[oom] see right through my walls

[nerves_of_ice]

As T'Challa stares at the hologram in the palm of his hand, he can already feel the headache forming. "She what? No. Never mind. Bring her to me in the throne room, when she arrives. I will deal with her myself."

He clears the image, then taps the Kimoyo Bead again. "Nakia. I need you."

* * * * * * * * *

"You cannot be serious."

"I don't see why this is a problem. You brought Everett Ross here--"

"Ross was dying! And he was never allowed to know that the man he was seeking was here! Nakia, I have made a promise to protect him."

"She is not a threat. Not to him."

"I will be the judge of that."

Nakia throws up her hands. "Fine. You will see. I hope it does not bother you that I stay and watch?"

T'Challa smiles. "Of course not."

Comments

[from_the_outside]

"I could have."

She rests her hands on top of the backpack and tips her head to look at him. "But then I wouldn't have gotten to see you."

He's not looking at her; she takes advantage of that fact and allows herself to study his face, the expression on her own something sore and happy and complicated all at the same time.

She hasn't been this close to him since that night on the rooftop.

(She doesn't count...the cafeteria.)

"You look good," she says, softly. "How do you feel?"

[nerves_of_ice]

To see him?

He doesn't ask. He's not sure he dares.

"Better," he admits, with a quick sideways glance in her direction. "Still getting used to things, though."

[from_the_outside]

Her smile quirks, and she nods. "Well," she says, and exaggerates looking around at the lake, the fields, the cottages, the calm openness of it all. "Seems like you have plenty of time to work on that."

She looks back at him, smile flashing wider. "Okay, let's see what we've got here."

Opening the backpack up, she starts taking items out, laying them on the grass so he can take a look as she does. "Some clothes...and a baseball cap..."

Neatly folded; she sets them down and pulls out a number of journals, many with marked pages. "I didn't read them," she promises as she hands them over.

There's more in the pack, but she for the moment she pauses to watch his reaction.

[nerves_of_ice]

Slowly, he reaches out his hand and rests it on the stack of journals. His thumb drifts back and forth over the cover, lightly, taking in the texture.

"I thought these were in the hands of some analyst."

[from_the_outside]

She sucks at her teeth and raises her eyebrows, shaking her head like she just can't explain it, what a mystery, and watches his thumb move back and forth.

Airily: "Well, they were...liberated."

Who knows how? The world is full of unexplained phenomena.

[nerves_of_ice]

"So I see."

He looks up at her, and doesn't look away.

"Thank you."

[from_the_outside]

She smiles at him for a long moment, then dips her head, chewing on her bottom lip, to keep pulling things out.

It's not a lot – this was obviously his go-bag, and she has more of the items from his apartment with the rest of her own belongings – but she faithfully pulls everything out for his inspection until there are only a few items left.

Well, two. (Well, three, but one isn't immediately obvious.) She'd stuffed the bottom of the backpack with two soft wool throws: one purple-and-smoke, the other shades of green. She pulls them out and puts them on the grass, eyes low until she can bring herself to look back up at him again.

But she doesn't say anything. After all this time, everything she'd planned – she can't think of a damn thing to say.

[nerves_of_ice]

He watches as she unpacks the backpack, setting everything out for him to examine. Aside from his notebooks, it's the throws that get the focus of his attention.

(That night on the rooftop feels like a dream, now. It could never be anything more.)

He reaches out to touch the edge of the green throw, testing the feel of the fabric between his fingers.

"This one wasn't mine," he says, softly, and turns to study Sharon more carefully than before.

"Sharon. How have you been? Since -- everything?"

[from_the_outside]

She drops her eyes under his study, watching his fingers on the green fabric like something might be written there beneath them.

His question gets an aborted shrug and a shake of her head; all her focus is on the throw.

"It could be," she says, carefully. "If you wanted it."

She's not very good at being oblique, but she finds herself shying away from anything more pointed. When she looks back up again, it takes real effort to find a breezy smile for him. "I've been fine. Seen a lot of new places."

[nerves_of_ice]

She can't - or won't - hold his eyes. She's trying to give away the throw, the memory of-- well.

He guesses it's best if he doesn't ask about the glass art.

But she's here for a reason. Maybe she thought he'd be with Steve - it'd make sense, if she had, and if she'd only put the tracker on him....

"Fine," he says, still studying her, his hand still resting on the edge of the throw. He sounds dubious about that. "Why don't I believe you?"

[from_the_outside]

Shuri told her be careful. She glances down, wets her lip, then looks back up at him and smiles again.

"Don't I look fine?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Please don't lie to me." A thin thread of something agonized slips into his voice, try though he might to hide it. "Not you."

[from_the_outside]

Her smile fades, and for the first time she does look a little ashamed. "Sorry."

Softly. "Old habits."

She watches him, an ache in her chest. "I've been...okay. Moving from place to place. Keeping my head down. It took me a while to get out of Europe, but I've been careful."

This smile is a rueful reflex. "I think it's been hard on my folks. It's not safe for me to contact them."

[nerves_of_ice]

His fingers tighten on the green fabric.

"Are you safe?"

[from_the_outside]

Please don't lie to me.

She looks at him, wry and apologetic, and shakes her head.

"No. I'm not."

They'll come after you, Steve had said.

And they did.

[nerves_of_ice]

He breathes in and then out, a long, harsh breath, and nods.

"I'll call Steve," he tells her. "Tonight. He'll come. He visits me, sometimes. He'll be able to help. There's a team. You won't -- won't have to face it alone. Any of it."

[from_the_outside]

Gently: "Bucky."

She reaches over and puts her hand on top of the one gripping the green throw, searches his face until she can meet his eyes. "It's okay. I don't want Steve's help, and I don't want to go with him and his team. I'm far from the highest priority the Task Force has. I might not be safe, but I'm not in any immediate danger either. Okay?"

Her fingers curl around his hand, and she smiles a little. "And relax a little; that throw has a surprisingly delicate center and I don't want you to break it."

[nerves_of_ice]

"It's not okay."

That tight, agonized sound is back in his voice now, and more - in the tension of his body, in the way his expression shifts between fear and desperation.

"Sharon, I-- I can't fight -- I can't help you like this--"

He shrugs his left shoulder, trying to make her see.

[from_the_outside]

"Oh my God, Shuri is going to murder me," she says, under her breath. "She'll murder me and no one will ever find the body. Bucky!"

That last is intent, the vocal equivalent of of shaking him by the collar. "Stop. Stop! Look at me."

She grabs his hand and presses it to the side of her throat where he can feel her pulse and breath and warmth. "I don't need you to fight," she says, low and intent. "You're imagining the worst. Breathe."

She takes a deep breath herself, holding his gaze with hers, steady and serious. "I'm fine. I'm right here and I'm fine."

[nerves_of_ice]

He freezes, going completely immobile as she presses his hand to her vulnerable throat, staring at her.

He doesn't dare move. He doesn't dare breathe, until she orders him to, and he reflexively drags a breath into his lungs as she does, mirroring her action.

( -- ready to comply --)

"I nearly killed you," he whispers.

[from_the_outside]

She wouldn't have thought it was possible for her heart to keep breaking, not after everything that's happened, but like he so often does, he proves her wrong again.

She presses his hand harder to her skin, shaking her head. "That wasn't you," she says, and it almost sounds like a warning. "I'm not afraid of you. I will never be afraid of you. You would never hurt me. And you won't hurt me, because you make your own choices now, Bucky."

She's not like Shuri; she doesn't know the best way to walk him back from this edge he's found himself on, so she acts on instinct instead, letting go of his hand so she can push herself closer and put her hands on his jaw, lean forward to rest her forehead against his. "I don't want you to fight," she says, simply.

It always ends in a fight.

"That's not why I'm here."

[nerves_of_ice]

That wasn't you, she says, and you make your own choices now, and he hears the echo in his mind as though he's right back there on the plane.

"I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve."

"What you did all those years... it wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."

"I know. But I did it."

Her breath is warm against his skin, her hands cradling his face. He makes himself stay still for a second, just breathing, then places his right hand against her shoulder and pushes her very gently away, while he eases back.

"All he had to do was say the goddamn words," he tells her now, as he'd told Steve - and Wilson - then. "Shuri thinks she's gotten the roots of it out, but..."

Carefully, deliberately, he eases back further.

"I don't know why you're here. But stay. Stay in Wakanda. You should be safe here. I think they'll let you, if I ask. Or your friend will."

[from_the_outside]

She lets go when he pulls away, her hands falling to her lap and to the purple and gray throw next to her.

Words?

But before she can ask, he keeps going, and she watches him, happiness sparking deep behind her eyes. "You want me to stay?"

It's a little unfair. It's a different question, and she's not sure he'll actually realize it –

But she wants to hear him say it anyway.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Yes," Bucky says, without hesitation. If she needs to know she's wanted - that there's no imposition-- that she--

He makes his treacherous thoughts stop, and nods to her.

"Stay, Sharon. Stay. Please."

[from_the_outside]

She gets the feeling he's doing his nobility act again, but this time it works in her favor, so, you know what?

She'll take it.

"Okay." It comes out as a whisper; her heart is full and it's spilling into every corner of her chest and throat, making it hard to find her voice.

That irrepressible smile is starting to tuck itself into the corners of her mouth again. "If they'll let me, I'll stay."

She licks her lips and chews on the inside of her cheek, considering him for a moment, then gives herself a faint shake and arches her eyebrows, expectant. "So should I expect some goats, too? Or were yours a one-time-only flash sale kind of deal?"