What Bucky might have been up to in Wakanda.
I hadn’t noticed the sun going down. And that didn’t happen often. Always, I was thinking about logistics, how to get places, could I do it before dark, how much would it cost to travel that far out of the town? It was good to see Sarah and her kids. They were growing up so fast and I was glad to see her husband was still around. It may have been my jaded expectations of so many men from this village, but I had not expected him to remain long. But Sarah is one of the smartest people I know, of course she chose well.
Besides catching up, we had also laid out a plan for a visit to a neighboring village. She kept calling it a favor to her, but I would have done it no matter what. That was my job, I trained local nurses in psycho-social recovery from war traumas. And there were folks in every village that needed this recovery. Wakanda’s strategic decision to open up to the world may have been a political win but the sacrifice was the wellness of their own people, a proud people unused to talking about their emotions. I hadn’t been in Wakanda long, having been transferred from my long-term position in Northern Zambia at the request of the UN. Wakanda seemed to have all of the resources it needed to provide in-country care, but I didn’t have much choice about the move, so I went.
This village I was to go to next was in the shadow of the capitol city and many of its locals had lost family or become paraplegic after the battle for the infinity stones. Much of Sarah’s family was from there and she knew how badly they were hurting.
The journey had not been as harrowing as many I had undertaken. I had taken a motorbike all the way there, but the roads got better, widened and paved smooth the closer we came to the capitol. A great big woman clad in a bright pink kitenge rushed over to my motorbike as we pulled into the stand. She helped me with my bags as I paid my driver. There was much hand shaking and hugging as I followed Mama Hassan down a footpath. In the next several hours I learned Mama was much like Sarah, or rather that Sarah was much like her aunt. She was smart as a whip and also very gentle. I ate well, doing my best to at least taste all the dishes she put in front of me while we spoke of those hurting. We discussed who to visit and I explained that my aid model was to offer guidance to local medical professionals or traditional healers on how to care for emotional trauma. This ensures that the knowledge empowers those who are already trusted and have a good sense of community already.
“And there is of course the White Wolf.” Mama said feigning indifference. I cocked my head to one side, pausing over the basin in which I was washing the dishes outside of her small mud brick home. That name sounded familiar, but I was not sure why.
“What is the White Wolf, Mama?” I asked.
“It is a who. He fought in the battle with our king and army. It is said that he has lived many lives, and many of those lives were spent killing.”
“Oh no, he is like you, a Mzungu.” I nodded, smiling inside, people in this part of the world were not shy about noticing skin color, and I couldn’t blame them. For many, I was the only white skinned person they had e er seen.
“This Mzungu lives in the village?”
“Sometimes, he often goes off for many months, but he always returns, and he carries back with him this look of weariness. The children started calling him White Wolf,” she chuckled to herself. “They say it is because he is white and has hair on his face like a wolf, but when I look at him I see a hunger in his eyes that is really terrifying.”
We visited ten families the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. We listened to many many stories of loss and hardship. I did not hear a resounding pride for Wakanda, like their leadership was projecting to the outside, no I heard frustration that after remaining a protected and sacred place for so many years, Wakanda had the same stories of wartime that many of their poorer and poorly led neighbors experienced. And in all of this, I witnessed Mama Hassan soothe, cry with them, and love them all. These people didn’t need me, and I got the sense they tolerated me only because of Mama Hassan. And she was who they needed.
After a few weeks, this is what I told her, and she hesitantly agreed to become the trauma healer for her village. We worked side by side. We continued visiting together in the mornings, I would listen mostly, and we would return to her home in the afternoons and work in her crop fields and discuss the techniques she used and some other things she might try.
One evening, in the light of a coal fire, she spoke his name again. “It is time you visited him. I heard he returned last week.”
“Ok, sure, we can go tomorrow, unless his home is far, we may have to wait a few days.” Mama shook her head.
“No, I will not go with you. I have enough work here with my own people. As you say, healing must come from within a community. He lives in peace with us here, but his is not one of our own.”
“Are you saying that Mzungus must take care of one another?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“No Maggie, I am saying you are the professional, so I give you the difficult case and I will stick to what I know.” I chuckled, trying to shrug off the discomfort of her sudden seriousness.
“Okay Mama, I will go while you do the regular visits. How will I find him.”
“He is far, he has a hut on the bank of the lake. If you get lost, just ask the children, they all know where he stays.”
So I departed in the opposite direction of mama the next morning, hunting the White Wolf. This was beautiful land, and I hadn’t ventured in this direction often since arriving, so I relished the far reaching view of the green mountains. Few clouds were in the sky today and as the sun rose higher, I drew my kitenge up over my head hoping I wouldn’t burn badly. I also did this in areas where I hoped not to be so quickly identified as white. The closer I drew to the lake, the tighter I pulled my wrap, unsettled by what Mama had told me of this man, unsure of what I would find.
I could see a hut about half way around the lake, it stood alone, and from my distance, I saw no movement. I called to two small children playing on a rock close by and asked if they knew where White Wolf lived. They nodded wide eyed at me.
“Are you the wife of White Wolf Mama?” One of the children asked me.
I rolled my eyes a little while I dug in my bag for sweets. Handing each of them one, I shook my head, “No, I am a friend.” Well, I hoped he would receive me as a friend.
I slowed my pace as I drew closer, not wanting to surprise him or be caught off guard myself. But as I finally reached the hut, there was no one around. He was likely out making a living, or hunting, or at the market. I poked around as much as I dared, noticing a small stack of wood on one side of his hut as well as a clothes line strung from his roof to a pole a few meters away with a fluttering row of garments hanging there. I was surprised the homestead was so traditional, many of the Mzungus I knew sought walled in compounds with running water and electricity.
I wandered close to the lake and saw a three legged stool placed there. I wondered if he fished with a rod? Finally beginning to feel the long journey in my feet, I took a seat on the low stool, letting my bag fall next to me.
The sun drew higher and then began to lower again and my stomach rumbled. I pulled out a bottle of water and the chapati Mama had packed for me.
As I began to eat, three figures appeared around a corner out of the trees at the far end of the lake. One was tall and muscular and the other two were children who ran ahead and played with each other. All three were still in the shadow of the tree line and I could not make out their faces, but the man wore a blanket in the traditional way, tied around one shoulder so I thought it might be a hunter or farmer heading home for a meal.
Finally, the light fell on the man’s face and I swallowed. It was the White Wolf. I stood quickly, giving them long notice of my presence. Finally they reached me, the two children first. They ran over to me, unafraid and greeted me respectfully. I returned their greeting and then offered them the rest of my lunch, which they ate excitedly. Then I looked up, preparing myself to meet the White Wolf.
He stopped several feet from me, favoring his right side slightly. But he was not frightening, in fact his presence was calm, yes it was a concentrated, intense calm, but fierceness was not the same thing as dangerous. Wanting to show my good will, I removed the kitenge that had been covering my head and torso. I nodded at him, “You are the one they call the White Wolf?” His brow furrowed and I wondered if I had misspoken.
“Who is seeking the White Wolf?” He made a half circle around me, placing his body between me and his home.
“The people here call me Maggie, at home they call me Margaret.” There is silence between us still so I continue, “I seek the White Wolf in good faith. I am living with Mama Hassan in the village.”
His face did not change, but he stepped closer, “The people here call me the White Wolf.” He sighed as he glanced toward something behind me. “You have lost my helpers.”
I turned around to see that the two boys had discovered the sweets I had packed for the children and were already busy shoving them all in their mouths. “Oh dear,” I laughed.
“Their mother is not going to be happy with me,” he muttered. “I hope you came ready to work.” He held up a cord that was tied to his waist on which two wild birds, each about the size of a chicken, dangled. The man definitely didn’t speak very much.
I shrugged at him. “Shall I pluck them or start the fire?” I asked gamely.
It was strange to work side by side with this mysterious person, each of us foreigners in this place, yet even more foreign to each other without it. We prepared food from Wakanda, I brought rice and sugar as is traditional in Wakanda when visiting. Some of what we spoke was even in the language of these people.
I had finished washing the rice and handed the pot to him to place on the fire. I noticed he reached across with his right arm, odd since he had to put down a knife to take it from me. I watched him closer for a few minutes, my eyes finally clearing when I realized he only had one arm. I had assumed his left arm was obscured by the tribal blanked that he wore, not that it was concealing a lost limb.
The two boys ran by me and the Wolf spoke loudly to them in their own language to play somewhere else, that the fire would burn them and their mother would be very upset.
“Are they your boys?” I asked.
“They wouldn’t be so dark if they were mine,” he said.
“I know, but their mother, is she-”
“She is my neighbor,” he gestured to the direction they had come from earlier, where a small collection of huts stood. “When I was first placed here they would dare each other to see who would come the closest. Finally, one of them came close enough for me to offer him breakfast and now it seems like they never leave. And their mother is kind, she helped me learn how to live here.”
He set the rice on the coal stove and sat back on another short three footed stool. “So you like it here?” I asked.
“I like that it is simple.”
When the food was ready I called the boys to come eat, though they were already fairly full from the sweets. I took a bite from on e of the boys plates, putting the rice and meat into my mouth with my fingers in the traditional way, trying to entice the child to eat.
After the meal that was mostly eaten by me and my mysterious host, the Wolf sent the boys away to play. “So what is it you came for, Maggie, certainly not my cooking.” I noticed he had drawn a veil over his eyes again, he stood emotionless. So I rose to meet him as best I could.
“I am seeking to help my neighbor.”
“How?” He growled, for the first time showing a glint of feralness.
“Perhaps I should say that you are helping me, you see I am working with Mama Hassan on healing the spirit of this village after the battle. You know well how different it is now.” I paused, waiting for a glint of recognition in his eyes but they hardened further.
“I do not want your healing.”
“You misunderstand.” My mind raced for words that would set him at ease. “It’s only that these people don’t need me, they don’t want to talk to me, and why should they. They need people like Mama Hassan to listen and comfort them, not Wazungu.”
“So what do you want from me?”
I thought for a second, “Company, companionship.”
He laughed bitterly. “No.”
“You are an outsider. You see these people differently than they see each other. You can help them heal.” He had turned his back to me and gazed out at the water and I watched as a dry breeze that swept at his shoulder length hair, pulling it into is face. Feeling a bit like we were in uncharted waters, I continued, “You know deeply what it means to be wounded by violence, I know that you see it in these people.”
He spoke no words, though in his silence I heard him ask, “What would you need from me?”
“Let me work along side you, tell me things about the people around us, the things you know are below the surface.”
He dug his heel into the ground. “I’m a soldier, I don’t think deeply, I follow orders.”
“That’s not-“ he held up a hand to silence me.
“No,” he said again and retreated to his hut. I gathered my things and made the long journey back.
I recounted my odd exchange to Mama. “You cannot give up on that man, he is too much alone with himself.”
“So what do you think I should do now? He has already said no,” I asked, short of threatening him, I didn’t think he wanted to see me around anymore.
“I know the family he works for, the Mama is raising eight children on her own. She says the White Wolf scared her very much at first, though I don’t think she had ever seen a Mzungu before, but anyway, she said that he shows up every morning and works in her field and then goes home for his lunch then returns in the afternoon and tends her sheep. He doesn’t speak but to ask questions about work. She says he can speak well in our language, and two of her boys love him and follow him every where he goes.”
I smiled, “I met them,” and I can’t imagine someone who is a threat would put up with those two.”
“There, you see, his is trying to heal with what he knows, you cannot abandon him even if he doesn’t know its for his own good.”
The next day I began my walk in the pre dawn. When I reached the lake, the sun was just coming up and I walked just in the tree line, keeping my distance from the Wolf’s homestead. I arrived as the family was eating breakfast. The two boys from the day before were sat on mats on the ground eating out of communal bowls with their younger siblings. But they called out to me when I stepped into their line of sight. A gaunt, slender woman stood over a hot fire, stirring at a large pot. I made my introductions and my greetings from Mama Hassan and that I was here to work with the White Wolf. Nodding, she motioned up the hill to where her rows of maize began. Half way into this plot was the one armed figure I was here for, the wind tangling in his hair. I shouldered the hoe Mama had lent me and I stepped toward him, hoping I would make it back down the mountain alive at the end of the day.
We worked silently. I stopped every once in a while to take a draw from my bottle of water, but the Wolf didn’t stop. He had maintained a calm exterior though a muscle in his jaw worked all morning. As the sun warmed us, I approached, offering him my bottle of water, though it felt more like a white flag. He glanced up but did not stop. So I lowered my gift and retreated to my side of the field and carried on.
For many days we continued in this way. We would work around one another, never speaking, never interfering. At mid day I would speak with Mama and then begin my journey home to work with Mama Hassan. The days languished and it seemed nothing would change, but Mama said to keep steady, that nothing moved quickly in Wakanda but war. So every day I would go, tiptoeing around the restrained force I sensed bubbling within the White Wolf.
I awoke to a persistent shaking of my shoulder one morning. Well, it would be many hours before the sun would rise, I sat up in my pallet on the floor, searching for Mama, feeling the tension in me grow as I realized the presence of several bodies in the room. “Mama,” I called, steeling myself for her distress.
“I am here Maggie, do not worry,” she replied touching my shoulder again. “These people are from the capital.” I rose to my feet and someone flicked on a portable light.
“How can I help?” I asked, the light had exposed the concern on the faces of two visitors.
A young woman spoke up. “You have been working with the The White Wolf?”
I nodded slowly, “Something like that, it is very slow going.”
“Well we need your consult.”
“What has happened to him?” I asked.
“Ma’am, we do not have time to talk, I shall explain on the way.” With that, I was ushered out of Mama’s cottage and into some kind of transporter that hovered over the rocky ground.
Apparently they had been developing an arm for the white wolf to replace an old one he used to have that was part of his time as a brainwashed agent. He had been going up to the capitol most evenings to complete testes to further the process of this new arm. They had just attached it when he seemed to go into some kind of trance. The techs believed that their systems may have been hacked and when they introduce the arm, they reintroduced his programming.
I frowned, “Why do you need me?”
“We have found no breaches in cyber security. So the next logical thing is that it is post traumatic reaction.”
I responded with an interested “hm.”
I was forever fascinated by the duality of Wankadan technological sophistication and how it was valued along side the natural resources of the countryside. I was whisked into a great building on an electromagnetic train to a quiet lab. I peered through the two way glass at the figure of a restrained man. He was still, but tense. I knew it was the Wolf when I felt the rage rolling off of him.
“How long has he been restrained like this?” I asked.
“For several hours ma’am, we started by trying to remove the arm when he became agitated but he would not let us get close enough. This was the best we could do.”
“I would like to go in alone.” After quiet consultation amongst themselves, the guard around me consented, reminding me they would be just on the other side of the door if anything went awry.
So I stepped in. “Hello,” I said cheerfully, “I hear you have had a difficult couple of hours.” I made as much noise with my feet as I could till I was in his line of vision. “I am here just to talk with you,” I continued, searching for recognition in his eyes, though I saw nothing but cold anger. Maintaining a distance, I said, “would you tell me your name?” Silence.
I had become fascinated by this work through witnessing the work of traditional storytellers. I used to watch them weave together stories of great struggle and relieve the stress of violence through recounting not just the harm done to their own people but how they recovered in body and soul. I figured if this storytelling could work for centuries, why would it not work here. So I told him his own story, I told him of a young man that sought to serve his country and did, saving many lives. Yet in saving these lives he was captured and forced to turn against those he had been devoted to saving. I talked about how deeply they had reached inside of this man, and how he had forgotten the person he had been before, how he had forgotten about the good he had done. I could feel the tension and anger as his steely rage pressed against his restraints.
So I took a deep breath and stepped closer, my eyes searching for his and when he glared at me I refused to look away. And I told him of how even though he had forgotten, others did not. That they had gotten him away finally from the clutches of the evil men and that the young, bright hero was still there, even after all of that time.
“What is your name?” I asked him taking yet another step closer.
After a long silence, he spoke, “I am the Winter Soldier.”
I was so close now I could touch him, “no, what is your name?” I reached my hand out and rested it on his forehead. I gently swept the hair out of his face, maintaining my composure as I made contact with his hot skin.
“My name is Maggie, and we have been working together on a farm. You have made friends with two little boys who love to hang around you. What is your name?”
“I- I am the White Wolf,” he stammered, the humanity beginning to return to his tone. I pressed on.
“Many people call you that here, but that is not your name. What is you name Sergeant?” I asked gently, my hands moving from his face to his shoulders, one hot flesh the other cold metal.
“My name is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” he said finally, “but you can call me Bucky.” I smiled and stepped away.
“Welcome back Bucky, we missed you.” As Bucky began to notice his surroundings the recognition of what must have happened registered in his eyes and he sighed, looking toward the window where he knew people were observing him from.
“I am so sorry.” Then he looked at me. “How did you get here?”
“I heard you might need a friend, but the boys were still asleep, so I had to come instead.” I winked at him. And a corner of his mouth turned upward in a very charming way.
The next few weeks were slow but I sensed that the first night in the capitol had been a breakthrough for him. I stayed on and helped to observe his progress. Most of his episodes now took the form of dreams. They had been apprehensive about letting him sleep in private, converting the lab to a bedroom instead where he could be observed. After much discussion and advocacy on my part I persuaded them to move him to a suite with two rooms. He would stay in one and a doctor or carer could stay in the other, with guards waiting outside if desired. Bucky seemed okay with this transition so we moved ahead with the plan.
I returned to my quarters a while later only to find guards hauling my things out, worried I had done something wrong I rushed over to find out what was being done. “We were instructed to move your things to the experimental suite with Sergeant Barnes, Ma’am,” the guard replied.
With more questions now, I followed the guards hauling my few belongings down a series of halls. I met the doctors I had been working with outside of the suite they had been outfitting for Sergeant Barnes. After the appropriate greetings were made, I jumped right in, “So whats this about my things being moved?”
“Well, ma’am,” one of the doctors began, “as you have suggested we are trying to make this arrangement as comfortable for sergeant Barnes as we can. Since we will not be surveilling him in these quarters we decided we needed someone to be with him at all hours. We thought you fit the bill.”
“Hmm, I see.” I stammered, “Im sorry but I still don’t understand.”
The doctor looked at me with sympathy. “Well, for several reasons, putting someone else in there is a good will gesture, hopefully the Sergeant will believe us when we tell him we aren’t surveilling him if there is another way of monitoring him that he can see. Furthermore, you have had the most breakthroughs with him, he seems comfortable with your presence and therefore you are the best option for him to establish healthy rest patterns. And none of our people were especially keen to do it.”
Well that was quite an explanation. All I could do was repeat myself, “I see.”
I had grown used to living in close quarters with people I didn’t know that well since my stay in Central Africa. People liked to live simply, spending most of their time outdoors and retiring in the evenings to small shelters. But this felt different. The space I shared with Bucky was spacious and much grander than either of us was comfortable with. We each had our own suite with a living space separating them. We were both happy to be out of there during the day. I would return to the village several days a week and continue to work with Mama Hassan and even make a few rounds with her. Those were the times that felt most normal. I would return and receive reports from the doctors and scientists working with Bucky.
He also looked worn out by the end of each day, I was not comfortable with the poking and prodding they did to him, but when I asked him, he was insistent that he trusted them and that he had to develop patience and endurance of mind if he was going to be able to function in the world again.
I supposed he was used to these ultra clean, militarized spaces, but I had first met him as the White Wolf, clad in herder blankets and tanned from the African sun. When I looked at him now, it was as if he had lost his wolf.
I awoke before my alarm one morning, the sun not yet up. I tossed around a bit but soon gave up on the thought of returning to sleep. Pulling on a pair of sweat pants and an undershirt, I shuffled into the living room. I prepared some coffee and was humming to myself. I turned to grab a mug from the cabinet and froze, noticing for the first time the outline of a figure looking out of the great window on the other side of the room. From my distance he looked like a statue, solid, firm, immortal. Cautiously I moved closer.
He was clad in sweat pants similar to the ones I was wearing, but he had no shirt. His metal arm glowed in the soft light beginning to peak above the mountains. I stopped a few feet from him and we watched the sun come up together.
“They say Wakanda has the best sunrises,” Bucky said, breaking our silence, “I have seen a lot of sunrises.” He raised his flesh hand and laid it on the window, like he was trying to touch the sky as it burned gold, and red, and purple. “The sunrises are also beautiful in Siberia. The difference is, you wait and you wait and finally, the sun rises and you are so relieved that it has risen that however it looks, it is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Here, the sun will rise every day, and yet every day, it is the most beautiful thing.”
“I think you were a poet in another life Sergeant,” I said. He glanced over at me then looked down with an embarrassed smile.
That afternoon the reports showed some regression in his responsiveness. I suggested that it may just be fatigue, that before they reattached his arm he did well living in the village, perhaps a return to that environment would encourage him. They were not yet ready to release him, even for a few hours, among civilians, but they consented to a few days of rest.
I delivered this news to him that evening. He nodded and retired to his quarters like he always did. I knew he didn’t often show emotion, but I thought he would be happier, or relieved, or something. I made myself dinner, and continued to think it over, had I overstepped?
Having worked myself into an anxious tizzy, I rose and walked to his quarters, knocking gingerly on the door. I waited a few moments and he did not answer. I knocked again and the door opened quickly, startling me, as did the figure on the other side.
“Ma’am,” said Bucky, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair still dripping from the shower.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I am disturbing you, I-“
“No it’s fine, hold on.” He closed the door and a few seconds later opened it again, he was now clad in his sweatpants and was pulling a black t shirt over his head. “What’s the problem?”
“Oh, um, no problem, I just wanted to check with you about the next couple of days. It is difficult for me to tell what you are thinking and I hope I didn’t make a call that you are uncomfortable with.”
He shifted his weight so that his metal arm leaned against the door frame above us. “I don’t do well with being idle. That’s all.”
I nodded, “So then I guess we will have to keep ourselves occupied for the next few days.”
His eyes clouded for a moment, “I have to stay here then?” He asked, sounding let down.
I wiped the smile off my face, realizing his frustration, despite how gamely he was taking all of these regulations and precautions. “Im afraid so, but I promise, it will be a break, we will find ways for this to be easy going and un-stressful.”
He nodded, “After all the time I spent avoiding you, I now have to find a way to be with you non stop for two days.” The words caught me by surprise. I had by no means forgotten our early interactions in the village, but our situations had changed. I opened my mouth to speak but I caught his eye and there, in his icy blue stare, was the Wolf again. And I was the one locked in his gaze. I backed away, realizing how big this man really was and how much damage he could do before help came, end even after it came.
“S-sergeant,” I stammered as he moved to close the space between us, but I kept backing up till the back of my legs ran into some piece of furniture. “Sergeant Barnes, tell me, what is it that unsettles you? What am I doing?” He stopped mere inches from me.
“I can deal with the Wakandans, I’m in their home, they keep me here for the sake of their own people. They seek my rehabilitation because of their King. You? I know nothing about you. You insert yourself here, you know more, you have more success, you become indispensable. I’ve dealt with your kind before, you think I don’t know what an invader looks like, the tactics of kindness?” He was leaning over me now, his hands gripping my arms. These last words he whispered into my ear. I had seen many things in my career, but I had not anticipated this.
“I- I’m not indispensable, and if this is success it doesn’t feel like it,” I sob, all pretense of composure gone. He had shaken something loose in me that I hadn’t known was there. “You think we are so different?” I paused, more sobs racking my frame. “Everywhere I go, every country, every situation, there is distress, and it’s my job to discover it, to dig it out of the rubble and ashes of long since faded tragedy. I bring the possibility of healing but only after a journey of pain and sadness.” I gasp a few times, taking in deep gulps of air. “Bucky,” his grip has loosened and I feel dizzy so I raise my hands to his chest to steady myself as he meets my eyes.
Embarrassed by my loss of composure, I step away from him, scrubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Um,” I clear my throat and bravely look up just above his hairline, avoiding his eyes, “I apologize Sergeant, that was very unprofessional of me. I must insist that we continue this conversation tomorrow, I need some time to collect myself.” I turn away from him, striding quickly to my door but I feel a hand close around my arm and I stop again, feeling exactly like the fake he had just called me. All I wanted was to be back in the village with Sarah, with people who know me, where I felt safe.
I could feel him trying to get my attention but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t look at him, nor could I leave, so I sank to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees and hiding my face, more tears blurred my eyes. And then I hear shuffling behind me and something sturdy leans against my back. Slowly I calm myself, allowing my muscles to loosen slightly, my back to straighten, and my vision to clear. As I look around me I see that I am seated in front of the great window. I peer at my reflection, blinking a few times as I realize what the pressure is at my back, Bucky has sat down behind me, leaning his broad back against my own.
Neither of us speaks as we stay there, staring out into the darkness of night.
I blink in the morning light, disoriented at first as I remember the events of the night before. I couldn’t remember going to bed, I wondered how I got here. Even more curious was the smell coming from the kitchen. Tentatively, I crept out of bed and cracked the door to my suite, breathing deeply the smell of bacon. It had been a long time since I had eaten food from America. Where did it come from? I hadn’t ordered anything and the Sergeant usually ate special nutrient rich food prepared for him.
But drawing closer, I saw he was there over the stove, also still in his clothes from the night before. I kept my distance, my hand not straying far from my door knob. The tension of the night before seemed to have dissipated, but I had been working with PTS too long to trust that feeling.
“Good Morning,” Bucky called to me as he turned off the burners and dished up two plates of eggs, bacon and toast. He placed them across from each other at the table, then walked towards me. He looked tensely at the floor for a moment before he spoke, “Food from home always helps with my bad days, I thought you might like a little reminder of your home this morning.” He gave me one of those rare lopsided smiles. Then not waiting for me, he returned to the table, letting me make my own way there if I wanted.
I followed at a distance, finally taking a seat after he had settled in. He was a very good cook.
The food was good, the conversation not so much. I still felt tense and was worried about our argument the night before.
I had cleared my schedule for the next two days so that I could be present for the Sergeants two days off. I thought it might be nice to stay in for a weekend, but now I was petrified of rattling around this space with him.
After breakfast I pulled out my laptop, deciding that if this wasn’t going to be relaxing I could at least get some work done. This particular soldier came with a lot of paper work so I retrieved my laptop and settled in on the couch. It wasn’t long before some slow jazz began to float out of the speakers. I looked up and Bucky was walking toward me. “Maggie, would you dance with me?” Confused, I closed my computer and stood, taking the hand he offered me.
He drew me into his chest, his metal hand holding mine and his other hand on my lower back. “It turns out that I haven’t done much apologizing in the last fifty years,” he said quietly, his words vibrating his chest. “So now is as good a time as any,” he persisted, stepping away from me for a moment. “I was out of line last night, I’m sorry.”
I sighed, “Unfortunately, you must not have been, I think you hit a nerve, I usually have thicker skin than that, and I knew you were agitated, thats why I pushed.” He shook his head.
“That is not an excuse for my actions, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that despite how scared you were, you didn’t call for the guards.”
I could think of nothing to say, so we just moved together, swaying with the whims of the horn in the background.
The first day was quiet, we each kept to ourselves, Bucky doing some exercises in one corner while I continued my work. In the early evening my stomach rumbled and I swear the super soldier must have heard it because not a minute later he came over and asked if he should cook dinner. I suggested I might since he had cooked earlier, and he countered that we should do it together.
Rattling around in a kitchen with a huge man was not something I was used to and this particular man took up a lot of space. Many times he reached over me to grab things out of the high cabinets, his torso brushing my back ever so slightly, the clean scent of him cutting through the smells of the food cooking.
Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and I suggested we watch a movie while we ate and Bucky agreed. So I readied the screen as Bucky finished up in the kitchen. He joined me on the couch a few minutes later. I had no idea what kind of films he would like but was surprised when he continued to point out the horror movies.
“Um, are you sure? They are pretty intense, I don’t want you to be set off by something in one of them,” I said hoping that wouldn’t offend him.
“Oh, are they?” He asked, “they are so bad, they get everything wrong.”
“I see,” I reply. Sighing, I decide they must not make much of an impression on him so I made my plate and sat on the side of the couch as far away as I could. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I kept getting this feeling when he was close to me. I couldn’t place it, and while I was too scientific to always go by my instinct, I had done this job too long to ignore it.
I lost my appetite a few minutes into the movie, distracted by the suspense on screen. At the first jump scare, I did just that, flinching and letting out an “oh.” Bucky tilted his head towards me and cocked an eyebrow. Was he laughing? I rose and gathered our dishes, trying to collect myself before returning to the film.
“Hey, we don’t have to watch this if it’s scaring you,” Bucky called over to me pausing the screen.
“No its okay, thats the point right?” I said as I returned to my seat on the couch. The light was fading outside and the room grew darker. At the next scene I reached out searching for something to hold on to in my frightened panic. The closest thing was Bucky’s metal arm. Realizing I may have really invaded his space I released it quickly, apologizing. To my surprise he rose and moved to the other side of me, offering up his other arm. Touched by the gesture I wound my hand around his arm, very conscious of the rippled muscles that moved under his skin.
The sound system was top notch and effectively immersed us in the scenes. Bucky loved it, but I was at my wits end, and by the time the credits rolled I was practically sitting in Bucky’s lap, my head pushed into his chest, avoiding the images on the screen. “Hey,” he said, gently placing his metal arm on my back, laughing again, “Its over you can look up.”
“Turn the lights on first,” I mumbled into his shirt. So he shifted my weight back onto the couch and rose to find the light switch. Once the room brightened I uncurled, looking around me nervously. “Great, now I’m going to be sneaking around every mirror and window till I can forget I ever saw this movie.
“You could have told me you were such a light weight,” he said shaking his head in mock shame.
“Well, its your vacation. I figured you deserved to pick your own damned movie. But don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again,” I said. I glanced at my phone, it was barely eight, too early to make my excuses and go to bed. So now what?
“Well then,” Bucky said as he stretched up to a high cabinet in the kitchen, “Since I stressed you out with my movie choice, I guess it’s my job to relax you again,” he said, holding up a bottle of red wine. Too emotionally drained to object, I moved closer.
“Fine, but officially this didn’t happen.” He winked at me as he uncorked the bottle.
We had just emptied the first bottle and I was feeling good, having throughly forgotten the terrors of Hollywood proportions that had so disturbed me an hour ago. “You want to dance again?” I asked, feeling looser and a little flushed. “I doubt two glasses of this has helped my moves, but I know it feels like it has,” I gave Bucky a winky smile. He had put the slow jazz back on and the bawdy rhythms made me antsy.
He came closer to me and held out his hand. “Dancing to jazz is still the most transgressive act a person and do,” he said as he pulled me into a turn. I smiled at this.
“I think you are showing your age a bit grandpa,” I replied.
“Nonsense, I’m as timeless as this music.” I looked up at him intending to say something smart but stopped, transfixed by his intense grey blue eyes. They were kind, and deep, and loving. I couldn’t fathom how a man with such kindness in him could have been such a killing machine. And that was it, he couldn’t be both. That was his burden and what got him out in the end, the kindness in those eyes.
I placed my hands on the sides of his face, running my fingers in the scruff on his cheeks. His arms brought me closer till we were pressed against each other. Letting my fingers run through his dark hair, I pulled him down to my eye level. I wanted to let him know I understood, that I saw the great effort and care and loss he has endured. But I couldn’t do that. So instead I brought my lips up, gently pressing them to his forehead.
Instead of releasing me, he stayed close to me, our breath mingling until I felt soft hesitant lips tenderly brush against mine. I felt lit up on the inside, I reached up for more but he pulled away. “You have had a couple drinks, this can wait till morning.”
He ushered me to my bedroom door, making sure I made it there all right, but he stopped there, the ex assassin held back by the flimsy boundary that was my door frame.
“Will you stay with me tonight? I- I just don’t want to be alone in this big space.”
“You know for a woman who travels the world seeking out war zones, theres a lot of things that scare you.”
I smiled tiredly, “I know, thats why I’m good at it.” Turning from him I flopped on my bed, getting comfortable, and waiting for him to make the next move. I heard rustling at the foot of my bed and then the mattress dipped behind me and the warm bare skin of the White Wolf settled at my back. I curled my legs up and guided his hand to rest just below my bottom. He nestled into the back of me, his scratchy cheeks resting on the bare skin of my neck.
I awoke to movement under me. Disoriented for the second night in a row I opened my eyes, remaining still as I waited to see what the rustling was. My eyes widened as the thing beneath me grunted in a low voice and circled my back with his metal arm. I recalled the strange events of the night before and balked at all the possible consequences of my actions. But then Bucky shifted again and I became aware of how big he really was. His barrel chest was broad and slightly damp with sweat, and he gripped me to him with real intensity, even in his sleep, and I couldn’t help but think all the possible HR issues would be worth this sweet moment.
“Are you also pretending to still be asleep?” A scratchy voice vibrated in my ear. Bucky peered up at me with one eye open, the other still closed.
I laughed a little, “not exactly, I think I’m paying a heavier toll than you for our night cap.”
“Well fuck,” I replied, “thanks for the warning. I’m not going to worry about keeping up with you anymore then.” He laughed and squeezed my middle as I propped myself up to look at him, an elbow on either side of his chest.
His eyes were the same as they were last night, the wine hadn’t lied to me. In the cloudy morning light they almost seemed to glow.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, bringing his hand up to my face and running his thumb over my eyebrow and down to my ear. I looked down, uncomfortable with the compliment. I had been living a life of simplicity and necessity here. My hair was shorn, my face and arms tanned darker than the rest of me, I hadn’t worn makeup in several years. I was not particularly self effacing, I didn’t think I was ugly nor did I struggle with self loathing, I just hadn’t realized how apart from my physical body I had become. I chewed on my lip as I looked at Bucky.
“Thanks,” I said. Then I rolled off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up. The sky was heavy with dark clouds and I could already hear the thunder rumbling from the far side of the mountain. Bucky sat up and scooted next to me.
“Well I won’t miss getting caught in heavy rains this season,” he said and I chuckled and nodded in agreement.
I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to avoid Bucky on this second day of rest. Besides being stuck in the same space with him, the torrential rain and deafening thunder made me want to do nothing more than cuddle up with one particular heat producing ex-assassin. I compromised and settled into the couch with a cup of coffee and a book instead.
Behind me I could almost hear the pattern of Bucky’s feet wearing into the floor so intense was his pacing. A few times I managed to catch onto the plot of my book and let it absorb me, but I was drawn out of it again and again by the little sounds he would make, a cough, a loud sniff, a squeak of his shoe. Finally I shut my book and pinched the skin between my eyes, trying to keep my composure.
“Bucky,” I said in a measured tone, “is there something on your mind?”
The pacing stopped. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” I began, “you are acting a little bit like a lion in a cage.”
“Oh, sorry, I just- I guess I’m not used to having all of these hours to myself. I feel like I’m rattling around in here.” I stood, casting off the layers I had been nesting in.
“Well, is there something we can do together? You have missed a lot while you were… you know,” I paused uncomfortably, but he said noting so I soldiered on. “There are movies, books, games, that are incredibly important to the social world that you should become aware of.”
“Just not horror movies?” He asked with a hint of a crooked smile on his face. “Yea, maybe save those for some of your super friends, I don’t have the strength for them.” I felt my face grow hot as I recalled the intimacy of the previous evening and how I would gladly do it again. “Well, what are you reading?” He asked, calling my attention back to the present.
“Ah, a decidedly not hip novel,” I said waving the book in his direction, “it’s Thomas Hardy.”
“Well I was never much of a reader in my younger years,” he said taking the book from me and flipping through the first few pages. “Read it to me?”
So there we were again, piled onto a couch that was way too small to offer us adequate distance apart. I leaned my back against one arm with my legs pulled up, perhaps I thought they would serve as an extra barrier between the two of us. Bucky sat on the other end and nodded at me to begin, so I did.
I loved reading, and Bucky was an attentive listener, he would interrupt every so often to ask a question and we would discuss together what we thought the imagery might mean or what a particular character trait indicated about the plot. I hadn’t noticed that we moved closer together or that I had stuck my feet under his leg when they got cold, or when he pulled them on his lap.
I had been reading for so long that I was beginning to lose my voice. Looking up I was going to suggest we break for dinner when I was startled by the same intense gaze he had given me the night before. “Maggie,” he said, “I want you to know that I hold you in the greatest professional regard. I think you do incredible work and are an excellent leader.”
“I need you to hear this from me now because I don’t want you to question it later.” He said cryptically.
“What is happening later?” And like I weighed nothing he pulled me into his lap.
“Well,” he murmured into my ear, his muscular arms pulling me into his chest, “if you are okay with it, maybe more of this?”
He sounded so nervous, like a teenage boy even, not the capable and controlled man I was coming to respect greatly. Moved by his vulnerability I sat up straighter, pulling his face into my neck, feeling like I wanted to cover him completely with my body. His lips pressed against the hollow below my neck and I sighed, enjoying the contrast of soft lips and his scratchy beard. I pulled my hands through his hair listening to him growl deeply. The wolf contented for the moment.
I shifted my weight so that I was straddling his lap, a knee on either side of him. His hands began to explore under my shirt as I lowered my head to kiss him. He was intoxicating and maddening, insisting on doing everything slow. Sensing my frustration he spoke, “You have no idea how long it’s been since I have held a woman, and I’v never held a woman like you. So I have to take it all in.” But he flipped us in the same breath so that he was laying above me, his solid weight a comforting pressure and I needed him closer. We pulled layers off of one another till we were in our underwear. It was at this crucial moment that I felt him stop, his movements becoming stiff and tentative again.
“Bucky?” I asked, he sat up, scooting out from under me he sat with his arms against his knees. I felt a wall thicken between us again and I knew I had to get through to him or we would lose this connection. So gently, slowly I reached out to the closest part of him, his metal arm. I ran a finger from his shoulder to his wrist. He didn’t react, so I scooted till my leg was up against his.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I just don’t think I’m ready for- for that yet.”
I couldn’t help but smile. I never would have guessed this solid, quiet man would be so honest and sweet. I reached my hand up to the back of his neck and let my fingers tangle in his hair. “Hey, thats okay,” I turned his head so that he had to look at me, “Really. What I want from you is whatever you have to offer.” I looked around the room at the grand space around us, “Bucky all of this is about helping you offer more to the world. Don’t wast your time with what you think you should be doing, do what you can, because you are different than any other man, any other person I have ever met.”
I was up before the dawn again, yawning I gathered what I would need in my small bag and headed up the mountain towards the lake. The walk seemed shorter each time I took it, and I arrived at the edge of the water just as the sun was peaking up, casting gold light into the reflective water.
“Came for the view?” I turned and smiled at the figure that was lumbering toward me. He looked at ease here, his shuka wrapped tightly around him.
“Well if it isn’t the White Wolf,” I said welcoming his embrace. He stood behind me, his strong figure leaning comfortably on me, his arms wrapped around me.
“Just call me Bucky,” he said into my ear before planting a kiss on my cheek.
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