Chapter Text
6 June 1837
We leave New York today for Cape Town. My dear Sarah’s Uncle Aldrich has passed away without heirs of his own. As a result, the land he owned now goes to her. She tells me that she spent time there as a girl and that his acreage is some of the most beautiful land in the world.
I have my doubts. I, myself, have never been outside of New York, let alone away from my country. But I will keep good spirits for Sarah.
Her belly has grown so large and she’s sure it’s a boy, though I don’t know how she can tell. She says she wishes to name him Steven, after her father. Lord Steven Rogers of Greystoke. I am pleased with the name, truly, and gave her my full blessing.
Dear Steven, my son, you will grow up in a strange land but, one day, you will return to your true home.
Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke
15 June 1837
I find myself quite seasick on this journey. Sarah cares for me and helps me clean myself up but reminds me that, once Steven is born, I will have to do this for myself. She is joking, of course. There is more than a month before he will join us.
I jested with her that he should be born on the 4 th of July but she begged me no! “Sooner,” she pleads as she laughs. Her hay-colored hair shines in the bright, sunshine every day and I hope his hair is the same.
My Sarah is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld and I pray that Steven is even half as perfect as she is.
Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke
20 June 1837
The seas are terrible and dark no matter how many days we travel south. We should never have left America for this God forsaken place. Sarah remains in good spirits though I fear for her most – her, and our son, Steven. She hopes to give birth in Cape Town but I know not if we will arrive in time. The journey has already been delayed by two weeks due to this weather.
The Captain promises it is unseasonable and will pass, that we will arrive within the month but these storms frighten me. The clouds turn so dark and the waves shift us farther away from our destination. I could have sworn I saw the coast, but that cannot be. Were we that near to land, the Captain would tell us.
But I was so sure I could see it. My Sarah tells me I am merely nervous, that these spells will cease once we arrive at our new home.
Home. That is what she calls it now. To me, this wicked land could never be our home but the land Sarah has inherited must be claimed. We will be far more wealthy than I could ever have dreamed.
My son, Steven, will have every advantage and every possible thing he desires. The finest clothes and education will be his.
Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke
3 July 1837
The storm must have thrust the ship into rocks. Sarah and I were the only survivors that I could find. Thank God the boat was intact otherwise we may have died too. My Sarah is in pain, crying that our son will come soon.
Steven… we will arrive safely at our new home. You will have everything you could ever want, my son.
Joseph Rogers, Lord of Greystoke
6 July 1837
My Sarah died last night. I could not stop the bleeding, so I held her in my arms until she was gone.
I tried to hold my son after, but I felt nothing. He is small and cries so much. I must admit that I fear for the creatures that hear him in the jungle at night. I fear the sounds I hear surrounding us in the dark.
Steven… I make no further promises for the life you will have – I only pray that you will have one.
1869
Bucky was lost. He’d been separated from the group hours ago and had wandered through the jungle alone ever since. He hoped that he’d see sign of them somewhere. He kept his hand on his Colt Army Model, the one he’d brought home with him when he’d returned to Brooklyn after the war. He knew it would do nothing to save him from a gorilla or a leopard, but he also knew no Barnes went down without a fight.
This gun had saved his hide ten times over and had received just as many purchase offers back home as well as in the market the day before. Christ, he thought, it feels like it’s been years, but it was only yesterday.
He leaned against a large tree trunk to rest, taking a small drink from his canteen. He tried to picture home. When he’d left, they had just begun construction on the East River Bridge. His folks had taken him to see it before his departure but there was very little there yet.
He wondered what it looked like now; he wondered if he’d ever get to see it complete. He shook himself then and pushed away from the tree to keep walking.
He heard terrible sounds all around him but had to continue on. As the sky began to turn light, Bucky swore he recognized landmarks he had passed the day before. Sure he was finally nearing the camp, Bucky tried to walk faster, but a loud thumping sound brought him to a screaming halt.
Bucky spun around, prepared to shoot a leopard or some other vicious predator, but stopped. There, crouched in the massive leaves of some jungle plant that Bucky would never know the name of, was a man. A beautiful man. His skin was golden tan and freckled; from beneath his long, ratty blond hair stared anxious, piercing blue eyes.
Bucky held his left hand up as he holstered his gun, slowly. He hadn’t meant to frighten him. Bucky swallowed and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t – I didn’t mean to scare you. I was... I was just startled.” The blond man made no move from his spot, barely blinking as Bucky spoke.
Bucky’s mouth dropped open as the man stood, though remained in a crouch that Bucky associated with the apes he’d seen. His body was massive – also, much like the apes Bucky’d seen – and he was nude. Bucky looked away, sure this man had been the victim of some terrible crime and needed to preserve some dignity. That was until Bucky a felt hard, calloused hand on his neck. Surprised, he turned and jerked away, tripping on a thick tree root and landing heavily on his butt.
The man, too, jumped away, hiding himself behind the leaves again with a terrified expression.
“Shit,” Bucky sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this jumpy.” The man watched Bucky with wide, frightened eyes. “Do you need help, sir? Are you hurt?” Bucky asked, pushing himself to his feet and taking a step forward. “Were you attacked by natives or something?” The man blinked and cocked his head; the fear was replaced with confusion and Bucky felt a cool anxiety travel up his spine. “Sir?” He asked, his breath speeding up. “Wh-what is your name?”
The blond began to move slowly out of the bushes and Bucky was, again, shocked by his unabashed nudity. A gentleman, even a commoner, would try to conceal himself, ask for a covering – something. He stood again, slouched a bit as if the movement were foreign to him, but still did not answer. Bucky let himself look – really look. It was in that moment that he realized he was addressing no gentleman.
There were scars all over this man’s body, some of which seemed like leopard scratches and even what may have been old bullet wounds. His hair was wild and filthy, cascading over his shoulders. Really, the man was quite filthy in general. Some spots, though, Bucky was sure were massive bruises instead of dirt, and they reminded Bucky of the photographs of gorilla attack survivors.
Gorilla attacks. Leopard scratches. Bullet wounds.
“Oh God,” Bucky gasped. “Y-you’re him... You’re the Ape-Man! They... they were right...”