Zhelaniye

“He’s shaking,” Steve said tensely.

It was taking all of his willpower not to run into the room. Bucky’s eyes were unfocused; he didn’t seem to know where he was, or who was handling him. The medical staff was very gentle and the lights had been dimmed so his eyes would have time to adjust. But he was shaking.

“This is perfectly normal,” T’Challa said. “And a good sign. His body is getting itself warmer.”

Steve said nothing. T’Challa didn’t sigh, but he still inclined his head towards the room. “You can go. But listen to the medical staff.”

Steve would have agreed to anything—he barely waited till T’Challa was done talking before he rushed into the room be by Bucky’s side. The staff didn’t look happy with his presence, but they backed off regardless. Steve carefully slipped Bucky’s arm over his shoulders and helped him take the last steps to the bed, so he could sit down on something that wasn’t a chair.

A silent nurse provided Steve with a warm blanket; he wrapped it over Bucky’s shoulders and brushed his damp hair out of his face.

“Hey, Buck,” he said, rubbing his back. “Do you know where you are?”

Bucky stared into space for a second more, looking completely lost. When he hesitantly met Steve’s gaze, the confusion in his eyes broke Steve’s heart. “Uh—”

“That’s fine.” Steve pulled him against his side and kept rubbing his back. “Take your time.”

Bucky looked happy enough doing just that. After a while, his shaking subsided, and he weakly grabbed at the blanket to tighten it over himself.

When Bucky looked up again, Steve didn’t say anything—just waited. Bucky took a long look around the room, surveying the medical staff, then looked at Steve.

A faint smile curled up his lips. “Hi,” he rasped. “Fancy seeing you here.”

*

When Bucky said he could answer her questions, he doctor’s calm dark eyes turned to Steve. “Captain, if you would please give us the room.”

Steve swallowed. He had to obey the medical staff—he could not afford to irritate T’Challa to the point of dropping Bucky’s care. He got up despite his every cell screaming at him not to go.

“He can stay,” Bucky said quietly. “Excuse me—what’s your name?”

She looked at him. “Hsari.”

“Dr. Hsari, don’t worry about him. I’ll answer any question you have for me. If I need him to leave I’ll say so.”

Hsari stared at him for another couple of seconds, then nodded. “Very well.”

Steve sat back down.

“Any lingering numbness?” Hsari began, “Any remaining confusion?” and Bucky answered quietly no numbness, no confusion, no pain.

*

“Think of a house. Think of a stone. Think of a river.”

Eyes closed, Bucky looked very calm despite the helmet of electrodes covering his head. Steve had been made to get out for this part, but the room wasn’t soundproof and he could hear Hsari’s calm voice through the glass.

“Very well. The calibration is done. Now think of a good memory.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his brain scan pulsed and shimmered with changing colors.

“Think of a bad memory.”

A new array of colors throbbed angrily on the screen.

“Think of an old memory.”

“How old?” Bucky asked without opening his eyes.

“Let’s say Brooklyn.”

The name of his home in this rich foreign accent made Steve feel strange. Like the past was cycling back into the future. Bucky smiled a little, without opening his eyes.

“Now think of World War II,” Hsari went on.

A silence.

“Now Siberia.”

The lights on the screen almost shut down. Steve wished he knew what it meant. Maybe it was better if he didn’t.

“Now DC.” Hsari was carefully filing away the scans and jotting down notes on a floating screen. “Now Romania. And now—the present day.”

Hsari waited for a while, then said, “Thank you. That is all. Do not remove the helmet by yourself, please.”

Bucky hadn’t made any move to do so. His pliancy made something in Steve’s chest twist—he’d sat still and silent in Ross’ cage, too. He did not move as Hsari’s gloved fingers fiddled with the electrodes before removing the helmet.

“We would like you to eat something,” Hsari said, “to ensure that your digestive system does not falter with disuse. When you’ve passed your food without any complication, you’ll be able to regain the chamber if you like.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Thank you.”

*

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Steve asked.

“The tests? No.” Bucky was very slowly eating his food. “They’re necessary.”

Steve said nothing, but he was playing with his napkin and Bucky saw it. He smiled at Steve, a little fond, a little sad.

“HYDRA got me out of cryo twice faster, and dragged me to the chair before I could even realize where I was. This is… this is nice, Steve. And T’Challa is being,” his voice turned wry, “overly generous.”

“I know,” Steve said at once. “God, I know.”

“You look down in the dumps. Eat something. Especially since you can actually afford real food.”

You could too, Steve wanted to grit out, if you wanted, but Bucky was eating a tasteless gruel because Bucky was planning to go back into the ice when the day was done.

*

They took a walk in the gardens and Bucky asked him how everyone was doing.

“They’re fine,” Steve said. “We’re all living together in a mansion of sorts. Wanda warded it against detection, so Sam can fly around as much as he wants. It’s… it’s good. Scott keeps saying he never thought he’d set foot in France. Clint misses his kids, though.”

Bucky said nothing, just hummed in acknowledgment. They walked in silence for a little while. The tropical air was thick and hot.

“What about Stark?”

Steve took a deep breath. “Mending his own. I sent him a letter. Told him I would be there if he needed me.”

There was a long silence.

Eventually, Bucky asked, “Any word from Natasha?”

“No. I suppose that’s good news.”

“When you see her, you should ask her. About me.”

Steve looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“They’re not my secrets to tell. Just ask her, and if she feels like it, she’ll tell you.” He smiled. “I can feel the time that passed, you know. I’ve been actually sleeping, not just frozen.”

Steve made himself smile, but he must have done a very poor job of it because Bucky shook his head and took Steve’s arm.

“Come on, you idiot.”

They sat on a little stone bench by a deep indigo pond, and said nothing for a few hours, just stared at the gardens with their shoulders pressed together.

*

Bucky passed his food just fine. Hsari collected all sorts of samples, then said, “I have everything I need. You’re cleared to go back in. When you come out for the second time, we will be able to compare our results and start working on a strategy.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said. “For everything you’re doing.”

“The King’s will is my will,” Hsari said, inclining her head. “I will leave you alone until you’re ready.”

The cryochamber had started humming. Steve swallowed thickly. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours.

This time, it was Bucky who reached out to pull him close.

“I’m fine,” he said, holding him tight. “Steve, I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Steve pressed his face into his shoulder and muttered doggedly, “I’ll see you in three months.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and released him. His smile was still that mixture of fond and sad. “Of course you will.”

Then he got up and the medical staff came back in to strap him in. Again, Steve forced himself to watch.

*

Sam wasn’t here—Steve had insisted on it—but T’Challa was the one to offer him a drink this time. Steve wondered how he looked. Probably not his best.

“I wish I knew where to start,” he said, nursing a glass of crystal clear liquor.

“The notebook is a good indication,” T’Challa said. “It is an evil and cold thing, but the answers are there.”

Steve couldn’t think of the red cover and its dark little star without a shiver of hatred. “It’s an instruction manual. But they don’t say how to undo any of it.”

T’Challa hummed. “If you ask me,” he said, staring into the distance with the casual ease of kings in their kingdom, “that is not the sole root of your problem.”

Steve looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Your friend is tired.” T’Challa swirled the contents of his glass. “The kind of fatigue only death will cure. But for your sake, he settled for the next best thing.”

Steve could not breathe. His hand tightened around his glass, whose chiseled edges cut into his palm.

“If we can cure his mind, he will need the ice no longer. But that does not mean he won’t want it anymore.”

Steve waited till he was certain his voice would be steady. “So how do I get him to want something else?”

“With time and friendship.” T’Challa’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Of which you have plenty to give.”

Steve took a deep, careful breath. After that he straightened up and downed the contents of his glass. Blood glistened on its edges.

“As for the more technical side of things,” T’Challa said, “there are several trails for us to follow. Talk to your friend Wanda. I will consult acquaintances of my own.” He inclined his head again, in that thoughtful way which meant sincerity. “You are not alone in this fight.”

Steve nodded. Then smiled. “I can never thank you enough for what you’re doing.”

“Good men should not have to earn what they need,” T’Challa said. “But if really you want to do me a favor—try and find some peace of your own.”

Steve ducked his head, nodding. He looked up at the jungle, at the sun coming up through the fog.

“I will see you in three months,” T’Challa said.

Steve turned back to him and joined his hands, bowing a little awkwardly. “Enkosi.”

Surprise sparked in T’Challa’s dark eyes, before he smiled and answered in kind, with a lot more grace. “Enkosi. Now go. Your family awaits.”

Steve was rather under the impression that he was leaving it behind.