I had the incredible pleasure of working with Shade ("Shade_of_Stars" on Twitter) again, on an original painting she created to go along with a key scene from this chapter.
Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the art and links to Shade's social media pages!
Simply search for: "KLeCrone Ao3 Winter of the White Wolf"
Winter of the White Wolf
Chapter 77 - Reflections
Summary:
While Shuri continues discussions with the scientists at the Wakandan Design Center, Okoye returns Sam and Barnes to a once familiar location…
Nomble had once told Barnes that it was established protocol for the Dora Milaje to be silent or brief in their words when they were on duty, but he found himself at a loss to grasp how that worked in practice, or why it appeared to be so blatantly inconsistent.
Yet judging from Yama's tell-tale grin as they walked together down a wide hallway in what he was told was the Diplomatic Quarter, Barnes realized too-late that it apparently wasn't altogether appropriate to ask Okoye if that meant she was off-duty.
Okoye raised an eyebrow, "We are both on-duty, but we are in conversation with you because it is appropriate for the circumstances, since we are not simply guarding a charge."
"So there are times you're quiet too?"
Yama smoothly cut in, "You did tell him you welcomed his questions."
"You did not warn me he would have so many of this nature," Okoye remarked before turning her attention back to Barnes with a half-sigh with no heat behind it, "Yes, even me. It is key for us to be ever-attentive, and to know when it is apt to listen rather than be heard."
Barnes considered her statement for only a moment before adding, "Sam could clearly benefit from that school of training."
"Hey!"
The exchange pulled a measured smile to the General's lips. Even though they'd spent the better part of four hours around one-another, Barnes found he could never be quite certain what Okoye was thinking at any given moment, but the more time he spent around her, the more he appreciated that she didn't make him work to decipher her mood or intentions. She was direct and though she kept her spear in her hand at all times, he appreciated the fact that she didn't see fit to flourish it at him in an attempt to startle him or further test his instincts.
But even when she smiled, he found her presence oddly intimidating. He chalked it up to not only her given rank and the unwavering respect others showed to her, but her undeniable prowess in combat.
She leveraged her words with similar skill. During what Sam had dubbed their "whirlwind guided tour of Wakanda," Okoye engaged Barnes with earnest questions, but they were not unnecessarily probing, and never concerned his time with HYDRA. She made it clear that she welcomed questions in return, including those concerning local sights as well as the many art installations lining the halls.
A wide variety of colorful tapestries, paintings, photographs, and relics occupied prominent spaces throughout the ornate hallways in what Barnes had come to interpret as occupying a sort of cultivated museum atmosphere. But unlike the museums he'd visited in Washington D.C. however, these curated displays and sculptures were not kept strictly behind glass, though he had no doubt that the Dora spotting the hallways were there in part to ensure they remained undisturbed.
The history they hinted at was vast and complicated, and unlike anything he'd learned at the Smithsonian buildings in D.C. Some of it even directly conflicted with the placards he'd read there, and Okoye, Yama, and even Sam seemed interested when Barnes asked for clarification between them.
"History is a living thing," Okoye'd explained, "and it is seen through the lens of the person writing it and what they were taught, as well as their biases."
Some part of him found comfort in the fact that HYDRA hadn't operated here in Wakanda, though he quickly discovered that didn't mean they hadn't also experienced their fair share of strife and war. He found the varied history behind the museum pieces suitably engaging, but he especially appreciated the ones that overlapped with the folktales Nomble had shared about their many constellations.
Even so, Barnes found it difficult to understand why certain questions he asked solicited the reactions they did. "Is it intentional that your tattoos match the designs in that painting?" he inquired, motioning to a bold red, white, and black mural lining the left wall.
Yama's footsteps momentarily fell out of sync as she rapidly pulled her lips together in what Barnes took for contained amusement, while Sam made a mild choking noise that would have been concerning had he been eating at the time.
Barnes didn't understand what the big deal was.
"The designs match… the walls?" Okoye deadpanned as she came to a full stop and glanced in the direction he'd indicated. The virtue of her attention offered Barnes a renewed opportunity to cross-compare the two designs. The lines across Okoye's scalp formed a series of large red triangles with inset black lines that ran in thin stripes across the angular geometric forms. The mural contained similar red triangles and black lines that occupied the space like an oversized graphic puzzle.
Barnes frowned, feeling like there was something he clearly wasn't grasping in their exchange, "Not exactly, but there are similarities."
"Barnes, that's not…" Sam began, but Okoye used a hand to quickly shoo away whatever he'd been intending to say.
"My tattoos do not take inspiration from the walls," Okoye smoothly clarified. "These murals are a relatively recent addition by one of our esteemed artists, Sandler, and I was bestowed all of my ink prior to their creation." She paused a moment before thoughtfully adding, "My tattoos are not of my design, or that of Sandler. Each stroke of ink has meaning. They were granted to me by an elder Iya Dora throughout my time as a Dora Milaje."
Barnes chewed on that, "So the designs themselves mean something?"
"They do," Okoye confirmed, "but their meaning and the manner in which they are given is sacred and immensely personal." She glanced up at him, and Barnes found her expression wasn't critical or dismissive, but sought understanding between them, "You have done no wrong asking, but the traditions and rituals behind the marks are not intended to be raised as casual topics of conversation. Rather, if a Dora decides to tell you the story of her tattoos, it will be by her own desire, and because she considers you a close friend."
The General tilted her head in that calculating way that made him feel oddly seen, "Some marks we wear in the open. Others, we bear in private. We are under no obligation to divulge personal details which we would prefer to remain private, and neither are you." She offered him a warm smile and gestured her free hand ahead, to prompt him to continue walking.
As his footfalls fell into place beside her, he let the wake of her words sink in. He didn't have any tattoos that he knew of, unless you counted his scars, but he got the impression they were somehow having two conversations at once, and her words were meant to reassure him that it was acceptable for him to keep some matters to himself.
Her decree had a way of sticking with him long after they'd stepped away from the bold art installation that reminded him of her tattoos.
While portions of their morning and afternoon had been masked in what amounted to 'wait and find out,' Okoye had thought to be crisply specific before leading them into the building that housed what was known as the Diplomatic Quarter.
She explained that the towering facility was primarily residential in design, containing a variety of short and long-term accommodations, suites, and eateries for local and visiting guests. Okoye made it a point to emphasize that there were no scientific research facilities to concern himself with, and that this was where their friend and Sam had stayed in the days before. She explained that they were going to travel there now so they could settle in for the afternoon, and that in time, others could visit once their own responsibilities at the Design Center were complete.
Barnes wasn't inclined to believe that Okoye was lying to him, but even so: the ornate halls and pockets of art and informative exhibits felt oddly claustrophobic after spending so much time outdoors. He considered asking how long they were expected to remain at this new location, but he opted to hold his question. With only days remaining where the stability of his mind was assured, any time spent outside of a lab or prison facility was preferable to the alternative.
Besides: He was curious to explore what was in the suite that their friend had apparently shared with Sam for a time, and he hoped the sights inside might prompt his addled mind to recall at least a handful of past events with Sam. Something that hopefully established something more recent than their shared time in Washington D.C. in 2014
"Are there any updates from the others?" Barnes inquired, since he was permitted, if not encouraged, to ask questions.
"Not since you last asked," Okoye responded without missing a beat. She tilted her head slightly as she added, "Though I'm certain when there are, it would be more apt for Shuri to explain those findings to you herself."
"Including updates concerning Symkaria?"
At that, Okoye raised a calculated eyebrow in his direction, "Including such updates, if they are deemed appropriate." She folded her lips together but kept her head forward as she added, "The case is still of interest to you? Even though there is presently a limited time where the health of your mind is guaranteed?
Barnes considered his words before answering, "Well, I have these on now," he pressed a finger behind his nearest ear, where one of Shuri's semi-translucent silver diodes remained affixed to his skin, and hopefully still transmitting useful live data concerning his brain and vitals, "so hopefully that helps, but I don't know what else I could offer on that front. Well, besides returning to the lab, but… I'm not ready for that. Not yet."
"But eventually, you will?"
He could feel the unspoken test in her words, and while he didn't like to think about it, he knew it was important to repeat his intentions aloud, as if that somehow solidified them, "Yeah. I will. Just not yet."
Apparently satisfied by his reply, Okoye nodded once as he continued, "But I still think I might be able to help with the situation in Symkaria. Since I remember being there, but your friend didn't." He adjusted his jaw, "Besides: whatever happens to me, it doesn't mean whatever's going on up there will suddenly go away. It could get worse."
Barnes was aware that Sam and Yama had collectively stopped talking amongst themselves regarding the evolution of local sports in favor of listening into his present conversation with Okoye. He was certain Okoye noticed too, "Do you view it as your responsibility?"
He considered her question for a few steps before replying, "Not exactly. It's more like… I was involved. In the past. I don't know where things were left, or if it has anything to do with what's going on there now, but…" he made a sound deep in his throat he hadn't been intending to and held his breath for a beat, ensuring it didn't turn into bile, "...It was…" his footsteps slowed, and Okoye came to a stop, facing him with Sam and Yama on either side of her.
Levity had fallen out of their expressions, and they regarded him with searching eyes. Sam's face was heavy with empathy, and he kept his voice low as he spoke up, "You don't need to go into the specifics. We know it's a bucket of awful."
Barnes nodded once, crisp and efficient, but he felt like he owed Okoye a better answer. A meaningful one. He doubted any of them were seriously considering his request to travel to Symkaria in the time he had left, but it was important she understood why it meant something to him. Why he wanted to help. "I didn't have a choice. Back then, I mean. They…" he faded off, struggling to reform his thoughts mid-sentence, "They twisted things so much that I didn't understand what I was doing. Or who I was doing it too. A lot of it's spotty, and I'm not making excuses for any of it, but I can't ignore it or pretend it didn't happen. And I know there might not be much I can do now, that a lot of time's passed. And there might also not be much time left where I'm still 'me,' but in the time I do have, I want my choices to matter. Because they're my own. Not theirs." He met her eyes, "Does that make sense?"
When Okoye didn't respond immediately, Barnes saw Yama's head turn towards her, as if she was curious to see the General's expression in advance of her reply.
Okoye acknowledged him with a wise and measured expression that was anything but placating. It had a way of making Barnes feel as if the warrior standing in front of him understood in her own way, "It does. And I do not believe you are proposing it in order to garner accolades. But I will tell you that closure can take many forms, and that if it is closure you seek, it need not be focused only on a past that was hardly yours to control."
He considered her words, "Then what would you suggest instead?"
"To be present. To seek peace where you can in the here and now." She raised her chin and kept her focused brown eyes leveled on his as she spoke, "We are guaranteed no futures, and your choices — each and every one of them — do matter. And the ones you have made on your own have led you to stand here before me now. And I find you should not be ashamed of that man."
Barnes felt certain there were layers he couldn't grasp scattered beneath and between the tattooed warrior's words, but the clear conviction in her statement wasn't up for debate. If anything, it resonated on the faces on either side of her, and the quiet smile it drew out from Sam in particular.
"I'm with Okoye on that one," the man he'd once gravely injured not once, but multiple times readily agreed.
And that was a lot to process, but Barnes could tell he wasn't lying.
Neither was Okoye.
It was clear enough to Sam that Okoye was taking her time leading their little entourage back though a number of offshoots to the labyrinthine hallways in the Diplomat's Quarter, but eventually, she came to a stop outside not an art exhibit, but one of the many numbered doors lining the halls. That said, it took him a beat to realize they were back at their suite, and Okoye was presently waitin' for him to do the honors of opening the door. He shot her a bashful grin before stepping forward to press his thumb against the keypad.
The high-tech device chimed happily, a merry precursor to the series of familiar mechanical clicks that unlocked the door. By the sound of it, Sam was guessin' it was more secure than some banks he'd been to over the years. Once the short melody concluded, Sam did what any Southern gentleman would: he pulled the door for 'em with a practiced flourish.
It was instinct more than anything, really. The thought that since he was holdin' the door, the others would corral themselves and step inside single file. But apparently there was a bit of a hangup on account that none'a the three folks standing outside were movin' of their own accord. By the looks of it, Okoye and Yama were waiting on Barnes, and Barnes was presently standing a few steps back from the doorway, wearing that tight, focused expression he sometimes had on when there was a bit too much to take in all at once.
Sam thought to help him along, "This is our room. Where we were saying before all'a, well… you know." He thumbed his bearded chin towards the inside, "The door off the far back is the bathroom, if you're wonderin'."
Barnes nodded once in a tight-lipped, rigid affirmation, but it was clear the cyborg was still processing, so Sam gave him a beat to get his thoughts together and found himself following the other man's gaze into their posh accommodations and residual man-cave. He knew that the room would've been freshened up by hospitality service by this point, but he wasn't sure what to expect beyond that.
On the dresser across from the foot of the beds sat the book Nomble'd loaned Buck and the watch he'd left behind when he'd swapped it out for that strand of Kimoyo Beads he'd thought to keep closeby, but up until recently, didn't have the wherewithal to activate. Beside the book perched the two night-black flowers Buck'd brought back with him from his visit with her, but they were no longer drinking from the make-shift glass Buck'd put them into. Someone had thought to transfer 'em in an actual vase that was topped off with fresh water.
Just below was the familiar Wakandan-made case that held his flight suit, and leaning against that was his shield. Apparently someone had taken the time to clean off the thin coating of dirt and grime that was credit to their morning exercises up on the mountain.
Buck's duffle had been moved to sit beside Sam's bag, and the mess of clothes that'd been loosely scattered about sat neatly folded atop the adjoining dresser. In other circumstances, Sam might've been a little annoyed that someone'd thumbed through his clothes, but Shuri'd run it by him before the two of them headed out to their mountaintop retreat. That it would be good to get some comfortable, familiar things to take with 'em. For he and Barnes both.
God, that all seemed like a lifetime ago.
Now, he caught other little details too. The fact that the nest where they'd crashed on the floor was intact, but someone'd taken the time to not only arrange things into a bit more order, but their bedrolls, blankets, and pillows from their camping excursion were placed nearby too. It wasn't invasive exactly, but it felt like someone'd been privy to a time capsule of their own making. One that couldn't be turned back around.
Sam was sure whoever'd been there — Nailah, was it? — must'a been wondering about the sleeping arrangements, but though there were questions aplenty written on Barnes's face, he didn't say anything. He just took a deep breath and crossed the threshold, obediently taking up position a few steps off to the side, as if waitin' on whatever came next.
Okoye scanned the room, and Sam didn't miss that her eyes briefly lingered on the vase of black blossoms before focusing on Barnes specifically. When she finally spoke, her voice was even and direct, "You will stay here for the time being. If you need anything, Yama will see to it. Do not choose to wander from this room, or other arrangements will need to be made."
While her words weren't explicitly a threat, Sam caught her drift, and Barnes clearly did too, "I'll stay here."
Okoye looked to Yama, and Sam was pretty sure something was passin' between them in that silent Dora language they communicated with just their eyes, "I will remain vigilant, General," Yama promised.
Okoye made a sound deep in her throat and nodded once before Yama stepped inside and Sam followed suit, well-aware of the scattering of Dora that remained posted in the halls outside 'just in case.' Their presence was nothin' new, but under the circumstances, it was difficult to ignore the casual observation that he and Yama had unofficial backup in case anything went sideways.
Which Sam wasn't plannin' to need, but, well. Contingencies.
He shook off the thought before turning his attention back to Okoye with what he hoped was sufficiently convincing reassurance, "I'm sure we'll be fine. Thanks again for the guided tour."
The side of Okoye's mouth crooked in a pleasant smile, "We will talk soon. Though it would be good for such a discussion to not include why photos of you posing next to Themba and her son appeared on social media."
Sam snorted, "Wouldn't dream of it. Cross my heart."
Okoye chose not to debate his solemn oath as she offered Yama a one fisted salute that the younger woman returned in kind. With practiced precision, Okoye tapped the shoe of her spear against the ground and swiftly pivoted on her heel, heading back down the hallway from whence they came.
Sam wasn't sure what the protocol here was, but he opted to lock the door after he closed it softly behind him. The sound of the latch didn't escape Barnes's notice, however, and his shoulders tensed reflexively as he glanced over in Sam's direction.
For a moment there, it looked like he might say something, but instead he opted to chew his lip and resume watching over the room from the nearest corner like a statue of a distressed gargoyle. Barnes didn't didn't wrangle his own facial muscles with any grace, but boy, did he look lost on what he was supposed to do now that he was standing on some sort of hallowed ground.
Sam felt that too in his own way. 'Cept part of him was also seein' fit to remind him that he'd just willingly locked himself inside a room with someone that'd crunched his hands and pummeled his face in not two days before. But truth to be told? Barnes looked to be reading Sam's mind well enough to be keeping a comfortable distance from him, like he could tell Sam's nerves needed a few minutes to acclimate to the change in circumstances.
"It is a nice room," Yama observed, breaking that silence before it could grow any more oppressive. And because it was her, she thought to add, "Though I would not have foreseen that you would choose to sleep on the floor in preference to the overstuffed mattresses provided for you. I will have to make note of your preferences for indoor camping. I'm not sure if accommodations could be made for an in-suite firepit, but I should like to see General Okoye's face if such a request were made."
Sam felt some of the tension leech out of him as a grin found its way over his face, but it was Barnes who spoke up, "...We slept on the floor?"
"Long story, but yeah. You don't need to stand here, you know. There's a couch at the far end. You could freshen up too, if you like. We might be here awhile 'til the others wrap up things back at the Design Center. I know Shuri wanted to do a once-over on Nomble's head and Ayo's leg, but I don't know how long that super-tech takes."
"Depending on their other responsibilities, it may be another hour or two," Yama offered. Right. She would know.
Barnes nodded, but it was a dull movement, like he was only half paying attention. Man was definitely processing something, he just wasn't sharing with the class. Yama must'a caught it too, "Barnes? Are you alright?"
The cyborg's head swiveled to her and back to the room, "Yeah I just… I don't remember the hallways or any of this," the disappointment in his voice was palpable.
Sam leaned against the edge of the nearest bed, "Hey man, we weren't here for very long. Just two overnights and change." He gestured a hand to Buck's belongings, "But you're welcome to look through your stuff if you like. We packed light since we weren't expecting to be in Symkaria for more'n a day or two max, and Wakanda wasn't part'a any of those original plans. There's mostly clothes and a change of footwear in there, but maybe something'll spark your memory?"
"Maybe later," Barnes responded noncommittally before going for the tried-and-true evasion approach, "You said that door leads to the bathroom?"
"Yeah. Should be towels and toiletries in there if you need 'em. Your toothbrush is the black one. There's a power button on the bottom, and more settings than any toothbrush honestly needs. I'm not sure if your electric razor's in there, but…"
Sam's voice faded out for a moment, and Barnes immediately caught the underlying reason behind the verbal delay, "I don't need the razor. You can move it somewhere else if it would make you feel better."
Sam flinched, "I wasn't implying you were gonna disassemble it or something, it's just…"
"I get it. It's a weapon."
Sam hated how even the man's voice was. It wasn't that he was riled up or worrisome, but being locked in this room had apparently made him trade-in whatever amounted to banter between 'em for cold compliance, "Nah, it's okay. You can leave it in there. Nothin' personal, it's just been a long last few days."
"I'll leave it outside."
Even though Barnes'd said nothing heated or improper, and was in fact trying to offer him an olive branch in his own way to make Sam more comfortable, he hated how something in the other man's tone carried that whiff of hurt that the trust between them wasn't as solid as he'd apparently hoped. As a show of resolve, or perhaps just unadulterated stubbornness, Barnes made it a point to reach into his pockets one-by one and lay out his wallet, phone, and that five-pointed vibranium nanite star of his out on the counter like some sort of offering.
And Sam wasn't an idiot: he knew at least two of those items could be used as weapons if he really wanted to. Hell, the credit cards inside his wallet probably could too in a pinch, and it's not like those'd been causing Sam any undue stress, even though he'd seen Barnes fling his own cell phone as a bonafide weapon during their daring escape from the Design Center.
Then Barnes had to go and make it altogether uncomfortable, "If there are firearms or anything else you don't want me touching, you should probably store those too."
"I—" Sam started to open his damn mouth before he'd fully processed his thoughts, because yeah, that razor in the bathroom was one thing he could acquiesce to, but he wouldn't think any of them would be remotely comfortable with—
"Such weapons were moved to safekeeping days ago while this room was still occupied," Yama crisply supplied, "They are not permitted in our guest rooms, regardless of who stays in them."
"Well that's good," Barnes remarked in that guarded tone of his as he made his way across the room to the bathroom. He opened the door, and seconds later reemerged with not only Buck's razor, but Sam's own. The brooding cyborg made it a point to set them both outside the bathroom on the nearest table, as if they were testament to his intention to not make anyone nervous about him being in any undue proximity to blades, no matter their size.
He wasn't explicitly angry, but it was plain as day to Sam there was more goin' on under the surface. That something was clearly bothering him, but Sam wasn't sure the best way to reach him without pokin' and prying, "Come'on man, it's not like that. We're good, right?"
That at least seemed to have an effect, and Barnes momentarily stilled at the doorway to the bathroom, looking warily back at first Yama and then Sam with that inscrutable look of his, the one that spoke to his thoughts being stretched thin on topics he wasn't seein' fit to air out loud. But when he took a deep breath and finally spoke, Sam felt he wasn't just given' him lip service with a programmed reply, "Yeah. We're good."
"Okay then. You need any help with anything?"
Barnes narrowed his eyes and sent back a cipher of an offended expression Sam couldn't quite parse, "I know how to use a bathroom. I used yours in D.C., remember?"
Sam raised his hands in his own defense, "Okay okay. Just tryin' to help here. You do you. We'll be out here if you need anything."
"That we will," Yama confirmed. "We are in no rush, so take as much time as you need." Sam could hear her tone shift into that one she used when she was trying to pull him back from the cliff's edge to really hear her, "Absent of urgency, a washroom can be a soothing place. And while you are there, I will check in with those at the Design Center."
"I'll prolly give Sarah and Rhodey a ring while you do," Sam agreed, glancing up at Barnes, who continued to linger in the doorway. There was somethin' else goin' on here, he just wished he could put a finger on what it was.
Barnes's tone was slightly softer and less accusatory as he inquired, "Do you want me to leave the door unlocked?"
Yama took the reins on a reply, "It is up to you on what you would prefer. We will not enter and disturb you."
Barnes chewed his lip for a moment more before nodding a quick affirmation and turning to step inside the bathroom and close the door behind him. Sam couldn't tell if he'd chosen to lock to the door behind him, or if that really mattered, but he hated feelin' like something was gnawin' at Barnes, and he didn't feel inclined to share.
But then, maybe this was one of those personal things like Okoye'd mentioned? One where he didn't owe them an explanation. He just hoped that whatever it was, that it'd pass and wouldn't drag Barnes down with it.
He was rusty with ASL, but Sam opted to dodge around whatever enhanced hearing Barnes had by mouthing words and doing his best to sign them as he went, 'Should we be worried?'
Yama considered his question only briefly before responding with slow, smooth movements of her fingers, 'I do not think so. Perhaps he is finally giving himself space to be alone with his thoughts and process what has happened, and what challenges may lie ahead for him? I cannot imagine it has been easy to focus on such things when there has been space for little else.'
Sam's frown deepend. He couldn't know if Yama was right, but he wasn't sure which struck him as worse: Seeing Buck huddled over after having a verbal lashing from Ayo days ago, or the idea of Barnes alone in that bathroom trying to process everything else, especially after being told an uncertain, and presently grim future potentially awaited him.
…Yeah. On second thought, maybe he'd text Sarah and Rhodey instead, just in case Barnes needed anything.
Sam made his way across the room and took a seat on the couch. Yama followed suit, hopping up on the other end and crossin' her legs as she settled. When he glanced in her direction, she cupped a gentle hand atop his nearest shoulder in a gesture of reassurance and solidarity that took him straight back to when she'd soothed his frayed nerves after his wild escape ride with Barnes.
"Thanks," he softly acknowledged before lifting his palms face up and adding, "for the help with these too.'
"Of course." Yama's smile widened as she gently squeezed his shoulder and pulled her hand to rest on her nearest knee, "And to think at the time, I did not yet know that one moonlighting as Captain America would become part of our growing Pack."
Sam snorted lightly, but he found his thoughts turning back to he and Buck's impromptu trip to Wakanda and how things had gone all sorts of sideways in short order. Back then, he didn't know Ayo, Yama, or Nomble. Not really. But now it was hard to imagine them as anything other than individuals. He didn't miss that Yama'd been the first one to show something like compassion for Buck, even after that Madripoor video fiasco (which Sam was quick to remind himself: he had played a starring role in too). She'd taken it upon herself to help Buck with his luggage rather than watch him struggle to carry it all with one good arm, and then the following day, apparently she'd volunteered to be their de facto tour guide.
It said a lot about her.
"Hey," Sam inquired, "I've been wonderin'. Back a few days ago, when you took us to Mamma and Ch'toa's and the museum and all — were you on duty for that?"
The smile on her face only widened, as if Sam'd caught onto an important, secret detail, "I was not. It was intended to be my day off."
"And you volunteered to spend it showin' the two of us around?"
"I did! It was not the leisure day off I had planned, but the more I ruminated on how best to spend it, the more I was drawn to want to know you both better. That it might shine a light onto what had happened and why, and to give me a sense of closure to quell my many questions." She straightened her shoulders, "But as time drew on, I found that it was not actually closure I sought, but renewed connection. And that connection has only grown, even if some of it has been in quite unexpected ways."
Sam chuckled lightly, "Yeah, I hear that."
Yama leaned her head back, marveling as she cradled her spear, "I would not have suspected I would be so encouraged to deliver bruises to Captain America with such revitalizing intensity."
Sam ran a hand over the outside of his thigh, "Trust me: I'm not gonna be quick to forget some of those either. I felt some of the hits straight through the suit."
"You put up an admirable fight,' she acquiesced with all the sincerity of someone congratulating a kid for comin' home with a second or third place ribbon.
"Yeah yeah. I'm surprised you didn't ask Shuri for souvenir photos."
Yama's smile grew more devious, "Oh, I didn't ask her for photos. I have entire videos for my private collection. I might even turn it into a slideshow presentation if I find myself sufficiently bored on one of my many valuable days off."
Sam just shook his head as he glanced to the bathroom door, drawn back into wondering if Barnes was listenin' in or just takin' his time in there.
Hopefully, it was less angst-riddled than whatever Sam found himself imagining, because he hadn't ever planned on seein' Buck break in front of him, and he wasn't sure he wanted to imagine what the 'Barnes' equivalent of that might be.
But maybe Sam was just overthinking things. Maybe Barnes just needed a breather from the long day they'd had.
He could only hope.
Barnes wasn't oblivious to the shift in his mood, though he did find himself wishing he was more skilled at hiding that something was bothering him, because it only contributed to causing Sam and Yama needless distress.
A portion of it he could readily attribute to the strain of the situation in general. The fact he'd fought against them in earnest not days before, and that no number of constructive exercises and presently good behavior were apt to wash the sear of those memories away. He was dangerous, and all of them knew it. Even when he was doing everything he could to stay in line, he was well aware of what he was capable of, and that the electrical node on his shoulder wasn't guaranteed to save them any lives if his mind flipped and things went sideways again.
It weighed on him, but more than that, he supposed some of his growing frustration was disappointment with himself, because for some reason, he'd fully expected to recognize the interior of the suite. If not the whole thing, some corner or token that would call back to a recent past that was only days old. Something familiar. Enough to ground him.
Instead, for not the first time he came up empty handed. Like the halls outside and the main room itself, the bathroom was strange, new, and overwhelming. Barnes didn't have much context for what Wakandan bathrooms customarily looked like and what made this one distinct, but he found himself comparing and contrasting it with the scattered bathrooms he could recall entering.
Most of the ones he'd used in D.C. were garish, and reeked of overuse. Comparatively, the one in Sam's apartment was more inviting, even though the mere act of entering the residence presented an ongoing risk, lest someone realize someone had been there, or worse yet: found him while he was still inside.
It meant that he always had to be on his guard for the first sign of impending danger, and even now, he felt those latent instincts come alive. That ever-alert part that didn't like being in a small bathroom at the far end of a locked room without a secondary exit, unless you were counting the window, which he suspected was fortified with vibranium. It made him feel trapped, and though he knew the emotions it drew up were wholly unnecessary under the circumstances, he found little success in pushing them aside. They just sat there, bubbling deep in his gut.
Barnes frowned and turned his attention to the toiletries cluttering the countertop like he was searching for clues to a life he didn't remember. At the toothbrushes perched on the counter and the plump toiletry bags set out beside them. The pinstriped tubes of toothpaste, shaving cream, deodorant, and fragrant aftershave.
It was easy to deduce what products came supplied with the room, and what were transplants by not only the language transcribed on the labels, but what pieces smoothly coordinated with the sandy-white, red, and gold decorating scheme, which was far more ornate than even the bathroom in the Thai restaurant on H Street.
If he were being honest with himself, he wasn't exactly sure why he'd been so eager to escape into the confines of the bathroom to begin with. He knew Sam and Yama weren't at odds with him, that they were content to let him take his time, but for whatever reason, the sight of the room, of the life he'd apparently had but didn't remember had hit him harder than he'd expected.
He wanted to pretend it didn't bother him as much as it did. That this was just one more blank page, an uneventful missing chapter in a life already swiss-cheesed with gaping holes. But moreover: he wanted to believe that the most recent experiences he was lacking were still there, lingering around the edges if he just tried hard enough.
But it didn't help that he now had a voice in the back of his mind that often reminded him he might only have a few days left as himself. He wanted to believe that if he found a way to ignore it, maybe his problems would go away on their own. That he could blink and pretend he was capable of cherry picking all the good parts of the last few days and separating them from everything else, up to and including the heavy possibilities that he worried would suffocate him and pull him down into the mire of his own thoughts if he stopped to think about them.
He wanted to be able to appreciate that the press of the code words that had haunted him for so long was finally lifted. That he had a life of his own, the power of choice, and something that approximated friends, some of whom had taken care at great personal cost to remove the snarls of nails and wires that others had forced into him. He wanted to take time to really process that HYDRA was no longer after him, and he could make something for himself.
That he was finally free.
But instead, all he kept spiraling back too was how little time he might have left.
That pungent weight gnawed at him as he ran his fingers across the mitered edge of the polished stone counter, daring himself to take a closer look at one of the many toiletries in the hopes that they might evoke any sort of recall.
None of them did.
He avoided looking at the mirror as he warily eyed the two toothbrushes standing innocuously on the counter: One festooned in bold red, white, and blue, and the other a monotone black.
The one that was supposedly his.
Some part of him wanted to find comfort in the idea that he had his own toothbrush, but like so much else, Barnes didn't remember it either. The mere sight of it had a way of pulling him back not the times after he'd broken free from HYDRA and he'd first learned to use a toothbrush on his own, but all the times he hadn't. The days and weeks spent in thick rubber mouth guards, and the rare times someone had ordered him to swallow something strong and vile in order to make his breath more tolerable to those around him.
His teeth didn't hurt now, but they used to. A constant, throbbing pain that only lifted in the brief times he was offered the temporary relief of painkillers.
But mostly, he remembered how confusing it was in the rare times someone brushed his teeth or combed his hair.
He didn't understand why it happened sometimes and not others. Its underlying purpose. His memory of the procedures were anything but clear, but he could remember times when he obeyed a handler's request to open his jaws, and other times when his jaws were forced open and held in place while people around him worked in his mouth with metal instruments and loud drills, and the bitter taste of blood that followed.
Everything hurt, and he didn't understand it.
Those dark eras of his life were filled with more questions than answers, but even looking back now, there were fragments he struggled to make sense of. To understand if they mattered.
Like why one of the scientists from one of the many labs had returned to brush his teeth well after his temporary handler had told her it wasn't necessary. Hours after a guard had extinguished his cigarette into the bruised flesh between his ribs.
Drawn back into the memory he didn't want, Barnes unconsciously ran a hand over his shirt, retracing the scattering of spots the guards had taken turns burning into him over their tenure. He couldn't recognize their cruelty back then, HYDRA'd made sure his sabotaged mind couldn't process such subtleties, but in hindsight, he realized the scientist's expression, the blond woman they'd called Sofia, hadn't been anything like theirs. In the fleeting memories he had of her, he now recognized that she was scared too. Of him, to some extent, but of the guards as well.
And Barnes wasn't sure what to make of that. She wasn't a prisoner, she was clearly HYDRA too, but it didn't explain why he could remember her doing little things he now recognized alleviated some of his discomfort. She gave him painkillers beyond the bare minimum he'd been prescribed and tended to wounds like those left behind from the cigarette burns without being instructed to do so. She even brushed his teeth, not once, but multiple times.
She spoke to him, not like he was a thing, but almost like he was a person. Like he was listening. That the mint in the toothpaste would taste good and help keep the cavities at-bay.
That she was sorry she couldn't do anything about them.
Days later, she'd even resolved to work the knots out of his hair after-hours.
Like so much else, the memory was incomplete, but he could remember her humming softly as she stood to one side of him and used a pink comb to pick at clumps of his long hair. He didn't understand the purpose at the time, but there was something soothing about the soft pressure she applied as she delicately dealt with the mats. At the fleeting contact that he now realized was likely intended to provide unspoken comfort to someone that didn't even know his own name.
He wondered what happened to her. Had the owner of the black toothbrush on the counter ever located her or any of the others? Or had he been unable to remember them too?
Barnes frowned as he traced the bottom edge of the mirror, unwilling to look any higher. He wasn't ready for that sight. Not yet.
He turned around and cast his attention to the opposite side of the room. At the plush, matching washcloths and towels, the immaculate tan toilet, and the prominent stone shower that was a far cry from the stark cement ones he'd ever stepped into.
He'd seen the one in Sam's apartment, certainly, but he hadn't been bold enough to risk turning it on, lest someone discover he was there at all. No, the only thing that approximated 'bathing' that he'd done since he'd escaped HYDRA was to use a washcloth dipped in soapy water, and even then, he wasn't entirely sure he was doing it right.
The shadows of HYDRA's many snares were odd like that. The way their impact lingered in a million different ways he was still trying to sort out. Idly, he wondered what sort of valuable insight the owner of the black toothbrush might've collected over the years, or if he had the same misgivings about showers as Barnes did in that moment.
He understood how they functioned, certainly. That you turned the dial and water came out the spout up-top, but he could never remember being in one of his own volition. Not the act of turning it on, nor the compulsion to stand under the plumes of frigid water.
What HYDRA considered showers were uncomfortable affairs he submitted to by command. They were too cold. Too harsh. He was ordered to stand still with his hands pressed against the nearest wall while others attended to his care, usually with sharp-bristled brushes or sponges attached to the ends of broomsticks so that the person on the other end didn't get themselves wet. Sometimes he was clothed, sometimes not. Sometimes he was dried afterwards, other times not. He didn't understand their purpose at the time, but some latent part of him not only recognized them between the wipes, but dreaded them. He wasn't sure why that was. Was it because of the bone-cold chill they left in their wake, or because they were often coupled with enrichment activities that he now recognized as merely veiled punishments and a means to suppress any and all attributes HYDRA deemed undesirable?
He understood now that the showers were not offered because they cared about his hygiene, but because it was an easy way to rid him of dirt, blood, grime, and the aftermath of their cruel handiwork, and because apparently lowering his core temperature was considered ideal before placing him into cryo or subjecting him to certain types of experiments.
Even after he'd finally escaped HYDRA, he found it difficult to know how to be responsible for his own care. Not only his hygiene, but what to eat, how to eat, and how to interact with the greater world around him. He hated how on occasion, he sometimes found that sense of renewed responsibility so overwhelming that he almost wished someone else were there to advise him on what to do. The owner of the black toothbrush had apparently figured out things along the way, but it didn't make it any easier to navigate the present and the shower Barnes wanted to take, but didn't want to take at the same time.
Before he lost his nerve, Barnes carefully removed his blue, black, and gold shawl and placed it on the countertop before methodically removing his shirt, belt, shoes, socks, pants, and boxers, revealing the lightly bruised skin beneath. As he did, he reminded himself there was a time when it was new for him to know how best to dress himself, so the task before him should be comparatively less challenging.
He kept his Kimoyo Beads on so they could continue to collect information on his vitals, but once he'd stripped down, he stood there a moment as he ran his thumb over the dog tags dangling from the chain around his neck. He wasn't sure if it was proper protocol to remove them, but he opted to keep them on, like they were a lifeline to who he was in another life.
Then, with building urgency, he stepped into the shower and turned on the water.
The spray was lukewarm at first, but not chilled. As the temperature increased, he found himself wondering if he could accidentally damage himself if the water got too hot, but he didn't feel the need to shutter it. If he could tolerate the bitter cold, maybe this would provide some sort of primal comfort, like the ads of smiling people seemed to imply.
So he let the water pour over him and pool at his feet. The thunder of it deafened his senses so much that he could no longer make out if Sam and Yama were still talking outside or not. He got the impression that showers were intended to provide a sort of cleansing private ritual, but that wasn't how it felt. Not exactly. The steam fogging up the glass was thick and heavy, and the weight of it encompassed him and leeched into him.
But he didn't know how to feel.
He only knew he didn't feel clean.
Rivulets of water poured down his face, the heat of it was almost stifling, and he could feel the rhythm of it thrum against his back as he leaned forward, stopping himself just short of putting his hands up against the stone to steady himself, because it would be too much like the many times he'd been ordered to remain still at someone else's decree.
His vision was getting blurry, so he turned around to distract himself and reached up to run his fingers along his scalp, through the too-short hair, and pock-marked areas where the nails used to pierce into his flesh and coughed a couple times when he managed to breathe in a little water by accident, but by-and-large, he wanted to think he was capable of this. Of figuring it out on his own.
More than that: he wanted to feel something. But he didn't know what to feel, besides heavy, and maybe a bit lost.
Barnes turned the water hotter.
He listened to the ping as droplets made contact with the plates forming his vibranium arm, and he found himself running it back and forth under the shower head, keying into the way the pitch of the water shifted as it made contact. It wasn't a melody, certainly, but it sounded different than the old one. More resonant. He tried to focus on that, but his memories kept pulling him back to darker thoughts he wished he could cast aside. Of bitter cold water, pungent chemical smells, and harsh bristles rubbing across his skin while men nearby made snide comments Barnes wished he didn't remember with the clarity he did.
He didn't understand it then, and part of him wondered if he was better off not knowing.
Whether it was because standing had a way of reminding him of those encounters or because his legs were getting weak from the heat, he found himself slowly sliding down the stone to rest on the tile floor. He wasn't sure what to do when he got there, because he certainly hadn't seen any ads featuring adults seated on the bottom of a shower, but he found himself curling his body forward and slowly wrapping his arms around himself.
He wasn't sure where the inclination originated from, or why it went hand-in-hand with the suffocating heat of the water pouring over him, but he found his trembling fingers seeking out the dog tags dangling from around his neck, and the residual questions the engravings left in their wake. Why they were different from the ones he remembered. About if the man with the black toothbrush enlisted in the Army, or was drafted. Why that might've mattered.
And if he even knew.
Barnes watched the water pool around his toes as he thought back to what Okoye'd said about being present and seeking peace. He wanted to believe what she'd said. That he shouldn't be ashamed of who he was, but it was difficult to believe when so many of his choices fell immeasurably short. Sure, in some manner of speaking it had been good that he'd stopped short of killing Steve only to pull him out of the Potomac and call 9-1-1, but he'd also been the one to shoot him to begin with.
And he wasn't the only one.
He'd killed a lot of people, and hurt loads more, up to and including people like Sam and M'yra. He didn't know how he could find that 'peace' Okoye'd talked about knowing what he did, especially when he was only marginally aware of the tip of the iceberg.
Part of him felt like a coward for not asking the people waiting outside for more details about his life. He knew they'd tell him if he asked, but in some way, it was almost easier not knowing.
Because now that he believed them, that would make it all real.
As he clutched himself, he realized he wasn't sure what he'd hoped the shower would accomplish. Maybe that it would push him towards a tangible memory he could recall? That it would leave him feeling fresh and new? Standing had definitely pulled at a past he didn't want to hold onto, and even sitting on the ground like this, it wasn't that it was familiar, not exactly, but something about it made him feel heavier in an altogether different way.
But it didn't make him feel clean.
Eventually, he peeled himself back up off the floor and used one hand to swivel the handle to the right, shutting off the stream. The warmth quickly faded, leaving only a residual chill and questions in its wake.
He listened for the comfort of voices outside, but heard nothing as he toweled off and put his boxers and pants back on, stopping only when he caught motion in his periphery. He hadn't intended to look at the mirror just then, but he found his eyes trailing up the flash of black and gold as they came to rest on the face of someone he barely recognized.
The face looking back at him was all wrong. The hair, too short. The blue pants, so bright they were almost cheerful. A costume of the man he remembered.
He stepped forward, as if distance alone might reassure him of who he was looking at in the mirror. That it was still him. If he searched hard enough, he could find something familiar in those steel blue eyes and the definition of his jaw, but the skin was warmer than he remembered, the scars: More faded. He had some scattered bruises from the morning exercises and yellowed ones from days earlier, but his skin wasn't battered, burned, or bleeding with the sickly pallor of a body used to being kept on ice. He found himself tracing the fingers of his right hand along the puckered seam where his mounted prosthetic met the surrounding flesh. It was nowhere near as sensitive as he remembered. Nowhere near as raw.
The sharp edges of the chrome arm used to cut into him when it moved. What had become of it?
The plates forming his fingers, hand, and arm were different too, but his mind still remembered how the old one felt. The weight of it, and the quiet hum it made at all times. The click and shuffle of the chrome plates, and the way the temperature of it would claw its way into his core regardless of if it was searing hot outside or blistering cold. This one felt slightly warm to the touch. Not hot, like a kettle, but it was as if it were somehow temperature controlled to his body. He wasn't sure how it worked, or why many of the plates appeared to have some degree of tactile sensation, but it wasn't unpleasant.
But the thing that stood out the most, that his mind and fingers remembered and sought out but couldn't sense, was the red star that had been etched into his shoulder like a sign of ownership.
A simple geometric shape of a five-pointed star, not unlike the one he'd clutched tightly to in the Dark Place.
One that matched the cover of the red book.
The one he'd been made to forget.
He didn't want to think about it. To remember how it'd been used against him over and over again. But like a walking curse, he found his mind willing him to remember granular details that he was sure he wasn't supposed to recollect. The repeated sessions of call and response, the training and enrichment. When he was strapped into chairs and fried from the inside out, or when they'd peel his scalp open to the elements so they could poke and prod it while he did his best to answer their endless questions.
And all the people he'd killed while being repeatedly reassured he was doing the right thing.
Barnes gripped the counter, gasping for air as he worked to steady himself, to see a future for those pained blue eyes and all they'd seen.
A sudden knock at the door pulled his attention away from the doppelganger standing in front of him, "Everything okay in there?"
Sam. Barnes took a hasty breath and tried to steady his nerves. His first instinct was to deflect, but instead he found his shaky voice confessing, "I… no. I will be, but…" he faded out, unsure of what he'd intended to say next.
There was so much he could say, but what he really wanted was for Sam to keep talking to fill in the void he felt carved into his chest. For someone to reassure him that this would all turn out alright.
The door creaked as if maybe Sam'd decided to lean up against it. When he spoke, his voice was smooth with sincerity, so much so that Barnes had no problem imagining his sympathetic expression as he spoke, "You're okay. You got dealt some awful hands over the years, but I don't want you thinkin' you gotta carry it all on your own anymore, alright? We're here if you wanna talk, or if you don't."
"You are not alone," Yama readily agreed from what sounded like a few steps behind him. Her voice was strong and direct, "We intend to weather these trials with you."
"Yeah. So you take as much time as you need. We're not goin' anywhere, okay? You need anything, we're here."
Barnes didn't know why it took him so long to formulate a reply, but he felt his haggard breathing slowly even out, "Okay." He paused before adding, "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"'Course," Sam was silent a beat before he added in a lighter tone, "Just don't make it weird and use my toothbrush. Man's gotta have some boundaries."
And Barnes caught it then, the flicker of something that could almost be considered a faint smile passing over the face in his reflection. It was something wholly new, that he could never remember seeing on that face before. He found himself marveling at it, intrigued, "Deal, but only because you asked nicely." He turned to regard the two toothbrushes before adding, "Besides: mine looks like it has more features anyway. Is everything you own seriously red, white, and blue?"
"It probably has less features because it's a child's toothbrush," Yama helpfully supplied from the other side of the door.
"It is not a child's toothbrush," came the firm counter.
"I can show you the photo Nailah found online. It is definitely marketed to young children."
"That explains why it's shorter than mine," Barnes observed.
"Not helping."
"Who said I was trying to help?"
"Perhaps we can ask Princess Shuri about fabricating an adult-sized toothbrush for him," Yama considered aloud. "Or one that is equipped as an accessory to his fine suit?"
"Yama!"
Barnes snorted and took a deep breath in and out. While the shower itself hadn't been the cleansing salve he'd hoped for, this… this somehow helped. It was hard to put his finger on why that was exactly, but it did.
Before he went to brush his teeth with the clearly superior black electric toothbrush, he opted to run the head of Sam's toothbrush under the faucet just because. He figured it was an acceptable use of free-will if there ever was one.
[Chapter 77 Chapter Art, by Shade_of_Stars]
[ID: A painting by Shade-of-Stars showing the back of Barnes as he faces his reflection in the mirror. Barnes is shirtless and wearing a chain around his neck and a pair of blue jeans and a black belt and is standing in front of an ornate tan, red, and gold Wakandan bathroom sink with a red towel on his left and various toiletries on his right. His black and gold vibranium hand is gripping the counter while his right hand touches the shoulder of his vibranium arm. Facing him in the mirror is a pale and battered Winter Soldier with long hair and a variety of open wounds. Behind him in the far background in muted blues and greys is a laboratory and various HYDRA machines, tubes, and wires. Seen on the right is a scientist in a lab coat with glasses, and on the left is a man in a Russian hat standing behind a railing as he reads from the red book. Behind him is another scientist. End ID]
So first off, I want to say that Shade and I originally discussed creating this painting over a year ago, back before I realized just how much time we would spend out on the mountain. In hindsight, it feels absolutely wild to finally make it back around to this intended scene, and the bathroom Bucky once visited way back in Chapter 15: "Sanctuary"! As always: I can't thank her enough for pouring her incredible skill, artistry, and gorgeous rendering into this piece, but also being willing to "sit" on this finished illustration for so long while I caught up with my intended story trajectory.
This has always been such an important scene to work our way to, and a pivotal moment for Barnes to really take time to start to process so much of what he's feeling that's been building up for some time. He's spent so much of his remembered life either being a puppet for HYDRA or having to be on the run to protect himself and others that he hasn't really had the opportunity to just… feel, and I love the way Shade was able to display the contrast of what he looks like, versus what he expects to see in the mirror and all the gravitas and weight of that stark contrast.
Shade ("Shade_of_Stars" on Twitter) really crafted something incredible here, and all of the details and material rendering are just beyond words. She really brought this moment to life in such rich detail, and I can't thank her enough for being willing to lend her hand to illustrate this story.
Please check out this chapter on Archive of Our Own to see the gorgeous art and links to the Shade's social media pages to see more of her beautiful art!
Author's Remarks:
I hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday season! If all goes according to plan, we are two chapters away from the culmination of what I'm considering Act 11 of "Winter of the White Wolf!" :D
- Sandler the Mural Artist - The artist referenced in the scene with Barnes and Okoye and the mural is a nod to the artist Brandon Sandler, who created many of the stunning murals seen in Black Panther and Wakanda Forever (some of the most obvious examples being the bold murals seen in Shuri's lab).
- Okoye and Closure - Okoye was one of the few characters that never exchanged words with Bucky between TFATWS and before everything unraveled with Barnes, and while this here isn't necessarily the same thing as getting closure with "Bucky," I'd like to think their interactions over the passing chapters with Barnes have had a way of offering some degree of much-needed peace.
- Sofia and Nikoli - Apparently time has flown by, and it's been a little over a year in real time since these two characters were explicitly mentioned in this story, so I wanted to point you over to a prior chapter in case you wanted a quick reminder about them. They were mentioned in a flashback in Chapter 49: "Light in Shadow" - which was, coincidentally, another chapter that Shade illustrated!
If you're a new reader and are looking to binge the story in some satisfying, bite-sized chunks, I recommend the following act-breaks:
- Act 1: Chapters - 1 – 8
- Act 2: Chapters - 9 – 18
- Act 3: Chapters - 19 – 28
- Act 4: Chapters - 29 – 31
- Act 5: Chapters - 32 – 43
- Act 6: Chapters - 44 – 50
- Act 7: Chapters - 51 – 55
- Act 8: Chapters - 56 – 63
- Act 9: Chapters - 64 – 68
- Act 10: Chapters - 69 – 74
- Act 11: Chapters - 75+
This story continues to be a profound labor of love, and my deepest thanks to my incredible readers and the many fantastic artists that have contributed their time and passion to this project. If you're curious to see all of the visual art and learn more about the contributing artists, check out the Winter of the White Wolf - Art Collection on Ao3!
Thank you again for all of your support. I deeply appreciate each and every kudo, comment, and kind word, as they help keep me inspired to keep this story moving ever-forward. You have been a bright spot amid my often challenging year.
I hope you have a wonderful holiday season, and I'll see you in the new year! :)