Eyes of Fire | Bucky Barnes

8

Bucky had already been waiting by the entrance of her home when she pulled the door open, leaning against the wall and basically radiating unease.

There was a bouquet of flowers in his hand and it looked like he'd tried to clean up. His long hair was still a bit wet. Although Uxolo and the royal family had guaranteed him access to all he might need during his stay in Wakanda, he didn't take up much of the luxury they offered.

"James! I am glad you are here." Uxolo said gently, ushering him inside. "In, in; shoes off and by the rack, please."

He didn't look at her when he handed her the flowers, bowing his neck gently to enter her home without knocking his head on the door frame. He followed her instructions carefully, slowly, so he didn't have to do that awkward thing where you stand and wait for the homeowner to instruct you on what to do next.

Uxolo locked the door behind him, glancing down at the flowers.  They were all wildflowers, and there was even a bright yellow dandelion in the mix. He was rooted to the spot when she looked at him, his eyes on a row of decorations she kept over by the window.

"Did you pick these yourself, James?"

"Yeah," He mumbled. "Someone once told me that I should never enter another person's home empty-handed."

Uxolo smiled, peering up at him over the flowers. "That is beautiful advice. I'd assume your mother?"

Bucky got that distant, faraway look he always did when he wasn't in the moment. He finally said, "I think so."

She nodded, gesturing him towards the living room. "Make yourself at home."

"Okay," He said, dipping his head, "Thanks."

Uxolo entered her kitchen humming a little tune, quickly finding an empty vase to fill with water and set the flowers in, before setting it in the center of the dinner table.

She got to work setting out the dishes she'd prepared for tonight, putting the necessary pans on the stove and turning the knobs to the appropriate temperatures. She'd done all of her preparations earlier today, finding the most fitting African meals and side dishes for an American. She didn't want to shock him too much with the burst of unique flavors and textures that were guaranteed with her normal cooking.

Through the kitchen door, Uxolo had a partial view of the living room, and she watched with one eye as James stopped in front of the bookshelf. He seemed interested, tilting his head to better read the titles.

"Do you like reading, James?" She called out to him, busying her hands.

He straightened. He didn't respond at first, instead, reaching out to run his hand over the spines. "Maybe," He finally said.

"You do not actually know." She acknowledged, "Or at least, you do not remember."

He chewed on his lip; James was silent for so long that it seemed as if he wouldn't respond. He dipped his head very slightly, "Yeah."

"Would you like to borrow some of those?" Uxolo asked.

"Can I?" He asked, feeling a longing he hadn't known was there, for a skill or a hobby that wasn't death, for a warmth that he could create and share without closing the distance that seemed some days to be unbridgeable.

"Could you?" She repeated after him, incredulous, "Of course! Pick whatever you want."

Belatedly, she realized that there are books like Am I small? Men kicijikmi? and Ityala Lamawele on the shelves. No use in encouraging him to read some of her books if he couldn't even understand the language they were written in. She mentally kicked herself, hoping he passed them by.

He did, thankfully. He slowly pulled out an old leather-bound copy of Native Son with something akin to reverence. "I remember this one. It's by..."

"Richard," Uxolo said, eager to help jog his memory.

"Wright." He finished, sounding triumphant. "Yeah," he continued, "I liked that one a lot."

"Then take it." She called.

James nodded, "Thanks, I'll be real careful with it."

"No. Take it, and keep it. It is yours."

James' eyes widened. "I couldn't..."

"You could. You can, and you will." Uxolo said firmly, but still with that gentle caress of comfort and presence that he would never get used to. "If you do not want it, then throw it away. No argument, James."

As if horrified by the suggestion, James pressed the book against his chest, "No," he mumbled, "I — thank you."

"Don't mention it." Uxolo grinned. She dusted her hands over the trash, just for good measure, and waved him farther into the living room.

"Dinner is heating up, come sit with me while we wait."

****

"Would you ever do something like that?"

"Like what?" She returned carefully, looking up from the journal she'd been writing in.

He motioned for her to hand him the remote and rewinded the movie, replaying the scene again and pointing. "This. Apparently, they've been playing a game of tag for the last 30 years. Says it's based on a true story."

In an effort to make James more comfortable in her home as they both waited for the food to properly heat up, Uxolo had set an American movie on the television; one that had high ratings for the past year or so. She hadn't been paying too much attention to it, mostly just catching herself up on her own managerial tasks.

"No, I don't think I would." Uxolo responded through a laugh, setting her journal down to properly tune in to the movie, only to find the credits beginning to roll. She stretched, standing up and leaving the warmth of the couch to resume her work in the kitchen.

"I definitely think that Jerry guy could have lasted another 30 years if he wanted to."

Uxolo laughed and his blue eyes caught her. He looked uncertain and it made her instantly want to reassure him. "No, you're right. I laugh because you and half the viewers think so."

The light came back into his eyes, and she decided to throw in: "I actually read somewhere when I was picking the movie that Jerry's whole thing is his pride in not getting tagged; his objective is to run, to avoid it, and yet he always acts like he's the one who is it."

He hummed, doing this awkward gesture with the remote to signify to her if he should turn it off or not, so Uxolo just grabbed it and did it for him.

"Interesting, right?"

He nodded, trailing after her into the kitchen. They chatted idly about relatively nothing, back to how he was enjoying Wakanda and the new world he'd been introduced to. She carefully took the dishes off of the heat and plated their food, motioning for him to fetch a seat by the table as she brought everything over.