This will be rated for violence, sex in later chapters and possibly some very dark stuff, depending on my mood and how much I want to torture my characters. You've been warned.

(0)

The morning began characteristically bright and warm for the second month of summer. The palace had begun bustling with activity as early as sunrise and the city had soon followed suit, people gladly emerging from their homes into the singularly safe streets to conduct any business they had on that day. There was a light breeze in the air and the call of exotic birds could be heard distantly from the great jungles surrounding the immense city.

It all contrasted starkly with how king T'challa was he himself feeling.

The people he passed rapidly in the lengthy hallways barely received a glance from him as he strode along, his fingers periodically jumping up to his throat to pull at the tight, itchy collar of the fancy black dress shirt he'd chosen to wear that day. On any ordinary day, he would have been more cautious of his outward behavior, keen on keeping a calm, calculated composure worthy of a king. But not today… he'd spent most of the night shifting through rapports and interviews, listening to shoddily translated police recordings in five different languages, his sharp, dark eyes flying from one page to another in search of new information, of a clue… anything…

When he finally conceded, with an annoyed sigh, that his search would yield nothing new, he'd made his way to his royal bedchambers, where he'd thrown off his clothes and crawled into bed, enjoying the cool night breeze as it wafted in through an open window. There, he proceeded to lay, motionless, for the next few hours, his mind running fast.

Three questions kept spinning in his head, time and time again: who? How? And why?

The answers unfortunately eluded him, as did sleep.

T'challa stopped before an elevator, pressed the button to go down, and waited. His hand rose mechanically to his face, rubbing at his cheeks, which were coarse with stubble. He wondered how many days it had been since he'd taken a moment to get groomed and found he wasn't sure. His stubble felt like it might have been left to grow for two days, but he wondered if it hadn't been longer than that.

The elevator arrived, quiet and sleek, the wide doors sliding open soundlessly. Unsurprisingly, no one emerged from it at this early hour, so he stepped inside and pressed an unmarked button near the bottom of the selectable rows. He kept his thumb pressed to it for a split second longer than necessary, giving the switch time to read his digit, which in turn allowed him to access the floor it controlled. The doors slid close and he descended in utter silence.

When the elevator pinged softly, announcing they had arrived, T'challa's hand automatically leapt up to his throat to tug at the itchy collar. This time, he caught himself in time and forced his hand back down as the doors opened and allowed him into his younger sister's favorite workspace.

Shuri was, as always, bustling around with such grace and energy that he had to take a moment to simply stare at her in awe. If she had spent the night awake and working, which he somehow did not doubt she had, it did not show in the least: her demeanor was as sharp as ever, her clothes and hair fresh and bright. As she heard him enter, she paused what she was doing and turned to give him a critical once-over. The sudden twist of her lips indicated just how critical she felt, and T'challa struggled to not pull at his tight collar again, suddenly very conscious of the creases in his pants and growing stubble on his face.

But the situation was dire, and he was thankful to see that Shuri swallowed any snappy comment she clearly wanted to make, returning instead to the task at hand.

T'challa came closer to the observation table.

"How are you feeling?" He questioned softly. Knowing it was not directed at her, Shuri did not even glance up. The man laying on the metal table, his body connected to sensors that monitored brain activity, heart rate, blood flow and oxygen levels, amongst other things, sent a calculated, calm glance his way.

"Alright, I suppose." His bright, blue-grey eyes shifted back to the ceiling. "As alright as a guy can feel after sleeping for…"

"Eleven months, two weeks, three days and seventeen hours." Shuri supplied without skipping a beat.

T'challa nodded and turned his attention to his sister. She was working with delicate instruments, poking, prodding and very precisely attaching the heavy metal arm to the left shoulder of the man on the table, who was barely registering the whole operation, remaining stock-still as he stared at the ceiling. If she was causing him pain or discomfort, it was impossible to tell.

"How is he?" He asked her. She glanced up and caught the pragmatic glint in her brother's eyes, before glancing at the man on the table. Shuri sighed, setting her instruments aside for a moment before grabbing a pad that lit up at her touch, displaying a three-dimensional image of the man on the table, complete with real-time nervous system display and in-dept physical analysis. She handed the pad to her brother, who immediately focused on the brain activity of the ex-Winter Soldier.

"Physically? In top shape. He's suffered extremely minimal muscle degeneration during cryogenic sleep. Nothing a few days of training won't correct." She noted her brother's critical assessment of the soldier's mental activity as he stared blankly at the tablet and rolled her eyes in annoyance as she realized he had no idea what he was looking at. Shuri all but ripped the pad from his hands and set it aside. "He's fine. As far as I can tell. I've been running him on my hand-designed subliminal desensitisation program for the past ten months. You gave me access to the codes used to hard-wire him so I… soft-unwired him. Everything they drilled into his head to make him a…" She paused, glancing almost guiltily at the man, who had trained his sharp gaze on them. "To make him the Winter Soldier… I undid it. I was able to extend his REM sleep periods up to seven times the norm and used those periods to work in subconscious messages that were specifically designed to scrub him clean of those codes… It wouldn't have hurt to keep him there for a few months more, but considering the situation…" She shrugged.

T'challa nodded grimly. "And were you able to contact Captain Rogers?"

The doors behind them slid open, as if on cue. T'challa turned to see who had entered the lab at this ungodly hour and was not in the least bit surprised to see his faithful guard, Okoye, who strode in with that purposeful, feline walk of hers, her very presence filling every corner of the room.

"I actually put Okoye up to it, seeing as I had my hands full here." Shuri nodded at the woman in red, grabbing her tools to return to her task.

Okoye stopped before her king and tapped her long spear respectfully to the ground, nodding at him. She did not even wait for him to nod back before starting. "I've been looking for you." Her voice was a tad accusing. "I managed to contact Steve Rogers shortly before dawn and he has agreed to come at once. He's asked if he should bring others to help. A few of his allies have recently been… hmmm… liberated from the prison in which they were kept some time ago and appear to be available to assist us."

T'challa shook his head at once. "No. I hesitate to bring even him into this… were it not for…" He glanced at the Winter Soldier, who's gaze was now fixed upon the king, sharp and intelligent. T'challa chose to address the man directly, not wishing to create any unease between them. "I trust my sister when she says you are well, I do. But I cannot take chances. If something were to happen to you…"

"I could be turned back against you." James Barnes said flatly, his voice hiding pain deftly.

"You could be taken from us." T'challa corrected gently. "I promised Captain Rogers I would do everything in my power to make you better. That includes keeping you safe. Considering your extensive background, you are a perfect candidate for this entire operation. No one is better suited for this… were it up to me, I would prefer to send you in alone, because this is the sort of work that demands discretion. But for your own well-being, I would rather send you with Captain Rogers." Bucky stared at the king for a moment before nodding. This earned him a soft smack from Shuri, who was bothered by the sudden movement as she worked on his new arm. T'challa turned back to Okoye. "Contact him and tell him we need just him. Then send out a ship to collect him and have him briefed on the way. We need to get this in motion as soon as we can. Time is of the essence."

Okoye nodded grimly. "I'll get him myself."

She dismissed herself with a tap of her spear and vanished back into the elevator.

T'challa bit back a tiered sigh and glanced at Shuri, who was working on that arm, her brow furrowed and her eyes just barely showing shadows of exhaustion. He noted how stiff her shoulders seemed, how her jaw was clenched tightly and how she kept blinking sleepiness from her eyes.

"You should get some rest." He said gently.

Shuri glanced up from her work, her face uncommonly grim. "I'll sleep when I know our people are safe and avenged."

She returned to her task and T'challa found he shared her feelings.

He left his sister in her lab, returning slowly to his office to look over the most recent case they'd received, not three days past, in the hopes he'd find some sort of new information, a clue… anything…

(0)

He'd somehow nodded off, head rested against his arm atop the big wooden desk, open files strewing the entirety of it, because when someone knocked sharply on the door, T'challa almost leapt out of his chair.

Momentarily confused, the king cleared his throat and called the visitors in, running a mechanical hand across his face and noting for the second time that day how his stubble was slowly getting out of control. His eyes flew across the files and holographic projections of the cases he'd been studying, and he made a gesture to clear everything away, until he saw who stepped in through the large double doors.

"Captain Rogers!" He exclaimed with some amazement… how long had he dozed off? Surely, he hadn't slept that long? T'challa glanced out the window as he shook the tall American's big hand warmly, noting that it was probably no later than one in the afternoon. Okoye had outdone herself…

"He wasn't far." She said with a wry sort of smirk as she entered behind Steve and noted her king's general confusion. Behind her came Shuri and Barnes, who was flexing his new arm with unabashed amazement.

"Like I said, it's still a prototype. However, you'll find that synaptic nerve response is much more precise than with your previous arm." She assured Bucky. "That old thing was ridiculously decrepit… it's a wonder Hydra can even stay afloat if they're using technology that's been outdated since the second world war… anyways, I've managed to reduce response time between thought-to-reaction for the arm to less than a third of a nanosecond. You'll find that the arm is made of vibranium now, so it is much sturdier and will absorb almost limitless amounts of kinetic energy, which in turn powers it and can be released… here…" She grabbed his hand and turned his palm over in her hand to show him a spot that he could press to activate the energetic release and Bucky twitched slightly, looking intrigued as he found he could almost feel the contact of her hand as she touched the metal. Shuri noted his surprise and smiled most proudly, stepping back a bit. "It's not quite perfect yet, but I am working on a process that reverses the synapse-to-cell signal through the nanites and lets the kinetic energy absorbed by the arm be felt to a certain degree by the wearer. For the time being, it's more like the ghost of a touch, because high impact generates very high levels of kinetic energy, and I don't think even you could withstand how that would feel… So, the whole process shuts down beyond a certain energy threshold."

The ex-Winter Soldier was at a loss for words, but was spared the need to answer by T'challa, who cleared his throat to get the sleep out of it, still feeling a little groggy. Everyone turned to look at the king, expectant and generally a tad uneasy.

"You've just arrived, I take it?" The king asked Steve, who nodded.

Okoye stepped in. "I briefed him on the way about the previous cases but did not cover the most recent one, and called Shuri when we arrived, so she'd bring Barnes here with her. The faster we can get the two of them on their way, the better."

"Barnes is ready to go?" T'challa asked his sister warily.

She beamed. "As ready as he'll ever be. I did my job, and the nanites did theirs. He's bonded and synched with the technology very well and has remained stable. We didn't have time to conduct the fight tests I would have liked to do, but… well…" She shrugged. "It's a prototype. I would still need weeks, if not months to be properly tested. We have days, maybe hours. Even if he lacks practice with the kinetic storage technology, we at least know it is fully functional thanks to it being the exact same technology as the one I used for your suit. He'll just have to test it in combat."

Bucky did not seem the least bit alarmed, standing stoically next to his close friend, so T'challa nodded thankfully at his sister. She beamed anew and left the room, most probably to get a few well-deserved hours of sleep. The king turned his attention to the three in the room with him, before dimming the light inside the office, pulling up a holographic image on his desk.

He sighed and began. "The reason why I specifically need someone like James Barnes and yourself for this particular mission is not lost on you, I suppose."

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "Okoye said something similar to the previous cases had happened in Russia… in Moscow."

"I speak Russian." Barnes supplied softly, but it was not hard to tell that he knew there was another reason why they specifically had been called.

They all seemed to stare at the holographic image, which showed a young woman of European descent, her skin pale, her hair a light sort of brown, her eyes a gentle blue.

"Even in this day and age, there are many places in the world where people of ethnicity are treated unfairly, often finding themselves in positions where they need to defend the color of their skin, as though they do not belong somewhere, no matter that they were born there, or that they grew up there. A reality in which Eric Killmonger did not fail to find the hatred he needed to try and make a change." T'challa's voice was not full of resentment… if anything, it was tired. But he kept going. "As such, there are places in this world where sending someone of African descent as a spy is… disadvantageous. Barnes can speak fluent Russian, and I have no doubt the two of you will be entirely capable of blending in with the locals. Thankfully, we have also made many loyal friends over the generations and many of them come from various cultural backgrounds. Russia is one such place, where we have had a very proficient agent descending from a family that has long been loyal to Wakanda and our cause. She's been strategically stationed in Moscow for a few years now, holding a governmental position and keeping us updated on the going of the presidential inner circle, up until three days ago."

Bucky nodded at the holograph of the young woman. "She's the agent?"

"Yes." Okoye toyed with the nanite bracelet she wore, and the image changed to show a grainy picture of an overturned, obviously destroyed bedroom. It was hard not to notice the few sprays of blood that had coated the bed and one wall, as though someone had thrown a thin splash of scarlet paint across the room. "Three days ago, Russian police were called to her apartment in Moscow after the neighbors phoned in because of a disturbance. They found the place like this, with no trace of her or her attacker. Both remain at large for the time being."

"You're sure that's her blood?" Steve asked cautiously. "That's… that's a lot of blood to be lost by a single person…"

T'challa nodded. "The Russian police were less than accommodating and they're still waiting on their own DNA analyses. They seem to have written the whole thing off, but we had one of our own head there and collect blood samples… a majority of samples which were confirmed as belonging to Lianka Zaytzev, our agent, and a few more to an unknown male who's DNA in unfortunately not listed in any criminal or medical database. However, there is some good news: we received a coded message the following day through a secure channel that appears to authentically have been sent by Lianka. She has bunkered down securely and alive in a safe house in Moscow but fears her attacker might find her anew. That's where you come in. You must go to her, confirm her identity and bring her back if she is in need of care. I don't know her personally, but all our files indicate that she is a stubborn, resourceful young woman with a singular ease at manipulating others to achieve her goals. If she is fit enough to assist you in tracking down her attacker, I advise you let her stay… elsewise she'll find a way to work around you."

"So that's our goal? Find the attacker?" Bucky asked softly.

"You think this is related to the other five cases, don't you?" Steve added, watching the king carefully.

T'challa hid nothing, openly nodding, his features quite grave. "I'm positive it is. I'm also convinced we're being baited into this, somehow. The first of those five attacks happened to one of our agents in South Africa, while I was away with my father in Vienna for the Sokovia Accords. At the time, we were preoccupied with other things, and thought naught of it, save for the brutality with which the assassination had been carried out upon our agent. Said agent was found in pieces in their own home… some of the pieces are missing to this day. The second case happened in Bulgaria. The violence with which the assassination was carried out was equal to the first one, and a pattern started to emerge. The next two attacks happened in China and Japan, barely weeks apart. The fifth hit our only agent in Venezuela, two months later. By now, we understood that the sheer viciousness of the attacks was used to goad us… to taunt us. Our investigating agents found nothing, and the police have no better lead. No two unidentified blood samples match any of the locations. We still have no idea who might have perpetrated these crimes, if they work alone or have been hired by someone else, how they have managed to identify some of our most valuable agents and why they have proceeded with such rage, other than to provoke us."

"Lianka is the only survivor thus far." Okoye added grimly. "She must have seen her attacker, most probably knows more about him or her than anyone else. The two of you, especially Barnes, are perfectly suited to act as spies in Russia and track down this mad murder."

"Have you sent anyone to check on this… Lianka, since the attack?" Steve asked at once, concerned. Bucky glanced at him, amused at how his old friend seemed hopelessly chivalrous, even if he did not mean to, whenever a woman was concerned.

T'challa shook his head. "We dared not send anyone lest they lead the attacker to her as well. The first and only ones to approach her will be the two of you, as we consider you should be capable of keeping her safe from any potential threat. From the moment you make contact, you must remain vigilant. If she is being watched, she will be in danger. Assist her or contact us to arrange transport for her back here."

"How do we confirm she's really who she says she is?" Bucky asked at once, all business. His tone was suddenly rigid, and Steve glanced at his friend, painfully reminded of the brutal training and torture he'd been put through to acquire his superhuman, soldier-like nature.

"She'll have one of these." Okoye rested her spear against her shoulder and used both hands to pull down her lower lip, revealing a faintly glowing, tattoo-like marking within the tender tissue of her inner lip. Steve's surprise prompted T'challa to explain. "Lianka and her family have been loyal spies for Wakanda for generations. They have earned the title of War Dogs, of spies behind enemy lines. It is not a common occurrence to bestow these markings upon one who has not been born in Wakanda, but it has been seen before."

"You will also greet her with the sentence: Where does a black panther rest?" Okoye pursued, gripping her spear anew. "Should she respond with anything other than: "Where the flowers glow blue and the nights are eternal.", you are to kill her at once. She is an imposter."

"Understood." Bucky nodded briskly, as did his friend. "When do we leave?"

"At once. Follow me, I'll fly you there." Okoye announced, turning stiffly to guide them to the door.

"Captain." T'challa called out before the trio could leave the room. Steve turned to look at the king, who was starring at them with a complex set of emotions furrowing his brow. "Be very careful. We are dealing with a powerful, violent and dangerous killer. Do not let your guard down and do not trust anyone."

Steve nodded stiffly, before following his friend and the guardswoman out.

(0)

They were outfitted with warm, dark grey clothes. Their pants were made of a strange, durable material not unlike standard military pants Steve had worn in the past, but with a singularly light yet warm feel to them. Their boots were warmer than any he'd worn before, and he was painfully reminded that December in Russia was not December in Wakanda… here, the sun was bright and hot, but up North they would be facing glacier-like frost that had deterred even the sturdiest of armies. As such, they were also given jackets to go over their simple, white shirts, as well as fur-lined coats, fur hats and a set of enormous gloves. Then, they were armed.

Bucky gladly accepted the charged Desert Eagle .50 calibre handgun he was handed, momentarily surprised that such an advanced nation would still posses such brutal, lumbering weapons. He slid it into the waistband on his pants, against the small of his back to conceal it, knowing it would be easy to access there, even with his coat on. He watched in amusement as Steve wrinkled his face as he was presented with the same weapon, politely declining it.

"You haven't changed, patriot boy." Bucky smirked playfully and his friend shrugged a bit sheepishly in response. He was eventually handed a set of gauntlets that wrapped around his wrists and could be extended into small, sharply-edged shields that covered a bit of his hand and some of his forearm. Both men were also given two knives, one which was strapped to their side beneath the heavy coat and another which they could discreetly slip into their boots, allowing them to have a concealed weapon that could be drawn in case of emergencies. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Besides, both of them knew very well that they were weapons all on their own. Everything else they were given was just an edge, an advantage they would have over whomever they faced in Russia.

Okoye flew them north in a small, sleek jet that used refraction technology to become invisible and managed to keep itself off radars and they were given the coordinates of where Lianka was supposedly bunkering down, in the safehouse in Russia. The flight was short, as they rose high into the atmosphere to travel faster, where air did not cause as much friction on the vessel's outside. Steve took a moment to fill his friend in on the past few months: how he'd spend a lot of time fleeing authorities, how he'd managed to break Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson and Scott Lang out of the Raft, all of whom had fought at their side against Iron man and his friends barely a year past. The escaped prisoners had either taken to fleeing and staying low or had worked out deals with their corresponding governments to purge their sentence otherwise. Clint Barton had apparently politely told everyone to fuck off and had delocalized with his family to a place yet unknown, remaining adamant that he was retiring for good, this time. Bucky had no stories to share, other than the sketchy memories of a few cryptic dreams he could still recall from his time under cryo sleep, so he let his friend talk. It felt nice to simply be with him, near him… his memories of his past life were still somewhat blurry, but a few things had come back to him and he was hopeful that he'd get everything back someday. Bucky asked his friend if he'd reconnected with that gal he'd kissed when he was last in America, and naturally, Steve had omitted to re-acquaint himself with her, so Bucky took a moment to tease him about it, trying to lighten the mood. The bit earned him an embarrassed laugh from Steve as his face flushed a little bit redder and Bucky found himself rolling his eyes, feeling that his friend hadn't changed in the least… he was still the geeky kid from Brooklyn he'd known most of his life.

Laughing about things past worked for a time, but it was not long before a weighted sort of silence seemed to settle amidst them and they proceeded to look outside the jet's great windows, silent and slightly in awe at the immense curvature of the Earth. Steve had just witnessed this view a few hours earlier as he was flown to Wakanda, but couldn't help but feel impressed by it all over again. It was quite a sight from the high atmosphere in which they traveled, and Bucky found that he could not help but wonder if this was all a dream, too…

They descended slowly towards a world of white. It wasn't just the clouds, too: as they emerged from those, they saw the ground was covered with such a thick layer of snow that it was hard to discern anything at all down below.

In the distance, they could see the bright lights of the great city of Moscow, everything eerily reflected and prismatic in the buffeting snow that rose with every sharp gust of wind.

Okoye was careful to set them down behind a small crop of snow-covered pines as close to the city as she dared to get without fearing detection. They were near a road, so at least getting into Moscow wouldn't be tedious.

As the two soldiers rose, she handed them a set of odd devices, resembling sleek, black watches, as well as two slightly battered backpacks that could have resembled those worn by any local in the country.

"Wear the watches at all times. They're an older model of our own technology and will allow you to contact us if need be. They are less conspicuous than the bracelets we wear now but beware that we cannot guarantee their communications to be as secure as with our new ones." She warned heavily. "Both packs contain survival gear and food. One of them also has a first aid kit that Shuri herself assembled before departure and that had everything you might need to assist Lianka, provided her wounds are not too severe. She also took care to provide detailed instruction as to how everything works…"

Impressed, both men nodded silently.

"I don't need to tell you how important this is." Okoye added in a tone that implied otherwise. "Good luck."

Unsure what they should answer, both men simply nodded anew and stepped off the jet through the ramp that lowered beneath it. They hunkered down for a moment as Okoye lifted off and flew away, completely invisible from the outside, before straightening out and adjusting slowly to the bitter, biting cold of the air around them.

Bucky took a moment to rummage through the packs they were given, pulling out a pair of Russia passports which somehow had their faces in them, along with a brand new, Russia identity. Impressed by the Wakandans' preparation and foresight, he threw one passport to Steve.

"There, you're Ivan Sokolov now." He smirked as Steve stared in disbelief at his face, placed so deftly next to a name he could not even read. "I'm…" Bucky glanced down at his own passport and grimaced. "Andrej Volkov."

When Steve tried to pronounce his own name and Bucky's it came out with such a garbled, American accent that Bucky cringed and looked alarmed. The former simply shrugged, at a loss at how to say it any other way.

"Just let me do the talking." Bucky suggested as he pulled a wad of folded bills from the pack, glanced at them and roughly counted a couple hundred rubles in that pile alone and swung the pack over his back deftly. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Steve grumbled a tad annoyedly, but deep down, he was glad to be working alongside his best friend once more.

It felt as though nothing in the world could stand against them. Not anymore.

(0)

Alright. This is an idea I've had trotting around my mind for a long time now and I've gathered the inspiration to finally write. The big advantage here is I know how it begins and ends, so all I have to do it fill in the gap in between.

Note that I'm a student and doing a bachelor's in chemistry, so you might understand that I really, really don't have much free time. I tend to write when my inspiration is highest because otherwise, I'm just too tiered. I'll give it my all, however and try to deliver accurate, OC material, I swear.

I didn't mean to offend in any way in the part where I spoke of Russia's potential racism and as I'm not from there, I don't know exactly how the situation is. All I know comes from research I've made and a few articles I've read, which seem to point to the fact that Russian-born people of color suffer a great deal of discrimination. I also know that racism can be rampant (a region where I've been living in Canada these pas few years is attesting to that) and I want you to know that I in no way mean any offense to anyone. It is a touchy subject and not one I have ever really written much about, and if I handled it poorly for any reason, let me know.