an agreement made by opposing sides in a war to stop fighting for a certain time; a truce.
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Timeline for bloody waters
Erik arrives - Challenge - ends Day 1
Wedding - 2 days long- ends Day 3
Honeymoon ends - 3 days long - ends Day 6
7th day is Council Meeting
Hello! We're back and ready to rumble. As of today we have… 2 chapters after this written. The goal is a 4 chapter lead for smoother updates. (Maybe even a regular posting day)
This looks like it's gonna be quite a story so I hope you all stick around for the ride.
"Khuselo Umdlalo" = Tower Game
My love and eternal gratitude to agentmal, my amazing co-writer and galaxiaa7 my beta reader.
-:- 10 Days Before Current Day -:-
T’Challa briefs the council shortly after Agent Ross divulges what he knows about Erik Stevens. His heart feels heavy, thoughts conflicting as he relays the news. He knows what it means to lose a father, and he can only imagine the turmoil experienced by someone as young as Erik would have been. It is hard to mask the anger he feels, that this has been buried for so long. That they would be blindsided like this. That his father would keep this secret.
“I have recently been informed by trusted sources: N’Jobu had a son during his time as a War Dog abroad. We will be meeting that son shortly.”
The council’s immediate response is unsurprising.
“N’Jobu has a son?”
“Who is your informant?”
“How old is the boy?”
He responds to his mother’s question first, once the din settles. He does not mention the codename, or the background Agent Ross had given;
“His name is Erik Stevens. I did not know of his existence until yesterday after Klaue escaped us.” His words are greeted with more outburst and questions.
“What was he doing in Korea?”
“How do we know he is truly N’Jobu’s son?”
“Where is N’Jobu? Where is the boy’s mother?”
“Where is Klaue now?”
T’Challa tries to answer the questions he knows the answers to, based on the intel Wakanda received and Agent Ross’s own words. When he gets to the parts involving Zuri, one of the elders’ requests that Zuri speak before the council himself.
Out of the corner of his eye T’Challa sees Shuri tapping away at her Kimoyo beads, as well as his mother sending a message of her own. Okoye and the arrayed council exhibit a mix of displeasure and perplexity.
Would it be wise to give Zuri audience? Testifying to lend evidence to the origins of his re-emerged cousin is one thing, but it would almost certainly include N’Jobu’s act of treason. Something so heinous? It would destroy a legacy that had never been in question. Didn’t the council and everyone present deserve to know the truth? Whatever he told the council, no doubt Erik would have his own perspective of that night.
T’Challa weighs his options, knowing Erik is already en-route to the capitol from the border, accompanied by W’Kabi and Klaue’s body. He doesn’t know how much time he has before he must give audience to Erik, but he decides then: Zuri needs to tell the council what transpired that night. A Dora and two king’s Guards are dispatched for him.
Zuri arrives at the administrative building shortly after with the Dora and Kingsguard, and T’Challa has them wait outside the council chamber. He receives word of W’Kabi’s arrival not long after. T’Challa has both processions enter together, watching the way Zuri reacts upon seeing Erik; eyes wide, gait halting.
Erik, in contrast, looks unbothered, a swagger in his step despite being restrained and guided by W’Kabi. He is not wearing the necklace T’Challa had seen in Busan. He realizes W’Kabi has the necklace and their grandmother’s ring.
T’Challa raises a hand, still seated; to quiet the gathered elders and stop any further escalation.
He reiterates, gaze moving from the council to W’Kabi and finally Erik, “I learned yesterday, my uncle had a son. That son now stands before us. W’Kabi, I believe you hold evidence to the fact?” He gestures to the hand holding the necklace.
The Border Tribe man raises the gold chain in full view of the council.
The council responds in titters and louder whispers.
T’Challa continues, “Until yesterday I had no knowledge of his existence or of what transpired between my father and N’Jobu.”
T’Challa watches his cousin as he speaks. The cool look is still there but there’s something else in his eyes. Something hot, maybe anger, T’Challa doesn’t know for sure.
“Zuri is the only eye witness we have for a secret long buried. He will speak first.”
T’Challa gestures to Zuri, prompting, “You told me last evening that my father killed N’Jobu to save your life.”
The room quiets, waiting.
Zuri responds slowly, eyes moving from Erik to T’Challa then the gathered council. The man’s hands are clasped and his expression one of regret.
“That is true. I was assigned to watch N’Jobu then. When --”
Zuri pauses, words choked, eyes watering. They wait quietly for him to continue. The older priest’s eyes are now locked on Erik, who glares back. His cousin’s cool expression has fallen, replaced by one of murderous intent.
“When N’Jobu was confronted by T’Chaka that night, he shot me. Up until that evening, he did not know who I truly was, and felt betrayed by me. T’Chaka stepped between us, saving my life and taking his. We left shortly after, abandoning his body there, as well as his son, N’Jadaka.”
Zuri does not mention now, why T’Chaka confronted N’Jobu in the first place. T’Challa isn’t sure whether that piece of information is yet relevant. His father buried N’Jobu’s crime for good reason. He takes stock of all the reactions and responses among the gathered council. Shuri to his right looks shocked, as does his mother. The council seems equally surprised and attention settles on the son of the man in question.
Erik stands alone, W’Kabi to his left.
T’Challa stands, walking past the gathered elders placing himself in front of his cousin.
“I do not know you cousin. So, I ask now, before Wakanda’s council, that you introduce yourself.”
Erik’s eyes are hard, and at the question his mouth twists into a sneer. He speaks in accented Wakandan.
“I am N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu.”
T’Challa takes in the face of a cousin he’s never known, a child abandoned, and he says clearly, “N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu. Wakanda recognizes your claim. Had we known of your existence; this situation would be very different.”
There is a shift in his cousin’s expression and the man looks away from him to the council, this time he speaks in English.
“Nah, it’s too late for that. I want the throne.”
T’Challa’s own eyes narrow with the words even as the gathered council reacts loudly to his cousin’s words. T’Challa can’t focus on the exclamations but he hears his own mother break through the mesh of voices.
“Challenge day is past.” Ramonda steps away from Shuri and the elders walking towards where T’Challa and Erik stand.
“We recognize your claim to royal blood, but we cannot entertain such requests.” Her voice is pitched to carry, reasonable and resolute. This would end here.
Erik looks from her to T’Challa, eyes narrowing.
“I was busy, recovering something your son lost.” Erik gestures to W’Kabi who nods back.
T’Challa’s heart sinks. His cousin continues.
“Klaue’s dead, I killed him myself. I delivered justice that your king failed to. His body is with the Border Tribe and I’m challenging, right now, for the throne.” He doesn’t mention he was the one to break the man away from T’Challa’s custody.
Before T’Challa can respond the council is speaking again, louder this time.
“It would take weeks”
“Surely there is no reason-”
“He must wait-”
When T’Challa finally speaks, it’s directed at W’Kabi.
“Do you support his challenge?” He already knows the answer, but he asks anyway. At his words the gathering quiets once more, awaiting W’Kabi’s response.
“The Border Tribe stands in support of Prince N’Jadaka’s challenge.”
This time there’s absolute silence at W’Kabi’s words and T’Challa struggles rationalize what changed between challenge day and today. That W’Kabi, a longtime friend and confidant, would do this, and do it in front of the council. What was so unforgivable that his own best friend would now raise a champion to challenge him?
Beyond his own hurt, he recognizes the underlying implications of unrest and strong dissatisfaction. If T’Challa refused this challenge, it would potentially fuel more problems. Claims of monopoly and cowardice, the situation is unexpected and twice as damning.
T’Challa’s jaw flexes. He tears his gaze away from W’Kabi and back to Erik.
“You do not have to do this. Whatever our issues, it can be addressed without issuing a challenge.”
“I don’t need anything fancy, and I don’t need a crowd. Just you to accept my challenge.” At the word ‘crowd’ Erik gestures to the council.
T’Challa doesn’t look back at the council when he responds, the impulse to fix this sordid mess overpowering everything else. After the challenge was over maybe his cousin would be willing to compromise.
“I accept your challenge, N’Jadaka.”
Erik’s sneer melts into a grin at his words and the sight makes T’Challa’s heart sink even lower.
“I waited my whole life for this.”
-:- Current Day -:-
His husband is still holding his hand when the last of the gathered council elders leave. They separated during the meeting as the agenda was reworked. Then N’Jadaka reached for T’Challa’s hand again following the farewell greetings and T’Challa let him. They stand together once more now, not far from the dais.
T’Challa waits a moment after the doors slide shut and then squeezes hard, nails digging into flesh. N’Jadaka’s hands are smaller than his, and the difference makes the pinching easier. When T’Challa breaks the skin, his cousin hisses, then his expression forms into a familiar smirk. He doesn’t let go. They are not alone, Dora Milaje stand to their back and Okoye to their left.
“Not bad for a first meeting,” N’Jadaka says, not addressing the pressure T’Challa is still applying to N’Jadaka’s hand.
“Half of what we covered was bullshit but...” N’Jadaka shrugs. His stitches were removed that morning. T’Challa hadn’t been present.
“A good introduction is important.”
N’Jadaka turns to address Okoye.
“Hey, General. How do you think it went?”
Okoye looks up from where her gaze had been studiously focused on her own notes for the meeting. She seems to consider N’Jadaka’s question, eyes going from where their hands are joined to N’Jadaka’s’ face.
“It went as expected. The council will take time to adjust to new leadership.”
“Oh yeah?”
Okoye takes a moment, suppressing a pained expression T’Challa knew would have sprung to her features were she not the consummate professional she was, then said, neutrally, “Yes, my king.”
T’Challa knew she had more to say on the subject, but N’Jadaka wouldn’t be hearing it.
N’Jadaka stares at her for a moment, as if toying with digging in further, then seems to discard it as lightly as he seemed to decide anything.
After a moment, N’Jadaka looks down at where their hands are joined. Then he smiles, full faced and almost innocent in his brightness.
“You know, I want to thank you. For working with me like this, hand in hand.”
The menacing air returns despite the bright smile. The reminder of T’Challa’s own part in N’Jadaka’s new position as king makes T’Challa grit his teeth. It is somehow worse than hearing his husband extol him in front of the elders for his hasty and much regretted decisions six days prior.
“With your help, I’m gonna build a bright future for Wakanda, and the world.”
What does that mean? T’Challa is tired of his cousin’s obvious contempt, tired of his aggression, his hints and his games. He is about to ask as much when N’Jadaka starts speaking.
“So, I was looking at the most recent mission logs. Right before the failed one with Klaue, there was a mission in Sambisa.”
Okoye doesn’t react immediately and T’Challa tenses, not knowing where this conversation could go.
“The Dora Milaje keep their own records, but if you would like more information on this War Dog mission we could summon-”
N’Jadaka shakes his head and Okoye stops mid-sentence.
“Nah, no need for all that. Just some questions, since you were there. Weren’t you?”
Okoye tilts her head, considering, then answers.
“I was. I accompanied T’Challa for the extraction.”
“Yeah. For the War Dog on mission, name’s Nakia right? River Tribe’s champion? Intelligence gathering in Nigeria, local Warlords and some captured civilians.”
Not for the first time, T’Challa’s blood chills at the thought of N’Jadaka singling Nakia out because of her importance to him. T’Challa had personally felt N’Jadaka’s wrath, he didn’t want it visited on anyone else he cared for.
N’Jadaka turns to T'Challa and asks finally.
“So, what happened to those women?”
T’Challa is taken aback. Okoye doesn’t answer and neither does T’Challa. He didn’t know. What happened once the freed women and lone boy they freed? T’Challa and Okoye left for Wakanda immediately after recovering Nakia for his coronation and he hadn’t since thought to follow up. Nakia might have but he didn’t.
“I am not sure. Why do you ask?” The admission feels like something worse than it is and T’Challa is hit with a new sense of dread; his grip loosens.
“Do you think they all made it home? Do you think their families will accept them back? What opportunities do they have open to them after something like this? Or that they even had before?”
N’Jadaka pauses, tone mocking.
“Do you think you guys saved them?”
T’Challa truly does not know what happened to the women they helped release. He hadn’t had time to do much besides handle his coronation even had he been inclined to do otherwise, and Klaue re-appeared, and then everything after...
“It is not our responsibility to clean up the world’s messes. We did not create these situations. If we are able to help, we do but to hold us accountable for every wrong in the world would be ridiculous.”
“Inaction helps only the oppressor, not the oppressed.”
N’Jadaka’s words remind T’Challa forcefully of something Nakia once said in one of the numerous conversations they have had about Wakanda’s place in the world. He suddenly feels entirely drained.
“We are not inactive, neither are we an ‘oppressor’. Doing more than what we already do, and doing it effectively, would require us to enforce our will on others. It is not our way. Even if it were, lasting change must be made by those within, not imposed by outside forces.”
At this, T’Challa could feel more than see N’Jadaka’s anger spark. “But sometimes those within can’t make lasting change, not fast enough.”
T’Challa wonders at his cousin’s naivety. Did he think Wakanda hadn’t considered this before?
“That all ends soon, though.”
At that, T’Challa frowns and turns to face N’Jadaka directly.
“What does that mean?”
N’Jadaka stares back at T’Challa for a long moment, expression melting into something more somber.
“I’ve seen what you guys have been doing. Off the record, behind the scenes. You try, don’t you? But it’s not enough.”
He stops speaking, as if waiting for T’Challa to affirm or deny but T’Challa remains silent.
“Wakanda’s intentions. They’re good, I’m sure. You mean well. But there’s no vision. No real understanding. You’re plugging holes on a sinking ship.”
He makes an odd motion with his free hand and moves closer to T’Challa, eyes bright, expression twisted into mock empathy.
“But I’m here now and I’m gonna help you guys out.”
T’Challa wonders at what his husband considers to be ‘help.’
N’Jadaka lets T’Challa’s hand go, finally; then dismisses Okoye.
“Thank you, General, I’ll send you my notes in the morning. Have one of the Dora escort T’Challa to the suite so he can change. I’ll be joining soon. We have another briefing this evening with the intelligence division.”
T’Challa chafes at the command but now is not the time to fight it. He needs to be present for whatever briefing N’Jadaka would be given or be giving in turn. He also needs time to regroup. His husband’s words today were both enlightening and frightening in their implications. He had been unable to speak with his mother upon his arrival in the capital, and now he aches to relay and work over the information he’s gained from the meeting and their conversation with her.
Impulsively, he calls,
“Ayo.”
The familiar Dora addresses him with a nod but does not break rank among the other Dora. A reminder of his new position.
“Ayo will escort me.” T’Challa makes his demand and waits with growing irritation for his husband to give his assent. When N’Jadaka nods, he moves swiftly for the door, Ayo falling into step behind him.
They walk for a while in silence. T’Challa takes the scenic route through the city and thinks. At some point he stops by a plaza and sits, Ayo standing beside him.
N’Jadaka did not know Wakanda. He did not understand their ways.
The day’s events affirm what he first thought when he had seen a holographic display of Erik Stevens.
He felt real anguish over his cousin, over what N’Jobu had done. What his father’s and Zuri’s own silence condoned. Now the anguish is replaced by cooler consideration of the figurative and literal monster their own secrets have created. In time, T’Challa knew the situation would be dealt with but it didn’t change the fact that it happened.
Perhaps if he had known sooner of his father’s negligence things might be different. His cousin has been left to his own devices for more than 2 decades. N’Jadaka did not want peace. His actions today would certainly upset the careful balance that currently existed among the tribes. T’Challa watched his father do his own balancing act over the years mediating between the tribes and he knew from experience there would be repercussions.
If his cousin is an outsider, irreverent of Wakandan culture and tradition, it is because the people who should have taken care of him, did not. N’Jobu should have brought his son home. T’Chaka and Zuri should have brought him home. Yet now it all seemed too late. N’Jadaka had chosen his own path.
-:-
“You know, no one is waiting for Wakanda to save them.” T’Challa turns from the display of current War Dog deployments when N’Jadaka speaks. They were early to their next briefing and surrounded by operatives and administration from the Intelligence Division.
He knows N’Jadaka is speaking to him, but the words make no sense.
“Pardon?”
“The people who really need help. The organizations that could really make lasting change. They’re not sitting around waiting for someone to help them.”
Both are seated side by side on a high bench almost center of the communal area. Others in the room can hear their conversation. T’Challa finds himself engaging once more in this “private” conversation.
“So, where does the helping end? Humanitarian efforts are one thing, but people must develop their own communities. They have to decide not us for them.”
N’Jadaka raises an eyebrow, like T’Challa’s words were something fascinating.
“So, you don’t think people outside of Wakanda are ‘developing’ their communities right now? Or ‘deciding’ to better themselves or their communities?”
His cousin hadn’t answered his question and T’Challa sighs.
This conversation is a familiar one, though the person he would normally be having it with is not N’Jadaka.
“Wakanda has peace because every citizen wants it. How do you enforce peace or change unto people who do not want it?”
“Enforcing is a strong word. People can choose what they want, though the funny thing is there aren’t that many options.”
N’Jadaka pulls up a similar deployment map on his kimoyo beads, they’re both accessing the same thread to prepare for the briefing.
“So, you want to give them more options? Is that your solution?”
T’Challa doubts it would be that simple or easy. He knows the history and politics of Wakanda’s own neighbors. If increasing opportunities were enough some of Wakanda’s more conventional humanitarian efforts would be enough.
“What do you think political and economic strife does to a community? Colonization? Western Imperialism? You can’t tackle one without tackling all the others. It’s also why all your attempts at intervention are ultimately fruitless.”
He points at a region on T’Challa’s display.
“Look at these deployments. You have half of your concentrated forces in places where they’re effectively doing nothing. Why do you need so many War Dogs in Britain or France? So, they can watch them steal some more shit? Continue exploiting former colonies?”
T’Challa’s own temper flares with N’Jadaka’s words.
“Where would you have our intelligence deployed? Away from the countries who pose the greatest threats to us?”
N’Jadaka leans back and gestures to his own display.
“It’s wasteful, especially when you have significantly fewer operatives on your own continent. Look at that, these points are ground zero for any coordinated attack against Wakanda.”
N’Jadaka manipulates the map deployment chart as he speaks, changing the distribution to make a several-point star around Wakanda. T’Challa notes trading ports, international commerce centers and a mine in DRC among the points of interest.
“Historically we have had few issues with our neighbors. Not since we established our borders in the region centuries ago and certainly not since our own force fields began shielding the country since 1916.”
This is basic history. If N’Jadaka had done the research T’Challa knows he has, he already knows this.
N’Jadaka nods, the smirk is gone replaced by concentration. He pulls up footage, obviously edited by him prior.
“That’s Loki, that’s Magneto, that’s some genetically engineered kid in Wuhan, China, these are super PACs owned by Hydra, those are mercenaries from South Sudan mobilizing with the help of anonymous American donors. Thanks to my dad and Klaue they have vibraniuim weapons.”
T’Challa watches the footage and the images.
“What is the point of all this? These threats are already known to us. They know nothing of Wakanda.”
N’Jadaka’s hands pause over his Kimoyo beads, expression calculating.
“Not yet.” N’Jadaka’s voice is softer now.
T’Challa watches the footage of a boy not much older than Shuri shoot an arm cannon eerily like the one Klaue used in Busan.
“This is fear mongering. Wakanda has all these potential threats under watch and will deal with them if and when it becomes necessary.”
Even as T’Challa says the words he knows he’s misstepped. It didn’t matter that the threats N’Jadaka named were under Wakandan surveillance and their own defense and security divisions working on ways to deal with each problem. All that mattered is that these problems existed.
“And that’s where you’re wrong.”
T’Challa opens his mouth to protest and then stops. Out of the corner of his eye he sees one of the milling operatives nod his head as if in agreement. Something in him freezes. He suddenly realizes this conversation; it is not about him. All of N’Jadaka’s words, they were not for his benefit, but rather for the other ears in the room. N’Jadaka was sowing his dangerous ideology deeper into Wakanda’s very psyche and Wakanda is listening.
“What does this have to do with Wakanda’s humanitarian efforts? This is all speculation.”
N’Jadaka refocuses on his deployment chart, and the looping edited footage disappears.
“Wakanda has no real allies. Blame it on the isolation, or the shitty attempts at humanitarian efforts or the fact that y’ll think you’re better than everyone else.”
N’Jadaka shrugs at the end of his sentence and smiles, all charm despite the disparaging comment.
“Wakanda does not think-”
N’Jadaka interrupts him easily, imitating the voice and accent of one of the more famous Wakandan broadcasters. T’Challa recognizes the imitation for what it is because his father used to listen to the Merchant Tribesman’s broadcasts in the evening somedays.
“Wakanda is exceptional, the rest of the world cannot be held to our high standards.”
He finishes with a condescending sneer then laughs. Continuing in his normal voice,
“If Wakanda is ‘exceptional,’ it is because Wakanda is able to protect itself from anyone who tries to take away Wakandan sovereignty. Take away all this history, all this culture, all this wealth.”
T’Challa thinks on just who has been taking what.
“We cannot change what has already happened.”
N’Jadaka closes the deployment chart, then pulls up the time. The briefing would be starting in less than five minutes.
“Way I see it, you can either make allies, protect Wakanda by doing the right thing properly. Or give your enemies one more pawn to use against you.”
-:- Shuri -:- Accompanying track “Good Enough”
Her cousin has a public handle now. There’s only two pictures and a few public posts but Shuri follows almost compulsively. The first picture is a profile shot from his coronation. In the picture, N’Jadaka’s expression is serious, and he is wearing Bashenga’s ceremonial necklace. Shuri doesn’t remember the photo being taken but she remembers him refusing the blanket offered to him after being seen by the nearby medic. He’d chosen to remain shirtless, scars on display and blood on his body. He looked absolutely terrifying.
The second picture is a picture she’s already seen. It is among the group of pictures taken two days before. It is mercifully not the picture the daily newsfeed used for their cover photo this morning, the one that looks like they’re about to kiss. That picture, now shared at least a million times, has been sent to her several times from different friends, family and acquaintances. No, the picture N’Jadaka uses as his second picture on his public handle is a curious one. Her cousin and T’Challa look like they’re joking in the picture. Seated across from each other on a shaded pavilion. T’Challa’s face is not in profile, though N’Jadaka’s playful grin is in full view. It’s deceptive, but Shuri knows better.
Already many people have commented with their blessings, opinions and jokes. Shuri might have commented or joked herself, if she didn’t know what T’Challa looked like when he was angry but trying to hide it. She can’t see his face fully, but she knows there was probably a twitch in T’Challa’s right eyebrow when the picture was taken, and his right hand hidden by their table clenched tight. It’s sobering. She still doesn’t understand why her brother even entertained their cousin’s proposal, but now she wonders more why her cousin proposed in the first place.
She’s seen most of the pictures people took the day before. Her cousin and her brother look good together. Everyone agrees on that at least, even both men’s respective fans. Their day clothes complimented each other ridiculously well and both her brother and her cousin were far from ugly. But there’s a distance, even when they’re right next to each other. Unsurprisingly there’s been numerous dirty jokes and memes in the past 12 hours alone about their honeymoon. Shuri hates it. Her cousin is dangerous. Ready to kill not just T’Challa during the challenge but Zuri as well.
There have only been a few people present for the challenge. Impromptu as it had been, the average Wakandan hadn’t heard his ridiculous speech, or watched him almost kill a priest of Bast. Surely if they had seen or heard then they might not be so quick to fawn over Wakanda’s ‘lost prince.’ She doesn’t get why her father chose to bury what her uncle had done. Now she doesn’t get why everyone who knows about what almost happened during the challenge is being so careful.
T’Challa drew first blood but N’Jadaka had been fighting to kill, not subdue. T’Challa’s own reluctance had been clear from the start but Shuri was still shocked when he yielded, N’Jadaka’s spears mere centimeters from Zuri’s chest. The ensuing proposal and T’Challa’s acceptance icing on a stupefying cake.
Her cousin did not like T’Challa, he didn’t like any of them. He’d been abandoned by her father and he’d come to dethrone and kill T’Challa. He succeeded in the dethroning but not the killing part. She’s always believed Wakandan styles of fighting superior to most of what the rest of the world used but watching the fight between her brother and N’Jadaka has shaken that faith. The ferocity in Killmonger’s attacks reminded her of a beast.
How that translated into any sort of relationship is beyond her. Marriage, while common, is not a necessity in Wakanda. Many people never even marry. The ceremony and agreement is mostly a formality, usually only relevant in certain disputes or irregular situations. Whatever reason her cousin had for marrying T’Challa, it couldn’t be good. Besides, her brother has only had eyes for Nakia for years.
Shuri finds herself staring at blurry videos, and clearer pictures of the two of them, and she knows something’s up. It’s just not right, and even if T’Challa and her mother and Nakia were definitely up to something it didn’t make up for the fact that they were effectively pushing her away from them by putting her out of harm’s way.
Her father was buried 3 weeks ago and so much has happened since.
Shuri is still with Efi at her clan homes. It’s been three days since her brother’s wedding. Her post about her visits to the refineries have gotten lots of views, in part because of all the buzz around T’Challa’s marriage. The actual trip itself has been really fun even if she is there under false pretenses. She arrived the day after the wedding with a single Dora and containers sealed several times. Under different circumstances her outing might have been remarked upon, but she’s already known for being a technological genius, and she’s been doing an ongoing series on her travels in Wakanda.
Today alone, her mother has messaged her 12 times, which by itself is unusual but she can feel the worry coming from her inquiries. If the situation were different, she might have been annoyed with her mother’s probing and micromanaging, but since her brother is no longer king and she’s transporting two white men that shouldn’t even be in the country; she responds to them at least half the time.
Nakia hasn’t responded to her message in days and Shuri feels both annoyed and anxious. They all have their duties and responsibilities, but she really wants to talk to Nakia to reassure herself that not everything has been turned upside down.
Thus far, the best part about this whole situation has been Efi. Beyond the convenience of Efi’s clan having a residence on the northeast side of mining river lands - and Shuri being tasked with getting her charges as close to the border as possible-, Efi makes Shuri feel less awkward and sometimes even more sure of herself. She didn’t seem to be intimidated by who Shuri is or her accomplishments. She could follow Shuri at least when they were talking about Mineral Science and she doesn’t seem to mind when She talked about her personal projects. Efi is warm, at times like the sister Shuri never had, others like the girlfriend Shuri wishes she would be.
They’ve been good friends for months now. Basically, since Shuri started her 2nd graduate program with an Environmental sciences concentration. They’d met each other through a group assignment and just kept hanging out after the experimental project ended. Efi is pursuing her first vocational mastery in engineering specialized in the use of vibraniuim as hardware material and much of their studies overlapped. It made for great conversation and gave Shuri all manner of excuses to see the mining tribe girl as much as she could in between her own responsibilities and work.
Although living with Efi and her extended family for a few days has been an experience. Shuri thinks they know she has a crush, but no one has said anything to her. Just knowing looks and the ‘random’ happenstance that leaves the two of them by themselves. Shuri takes the opportunities as they come, even if any words she might say get stuck in her throat the few times she works up the courage to talk about her feelings. In the few days she’s spent at Efi clan house she’s gained new found sympathy for T’Challa and all the times he’d flubbed with Nakia in his near vicinity.
Her own stumbling is a nice distraction from the less than ideal situation at large. The Captain and his team are supposed to meet her to recover Barnes but what they would do with Ross is yet to be decided. Nakia had been the one to put him under, and the only reason he isn’t already dead. Shuri doesn’t feel any real attachment to either man, though she’s not curious as to what exactly her cousin would do if he ever did find out about two white men being allowed into Wakanda and not being killed shortly after. T’Challa, Nakia and her mother seemed convinced he would kill both, the council would certainly side with him there at least. Shuri wonders who would win between Captain America and Killmonger. N’Jadaka has the herb now, and no reservations about killing. Rogers has a shield, and is, if the footage of his fight with Iron Man was any indication, very hard to kill.
“The game starts in an hour. Are you joining us?” Efi’s voice breaks through Shuri’s thoughts and she stumbles, despite being seated. After a few moments she nods.
“... Oh, erm. Yes. I would like to play. If—if everyone else is ok?” Her voice has gone oddly pitched towards the end and she struggles to remember to say what she means, embarrassment and the impulse to impress turning her mind in circles. Efi smiles, unbothered by Shuri’s now common fluster and leans closer. Shuri’s eyes follow the motion of her front braids, lined with blue and brown beads.
“Why would anyone mind? It’s not every day we get to play Khuselo Umdlalo with a Wakandan champion!”
Shuri’s mind stutters at the words and she sighs.
“It’s been a year and I have not played in months.”
She shouldn’t be surprised Efi knows about that. Efi doesn’t sound envious though just excited and curious. Shuri is used to people being jealous, cruel at times especially when talking about her more controversial achievement. Khuselo Umdlalo was just one more micro hobby in a massive list. She enjoyed the game though, before she’d won a championship game playing a very unorthodox strategy and ‘broken’ it for casual and competitive players.
“You know, you do not have to play if you do not wish to. No one will think any different of you.” Efi’s voice has become softer, empathic. Shuri hates it, even if it’s saved her more than once. Efi is very good at discerning her true thoughts, especially about things ‘everyone’ knew about her.
“No! I- I do want to play. I just… I do not want to make it less fun for anyone else.”
Efi’s expression turns mischievous.
“Well, I would be less than truthful if I did not mention that I’m hoping you will help me teach some of the older boys a lesson. They have gotten so confident since the last patch addition.”
Shuri fights her own blossoming grin.
“I do not care what the player’s digest says, there is no need to make the cooldown time for direct attacks longer. It only hurts diving strategies!”
Efi raises an eyebrow, “So you really have not played in months?”
Shuri looks away and curses her own need to know mostly everything.
“I have not had the time, never mind that; I know the perfect counter strategy for all those heavy defenders everyone is using now.”
-:-
“I can’t believe that worked.” Efi’s voice sounds equally gleeful and perplexed.
“I mean when you told me, it sounded like it would work but then the game started and they all just focus fired our only full ranged outpost and -- “
Shuri reaches for Efi’s hand; a sudden impulsive gesture after going back and forth in her head for what seemed like hours.
Efi pauses her recount of the game and grips Shuri’s hand tighter, a different smile forming on her lips. Shuri forces herself to say something, past the lump in her throat.
“It was a good game, you really saved us when they realized we were in their back line.”
“And then you had to save me, because all of their defenders retreated!”
Efi’s laugh sounds breathy in the late evening din. Shuri loves it. She wishes today was a more common occurrence. That she wouldn’t be leaving in a few hours’ time.
“Do you think they will play with us again? It was a very good matchup.” Shuri’s question is soft; but she means it. She really enjoyed herself.
Efi tilts her head, and they’re suddenly much closer. They were seated on a two-person sofa in Shuri’s room and the door is closed. Shuri felt like she was in a sappy romance. Or the beginning of an erotic film.
“Maybe. Ade and Sarabi are good sports, but they are both on a rotating schedule at the central Mine at Bashenga. So, they are not here too often”
Shuri can barely follow what the other girl is saying, gaze trailing down from her eyes, to her nose and her lips.
Efi continues, “You have to come visit again, today and these past few days with you… they’ve been amazing.”
Shuri says the words without meaning to.
“I’m glad I came. I’ve never-”
Efi’s hand reaches up to cup her cheek.
“-been this far into Mining Tribe Territory… It’s different.”
“Good different?” Efi leans closer and Shuri is internally screaming, even as she struggles to keep calm.
“Very Good.”
Shuri is trying not to show how out of depth she truly is, leaning just a bit closer to Efi.
“Efi do you know if -”
A voice interrupts. Shuri pulls away, standing quickly then stops mid-motion. She hadn’t heard the door open. Efi doesn’t move and she feels absolutely mortified, they’d almost kissed. The words loop in her head and silence stretches till Efi speaks to their intruder, a younger cousin with short hair and a very curious expression.
“What are you looking for Jali?”
Shuri thinks she detects some irritation in the way Efi says the younger cousins name, but she doesn’t dwell on it too long; taking instead the opportunity to leave the room. She feels like she’s about to tear out of her skin from the sheer embarrassment, she doesn’t even know why she’s so embarrassed.
“I’m going to go get som- something to eat, I’ll see you two later.” She speaks very quickly and exits the room even faster.
When she’s walked a sufficient distance from her guest room area, she sinks into a nearby lounge and tries to make the loop of ‘almost kissed’ stop.
-:- Accompanying track “Beaches ” -:-
“You’re crazy, you know, that right?”
The room they’re in is blasting AC and she really wishes she was wearing something more than underwear and a thin shirt. Her hair is unwashed from weeks of bed-rest and the cottony static feeling is only beginning to fade from her head.
“I’ll crawl out of here if I have to.” She means it. They both know that.
“Look I don’t know what he has on you. But he’s done. It’s over. You need to-”
“The guy we were working with had a gun to my head. He was going to shoot.”
“So, he fucking shoots you first instead? Lin, do you realize how much tissue I had to regenerate? You should be fucking dead!”
Ava is shouting by the end of their sentence, and there’s a new sort of desperation Linda’s honestly not used to. She has known them for as long she can remember. A family friend who was just always around, even after she went away for school, then enlisted, then came back with a man with gold canines and scars all over.
“How did you find me?”
She asked the question when she first woke up but got no definite answer. She’d also been hallucinating and hopped up on pain medication, so her memory was foggy.
“Remy had a vision.” Linda shudders and something cracks.
“Oh god, Ava-” Horror and understanding washes over her and she struggles to breath. Remy was Ava’s adopted niece and clairvoyant. Remy was also seven years old.
Ava shakes their head as if in disbelief, a natural Creole accent emerging.
“I had to call up the boys. Just to get to you. Do you know how scared I was? Remy couldn’t sleep for days, and I didn’t fucking know where you were or when this shit would happen just that it was gonna happen and then I fucking find you ‘cause some cracker in Benin you apparently fucked over started telling stories and you’re just fucking gone and -”
She leans up with real effort to embrace Ava. It hurts but she holds on. Ava is shaking, but there’s no tears. Linda has never seen Ava cry before, it might have broken her own resolve, if they did.
“I’m sorry, Ava. I’m so sorry.” She’s too tired to cry, even with the strong impulse to break down sobbing and despite sleeping for days.
“You should have let me die.” There’s no self-pity in Linda’s voice. She knew what she was signing up for before everything went down. Erik being many things but never a liar. At least not outright, not to her.
Ava doesn’t say anything for a long time. When they do it’s after helping her back on the bed.
“Remy had another vision, while you were under.”
She nods for Ava to continue.
“That man. Him and someone else and some sort of… spaceship.”
She thinks on what Ava’s words could mean. She never dug too deep into the specifics of what Wakanda was capable of or what the ultimate goal was besides black liberation. She’d known she was only along for the ride, to be dropped when she became a liability.
“Was I alive in this vision?”
Ava seems to consider their next words, tongue rolling over cracked lips. There’s some fuzz on their mostly bald head and dark circles around their eyes. Major healing always took a lot out of Ava. Linda guesses whatever Ava had to do to bring her back from death’s door probably almost killed them both.
“Yeah. You were in it.”
Ava doesn’t go into more detail, but it’s enough for her. She’s already overstayed her welcome, and a part of her is still chewing on the fact that she’s not dead. Or that when she left this house, she’d lose the last piece of family she’s had in years.
She doesn’t ask any more questions, allowing the fatigue that never seemed to go away now take her under once more.
When she wakes up, she’s not alone. Remy is sitting on the small bed, feet swinging, with earphones in. Gently, Linda nudges the young girl with her foot. Remy takes out the earphones, brown eyes attentive.
“Ava says I gave you nightmares. I’m sorry.”
Remy doesn’t respond right away, and she feels flimsy in her apology. How did you apologize for traumatizing a kid with visions of your death?
“Are you going back?”
Remy signs the words quickly and Linda struggles to respond. Eventually deciding on a simple;
“Yes.”
Remy leans closer as if sharing a secret.
“Good, you should go.”
Linda ignores her own shock after interpreting the young girl's signing.
“Did you see something? In a vision?”
She stumbles the word ‘vision’ even as Remy begins to respond with her own signs.
“Kind of. It was weird. You were there.”
She struggles on her next question, as if Ava would walk in any minute and whisk Remy away and berate her some more.
“Is he ok?”
Remy makes a face. “What, your man? Ava hates him.”
Determined now she asks again, more clearly.
“Did he look ok to you, in your vision?”
Remy takes her time before responding.
“I don’t know. He was holding some guy’s hand. Does that count?”
She cycles through a series of emotions before she settles on calm.
“Yeah, it counts. Thanks, Remy.”
Remy nods, then gets off the bed.
“Mom sent me here for a reason though.”
Reflexively she signs back, “You know Ava doesn’t like when you call them that.”
Remy shrugs. Then points to a duffel bag.
“That’s for you. If you’re gonna go, do it before Ava changes their mind.”
Getting out of the bed takes way longer than it would have before being shot but she manages.
When she makes it over to the duffel, she unzips it and her eyes turn to saucers.
There’s enough cash to get her to wherever Erik is and still have some left over to leave for whichever charitable organization was closest to the city she landed in first. There’s also weapons, some survival gear, vests and one of Klaue’s own weird prototypes in the bag. Ava must have raided Erik’s shit after recovering Linda’s body.
“Fuck.” She feels bad immediately after. Remy is mute not deaf.
She turns back to Remy.
“I love you and Ava so much. You know that right?”
Remy signs back, “Ava hates you right now. Don’t die.”
She laughs, breathless and heavy.
“Did Ava take some for you guys? I can hustle my way out of a paper bag and you’re not exactly cheap, kid.”
Remy signs back quickly, maturity borne from the exposure to awful people like Linda in those oval eyes.
“No, but I took some and put it with James. He’ll make sure Ava doesn’t get us killed with their honorable shit.”
Remy signs the word ‘shit’ twice and Linda feels the returning urge to cry.
“Tell Ava I moved the cash, I love you. I’m not gonna die again. Promise.”