The light in his eyes flickers, dimming just a fraction when his gaze drifts from her face to the ornate case in her right hand.
Her Dora guards hover just on the periphery, watching in stoic silence.
She tries to muster up all of the reassurance and resolve she’d gathered on the long drive here. But the only thing that wells up in her chest now as she reads the weary resignation filtering across Bucky’s features is sadness. There’s always a fight. How right he was about that.
He lifts his gaze to hers again, and the broad, brilliant curve of his lips that was present when she first arrived is a thin line, now, the corners of his mouth barely turned up. His legs carry him to her swiftly, but his shoulders are tense.
Shuri’s steps slow. Maybe it’s not too late to undo this. Chuck the case in the lake and take Bucky far away from here where he’ll never have to fight again. She’d promised him he wouldn’t. Yet here she is, breaking that promise, like the words had meant nothing at all. That’s not your promise to make, Princess. You can’t protect me. Another thing, as it turns out, that he’s right about.
But Bast, does she wish she could protect him. The instinct reaches far deeper than what is professional or practical or proper. But it dawns on her, as Bucky stops in front of her - just a few inches closer than is strictly necessary, stormy blue eyes never once leaving hers - that the clearly defined borders of propriety between them may have already been breached.
Her eyes drop to the heavy Vibranium case in her hand. Take it back, her traitorous brain whispers. But she can’t. They both know that. When she looks up again, her resolve nearly crumbles.
The wariness in Bucky’s eyes has softened, replaced by what Shuri briefly, foolishly imagines might look something like... no. No that can’t be it.
It must be a trick of the light - the early afternoon sun reflecting off of the water and against the blue of his eyes - that deceives her into reading something that isn’t really there. And besides, now is hardly the time.
“Your Highness.” Bucky gives a slight bow of his head.
The deep rasp of his voice pulls Shuri from her thoughts. His eyes flicker over her face, down to the case a second time, then back up.
She tightens her fingers around the handle and draws in a deep breath. “Hi, Buck.”
His lips part and he exhales sharply. She’s never called him that. Always Bucky or James. Never just ‘Buck’.
He clears his throat. “It isn’t my birthday, so I’m assuming there’s some other occasion,” he says with a strained curve of his lips, gesturing to the case.
“I’m afraid so. Trust me when I say I would much rather be bringing you a birthday gift.”
Without another word, she lifts the heavy case and sets it on the wheel barrow next to them. She tries not to let her fingers falter as she undoes the lock and flicks open the latches. Lifting the top to reveal its contents, she steps to the side to let Bucky have a look for himself.
The heavy sigh that escapes his chest makes her heart crumple like paper. She can feel it breaking.
“Where’s the fight?”
She sighs. “On its way.”
His eyes snap to hers. “Here?”
“I’m sorry. I wish I were here under different circumstances.”
He steps closer to the case, eyes back on the prosthetic. His right hand skims across the black and gold plates of Vibranium. “Me too, Princess.” There’s so much wistfulness in his tone, she has to fight the urge to reach out and grasp his hand in hers.
Instead, she clasps her hands behind her back and squares her shoulders. “Steve is on his way, too. With the rest of the team. Apparently, my expertise is needed.”
Bucky frowns. He looks like he wants to say something, then thinks better of it. Abruptly, one of his goats comes bounding up, bleating excitedly. They both smile down at the energetic kid.
“Molo, Buhle,” Shuri murmurs fondly, scratching behind the young goat’s ears.
“Sometimes I think they like you better than me,” Bucky says, and Shuri is grateful for the trace of humor in his voice.
“What’s not to like,” she quips, crouching down to get eye level with Buhle and give her more rubs.
Bucky chuckles. “Can’t argue with that,” he says under his breath. It’s so quiet, Shuri almost thinks she wasn’t meant to hear it. She doesn’t meet his eyes for several seconds, but she can feel his gaze on her, and heat rises to the surface of her cheeks.
Buhle gently butts her head up against Shuri’s chest. “Spoiled little baby,” she coos, stroking the soft brown and white fur. When she stands up again and brushes her hands against the fabric of her pants, Bucky is smiling in earnest. Sighing, Shuri turns to run her hand across the Vibranium arm. “I should show you how it works and get you up to speed on what we’re up against.”
“Right.” Bucky clears his throat. “Yeah. Of course.”
Shuri waits patiently while Bucky leads Buhle and her two siblings to their pen. They hop around and bleat at him, running around and between his legs and nudging his hand with their noses. He talks to them as he locks them in their pen, giving each of them a firm scratch under their chins before making sure they have enough food and water.
Warmth spreads in Shuri’s chest at the domesticity of the scene. And then her stomach drops when she remembers why she’s here. She turns toward the case, closing and latching it. When she walks over toward Bucky, he’s just finishing up with his babies.
Before she can protest, Bucky reaches for the case, his fingers brushing hers as he slips his hand around the handle to take it from her. She lets him, shaking her head as he steps back. “I could’ve carried it, you know.”
Something like amusement flashes in his eyes. “I know.”
Shuri snorts and arches a brow. “Shall we, then?”
“After you,” he murmurs, inclining his head toward his cabin.
Turning to look over her shoulder, Shuri addresses her guards. “We’ll be ready to go in ten minutes. Wait here.”
Ayo frowns. “But Princ-“
“I’ll be fine.” Shuri asserts, brooking no room for argument. “You can stand just outside the door, if it will make you feel better.”
Ayo and Ntsika exchange a glance, then turn back to Shuri and bow. “Yes, Princess,” Ayo says.
Shuri turns without another word, leading Bucky into the warm, cozy confines of his home.
“Everything looks good,” Shuri murmurs. She taps a bead on her bracelet, and the holographic screen displaying the readouts from his arm disappears. “How does it feel?” Her eyes trace over the lines of his new arm, following the path of her fingers as they skim down his shoulder to his bicep to his wrist. The sensation shoots sparks up his arm and into his chest. The hairs raise on the back of his neck at how real it feels. Shuri grasps his Vibranium hand and turns it over, exposing his palm to her.
Bucky suppresses a shiver. “It feels good.” Dammit. The huskiness in his voice is apparent even to his own ears. He prays she doesn’t notice. “I um, I just mean that it feels almost… normal? Almost like I was born with it.” He clears his throat, shifts on his feet. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Shuri hums and the corner of her mouth lifts. “Flattery, White Wolf.”
Shit. He wonders if she can hear the hitch of his breath at her words. If she does, she gives no indication, just turns his hand over again in hers, examining every inch of her handiwork.
When she lets go, the pang of disappointment he feels at the absence of her touch hits him squarely in the gut.
Shuri turns to open a hidden compartment inside the case for his arm, then pulls out a Kimoyo bracelet. She glances at his right hand and beckons for it. Her fingers glide across his skin as she slips the cool circle of beads around his wrist, and his pulse pounds a little faster.
“This is yours. You can reach me at any time, for whatever you need. Any questions or issues or suggestions about the arm- just keep me updated.” Her right hand cradles his as the fingers of her left hand tap each of the large beads in turn. She scrolls through different holograms and features, giving him an impromptu tutorial. Bucky barely breathes the entire time her skin is on his, her light touch and the lilt of her voice slipping through the gaps in his deteriorating wall of self control. His eyes flit to her lips as she speaks. Mercifully, before he can do something ill-advised, she releases his arm and takes a step back. “That should be everything.” She checks the time on her beads. “And we have a couple of minutes to spare.”
Cold reality rushes through him, re-solidifying the dread in his stomach. Looking down at his new arm, he flexes the Vibranium fingers. “So. Thanos, you said?”
“Quite the name, isn’t it?” Shuri comments as she turns to shut the lid of the case. “Steve sounded… concerned.”
“Hm. He’s been radio silent for weeks. If he’s hauling ass all the way here to bother you for your help again, things must be pretty ugly.”
Shuri turns back to him, mouth a thin line, brow furrowed in worry. “That was my thinking, as well. He said they still haven’t heard from Tony after he disappeared on that ship. They can’t track him. And The Mind Stone is the only Infinity Stone we even know the whereabouts of at the moment. I’m the only one who has a chance of extracting it from Vision before Thanos can get his hands on it.”
“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He doesn’t want her anywhere near any of this. Whatever this is. He wants her safe, untouched, unscathed from the shitstorm that’s coming. The unhelpful voice in his head reminds him that he has no right to want anything when it comes to the Princess. He flicks the thought away like the nuisance it is.
Chin dropping to his chest, Bucky puts his hands on his hips and forces out an exhale, trying to get his head together for yet another fucking fight. Fuck.
Shuri’s black boots step into his line of sight, obstructing his view of the floor. He gradually raises his head to meet her eyes.
“You don’t have to go out there, you know,” she whispers. “You’ve done enough. You’ve been through enough.” Her warm brown eyes - usually as clear and bright as the Wakandan night sky - are clouded, shimmering pools of turmoil. They seize his heart right in chest so that it thuds erratically for a moment. He nearly buckles under the intensity of her gaze.
“That why you came, instead of your brother? To try and talk me out of this?”
“I was the one who said you wouldn’t have to fight again, Bucky. And I know, I know it was a foolish thing to say, making a promise I couldn’t keep.” Shuri pauses, presses her lips together and shakes her head in frustration, then huffs out a harsh breath. “I’ve been working on this arm since Steve brought you to me. But I had hoped you would never need it for something like this.” Bucky doesn’t miss her choice of words. To me. Not to T’Challa. Not to Wakanda. To her. She drops her gaze for a moment, then meets his eyes again. “I actually had planned on bringing it to you on your birthday, believe or not, but...” She sighs, a hollow chuckle escaping her lips as she shrugs her slender shoulders.
Bucky nods once in understanding. “But the universe had other ideas.”
“I really am sorry.”
Bucky frowns. He steps into Shuri’s personal space before he even knows what the hell he’s doing, his chest mere inches from hers. She blinks up at him. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, Princess. I can never make up for all the things I’ve done. And I damn sure can never repay you and T’Challa for your kindness. But this…”
He looks down at his new appendage, clenches his hand into a fist, then unclenches it. The black and gold shine and shimmer in the sunlight filtering through the window of his hut. The care and detail put into every curve, every line, is so different from the hideous, clunky monstrosity he used to wear. The arm HYDRA had given him was never anything more than a weapon; cold, lifeless. Painful. But this arm, it feels alive. It thrums with energy, seamlessly integrating with his own flesh and sinew and nerves as if it’s always been there. He briefly wonders what it would feel like to really touch the Princess with this hand. If her cheek would feel as velvety and warm as he imagines. If her lips would feel as soft under these fingertips as they look.
The errant thought snaps him back to reality and he blinks rapidly, clenching his jaw to will the overwhelming urges away. Shuri is still watching him as he meets her eyes again. He clears his throat. “This, I can do. I won’t lie and say I’m not tired of the fight, but,” he shakes his head, “I can’t sit this one out.”
And he really is so, so tired. Weariness hangs around his neck like a heavy yoke, nearly bowing his back under its stubborn weight. But he’s borne heavier burdens than this before. He can do it again. For her.
Shuri swallows and nods. It almost looks as though her eyes flicker to his lips, but she’s staring into his eyes again before he can process, searching his face, seeming to ask him for something. His heart pounds against his ribs as her fingers tentatively brush his.
“Promise me something.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
Anything. “What’s that?”
“Be careful out there, please.”
Bucky chuckles softly. He rolls his left shoulder. “Ah, don’t worry. I’ll bring the arm back in one piece.”
“I don’t care about the arm, James.” Shuri takes a step closer, lifts her chin. “If you’re going out there, you had better make sure you come back. Do you understand?”
He’s received plenty of commands in his time, more than he can count. But never from her. The sharpness of her gaze and the quiet authority in her tone make him feel like this is the only command that has ever mattered.
He nods once. “Yes, ma’am.”
The furrow in Shuri’s brow smooths out and her shoulders lower just a touch. Her eyes stay on his for a long moment, and he swears he can almost feel the steady thrumming of her heart. It isn’t until she exhales a sharp breath that he notices the way it fans across his face. Somehow, without realizing it, he’s leaned in, lips barely an inch from hers. His mind is shouting for him to pull back as he searches her face for alarm, but his body disobeys. Her long, dark lashes flutter. She gazes at his lips then his eyes, then back to his lips.
Bucky can’t remember ever feeling this dizzy in his life, and the treacherous, rebellious part of him whispers that she’s the cause and the cure.
The feather-light brush of her lips sends a tingle all the way down his spine and warmth pools in his gut.
“Time to go, Your Highness!”
Bucky flinches at the sound of Ayo’s voice outside the door and his eyes snap open.
Shuri curses under her breath. She rests her forehead against his, eyes still closed.
“Coming,” she calls after a moment.
Bucky swallows down a reluctant groan when she pulls away. Her gaze locks onto his as she takes a step back, and he doesn’t know what comes over him.
His hands reach for hers and tug her in until they’re breathing each other’s air again. Her startled gasp makes his stomach flutter. “I will come back to you,” he rasps, fingers tightening around hers. “I promise you that.”
He releases her, stepping around her to walk over and grab the case from his kitchen table as resolve settles in his bones. She watches him for half a second, chest rising and falling rapidly. And then she nods, turns without another word, leading him out of the comfort of his home and into the uncertainty outside.
His eyes don’t stray from her as he follows her to the black SUV awaiting them, the Dora Milaje in tow. His lips move silently as he sends up a prayer that he’ll be able to keep his promise.