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Ayo is not a woman of many words. That’s the first thing Bucky learns about her. Before his cryogenic slumber, when he’s introduced to her by Shuri as a personal safeguard—to protect others from him, in case parts of him awaken that are meant to sleep—she merely nods. At a loss for his own words, ever since he has regained his consciousness, Bucky merely nods back. She’s only human, but as the apparent second-in-command Dora Milaje he feels more at ease knowing that her Vibranium spear is ready to attack.
***
When he wakes up from his cryostasis, she’s the first thing he sees. As if her trained eyes never left him during the full year he spent with relentless nightmares, tinkered memories, and inhumane cruelty. His own, included. But Shuri believes that those ten words no longer control him, that she was able to eliminate the power they have over him. Some sort of algorithm, Bucky isn’t sure. Just to be safe, he requests to be relocated to somewhere he’ll do less damage.
Ayo guides him in silence to a remote village, miles away from the Golden City. Into a mountainous hill, where he is surrounded by more trees than people. And Ayo. She doesn’t leave. She won’t. Not until they have tested those words and they are certain he can be left to himself. Bucky can’t bring himself to give up his control, not yet. Even if that means not having certainty yet. He’s only been awake for a few days, and if Shuri’s wrong then—not yet.
“I will not pressure you,” is all Ayo says in response.
Bucky nods, and enters his hut—his new residence. More than he deserves.
He doesn’t sleep that night, can’t. When he exits the hut, she’s waiting for him with her expectant brown eyes. Dawn is only just creeping in, and he wonders if she takes shifts. She doesn’t look like she’s lost any sleep, her posture straight and tight, her hand around the spear. He hasn’t seen her in a different position yet. But her eyes move, he can feel them on him.
It doesn’t take long for Bucky to fall into a routine. He barely sleeps, he washes and feeds himself, he plays with the children who are eager to learn more about him. A few days pass like this, with Ayo watching him from a distance, rooted in the same spot like one of the perennial trees, face neutral, fingers wrapped around her spear. Bucky glances back at her to make sure she’s still there. She always is. It’s a strange feeling to have someone watch over him. A twisted kind of reassurance. Fitting for him, he supposes.
***
“Do you take shifts?” He asks after approaching her.
She nods. “That’s correct.”
“Do you eat? I never see you eat.”
“Naturally,” she enunciates the word slowly, drawing out each syllable as if he’s just asked a dumb question. Frankly, he has. That’s on him. Talking to children is easier, their aura of innocence almost feels transferable. Adults, however, who know what he’s done, who he’s been—a little harder.
“Good. Uhh, so. Before you leave, there’s food. The elders taught me a recipe,” he says, and when she tilts her head in question, he shrugs and continues, “You need to eat, right? It’s the least I can do.”
He imagines the second-in-command to the Dora Milaje and a guard to the King doesn’t take pleasure in babysitting the probably ex-assassin. And he knows he isn’t making that easier for her by delaying the inevitable, so the least he can do is show his gratitude.
“Fine. Let’s see what Wakanda has taught you.”
It’s a rich stew, made in coconut oil, and served with spiced rice. A completely different flavor palette than what Bucky is used to, and he hopes he comes close to what the elders had cooked for him his first night in the village. Ayo sits next to him on the wooden bench, her shoulders pointed towards the fire. The Vibranium spear is reduced in size, worn on her body. He eyes her intently as she tastes the stew, taking note of every micro movement. A slight raise of her eyebrows, the bowl is brought closer to her mouth, a faint bobbing of her head, the downward movement of her throat whenever she swallows, and her utter silence. Bucky can read people, even if they don’t give themselves away. She doesn’t hate the food. He tries it himself, and he’s certain.
Once she’s finished her dark eyes move to his, and she inclines her head. “Not bad.” Her voice crackles over the fire, deeper than it had been before. To his surprise, she continues the conversation, “What is it those children call you?”
“White Wolf.” He smiles, releasing some tension, then shrugs. “I don’t know why.”
“The White Wolf is a folk story.”
“What story?”
She leans forward. The fire is reflected in her brown eyes, burning bright. “Of a white man who comes from a different place, and becomes an important part of Wakandan history.”
“What does he do?” Bucky asks.
“That, we will see.” Ayo hands him the bowl and stands up. “Thank—”
“Don’t. There’s no need.”
“My sister-in-arms will bring me food at the start of her shift. I do the same.”
Bucky stands too, meeting her gaze. “That still means you go hours without.”
“A minor nuisance for the Dora Milaje,” she says, and he swears he can hear the amusement in his ears. She doesn’t smile, but it’s there. It pulls at him, for some reason, and he wonders if he can cause that movement of her mouth.
“Well, no more.” Bucky lifts her plate to make it clear to her that she won’t be hungry, not for him. He needs a reason to cook, anyway. His own nourishment isn’t enough. Like her, he can go without food for as long as needed.
And there it is, faintly. The movement. “I’ll see you tomorrow… White Wolf.”
***
The next morning Bucky doesn’t wait until nightfall to approach her. After he’s taken care of his everyday errands and the children have lost their interest, he walks up to her spot. “Show me your skills.”
“What?” She tilts her head back, dark lashes lowering.
Her chin becomes exposed to him, but her long neck remains covered, armored with Vibranium jewelry. He shifts his gaze back to her eyes. “I want to see how you fight, in case Shuri’s algorithm failed.”
Ayo clucks her tongue, her eyes roaming over his left shoulder. “You are a skeptical man.”
“I’m not,” he says, and shifts his weight, “I just need to feel…”
“Safe?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine, I accept your demise.”
Bucky lets out a surprised laugh. “That’s cocky.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I have faith.”
“I am a super-soldier.”
“Without an arm,” she says, and draws her spear towards him, forcing him to back away from her lest he gets engraved with her mark, “And I have distance on you.”
He grins, which he hasn’t done in a long time. They circle each other for a while in the heat of the day, and then she attacks. He quickly learns that although he might have strength and speed over her, he doesn’t have the same balance. He’s not used to fighting without his prosthetic arm, something she’s aware of and uses to her advantage. She keeps striking him where it hurts most. No mercy, clearly making a point.
Bucky lands on his back, a dull thud against the grass, and her shadow casts over him, her spear against his heart. She presses, her eyes staring back at him in concentration, awaiting his next move, a killer instinct she must have honed during her training. Bucky raises his arm, wraps his hand around the spear, and she retracts it.
“Alright, fine. You’ve got distance,” he mutters. The only thing he needs to do next is give up whatever semblance of control he thinks he has right now and put his faith in Shuri and Ayo. He wants to… but he’s still reluctant.
She pulls him up by the arm, their hands still connected and asks, “Safe?”
He nods slowly, willing away his apprehension. “Not bad,” he says dryly, referring to her earlier comment about his attempt at cooking.
Ayo lets go of his hand and lightly raps her fingers against the bulge of his arm. Movement on her face, it happens so fast. Her lower lip quivers, then melts into a wide smile as booming laughter comes out. She shakes her head, her dark eyes sparkling without the fire too. It’s the strangest thing—what it does to him.
He clears his throat. “Let’s eat.”
***
A day later, he’s still not ready, but he’s willing to take the plunge. If all it takes is faith, then he’s willing to muster up the scraps he has left. They all believe in him—Shuri, Ayo, Steve. The least he can do is try. Their faith means more than his doubt or his fear. He believes that much.
When Bucky tells Ayo he’s ready, she places her warm hand on his shoulder and squints her eyes. The tension he feels in his body is replaced by her warmth. She trusts him, she doesn’t say it, but it’s what he hears. They wait until nightfall, until the villagers have entered their huts, and then they trek deeper into the woods where no one will accidentally find him. Where he won’t encounter anyone but her.
***
After she says those ten words, there’s a relief that washes over him. He’s still conscious, his mind is no longer altered nor taken over, he’s still him—whatever that means. “You are free,” she repeats, her voice laden with glorious depth, and he can’t stop crying—doesn’t stop crying until she walks over to him, her dark eyes glistening with tears in the fire, and wraps his quivering body into her warm embrace. “You are free,” she says again, and he laughs. It’s the strangest thing after living in a mental landscape of horror—to feel so comforted.
To be free.
His liberation means her departure. He no longer needs a babysitter, not with everyone’s mind at ease. He can just be. And he is. He returns to his routine, her eyes no longer on him. It feels different, he finds he misses her. But his sleeping improves, not by a lot, but enough not to discount it. There are still nightmares, but there is less fear of involuntarily hurting someone. He washes and feeds himself. The children still come to find him, hiding behind objects, giggling as if he doesn’t notice every movement they make. Their playfulness is soothing, so he pretends along. He chops firewood. He cuts grass to be turned into fodder. He transports sacks of supply between the villagers or to the cattle. He wants to do his part.
The more he contributes, the less haunted he feels. She does that for him too. Bucky hasn’t met a woman like Ayo before. She makes him think all the time. He thinks of the few times she’s smiled at him, full lips curving up with only a hint of gratification, she never gives much away. She doesn’t need to. He thinks of the rich color on her mouth, meticulously painted on each morning by her hand, and what she would look like when that red is smeared from her face. They’re fruitless thoughts, unlikely to be shared with anyone, but she’s welcomed company in his mind when everything else is a reminder of the past—even in Wakanda.
Two pasts, two timelines interrupted, one as a foolhardy kid from Brooklyn and another as a HYDRA assassin. Now, making way for something different.
***
Apparently, he’s on her mind too. Only a few days after she returns to her Dora Milaje duties, she visits him. With her tight shoulders and broad stance, she takes up a lot of space, so he is immediately aware of her when she approaches him. Bucky drops the bag of hay he’s holding on to. “What are you doing here?” He half shouts, his Brooklyn accent slipping from his mouth.
Once she’s standing still in front of him, she speaks, calm and resolute, “Habit.”
“Making sure I don’t go off the deep end?”
“Making sure you are... safe.”
A warmth spreads through him, and she doesn't even have to touch him this time. He nods, avoiding her gaze, piercing deep into him. She’s seen him at his most vulnerable, and now she’s etched on him like a protective layer, covering his raw nerves. When she grabs a bag of hay and drops it on the carriage, he halts his actions. “I don’t need help.”
“I know.”
He grabs a bag and drops it next to hers on the carriage. The Wakanda heat drips down his forehead in little drops. “You must be bored out of your mind.”
Her eyes sparkle at the comment, and he wonders if she’ll explain why she is staying with him after she’s checked on him. Her voice softens, “I could never be bored when surrounded by the beauty of Wakanda.”
“Liar,” he says, and when her expression closes up, he quickly adds, “Not that this place isn’t beautiful.”
They finish his work in silence, the only perceptible noises come from the cattle in the distance, slowly consuming their fodder, and from the children who are playing in the field. The weight of the sacks is heavy, but what he manages to do with one arm she manages to do with two. By the time they are done, there’s limited time left before dusk will fall, but he can’t bring himself to leave just yet. She’s seated on the edge of the carriage, staring off at the horizon, her figure slanted against the mountain of sacks behind her. No square and tense shapes, but curves in her body. It’s the most relaxed he’s seen her be, and he doesn't want the moment to end.
“So you like hard work and you like being in nature,” he asks, something inside compelling him to get her eyes back on him.
It works. She rests her head on her hand, and her dark eyes meet his, tender and bright. She never looks away, not even when he’s staring at her. She’s never unnerved by him, not even when words are not exchanged. “Do you think you know me?”
“Just stating what I see,” Bucky says, and his gaze lowers to her mouth where a small smile blossoms, then it lowers to the sound coming from her hand. “What are those?”
She opens her hand. Two Vibranium balls are gliding around each other. “Breadcrumbs.”
“They don’t look like breadcrumbs.”
“What you see isn’t always what is,” Ayo says, and before he can ask what she means, she continues, “Have you ever heard of Hansel and Gretel?”
Bucky nods. Of course he has. He points at the ball, and she lifts her hand so he can take one from her. “So, how do they work? They gotta do more than just serve as location trackers.”
“You are very curious.”
“I—” Bucky chuckles, his eyes returning to hers. “I guess I’m catching up on a few decades of science.”
“You won’t find technology like this outside of Wakanda.”
“Tell me more.”
“Ah.” She holds out her hand with a knowing smile. Bucky returns the ball, her warmth palpable to the tips of his fingers. He lingers, and silence surrounds them once more. Their eyes meet, intent and focused on each other.
A tightness settles in the pit of his stomach, unfolding and stretching out to where they touch. Still impacted by Wakandan heat, the sky streaks with shades of yellow behind her. She puts the balls away, and he clears his throat.
“Trade secrets,” she says, leaning in. “Maybe someday, you will learn.”
Bucky nods again and realizes he wants to learn. Not just to catch up with decades of science and technology. As strange as it is, he feels at home here in Wakanda, at peace, away from any torment and destruction he’s caused.
A new home for a new him.
Together, they return to the village. The elders show him a different recipe, and she watches him cook, her calm gaze back on him again. They eat in silence, no need for language when actions speak louder than words ever could. And they do. She visits him again, a few days later. He wonders if he somehow provides a sense of ease for her too, if that’s why she keeps returning. He doesn’t ask, and she doesn’t tell. But Ayo keeps returning. Every few days. To help, to be near each other, to watch, to eat, to share quiet moments together.
It’s strange how easily he adjusts to her, how it only takes an instant for him to miss her. A welcome presence in his mind. He spends almost a year like this in Wakanda, the closest he imagines he’ll ever come to peace, until the King and Okoye visit him and call him in for battle. There’s not a moment to waste, none given to Ayo, except for a nod of understanding between them when Bucky sees her standing behind her King on the battlefield.
And then, he’s gone.
***
When Bucky returns, the world is different. Five years later, Wakanda has changed without its King. Steve is an old man. Nothing feels the same anymore—whatever semblance of peace he may have had before the Snap, it’s no more.
Ayo hasn’t visited him, too busy repairing her land. And after his role in the Battle of Earth, he is granted leniency by the American government. An agreement, really. His actions as the Winter Soldier will be pardoned as long as he submits to mandatory psychological evaluation. Not ideal, but more than he deserves, so he accepts. He needs to atone, somehow.
He finds Ayo in the Golden City, the one time he goes out in search of her, there to say goodbye. She nods slowly in understanding, he hopes. “Where will you go, White Wolf?”
“Back home—if Brooklyn still counts as that. At the very least, I need to find out if it does. I can no longer hide.”
“You were granted protection here.” Her face is neutral, and she takes a deep breath. “Was Wakanda just a hideout for you?”
“No. Not all of it.” An ache builds in the pit of his stomach. A longing. For home, for comfort, for quiet, for atonement. They don’t align. “But I don’t think I can find peace if I don’t reconcile and make reparations for my past.”
She lowers her heavy lashes before smiling at him. “Then, I will wish for a favorable outcome.”
“Can I—” Bucky opens his arms, and words falter because he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Her embrace, her comfort, her quiet one final time. She nods and wraps her arms around him. He sighs when she presses her body against his, her muscles melting in his clasp, warm and soft all over. Her nose grazes against his neck, and he doesn’t want to let go. Holding her isn’t enough, he knows what he’s letting go of. He traces her jawline with his fingers, his nose edging up the side of her face where he urges his lips together. He kisses her cheek softly while her warm breath fans his neck. He doesn’t move, and neither does she. They just stand there, in each other’s arms, pressed together, holding on. His heart is in his throat, thudding loudly. It’s the strangest thing, the different pulls within him.
But he has to let go. He steps out of her embrace.
Her lashes are lowered, her eyes on his mouth. Then, they snap back up, and the tension returns in her frame. Ayo enlarges her spear and returns to her duty.
And Bucky, back to Brooklyn for him.