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“Do you want to go get Carter?”
Barnes exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath for hours. ’Spose he has been, ever since his heart clenched with hope down there in the trampled snow. They can help us bring them back. He’d do anything, take any chance, go anywhere. He grips the hilt of his sword, looks down at the stretcher.
“Can I have a word, Azu? just a quick one.”
He touches her elbow. The armor takes the chill out of his fingers even through his glove. He remembers the rush of healing, rubs absently at his side.
“I would, normally…” He makes himself look up. Her face is so sad and solemn, her eyes so very kind.
“But it’s life, and death, and I wonder, if there would be a better benefit, for someone with a bit more familiarity in this area to step in. Course…”
“Oh, but I’ve not, either,” Azu starts, so their words jumble together.
“...Carter’s a right expert himself, as he’ll tell you. Did. Said, before,” and he trails off, looking away.
“He’ll listen to you, James. As much as anyone,” and the smile’s there in her voice.
“I worry that I’m not fit for this.”
She slips off her glove, sets her warm hand on his shoulder.
“The closest I got to being spiritual was getting drunk and looking at the stars. Carter kept on about mythology and mysteries and all I could see was navigation.”
“Navigation is perfect for a guide.”
“Carter needs the best shot he has.”
“Of course I will if you want me to, James. But he’s your… friend?”
“Yeh. Sure.” My shadow, my nightmare, the rest of my heart.
“Then his best shot is you.”
He looks up again, and she’s clutching that heart pendant, and maybe there’s a little glow leaking out between her fingers and maybe it’s just Azu’s bright smile of encouragement as she takes his hand and shakes it. He puts his other hand on top, glad for the contact and her solid strength.
Then Kiko is at Azu’s side. He gives them his pack and his sword and they step aside so he can follow the attendants into the space beyond the doors.
He can’t get over how still Carter is. It makes him unrecognizable, his face not smirking or complaining or laughing. He’s just lying there, toes not tapping, not just arriving or on his way out. There’s a horrific bruise along the side of his face and blood in his mustache. Barnes gives another long breath out, then settles himself on the mat at Carter’s head. He puts his hand gently against Carter’s cheek. It’s cool as he expects but he’s somehow surprised that Carter doesn’t lean into his hand with that catlike grace that makes him so... made him.
“Please,” Barnes whispers.
He looks around the space. The mats are in a circle, like a clock, or a compass. He looks across to where Zolf is cradling Wilde’s head in his lap, hands on his head as if to heal him, the habit of the gesture irresistible even after all this time with Wilde in cuffs and tragically irrelevant now. Oscar’s face is haggard and slack; he’d be horrified. Zolf looks up and nods – there’s determination there, and doubt, and hope. Barnes nods back. Their eyes don’t quite meet.
One of the attendants steps to his side and pantomimes closing his eyes, so he does, and he is alone. The sounds of the city seem to dissolve into a quiet hiss, or perhaps there’s a breeze, or it could be the sound of the blood in his ears.
Then the city-sounds return, only different, and he finds himself walking down a Cairo street with the long sunset shadows stretching across the dust and the unmistakable sound of Carter’s laugh coming through a lit and open door. The sound gets closer, cutting through a babble of raised voices, then the man steps through the door.
Barnes can't see his face at first, the bright gold of his hair flaring into a halo in the light from the doorway. Then he steps forward into the low slant of sunlight and Barnes feels his heart stutter at how beautiful he is, how happy he looks.
“Sailor. You’re here.”
Barnes can only nod, his throat’s so tight.
Carter’s ruddy from sun and drinking, wears one of the Egyptian linen shirts he favored, before. Somehow Barnes knows the pattern worked into the fabric is a line of bears. His hair is shorter and his mustache is longer – he looks dashing.
“Will you come in? We’ll drink to my busted flush and spin tales of our adventures.”
Carter doesn’t seem to notice that it takes a minute for him to speak, just holds his arm, his thumb rubbing at Barnes’ bicep in that way he has.
“Ye–,” he starts, and has to clear his throat and start again. “Can we talk somewhere first?”
“Sure, we’ll just go,” he jerks his head sideways. “I can’t wait to show you, it’s amazing,” and his look is open and eager. “Give me a moment?”
Barnes nods again. Carter squeezes his arm and winks at him, practically spins on his heel and strides through the door. Barnes can’t see inside but it’s loudly apparent everyone is having a good time. The only sounds he makes sense of are happy shouts of “Carter!” and “Howard!” His voice is a musical thread in the babble, joking and teasing.
Barnes winces to think of the reaction Carter gets back in the world. Got, before. When did they ever welcome him, say they were glad to see him? He remembers quarantine, Carter hunched over his solitaire game, for all it was his ingenuity had made the party possible. Why would he ever leave this bright and cheerful place, return to disapproval and rejection.
Carter walks out, tucking something into a pocket. Barnes hears the clink of coins, looks sidelong at Carter’s satisfied smirk. “Good game?”
“Excellent. Not just the winning, either.” They’re walking in the street, nobody else around. It doesn’t seem eerie.
“Nobody cheats?”
They turn into an alley and Carter’s laugh echoes between the walls, so raucously delighted that Barnes can’t help but grin.
“Everybody cheats! You’d need a roomful of ordinateurs to untangle the machinations. The performances would make Wilde proud.” He puts his arm out. “Wait, close your eyes.”
Barnes closes his eyes, steps forward slowly with Carter’s arm around his shoulders, guiding him. He feels the surface change from cobbles to gravel, a gentle breeze against his face that smells of distance and sand and timelessness.
“Now look.”
They've reached the crest of a little hill with a landscape of pyramids and tombs stretching as far as they can see. There are ladders, and rectangular holes, and tents. Lit by the sudden moonlight, looking out over the valley, Carter looks like a king.
"If I got to choose, this is exactly where I'd go. On the dig all day, at the card table all night." He glances over at Barnes, his lips curving in a slow smile. "Well, not all night."
"Carter, you–"
His heart is breaking, he can feel it thudding to pieces in his chest. He grips hard at his sword, clenches his jaw.
"Carter, you do. Did. You got to choose."
Carter’s arm drops away from his shoulders as he steps over to a big stone block by the side of the path. He sits, staring out into the shadows. “That’s why we’re here.” It’s not a question.
“Yeh,” says Barnes, sitting next to him. Without thinking he curves his hand around the back of Carter’s neck. “The airship, there was…”
“I know.”
Stay, he thinks. Stay, where they’re happy to see you. Where you can do what you love. Where you’re safe.
He opens his mouth to speak. After all it’s what he’s here to say. Can’t.
The closest he can manage is Goodbye, and the wind takes the whisper from his mouth. He closes his eyes, expects to wake up on the bear, alone.
Carter bumps his shoulder. “Hey. You’ll not get rid of me that easily.”
Barnes can only blink at him, something complicated happening in his chest.
“How do we get back? Bet there’s a magic word or something.”
“But… you said, this is…”
“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Carter sighs. “But it’s not time.”
Barnes leans in, pulls him close enough to press his forehead to Carter’s temple.
Carter squeezes his knee. “Don’t let me think about it too hard.”
“Do you want to…?” Barnes looks over his shoulder toward the path.
“Nah, already said my farewells.”
Barnes raises his eyebrows. “You already knew you were goin’ to come back?”
“You came for me. We’re not done yet. Where else would I be?”
They sit close together, shoulder to shoulder, Carter’s knee tapping against Barnes’. Carter points out into the dark maze of the ancient buildings, roofs and edges silvered with moonlight. “Right past that pyramid is the most amazing tomb, I just know it, and someday…” and Barnes doesn’t mind that he just keeps talking.
The sound of Carter’s voice blends and fades into the breeze, a swirling wind that is suddenly very cold. Then he’s sitting on sand, wiping frost from his face and Carter, alive, is blinking up at him, his smiling face framed by a halo of white hair. Alive.