The Archangel (Avengers Fanfic)

Chapter Twenty Eight

Bucky and I quickly grew used to life in Wakanda. Our hut was small and minimal but we had never really needed anything more. Some nights we didn't even make it back to what we had affectionately nicknamed 'the cabana', preferring to stay out under the stars.

Often times, when this happened, we would wake to a few of the village children looking down at us. They were always eager to learn something new about the strange people that had started living with them and they—along with the rest of the border tribe—were also willing to teach.

We taught the children how to play soccer in the field just outside the village. The children—along with the adults—had begun to teach us how to speak in the native language of Xhosa. Both were picked up rather quickly. We had full blown games of soccer in a couple days and Bucky and I had learned the basic sounds of the language and had started stringing them together into simple words within about a week.

Of the languages I could speak, a click language was not one of them. Learning a hundred new consonants in the form of various clicking sounds was strange but also fascinating. But both Bucky and I seemed to really enjoy the experience. T'Challa and Shuri would come down every once in a while to keep us updated, Okoye visited far more regularly due to her relationship with W'Kabi. We grew close easily though they were busy often. It hardly mattered, our neighbors were incredibly friendly, despite our obvious differences and it was a pleasant change from being viewed as freaks and pariahs. The tribe took care of us as if we were one of them, providing food, shelter, and the occasional entertainment.

It was only a couple days into our stay that we offered our services with whatever they needed help with. In the borderlands, they preferred not to use technology to the extent of the city, and as people from a different era, we could definitely respect that. Call us old fashioned but hard labor just felt more accomplishing when it was achieved with your hands and sweat equity.

At first they had refused the offer, saying that they would not make their guests work, but quickly found out that we would not take 'no' for an answer. There was always more work to be done, so they—eventually—accepted our service. To be fair, we didn't really give them much choice.

On some points we managed without instructions with Bucky's work experience before the war in construction—our overall greater physical abilities also helped. On other points, that wasn't quite the case. The locals were happy to instruct and assist us with our more challenging activities whenever we needed it. Bucky took quickly to goat herding and construction, occasionally, I helped. I found a certain knack for gardening but for the most part, I cooked, taking inspiration from the Wakandan dishes.

Every morning, I would help the women carry in water from the pond while Bucky helped the men catch or collect whatever was needed for a village breakfast. When each had finished their task, the men would build a fire for the women to cook with and then the entire village would eat together. It wasn't waffles but it was always delicious, sometimes spicy or sweet, but more often than not it was something neither of us had tried and our new friends were eager to see our reactions.

We did our best to understand their culture and adapt to it. And just as us, they were curious about our origin and eventually learned the extent of our history, our problem with control, and how we came about becoming their guests. Their children were just as curious, but more about why I had wings and Bucky a metal arm than anything else. Even in Wakanda, which was far advanced in technology, we were unique.

Our life was simple, unique but simple, no wars to fight, no enemy to face, the only conflict we faced was whether we should walk or fly. It was . . . rather nice, the quiet life. I savored every moment, fearing that one day we would be called back into service, and this little piece of paradise would be gone, but the feeling didn't taint the joy every new day brought me.

No matter where I woke up, in the cabana or the field, Bucky was always there, today was no different. I liked watching him sleep, he was so peaceful. Sometimes I would wake him with feather light kisses, other times I would draw patterns on his chest, but days like today I just let him sleep. He had worked hard yesterday, exhausted himself before the sun set. He seemed as if he needed the sleep, so I cuddled in close and wrapped a wing tighter around him.

I dozed in and out next to him while he slept. When he stirred and blinked the sleepiness from his eyes, I greeted him with a warm smile and a morning kiss, just like I've been doing for nearly five months now. "Good morning."

"Every morning I see you is a good morning." I couldn't help the blush that spread over my cheeks and quickly hid my face in his chest. He brushed his real hand through my feathers which was followed by a concerned look when he was able to pull out a clump of smaller loose ones. "Angel, your wings . . ."

"Just molting, usually takes longer because I'm in my metal form more. They'll look terrible for a couple days and I'll be grounded, but it's normal." I sighed.

"How often does it happen?" He asked, curious now that he knew there wasn't cause for concern.

"Once a year, the time I'm in metal doesn't count. I wouldn't mind it so much if I could reach my back. Grooming helps the feathers grow back faster." I snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth his body provided.

His lips quirked up into a smirk, "grooming, you say? Need a hand?"

"I might need two," I teased, giving him a sweet kiss as I moved to get up. Bucky protested as I moved toward the doorway. "Come on, sarge, I need your hands."

He followed me out to the pondside and settled behind me in the sand. I unfolded my wings from my back and curled them around to my front so I could start combing through the underside of my wings. But when his hands started moving through my feathers, I sighed at the sensation, it felt like when he played with my hair.

I felt the dead feathers being pulled from my wings like a massage, it was quite pleasant. Bucky went over both my wings twice, helping the molting process along. I could hear the smirk in his voice as he asked, "I guess we're walking, huh?" Of course he wanted to walk, still wasn't much of a flight person.

I gently flicked one of my wings at him, "Oh, shut up."