[oom] a diplomatic visit

[nerves_of_ice]

In all the things he's done up to now, he's never been asked to be a diplomat. Bucky's still not sure this is a good idea, but if nothing else at least it gets him out of Ross's path. And besides, being a diplomat to the Jabari's as T'Challa's White Wolf is a little different from being one anywhere else on earth, he's certain.

M'Baku greets him with a wide smile and widespread arms, inviting him to take in the grandeur of the Jabari's traditional homeland from the clifftop view before leading him inside. Bucky can already see some of the others measuring him for threat or competition or both. It's clear M'Baku knows it as well, and is amused by it - amused enough to let things play out as game or challenge or both.

It's going to be an interesting visit, he's sure.

Forty-eight hours later, he's sure of something else: he likes these people.

Comments

[from_the_outside]

"No guns, too," she points out.

"That's got to make a difference in strategy."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sure. Although depending on context..." Bucky shrugs, and studies the field again before looking over at Sharon.

"I wouldn't have imagined you'd have done much in small teams or like you said, larger units, but more independent and pair fighting?"

[from_the_outside]

She glances sidelong at him, sly. "Not spying for M'Baku, are you?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He rolls his eyes.

"Not for him, no."

Somehow he manages to keep his response perfectly bland.

[from_the_outside]

She rolls her eyes right back at him, mouth twitching.

"When necessary, yes."

She turns her attention back on the drills, tone conversational. "I mostly worked independently, sometimes with a partner, but mission parameters were usually like Prague: get in, get out, try not to get made on the way, and if you get into a fight, end it quick."

[nerves_of_ice]

He nods, standing easily beside her and watching the others. "Same here." Bucky keeps his voice very low, so that it won't carry beyond the two of them. "Occasionally with strike teams, but that was more recent, less usual."

[from_the_outside]

Like DC, she doesn't say. She doesn't need to. She folds her arms and nods, keeping her eyes on the people moving around the field.

He'd have recognized it in her match last night, too: engage quickly and get the hell out before you get tagged or worse. With her job – what used to be her job – getting away was always the priority. Honor never factored in.

And she's never had to deal with the long, stressful grind of the battlefield. She wonders how the hell Natasha managed to shift gears for something like the Battle of New York. "Well, we operated in the shadows," she comments, after a while.

"I can't imagine the Jabari would find much honorable in the kind of work I've done."

[nerves_of_ice]

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Soft but clear.

[from_the_outside]

She glances sidelong at him. "I'm sure they'd approve of bodyguard detail. But spying? Some of the things I did for Fury, back in the old SHIELD days?"

Her mouth presses and she shakes her head. "I get the impression they prefer a clean fight, something face to face instead of skulking around. I can respect that. And god knows they're good at it."

She shrugs a little. "Who knows? Maybe I will tell M'Baku about who I was before. And then he can judge Agent Thirteen for himself."

[nerves_of_ice]

Something flickers in his glance as she mentions Fury's name, but he doesn't say anything about him.

"I get the same impression," he starts, instead, "but Sharon, there's a place for covert work as well. You know it, I know it. It doesn't have to be without honor, without justice. Look at the War Dogs."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a wry smile, though, as he adds, "I'd love to see his face, though. And I'm sure he'd love to get more answers."

[from_the_outside]

"I'm not saying it lacked either," she says. "Everything I did, I did to help people. That's why I joined SHIELD in the first place – to try and make a difference, like Aunt Peggy. It was just pretty different from all this."

She gestures at the warriors, now beginning one-on-one sparring practice, then turns a crooked smile on him.

"I bet he would. It might even distract him from trying to figure out the White Wolf for a little while."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Different doesn't mean bad." But it's her next observation that draws his attention away from the warriors' practice in an instant.

"Don't do it just for that."

[from_the_outside]

"I know. I'm not saying it is."

She gives him an amused look and arches her eyebrows, then reaches out to run her hand across the air like she's reading out a sign. "'Break glass in case of emergency.'"

Dropping her hand, she shakes her head. "Don't worry. I'm not anywhere near throwing myself on that particular grenade."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Good. Because I don't want you to do that unless you want to, for yourself. Not for me."

He turns to look steadily at her.

[from_the_outside]

"Or I could kill two birds with one stone, if it came to it," she says.

Her smile quirks a little further. "But for now, I think he can keep guessing."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You know, I think he enjoys it," Bucky starts, before his attention is sharply drawn to the end of the training field, where a disturbance is forming. A young boy with a tear-streaked face, maybe ten or twelve years old, has run up to one of the warriors and is tugging wildly at his arm.

"Come on."

[from_the_outside]

Before she can reply – he's definitely enjoying it, probably more than he'd enjoy actually getting answers – her attention's caught by the distraught young boy, and she follows Bucky to the small circle forming around him and the warrior he's talking to.

She can't understand the language, but the poor kid is so distressed, his voice trembling and thick with tears, that she might not be able to understand anyway.

Sharon looks at the warrior. "What happened?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"An accident. Further up in the mountains," the warrior explains, tersely. At the edge of the group, two others are sprinting toward a nearby building. "This young man is one of a few shepherds who care for the sheep and goats on the heights. Something happened, it is not clear what, and the others have fallen. Rescue is needed."

"We'll go with you." Bucky's tone is even and sure. "I have some experience with trouble in the high mountains."

[from_the_outside]

"Definitely," Sharon agrees, when the warrior glances to her. Another is comforting the young boy.

This is no lost doll; they need all the willing, helping hands they can get.

The warrior nods and speaks sharply to the group; a few of the men peel off and head for the edges of the training area, already peeling off armor and handing weapons to attendants as they go.

[nerves_of_ice]

Those who have made their way to the distant building are on their way back, laden with canteens and ropes and a few sturdy packs, which they distribute among the assembling rescue team. Bucky takes one of the ropes and a canteen, slinging the latter at his belt and the former cross-body with an ease that causes a few eyebrows to rise. No one asks. Now isn’t the time.

[from_the_outside]

She's reactivated the white suit – not only will it keep her from getting scratched up or cold on the expedition, it should help the kids see her and realize help is on the way – and she accepts another canteen and rope, leaving the heavier packs for the larger warriors.

She listens and goes where she's told. This isn't the time for anything but teamwork. The man the boy had run to, Akua, organizes everything with grim efficiency while the boy – his nephew – points out the position of the trapped children on a map.

It isn't long before they're ready, but it feels like a lifetime before they begin the trek up the mountain, into the thin cold air.

[nerves_of_ice]

The pace they set is grueling, but no one complains. Time is truly of the essence now, and every moment matters.

“How long did it take him to reach us?” Bucky asks as they climb.

“Half an hour, maybe more, not much less.” Akua sounds grim. “A long time, if they are hurt.”

[from_the_outside]

It's a fast pace, and she lacks both the long legs of the warriors and their acclimation to the heights as well as Bucky's super-soldier speed and stamina; she grits her teeth and pushes onward, refusing to fall behind.

It helps that she's smaller and lighter; an enormous benefit when the trail turns treacherously narrow and rocky. As they get higher, it's not hard to see how the children could have gotten into trouble; much of the rock is loose shale and quite a bit of it shifts underfoot, forcing them to slow a little.

Perhaps fifty minutes after the boy reached the training grounds, Akua pauses, listening hard. "There," he says. "I think I hear them."

[nerves_of_ice]

They all go silent, listening, until a muffled cry on the thin mountain air confirms their direction. Akua lets out a sharp, shrill whistle, and from somewhere up ahead the children call back, their voices high and piping and scared-but-hopeful.

“There,” Bucky says, straining to triangulate the source of the sound as it echoes from the mountains. He points across a scree slope to what looks like a pocket meadow, a good place for mountain sheep and goats to graze - but one with a strangely listing tree and a ragged edge.

[from_the_outside]

Akua gives the order and they begin working their way as quickly as possible to the little meadow.

Which is to say, not quickly at all. The footing up here is treacherous even for sure-footed mountain goats and children who grew up chasing them; for grown adults, it's doubly so. Frustration climbs as they're forced to pick their way over the shifting stone, but Akua keeps them moving at a steady pace until they reach the relative safety of the grass, at which point he breaks and runs for the jagged edge, calling the childrens' names.

A few plaintive cries come up on the breeze, and as the rest of the party draw closer to the edge, they see them: a handful of children, shivering in the cold, clustered close to the side of the mountain. One, at least, is sitting, her ankle bandaged as well as unpracticed hands could manage, and another clutches a small kid with a similarly bandaged foreleg. It looks very sorry for itself indeed.

The drop is dizzingly steep; there's no way the large warriors will be able to make it down without making the rockslide worse – if they could even begin making it down.

She doesn't waste time, goes to Akua, her expression intent. "Lower me down," she says. "I can tie the children up into slings so you can pull them back up again. That ledge could go any second; I'm the smallest and lightest one here."