I Am

“Wow!”

Bucky had been talking for so long that the silence had felt a little unnerving. On the other side of the screen, Shuri was enraptured, clinging onto every word. He favoured her with a tired smile. 

“I wish I could’ve been there,” she babbled on. “I mean, it sounds terrifying, but… the labs, the tech… Bast, I could’ve got so much information!” A hopeful expression came over her face. “Don’t suppose you brought me back a souvenir, did you? Ancient weapons R&D branch, Freemasons-style… any blueprints, or-or schematics?”

Did she just call the Nazis ‘ancient’? “Nope. Sorry. Trust me, if it had HYDRA’s stamp on it, you don’t want anything to do with it.” 

Shuri nodded reluctantly, a glimmer of disappointment behind her eyes. “Still,” she brightened, “what a story! I know T’Challa will want to hear it first-hand, as soon as you’re done in New York. He loves a good fable,” A fond little smile appeared on her face.

“Right. How long’s the flight?” Bucky had been wondering about that.

“Antarctica to New York? About twelve hours.”

Even after everything he’d seen in Wakanda, Bucky couldn’t help but be impressed. “Across half the world?” he asked incredulously.

Shuri made a face, and held up a hand as if to ward off argument. “I know, I know… normally we could do it in eight, but you’re saving fuel for the trip home. I tried to get you something that could cross the Kármán line at least, but they’re all in use.” She shrugged helplessly. “Bureaucracy, am I right?”

“Yeah.” It was all Bucky could think to reply. Eight hours. Yeesh.

The awkward silence was smashed by Clint’s appearance over Bucky’s shoulder. Now that they were back in the well-heated jet, he had shed his waterproofs. “Hey, Shuri!” he chimed. “Did Buck tell you about him leaving me behind as the explosions were going off–”

Bucky’s elbow found rib, and Clint backed off, snickering. Shuri’s eyebrow was raised in confusion. “Don’t mind him,” Bucky muttered. “He’s an idiot.”

“He did put me on guard duty right when things were getting interesting, though,” Clint pointed out. “Came all that way, just to get benched in the eleventh hour. Anyone’d think you didn’t want me there.”

“I wanted you there.” An unpleasant cocktail of hurt and annoyance was rising inside him. Why can’t he just get it? “It was messing with my head. We saw the others, it messed with theirs, too. Sai’s a demon-killer, so she got a pass. I had to go in. But if you went in, and it played some kind of trick on you–”

-you could have gotten hurt, he could have finished, but that wasn’t it.

-you could have attacked me, and I would’ve had to hurt you, he could have finished, and that was closer.

-you could have attacked me, and you would’ve had to live with killing me, he could have finished, and that was it, but he couldn’t say that.

So he finished, “--we could’ve been in real trouble.”

Clint looked at him for a while. Something was dancing behind those blue eyes of his, but Bucky couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Eventually, it cleared, and Clint turned back to the screen, where Shuri was looking like she would rather be anywhere but here. 

“So, uh…” He jabbed a thumb towards the rear of the jet. “What’s with the bar?”

“Bar?” Bucky was stumped. On a military jet?

“Oh!” Shuri perked up once more at the opportunity to explain Wakandan technology. “Your little cruiseship there is actually a converted pleasure barge. Kitchen and bar in the back for the passengers to enjoy some oh-so-fancy cuisine, dahling, bedrooms for them to sleep off all that partying… got retrofitted for some reason or another, and it’s been gathering dust since. Barely had to pull any strings to get her out of retirement,” she added, clearly pleased with her own cunning.

“Is it stacked? The bar, I mean?” There was a faint glimmer in Clint’s eye.

Shuri paused for a moment. A mischievous smile was growing. “You know? I got no idea. Take a look for me, would you?”

“On it.” Clint was up before Bucky could blink.

“And you–” she jabbed a teasing finger at Bucky. “--get some rest. You’ll need it, huh?”

“Roger that.” Don’t gotta tell me twice. He sketched a quick salute - which bought him a little smirk in return - and thumbed the CALL button. The screen faded smoothly to black.

“She likes you.”

Bucky turned. Steve was behind him, in a Henley shirt, straight-cut trousers, and a knowing smile. 

“Who– Shuri?” Bucky’s eyes flicked to the quickly-cooling screen, then back to Steve. He felt his brows furrowing. “No,” he said, as if the very idea was ridiculous. “No, she’s just supporting the mission. She’s a scientist, she wants answers too.”

“Really?” Steve pressed. “I thought you knew girls, Buck.”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t.” Embarrassment and common sense were wrestling in Bucky’s head. “She– she’s studied me, Steve, like a lab r–”

“Studied you?” Steve’s smile was spreading.

Bucky felt himself folding. His hand moved to his mouth involuntarily. “C’mon, Steve, I get enough of this from Clint.”

Steve chuckled, and held up his hands, relenting. “Castle’s finished changing, if you want to go and take your turn. Plenty in the wardrobe.” His voice took on a little more of a reassuring tone. “T’Challa won’t mind.”

Bucky nodded gratefully. “Thanks, partner.” 

The snowmelt left wet footprints in the carpet as he made his way to the bedrooms. The jet wasn’t a cruise liner, he reflected as he walked, but it surely wasn’t far off. Now that he knew it was an upgraded pleasure barge, he was noticing all of the little displays of opulence. The soft carpets, the stylised walls… it all made him a little uncomfortable. It smelled too much of pretension and excess. He knocked on the bedroom door, waited for a few seconds, and entered. 

Calling it a bedroom would be like calling a castle a house. Had the furnishings not occupied the space, it could have housed twenty people without complaint. Four bunk beds had been placed inside, just for them, and a large wardrobe stood sentinel in a corner. A mirror decorated the wall next to it. Silver panthers chased each other’s tails in a pattern around its edge. Sai’s purple coat had been neatly folded and placed in the corner of one lower bunk; on a top bunk, Clint’s waterproofs had been thrown haphazardly onto the blanket. Another lower bunk was covered in black cloth. A gym bag was perched atop them. Steve’s uniform was nowhere to be seen; no bed bore the distinctive red, white, and blue of Captain America. 

The parka hit the carpet with a soft whump. The bodywarmer quickly followed. The shirt, damp with sweat, fell on the pile. Bare-chested, Bucky eased himself down onto an unoccupied bed. A groan of relief escaped his lips as he felt it sink beneath him. He unlaced his boots, and wiggled his toes to get the blood flowing once more. His legs swung up onto the mattress, and he massaged his thighs and calves, pushing away the aches. A few minutes of relaxation followed, as he enjoyed his downtime. 

Finally, Bucky found his feet once more. He dumped his discarded clothes on his bed, and made his way over to the wardrobe. Inside, he found the answer to the mystery of Steve’s missing uniform. His greatcoat hung from a clothes hanger, standing to attention as though it were a soldier in its own right. Bucky nudged it aside, and sure enough, the rest of his uniform hung there as well. The thought that Steve had taken the time to hang his clothes, knowing full well he’d be putting them straight back on in a few hours, gave Bucky a grin.

Steve hadn’t been wrong; the wardrobe was stocked full of clothes, from casual loungewear to more formal attire. Bucky scanned the rack, and settled on a fresh white t-shirt, a red leather biker jacket, and a pair of denim jeans. He reached for a shirt with a hand that wasn’t there, cursed, and reached out with his right. Gotta get used to that, he scolded himself. Or get another priceless vibranium arm.

Dressing himself took an uncomfortably long time with one hand, but he fought his way through it. The jacket in particular had an uncomfortable tendency to slip down his shoulder as he moved. Fully dressed once more, Bucky scanned himself in the mirror. Could be worse. He ruffled his hair between his fingers and wiggled his head a little, made a face, and left. 

Back in the common room, Bucky’s worst fears were confirmed. Clint was talking animatedly to Frank and Steve, while Sai looked on with a vague look of disapproval. Sai had dressed down into a long blue skirt that went down past her knees and a white blouse, while Frank was in a black padded jacket and denim jeans. Bucky mourned their shared fashion sense in silence. 

Clint broke off at the sound of Bucky’s footsteps and beamed at him. In his left hand, he was holding a glass bottle by the neck. Bucky couldn’t read the label, but from the fizz inside, he knew it was champagne. Clint presented it to Bucky with the pride of a three-year-old offering their parents their first drawing. “Stacked,” he announced happily. “You drinking?”

Bucky opened his mouth to refuse out of hand, and closed it. He wasn’t really a drinker; not since he grew out of his rebellious phase. But a little couldn’t hurt. “One drink,” he replied.

“Good man!” Clint vanished into the kitchen, and reappeared barely thirty seconds later with five wine glasses. He set the glasses down on a small circular table with a gentle pat. Then he popped the cork with a flick of his thumb, and sniffed the pale smoke that drifted out in an exaggerated motion. “That’s the smell of booze we don’t even have to pay for,” he grinned, and poured. 

Frank Castle's face had been steadily twisting in disapproval as the conversation had passed. Now his jaw set. He clamped a hand on the bottle, his eyes burning. "Are you lot crazy?" he snapped. "We're on a mission. You can't go in wasted. Drink later." He gave the bottle a tug - to no avail. Clint's grasp on it was ironclad.

He pointed a finger at Frank in agreement. "Right," he replied. "About that. I had a chat with Shuri, and she told me Wakanda's made some wonderful medical advancements in anti-toxins." He dug a small blister pack of six green tablets out of his pocket. "These", he proclaimed triumphantly, "are hydrofluoro... hydro..." he trailed off, before dismissing it with a wave of a hand. "Something. They had a long scientific name that I didn't catch.

"Point is, one of these bad boys, and all symptoms of intoxication..." He paused for effect. "...are gone. Just like that. Fifteen minutes and a bathroom trip later, and you're ready to go back to punishing." Clint tilted his head at Frank in a You know you want to gesture.

Frank released the bottle. "Bullshit," he replied.

Clint's smile returned, split open in a full sarcastic grin. "Frankie, my friend," he shot back, "we are in a plane that could smash the sound barrier without breaking a sweat. A few weeks ago, Captain America himself came from seventy years in the future to whisk me into a space empire owned by my old friend, the Black Panther. Are 'pills that make you sober' really that hard to believe?"

The irritation in Frank's eyes had been replaced with something softer; a wariness, a cautious hope. "You really think they'll work?" he demanded.

Clint shrugged, already pouring once more. “How long’d Shuri say the journey was, Buckeroonie?”

“Twelve hours,” Bucky replied. And we haven’t even left yet. 

“Well, Frank,” Clint finished, straightening, “I’d bet twelve hours of my life on it.”

As if summoned by his thought, the floor beneath them gave the gentlest shake, and a quiet hum began from under their feet. Then they were rising. Right. No runway. Bucky realised he hadn’t considered that. A jet that can take off straight upwards? Pretty nifty. 

Steve strolled back into the common room. “Steve,” Bucky greeted him. “Didn’t see you leave.”

“Well, if we’re all here,” Steve replied, “We may as well get going.”

“You thirsty, Steve?” Clint was already filling up another glass.

Steve smiled. “I can’t get drunk, Clint. You know that.”

“Not an answer.” He held out the glass.

After a moment of consideration, Steve took it. “Can’t hurt,” he decided. He held the glass up to his nose, and looked pleased with the result.

“Sai? Wait.” A doubtful look came over Clint’s face. “Do you… have alcohol in Japan?”

Sai looked at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed.

“He’s really asking,” Bucky added quickly. “We don’t know much about… your time.”

Sai’s expression softened as she realised she was not being mocked. “In my time, we drink nihonshu on special occasions,” she explained. “You might call it sake.”

Clint’s expression cleared. “Right. Sake. Heard of that. Well, I don’t know how this stacks up, but…” He held out a glass. 

She looked at it doubtfully. “I was never partial to sake. I did not like how it clouded the mind.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Those little circles… they stop the effects of alcohol?”

“We call them tablets.” Clint nodded. “And yeah.”

A moment more. Sai looked at Bucky. “We slew a mighty demon today,” she mused. “Perhaps we can celebrate a little.” She took the glass.

Clint poured again, and held out the glass to Bucky, who took it with a nod of thanks. “Bottoms up, Buck,” he grinned.

Frank Castle was the only one without a glass in his hand now. As one, all eyes turned to him.

He grimaced. “I don’t drink alcohol. I punish criminals,” he growled.

“And you did a good job today, Castle. Take a little time off.” Steve smiled. “That’s an order.”

Frank’s quiver was empty. He turned to Clint, resigned. “If those things don’t work, you’re next,” he promised. But he took the drink all the same.

“So,” Clint questioned, “what are we toasting to?”

“To victory?” Bucky offered.

“To friends,” Steve announced. His eyes swept over the room, his glass raised in salute. “Old and new.” 

So corny, Bucky thought, smiling in spite of himself. “Friends it is, then,” he agreed. 

“Old and new.” Clint’s eyes flew to Bucky, and flew away as a grin touched on his face.

Sai raised her glass. After a moment, Frank followed suit, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else.

“Cheers.” They drank. Fruits sang on Bucky’s tongue, and the bubbles popping in his mouth gave off a curiously pleasant sensation. Fiery snakes slid down his throat as he swallowed. That might be the best darn thing I’ve drunk in a long time, he reflected. He put his glass to his nose, watching his companions’ reactions over the rim. 

Clint looked pleasantly surprised by his taste, nodding approvingly to himself and taking another sip. Steve was holding his glass with the ease of a man who knew the ropes; a man who’d been to a few cocktail parties in his time. Sai let out a gentle cough. Frank eased himself down into a nearby chair, his drink barely touched. Well, Clint did have to wrangle him into it, Bucky pondered. 

“That is… stronger than I expected,” Sai remarked. “Is this a normal drink here?”

“Nah,” Clint replied. “This is the good stuff. Gotta pay the big bucks for this.” He took another gulp, a look of pure delight on his face. “Bit stronger than sake?”

Sai nodded. “But it is pleasant.” She sipped again, and closed her eyes as it warmed her insides.

Clint smiled. “We need some entertainment,” he declared. “Cap? You got any good war stories?”

“You know I do, Barton.” Steve sat down on a stool. Sai and Clint picked out some unoccupied chairs, and when Clint placed his across from Steve, Sai placed hers between the two of them to form a ring. Oh, what the hell, Bucky decided, and dragged a chair over to join the circle.

“This one’s from my time with the Invaders,” Steve began. “Buck–” He flashed Bucky a smile – “You might remember this one. The Germans had laid siege to Stalingrad, and they had just rolled out their biggest weapon yet…”

Bucky took another swallow as Steve spun his story. He’s good at this, he thought to himself. Pity I don’t have any good stories. Most of mine end in a murder.

Time slipped by like silk through his fingers. Steve’s story finished, and he began another (spurred on by Clint’s raucous applause and cheers of “Another! Encore!”). Frank was paying particularly close attention, he noticed, and even seemed to be enjoying it. Sai’s outer shell began to soften a little. They all took the occasional sip from their glasses, but as time went on, the sips got deeper and deeper. And when they were dry, Clint was always on hand to fill them back up. He made a game of it; every time he filled another, he poured the bottle from slightly higher. Soon there was half a foot between the mouth of the bottle and the glass. He never spilled a drop, and they ate it up every time. 

Steve reached the climax of his story, and Frank and Sai were hanging onto every word, leaning forward like children hearing a hero’s adventures. Even Clint, who had heard the story before a dozen times, had fallen uncharacteristically silent. Bucky was only half-listening; the grapes were dancing a tango in his mind, and it was hard to focus through the brain-fog. An old song that he couldn’t remember the name of was tickling at his memory. He kept finding his foot tapping to the beat and his mouth muttering the lyrics. He heard Sai gasp and Castle curse as Steve embellished a particularly meaty detail, but it sounded far away, as if on the opposite end of a tunnel.

A thunderous applause out of three pairs of hands dragged him out of his reverie. Frank was giving a standing ovation, with a fire in his eyes that made Bucky vaguely uncomfortable - but Sai was beaming. As strange of a sight as it was to see, it was a beautiful smile. 

“Thanks, everyone.” Steve got to his feet and stretched. “Think I’ll be switching to water. All that talking’s got my throat dry.” He struck out for the kitchen. 

Frank fell back into his chair. A pensive look came over his face as he stared into his glass. Sai began swirling her drink, watching the bubbles forming a whirlpool with fascination. Clint suddenly straightened, as if he had been hit by a bullet. “Scissors,” he announced in a revelatory tone, and marched off in Steve’s footsteps, moving his first two fingers apart and together in an unconscious mimic of a pair of scissors.

Just like that, Bucky was alone with his newest companions. He turned to Sai first, and called her name, but got nothing; her eyes were firmly trained on the bubbles, her brows furrowed in concentration, mouth hanging slightly open. In the corner of his eye, Frank leaned back in his chair, staring off into space.

"What's on your mind, Frank?" he asked, distantly recognising that his voice was slowing.

"I... I don't..." Frank looked down at the drink in his hands, as though he wasn't quite sure how it got there. "What do you know about love, Barnes?" he questioned suddenly.

Oh boy. "Well... I've been in love before." Bucky switched to the seat beside Frank. "With Nat. Natalia Romanoff. The Black Widow. Back when they were making her into a super-spy, and turning me into, y’know..." He gestured vaguely at his missing arm. "The crazies behind the Red Room, and the crazies behind the Winter Soldier program, met up to share the crazy. They told me to train her." Bucky closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sweet melancholy of memory wash over him, buoyed along by hints of inebriation. "She made it all... manageable."

Frank was hanging onto every word. He thumbed the lip of his glass as he asked, in a voice that was afraid of the answer, "How'd things... end between you two?"

"They froze me." Bucky was surprised at how little the memory hurt. Guess I was the lucky one. "There was a problem during a hit mission. I... well, it doesn't matter. They said I was 'unstable'. Had to be kept on ice between missions. When I woke up, she was gone. Never saw her again." He squinted involuntarily as he tried to picture her face. The image kept slipping away. Like he was trying to catch smoke between his fingers. 

“I, um…” Frank was tongue-tied, but Bucky could feel just how badly he wanted to speak. “I used to have a family, y’know. Wife. Kids.”

“Used to?” This was news. Behind him, Clint walked back in, and began cutting a label out of his shirt.

“Yeah.” Frank paused for a moment. Bucky almost prompted him to continue, when Frank continued, In a voice that was strangely thick: “Mob took ‘em from me. The Costa family. They were killing a… guy… and we saw ‘em. We were on a picnic. So they killed them too.” He sniffed.

Jesus. Bucky tried to think of something to say, but his brain felt like mush. “What were their names?” he managed finally.

“My wife’s Maria.” He wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “The kids… Lisa. And Frank Junior.” His mouth twisted. “I miss them,” he moaned, his voice cracking. “God, I miss them.” The dam finally broke. He gave a great, heaving sob, and began to weep openly. Bucky clumsily rested a hand on Frank’s shoulder. I can’t HUG him, can I? he asked himself.

Suddenly there was noise coming from his left, as well as his right. Bucky looked around - and to his horror, Sai was sobbing too. “Sai?” he prompted, with a hint of fear. “What… what’s wrong?”

“I miss Logan!” she wailed.

Logan? Howlett? “You know Wolverine?” he asked, bewildered. 

She looked back at him with a face that was just as confused. “No… Well, yes, but… I don’t mean him. My wolf! Logan! He’s still in Japan… without me…” She gave a little whimper. 

What do I… “At least you’ve got us,” Bucky replied awkwardly. 

That only made her worse. “I don’t! You’ve got him, and he’s got you–” she pointed at Clint, whose head shot up, eyes wide. “--and you’ve both got him–” she pointed at the kitchen door. “-but I… I don’t…” She drew her knees in.

Bucky was completely at sea. A moment ago, they had been cheering at Steve’s stories; now they were crying. He looked at Clint in silent appeal, but he only shook his head quickly. He had also, for no reason Bucky could see, gone as red as a beetroot. Helpless, Bucky tried to think of something to say.

“I leave for a couple of minutes and everyone’s crying.” Like an angel descending from heaven, Steve had returned, a bottle of water in hand. “Let’s do something else now, huh?” he entreatied them. “How about cards? Buck and I can teach you a few card games. Right, Buck?”

Bucky nodded - and that was the last thing he consciously processed through a sea of alcohol. The rest was all scraps of light and sound, folding together into one great tapestry of stimulation. He saw Clint dancing on top of a table. He saw Steve throwing a playing card with such accuracy that he split an orange in two. Then Sai was singing, a song she called the Tale of the Heike, and her voice was soft and gentle. Frank was talking about how the mafia worked, and Clint was comparing it to the yakuza he had taken down as Ronin. Someone was arm-wrestling Steve, and that someone won, and then Bucky realised it was him, and he celebrated while Steve watched with a smile. Clint was doing a terrible impression of Elvis, and Sai was shrieking laughter. 

Now there was a fly buzzing in circles around Bucky’s head. “Bucksterrrrrrr,” it was crooning in his ear. “Buckyyyyyyyyy. Wake uuuuuuup. It’s time to take your meeeeeeds.” 

Go away, he thought. A groan was all that escaped his lips. His head was parked on some kind of flat surface, connected by a string of spittle, and it wasn’t moving. He swung his hand at the fly, but it dodged him effortlessly. “Come on, gramps,” the fly teased him. “You gotta take your pills.”

“Up you get, Buck.” Strong hands scooped him up and pushed him back in his seat - his chair, he discovered. 

“Say aaaaah.” It was the fly again. Its name was Clint, he vaguely recalled. His brain was sending shockwaves through his body. At that point, it was easier to just do as he was told, so he opened his mouth. He felt something bitter being placed on his tongue, and a trickle of water swept it into his throat. 

“There you go, gorgeous,” Clint finished. “Give it a few, and you’ll be fine. Pinky swear.” There was a vague sensation of something wiping his chin, and then the fly was gone, leaving Bucky alone with his collapsing brain. 

And although he felt every second, winced at every pulse, the head-waves and the brain-fog did recede. The daggers the light cast in his eyes lost their edge. The aches in his muscles faded, and then receded. Bucky felt a sudden, and urgent, call from nature. He stumbled to his feet, and slammed the bathroom door open with his shoulder. 

A couple of unpleasant minutes later, he emerged, feeling right as rain - albeit a little dishevelled. 

“Hey, partner.” 

Steve was waiting for him. A mug of coffee was steaming in his hand, and he extended it. Bucky took it with a grateful nod. “How’re you feeling?” Steve asked.

“Wakandan medicine’s a wonder.” The coffee was plain, dark - but Bucky didn’t feel in the mood for anything even slightly flavourful right now. He knows me too well. “How long we got until New York?”

“An hour, give or take.” Clint’s voice. “Just enough time to get ready. You are still up for a little vampire hunt, right?”

Bucky searched inside himself, and found that he was. He nodded. 

“Sweet.” Clint clapped him on the shoulder affectionately. “Get going, champ.” 

In the bedroom, Bucky found Sai adjusting her hair in the mirror. He felt a distant sense of awkwardness, though he couldn’t quite say why. “Hey, Sai,” he ventured.

Sai’s head whipped round - undoing much of her work in the process - and her eyes landed on Bucky. “James.” Once again, she was her usual composed, reserved self. “I feel I should apologise.”

That caught him off guard. “What? Why?”

“I showed you a side of me I do not like to show. I…” she stopped and thought. “I do not like to be seen how you saw me,” she finished carefully.

“What? Having fun?”

“I was unprofessional. I apologise.” She gave a small bow.

Bucky was dumbfounded. “Sai, you… everyone’s allowed to have fun now and then. You don’t have to be sorry about that. Go easy on yourself, all right?”

Sai opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again. She simply nodded instead, a little nod that could mean anything. “I will give you some privacy to dress,” she announced. She left without another word.

Bucky strode over to the mirror, and looked himself in the eyes. 

Next mission, I guess. A Soldier’s work is never done.

He sat down on his bed, and unlaced his boots.