was… it was distinct in a way that made Sam's stomach twist. It told him that yes, the man beside him did in fact have a phase two, phase three, or whatever phase they were up to of his near-suicidal plan, but that secretive Speed Racer there wasn't inclined to share the details, which… probably didn't bode well.
"...You're not planning to hurt any of them, are you?" Sam felt the need to clarify.
"Who?"
That wasn't a 'no,' but Sam hadn't exactly been expecting a response to begin with, "The people in the city. They didn't do anything to you. They're innocents."
Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robot turned his head behind them as the sound of another barrage of focused fire rang out over the aft shields. The pace of the firefight was growing more insistent as they skimmed over a tributary leading to the rivers nestled around the Golden City. Sam didn't miss the sight of the occasional pockets of houses, huts, and small communities streaking by a short distance away. So far, Barnes didn't appear to be interested in firing on them, which was good, because Sam wasn't sure what he could hope to do if the assassin decided to do just that.
Like so many times before, Barnes didn't choose to grace Sam with a response. He was having an awful lot of trouble telling if it was on account of Barnes being focused on dodging around and between the Wakandan ships dancing in front of him while they sought out an opening to knock their vessel into the drink below, because Barnes didn't want to answer Sam's question, or because C-3PO there was still computing a suitable reply.
Sam'd mostly been expecting silence, but instead the man with his Partner's face spoke up with a voice far more tired than Sam recalled hearing him just moments before, "I just want them to leave me alone."
It wasn't a response to Sam's question, not exactly. There wasn't much emotion in the other man's expression or the words he'd just said, but Sam caught a whiff of something in the solemn admittance that struck him differently, and quelled that part of Sam that was all nerves and adrenaline and frustration.
He found himself looking over at Barnes, at how he sat there cross-legged, bruised, and bleeding out from that god-awful tear through the whole of his booted foot as he kept his blue eyes focused in concentration on the viewport and ever changing readouts ahead of him. For a moment, Sam tried to push away the thoughts of Bucky, his friend, and just look at what was in front of him. To take it in as it was. To just drink in the training and empathy he'd cultivated and fine-tuned as a VA counselor, and just listen.
He'd come face-to-face with a lot of evil over the years. More times than he could count, really. And while that guy there was a lot of things, Sam didn't get the impression he was outright pernicious, nor that he was possibly even capable of lying.
'I just want them to leave me alone.'
Sam tried his best to pull apart the strange emotionless inflection the words were delivered in, the tired, uneasy tone, and he focused on the words themselves: Barnes hadn't said 'I just want all of you to leave me alone.' Conscious or not, he'd said 'them.' He'd thought to separate Sam from the Wakandans, and that subtle nuance meant something.
It gave Sam a very particular sort of uncomfortable, budding empathy for the man that was coupled with a pang of private pain and sadness he didn't have the wherewithal to broach just then. It was as if for a moment, just a moment, his mind had seen fit to part the veil and let him know they weren't guaranteed a happy ending. Much as he wanted, hoped, prayed to get his Partner back: that didn't mean it was necessarily in the cards.
He and the Wakandans could try as hard as they could, but it still might not be enough.
The thought, the blunt and painful reality of that realization frightened him, shook him to his very core in a way he couldn't let himself ruminate on for another moment or else he'd probably lose it entirely.
So he chose to focus on what he could do in the present.
He couldn't seem to do a damn thing to help 'Bucky' right now, but he could help Barnes, and that was the next-best thing, wasn't it?
Sam worked his jaw and tried to strip out his own bleeding emotions. To separate himself and try to imagine what the man beside him was going through, which was damn challenging on account of what he'd done to his hands, his face, and the overall 'not-knowing' that came with that half-scrambled mind of his. He did what he could to take a step back, listen, and be fully present in the moment before he spoke. The words graced the space between them with honest intention, "Okay, well I don't have any jurisdiction over the Wakandans. I've only been in and around this country for maybe forty-eight hours in my whole life," he admitted, "but I tell you what, Barnes: If there's anything I can do to help you get what you want, I'll do it. I'm not going to force you to do a damn thing from here on out. If you wanna run, I'll help you do that too."
Whether Barnes realized it or not: It was a promise. A promise filled with complex emotions that hurt, burned to speak aloud, but a promise all the same.
See me. Sam silently pleaded. See me trying to reach you, even if it means I lose you in the end.
The look Barnes cast over his left shoulder was indecipherable, but there was something in it that was new. Particular. Like the first time a dog chained to a tree witnessed a touch of kindness, but had known only pain for so long that it couldn't begin to understand what it was seeing. The subtle wash of something close to emotion across the other man's tight, troubled face was so utterly alien that Sam wasn't even sure what to make of it.
It made him think of the question Bucky, his Bucky, had once asked him about Feral Children.
"I wonder if all that HYDRA did to me, all the programming and the torture and the wipes and freezing and thawing, and the blender they made of my brain for years and years, if they just… if whatever part of people helps them with things in how they relate to other people… what if I…just... can't?"
The rolling motion of the aircraft, and even the continued rattle and pound of gunfire and plasma cannon blasts faded into the background as Sam strummed up the bravery to meet Barnes' searching blue eyes.
Sam was pretty sure the other man was going to tell him to shut it, to accuse him of yet more manipulation, but instead he thought to ask, "What's that expression mean?"
The straightforwardness of the question caught him off-guard, especially considering the damn-near neutral tone it was delivered in, "Mine? I… uh," Sam actually had to think about that a moment, because he was finding he was feeling an awful lot between the pain and adrenaline and the fear for the present and the future writhing inside him like worms after a rainstorm just then. It was a strange question, but he got the impression Barnes truly didn't know.
That almost made it worse. What had HYDRA done to him? Really done to him? The trail of unspeakable things Bucky and maybe the Wakandans knew, but kept folded out of view of polite company, "I'm scared, I guess," Sam's hoarse voice weakly replied, "Sad too."
Barnes glanced back at the windshield long enough to make a few quick adjustments and silence another attempted hail, but his attention returned to Sam the moment the matter was dealt with. This time his blue eyes evaluated Sam's own before he broke the impromptu soul gaze and turned his attention back to the continued firefight outside, "Why?"
Apparently Sam couldn't help himself from bearing his soul to the shadow of the man beside him, "'Cause I've lost people before, and I don't want to lose you too."
After a marginally sufficient but hardly restful few hours of post-sunrise sleep, Yama'd woken up to an artificially chipper Korean pop tune she wouldn't admit to knowing the lyrics to. She'd mumbled obscenities at her alarm clock and waved a hand over the projected display to dismiss the audio's cry for attention for a few minutes longer.
At the second alarm, she tossed a blanket over her head, grumbled, then thought better of toggling the snooze function again before she roused herself and made plans for the day ahead.
The last day and a half had been...eventful. After what had happened in Riga and beyond, she wasn't altogether certain if Bucky would risk returning to Wakanda any time soon, but she was pleased to learn he would be visiting with the newly minted Captain America.
She'd begun to make plans then, for all the things she hoped to show Bucky… up until the point Shuri'd found that hidden footage from the bar fight in Madripoor where Bucky'd thought to cosplay as his murderous alter-ego and, well: In the aftermath of that discovery, everyone that had glanced the video had seen red, especially Ayo.
Yama was not immune to the complex emotions the footage made her feel, made her remember, but she wanted to believe there was more to the story than the moving pictures showed. That there was context they were missing that might explain and lessen the sting of it.
She hadn't expected the meeting at the Design Center to go well, but she'd hoped that Bucky might offer some explanation that might quell the anger she saw growing ever brighter in Ayo. Instead, each misplaced word Bucky spoke was like watching someone fan a forest fire until it consumed all of them whole.
None of them had expected things to grow so heated, and it hurt Yama to see Bucky suffering so grievously in the aftermath of Ayo's untempered words. She honestly thought it possible that he would ask to leave with Sam and not return.
She would not have blamed him, but she found even then that she hoped for resolution between all of them. For times alit with pockets of true joy like some of those before the sear and weight of the Decimation. Had he forgotten those so easily?
So, like so many times: Yama adapted her approach.
When the morning after came and she learned they had stayed the night: she was quick to volunteer to show Bucky and Captain Sam Birnin Zana and see him with fresh eyes, not because she had forgiven him for his tresspasses, but because she knew in her heart that if she chose to focus on those trespasses, then that would be all she saw before her.
Instead, she noted Bucky thought to don his Kimoyo Bead strands, and kept his words humble and his eyes and ears open to learn as she accompanied them, enjoying food beside them at the charming little cafe Bucky had long favored. She shared in his delight in introducing Sam Wilson to the Wakandan Aeronautics Museum, and in the wake of the later discussions had while Bucky himself was under partial cryo, she hoped that the flicker of amends might begin to be carved out in the coming days.
So as she woke this morning, she let herself consider her day's plans, for they were likely to be blessedly straightforward.
After she made an omelet with whatever was left in her fridge, she would indulge in a flavored espresso at one of the new trendy cat cafes in Northern Birnin Zanai and read an article or two in the latest medical journal. Then she would find her way back to the Wakandan Design Group and Shuri's lab and learn what she could of the princess's latest discoveries about Bucky's brain scans and what methods she might aid him.
A missed message left by Nomble somewhere before dawn told her that Shuri'd gotten three hours sleep rounding up, and that if Yama felt so inclined, any offerings of caffeine would be appreciated, regardless of if Ayo raised her chin at the hot beverages or not.
Nomble's own tone was eased, and she'd shared that Bucky had come to speak with her about the funerals the night before, and that their conversation gave her hope again.
She did not mishear that Nomble had called him by "White Wolf" again, and that simple gesture spoke more than words that there was reason to hope for reconciliation.
Back at the Design Center, Yama did not miss that even Ayo's manner spoke to a private wish to reconnect, nor that it was her own idea to return the vibranium arm back to Bucky. In the wake of such news, Shuri assured them both that their upcoming meeting with Bucky would be brief, for they could all use a day of rest after the events of the day before.
After hearing that, Yama'd begun revising her own plans for the day.
She would offer to take Bucky, Sam, and any others who were interested to visit the Screaming Avengers so Sam could meet his namesake goat. Then Yama could share with them the new and important sights of the last five years. She would show them the new themed restaurants and their strange, but photo-worthy foods, as well as the Recreation Museum and the Vibranium History Museum, the latter of which had seen sizable updates in the last few years.
The thought of sharing such experiences with those she cared about gave her joy. So as she stood and braced herself in the tight aisle of the Sun Falcon, she did her best to focus on that solemn purpose. She had spent years during the Decimation struggling with if she might ever see Bucky again, and she was not about to give up now, regardless of what name he favored. He could show preference for being called after a limping wildebeest and she would not care: so long as he lived.
She watched as their small experimental ship rapidly approached a fray of four vessels already deep in the throws of combat. The triangular ship Bucky- Barnes had stolen rolled from side to side as it attempted to out-maneuver the Dragonfly in its wake as well as the two Talon Fighters darting around like startled moths drawn to a flame in front of it that sought to cut the stolen ship off and discourage its present course towards the city.
Nomble was an immensely skilled pilot, and she kept the belly of their ship so low to the everchanging tapestry of water and wetland below that for a moment Yama worried the spray of the river itself might give up their concealed location. "If we are accidentally fired upon," Nomble advised, "it will give away the cloaked nature of our ship."
Ayo's voice came through their communicators, "I've let them know the method of your approach. They will keep the area under the ship clear, but we cannot know if Barnes will choose to use the space to his own advantage."
"His inclination towards theatrics appears remarkably intact," Shuri thought to observe.
She was not wrong.
While it was unclear how many total flight hours he had logged thanks to the horrors he'd been subjected to under HYDRA for the better part of seventy years, it had been readily apparent that Bucky maintained a keen interest and arguably remarkable skill in such matters...given the opportunity.
He was not as skilled a pilot as Nomble or Okoye, obviously: but in some ways, his brash disregard for potential consequences more than made up for the subtle nuance he lacked.
Nomble kept the craft low over the water and the continued firefight in-view a safe distance ahead of them. She, Teela, and Yama all watched out the windshield as the triangular ship lifted higher before it pounced downward and returned fire on the closest Talon Fighter.
The oval-shaped jet realized what was happening a moment too late.
The Talon Fighter's tail end struck the water and it tried to recover by banking sideways, but the stolen craft forced it downward with its own shields. When the magnetic propulsion that drove it was submerged, the ship careened sideways and rolled, and Nomble had only half a second to react, darting the Sun Falcon sideways to prevent colliding with the downed vessel.
"One of the Talon Fighters just went down in the river," Nomble relayed, voice tense.
A few heartbeats later, Ayo's voice came over their communicators, "They have escaped unharmed."
Yama felt her breath return to her lungs, but kept her attention focused as Nomble spoke up, "We are nearly to the city's outer bounds. Do we yet have a plan? With their shields up, we will not be able to apply the Remote Access Kimoyo Beads."
"The ship boasts a new model of shields," Teela offered, speaking from what she'd borne witness to from her long standing guard station in the Propulsion Laboratory, "it incorporates a rotating harmonic screen of gravitons."
They didn't have to wait long for Shuri's reply, "Perhaps we could locally negate a portion of the shield by using an opposing frequency."
"Akin to noise-cancelling technology?" Teela inquired, "It is possible, but the harmonics are set to cycle. They are not a constant."
"I am pulling up the formulas for them now," Shuri observed, obviously deep in all manner of information back at the Design Center. The tone in the princess's voice made it clear to Yama that the problem before them did not have an easy solution, "Thirty cycles?"
"Thirty randomized cycles in two second increments. Give or take," Teela stated apologetically.
"I do not see those increments listed here. Are you certain of your memory for details?" Shuri inquired.
"I am," Teela responded, "It was a modification the scientists began testing in the last day or so."
Shuri cursed something under her breath as Nomble's voice joined the other voices in the channel, "We do not have much time if Okoye insists on treating the outer bounds as a definitive line in the sand."
Shuri's voice returned, "Teela, quickly permit me remote access to one of your Kimoyo Beads. I will add a new algorithm so we can attach it to one of your spears. It should modify the energy output so it diametrically opposes one of the logged shield frequencies. Unless those too were changed?"
"Far as I know, they were not," Teela admitted, "but it is possible."
"And then?" Yama cut in.
The pace of the princess's voice increased as she relayed the plan they were to undertake, "You will need to lower your own shields and someone will need to hold the spear's tip against the other shield and activate the retuned sonic output when you are in position. When the opposing shield is briefly negated, another will need to reach through the opening and apply the Remote Access Kimoyo Bead so I can gain access to some of the ship's systems."
"How large do you expect the opening in the shield to be?" Teela inquired, already working to give Shuri access to one of the Kimoyo Beads along the strand surrounding her left wrist.
"The energy output of the ship is much greater than that of even the enhanced Dora Milaje spears," Shuri admitted, "Four to five inches, perhaps six?"
"That is not large at all," Nomble observed as she drove the cloaked ship left, skillfully dodging another round of electrical discharge from the continued firefight a short distance ahead of them.
"It is barely large enough for a hand to reach through and apply the Kimoyo Bead," Shuri agreed "but I do not know of another way."
"If your hand is still there when the shield rotates frequency, you will be without a hand," Teela stated factually.
For a moment, the channel went silent at the reality of the challenge they faced. Yama knew them well enough to be certain in that moment that neither Ayo nor Shuri would order them to take such risks involuntarily.
Yama didn't even have to think on it, "I am quick and uninjured," she responded without hesitation, "And I would willingly trade one hand for two lives if given the choice. Besides, I have it on good account that Shuri is skilled at crafting such replacements. You would only owe me a nickname worthy of such a valorous act."
Both Teela and Nomble glanced over their shoulders to momentarily meet Yama's eyes, and she did not miss that Nomble mouthed 'thank you,' as she did.
"Bast offer all of you her blessings for this challenge you undertake," came Ayo's steadfast voice over their communicators. Yama could sense pride and hope in her voice, "I will relay your plan to Okoye and the others and try to buy you more time."
"Good luck," Shuri added before they both briefly stepped away from the channel to no-doubt try to use their voices to sway Okoye.
"You will need to get us remarkably close to the other ship," Teela observed as she applied the modified Kimoyo Bead to the head of her own spear and watched as it flattened itself against the flat of the blade.
"Yes," Nomble supplied, "Though once our hatch is open, the artificial gravity will not be as complimentary with our efforts. Particularly as you will both need to be outside and atop the ship to perform your roles."
"It is a pity these ships do not come standard with rapid prototyping stations," Yama commiserated, looking about the small space for anything they might use to aid them. She braced herself as she approached the forward console and pulled up a secondary interface above the Kimoyo Beads on her wrist. She dipped her fingers into the pool of vibranium nanites and used her fingers to draw a shape along the surface that looked something like a handle with sharp hooks hanging low over each end. When she was satisfied with it, she drew out the hand-sized object, which at a glance, appeared to be compacted black sand.
Yama observed it critically, showing it to Teela, who inspected it. Yama did not miss the bruising on the other Dora hands as she looked over the rough shape of the handle, "The granular nanites are not meant to maintain form under so much strain."
"I do not think we have another choice," Yama commiserated, "We must hope their will is stronger than we give them credit for."
"'Will?' They are not A.I.," Teela observed, though the question in her voice spoke to the lack of conviction in her words.
"I have glimpsed things I cannot explain that speak otherwise," Yama offered simply as she drew out three more crude, hooked handles from the pool of vibranium sand atop the console and stepped back, observing them with a certain amount of reverence. It was not that she was superstitious, it was simply that if there was even a chance that the nanites could hear her, could react to her voice, there was no harm in speaking to them in that moment, "Your will to maintain form may determine many lives today, so please be strong, little warriors."
Teela raised an eyebrow but didn't debate her words as she accepted two of the crudely hooked handles and tested their strength, "They will do."
Yama nodded and stepped past her, projecting her voice for Nomble, "How long until we are ready?"
"I am pulling into position now," Nomble confirmed as she urged the accelerator forward and slipped the ship directly under the stolen vessel, seeking to match its speed and orientation.
Yama briefly muted her own communicator so that her words remained focused on Teela and Nomble before her, "Is the sound system installed?" she inquired.
"Yama…" Nomble spoke, but her voice was not a denial.
"Whoever is in the pilot's seat controls the stereo," Yama said with conviction, and perhaps a spot of mirth. "It is a sacred rule to which we must all abide. So what will it be? Does silence suit this moment?"
Nomble spared only a quick glance over her shoulder as she eyed the distance between the ships, pulling in what meger automated systems she could to help maintain relative speed and position between the two fast-moving vehicles, being ever-wary of their nearness to the ever changing patterns of ground and water mere feet below.
Yama did not miss that Nomble's left hand smoothly, discreetly, toggled on the stereo system and accessed her home library. Seconds later, a soft orchestral swell of wind and stringed instruments joined them inside the cabin,accompanied by a chorus of hopeful voices.
Yama found herself smiling as she stepped to the rear aisle of the ship below the clear vibranium glass and sight of Barnes' ship overhead, "This film?"
"'Forth Eorlingas' is a fitting track to accompany our quest," Nomble quickly defended.
"It is a compelling scene, but you know I prefer the visuals in our version."
"Howard Shore's score from the Peter Jackson version of the films is far superior," Nomble countered.
"You remain an absolute nerd," Yama insisted with the smallest of laughs as she opened the hatch above them, revealing the clash of gunfire blaring all around them.
She did what she could to focus on the might of the music and the prospect of resolution if they could just accomplish their own quest and hold on a little longer.
While the clash of weapon fire continued to ring out against their shields, a wave of uneasy silence pervaded the stolen craft. Initially, Barnes found the reduced frequency of his passenger's rambling to be beneficial to maintaining focus on the high octane task in front of him. Yet as the gaps between Sam Wilson's words grew more spaced, and his tone more faint, Barnes was finding it increasingly difficult to adequately split his attention between the need to properly pilot the aircraft, compensate the weapon system between offensive and defensive maneuvers, and ensure that the man sitting cross-legged beside him had not gone unconscious.
After Barnes disabled one of the two oval-shaped craft and sent it spiraling into the water below, he regained a few feet of additional elevation, watching as the two remaining ships kept more distance between them, as if they were wary of having the same fate.
"There's another ship coming in a ways off from the East." Sam weakly supplied, "Might be one of those bug-like fliers from back in the ravine,"
When Barnes looked over to regard the readings on the console, he noted Sam's head was downcast, as if he was having difficulty holding it upright. A trail of blood ran from his nose, over his mouth, and down his chin, where it collected in slow, steady drips that fell and further darkened a stripe down the center of his crimson shirt. His eyes were more lidded than Barnes recalled, his mouth slightly open, as if he was having difficulty breathing or didn't have the energy to close it. Did he require more urgent medical attention than he was letting on? His expression was no longer the one he claimed meant "scared" and "sadness." Barnes didn't fully grasp the nuances of either of those two words, but he was certain Sam's revised expression was more neutral. More empty.
While some performances could be faked, he did not feel that was the case here.
Some buried part of him related. Remembered seeing something like this on not one, but many other faces.
Most of those faces elicited no notable reaction in him.
One did: Steve Rogers.
He could not explain his reaction. Why clutching the other man and striking out at his face until it was broken and bloodied had caused a sudden shift he could not explain.
It was as if one moment, he was resolved to complete his mission. And the next: his mind was flashed to images of another bloodied face, one that was thin, frail, bruised, and framed in a mop of dirty blond hair.
He couldn't explain why, but some part of him felt certain it was the same person.
But how?
"Then finish it, cause I'm with you till the end of the line."
Those words resonated too. Images he couldn't understand with the same figure. Younger. Yet unharmed. With yet another expression he found himself unable to parse.
Sam Wilson's appearance didn't offer him the same unexplained reaction, but it did… something. Twisted a part of Barnes in a way he couldn't pierce. Reminded him of that moment, and, oddly, of being in a similar position. Pained. Bruised. Bleeding. Weakened. Distressed. Unable to move his hands.
He found that, like Steve Rogers before him: he did not wish to see Sam succumb to his injuries.
Injuries he'd also caused.
He was not sure of what to make of this revised mission objective, but he found he did not fight it. He only remained unsure of how it could coexist with his current mission priority, which was to escape HYDRA.
...Perhaps if-when he reached his intended destination within the city, he could leave Sam there? It was not optimal, but it could be deemed acceptable.
But, what if Sam was telling the truth, and he was not an agent of HYDRA? Would Barnes then be delivering Sam to a similar fate as his own?
And why had he declared himself a willing hostage? What did that even mean?
Barnes frowned inwardly as he dodged the aircraft another round of offensive fire and looked to his left to discover that Sam's eyes were now closed. His trained gaze regarded the other man, trying to determine if it was a feign, but though he could see his chest rise and fall, the other man's breathing was notably shallow.
"Are you in distress?" Barnes asked the open air.
Sam's eyes fluttered open, "Huh?"
"Are you in distress?" Barnes repeated in the same tone.
The other man took a deep breath, as if he was having sizable difficulty focusing, "Besides my hands, face, head, neck, and back?" He complained before adjusting his tone to something more accomodating and closing his eyes, "I'm feeling sizably lightheaded, Buc-Barnes."
Barnes considered his available options as he regarded the hybrid three-dimensional map of black sand churning with live updates over the console in front of him. He deemed it acceptable to lose access to the bulk of the map's physical display given the alternative. He could still utilize the holographic overlays, after all. "Remain still," He instructed.
He knew it was optimal to use his left hand to perform the necessary gestures as the right one remained occupied with steering the ship, controlling its speed, and toggling between various shield and offensive weapon options, but he found it...strange...that he did not have the same instinctual associations with his left hand, especially since his left hand was his dominant hand.
He pushed the consideration aside for another time and thought of the necessary gestures, mentally mirroring the movements with his left hand. He used his fingers to draw out the desired shape in three dimensions, and then input the proper scale and location. After performing a quick check, he locked in his selections and the console responded by coaxing a sizable amount of the dark sand off the console. It flowed to the floor, reforming under and in front of Sam's seat, where it extended out like a thin, black sand recliner that was tilted at an upwards angle.
"Lie down with your legs raised and cross them," Barnes advised. "It will help return blood to your heart."
Sam blinked his eyes open and looked at Barnes, not understanding, and then made a little yelp when he saw the crude black extension to the seat of his chair.
"How-? Where did you-?"
"-From a book."
Barnes wondered how he was able to preempt Sam's question so easily, but he pushed the thought aside.
Sam regarded him with another one of those unreadable expressions of his, but he didn't object to the suggestion. He slowly, carefully unfolded his legs and scooted himself down so he was laying flat atop the modified bench with his legs extended upwards at an angle.
"Take deep breaths and keep your eyes open," Barnes instructed.
"I'll try." A few long seconds later, Sam weakly added, "Why do you care all of a sudden?"
Barnes did not think he 'cared.' He was certain that sentiment was not what was motivating his actions, though he did not know what was. He debated ignoring the question, but noted a response was more likely to promote assurances that Sam remained conscious.
As Barnes banked the ship right to avoid a renewed volley of blue energy blasts, he returned fire and stated simply, "It is preferable you remain conscious and alive."
"I can get behind that," the other weakly replied before falling into silence again.
"Keep talking, Sam. Or Samuel."
The man reclining to his left blinked and turned his head to look at him, "...Wait. You do remember my name?"
Barnes felt compelled to expand upon the conversation only because if Sam was talking, it meant he was conscious. And if he was conscious, Barnes didn't need to worry if he was on the verge of death, "I read it off the visitor sign-in form at the hospital," Barnes stated plainly, "It doesn't match the one listed on your ID, 'Samuel Thomas Wilson.' Which one is the real one?"
Sam coughed wetly once before he responded, "They're both my name. Sam's just the shortened form of Samuel. It's a nickname." He paused before adding, "What my friends call me."
Barnes leaned the ship left and returned fire as he considered the declaration, but he stopped himself short of applying any similar considerations to the names he'd seen listed in the black leather wallet in his back pocket as compared to things he's read in the Smithsonian.
Or spoken by Steve Rogers.
Sam slipped back into silence, which was unacceptable because it made Barnes unable to ascertain if the other man had gone unconscious while he struggled to focus the necessary attention on piloting the ship, "Is the position helping your head?"
"Yeah, I think so. Thanks." Sam paused a beat before daring to add, "I'm trying to understand, Barnes. I really am. Can you just… I think I get why you're set on running now. You think they're HYDRA. They're not, but I don't know how I can convince you of that. But why'd you run then? Back in D.C.? Steve and I would've helped."
Barnes considered the question, considered not answering. He was under no obligation to do so.
But a part of him, the part that maintained he could trust no one, that information was dangerous when in the wrong hands, somehow didn't block his honest reply, "He was looking for someone else. Not me."
Out of his periphery, Barnes saw Sam furl his eyebrows as he focused his attention on the side of Barne's face, "Then why'd you save him? Why're you helping me now?"
Barnes didn't have an answer for that either. The only one he had, he wasn't about to speak out loud. So he offered simply, "I don't know."
"I've lowered the shields," Nomble supplied. Her voice remained focused as she gently wove the cloaked Sun Falcon under the stolen ship, "So be mindful of any stray fire."
"Ayo insists the other ships must remain active as a contingency to drain the shields if our plan fails, and that appearing intent on their task helps to obscure our actions," Teela noted, frowning.
"It will not be unlike trying to ride a wild rhinoceros," Yama commiserated, observing the action of the ships that continued to vy for superiority overhead.
"During a Summer lightning storm," Nomble added as a bolt of blue-white energy shot in front of them, and she was forced to dart the craft to avoid impacting it. "I do not like being without shields," she added, speaking for all of them as she did.
Yama held onto Teela's spear as the other woman hooked one of the makeshift handles onto each side of the rectangular opening above and then braced herself as she climbed partway out so that she was sitting facing forward in the space between the ships. One leg stretched across the opening, while the other dangled down into the cabin below, "It would be too convenient if his ship chose to fly at a more reasonable speed," She remarked, straining as her muscles fought against the forces set on throwing her off the ship. Such a slip was likely to mean the end for her, so Yama did not rush her as she got in position and secured herself, wondering what unseen bruises from the earlier fight lay hidden beneath the regalia of her uniform.
"I am ready," Teela assured her, and with that, Yama carefully passed the modified spear up to Teela, who used her right hand to fiercely grip it, and the inside of her free leg to secure it and adjust the angle of the tip. Once it was a short distance out the open hatch, Teela triggered the sonic emitter, and as the vibranium tip tentatively made contact with the invisible shield, an area of the other ship's shield shone bright blue, making itself known.
Yama pocketed the two Remote Access Kimoyo Beads as she set her own pair of hooked handles along the edge of the opening and gripped them, using the muscles of her arms to pull herself up and out of the top of the Sun Falcon.
The moment her torso hit the air above, it took all of her strength to not be thrown from the top of the aircraft, especially as it rocked back and forth to account to the changing positioning of the craft overhead. Yama could see they were set to cross the outer boundary of Birnin Zana within another thirty seconds, if that. She had to hope Ayo had convinced Okoye to buy them just a little more time, because if the ships chose to shoot the craft above them down, they would go with it.
Yama focused as best she could and braced one foot against the opening, ducking her head to check the distance between herself, the shield, and the sleek vibranium hull above them while she remained in a crouching position. "I will have to be standing to reach it," she admitted, frowning as she pointed her own spear tip-down and drove it into an opening of the outer hull of their own ship. She used her spear hand to test its strength: it held firm.
This was definitely not a part of any of their training regimens.
Yama shifted her body, relying on the security of her spear and the will of the nanite-formed handles to keep her atop the Sun Falcon at all.
"Do not allow your head to get too close to their shield," Teela warned.
Yama nodded shallowly, watching with a fresh wave of unease at how the spacing between the ships undulated. A difference of inches might not mean much out in broad maneuvers, but in such close quarters, it was the difference between life and death. And without their own shields active, if the ship above them chose to lose elevation, they would be crushed between the two sleek vessels.
When she'd told her mother she planned to train to be a Dora Milaje, this was not what Yama had in mind.
"Look, look!" Teela called for her attention as the shield above them flickered blue and parted around the spear, revealing an round opening surrounding the spear's tip that was painfully small, perhaps closer to four inches on each side if that.
A second later, the shield flashed and instantly closed again with a white-hot sizzle.
"And we will not know when the opening comes?" Yama felt as if she had to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the firefight outside.
"We will not," Teela assured her, "But the frequency should last for two seconds each time."
"We are coming up over the far banks now," Nomble's quiet voice observed through their communicators, "I do not think we have much more time."
Yama planted her left heel inside the edge of one of the hooked handles and used all the strength in her arms to pull herself up and brace herself against the shaft of her spear as if she was wind sailing. Her heart raced at seeing how fast the ship was moving, and how much it strained her ankles to adjust to the constant roll of the craft beneath her feet. But with far more effort than she wished it took, she pulled herself up to a standing position and ducked her head so that it did not touch the shield only inches above her scalp. She might've been imagining it, but she swore she could feel the heat of it atop her head. She locked her elbow around the staff so she could use her other hand to pluck out one of the Remote Access Kimoyo Beads from her chest pocket.
"It is open!" Teela chimed, and Yama responded by stretching, reaching up as she leaned into the opening with her hand.
Her hand hadn't managed to get more than a few inches into the opening of the shield before a barrage of blue energy shot by her left, and she felt more than saw the ship above her tilt and lean towards them.
The Sun Falcon mimed the move, rocking as Yama scrambled to catch her balance before she was thrown off the craft entirely. She felt the Kimoyo Bead she was holding slip from her fingers as she was forced to choose between gripping the shaft of the embedded spear or to embrace the air below them.
She chose the spear.
Teela instinctively reached out to steady her nearest leg and Yama caught herself, clutching the shaft like a lifeline and glancing down to notice that the hooked handle at her heel had changed form, as if it sought to wrap itself around the arch of her foot and hold it secure. Strange.
"Are both of you alright?" Nomble's concerned voice spoke in her ear.
Yama did what she could to shake off her curiosity for the actions of the vibranium nanites and the residual fear at the perilousness of the forces surrounding them as she adjusted her positioning again, "I am fine and still bear hands above both wrists," she reassured Nomble, "I've lost one of the Remote Access Kimoyo Beads, but I have one remaining." She plucked the second bead from her pocket and strained to get closer to the opening so she would be able to reach her hand further in when the time came.
She focused on her senses, on her body, on her breath. The feel of exhilaration of the fresh air casting itself over her bare skin, the smell of the fesh water below them. She bid herself drown out the sounds of battle around her that woke whispers of distress in her ears, and instead she focused on the melodic orchestral soundtrack Nomble'd selected and saw fit to transmit through their shared channel as a sign of united fellowship. As a sign of their Ukupakisha ibhondi.
"I am ready," Yama spoke with resolve as the brass and choral voices swelled around her. It was as if the music itself was alive and could sense the pointed urgency of the moment. Of their solemn quest.
She found herself pressing the bead to her lips for good luck as she focused on the shield above her, waiting, waiting.
The moment came in a flash.
She watched as the shield poured open and revealed itself, and she thrust her hand toward the gap, "Closer!" she called out to Nomble, her voice rising, urgent.
As soon as she spoke the word, the ship shifted up, like she was riding a living wave. As it did, the motion offered her just enough space to forcibly slam the Remote Access Kimoyo Bead onto the dark hull of the other ship. She felt the bead flatten and compress as it locked on and she quickly withdrew her hand. The shield reappeared a fraction of a second later, coming so close to taking her fingers with it that Yama felt inclined to clutch her hand just to make sure each digit was accounted for.
"It is done!" She announced, relief flowing through her as she ducked and looked up, watching as the planted electronic device glowed a welcoming, satisfactory blue.
"I have access!" Shuri declared over their communicator.
"Get in, get in!" Teela insisted, offering Yama her hand so she could more easily brace herself and free her spear.
Yama lowered herself, removing her foot from the strange nanite handle as she did and running her hand over it in silent thanks as some might stroke a beloved pet. She thanked Bast for such a saving grace and used her own spear to brace herself as she leapt inside and was joined a moment later by Teela, who stood beside her within the welcome safety of the ship. There was hope and vibrancy in her eyes as well.
Seeing they were inside, Nomble closed the hatch, announcing, "Bringing the shields back up now and pulling back a short distance so we are no longer directly under the stolen ship."
And then a new voice joined their communications channel: General Okoye, "We are above the stolen ship now. Do you have control?"
Shuri's voice returned, "I can only remote into systems that Barnes is not actively accessing. He appears focused on navigation and weapons, but I can drop the shields on your mark."
And then Nomble, quiet Nomble, who had never dared to question General Okoye spoke up, as if she was pressed to ensure their quest hadn't been for naught, "General, you do not plan to go through with simply shooting them down…"
In response, a rich, textured voice quickly stepped in to reassure her, "Do not worry. I am ready to board their ship when the time is right, and our General would not seek to fire then."
King T'Challa!
"...How long have you been on coms...?" Yama saw fit to weakly inquire.
"Long enough," T'Challa casually admitted, though his voice held no reprimand, "Stay close. I may need your fellowship yet as we see to this man, Barnes."
Yep: Their King had definitely heard their choice of musical accompaniment.
Author's Remarks:
* Ukupakisha ibhondi - Wakandan Translation: Pack Bond
Sam and Bucky: I can't tell you how much I want to give them *both* a hug about now. Sam coming to this painful moment of realization that he might lose 'Bucky' is just… oof… on my heart. Also my head-canon is that The Winter Soldier finally "recognized" Steve when he was all beat… because Bucky saw him beat up so many times when they were kids. :(
And also at last… a Yama point-of-view! I've been waiting for *so* long to finally have the opportunity to slip into her mind and get to know her a little better, and this felt like such a perfect moment to start to do just that.
Regarding the referenced music track/scene: The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002) - "Forth Eorlingas" scene (Available on YouTube)
And a call-back to my head canon that Bucky had the pleasure of first watching these films on a group movie night over at Nomble's house, and that also: there is a vibrant film industry in Wakanda that has likewise been making movies for longer than other cultures have, thanks to their technological innovations.
So do yourself a favor and imagine your favorite book series with an all-African cast. :) Yes: That means I imagine there is a Wakandan version of "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings."
I also wanted to let you know that on the side, I'm working on a short Sam and Bucky-focused writing-project I'll be posting in the coming months. I look forward to sharing more of that with you when the time comes, but it's meant to be separate from this story and a bit more humor-focused all-around. So if you enjoy Sassy Sam(™), Bucky, and curious felines, it might be up your alley of interests! :)
Beyond that? I am looking forward to a few days of R&R here, and once I return, I'm so excited to dive into the next scene, as we've been building up to it for a while... :)
As ever: This is a living, breathing story, and I want to thank all of you for such wonderful thoughts and conversations. I'll say it once and a hundred times more: your comments, kudos, and encouragement continue to be a light in the darkness, and mean so very, very much to me.
Written to "Forth Eorlingas," by Howard Shore, from "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" soundtrack, as well as the album "The Heart of Man" by Tony Anderson.