Steve POV
Steve was certain he was going to regret opening up to Bucky. He never anyone about his time in Afghanistan- not even Sam. But the man had looked so nervous, wild eyes flicking between the window and the cup of water on the tray before him. Steve felt a little better afterward, like his confession to a criminal eased his mind. And by the time Bucky was eating, Steve’s mind was off everything else entirely.
Bucky was sleeping under a light blanket now, and Steve was pretty sure he’d had to unbutton his tight pants underneath.
He balled his hands into tight fists, resolutely looking at the headrest in front of him. He wouldn’t look at Bucky. For one, it’d be creepy to watch him while he slept. And for two, he knew he’d just want to draw him.
He’d wanted to an artist, once upon a time a lifetime ago. He’d had talent; or, at least, that’s what everyone kept telling him. But then his mom had passed, and in his grief, he took a different path.
He hasn’t drawn in years, now. He couldn’t even remember the last time he picked up a pencil. His hands felt itchy, and he wished he had some paper with him now. He wanted to sketch out the delicate contours of Bucky’s nose, his curving mouth, the week-old stubble that was growing out on his soft cheeks and chin. He missed his oil pastels; he knew exactly which one he’d use for Bucky’s eyes. It’d have to be a mix of timberwolf grey and periwinkle, with maybe a dash of ultramarine for the lowlights. Ultramarine was his favourite colour, and he’d never seen it reflected so well in real life as it was in Bucky’s eyes.
Too late, he realized he’d been staring at the convict’s face for some time. He scowled, staring out the window at the inky black sky instead, watching the clouds pass by. A yawn took him by surprise, and he realized it might not be a bad idea for him to have a nap too.
--
Steve usually woke all at once, roused from a restless and fitful sleep by his insistent alarm. Today though, he became aware of his surroundings slowly, surfacing from a distant dream.
“Steve,” the voice said again, and he realized it might have been calling him for a while.
“Hm?” He opened his eyes and saw Bucky sitting next to him. He’d been resting his head on the brunet’s right shoulder.
“We’re in Wakanda.”
Steve looked out the window, but he only saw the grey of the tarmac and some hills beyond. The other passengers of the plane were making a line in the aisle. Steve and Bucky gathered their things, and Steve guided Bucky out into the aisle first with a hand on his shoulder. Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t protest.
They exited the plane into the airport, and Steve took in the signs around them, large white letters in Xhosa with the English in parenthesis below. They stood to the side of the baggage claim for a moment, taking in the colourful crowd around them. After they found their luggage, Steve checked his smartwatch. The time back in DC would have been 3 a.m., but the time difference in Wakanda put them at 10 a.m.
“Okay, check-in at the hotel is in three hours. Until then, do-”
Bucky cut him off. “I could go for some brunch, I guess.”
Steve frowned. “But we just ate.”
Bucky waved him off, picking up his suitcase and hoisting his duffle over one shoulder. The movement made his shirt lift up a little, and Steve spotted a slice of soft tan skin. “That was in a different timezone. It doesn’t count. Plus, the sooner we have breakfast, the easier it’ll be to get on Wakandan eating schedule.”
Steve shrugged and began to follow him through the terminal, before realizing he was supposed to lead. He spotted a map of Birnin Zana at the tourist booth and picked it up, searching for a food symbol. “This place looks like a cafe. Want to try it?” He angled the map in Bucky’s direction.
“C’mon, Steve, let’s just go into the city. We’ve got three hours to kill. Let’s sight-see a little, yeah? We don’t need a map.” Steve folded it and put it in his back pocket anyway. Bucky laughed. “Well, I’m gonna go wander. I assume you have to be in close proximity to me to make sure I don’t go stealing a statue or anything, so why don’t you tag along?”
Steve would’ve preferred taking their baggage to the hotel first, and then getting his bearings before exploring unfamiliar territory, but considering why he assumed Bucky was there, it would be in their best interests for him to keep an eye on him.
He set his jaw and nodded. Bucky turned to him for a moment, his face serious. “Listen, I know neither of us wants to be in this situation, but let’s make the best out of it, okay? Just try to enjoy a city you’ve never been to before.”
Steve had to admit it was comforting following Bucky on the sidewalk. He walked with such an air of confidence that he could’ve fooled anyone about never having been outside the States. Steve knew that he was showing weakness, giving up authority and letting Bucky make the calls, but it was at times like these when he missed being a soldier. When he had had a commanding officer, all he needed to do was carry out his mission. Everything had been so black and white, just comply with the mission because he was on the right side and it was for the good of the country… until nothing made sense anymore. He’d felt undone since then, set adrift. He carefully scanned the alleyways between the buildings as they walked. In every shadow, down every path, there was danger. He’d never felt so out of control of a situation.
Bucky elbowed him to get his attention, and he had to physically stop himself from taking a defensive position.
The brunet pointed to a cafe with some outdoor tables. “Hey, how about there? That looks like they might serve breakfast.”
Steve shrugged, then nodded. “Yes. Let’s go there.”
Bucky bit his lip, and Steve could tell that he was amused by his discomfort.
Fortunately, the waiter spoke English, and Bucky ordered for both of them while Steve picked a booth. In a moment, Bucky joined him, noting their position between the exits.
“So, after we get settled, when will you meet with your superior?”
Bucky shrugged, sitting down. “Our first meeting isn’t until after the weekend. I wanted to give myself enough time to acclimate.”
Steve could tell that Bucky didn’t want to talk about work. And he couldn’t blame him. On the other hand, he didn’t feel like he could just pretend that they were in Wakanda on vacation, either. He was making an honest effort to get his mind off work, really, but he wasn’t sure what subjects are appropriate to bring up with the parolee you’re supposed to be keeping from getting involved in illegal activities. “What did you order?” is what his mouth decided on.
The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “I’m not really sure. Something called the ‘tourist breakfast’.”
Steve’s eyes went wide. “I swear, if you ordered us a bunch of bugs…”
“Relax. It’ll taste like chicken.”
The waiter arrived, carrying an immense platter with at least six plates of food. It was arranged like an appetiser, alike foods grouped together with sauces in the centre.
“Holy shit. This is… a lot.”
Bucky raised one eyebrow. “Oh, this isn’t even the entre.”
Another waitress walked up behind the first, placing some type of flaky pastries with berries inside on the table. Once Steve was sure no other courses were about to arrive, he sighed and forked a few chicken-wing-like-objects and one of the pastries onto his plate. He needn’t have worried about eating a decent portion of the platter himself, however, as Bucky seemed intent on finishing the rest himself. He began piling two plates high, the other pastry on one, and the second filled with bacon-wrapped-sausages, small corn muffins, bread with mandazi and tahini spread, onion ring bean things, an omelette with french fries inside (of all things), and a few fish strips. He ate with incredible enthusiasm, exclaiming his opinions on every bite, and offering forkfuls to Steve’s reluctant mouth.
“Steve, I’m serious, you gotta try this.”
“I don’t know what’s in it,” Steve insisted, eyeing the bean rings.
“Come on, you can’t just go to another country and eat things you can find at home. Live a little!” Steve didn’t move to open his mouth, and Bucky shrugged and ate it himself. “Whatever. Your loss.”
Steve definitely didn’t see it as his loss, though. Or, at least, his loss was Bucky’s gain. And he’d much prefer watching the brunet enjoy all of the various fried and fattening items than trying a few himself. He was having a hard time focusing enough as it was, but then Bucky started talking about it.
“God, all of this is so delicious. I gotta be honest, I didn’t know how much food this was gonna be when I ordered it. I mean, it did say it serves a party of five, but you know. These fish are so good, holy shit.” He paused momentarily to swallow a sip of orange juice. “I tell you what, we didn’t eat like this in prison. I got so tired of eggos and oatmeal. That’s the real crime. Bland foods. Now this-” he pointed to the sausages “-is real seasoning. God.”
Steve figured he must not have hated the eggos and oatmeal so much, to gain weight like he did. He could feel his cheeks warming, and he tried to keep his thoughts at bay while he finished his own (admittedly tasty) scone.
It wasn’t long before Bucky was shifting in his seat, brow furrowed as he adjusted his clothes. “Ugh. I really am getting full.” He had only a few muffins and some fish left on his plate, and there was still about two more servings left on the platter. “I hope they let you take stuff in a box, because a have a date with the rest later.”
Steve made up his mind, handing his remaining chicken nuggets to Bucky. “Think you have room for this?” he asked, like he hadn’t heard the man at all. He didn’t know why, but he really wanted to watch Bucky push himself, see how much he could eat if he really tried.
Bucky paused for a moment, and Steve was worried he’d refuse, but he just forked the nuggets onto his plate, adding some of the other remaining items with it. “Sure, what the hell. Vacation, right?”
“And you have to make up for lost time in prison,” Steve added, surprising both of them with his comment.
Bucky didn’t seem to mind too much, though. He just nodded and kept eating. “Amen to that. I mean, I know we’re supposed to be punished in there, but it’s bad enough without me wanting to cry over their tiny-ass lunch. We used to trade for snacks--” he cut himself off quickly, realizing who he was talking to. Steve tried to be as nonchalant as possible, hoping he would continue. Bucky hadn’t really mentioned his actual time in jail before, and Steve was a little curious. “Oh, hell, you probably know. Cigarettes and stamps, shit like that. I had this friend who used to slip me packs of ramen and tuna for dot cards.”
“Where’d you get dots?” Steve asked, surprised. He hadn’t seen the inner workings of prisons much, and he was suddenly curious about where Bucky fell on the hierarchy of things.
“A couple of guards. I kept to myself mostly, and everyone left me alone. I did some favours for the guards, and they got me dots.” He shrugged, and was he blushing? “They were just trying to do their job. I know they’re not bad guys.”
“It fucking sucks, the way it works,” Steve spat out before he could think about how he shouldn’t be insulting a system to someone he was supposed to rehabilitate. “I used to believe in that bullshit, but it turns out the people in power all just pretend to be righteous to hide their racism and prejudice. We’re supposed to reform criminals, not shove the underprivileged into a hole and tell them not to many any noise.”
Bucky looked him in the eyes for a few moments. “If you feel that way, then why are you a cop?”
Steve focused on the patterns of the wallpaper, beige and green shapes crossing over each other. “Because I still believe in justice. I know it’s stupid, and if feels like everywhere I look people in power are just abusing it. But I want to believe in the good of man, the strong protecting the weak.”
“Me, too,” Bucky said softly.
Now it was Steve’s turn to ask a question. He wouldn’t have, except Bucky didn’t seem to have many reservations against speaking his own mind. “So how come you got arrested?”
He couldn’t quite name the look crossing Bucky’s face, something like regret or annoyance. “It’s… fuck. It’s not always black and white.”
“I know that, Buck. I’m not a goddamn child. I know what I’m coming from here, okay? I know a cop ready to tase you at any given moment isn’t exactly someone you’d expect to understand. But I’m not judging you, I promise. I’m no patriot.”
Bucky searched his eyes. He must have found what he was looking for, because he answered. “I believe in the strong helping the weak too, Steve. And you’re right. People in power only help themselves. Sometimes we have to take what we know is right, even if it puts us on the wrong side of the bars. And I can live with that.” His voice was even, strong and insistent. “There will always be good guys. And I’ll always do what I have to to make sure they’re safe, even if that means I’m not one.”
He continued eating, and they sat in silence for a while. Steve almost felt closer to the man across the table from him. It felt good to know that even here, in the middle of a place he’d never been, surrounded by strangers speaking a strange language, that he could find a piece of hope. It almost made him sad to know that when all this was over Bucky would have to go back on the other side of those bars.
Bucky finished and they split the bill. They still had an hour and a half before check in, so Bucky lead the way as they walked around the city. It was maybe 65* outside, warm and cloudy with a gentle breeze. Bucky was hot enough to take off his light jacket, tying the sleeves around his waist. He wore a green henley underneath, and his soft belly pushed gently against the fabric, exaggerated by his jacket. He wore blue tinted sunglasses, looking all at once perfectly at place in the exotic city and perfectly American. They reached a fountain with an ornate statue, and they paused there for a moment, sitting on the edge and watching children chase some chickens.
All at once, a thought hit Steve, that he wished his mom could be here. She’d always wanted to travel. He got his painting from her, although her specialty was landscapes. Every Saturday when Steve was in elementary school they’d go to a different park, and Sarah would set up her easel while Steve climbed trees. She always talked about far away places; Rome and Amsterdam, Tokyo and Berlin, even though she’d never left New York. Steve had thought of that, when he was told he’d be going to Afghanistan. He’d wished he had someone to write letters to. Hi mom, I’m in Kabul. You should see the mountains.
He vaguely entertained the idea of taking out his phone and snapping some pictures. The notion had escaped him, upon arrival. He’d been so focused on watching Bucky that he forgot about watching the scenery.
But god, was Bucky ever a part of the scenery. He looked just as heavenly as the sculpture above them, all tan skin and glowing teeth and short-cropped hair. Steve could easily fill the rest of their time taking pictures of him, capturing his strong hands and cushioned jaw. He thought back to the mugshot, the first picture he’d seen of him. He’d had so many ideas about Bucky. He’d had so many ideas about the world, and so many of them turned out to be wrong.
He realized the profile he’d built up in his head didn’t quite fit Bucky; not perfectly. He was dedicated, but he was spontaneous, too. He was funny and pensive, strong and soft, brave and cautious, all these things in turn. He was a whole complex being that no one side could fully describe, and Steve felt himself getting lost in the depth of him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Bucky murmured, startling Steve a little.
“Oh. I was just thinking about my mom,” he answered quickly. “Are you close with your family?”
Bucky shook his head. “Only my sister, really. And I haven’t seen her in… hell. Too long.” Steve didn’t respond. He didn’t want to pry, but he hoped Bucky would tell him more about her if he wanted to. “Her name is Rebecca. She’s 25 now. She was only 9 when we found out she has the same condition my dad had. They gave her two years to live if we didn’t get the medication she needed. Apparently, this one medical billionaire asshole has a monopoly on it, so he can drive the prices as high as he wants. We couldn’t afford it, and insurance wouldn’t cover enough.” A quiet fury snuck into his voice, a kind of rage Steve was very familiar with. “She had an emergency one day, and the doctors put her in a coma to save her life. She wasn’t strong enough to come out on her own, and… she’s been in it ever since she was 11. Insurance has no problem keeping her asleep, but they won’t get her meds to get her healthy.” He scoffed coldly. “Thank god for Obamacare. All I know is next year, she turns 26 and Dad’s insurance won’t cover her medical bills anymore. So, this job has to work. I know it’s going to.”
Steve let in sink in for a moment, then realized what Bucky meant by the ‘job’. He was going to steal money to save his sister. That didn’t explain why they were in Wakanda, but still…
Steve wasn’t sure he’d have the heart to stop him. Whose side was he supposed to be on, here? The side of the government telling him to stop people from getting hurt, or the side of a man just trying to save his sister’s life?
He fucking missed when everything was black and white.
It was almost a quarter till 1 p.m., and they still had to find the hotel. Steve stood, lifting the handle of his suitcase. “We should get going.”
--
“What do you mean, there’s no reservation for Rogers?”
“I am very sorry, Sir,” the clerk repeated in excellent English. “We have Barnes in 384, but no Rogers.”
“I made the reservation three weeks ago. Could you check again, please? 386.”
“We have available rooms on the fifth and sixth floor tonight.”
Steve sighed, cursing his bad luck, or the forces in the sky that had it in for him, or something. “Fuck,” he muttered, trying to think. There had to be another way.
“Hey, why don’t you just stay in my room?” Bucky asked. “You’ll be even closer that way.”
Steve breathed a sigh of relief. “Is it a double?” he asked the clerk.
“No, it is a single.”
“Do you have doubles? On the fifth or sixth floor?” Bucky suggested.
“No, I am very sorry. All the doubles are taken tonight. 384 has a very large bed; tomorrow night you may reserve a different room with two beds.”
Steve nodded. “That’ll have to do. Thank you.”
The room was pleasant, with a very large bed in the middle. Steve sat his things on the floor and let Bucky take the dresser. As he unpacked, Steve took some extra pillows out of the closet and made his bed near the door, thankful that the only window was too small for the larger man to get through. He wouldn’t be interested in sleep for a good ten hours more, but it didn’t hurt to have things ready.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Bucky asked.
“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor,” Steve responded.
Bucky frowned, and Steve realized he’d taken it to mean I’m not letting you sleep near to the exit, rather than I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. “Fine, don’t.” He picked Steve’s pillow off the floor and tossed it at the headboard. “We’ll both sleep in the bed. That way, if I move at all in the night, there’s no way you won’t be able to tell.” He grabbed a bag of toiletries and went to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Steve closed his mouth. That hadn’t gone how he wanted it to. They’d had a real connection, on the plane and then after lunch. Now it felt like he’d messed it all up.
You’re not supposed to make a connection, his mind reminded him. You’re supposed to keep him from breaking the law. And if you hurt his feelings along the way, too bad.
He adjusted his pillow on the bed. Bucky had thrown it so it he was still facing the side nearest to the door. It was probably better like this, anyway.