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Chapter Text

Shuri spurned folklore.

Where her mother would pull out the tales of old—gods and goddesses and spirits and Bast help her, the gods never listened anyway—she would crawl towards the old books of her father's library. Math, science, geology — she would absorb them all. Her brain was a sponge crafted from ingenuity, her soul a feverish spark that could never be satiated with vibranium as her muse. Over the decade she had run circles around the tribal elders and expert scientists alike, ushering Wakanda into a new era of technological prowess.

Beauty and the Beast. Queen Ramonda would insist. Chujo-hime, the princess who ran away and became a nun. Thakane and the dragon-slayer. The spry nine-tailed fox.

Her mother never hindered her ambitions, resigning herself only to interrupt her frantic moments of sleepless, drunk-like stupors after seasonal eureka! moments, but Shuri was her only daughter, and the Queen was a bit of a romantic, having sacrificed much for her own King. So while she rocked a young Shuri to sleep to princess tales spanning from East to West and everything in between, in Shuri's dreams she wore a lab coat instead of gowns, an AI voice welcoming her home instead of a king. Intellectual obstacles instead of—

Waterpeople.

Now that was one story Ramonda never finished. It was from some old book the then-novice spy Nakia brought from one of her missions, when she still used to be around, be there for her and her family. Except the waterpeople were called mermaids, and the main character was a woman who wanted so desperately to walk on land that she gave up her voice. Shuri didn't want to know what happened after. Her mother would never read to her again. And she had let the man who silenced her walk free. 

Show him who you are. Her mother's voice seemed to return only when she spiraled.

What she was, was a coward: someone who couldn't make the right decisions before it was too late and almost led a global catastrophe, someone who'd effectively left her country in the hands of the Jabari tribe, the friendlier relationship with M'Baku be damned.

The tears she'd been holding back rolled down her face. The smoke rising from the still-burning white clothes of both T'Challa's and Queen Ramonda's funerals blurred her eyes. She was twenty-one, a princess without a country to rule, and a Black Panther who could barely protect the people she loved.

Coward. 

Damn you, Killmonger.

Namor was a gentleman. He had sprung out of the ocean to flood the one country that stood a chance against the global order only to kill their queen (after kidnapping their daughter, Namora reminded him, though he responded that his order had only been to find the scientist, not escort an East African Princess into his world). He had stabbed the Princess cleanly through with a spear (hopefully her organs were okay, she made the suit and she was the genius, not his fault it could not stop him).

It was only because she took his trust and crushed it in her claws into smithereens.

He looked up at the mural again. The Princess' visage glittered down at him mockingly as he painted the next chapter of his people's history. The mural was a tribute to his history, his enemy — the only one he'd lost to and certainly the only one he's ever yielded to.

His enemies tended to be seasoned warriors, vicious gangs hardened by war, or soldiers brainwashed into serving narcissistic masters; not young women with bleeding hearts and a belief that conversation and tender moments could heal centuries of trauma.

He needed to shatter that illusion. For one moment, too, he'd been caught in her grandeur illusions, thinking that a bracelet exchanged and awe at what he'd built could change the world order. To be strong, he needed to keep others weak. To be independent, he needed to crush others into dependency, like parasites who could not survive without him, and so would never dare harm him. That's why he had taken the isolationist route. There was no game to play, after all, if he was not a player.

But play she did. Her compatriot killed two of his subjects and they ran away with the very scientist she'd bartered for her life with. So he broke her will, and she danced him into a corner until he was quivering on the ground, one wing lost and back burnt within an inch of his semi-immortal life. She did not let him taste the glory of death, either. She strangled him into submission, and then had the nerve to present them as equals ushering in a new era to their people. How could he do anything but accept?

So yes, he was a gentleman. He would not torment her any longer, because in the moments between his taking of life and her almost-taking of his, she'd emerged an equal. A superior, even. One day she would need him to remind her who she was, would need him like a ruler needed people to protect.

Namora's eyebrow was still raised. She spoke in clipped tones, breaking him from his reverie. He preferred silence when he painted so that he could remember later the emotions poured into the drawing of his history, but family was owed more of his precious attention.

"You are so sure that this...trust in the Princess you have is not misplaced?"

He noticed her intentional use of "you have" acutely aware that his council would be harder to convince. Namora, at least, thought him a faultless god; no matter, he had the patience of half a millennium behind him.

"You heard the gatherers murmur about her brother. Reckless in opening Wakanda to the world, but a man who let the killer of his own father go free, and then nearly laid waste to the country to fight space-dwellers." He couldn't recall the name as his people spoke in unusually quiet tones when mentioning him. His weakened population had yet to full recover from losing half their tribe for five years, but they remained a powerful army that weakened Wakanda, once. "I have met stronger men who started wars for less. Nobility is in their blood, Namora."

His thoughts continued to churn. She wouldn't understand the finer strategies of war and peace, him a fisherman circling prey and waiting for the precise moment to strike. She was, much like her own mother, quick to anger and uncompromising to a fault. A good trait in a warrior, but a weakness in the game the Americans had dragged Talokan into.

Still, she looked placated as he returned his art materials to his desk. Her eyes flitted over a conspicuously empty corner. "And the bracelet?"

He absently rubbed the cuff on his right arm. "What about it?"

"Why did you give it to her, K'uk'ulkan? You haven't let anyone touch it in decades."

Namor did the first un-gentlemanly thing that week and lied.

"I don't know."

And that, perhaps, was where Namora began to doubt him.

As the month passed, Shuri noticed that there were two times she allowed herself to smile: when Nakia made Border lamb with a rub of her own invention, and when Toussiant refused to change out of his school uniform. The former spy would wrestle him into pajamas every evening, inevitably starting a wrestling match. Toussaint would leave Nakia with no less than three new bruises.

"Ha! He bested you better than our favorite colonizer."

Nakia shot her a warning glance, finally shoving Toussiant into a short-sleeved top. Shuri's jests skidded to a halt as she observed the young boy and how strikingly similar he was to T'Challa's boyhood days, when he would chase her around the palace with an ancient merchant tribe mask on claiming he was a demon.

"What colonizer?" Toussaint bounced on the balls of his feet as his mother ushered him into the kitchen with promises of dessert. He skipped ahead, quickly forgetting his question. 

Nakia smoothed down her braids, fraying from the fight. "Speaking of the American, I heard from Okoye that he helped us." She frowned, as if she just realized something. "Surely the Americans don't look lightly upon treason."

"Neither do we," said Shuri quietly, remembering Okoye with another ache. The woman had a husband languishing in prison, had survived the snap, and now banished from the Dora Milaje as Wakanda scrambled to recover post-crisis.

She shook her head. Wakanda would be okay. She'd left M'Baku a surreptitious note detailing her absence from the challenge, hoping the Great Gorilla would take the hint. He hated her life's work, had challenged T'Challa, and made a mockery of their family every waking moment, but Bast execute her if he wasn't the only one to have lingered after her mother's funeral to offer comfort in the slightly comedic, borderline mocking, and begrudgingly respectful way only he could. The man would reinstate Okoye to the Dora if he knew what was good for him.

She joined her nephew at the dining table, familiar with Nakia's my-kitchen-my-space rule. She wondered how often her brother had wandered these very halls, creeping along walls crusting with old green paint in an average, warm home in this coast-side village. 

"Okoye called me earlier," said Nakia as she busied her hands with a pot of rice. Her tone was suspiciously casual, too measured. They made sure to never discuss recent events around Toussaint to keep him protected as her brother wished, limiting their conversations to jovial banalities of daily life. What inventions have you been working on and how are the neighbors around here? "She asked about you again."

"Tell her..." Shuri paused as Toussaint reached for her Kimoyo beads. She rarely took them off, too used to their weight, but for over a month now they were turned off and untraceable. "Tell her that I'm doing okay."

"She wants to talk to you."

"I know. I just..." What could she say? That she was a coward, running away?

"It's been over a month."

Shuri inhaled a sharp breath. "Nakia."

"I would never kick you out." She plopped a bowl of rice in front of her with a generous helping of vegetables. "You are my sister, but you are wasting your life here."

"I am not." 

"You—"

"Auntie Shuri?" Toussaint poked at his rice. "Why haven't you come before?"

Both Nakia and Shuri turned towards him, a sad smile gracing his mother's face. Shuri reached over the table to grasp the boy's hands in hers.

"You were a wonderful surprise. And now you'll have me around so much you'll get sick!" She flicked him on the nose, and he took a pinch of rice from his bowl to fling into her face. The two erupted into a playful fight while Nakia, aghast, tried to pry them apart. Even the woman's spy skills couldn't keep a growing boy at bay and soon the three chasied each other around the kitchen, Shuri clambering over a set of rusted pans, Nakia pulling Toussaint back by his shirt, and the boy suddenly in possession of a ladle, swinging it around like a sword.

A single knock on the door echoed through the kitchen. It wasn't until the second knock that she saw Nakia's muscles tense in a defensive stance, hard lines engraved into her smooth face. Shuri was not as quick to follow, but quickly realized that this was the back entrance into a wide garden. Any welcome visitors would've come through the front.

Nakia darted towards the door, her hands curling into fists.

But Shuri recognized the metallic arm of the visitor before his face even came into view. Because she had made it. 

"White Wolf?"

Chapter Text

Visitors. There were two of them.

The comically large men gathered around the small table the remnants of Shuri’s family had sat at mere minutes before. The chattier one shot Nakia friendly smiles as she bustled about again, griping under her breath about Americans and their poor manners, but even Haiti couldn't take the Wakandan out of her. Moments later, she served extra large helpings of grilled shrimp and vegetables to the guests. Toussaint had been sent to his room, not before the chatty one gave him a high-five.

Shuri kept her eyes trained on his burlier companion. The White Wolf had made himself quite the name in the Border Tribe before the Snap. His long hair was cut short and he wore civilian clothes now. His vibranium arm flexed under the harsh kitchen lights as he watched her as closely as she did him. She wondered what he saw: the same teenager he trusted to meddle with his brain or a pale imitation of her.

A grin eventually broke out across his face. "I see you got a haircut."

She mirrored his jibe and gestured to his head, his haircut uglier by the minute. "The manbun sends his condolences."

"Touché."

Nakia joined them at the table. A foot nudge forced her to sit up straight and exchange quick introductions. Nakia had been here raising Toussaint while her and her brother were in the void of Thanos' snap. Her lack of presence at Battle of the Earth seemed much more logical now. At the time, she had attributed it to the chaos of having half the world come back into existence, or maybe the former spy herself had been blipped too. But then Ironman died and there were state proceedings to attend and Wakanda was back in the limelight as the demand of vibranium became increasingly forceful and other political stuff she 

Political stuff. How she wished she'd paid attention, then.

Bucky was talking again, this time to her and Nakia both. "I am very sorry for your loss. When we heard, we wanted to attend..."

"Which one?" Shuri blinked rapidly. Nakia grabbed her hand.

"Both. Both. God, Shuri, I—" Bucky choked. He was an old friend and she knew his bandwidth for social interaction. A lifetime of brainwashing didn't disappear overnight. The the man suffered a great loss too after America's oldest hero passed. His quiet solemnity was all she needed.

"It's okay." She swallowed thickly. Wakandan funerals, the intensely cultural and religious affairs they were, were not open to outsiders. Her brother survived a universe-wide catastrophe only to succumb to an entirely preventable disease if Killmonger had not...hadn't—and had the Avengers showed up, their motley crew honoring him like they did Ironman, she might have teetered into the abyss of grief far sooner. 

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Both of Nakia's hands were cradling hers now. Panic bubbled up her throat and through sheer will and strength of the Black Panther did she force it back down. She refused to show weakness, but let Nakia proceed with her interrogation.

"What are you doing here? How did you find us?"

Sam smiled. "I promise, we mean no harm."

"If Shuri trusts you, I do. Please be advised I was trained to be a War Dog, a spy tenfold better than what your intelligence agencies boast. Lie to me and I'll throw you out without hesitation."

"Whoa, whoa!" Sam threw his hands up in the air. "Understood, but hear us out, please."

Shuri started to open her mouth but Bucky beat her. "Shuri, what are you doing here? We tried to contact you, even sent a message to Wakanda, but all we got was a middle finger from a guy called 'the Great Gorilla'."

M'Baku. I'm going to kill him.

Nakia pinched the bridge of her nose while Sam continued. The two made an odd pair, Sam all smiles and calm while Bucky frowned at the table, the stress apparent on his face.

"The world thinks Wakanda is reneging on their promise and they killed an innocent expedition team."

Oh, no, no, no. She left Wakanda to leave politics. She would not be dragged back into it by this duo passing in the night. Nakia, to her credit, transitioned swiftly between rubbing Shuri's hands as a consoling sister and the formidable spy she used to be, her loyalty to her homeland on full display.

"Our country did nothing of the sort."

"So you're denying it?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Gah! Americans, so slow. Of course we deny it." Nakia hesitated. "You said 'think'. You don't think we did it either."

"No. T'Challa...Wakanda," Bucky corrected, "wouldn't."

"And you know this how?"

"A country that helps monsters wouldn't help create them."

Nakia cursed in Xhosa, something about crazy old men—"technically true," Shuri told Bucky once—but Shuri knew exactly what he meant. Warmth flooded her chest at the reminder. To her, he began as one of many projects, initially a challenge to see how far she could evolve neuroscience and biotechnology with vibranium. For him, it was a second chance at life. Maybe that's what she needed: someone to invest in her, to care and nurture her like an African Lily and give her another chance.

"Look, we need your help." All traces of smiles from the jovial man were gone now. This was the man Captain America chose to succeed him, and he looked every bit the part. "But you need to promise this stays here. If we tell you our sources, or even how we found you, we could be compromising ourselves."

Nakia frowned. "Is that a demand or a request?"

"We're not here as U.S. representatives. We're asking as friends."

"We are not friends, falcon-man." Shuri shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I cannot help you. I'm...I'm no longer the ruler of Wakanda."

They said nothing. They already knew that, she guessed, if M'Baku sent them scuttling back. But what on earth could they still need her for?

Bucky averted his eyes. "Princess Shuri, you're the only one left who knows how Vision's mind works."

It was a long story, and the falcon-man cracked jokes no less than four times. Nakia almost swatted him with a spoon at least twice, and to placate her Bucky did the dishes while Sam finished his story, stealing glances at the former spy to ensure his limbs were still intact.

Shuri was losing her patience. Her day had started with a walk to the beach where ashes of her ceremonial robes were scattered, and now black Captain America and the one-armed centennial were sitting in Nakia's home in Haiti, her secret nephew mere doors down the hall, while the latter scrubbed the life out of a rice pot.

Sam finished with an explanation of something called the 'Hex' and chaos magic. Shuri's frown progressively deepened throughout his colorful retellings, but now she couldn't keep her curiosity at bay. Nakia shot her another one of her knowing looks, but she couldn't help it. Magic. Reconstructing a vibranium synthezoid body without an Infinity Stone?

"So what happened to—" She flailed her arms in a poor imitation of the witch. Was she a witch? Superhero? Didn't most superheroes have magical powers that made them a type of witch or wizard regardless? Except for Ironman, a kindred fellow believer in technology.

"Yeah, so, she's...out of commission. Last we heard, the wizard—"

"Sorcerer!" called Bucky, arms deep in soapy bubbles. Shuri had assured him the vibranium arm was water-proof.

"—the wizard tracked her down after she threatened to tear the fabric of the multiverse apart."

"The what?"

Sam waved his hand. "Not important. But she was our friend. She was grieving, and no one noticed something was wrong until it was too late."

Shuri stared. Maybe the Avengers only fought like a cohesive unit, a family, not that a civil war and the Snap couldn't alone damage relationships. 

"We're not sure if she's still alive, and the wizard-man won't say."

"What about the green guy? He wasn't smart enough to reprogram synapses collectively, but he helped create Ultron in the first place, right?" A part of her preened at the memory of the sulking look on a world-renown, Mr. 7-PhDs, at a teenager upstarting him. 

"Off-world."

Shoot. And Ironman was dead. They must be desperate.

Nakia tapped her foot impatiently. "What do you need her help with? To find this White Vision?"

"Yes. And fix him, if possible." Sam glanced around the apartment for the first time and lowered his voice. "Do you why the CIA was looking for vibranium?"

A sort of numbness took residence in the pit of her stomach.

"SWORD created White Vision to kill Wanda. It didn't work at first, but this new Vision is a mix of Vision's old body, magic, and scraps of vibranium. His old body was organic tissue infused with vibranium, making him near destructible. They were hoping, with Wakanda open, to restart Project Cataract and get a number of these vibranium synthesoids weaponized. Imagine an army of Visions, all sentient, made of the strongest metal on Earth. How desperate do you think America—or any country—would be?"

Shuri sunk into her chair. "Very," she whispered. "Very desperate."

"White Vision got his memories back and escaped. Every intelligence agency has a department scrambling to find him before someone else does. He's made himself untraceable. And this attack, the way it was carried it, is starting to look more like Wakanda took him back and sent him to..."

Bucky resettled at the table, the sounds of the chair scraping across the floor the only noise in the room. 

Luckily, Nakia was truly a gift from Bast herself. "I've never heard of such utter idiocy."

Bucky grimaced. "I know. With Wakanda's Queen gone and the country's lack of response to international inquiries into the issue, it's not looking good. We're worried the government's not above launching an attack if we don't get answers soon."

"And who is 'we', Sergeant Barnes?" Nakia bristled.

"Shuri," Sam interrupted, addressing her directly, "Can you help us? I think we all would appreciate no war for sometime."

Nakia scoffed, muttering something about the audacity of two men serving a warmongering country, but Shuri wondered what nobility Wakanda had left, considering the battle she'd dragged them into. One that was entirely preventable.

"We need your help to find Vision. Show the world Wakanda is a responsible party and can be trusted with vibranium, and that it was not you—"

"Is that what they say? That I created him?" She thought about that day occasionally and how if she had just worked a little bit faster to remove the stone, one blonde-haired woman would not be left a widow, Thanos wouldn't complete his gauntlet, and...and. There were always ands. 

"No. Tony got enough flack for that." Sam rubbed his eyes. "But you're in danger. Who knows what they'll do to get their hands on you and your brain. Bucky told me all about the stunts you pulled."

Shuri preened internally.

"Finding Vision will help you too," added Bucky. "T'Challa tried to kill me—"

"Understandable," she and Sam chimed in unison.

"—and then saved my life. Wakanda is the only place I have ever felt peace. We'll help."

Shuri closed her eyes, remembering the engineer from MIT. How Riri unwittingly helped start a war with Talokan all because she built a powerful machine to impress her professor. An overlooked genius, drowning in experiments in a lab, unaware of the consequences inventing could wreak. She remembered her skill, building a dehyradator and a flying suit like it was a mildly challenging cookbook recipe, as they worked together to put an end to all this.

"It wasn't us."

"I know," Bucky assured her, but it sounded doubtful even to her. His next words confirmed it. "Then who was it?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

Nakia stood up, waving her hand to disjoin the unwelcome meeting. "The Princess and I need to speak. You two are welcome to stay here, if you were careful enough to not be followed. Not a single word of any of this until my son leaves for school tomorrow." She swiveled on her heel and left after thanking Bucky for his help. 

The conversation had teetered dangerously close to one topic she refused to open, even with Nakia.

"We can't tell them."

It was almost dawn and Toussaint would be up in a matter of hours for school. Bucky and Sam were resting in Shuri's room, so she was on the floor next to Nakia in hers, panther eyes trained at the ceiling. In the dark her eyes were sensitive enough with the herb's help to recognize the general shapes and patterns around her.

After two hours of turning and sighing on her mat, she had thought that if Bast didn't want to grant her a full night's rest, she could at least make it productive by debating a similarly-restless Nakia. Unfortunately, after another two hours, they were back where they started and no closer to deciding their next move. 

"We have to," insisted Nakia. "This is politics, usisi."

"And I hate it." She tried to keep the whine out of her voice.

"We have vibranium, but we cannot win in a war against the entire planet, or risk losses even with America. We must keep our people safe."

Strange how different philosophies grew from the same root. Will you join me and go to war with the world, to protect our people?  Her heart rate speed up. Those memories felt further away than even her father's death, despite barely two months having passed since she met him. Him. He was nothing more than him in her mind. Putting a name to him would dredge up all the things he said as he wrapped a bracelet, a family heirloom, around her tiny wrist, asking her to join him in a crusade against everyone who could hurt his people; his godforsaken pointy ears, stilted smile as he watched her witness what no one else before her had; yielding beneath her feet, almost cradling the spear at his neck...

"Show him who you are, Shuri."

I am not my brother, but I am not Killmonger.

"That's what I'm trying to do, and breaking our promise to him will compromise our people."

"You made a promise to him as the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda, but Wakanda's King did not."

Hot fury expelled the last of Shuri's desire for sleep. "You saw what he and his people did. You—" she allowed herself a shaky breath. "You saw what he did to Mother. They have vibranium but they can use it ways we can't even imagine, more than what we saw in Wakanda. They had hundreds of years to build a civilization completely on their own."

"So did we."

"But we didn't grow gills."

She heard Nakia growl in frustration. "Usisi. We can make other allies. We cannot be bullied by one empire that no one knew existed and stand by them at the cost of the rest of the world. Your brother made a decision to open Wakanda precisely so we could engage with the world, to make Wakanda a country others looked to model, not be bulled by a water kingdom!"

Shuri hissed and sat up on her mat, hands curling into fists. "He killed her! So easily! They are powerful, Nakia, and I made a promise with them!" I promised him.

"Is that why you made a truce? Because you were too weak to beat him?"

Silence.

"Leave."

"This is my room."

"You left my family easily."

Nakia left.

Bucky and Sam wisely ignored the tension in the kitchen that morning, or they didn't notice it at all. Toussaint was plenty cheerful for the four of them ("Can that arm turn into a sword? Can I go boating with that shield?") so Shuri spent her time toying with the Haitian cornmeal porridge Nakia made, a quiet mumble of gratitude the only words exchanged since their argument. She needed a nap, and maybe she could ask Bucky to knock some sense into her. Why would she say such a horrible thing?

Nakia had always done right by their whole family until the Snap. No one could fault her for coping in her own way because she thought them all dead for five years, alone in a different land with her son she needed to keep secret. What was mere moments for T'Challa, Shuri, and half the Dora Milaje was a curse for her mother and Nakia. Then they were robbed again by the disease that took T'Challa, and the only thing Shuri could offer the woman her brother loved was a metaphorical slap across the face. Shuri had taken every kindness the only family she had left in this world offered her and destroyed it like a petty child.

Is that what politics did, make children out of leaders? Or was it just her, a coward?

She was a woman now. If she failed to maintain her country, she could at least maintain her relationships. She volunteered to walk Toussaint to school, leaving Bucky and Sam alone and hoping Nakia wouldn't return to a home reduced to rubble as she practiced her apology. Toussaint spouted a long stream of questions about the mysterious visitors but quickly diverted his attention to Shuri's childhood and experiences growing up in Wakanda. While Nakia shared nightly stories with the boy about his homeland, he seemed desperate for more, even asking her about the tribes and her kimoyo beads.

He would make a good king one day.

Nakia was watering her plants when she returned. The woman had adjusted her schedule to fit Shuri into her life after she arrived, working fewer hours per day but increasing the number of shifts per week. Shuri herself had been in the process of looking for some humanitarian to engage locally and was supposed to start next week with Nakia's help.

Nakia did so much, expecting so little in return. She looked up at Shuri's soft footsteps. She looked better with age, and T'Challa would have loved her more with every passing year.

Shuri's rehearsed apology evaporated as the tears she was suppressing since yesterday finally spilled onto her cheeks.

"I am so, so sorry."

The woman wrapped her in her arms, squeezing her tight.

"You were living peacefully, and I came and changed everything and now—"

"Hush. I am upset with you, but I don't love you so little that it makes a difference."

Shuri cried harder.

Bucky crashed into the front yard, Sam hot on his heels. They were out of their civilian clothes; Bucky in some collared, leather jacket and Sam's suit was if Chris Rogers' Captain America uniform had mated with a falcon. An apt conclusion to Sam's character arc, if Shuri cared to think hard about it. She had only seen the man in fleeting glimpses, her most vibrant memory when they "blipped" and he flew into the Citadel, Wakanda's palace, with a sorcerer on his back and yelling about getting them to New York via a magic portal. It was quickly becoming apparent that the most memorable memories of her life outside of family involved some type of magic or another.

"You need to go back to Wakanda." Falcon-man breathed, breaking her from her reverie and from Nakia's warm arms. "They're onto us. The American government sent another expedition to find vibranium, and a troop was deployed to enter Wakanda."

"What?"

All around her, Sam, Bucky, and Nakia erupted into frantic, half-broken sentences. Passersby paid them no heed, a reminder that what threatened the world on a regular basis was a passing concern for most. Shuri listened to the shouts, still sluggish from her lack of sleep and breakdown, that it was only a familiar rasp on an old iPhone Bucky held in his hand that jolted her fully awake.

"Okoye!"

"Princess! Where are your kimoyo beads? I have been calling—these primitive phones!—you must go home at once. It's not safe."

The panic from last night returned. "I can't. I will be safe here, Okoye, but please tell me what's happening—"

"Not for your safety. Wakanda's safety. Wakanda needs your protection. I will take care of heading to the expedition's location, but there will be war and—" The call dropped. Bucky tried to reconnect, but there was no time.

"We need to go." Sam hauled his shield over his shoulder. White and red glasses covered the top half of his face, almost as obnoxious as the rest of his suit. "Bucky can get you back in a Quinjet."

An objection spilled out of Shuri before she could stop it. Her mind raced forward with a dozen ways this crisis could unfold, each one worse than the last. "No! What expedition? Are they going back to Ta—that place where the last expedition happened? How did they get another vibranium sensor?"

"We don't know, but sounds like it."

Shuri met Nakia's gaze. "I need to warn them."

"Shuri, no."

"Who's them?" interjected Bucky.

Shuri was already fiddling with her kimoyo beads, the buzz under her fingertips familiar as they linked to Wakanda's mainframe. "Bucky, can you take Nakia and Toussaint to Wakanda? Sam, try to tell your government we — Wakanda will meet with them if they call off this stupid power play. Give me three days."

Sam flexed his arm. The shield on his back tilted with the movement. "Two."

"Shuri, you can't be serious—"

One of the kimoyo beads lit up and displayed the map she'd captured with her earrings, all those days ago. An underwater city. "Two days."

Shuri wrapped her arms around the white wolf, a hint of a smile on her face. "Thank you, Bucky, for coming."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled awkwardly, "But who's them?"

Sam was halfway out of the yard before large wings erupted from his back. The metal tubes shimmered like muscle fibers, launching him into the morning sky. Shuri absently noted a few places where she could improve the suit, one day, if she ever made it back to her lab. Behind her, Nakia grabbed her arm.

"Shuri! I forbid you from going. You cannot go back to that place."

"I need to." Shuri leveled her gaze at the woman. "Wakanda can manage against one American troop with you and Okoye. But we cannot win against the consequences of a broken truce. We need to show good-will if this will ever work, and I promised to protect them like I do mine."

The words had their effect. Nakia stilled, her grasp on Shuri's arm relaxing as her eyes sharpened. "Are you ordering me?"

"As your princess."

To her surprise, Nakia smiled. Shuri hadn't called herself a princess in a long time.

"Who's them?"

At the bottom of her bag was a single conch shell, placed in a small box to prevent damage (and Nakia's prying eyes when laundry time came around), not that oversized clothes and tracksuits could do much damage to objects made to survive deep oceanic water pressures. Her bag's front pocket, amidst a tangle of random objects, coins, and wrinkled gum wrappers, sat a hundreds-year old bracelet that better belonged in a museum than to rest on her wrists. 

She hesitated, and pulled it over her right hand.

They were parting gifts that solidified an alliance Wakanda was essentially wrangled into: to protect Talokan, or be destroyed by them. But if she were honest with herself, it was an alliance born from a desire to protect her world and the peace of the world at large.

When she saw his Bast-damned face, she knew she could not be properly angry at his reasons—Wakanda was once isolated and threatened into opening up. Yet Killmonger was not of the water. Killmonger sought his own power and perpetual war even if there were alternatives; the water-king felt the only option to keep his people safe was to unleash war until there was no one but vibranium empires remained.

Water trickled down the ridges in the conch shell. Her hands grasped at it tightly as she strode across the beach she'd made her second home.

The shell was the whispers of a promise, a frail alliance that she chose after days of anguish and guilt tearing at her insides. She was not her brother, but she'd chosen the path he started to walk down all those years ago when he spared their father's killer and then when he buried Killmonger with their ancestors. She was his shadow, following a glimmer of hope that maybe her cowardice could be outshone by the simple adherence to protect her brother's wishes.

To protect Wakanda, she would protect Talokan. She could not begrudge Namor for arriving at the same conclusion she had made him yield to.

She pressed her lips to the shell.

Chapter Text

Namor heard the rumbling of the sea above him before the shell's vibration. It was as though Chac filled the sky with rain because his ears perceived beyond the range of the ocean and right up to the edge of land-dwellers. 

He felt her fingers dip into the water. 

Council members called after him as he stood up with his staff in tow, the telltale sign of his leave. His people loved him, and he them, but he defined the traditions they sought so hard to maintain. Namora's watchful eyes followed him. He tore upwards, tunneling up and out of the throne room. Practiced movements honed over centuries would usually propel him into his private quarters in his air cave in mere minutes, but his injured wing hindered him from his usual fluidity. He adjusted for the imbalance by favoring his left leg and compensating with strong right-arm strokes. Soon, the vibranium sun of Talokan was a glittering orb behind him.

He preferred the cool depth of water, flowing and curling around his limbs as he swayed with the currents. But the air that greeted him was no less pleasurable, and his need to absorb oxygen from air as much as he did water was a reminder that he was a king born of both mud and ocean. 

His lips curled, remembering the contraption the Wakandan princess had trapped him in. Ingenious, yes, but she'd forgotten that vibranium destroys vibranium, and their empires were equal in that precious resource. Still, that she had so thoroughly pinpointed his weaknesses after meeting just three times ruffled his wings, as did the idea of him being so powerful as an enemy that he rattled her was flattering.

Another vibration of the conch shell reminded him to move quickly. He tore off his golden tilmahtli, the vibranium fibers of the cloak slow to dry in the damp heat, and flexed his neck, prepared for another flight upwards and towards the waters of Haiti. 

The sky was an even, foggy blue when he broke out onto the surface. His sight blurred before it cleared to a vision.

Shuri was dressed in a garish gray and purple suit, not unlike the one his guards curiously murmured about before he had sent for robes fit for a princess. Her hair was longer, a stray coil framing her angular face in a way that softened it—yet her jaw was hard, her arms tense and eyes narrowed. There was a flash of a memory between them, her hands clawing into his back, his legs buckling around hers. 

She had only relaxed around him once but that was before his guard had been murdered and her mother drowned. He once preferred the hardness, opting to break her naïveté and hold her to a promise, but a part of him missed the eyes of a curious, compassionate princess who clung to hope. Hope that he was good, that they could be honest and true allies in a world of betrayal. That she didn't need to choose between the options he laid out for her and could carve out her own. She did, eventually. Only too late.

That Shuri of the cavern was gone. He did not know her well, but he knew humans enough that once broken, they never returned.

He had seen the hollow look in her eyes before, after all, in his mother's.

Namor ascended towards her. Shuri was not his subject; he was barely even an ally, but he scaled the shore to meet her all the same. It was not their beach—Shuri had seen to it that all evidences of damage on the Mexican coast was wiped out, true to their agreement.

Two months was a blip in the lifetime of an immortal, she supposed. She had left the details of his surrender and their alliance in the hands of M'Baku and the council, the aftermath of the battle she led Wakanda in and the lives lost by her hand too weighty for her to bear. The question of whether they had invited the Water-King to formalize their truce was answered by the first words he spoke.

"You bring a generosity, Princess. I did not think I would meet our allies so soon."

The staff stood tall in his right hand. He raked a hand through his wet, matted hair and his voice was low, gravelly.

With every wave the water dragged the conch shell further into the ocean's clutches. She bent over to free it, thinking how the water made its surface soft, almost, the way Talokan's waters softened her.

She wanted him to raise his voice and lose control, to give her an excuse to skin him alive and leave him to rot on this beach.

We are not allies.

Her newly-heightened senses evaluated him for the first time outside of battle. A sheen of sweat and water lingered on his body. His eyebrows had the slightest furrow to them as if to goad her to answer a question he didn't ask. The reminder that the mutant in front of her now—ambitious, defensive, violent, and loyal to his people—came easily. The one who had crouched over his desk, saw to it that his mother's bracelet embraced her wrist, dressed her in jewels she did not appreciate was a trap set by his soft words: let's burn down the world together. On cold nights when Nakia and her son slept soundly and sleep hung over her, tantalizing and out of reach, shame burned her inside out.

He thought her angry enough that she would readily agree to his war.

The shame was in acknowledging at one point, she would have. 

She did not fear him anymore. She could have killed him. She let him live; he would always be in a blood debt to her. She may not have liked all traditions of the elders but she knew an enemy borne from necessity and tradition. There was no one to direct her prayers to anymore, so the last of her hopes sat buried in her mind. Anger festered around it.

"We had an arrangement."

"That, we did." He titled his head slightly. She trained her eyes on his chest, as she could swear he was matching his breathing with hers despite having no reason to. In, out. In, out. "I hope we still do."

That was not a question. A thinly-veiled threat, one that said if you say no, I will break our short-lived peace immediately, here and now. He was the Feathered Serpent God, a leader who did what needed to be done without a moment's hesitation; something she desperately wished she could be before she walked away from her own short-lived reign. 

He was waiting for her to answer. She could not lift her eyes.

"I am not queen." She heard a sharp hiss, and quickly added, "The honorable Golden City will still uphold the treaty that we made."

He moved three paces forward until the water stopped at his ankles. The tides pushed and pulled. "How will these honorable people uphold a pact made by a ruler who is not there? How can you guarantee my people protection? You would not make a fool of me, yet I feel as though I have been made a fool of."

Say it, she willed him. Say that you made me queen, so I can remind you exactly how.

"No!" she shouted, crossing her arms. She wanted to melt into the sand and never come to air.

She thought of Killmonger. There were only fledging remnants of vengeance in her. She was too tired, too empty. There was nothing else for him to take.

"I promised. I will protect your people, I swear it on my life." 

A long pause.

"Look at me," he ordered.

"I am looking at you."

"Not my chest, woman."

Her head snapped up as heat rose to her face. His dark eyes flickered. One corner of his mouth turned down. Whatever he found on her face seemed to satisfy him because he took another step back into the water and relaxed his grip on his staff.

Did he know how painful this was for her? To uphold a promise that cost her everything to make and would take more from her in ways no one could understand?

No, he doesn't, because he's a sickening beast.

"You called me here. I have not heard from Wakanda in two lunar phases. Attuma and Namora report that they are busy with restoration efforts, and I have honored Wakanda's need to recuperate as Talokan does," he said sharply. In the subsequent pause, his eyes flicker over the place he speared her after excavating her heart. "Yet my first contact with Wakanda is you, not as queen. The last time I was called forth like this, I returned to two murdered handmaidens, departed for Xibalba." 

She resisted the urge to blanch. She failed. At least her eyes trained on his with the guilt she would not give him the satisfaction of in words. Her fingers twitched in the premonition of the panther's claws. He noticed, as he did everything.

"I did not come here to fight. We will discuss like sovereigns," he said simply.

You started it. You snuck into Wakanda twice, flooded our cities. "I am not a child."

His eyebrows pinched together. "I did not imply— "

"And I am not a sovereign. King M'Baku of the Jabari Tribe is our ruler." That she was here against Okoye's explicit direction, and that likely meant she was against the King, was not worth a mention. There were some liberties as the Black Panther.

"M'Baku is a warrior but no ruler. I yielded to the Black Panther, Queen of Wakanda." The name was butchered on his tongue. He grounded the bottom of his staff into the sand. "You married this oaf and left for these lands and thought nothing of the tides left in your wake."

She glared. "I didn't marry him. I abdicated and he won the throne per our tradition. Your spies in Wakanda must have missed this." Hold on. "Have you known I was here this whole time?"

He ground a heel into the sand. It was the foot she injured, but the sand and water shielded whatever scars she left on his wing. The rest of him was completely healed, as though what had torn her apart completely was merely skin-deep for him. 

"Of course." He answered without hesitation. He proved to be a wise mutant when her glare intensified into cold fury and he backtracked. "Talokan is too busy recovering, but I do not take chances. I sent my gatherers twice to confirm you were alive so we can continue in the hopes the fragile trust between us holds. I assumed you...simply needed time before returning to Wakanda."

"There is no trust between us."

"I see that now." He mussed his hair again. It was damp now, the water gone from his body. She almost asked if he needed a cup of water, if not for the slow waves drenching his feet. "So. If you called not to break our agreement, then what requires the attention of the Feathered Serpent God?"

Her previous fury evaporated into a sardonic laugh. What a fish-head. M'Baku had punched a whale, probably, at the battle in Wakanda and he was still familiar with first person pronouns.

Namor frowned at her mirth. She pushed herself forward. "There's a second attack planned. The Americans are sending another expedition to your waters with a new vibranium sensor."

"Then they are fools." His lip curled upwards and moved to turn back towards the sea. "I shall remind them what happened the previous time they transgressed us."

"Absolutely not," she raised her voice for the second time. A conversation with Namor was like running to catch up with his thoughts before they steamrolled entire populations. And she had resolved to be the one to reign him in, didn’t she? "I didn't tell you so you could start this all over again."

"Pitiful. Here I thought you agreed to my first offer."

Was he teasing her?

"I made you a new one. The whole point of offering our protection and promises of secrecy was to avoid you doing what you want on your own, and then us facing the fallout. The Americans still think we were behind the first attack and want to threaten us into handing over vibranium. I came to you to help defend your city, and possibly even negotiate with them."

"English is not my first language, but I am certain vowing secrecy does not mean opening us up to something as low as negotiating with surface-dwellers. I did not protect Talokan for this long with negotiations."

She took a deep breath, then chucked the conch shell at his head.

Forget it, he could go die in a swimming hole while she went back to Wakanda, reunited with Okoye, and found the colonizer to mediate with those blasted Americans.

Namor was in front of her, baring his teeth and peering down his nose. She stumbled backwards, arms outstretched in preparation to hit the ground, but a familiar, large hand curled her right arm. This time, there was no shoving her down or flinging her into the nearest rock formation.

She met his eyes. They were angry, and there was a thin trail of blood trickling down his forehead. She waited for an inevitable fight.

Instead, he stabilized her. The hairs on the back of her neck and arms stood up as though every inch of her skin wanted his attention. "Your suit, Princess. You are strong without it?"

Yes, because of the bracelet you gave me and the heart-shape herb. You're the reason I had the strength to almost kill you.

She wrenched herself from his grasp. "Focus, please. I'm coming with you."

"You were about to leave."

"Never mind, genius, I'm coming with you. You will not say a word to the expedition. We might be able to pass off their detection as a deposit Wakanda left there, but I'm not sure how international law would address it since it's Mexican waters." She touched a finger to her kimoyo beads, and for the first time in months the panther suit came alive. Nano-tubules crawled over her body in a spider-web like formation. They encased her in a solid suit of vibranium. Her muscles rippled in approval at the feel of taut metal holding her body together. "We can fight, but before you get ideas, only if it's a combatant unit. We don't kill scientists."

He took a step back, eyes glued to her glimmering claws.

"We don't kill scientists." He repeated, eyes boring into her.

Bucky was very, very worried about Shuri. It had been a long time since he had something to preoccupy his thoughts other than his own failures and life adrift as a man out of time. The only man who knew him as a real person, at the time he was supposed to live, had been Steve, and look where that got him.

Point was, this was a heavily welcome distraction (especially after the whole flagsmashers thing, Bucky didn't want to see Zemo the rat ever again). That it was Shuri, the young, happy girl that had nursed him back to life, didn't sit well.

The woman they found her with, Nakia, was staring outside the Quinjet's side window, hands clasped tightly around her son. The boy's name escaped him, but he had a way about him, hunched soldiers and dark eyes, that reminded Bucky of a certain Black Panther their world had lost over a year ago.

So many deaths in such a short time. Natasha. Tony. T'Challa. Half the Avengers team, gone or missing. It felt like yesterday he was sitting in an interrogation cell and then body-slammed into a wall by Natasha and Steve's old flame.

He grinned, despite himself.

"Sergeant Barnes."

The Quinjet quavered. "Sorry?"

Nakia pursed her lips. "I did not mean to distract you, though a pilot should be far more prepared."

He ignored the jibe. He had a feeling the woman didn't like him very much. Him and Sam had barreled into her home unwelcome, and she still served him the best meal he had this week. 

She continued. "And this...contraption. Is the military on a budget, or is this the best a world power has to offer?"

Was he any other soldier, he would've bristled. As fate would have it, his love for Wakanda was far more than S.H.E.I.L.D, S.W.O.R.D, or whatever damn acronym the bureaucrats came up with. "I'm not their favorite agent, and this unofficial business. We're lucky we're not in a submarine."

"Who's 'their'?"

"Who's them?" he countered. He felt her glare settle on him and quickly realized why Shuri listened to the woman. "They are the people behind Captain America." 

"Who are you loyal to, Sergeant Barnes?"

He had a feeling she was testing him. He had been tested lots of times, but he always knew what answers his interrogators wanted him to give. 

"The name's Bucky. And Captain America," he said, finally.

She squinted her eyes at him. Her son was asleep next to her, his head lolling onto her shoulder. "How well do you know Shuri?"

"Not that well. She healed me. Visited my hut a couple times to check up on me. I saved an alien from clawing her eyes out at the final battle." He shrugged.

"Then you know her better than most. How did you find her, today?"

Find her?  Oh, as in how did he view her today. He stared unblinking into the vast ocean they flew over. Sam had assured them all security protocols were in place, and that they were essentially visible. Two more hours and they'd be safe within the walls of Wakanda. "How anyone expects someone to look after losing their mother."

"She was murdered in front of Shuri."

This time, the Quinjet lurched to the right. Bucky tightened his hold on the steering controls, forcing his breathing to calm. He remembered his therapist's breathing techniques, and let his mind drift onto the horizon.

It was right after they had met with the weird sorcerers ("I'm telling you Buck, doesn't he look like a wizard without a hat?" "My name's Doctor Strange, not Gandalf" "Sam, he can do magic and he'll singe your wings off, I don't want to drag a dead body home to your sister.") for a security-related issue. Months before that, Wanda had locked an entire city under a spell and people were suing, but she was possibly dead and Wong was already embroiled in some legal troubles of his own. When the Sorcerer Supreme took him out to a cafe to discuss the whole ordeal, the TV spared thirty seconds with breaking news of floods in Wakanda and Queen Ramonda's untimely death.

His path crossed only once with Wakanda's former queen, and that was when the Avengers took Vision to Wakanda. She had greeted them all in passing, too busy mobilizing troops for an impending invasion. The woman was regal with a booming voice that demanded the attention of every person in whatever room she entered Everything a kind, just queen should be.

So he mourned the loss of not just a great leader, but a woman who very clearly raised Shuri with the compassion and sympathy to help people like him. To hear she was murdered, and right in front of Shuri too, made a heavy weight settle at the back of his twice-altered brain.

"I'm so sorry. Who did it?"

Nakia looked out the window again. An odd feeling threatened to numb his hands. 

"Was it them?"

"Yes." She shook her head. "Him. And unfortunately, Shuri is with him now."

A flash of white struck the cockpit. Four alarms blared to life, shrieking in the rattling Quinjet. Nakia hoisted her son onto the seat behind her and pulled out a spear. Bucky had half the mind to ask where that nifty weapon was hiding when another streak of white crossed the window, ramming into the left fuel tank. 

The Quinjet began to fall.

Chapter Text

"Okoye."

If Nakia was correct, and the spy usually was in tracking-related matters, Talokan was in Atlantic waters near the state of Yucatán. She had half the mind to wave it away as an old wive's tale, a remnant of Queen Ramonda's entertaining story nights. Recent years were full of exposure to magic—the red girl's strange hands and flying abilities, orange portals that let them leap from one end of the Earth to another in seconds, and a talking panda (?) among some her favorites. But by Bast had she seen a feathered fishman leap out of the water when they flooded the Golden City, slapping M'Baku away like a rag doll—

"Okoye."

—and warriors with hammerhead shark jewelry staffs jumping into the gaping maw of water animals and dancing around their vibranium buildings as though they owned the place. The nerve.

"Okoye!"

"What, colonizer?"

Agent Ross—former Agent Ross—stopped her in her tracks as he keeled over, struggling to breathe. "You're in a metal suit. I just got broken out of a truck in a prison suit. Can we slow down a bit?"

"Absolutely not," she snapped. Shuri's life was in danger. She'd gone back to the one place the entire council forbade her from, and Okoye was torn between hugging the girl and tasing her for all the troubles she'd caused during this season. She would hike her way to the Gulf of Mexico if she had to. 

"Also, can you not call me colonizer?"

"Why, does the truth frighten you?" To be fair, it had started as a bit of a joke, considering his condescending attitude when they'd first met ("Does she speak English?" "When she wants to."). Since then, he was knocked down multiple pegs, losing his reputation, career, and wife, all to be an ally—as much as a citizen loyal to another country could be, anyway. 

And Okoye had plenty of experience with frayed marriages at the cost of doing the right thing. Still, she was not Nakia. One did not become the General of Dora Milaje by being soft. The Dora did a favor for the soft by hardening them into warriors no one but the foolish would dare touch.

He ignored her taunt. "We can't get to Mexico like this. Can't you fly?"

A noise of disgust was hindered by her face armor. "I am not carrying you on my back like some common rhino."

Ross crossed his arms. His hands were still in chains, because Okoye was a bit of a sadist when annoyed and on a mission. They were in some state in the North, and one thing was always certain — the big ego of Americans was reflected in the gargantuan land mass. The size of some states alone were larger than Wakanda. Walking all the way was not a viable option, she was peeved to admit.

"Then go on without me."

She glowered at him. "And leave you to tell the Americans my secrets? No. I do not need a self-sacrificing madman nor an arrogant CIA agent to help me."

He threw his hands up, relenting. The chains rattled against his wrists. "Fine. Then either we get a car, or another one of those suits."

Where on Earth would she find another suit— 

Oh.

"Ross, you are a madman. Truly, I have seen everything."

She input the coordinates for MIT in her kimoyo beads.

The memory of her first sojourn into Talokan embedded itself into her every nerve. Her body moved with the water, the city a homing beacon. She had been unconscious the first time after Attuma placed his rebreather over her, the same one that let them breathe on land would keep her alive underwater. Her body knew the feel of this pressure around her. It began as a warm embrace, turning into a forceful squeeze the deeper they dived. Any deeper and she would need the exosuit.

But Namor did not let her go ahead, even though she knew exactly where she was going. He was either a gentleman, positioning himself as the first line of defense, or the arrogant Feathered Serpent who didn't see it fit to be led anywhere, not in the least by a twenty-one year-old runaway princess.

The jerky movement of his right leg caught her eye. When he'd shown her Talokan, she could hardly keep her eyes from his body as he twisted and swerved around rock formations in a centuries-old dance. She remembered his thick thighs coiling and arms pulsating as every movement rippled through his whole body, the force of a ton propelling him forward. Every limb functioned as part of his whole. He was a machine made of organic matter, swimming as fast as Wakanda's ships.

Now, she was able to keep up with him despite being out of practice. He moved roughly. His limbs bent at sharper angles instead of in the graceful, showy curves he'd displayed in Talokan and Wakanda.

The wing she had singed off left a wiry stump that hint of a new wing grew from. If they were in Wakanda and she had access to her labs, she could've healed him by now. How hard could mutant physiology be compared to undoing decades-long brainwashing or trying to extract an infinity stone from a synthezoid?

He would not let her touch him, though, without cause. She only touched him when he let her. She was only able to put a spear to her neck after she'd robbed him of every other option.

"I'm sorry about your foot." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to swallow them back. A wayward stream of water was the only hint that he heard. The familiar, perpetually angry voice of Killmonger hissed in her head, dismayed at her sympathy.

I cannot risk war, she protested. In a smaller voice, this is who I am. I cannot help it.

They descended further before he responded. She was glad she had the foresight to make the water-friendly modifications before the Battle of Talokan, prepared for the possibility he dragged her under (in hindsight, battling a water nation in water was a bad tactical move, yet it was the cost of guaranteeing no civilian casualties). A small oxygen tank at her back automatically replenished her air supply by pulling oxygen through cycling water, and her Black Panther mask was fitted with an extra filter.

For a moment, she wondered how the Shuri of then would react, seeing her future self use the suit to support him against potential invaders.

"No, you are not sorry. You would do it again." His voice carried through the water.

"Of course I will, if you act up again. Doesn't mean I can't be sorry. Besides, you drove a spear through my abdomen."

"It was an act of war."

"I couldn't walk for days." As if sentient, the scar on her left lower abdomen flared in a stab of pain. It was a scar Wakandan medicine could erase overtime. She chose to wear it now as a grotesque reminder of what vengeance almost cost her.

"Semantics. I still can't swim properly."

You swim fine, she almost admitted. His legs could cut her in half if she were not the Black Panther. "The Feathered Serpent admits a weakness?"

"The Feathered Serpent God knows when to stop, Princess." He slowed down as she slowed to stop near his right side. There was a gaping fissure in the land beneath them, one that would take them another kilometer further and into the outskirts of Talokan. He turned towards her, his eyes raking over her suit. "As you do, too."

She wondered if they were talking about the same thing.

"I could help." She gestured to his foot. "We have—"

"The same vibranium we do," he grinned.

Shuri considered switching tactics. It was Namor who suggested an alliance in the first place, a sort of Wakanda-and-Talokan-versus-the-world except there were no comedic shenanigans, only genocide. That meant he saw Wakanda, and its vibranium, as an equal. At the same time, he had warned her and her mother that they would never win against Talokan (she smugly remembered that she did, of course). So there was some nativity there, in the sense he could accept Wakanda as a partner, though he believed his way of life was superior to anything Wakanda could offer beyond an alliance. He'd told her mother as much.

The bracelet was tucked safely away under the sleeve of her tracksuit. Perhaps if she told him how it was him who unwittingly enabled her to become the Black Panther, he would see value in a more equal partnership. Value in trusting her.

Namor was speaking again, halting Shuri in her formulation of thoughts, continuing from his premature rejection of her offer to help heal him. "We may not have the same minds running our technology, but my wound is unlikely to heal with Wakandan intervention...this growth will take time."

Growth takes time. She mulled over the words in her head.

The small wound on his forehead from her poor seashell-assassination attempt had scabbed over. She suppressed the sudden urge to press her hand against it. Namor, ever watchful, caught her gaze.

"Ah. You owe me for that one."

Her eyebrow twitched. "Stop playing games with me, and I'll stop throwing inanimate objects at you." 

He opened his mouth, presumably for another jibe, when his left ear twitched. He spun around and narrowed his eyes into the distant foggy waters, his fish-like physiology coming to the fore. His beady eyes darkened to a rich black. They grew wide and his nostrils flared, signaling an impending rush of anger. Shuri could almost see each hair on his arms stand up as he readied his staff.

She gulped.

She heard the whirring noise before she saw it. The low buzzing of a submarine was accompanied by a large thud as a group of men and women, adorned in blue suits with heavy gear on their backs, lumbered out of an opening below. An anchor kept the submarine from being carried away by the currents this deep in the ocean.

Namor zipped forward and lunged at the chains before Shuri registered his speed. It was too late; his vibranium staff ripped cleanly through the anchor's chains. The submarine wobbled. It was a small one, far too small for warfare. The group floating below the submarine fanned outwards, now looking back at the commotion. They couldn't be soldiers either—as she frantically swam forward, the divers began to slow down, lifting their hands into the air. She couldn't see their faces beyond the helmets, but they had no visible weapons on them, and the world without vibranium hadn't mastered nano-weapons yet.

"No!" She cried. "They're civilians!"

A wave of bubbles clouded her sight, followed by another clang. The sound of grinding metal pierced her eardrums. Her claws extended out of her fingers as she desperately dodged her way around water bending around her, threatening to pull her in.

When her vision cleared, Namor floated below his spear, half of it buried in the hull of the submarine. He pushed it down like a lever, or a knife cutting through butter. Metal ripped open under his staff, jagged at the seams. Shuri let herself move with the sudden rush of water, angling her body to hit him with the full force of the Black Panther. The water cushioned her fall, but not enough to prevent her body from slamming into him.

The submarine began to sink. Voices floated upwards—the shrieks of people still inside. She wrestled over his body, desperate to reach his staff before he could. She felt his large hands clutch at her legs, gluing her to him. 

"They're civilians!" She shouted again.

He let go of her legs. Seconds later, she felt the air rush out of her lungs. Her oxygen tank beeped dangerously as her vision blurred, pain from her abdomen threatening to overtake her.

"They came here, to my people." He seethed.

She clawed at his face. He returned the favor by dragging her body across the submarine. It was embarrassing, really. She kicked her foot backwards and it caught into dent, acting as a hook to keep herself hoisted there and close to the people. If only she could grab into the opening and haul herself inside and tell these people to leave before the Water King killed them all.

Where would they go? How? Her eyes frantically searched the area. The divers were screaming; some of them had already begun to swim away. It was pointless. Others, brave souls, tried to approach and help their fellow countrymen. Namor plunged towards them. This was his arena. Even the strongest human was reduced to a pathetic, sluggish pace this deep under.

Except Shuri. She extended an arm, waiting a few moments for her vibranium arm to recharge, and barreled at him. "If you kill them, you doom both our peoples! I can protect you!"

"A fantastic job, you are doing—" 

Her legs were around his neck before he could finish the sentence. The hand with her kimoyo beads came to life. "Help!" She shouted into the beads. She hadn't tested them in deep waters before, but prayed to every god her mother and brother did that some signal would work its way to Okoye.

He clenched his teeth and tried to pry off her legs keeping him in a chokehold. One hand of his hands wound itself around her left ankle. "Traitor!"

"No, you're a traitor! You didn't listen—damn—fishboy!"

His fingers squeezed. Tears formed in her eyes and he used the distraction to escape out of her hold and speed towards his staff. She barely touched the tender flesh of her ankle before registering another barrage of cries. 

He raised his staff. He was swinging for slaughter.

In a last summon of desperate strength, the Black Panther was faster than the wounded Feathered Serpent. The pointed tip of his staff pierced her arm, the momentum too late to stop even after recognition flashed on his face. He couldn't slow it down, for even a god like him was bound by physics. Color returned to his eyes. 

"You will not kill them." She wheezed, clutching at her neck. Something was deeply wrong.

"Oxygen tank: damaged." Griot announced. "Oxygen remaining: two percent."

The last thing she saw before passing out was Namor heaving, his face twinging with regret.

Namora and Attuma lurked near his cabin when he returned, hours later than they likely expected. They knew only one surface-dweller held a conch shell that could draw him out of the ocean in an instant. 

"Send for the healer," he commanded before the entirety of his head ascended from the lake of the catacombs. Without the strong, fiery soul this body held conscious, the woman in his arms felt disgracefully small. Shuri of Wakanda was not weak, and should never be. Shuri of Wakanda was the strongest surface-dweller to walk above his ocean. "Attuma, take the warriors to the eastern entrance. Intruders lurk there."

"She returns, K'uk'ulkan." Namora mused. "She is weak. A less gracious king would take advantage and enact revenge."

"I always keep my word, my child."

Chapter Text

They had matching ankle scars now. He had dug his fingers a little too hard into her left ankle, leaving a smattering of bruises and three small half-moon scars matching the size of his fingernails.

Namor directed the healer towards the oxygen tank sitting atop the nightstand, the lone table in the room. Namora's sister-in-law, Fen, breathed heavily through her rebreather with every movement. She wasn't used to coming above water—for most of his people, two or three forays above land per year the norm. But she was the only one experienced in handling human—well, half-human—injuries.

After he had fiddled enough with the silver beads encircling her left wrist to retract the Black Panther suit, she had made quick work around the girl, peeling off the outer layers of clothing to rub salve and cover with vibranium-infused bandages. Blood blossomed across her left arm. His staff hadn’t pierced through it completely, her suit having absorbed some of the momentum, but the wound was deep enough that she wouldn’t be able to move it for sometime. 

He winced, already knowing that she’d be more upset at having to stay immobile than anything else.

She looked so frail, now—to think this was the woman that brought him closer to death than he had in centuries, suspended him at war’s edge, and then forced him to keep living. Her body swayed with the hammock, the beads of his mother's bracelet tinkling with the movement. He had gazed upon that bracelet every day for over four centuries, grazed his fingers upon the carvings and along the beads that it was a surprise it never lost its shape. Yet it was that very accumulation of memory of each bit of the bracelet that he noticed instantly the shortened twine, its ends looking as though they were sheared by scissors.

Interesting.

Fen made a humming noise and he looked up to her blue fingers cradling Shuri’s oxygen tank. “She made this herself?” Most of his daily company was composed of hardened warriors, decisive men and women who could make difficult decisions without hesitation. Fen, like her namesake, was the rare companion who offered softness. Her tone indicated surprise, perhaps even respect, for the unconscious woman.

“Her first attempt at accommodating water-life. It is decent, but take it to the engineers. They can develop something better.”

She nodded. “What about the exosuits?”

“Too clunky. Ask them to find a way to integrate elements of the exosuit with it.”

Fen conducted a final check of Shuri’s bandages before slipping out of the room. Shuri would wake soon, by her estimates. Two hours had already passed since he barreled into the cave. The oxygen tank had fully failed on the way, so she had gone at least two minutes without breathing. If the dehydrator experience was anything to go by, being deprived of oxygen was not a pleasant experience.

And she’s fully human. He didn’t trust her, not fully. He trusted her strength enough that she would pull through.

He frowned.

She called me fishboy.

Okoye and Ross lingered on the beach, the former cursing at a kimoyo screen displaying Shuri's last known location. She had left for Haiti without saying a word to anyone, leaving only a note for M'Baku and a shorter one for Okoye. 

I need time. I will be with Nakia. -Shuri

The warrior closed her eyes and felt for the Princess' earring in her pocket that she carried with her at all times. It was a relic of her failure, a taunt that she failed Queen Mother once, twice in her faltering to stand by her son, she would not allow it again.

"Okoye!" The former agent called. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Okoye turned to see Ross holding a large conch shell in his hands.

Shuri’s lungs weren’t working. 

Her eyes flew open, her right hand moving to her chest. She prodded one side of her chest and then the other methodically. Satisfied that her lungs were, in fact, doing what they were supposed to do, she cradled the back of her head to chase after the sleep she so desperately needed. A moist breeze grazed her skin.

Skin?

She wasn’t wearing her tracksuit. When had she stripped down to her night tee and shorts?

She shot up, pulled forward with a hacking cough. Her eyes flashed with recognition at her surroundings.

A blue guard stood nearby.

She scrambled out of the hammock, unprepared for the pain that shot up her leg. A dull ache bloomed across her chest, extending from the left side of her body. She couldn’t feel her arm.

The guard caught her before she hit the floor. Shuri clutched the woman’s forearms, her skin slick and cool to the touch. It was then that she registered the cold of the room seeping into her bones.

“Where,” she breathed, “Where is Namor?” The name weighed on her tongue.

The guard said nothing, moving her back into the hammock.

“Where is he?”

“I can't tell you.”

Shuri tightened her hold on the guard. “Then take me to him.” 

“He will come to you.”

She repressed a shriek. Her throat was too hoarse, and she couldn’t abuse the messenger. She still had her kimoyo beads and suit, but doubted she could plunge into the waters above and swim fast enough to escape in this condition. 

“Where are the people?”

“Pardon?”

A rock settled at the bottom of her stomach. Her head spun, her muscles tightening like they did before a fight in anticipation of the worst. “The people he—" Tried to kill. She tried again. “We tried to stop.”

The guard not-too-gently pushed her back into the hammock. “He will come to you,” she repeated.

There were two of them. A white man who was green in the face, his metal mask flipped open and exposed to the cool, moist air. The other was the Wakandan woman who almost killed Namora. 

They both made a mistake in bearing their identities to him. He would kill them by sundown, describe their faces in detail to the council, and then drown their peoples to within an inch of their life. 

The sun would fully dip beneath the horizon in a few minutes. Really, he was being generous.

“You brought an American.”

“Uh, former CIA agent.” The white man interjected. “Everett Ross.”

How stupid did the Wakandans think him, to bring an intelligence agent to his shores?

One minute left. Hot, white anger shot up his spine. A growl tore from his lips. The white man turned from green to puce. The Wakandan woman didn't back down. When his warriors told him that the Wakandan woman hadn't flinched facing them, was merely confused for a moment before threatening attack, he hadn't quite believed it. Facing her now, her chin jutting upwards like he was too easy, he had no more qualms. It seemed Wakandan women, like the Talokanil, were molded from metal.

“Where is Shuri?” She pierced every word with a snarl, her eyes progressively narrowing.

He had done this before, when Wakanda still had a queen. This time, all entries to his air-quarters were heavily guarded. Ahuic, the great whale, lingered about 200 meters below, ready to strike at the whiff of any human underwater within a five mile radius.

“As I said, she chose to come with me.” He stabbed his staff into the sand. “You broke my agreement.”

The woman snarled at him, the folds of her bright blue suit dimming with the sun. “We are fighting for you as we speak. Wakanda is under siege and we have every reason to expose you to the world. Give us one reason we should not.”

He felt his frown falter. He doubled down. “The Princess is with me. We will not release her until Wakanda sends the Americans scurrying back.”

“You try to negotiate when the Princess is taken prisoner, again? You give her back, unharmed, and then we will entertain this ridiculous idea of playing guard for you.”

The white man stepped forward. Both Namor and the Wakandan hissed at him.

“I’m sorry your people were threatened.”

Namor’s eyes flashed. Threatened, the man said, as if sending missiles and warships to his waters to mine resources that belonged to him was a simple matter of bumbling, innocent wanderers.

"I tried to stop the second expedition, but unfortunately I'm no longer in a position to do so. Then Okoye and Princess Shuri told me they couldn't divulge your secret, I believed them. There are plenty others like them and myself who are willing to take chances. I've had enough of brinkmanship, but you need to be willing take the risk too. Is the position you're putting Wakanda one you'd accept for yourself?" The white man stopped. Namor knew it was so he had a chance to let his words marinate, clearly rehearsed in the art of persuasion. "Okoye told Princess Shuri not to go but she came here anyway instead of going to fight off Wakanda. Not only are you in her debt, you have the world's smartest inventor in your clutches."

The sun was below the horizon. Remnants of its light scattered across the water. Okoye glared at the white man, shooting him a warning.

Ross continued, "Here's what I propose."

One hour later, Shuri decided she liked Talokanil food. What little she’d seen of their cuisine was sea-food heavy, of course. There was also a diverse array of surface-dweller food modified for underwater agriculture: seasoned corn, mashed avocado and squash. 

She paused halfway through her meal, wondering if Talokanil eating fish was akin to canabalism. She'd have to file that thought away for Namor — if she didn't kill him first. She pushed the rest of her meal away, soured by the thought.

At the second hour, the guard changed. An older lady entered the room, her headdress even bigger than the last one’s and her answers more taciturn. Shuri gave up trying to talk to them, instead toying with her Kimoyo beads. Her oxygen tank was gone, but the Black Panther suit was fine sans the tears at the arm and ankle. Namor's fingernails had  torn through the vibranium. They had to be coated in something, she was sure, because this suit was impenetrable against organic material. The thought irked her — why didn't she think of slathering vibranium all over her naked body first?

The problem was the kimoyo beads’ connection. The cameras, vital health measuring devices, and translator were all working fine because they were functions stored locally in the beads. Anything requiring a network connection failed, and so she only had Griot's "all vitals are normal" on repeat and a Mayan dictionary to keep her company. She cursed the god who made her think earrings — her emergency tracker — were unnecessary to bring to Haiti. Considering how many times her life had been at stake in the past five years, it really was stupid.

Great job, Shuri. A genius.

Even if signals worked here, what would she do? Last time, Nakia burst in and inadvertently started a war despite Shuri herself resolving to stay in return for the scientist’s escape. This time, she had to trust Wakanda could handle itself. The Jabari, Dora Milaje, and Okoye could handle a couple of Americans.

No one could handle Namor except her.

After three hours, Shuri wanted to burn down the hammock. It was uncomfortable, made her feel like she was in a rocking ship (which, this...prison? guest room?...sort of was). Her lanky, angular limbs kept getting caught in the knots. She was cold, and wearing the Black Panther suit for another layer would worsen its rips and was not comfortable to lay down in.

She was alone.

Finally, another guard trotted into the chambers, her mouth barely visible through the water sloshing against her lips. She spoke to the other guard in hushed whispers who then left.

"He is coming." The newcomer nodded to Shuri. "Please change."

She looked around the room. "I don't see anything."

The guard lifted a webbed finger at the nightstand. Shuri crouched and pulled one of the drawers open. It was stuck, like it hadn't been opened for months. After a swift yank, the drawer loosened and slid open to reveal a shimmering dress the color of teal, not unlike the one she had worn before. If the last one had been covered in jade stones, this one was made of it, woven into the fabric itself.

She'd researched jade when she'd returned home, before her mother was killed. Jade was expensive and sacred, engraved with spiritual retellings and fit for only royalty to wear.

The guard politely turned her face to give her some semblance of privacy. She made an appreciative noise. After minutes of struggling with a wounded limb, the guard eventually trudged over to hold her bandages in place and gently lift her arms. The long dress was a welcome barrier against the cold, but not thick enough to warm her up completely. Her neck piece was heavier, and the earrings longer, its stones brushing against her neck. Whoever had bandaged her did a respectable job. The pain her ankle began to subside. She was careful to put her weight on right side. Her old abdominal wound hurt more.

They moved slowly out of her room and into the catacombs lit by shimmering glow worms above. An eerie sense of déjà vu overcame her as she entered Namor's chambers. He was the most clothed she'd ever seen him, wearing a cloak that covered the entirety of his upper-half.

"Not my chest, woman."

This time, Shuri resisted the barb and spared him no patience. "What did you do? Where are the Americans?" She fingered her kimoyo beads. "If you hurt them, I will fight you right now—”

"Are you cold?" He appraised her with a calculating look.

"Shut up!" she shouted at him, across his desk. His staff was placed horizontally across it, a barrier between him and her. "Answer my question." 

His mouth pinched in disdain. "I can't 'shut up' and then answer—"

She lunged. One of the bandages tore and she hissed, tears springing to her eyes. Namor bent over the desk and extended his arms as though he was going to touch her face. Instinctively she took a step back, grasping her arm and adding pressure, hoping it would sooth whatever stitches or skin she'd torn.

His hand paused mid-air. He curled his fingers in and returned them to his side. "You are in no condition to kill me and shivering. Why did you not ask the guard for a blanket?"

"I didn't think you guys were the type to need them." She bit out. "Do water-people get fevers?"

He titled his head. That was a no, then. She didn't have time to explain to fish-people—mutant, half-human, whatever—the finer limitations of human physiology. She'd told Sam two days were enough to handle this mess but now she was back to square one, deep underwater, wearing a bast-foresaken Disney princess dress, arguing with a jackass about why she didn't think asking guards to make her stay post-kidnap more comfortable was necessary.

"You asked me to answer your question, so I will answer only one. I did nothing of concern. Your oxygen tank supply diminished and I brought you here."

"Nevermind why you brought me here. Where are the divers? You went ahead and did what you wanted, even though I told you Talokan was under a potential attack on the condition I helped." Her voice rose with every word. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guard move into a defensive stance. "You betrayed my trust and took advantage of our promise, knowing only we pay the cost."

By the end, she was shrieking. Her body shook, and she hated how her anger was always so closely tied to her core these days. She was angry, not upset, so why did she want to cry? She'd done enough crying in the past 24 hours. Was this Wakanda's princess, reduced to weepy tirades?

She stilled her erratic breathing, and tried again. "Wakanda can't protect Talokan if you don't let us. I can't believe you when you say you want to protect your people, and then behave against our treaty. Weakening Wakanda harms you too."

Namor lowered his hand towards his staff. She panicked for a moment, relaxing only when he lifted it away from the desk to clear the space. His hands grasped a conch shell, cut in half, that carried in its crevices an assortment of paints. She wondered if this was his new move: biding time by doing ordinary things like cleaning and painting.

When she opened her mouth to speak again Namor lifted a hand and gestured to the walls around him. Her eyes caught onto a familiar series of murals, the walls of his office his canvas.

The caricatures were entangled with one another, acting out a movie in snapshots. Humans turning the barest shade of blue. Diving into water, heads bobbing with forlorn gazes at their previous home. Diving further down, clutching their children close. Finding a source of light underneath, their hope in vibranium. Namor carving their sun. A sprawling city flourishing, with Namor as King and protector against a series of enemies and threats.

Finally, the last one, its status as the newest painting clear in its glossy, reflective nature: Namor fighting Shuri and finally yielding on his knees.

"We have never had allies before."

Shuri couldn't place his tone, if he was proud or remorseful. Her eyes were still tracing the yellows and browns and golds of the mural.

"When you came to me about this invasion—"

"Potential invasion."

"— you did not mention that Wakanda was also under attack."

Hadn't I? She dragged her eyes from the mural to rest them on the Feathered Serpent God’s face. She'd traded some barbs with him, tried to get him used to the idea of negotiation, thrown her shell at him, and then tagged along. He wasn't the type to ask for details, preferring to jump to conclusions and go even more insane, if possible, at the prospect that anyone was planning to harm them.

Huh. So she hadn't mentioned it. It didn't seem important at the time.

His pointy ears twitched at her silence. "So it is true."

"They don't need me. Okoye and the others can handle it."

"The Feathered Serpent did not need the help of the Black Panther."

"Clearly, you did. And still do."

She couldn't tell what he was thinking. His lips thinned to a measured line, his thick eyebrows framing penetrating amber eyes. Only a tiny scar from her shell marred his golden skin. 

"So you chose to come to me." 

"I chose to help your people."

He sat at his desk. The garish bands around his arms and wrists jingled. Honestly, it was a surprise he'd sneak up on her mom and her looking like that. She should've been able to smell his arrogance and hear him from a mile away.

She wondered if that's why he dressed her in outfits like these: to adorn her lithe body with noise. Her natural form was made to slip quietly through air and slip away. Panthers were sneaky; they crouched and waited to strike in moments of silence between chaos.

The moments slipped by. Namor was an immortal and could always win a waiting game. She had to bring him back to her rules of this game they'd crafted for themselves.

"Did you kill the Americans?"

He breathed in deeply like it pained him. Her kimoyo beads flared to life, her finger hovering over the bead that would launch the Black Panther suit in a moment's notice.

"No. I did not kill them."

Her jaw loosened. "What?"

"I can kill them if you wish."

"What? No. No. This is good. That—I, where can I speak to them? Are they here?" She joined him at his desk. Her neckpiece didn't seem so heavy anymore. "Or did you let them go?"

"I am not a shaman."

"So they're here, then?"

"Yes, they are safe."

Shuri sunk her head into her hands, grateful to the stars and sun above. Maybe it wouldn't all go to hell. Okoye, Nakia and Sam could stall, and somehow it'd work out. She didn't know how yet, but this was one more catastrophe averted. If she pushed her luck, maybe she could talk to some of the divers and submariners now, work out a deal and present a unified front to both Wakanda and America.

Namor didn't seem to notice her tumble of emotions, looking almost...shocked. Confused, even. She lifted her good arm up to jolt him from his reverie. She'd never seen the man lose focus before.

"Let me meet the Americans. Where are they now?"

He shook his head. "I answered two of your questions. Answer one of mine. Why did you not tell me Wakanda was under attack?"

"I already told you. Things were moving too quickly, the others went to help, and I needed to make sure you didn't blow the treaty into pieces.” She hoped the bitter insult would derail him from further questions. It didn't work.

"Is that it?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. What was he trying to dig at? Did he want confirmation that she acted in good-faith? Not for the first time that day, she lamented not paying more attention during her trips with her brother, watching him navigate new waters after Wakanda opened up to the world. He was not the most naturally charismatic, but had an earnest way about him that soothed people's doubts, bestowed with the command and presence of a leader her father had (his dubious familial choices aside).

Shuri, on the other hand, is—was—a prankster. She loved to laugh and charm people with her wit and style, impress with her inventions, and love with compassion. She was made to help people with her intelligence, not be a peacemaker between warring nations.

Or maybe she was. She hadn't done too shoddy of a job thus far.

"I'm...not sure." She answered honestly. "Everything moved too quickly, and I can't lie and say I was only thinking of the Talokanil. Wakanda is my home. I was worried about the fallout, and I still am, which is why I need to meet the Americans." She glared at him. He didn't move a muscle. "After our...battle, I thought vibranium was a curse disguised as a blessing. Not worth all the war and greed, if maintaining this technology meant so many lives lost."

This was a bad idea. In hindsight, Shuri would pinpoint this at the moment everything changed, that something finally melted between them. For now, a half-truth was enough. 

"But I'm an inventor. An inventor can't invent without new ideas and possibilities. Talokan has the same vibranium we do, yet you and your people helped me restore something I thought was lost forever. I guess...I thought that I could help you too."

The bracelet he'd given her sat openly on her right wrist. He couldn't have known the magnitude of her words. Perhaps it was precisely because the bracelet was as important to him as it was to her now that she could share this, even if they saw two different things looking at it. To him, a vestige of his past and likely the only woman who loved him as a person, not a god. For her, a gift that enabled her to continue her brother’s mantle.

"My turn," she said, not wanting to wait for his reaction. My rules. "Why did you save the divers?"

A beat. "Sympathy."

Chapter Text

The return to the white man and the Wakandan woman was less hasty this time. By now, the sky was a brilliant shade of dark blue, the stars twinkling like diamond gems. He preferred jade.

"That took an hour." The tip of Okoye's staff grazed his chin and she seethed. Namor raised an eyebrow in a way that belied his lack of concern.

"We had a lot to talk about."

"So," the white man interrupted, "we have a deal?"

Namor bared his teeth. "Yes."

Two hours passed since his last visit to the beaches above when Tupoc, one of his gatherers, dropped into the catacombs. His hair glistened and skin tanned with the telltale foray onto land. Namor paused in his ministrations around his wing-less ankle, this much travel in one day taking its toll. It still ached from time to time, and the wing hadn't grown any bigger in weeks.

Attuma's brother was smaller and less bombastic than the formidable warrior but it made him a perfect gatherer of information. No foreigners, except Wakanda now, knew of Talokan's existence beyond fables, but that didn't mean Talokan abstained from the necessary measures to protect their people even if it required mingling surreptitiously among surface-dwellers. Over the decades, Namor and his gatherers studiously kept an oral record. Some episodes they carved into tablets and he wrote into scrolls, such as those that spoke of world wars that threatened oceans, drug rings and fascists, and at one point the 80s fervor of ridiculous hairdos that even reached their youth.

This time, Tupoc returned with important information that required his unequivocal attention.

"A fever is a disease that affects surface-dwellers. The temperatures above fluctuate far more than they do here, and their bodies don't self-regulate as well as ours do."

Odd. He'd never heard of such a term, but his mother had passed down tales from his grandmother about epidemics that burned humans from the inside out. Most medical conditions, he was taught, were attributed to an unbalanced spiritual state or a revengeful god. Fen reminded him over the years that the body was often in need of both spiritual and physical healing. 

Shuri's internal state demanded that she be left alone. For now. As for the external...

"How do they fix it?"

Tupoc rubbed his brow. "When their bodies heat up, everything around them feels colder."

That answered why her reaction in his office felt so different from the sweat that had glistened over her dark skin the previous time. "She needs to be warmed." He concluded.

"Yes, K'uk'ulkan."

"Call Fen and tell her to bring some dry blankets."

They weren't savages. Of course they used blankets.

She was bundled up in four layers of blankets when her fever finally broke. Without the sun, her body was confused and erratically trying to adjust her circadian rhythm and in doing so robbed her of a peaceful sleep. Her kimoyo beads helped her count the hours: a few morning hours in Haiti, a couple to reach Talokan and their brief fight — if it could be called that — and another couple to account for being unconscious, the bastard's refusal to see her for another few, and now her body (and kimoyo watch) insisted it was past bedtime. Her stomach grumbled to the guard's chagrin.

"Greedy." The guard eyed her bundled up figure with a harrumph. There was nowhere to sit except on the hammock, drowning in pillows. All of a sudden, it was too hot, and Shuri could feel the thin lining of her dress slide up against sweaty legs. While she dug her way out of the mess, the guard called for another to bring some food.

The damp air hit her body like a salve. Finally. She wasn't sure what had brought on the sudden ailment, but she'd already been struggling to eat and sleep for the past two days, externalizing her stress.

She hobbled towards the guard. "I need to speak with him."

This guard was the worst she's had so far. Bulky in the right places, absurdly pretty behind the feathered warrior headpiece, and above all, mean. Worse than Namor's cousin, whatever her name was (Okoye cursed her to death and back for days before the final battle).

True to form, the guard scoffed. "He has wasted enough time with you."

"I'm trying to help him." She snapped, adding, "All of you. We don't have time."

Her time awake and waiting to heal had been spent plotting, planning, and trying not to yell at innocent guards — but she was not doing a very good job with this one. It wasn't her fault impudent ladies were frustratingly easy to lose her cool at especially if they weren't on her side.

"You have helped enough." The guard lifted her spear menacingly and scowled through her rebreather. When another Talokanil arrived with a tray of food, she set it on the floor like Shuri was some sort of grubby rat. "Your people took my brother from me." She unlocked her rebreather and leaned forward just enough to spit into her food. 

Brother? Shuri had left Wakanda before casualties had been counted, before even all the Wakandan bodies were collected. Some were forever lost at sea. At least a dozen families were in mourning. She estimated a similar amount of casualties for them.

Wakanda promised protection, but she was not so compassionate to feel guilty for the loss of voluntary combatants of war — not when they attacked first without a warning. Her mother may have been hasty, but to kill a Queen would've led to an eternal war with any other country but her's. Talokanil should be thankful.

"Your king took my mother." Shuri knelt to the ground and picked up the tray with her good arm. Her spiteful self wanted to throw the tray back at the impertinent woman, but spite, as she'd learned during the battle, demanded far too much from her to maintain. There was both ice and fire in her veins. She could fight, but not be so hasty that she forgot who she was - not her brother, not Killmonger, but an intelligent Princess. She placed the tray on the nightstand, her back ramrod straight. She was shorter than the guard, but would face her as an equal.

"Yet even if I could leave, I would not. I'm here willingly. Do not do me dishonor of deciding my motivations for me, because my country is fighting a battle out there so no more of you are killed."

The guard blanched.

"What's your name?" Shuri asked.

"Scum."

"Enough, Patli." Namor's voice was as soft as the time he'd sat with her in these very catacombs, tying a bracelet around her wrist with rough fingers. He slinked from the shadows, his eyes adjusting to the brighter lights of her room.

The room he's imprisoning me in, her mind corrected. 

He waved the guard away with orders for more food. Shuri objected, arguing that it was a waste and that she'd had worse (in Jabariland, those were times she'd prefer never to remember again), but he shook his head.

"What effect Talokan spit may have on you is unknown. I will eat this." The problem was, among other glaring problems, is that the god-king was menacingly charming.

Shuri watched with a slow-growing horror as the man settled onto the stone slab floor, boring her eyes into the back of his broad shoulders as he dug into one of the avocado dips. Another tray arrived soon after and she hunched over on her hammock in silence, too befuddled to start another conversation or launch a poor attempt at interrogation. Instead, she observed him.

Like swimming, every part of his body moved fluidly with each movement. He ate slowly, savoring every bit of the meal. His Adam's apple bobbed under his dozens of chokers and chains, and whenever he liked a particular bite, his eyes would flicker for the smallest of moments. She wondered how full-blooded Talokanil ate, how water affected their foods. Did they eat like other sea-creatures, chomping into raw fish? How did they cook underwater? Namor clearly had chefs well-trained in the cuisine of surface-dwellers, so did that mean he preferred their foods?

Halfway through their meal, she broke the silence. "Why are you so quiet?"

He paused midway through a helping of quinoa and looked up at her. "What would you rather have me say?"

The pointy tips of his ears looked rather elvish from this angle. She fought to keep a straight face. "You've gotten into a habit today of answering my questions with questions."

"You are less prone to anger that way." He took another bite. "It saves my energy then to deal with the council."

"Oh. Thank you for your kindness, then. Where was this last time, when you were telling me about your mother and history asking I go to war with you?"

"You wanted to burn the world then, but you weren’t so angry at yourself like you are now."

No. No she wasn't.

"My mother," he started, "spoke so often of avocados that for a time I thought she missed land food more than she missed land people." Shuri set her tray aside and joined him on the floor, finding it uncomfortable to look down at him while he spoke of his dead mother. "I don't enjoy their slimy taste. They are also difficult to bring down here; I encase them in pouches of raw vibranium and keep them in a water cooler to slow down their aging."

"Then why go through the effort at all?"

"Surely you do many things to honor the lives of those who passed."

In that moment, Shuri thought of the elders. How tied down they were to the ancestors and tradition, their reverence for lives once lived and rituals drowning in blood and flowers, sadness and song, love and celebration.

"I was a child who scoffed at tradition."

Namor nodded slowly, his eyes unblinking. He left his food now, turning his face fully towards her. His left hand reached for her hands, clasped in her lap. She could not pull her eyes away to see what he was doing and only felt his fingers encircle around her wrist. His pointer finger just barely met one of the Kimoyo beads. Her breathing hitched as his feathered touch turned solid, pressing down on her skin. His fingers were cool and soft, unlike the waxy skin of the guards, but his eyes felt like she was meeting fire.

"But you are a woman who is the Black Panther."

Her insides clenched. Here she was, taking on a mantle she never would have otherwise, to honor her brother. Somewhere in her brain, Killmonger laughed. Tradition.

She stood up and wrenched her hand from his grasp, busying it by smoothing down her wrinkled dress. "Take me to the Americans," she said hastily. "We might have a chance to fix this before it gets worse, but I need to get back to Wakanda by the end of the day tomorrow."

Namor's eyes were still trained on the spot she was sitting on moments prior, his hands thankfully back where they should be, closer to him than her. "That is no longer necessary." 

She felt the blood drain from her face and the beginnings of a headache. Were they going to restart this argument again? "I decide what's necessary. Wakanda is your protector."

"I met with Wakanda. How shall I say—as allies?—to pay off our debt."

Shuri blanched. He met with them? Is that why he was gone so long? The blasted man screwed off to who knows where while she was stuck here?

The beep of her Kimoyo beads dissolved into the familiar clamps of the Black Panther suit faster than he could scramble up. He didn't have his staff with him, but immediately crouched into a fighting position. A man like him would never resort to defense—unless she made him yield. 

Which she was about to, stab injury or no. "Explain yourself." She thought she sounded rather like T'Challa, voice low with an undercurrent of threat. Maybe it was the suit. 

"Returning you right now would break our deal." He leered, all softness from before gone and replaced by the temper she was better prepared to engage. "It was you or the blue warrior, and you made very clear that you trusted them to handle their side of things."

"What?"

"You and the Americans will be my guests for time being."

Shuri grabbed the nearest object and launched it at him with the full force of the Black Panther. Pillows didn't have sharp edges, but it did the job. Namor caught it with his hands but his body flew five paces backwards, just barely avoiding smashing into the wall.

"I never thought I'd see our favorite colonizer again." M'Baku thumped his chest, bellowing out a set of Jabari chants. If national loyalty hadn't been burned into Okoye's very being, she would've seen him and his ridiculous furs out the door by now.

There was a new throne room on the opposite side of the skyscraper. The old one was left untouched with its overturned throne and artifacts ripped off the walls, a violent reminder of the way their Queen was ripped from them. Instead, a small, thriving garden of synthetic heart-shaped herbs grew where she had passed. 

"Enough, M'Baku." Okoye had teased Ross enough, and he'd put up with flying in a dubious metal container to help her (or save himself from prosecution for treason). Okoye didn't care — the man was a valuable asset, as awkward as he was. His only failure was in not bringing Shuri home now, something she would hold against him for the rest of his short life (she'd make sure of that.)

Her and her companion of choice stood tall in the room, ignoring the hushed whispers of the elders. "Where is Nakia?"

M'Baku cracked his neck, rolling his head and letting his muscles ripple. "Still exiled. I was thinking to remand it. The War Dogs must return to their duties, and she really was something."

M'Baku was many things, but he did not trifle with honorable woman and would never lower himself to make a pass at the former King's lover, so Okoye accepted the compliment for what it was. Still, that didn't answer her question. Nakia hadn't responded to any of her kimoyo pings over the last three hours, and that soldier's iPhone proved itself primitive after failing to hold a signal. The River Tribe told her she'd likely gone to the King first, but instead of rapid preparations, she was met with an overconfident King busy debating the uselessness of modern televisions with a Merchant Tribe elder.

"I sent a message to her to get here as soon as possible. We don't have time. Tell the Jabari our armies need to be prepared—" 

Ayo rushed into the room, the golden clasps marking a general looped over her shoulders. She looked every bit a fierce, decisive Dora. A rush of pride and sadness welled up in Okoye's heart.

"There's an attempted breach at the south border wall. Two tanks and four airships. American." She frowned. "And a man in a pelican suit."

Ross choked, then pulled his metal mask over his face. He'd adjusted quickly to Riri's suit with a startling ease. The engineer had spent the last two months tweaking and perfecting the Ironman-like suit, and wasn't happy to see it taken for another joyride but had quickly acquiesced when Okoye mentioned Shuri's name.

"I'll go see them." He moved to take a step out of the room but a growl from M'Baku stopped him. "Permission, your Highness?"

"Go ahead. Let us see what the white man can do for us again."

"Clear your name, I hope." The clang of metal armor faded down the hall. Ayo and the other Dora quickly moved to load Talon and Dragon Flyers with warriors. Okoye almost moved to join them in a security routine they had done a thousand times, and had to stop herself. Those days were over. She would honor the justified anger of Queen Ramonda, and never pick up a Dora spear again.

Shuri had crowned her with a new honor. The Midnight Angel. 

If M'Baku hated her outfit as another affront to tradition, he said nothing. Him and the Jabari warriors joined the Dora, planning to back them up like they did at the Battle of Talokan. She held him back.

"You are King now. Stay here and protect the throne. We cannot afford another loss."

"The Jabari do not back down from a fight."

"But you must." She swallowed. "Or I fear our Princess may never return."

Chapter Text

The island of Cape Verde would have been a fantastic place to travel, if Bucky was the sort that enjoyed vacations and other 21st century millennial things. 

But a crashed Quinjet did the job. He watched the waves hit the cliffside with an odd sort of detachment, not unlike the one he felt in his years as the Winter Soldier when his would limbs obey commands of others.

Behind him, for the second time in his life, John Walker was being taken down by Wakandans in an embarrassingly short amount of time. Nakia moved differently than the Dora Milaje but she moved swiftly and effectively. The last time he got involved with Wakandans, Ayo had preformed a series of jabs that left his vibranium arm rolling across the floor. The Dora Milaje folded up all of them — John, the not-yet Captain America, and a Winter Soldier — like wet blankets. He waited until the sounds of grunts and shouts subsided before tearing his eyes from the scenery, enjoying one last look at the ocean. 

John was tied to a tree. He wore a black suit with red and white alternating stripes across the chest that looked alarmingly like a dark version of Captain America's suit. The Quinjet he had flown and used to shoot at them at had suffered damage from a poor landing — the guy wasn't a pilot, last he knew, and it took Bucky himself months to fly without Sam breathing down his neck.

Bucky groaned. "C'mon, dude."

Nakia kept her spear extended, keeping her eyes trained on the captured man. Her son was crouching between the two Quinjets, hands over his ears. "Who is this man?

"Was Captain America for a short time before Sam, took some super serum, bludgeoned a man. Helped us out in the end—some of the other Dora met him a while ago." At the mention of the warriors, John paled, throwing his hands up in the air. 

"I only serve my country—"

Nakia jabbed her spear at him, the tip hovering under his neck thankfully before he could utter another Lincoln quote. "Who sent you? Why were you following us?"

And doing a shitty job at it too. The fact that it was John, of all people, tailing them after his discharge meant that someone had sent him, someone who needed to go under the radar. If it was official business they would be surrounded by half of S.H.I.E.L.D and trained soldiers, not wannabe Captain Americas with serious anger problems. Bucky thought they had parted on amicable terms, too. 

For his part, John didn't look like he wanted to be here either. He was a super soldier, mere ropes found in the dusty storage of an old Quinjet wouldn't stop him. So what was he getting at?

"Barnes, you're being followed."

"Yeah, what else is new?"

John jutted his chin out at his Quinjet. "Take it to wherever you're going, when they see the crash and me here they'll assume there was a shootout and you both escaped."

Bucky's gut twisted. Could he trust him? "Who sent you, how and why did you find us?"

"I've been trailing you and Captain America since you left to find White Vision. I was ordered to infiltrate Wakanda," Nakia snorted at that, "but I overheard you talking with her, and realized Wakanda didn't have him. So I'm tapping out."

Nakia and Bucky both frowned. She spoke first.

"Can we trust him?"

"Not sure. Could all be a trap, but he's not smart enough to come up with something that convoluted." He moved to address John. "Have you got any leads on him?"

"No. I left your trail a couple times to follow reports of sightings in Slovakia, but they went nowhere."

Slovakia? What was in Slovakia? "Do you mean Sokovia?" 

"No," John said impatiently.

Nakia retracted her spear and pulled Bucky aside, striding towards her son as she spoke in a rush of words. "Parts of Sokovia were absorbed into Slovakia after Ultron and the Avengers destroyed the capital. King T'Chaka spoke frequently of the disaster before he went to speak at the Accords."

A wave of guilt flushed over Bucky at the reminder. Zemo had bombed the building that claimed King T'Chaka's life, framing him, but he felt no less dirty. Still, Shuri had assured him over the years that she bore him no ill will, that she was a victim as much as she was. Then he had gone and set the man free, and Ayo needed to come salvage the situation before Zemo unleashed more havoc.

He shook his head to banish the thoughts. He could return to wallowing in pity later. 

Nakia was still talking. "Is this Vision not part Ultron?" She raised an eyebrow at Bucky, waiting for a confirmation.

I see. "Yeah, he was. Is. You're thinking he went back to Ultron's largest crime scene?"

"It's a possibility."

It was the largest lead Bucky had in weeks but first, his iPhone was gone, and Nakia's Kimoyo beads were still undergoing self-repair after she had damaged them during their free fall. It would be at least another thirty minutes until they were back online and they needed to get to Wakanda first.

Bucky gave John a nod of thanks and climbed into his Quinjet between Nakia and the boy.

Becoming good was a long process, but John seemed quite taken with it.

Honestly, they were being overdramatic. Were they all like this?

I should’ve known. A King was only a reflection of his people, and clearly they followed in the footsteps—butterfly strokes—of his dramatic ass.

All things considered, a small part of Shuri said her reaction was a tad overblown and that a pillow fight with the water-king that left his stomach caved in for an hour was nowhere near conducive for world peace with a violent, secret nation, but his betrayal made her sick to her stomach.

He did exactly what he did before, and she shamefully fell victim to his playbook. Apparently all one needed to best the new Black Panther was to butter her up with nice clothes and share anecdotes about a dead mother. Checkmate, Riri had warned her, Beauty and the Beast. She was a beauty, maybe, but he was no regretful man trapped in the body of a monster seeking penance.

He was the monster.

Word had gotten out about their little squabble to thinly-veiled amusement of the guards: a hot-headed princess garnering sympathy with disease before striking at the goodwill of their king (“He barely hit the wall!” she fruitlessly protested). 

Two guards watched her around the clock now. They took away every object that could serve as potential candidates for impromptu missiles. Her pillows were gone, they replaced her food trays with kelp bowls (she had half the mind to test her punches with sea algae, just for research purposes), and welded the bedside table to the floor. That last one was a double hit at her ego. Imagining the damage she could’ve done had she only thought a bit smarter and thrown the stone drawer at his head brought a scowl to her face.

She was surprised that almost killing him in battle hadn’t garnered the same caution when she had arrived here. It’s not like he was hiding it, since he painted a mural—the Bast-damned masochistic bastard—of his forfeit. 

She also resigned herself to sleeping in a pile of blankets on the floor, hammock be damned. They were soft, at least, smelling conspicuously like salt and cinnamon, not unlike—

Her brain screeched a halt. She would rather crash that train of thought in a blazing, uncontrolled fire than see where it led.

That was how day one ended, with Namor retreating to his office to lick his wounds, the healer returning with more bandages, and her setting up camp on the floor, no closer to answers than she had two hours ago. The only development was a pounding headache.

Sleep didn’t come easily. Visions of walls collapsing under the water, another guard dying at the end of Nakia’s laser gun, or Toussaint succumbing to disease like his father would meet her in her dreams. She hoped she could believe Namor about the Americans, at least. If he didn't retaliate at an herb-powered princess, then maybe innocent civilians would be spared too. 

Finally, exhaustion forced her into a deep sleep as she succumbed to his low voice echoing in her ears. Sympathy. At least his voice was less grating than Killmonger’s.

Wakanda did not fall that night, to no one's surprise. Talokan may have killed their Queen, but T'Challa, Bast be with him, already rid the world of the only threat that almost toppled their country, and their forcefields remained a near-impenetrable barrier to anyone without vibranium.

Okoye dug her foot into the soldier writhing beneath her. Ross was busy with the falcon-man, trying to coordinate some sort of contact with the American general sent on this stupid mission.

The ship wobbled as the Wakandan forcefield let them through. The Golden City sparkled in the midnight glow the closer Ross hobbled the ship towards it — American airships were clunky boxes of metal. Okoye wondered if she could get approval to repurpose it as furniture in her home. Their previous technology extraordinaire wouldn't have bat an eyelid, and would even harvest the metal with her, but she was now a kilometer under the ocean off the coast of Mexico.

Before she could roar at the colonizer could again, the falcon-man called towards her.

"Where's Bucky?"

The solider under her whimpered in pain, earning another swift kick to the stomach. He passed out under Okoye's barest hint of a scowl. "You tell me, eagle man."

"I'm a falcon." He paused. "Though an eagle might've made more sense."

Okoye didn't have time for his jests, still thinking about the nice refrigerator American metal would make. She barked orders at some of the Dora who were busy with another soldier. Aneka's head snapped up, a rueful look on her face as recognition dawned on her. She fiddled with her wrist. "Ayo, I will be with Okoye."

Of course. Ayo was general, not her. When Aneka approached her, Okoye reformulated her commands as a set of requests. "Nakia is missing."

"And Bucky!"

"And the White Wolf. They were supposed to be here before us. Can the Dora Milaje send out a search party? Ask the technicians to see if they can track her Kimoyo beads."

Aneka frowned. "If they're damaged, then only Shuri would know how to ping them."

Okoye cursed. They were in the middle of arranging a search party, two of the Milaje jumping out the ship and into the surrounding land of the Border Tribe to notify Border authorities, when the falcon-man called to her again. 

"It's Buck!"

Namora was staring at him again. Without the rebreather to cover half her face, her distaste at the situation was on full display. Namor could count on his hands the number of times he had seen anything but a scowl or gleeful blood-thirst from her.

Ripples of amusement had torn through the council meeting that morning, dissolved only by Namor’s updates of impending changes to their alliance with Wakanda. Once he left the shark throne, though, Attuma cornered him in one of the palace’s many lounges clearly holding back a mocking laugh. Namora stood behind him, arms crossed and face contorting through degrees of revulsion.

“The Feathered Serpent God loses to a land animal.”

“Didn’t you hear, Attuma?” Namora sneered. “He’s a gentleman. Never-mind that no woman has stayed so close to his chambers in decades.”

Namor bit into a strip of seaweed. The lounges needed better snacks, and they could learn from land-dwellers and their love for good cuisine, not that he would admit it under the threat of death. (My body is a hybrid,” he explained to Attuma some odd years ago, “my biology requires a variety of foods.”)

“I will remind you that the Princess is the strongest person on the surface, the first human to ever lay eyes on our nation, and we need her to keep Wakanda on our side.” He felt like those broken record-machine the engineers tinkered with, having explained this to Namora a dozen times in the last month alone. Of course she wouldn’t give up an opportunity to side with Attuma’s complaints, and he sounded overly defensive, even to himself. He forced himself to simmer; never had personal affairs ever rattled his external self this much before. He was a benevolent god with time and wisdom beyond compare. “She was sick.”

“Was she?” Attuma drawled, grabbing a slice of seaweed for himself with his sharp talons. “I don’t think this arrangement entails mercy, just that she is alive and safe. Perhaps I can interrogate her—”

"No one comes near her.”

Attuma’s shark-like grin widened, if possible. “Possessive?”

“I promised her people her safety, and we cannot lose this opportunity. The guards will do just fine.”

“A promise of our people is sacred,” Namora acknowledged, “but what has Wakanda done to earn our goodwill other than killing twenty-seven of our people?”

He had answered this very question at the council meeting, explaining in impatient terms that she’d willingly offered herself to them over her own people. “Yet even if I could leave, I would not,” he overheard her say to Patli. Patli had been thoroughly scolded, ordered to restrict herself to a maximum of three insults per shift.

Yet Namora was looking for something else. He would have to lie to her a second time. He hated lying to her, to his people.

“The Princess is willing to stay here as long as necessary for our sake.” He would have to spend the day making that true, of course. 

He left Attuma to his own devices as more council members trickled into the lounge seeking the latest bunches of seaweed. Namora followed and he sighed internally, hoping she wouldn’t launch another question that required another lie.

It was worse. Their gods were not looking favorably upon him today.

 “If she was sick, then why was she sleeping on the floor?”

Perhaps Namora had taken up sweet-talking the guard-gossip network. Or maybe she had developed an agenda after his oversight left his guards dead in the catacombs all those months ago. Either way, there was no possibility she missed the way he jerked a little far too right in his swim strokes down the hall.

He resisted the urge to ask why she was levying strange questions at him and hoped a noncommittal grunt was enough to satiate whatever curiosity driving her today. The Americans needed tending to.

Her day passed much like the latter half of the day prior, except she could pace as she plotted and planned. The ache in her foot was nearly gone, though her arm was still tender and bandaged. Fen checked in on her that morning and thankfully the swelling had left behind puckered skin that would soon begin to scar. But infection was still possible, and Shuri could only estimate the extent of bacteria in a damp, cave environment like this.

The rude guard, Patli, was on shift again, but she was much more quiet like her somber companion today. Once an hour, though, she would open her mouth and gurgle through her rebreather.

“You mock our King’s kindness.”

“A Black Panther is a carcass like any other land animal in water.”

“A pathetic set of webbers.”

Shuri whirled around, fed up at her uncalled-for shenanigans. She had seen High School Musical enough times to know all about catty women, and she was surrounded by people in the palace who loved her but didn't hesitate to criticize her appearance. This was a new low. “There’s nothing wrong with my feet!” A pause. “I’m not even TalokanilI! I can’t control the look of my hypothetical, nonexistent webbers.”

“Even if you were,” Patli sniffed, “He wouldn’t have you.”

Shuri froze to the spot, her voice reduced to an embarrassing squeak. Somewhere, Killmonger keeled over in a cruel laugh.

“What did you say?”

Patli looked as confused as Shuri felt. The Talokanil responded with what was likely the nicest sentence Shuri would ever get from her. “Are your ears deaf, girl? Whose jade stones do you think you’re wearing?”

Shuri raised her arms as if she hadn’t admired the sleeves and imperial gems over the course of the morning. There was no change of clothes — and she didn't want to insult the Talokanil (the dresses looked handmade) - so she had changed back into the teal fit. Now that she was mostly recovered she better appreciated the way the hem flowered around her legs.

“Er, I don’t know?”

Patli scoffed. “The Queen Mother’s. She was gifted jade over her short life in gratitude for giving birth to our King.”

“That…doesn’t mean anything.” The bracelet on her wrist burned. “Right?”

“We are a generous people to those who deserve it.” Patli’s fishy gaze raked over her body. “You have not done anything worthy of jade stones yet, so the unsavory conclusion is beginning to make its rounds.”

“I spared the life of your King.”

Patli harrumphed. "That does not make you a queen."

Oh, great. So now she was a kept woman. Not Beauty, but Persephone. Half of Wakanda was probably harried to death looking for her; she refused to believe Namor could convince them to simply be on their merry way based on his word alone—and waterpeople had the audacity to think she would willingly come here to be some sort of alluring sacrificial lamb in the name of an alliance.

She facepalmed. Except, she sort of did. Minus the alluring part (she hoped).

A worrisome thought crept unbidden into her mind. The words felt dangerous to articulate.

Did Namor see it that way?

No. Aghast, she shooed the thought from her mind. He was an honorable enemy. The Feathered Serpent, fishboy elf-looking water-king, but he wouldn’t dare lay his hands on her. He knew better. He had verbally tortured her and solidified her status as a mere collateral, just another face among the Americans he lowered himself to protect.

Then why was she here, across a beautiful pond to his personal chambers, while the Americans were who knows where?

I'm his ally. Supposedly.

Shooting Patli a final glare, she resumed her pacing, flushing out her previous thoughts out with the crisis at hand. He betrayed her, so she didn't owe him any more help. Sam gave her two days. She had to go back. The world could be burning for all she knew.

No amount of tinkering with her Kimoyo beads sounded the activation signal. She had even changed into her Black Panther suit—the tears were getting worse, but she was getting desperate—to climb the rocky interior of her cave room and see if the signal would connect from there. There was nothing.

She considered breaking out of her room. Two guards were easy enough to handle, but then what? With a torn suit and no oxygen tank, the furthest she could go was Namor’s office. Stealing the mask of one of the guards was an option, but how long she could last in water without Nakia's watercraft helping her led her to the same conclusion.

A flash of inspiration struck her: maybe she could steal an exosuit. Last time, some of the Talokanil had helped her into it, but it was American-made and nothing she couldn’t figure out on the fly. 

There was a third, less violent option. She could ask Namor to see the city again. Along the way, she would convince him to take her to the Americans, spend some time in secret to commiserate, and then escape.

She kept this plan in the back of her mind. Her unceremonious leave before had been hasty and led to the chain of events that concluded in her mother’s death. This time, she would tie loose ends and then make a dashing escape, for both Wakanda and Talokan.

Okay, Shuri. It’s go time.

It was not go time if the bloody mutant never showed up. Lunch passed without ceremony, and the early afternoon crawled by at a waterbug's pace. She ate alone under the watchful eye of Patli and her companion that she couldn’t quite figure out. Then they traded spots with the guard who had greeted her when she woke bloodied and bandaged yesterday, and a mousy young woman who smelled a great deal more like shrimp than the others.

They were somewhat friendlier. They patiently answered her questions about Talokanil food as she sipped on afternoon tea, more eager to answer the more Shuri displayed curiosity about their culture. And she was eager—this was new territory for humanity, and she was nothing if not an advocate for an exchange of knowledge. 

The guards didn’t entertain her questions on war history or geography or anything about the current crisis, so she stayed in safe territory. Questions about food led to questions about lifestyle, family and culture, marriage, and even their masks. Shuri absorbed the new information like freshly knit cotton.

“We stayed completely submerged for the first fifty years.” The mousy woman, Atzi, explained. The three were sitting on the floor a ways from her hammock. “But our population was growing and we couldn’t sustain ourselves just on fish anymore.”

The other guard hadn’t offered a name yet, slow to open up, but this topic seemed to interest her too much to keep quiet. 

“We can survive for a couple minutes without masks, but any more is lethal. After the burial of K'uk'ulkan's mother, no one went to land except him. The first long-term treks on land killed early explorers. K'uk'ulkan did everything on his own and refused to sacrifice anymore lives. It was a few years before someone perfected the way to use vibranium as a filter, keeping the air out, but just enough water in our masks to soak up the oxygen from the outside and feed it to us.” The guard tapped at the translucent material covering lips. 

“You sound like an engineer.” Shuri remarked. “What are the schools like down here? Are there something similar to engineers?”

“Juana wanted to be one,” Atzi quipped. The guard, Juana, shot her a glare. “But most of us go into vocational work. We work as one unit; everything we do is to further our survival. Only a couple of engineers are needed to maintain us.”

“Is inventing not survival?”

Juana sighed. “Of a spiritual sort to many of us, but the others,” she added, and Shuri recognized the bitterness in her voice, “see no value in wasting our time with such trivialities.”

Sadness bloomed in Shuri’s chest. “Our problems are not so different after all.” She felt a kindred connection with the woman and reached out a hand to grasp her slippery ones.

Not unlike Namor did yesterday, a treacherous part of her brain reminded her. Her grasp on the woman’s hand was short-lived but she lifted her head to meet Juana’s wide eyes.

Atzi was still chatting, oblivious to their tender moment. “There’s been some news though that the masks could change to last longer. Right now we can be above water for four to five hours,” Shuri had guessed that from how long each shift of guards stayed, “but Ohtli said they’re working on one that will last for a day!”

Juana folded her arms, skeptical. “Really? They haven’t changed these masks in years.”

“Yes! They’re looking at the Princess’ box.” 

Shuri was immediately taken by the mention of a box. Did they mean her oxygen tank? She had been wondering where it went but was too preoccupied to pursue that as an argument-starter with Namor.

“Yes!” She exclaimed. “The mechanism should work, just in the opposite direction! I developed it after, uh—sometime after my last visit here. The tank holds in air like your masks do water, but whenever it goes too low, an osmosis filter pulls in oxygen, filters and recycles it, and then sends it to my mouth through my Black Panther mask.” 

Juana nodded, following along, but Atzi scratched her mask. Struck with inspiration, Shuri held up her teacup. “This is a water mask that keeps liquid inside. But it works just the same if I were to seal the top and dunk it in a vat of tea, keeping air and liquid from mixing. You just need to make the teacup out of a vibranium filter so fine that it pulls oxygen molecules from one side to the other.”

The three continued to chatter excitedly, Juana brighter than she had been hours ago. Eventually, their shift was done, but Atzi left with promises to speak to the engineers and even seek permission from Namor to bring them to her. Shuri felt giddy in a way she hadn’t since she synthesized the heart-shaped herb. The years up to and after her brother’s death passed in a haze. Her focus was solely on restoring the herb and other projects fell to the wayside. It was rekindling of sorts to meet another person, another soul, roused by the ideas and possibilities the way she had most of her life. 

One of the new guards announced a summons. Shuri stumbled, yanked from the place of passions and back to a reality where she needed to be a peacemaker. Her inventions had to wait.

The guard escorted her to Namor’s office, noticeably trailing behind much closer as thought Namor would let her kill him now. She herself knew it wasn’t in her hands without a fixed suit and an even playing field away from both their homes.

He looked up from his desk where he was hunched over a hunting knife. A rock the size of an egg sat on a stone slab, carved with serpentine hieroglyphics and icons. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered the knife and began to sharpen it against the rock at a low angle in practiced movements. A clutter of other weapons, some she recognized and some she didn’t, littered the desk and shelves around them.

No matter. She had claws.

“Let me go.”

He frowned, returning to his knives. “Fen informed me you were feeling better this morning. How is your fever?”

“Let me talk to the Americans.”

“We have not had a long-term visitor in some time, so we are out of practice. Are your accommodations suitable?”

She couldn't ignore him anymore, or they would talk in circles even more than they already did. She looked at her nails, hoping to come across too haughty for anymore ridiculous, personal questions. He didn't deserve anymore from her. “They'd be suitable if I was told why I'm kept here, against my will.”

She heard the knife still, and looked up in time to see his amber irises beginning to darken.

“‘Even if I could leave, I would not’. If you are breaking that promise, inform me now so I can prepare to go to war.”

“Namor!” She bristled and slammed a fist down onto the stone slab. It shook under the force of her panther strength. “You don’t have to threaten war when I’m asking you a simple question. I was supposed to be back in Wakanda by tonight—”

“A detail you omitted from me initially, if you remember," he said venomously.

I resent that.  “—or risk the fury of a global power, and then you make your own decision without explaining how or why. Especially when it involves me!”

“That condition doesn’t seem to work both ways. It’s also difficult to explain when that opportunity is cut off by an injury.”

“I—” Her eyes flicked down to his chest, and then his abdomen. His body seemed to be fine.

He continued. “You assumed dishonorable intentions. Are you doing me the dishonor of deciding my motivations for me?”

Those were the words she used on Patli. She lowered her hand to her side, swiveling so he couldn’t see her face fully.

“That’s different.” Her voice was quiet. He was insufferable, twisting her words like that. “Am I wrong when you haven’t shown me you can be trusted?”

He stood up slowly, a twitch of annoyance marring his face. “No, but why does this ‘alliance’ entail me explaining every single decision to you, when you went, and still want to, go about things your own way?”

“Because Wakanda is taking on more and risking more for Talokan than we ever have anyone else!” Her shout echoed in the chambers.

Namor looked down his nose at her, his eyes flickering across her face trying to find something in hers. Shuri would not let him see anything but her channeling every bit of frustration outwards. People often minimized her anger as that of a child's. She was shorter than the average Wakandan woman, and most of her life was spent as an easy-going and adventurous person. She never wanted to be seen as formidable before, just intellectually intimidating but fun to be around.

Before. 

Her brother's death cleaved her life into two, and Namor into a third. She wanted to be formidable now. So feared that this mutant rued the day he dared trifle with her family. Maybe his time under her spear hadn't been enough. In those moments that stretched like years, she had seen many things flicker across his face: alarm, terror, and finally submission. She could recall each emotion, each twitch of the jaw, with frightening clarity, but she didn't remember fear, the sort of blood-numbing horror that overcame every nerve in one's body. The kind that overtook her when she saw him hovering in front of the Citadel's window, arms swinging with a water grenade. 

I'll teach him fear. The minutes crawled by.

He broke the standstill, but instead of a counterargument, it was a second submission. To her.

“I was wrong to attack the Americans. I should give more reason for you to trust me, yes, but you are here on my time and gratitude, when you would have been more useful on the throne of Wakanda.”

She was drowning in a fish tank, because was that his idea of an apology? It was a lackluster one embedded within some defensive blame and the nonsensical belief he concocted that she was to blame, but the roots holding up her anger shifted, just a little bit. 

“I need proof.” She managed finally. “Tell me what this agreement was, who you made it with, and what the terms were.”

She felt she had lost this verbal spar when he showed no hint of surprise, or even satisfaction, at her acquiescence, like he was puppeteering her from afar and she had simply moved into the position he planned for her.

My rules, she was going to say but what she saw next rendered her utterly speechless.

He had fished something out of his pockets—she didn’t know he even had pockets, those shorts were part of his skin for how tight they were — and opened his hand to reveal a small, single black bead.

An earring. Her earring.

The last time words had died in her throat was when she met Toussaint, but that was a different kind of emotional turmoil. This was...madness beyond comprehension.

All of her previous plans crumbled. She hadn't thought far enough to consider what she would do if she had stayed — certainly not willingly, as much as coercion counted as such — and had fully been prepared to battle him. He couldn't have sourced this from anywhere but her former security among the Dora, and none of them would give this up on the pain of death and eternal Bast-damnation without good reason. 

"It was you, or the blue warrior."  He had said. Okoye would spear herself before acting in a way that compromised Wakanda. She gave this to him willingly, and Shuri's empty chest ached with the knowledge that the Midnight Angel carried her keepsakes with her.

He joined her at the other side of his desk, lifting a palm to her shoulder when she attempted to face him. 

This was the closest she had been to him outside of battle. She felt as though her spirit was outside her body, her memories not herself, watching but unable to stop his fingers from grazing her earlobe. Out of reflex, her left hand moved to remove the earrings she wore now but the bandages around her arms and elbow stopped her. Instead, he pushed down her palm, uncurled her fingers to have her hold the black earring while he maneuvered around her neck.

She kept her eyes trained on the mural in front of her, the one behind his seat, as he worked. It was the one of his mother cradling a baby in her arms with a joyful smile.

The pads of his thumb and first finger pinched her earlobe to keep it in place, and the gold of his cuffs brushed against her neck. She resisted the urge to close her eyes as he untwisted her jade earring, keeping her palm steady. He carefully placed the jade earring in her hand and picked up the black one. A part of her missed the pressure his fingers impressed on her hands. She tried not to shudder as he slipped the black stud into her piercing and slowly twisted the clasp behind it.

“The woman said you would recognize this.” His voice was low, brittle, and she felt his breath fan against her neck. He smelled like salt and fresh water lilies. "I promised that no harm would come to you until you returned to the surface."

She pounced out of his immediate reach. Her jaw wouldn't work properly otherwise. After a shaky inhale, she straightened her back, willing to summon back some of the anger and fire that drove her before. "What about the Americans?"

He rubbed his jaw. His eyes were completely black now, infinite depths she couldn't parse anything in. "A secondary concern, but they too will be fine."

"Okoye believed your word alone?"

"Your word. I told her what you told me—you are an inventor and that you could not restore something without my help." Maybe she imagined it, but his eyes flickered towards the bracelet.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, hoping it masked her tiny burst of mild panic.

Chapter Text

“I have terms.”

“A reasonable request. Continue, and help yourself to an avocado brownie. One of my many cousins invented the recipe.”

Shuri's stomach growled. One of the guards had brought in a bowl of mushy but delectable looking delights. Dessert was tempting (especially before dinner, at her big age her mother and now Nakia still kept her on a disciplined diet and she couldn't bake to save her life), but she needed to secure a few things before Namor decided to tie her to a stalagmite. I'd like to see him try.

“One conversation with the Americans with no guards, nor you—" she held up a hand to what would definitely be a loud protest, “nor any Talokanil present. I need them to trust me.”

“Five minutes.”

She whooped internally. Success! “Twenty.”

“Ten.”

"Fifteen."

“Fine."

"Next, I can leave my room.” Shuri was aware she was still standing in his office, but she was tired of being here when she didn't want to be. Or not being here when she did want to be.

Namor promptly pointed out that exact point, the insufferable scourge. “You already do.”

Pedantic didn't begin to describe him. Luckily, she'd spent enough time preparing presentations with counterpoints on top of counterpoints whenever she unveiled a new invention to the tribal elders, a skill she'd honed to near-perfection after the Jabari had been granted a seat on the council.

“Only when you summon me like a servant. I’m not sure if that’s the norm here, but where I’m from you don’t order even those in a lower position than you unless you are military. You ask. I can leave and enjoy the catacombs whenever I want to. You can keep your guards posted, but I want ladies I can talk to. My suit has holes and you took the oxygen tank away anyway, so I can’t get far even if I tried.” Not mildly tried, that was. She still had her exosuit escape plan tucked away in the corner of her mind should the need arise.

“You drive a hard bargain. You thought this through now, when moments ago you were yelling at me?" He scoffed. "Or was that a ploy, and you had hoped for a longer stay to come to fruition all this time?"

She glared. "I think fast. Keep up, please."

He was seated comfortably back in his chair, the array of weapons still laid out around him. "Tell me the rest of your terms."

“Have Juana help or sit in with some of the engineers’ work.”

He raised a curious eyebrow, but said nothing if he thought it was strange that she was on a first name basis with some of the Talokanil. "Juana has been my guard and an excellent gatherer of information for thirteen years. This would distract her."

It wasn't an outright no, so she took at as an acceptance and continued with her last request, a very important one.

“The hammock is uncomfortable. I can’t sleep well. Fen said she couldn’t find more dry blankets and the ground is hard and cold, but anything soft should do.” The healer explained that while Talokanil did use fabric the way humans did, underwater blankets were made to prevent absorption and on her skin they would feel brittle. Dry blankets came from Namor's personal items, as he split his time between air and sea and owned provisions for both.

That explained the scent, then.

Namor let out a long breath. Patches of brown skin on his cheeks were tinted with the barest of reds. Shuri's eyebrows flew to her hairline. Was he blushing?

She tilted her head, wishing her arm could heal quickly so she could start crossing them at people. Namor, specifically. "Did I say something?"

“Previous humans found them acceptable.” He responded in a strangled voice.

“I’m a light sleeper.”

There was a small choking sound from the guard. She blended in so well with the shadows that Shuri had forgotten she was there. 

Namor rapped his knuckles against his desk, eyebrows pulling together in the taut way she had begun to recognize. His right eyebrow always lifted a little higher than the left. And the little scar she'd gifted him was scabbing over nicely.

He breathed slowly, shifting on his chair. “There’s an equivalent of what land dwellers call...a bed...in my chambers. You may use it.”

Like a rubber band stretched too far, she snapped. She had a split second to choose between laughing and screaming. What came out instead was a strangled mix of the two.

Namor’s eyebrows furrowed further, almost touching each other, as if the bastard didn’t know exactly what he’d just suggested. Was he expecting her to launch into reverent praises and fall at his feet?

She almost slapped him. Almost.

“No—I—just give me something to use on the ground—"

It was his turn to be aghast. He moved up from his chair, its stone legs screeching against the floors. “That is perhaps the worst thing you’ve ever said and you’ve uttered many colorful things these days—"

Her voice spilled out of her to join his, the two talking over each other in a verbal dance.

“I like my room, I just don’t like swinging while sleeping—"

“Why would a human who does not even float move so much that—"

“Why do you have a bed, don’t you sleep underwater—”

Shuri stopped. She hadn’t really thought about Namor, Feathered Serpent winged-God water-King, doing the trifling business of peasant affairs. She’d seen him eat once and even then she was convinced that he existed perpetually as a sculpture and didn't need food. He only ate so the food wouldn’t have gone to waste. And she certainly did not think about him sleeping. A warrior, laying down in a form as mundane as sleeping, leaving himself open to attacks and unaware to threats? The image seemed laughable.

So she laughed. It was funny.

Namor glowered. “I do not understand what is humorous about this. Finish your terms quickly."

“The Princess isn’t familiar with our customs, K’uk’ulkan.”

They jumped apart. Shuri hadn't noticed when Namor's face had taken up the entirety of her sight, but his nose was almost touching hers. His warm breath was curling into her neck again.

The guard continued. "I will take her back to her room and call Fen."

Namor dismissed them without confirming if Shuri was done with her list of requests. She was (for now), but the abrupt ending to a meeting that had taken a completely unfathomable turn into her making this home for the time being drew her ire. She'd told him not to summon her like a servant, and now he was dismissing her like one. 

She should've added that to her terms.

Nakia and Bucky had landed a couple hours past midnight. Okoye saw brief glimpses of their faces when they exited the aircraft, the Quinjet looking disturbingly damaged, but the blasted falcon-man (she'd learned his name earlier and refused to use it) intercepted her for some emergency meeting, convinced she was his ally now. Yes, they fought Thanos together, but that was true of at least a thousand others. She was the one who called the White Wolf at Ross' urging, when he'd drop the bomb on her about the impending attacks but the falcon-man was a mere distraction. Another Ross-type, intrigued by Wakanda and looking for excuses to lurk around except he offered none of the diplomatic expertise and connections Ross did, only mild attempts at humor. And Okoye did not laugh with men anymore.

He did, however, give her the full story from his end and at the mention of Shuri her heart almost stopped. They had been on a mission to help some other white man, literally white and actually a synthetic droid, and they needed her help. 

Of course. Okoye burst with pride and remembered the Princess fondly. Shuri hadn't been herself for the past year and a half. The young girl who had so tenderly taken in strangers to help heal them, who'd molded technology in her hands and built their empire into what it was, was a shell of her former self.

Her father's murder broke her happiness. Her brother's passing broke her spirit. And her mother stole her heart.

She lost every member of her family so violently before reaching the cusp of adulthood. She had been Blipped, returned to fight in a war, and never once lost her way until T'Challa left her an only child, before the fishman ruined her.

Wakanda could survive the loss of a queen, but Shuri had to survive the loss of a mother alone.

And Okoye abandoned her. Queen Ramonda would've had her head for this, but she begged Bast for mercy, to keep her from hell at least until the Princess returned. To understand her intentions were sincere, and that everything she did was to make up for the sin of protecting Killmonger's throne for even a second, for taking Shuri on a mission, for leaving her.

If that beast laid a single finger on her, she would tear the ocean apart rock by rock.

She could only hope Ross was right. News of the second expedition's failure and missing divers was on the evening news. Hurried whispers and sly references to Wakanda littered the networks. One channel already outright named them the responsible party, one that selfishly hoarded resources at the cost of endangering lives. International courts were attempting to reach M'Baku. No matter that the Americans had purposefully provoked them — once was excusable, twice was idiocy.

Over a primitive iPhone, Riri swore up and down that she hadn't touched vibranium since her return. Okoye herself had ensured that all files and blueprints relating to vibranium sensors were eradicated. Her battle-hardened senses told her there were higher powers at play. Something wasn't adding up, but strategy was more Nakia's forte.

Now, there was a new problem in the form of this other flying creature whom the White Wolf suspected was in Sokovia. 

After a pitifully short-lived sleep, Okoye woke to not another alarm of an impending crisis, but Nakia's soft raps at the door. The former Dora Milaje general was at the entrance of her room and enveloping the woman before Nakia let her hand fall.

There was a short boy standing next to her. His eyes were round, full of wonder and alarm at the vibranium lining the walls, the view of the glimmering city, and Okoye herself. There was something familiar about his face. He rubbed his eyes.

"Jetlag," Nakia remarked, answering a question Okoye didn't ask. Her arms were still around the woman.

Okoye couldn't move her gaze from the boy. "Nakia?"

"I'm going with the Sergeant and the falcon-man to Sokovia. The Americans won't negotiate with us unless we prove our innocence from the attacks, and Bucky believes White Vision can help. We need to get Shuri here as soon as possible." Nakia frowned. She was speaking faster now, but Okoye struggled to focus. "Unless you met with them?...Did you leave Shuri there...Okoye, are your ears deaf?"

Okoye wanted to offer Ross' company to them. She wanted to break down and explain everything that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, how she had abandoned Shuri in the grotto to save Wakanda. She wanted to fly back to Talokan right now and dig into the beaches with the spear of the new identity Shuri crowned her with.

"Sister," Shuri had called her, "I need you to be ready."

Okoye was ready, but not for this. She should summon the strength of the woman willing to slaughter her own husband for Wakanda.

"Okoye..." Nakia sounded pained as her hands wound around the boy.

Recognition dawned on Okoye. She had looked into those pair of eyes almost every day for over two decades. T'Challa.

Something as common as sleeping had customs—that much, Shuri knew. The Border Tribe famously had biphasic sleep cycles to account for afternoon heat that confined them to their tents for four to five hours at a time. Some cultures slept on floor-mats. Others on hammocks and definitely not on floors, apparently.

“Sleep is an intimate endeavor, and one seldom speaks of it outside the family." Fen started. She was kneading some slimy concoction into her springy curls that would supposedly help with headaches. Shuri wondered if she could ask for some way to bathe, too, but maybe that would elicit even more scandal. Talokanil didn't need to bathe; they lived in a giant bathtub. Though they could still scrub or use shower gels or something. She sighed, wishing for even the cheap moisturizers from the bazaar close to Nakia's place.

Fen lumped more goop into her curls, caressing her undercut. "It's a sign of vulnerability and trust. We take turns sleeping so no one person is left without a guardian to protect from internal and external threats."

"Internal? Like a family member?"

Fen shook her head, and with it, Shuri's head. A cramp developed in her neck. "The turbulent movement of spirits within us."

"Oh. Is that why he and the guard reacted like that?" She frowned. "You don't talk about it publicly, but the guards watch over me even when I'm asleep?"

"Out of necessity." Shuri thought she meant it was so she didn't leave in the middle of the night, but Fen's reasoning surprised her. "You don't have your family here to watch over you."

Hmm. Shuri toyed with the bracelets around her hands. The Kimoyo beads on her left and the Talokan bracelet on her right clashed when brought together but felt balanced on her wrists, equal in burden. "Why does Namor use a bed?"

Fen whimpered and paused her ministrations. Shuri whipped around, slimy gunk falling out of her hair and onto her top. She mentally added pajamas to her list of necessities, finding the idea of sleeping in her tracksuit unappealing.

Meanwhile, Fen turned purple. "I—" She wheezed, and bubbles erupted in her rebreather. Her eyes were locked at the ground, her hands still raised above Shuri's head, as if she'd just witnessed Bast herself undressing.

"Alright, don't answer that." Shuri turned back around, facing the cavernous wall in front of her.

"No...Princess, it's all right." Fen's soft voice suited her position as a healer. Her hands returned to their massage, and Shuri's eyes fluttered closed. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine herself back in the Golden City, enjoying a spa night the day before T'Challa's coronation and Okoye and Nakia weaving her hair into braids. "Talokanil don’t use b-beds because we float. Our bodies move in three dimensions, if you recall. Woven...hammocks...enable us to hook our feet or hands in the gaps so we aren’t privy to move with the waves.” 

"Namor—"

"K’uk’ulkan has his own family and home, but as I've told you before, he is half water and half air. When he needs to be here, he uses a hammock. I replaced it with a sack of kelp and synthetic fibers after one particularly bad back injury.”

Oh. Shuri grimaced, wondering how long it took Fen to heal the havoc she'd unleashed on Namor's body. She could still smell the smoke and flames and the scent of burning flesh.

Fen, bless her heart, didn't say anything more on the subject. 

"That doesn't explain why he's upset I'm sleeping on the floor."

“We never, um, sleep against a floor or wall. That is too vulnerable; it cuts off one dimension of movement."

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "A bed is just a raised floor, and I don't float. I won't be here long and I should be sleeping well if I'm going to be of any use to both of our people."

Fen finished her massaged and reached for the bucket of water a guard had brought her earlier. "K’uk’ulkan means well, Princess. We are all aware you are very human, but everything you have done for us may have made us think you as one of our own."

"Yeah," She mumbled, "He's still an elf-looking arrogant prick." But now that the floodgates had been opened, she pondered over Fen's words.

His family and home.

After Fen dunked her head into the bucket of water no less than seven times and a large dinner, Shuri was granted her fifteen minutes with the American divers.

The first red flag was when the guards helped her into an exosuit under Namor's watchful eye. The second one was that when one moved to pull the helmet over her head, he stopped her and joined them in the water. He towered over her, his legs moving to create the waves that kept him bobbing above at waist level. He extended an arm to cradle her face in his hands, one finger brushing over her earring. Her body was immobile in the suit. She was frozen inside anyway.

The water-king's fingers trailed down her jawline, stopping at her chin to tug it upwards. "Your fever?"

She scowled. "Gone."

"That earring is made of vibranium. Are they tracking you with it?"

Her neck was already sore from Fen's massage and the cramp increased under the strain of looking up at him at this angle. In the dim, blue-tinted glow of the cavern, the hard lines of his face looked...soft. His cool index finger curled to burrow further under her chin, but the touch was hot, too hot. 

"They won't break our truce, Namor, or whatever deal they made with you. A few of us already knew your location but we wouldn't give it away to the Americans." For no reason, she added to herself.

He bared his teeth at her. He knew something she didn't, but she had to focus on her mission before wrangling more information out of him despite her twisting gut.

To her surprise, he didn't look annoyed. He definitely knows something. "Then keep it safe from damage. I can manage another Wakandan army but I would prefer to avoid more uninvited visitors that force me to leave my people alone for too long."

Lies. He was always looking for an excuse to war with them.

"No one can force you to do anything," she bit back.

"Perhaps, Princess."

When he retracted his hand and kept watch until she and a guard were submerged and on their merry way, she couldn't help but wonder if that was his way of telling her to be safe. She should be more worried about the conditions of the divers and figuring out how to work within this top-secret deal Namor made with Okoye, and she was, but it was getting harder to ignore the stirring in her stomach.

Fen finished her report without further complaints. The Princess had accepted further treatments, the scars around her ankles would be gone in a couple of days, and her arm bandages could be removed.

"As for the...bed..." Fen glanced sideways, struggling to keep a straight face, "it will be difficult to move on my own."

"I'll take care of it," Namor answered hastily, wishing to move on from the subject. The poor girl looked traumatized. "Anything else?"

Fen gulped. "She called you an 'elf' and an 'arrogant prick'."

The healer had never visited the surface-world, but Namor was a king well-studied in mythologies of many types brought by his gatherers and his own sojourns to land. Elves were once considered small, sickness-inducing demonic beings but many cultures today viewed them as gremlin-like creatures forced to package gifts for unruly children. 

Namor was neither. He looked down at his pulsating body, thick bands of gold and jade enclosed around his neck and limbs and the rich, metallic sheen of his trunks. He was sure he'd caught her dark eyes lingering on his chest a couple of times. The arrogant prick comment, fine, but elf? Was the woman blind?

He'd agreed to all of the Princess' terms, spending the evening swimming around like he'd had one too many maya nuts. The Americans were moved into caves two levels higher than where they were originally; Juana was informed about her new duties while other guards patched up the dingy areas he'd left neglected around his cabin; he'd asked the head of his guard to put younger, talkative ones on Shuri's tail; and two seamstresses were assigned to make more items of clothing, at least one of which needed to be appropriate for sleeping, by Fen's estimates. The woman had nearly choked on her spit trying to tell him about the sad tracksuit she was forced to wear, but that got him thinking.

What did Shuri, Princess of Wakanda wear to bed?

Namor rubbed his eyes. What he really should have been doing was meeting Attuma, preparing the guard, memorizing a speech for his next council meeting, and planning three contingency plans in case Wakanda reneged on their agreement or the Americans beat them.

He shuddered to think what would happen if Wakanda lost. If they were so weak as to be defeated by mere mortals living with such crude weapons, then they deserved to be defeated and flushed out of this world. His world had no place for such empires.

But if there were anymore in Wakanda like Shuri...Shuri.

He rubbed his eyes again when Fen left. Somewhere, he had stopped thinking of her as 'woman' or 'the Princess' that almost brought about his end.

Chapter Text

When Namor checked in with the head of his guards—partly to ensure she'd reassigned Shuri's guard duty and partly to ensure that preparations for their agreement with Wakanda was coming along smoothly—his ears picked up the distinct giggle of Talokanil guards with too little to do. Sound traveled faster under water, and his ears were shaped by the gods themselves for the ever-watchful Feathered Serpent. So while he spoke languidly with Tozi, his eye twitched at the repeated mention of his name in a circle of three guards in training, all of them no older than thirteen.

"Atzi said her dress was dripping in jade!" one girl exclaimed.

"Did you hear Juana is visiting the engineers?" This one, a boy, sounded miffed that he hadn't received the same favor.

Another voice, this one so low that it was clearly meant to be a scandalous whisper only for the ears of her companions, added her own bit of gossip. "He let her sleep on the floor. "

Their collective gasp could be heard throughout the training hall. Namor's ear spasmed. He was too busy to receive a minute-by-minute play of the Princess' daily activities. It felt somewhat intrusive, even for him. Fen had assured him the night before that the girl was fine but now he was getting blamed—by Namora for doing too much and the rest of his guard, apparently, for doing too little.

"I don't like her. We don't know why she's here," the boy said, a frown in his voice. "Patli said she's horrible."

Namor almost left the conversation with Tozi entirely at this point. The boy could do with a little 1 on 1...mentorship.

The first girl exhaled. "I'm so sad I missed her trip to the Sun. She sounds nicer than other surface-dwellers. My sister says she's pretty." 

Namor jutted his chin out in a haughty stance. Tozi stopped, leveling an alarmed look at him. "K’uk’ulkan, are you sure? Chac's rain cover you always, but moving Attuma from the vanguard would be a better option."

He blinked. He hadn't realized what Tozi was asking him and coughed. "May I bleed for you, Tozi. Leave Attuma in the vanguard." 

They continued. Namor had to force himself from plugging into the silly chatter—the water-King was no gossip—but continued to carry a faint awareness for anything serious that could require his attention. His subjects were serving Shuri, so by extension she was a subject too and required attention, after-all. A couple moments before he bid Tozi to take his leave, some of the more supercilious talk fell away to serious contentions.

"One of them shot ours dead. We cannot trust her."

"Pallee said she heard her screaming that she wanted to help with her technology," the low-voice girl responded. "She tried to save her."

His stomach tightened.

A whirlpool to the south and two whirlpools to the east later, Shuri found the Americans to be fine. Sweaty and exhausted, but otherwise in decent shape. None of them were extraordinarily shocked to see here, either — Shuri assumed that this was because they believed Wakanda claimed this area and had expected Wakandan presence in some capacity. But they were more shocked to realize she was the Black Panther who fought off whatever attacked their submarine. “You saved my life,” at least three of them said.

After hasty introductions were exchanged, Shuri made a quick headcount. There were fourteen of them, a mix of divers and non-divers, perhaps accompanying scientists or researchers. None of them looked harmed — I’m not looking for excuses to yell at him, Shuri thought, but I’m pleasantly surprised.

One of them, a middle-aged brunette with purple highlights who was sprawled across the floor, spoke. “I feel like I can finally breathe.”

Shuri paused in her mental note-taking. There were nine minutes left according to her Kimoyo bead timer, but she wasn’t sure if the guard who had escorted her here (and was currently planted right outside the closed rock-door) would be as scrupulous.

“What do you mean?”

The woman rolled over onto her side. “These people, if we can call them that, kept us in a cave deeper down. The air was so heavy and disgusting. It’s a bit better here.”

Annoyance flared up in Shuri — at the woman for her insult at Talokanil, and at Namor for his treatment of the Americans. Not for the first time she wondered how T’Challa had managed to balance owning up to Wakanda's mistakes with defending it with his life. She’d peppered him with many political conversations over the years, but most were sadly littered with jokes and jibes that she regretted not taking his guidance more seriously.

You were 18, Shuri. She had to be kind to herself.

“I’m sorry you went through that. I’ll try to see what I can do, but I’m also stuck here for the time being. Actually, the reason I’m here is to ask why —”

The woman clicked her tongue. “What is this place?”

Shuri breathed in deeply. The chattering of the others came to a halt and fourteen pairs of eyes locked on her with rapt attention.

“I’m sorry, I cannot tell you yet. I promi—Wakanda recently agreed to protect this place. No one should try to mine what’s not theirs. The first expedition was a tragedy, and I offer the American people my condolences, but we were not responsible.”

“Then who was?” a young man piped up.

It wasn’t justified, what Talokanil did to the first expedition. Namor blamed her and all of Wakanda for introducing the world and its greed to vibranium for the intrusion, but Talokan reacted the way an isolated community could be expected to react, only they'd used disproportionate means (though certainly proportionate to Namor's protective and rigid philosophy).

It also killed over thirty Americans. Not civilians, but they were not evil.

Colonialism. Killmonger whispered. Shuri slapped her ear as though swatting away his voice was as easy as swatting a fly. When she didn’t respond, still trying to find an adequate answer to the young man’s question that didn’t compromise Wakandan, Talokanil, nor American lives, the brunette answered for her.

“These blue...people, then?”

Shuri opted to give no answer. Silence was an answer in one sense but time was running low. She was at five minutes and she still had questions about their new vibranium sensor, why they’d volunteered for this mission, what they'd seen during the attack, and if they understood or realized who Namor was.

“Why did the U.S. launch another expedition? You all could have died.” If it weren't for me...

The brunette narrowed her eyes. “We knew what we were getting into.”

“Risking civilian lives for the sake of scientific progress and resource mining is a vile move on the government’s part. Was it to distract us from the attack on Wakanda?”

“Civilian?” The brunette sat up. She unclasped a button of her collared shirt, flipping it downwards to reveal an embroidered CIA patch. “Contessa Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, your highness. Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. You can call me Val in your head, just not out loud.”

Shuri’s jaw fell.

“You know my ex-husband too.”

Said ex-husband was currently tailing one very harried Midnight Angel. 

"So you knew the Americans thought we had captured their white vibranium robot? We would never use vibranium for such a blasphemous cause."

"Which is why I sent word to the best men to find him as soon as I found out. I was already in prison by then, but Captain America has eyes and ears everywhere."

Okoye bristled. Nakia, falcon-man, and Bucky had departed that morning in a Dragon Flyer with weapons, backup communication devices, and frequent updates. "Men who are now responsible for the life of one of my sisters."

Ross rubbed his chin. "Okoye, Nakia volunteered to go. Wakandan women do as they please.”

"They do, until they’re forced into a tentative alliance with a beast."

"It was our best option." He looked out the grand windows of the palace. M'Baku had housed him in the basement, their equivalent of a dungeon, so he'd spent his free hours roaming suspiciously close to the throne room and guest quarters. "For Shuri, and Wakanda's safety."

"We can't trust him."

"He will do as we asked. The world will not view Wakanda to be behind the attacks, anymore. We just need to wait."

Okoye should've thanked him for many things. A traitor to his nation, a man who took a bullet for Nakia, and now brokering peace between nations at each other's necks. Instead, she threatened to excavate his vital organs if Shuri failed to return by the end of the month.

He smiled, like he knew what she was really trying to say.

Okoye stopped by her the rooms again, allowing herself to think more deeply about Nakia, replacing her worry with the love and shock that had occupied for the better part of that morning. Nakia never wept, not when T'Challa disappeared with the Snap, not when he returned, and not when she returned. Only she could say "he was my everything" with a voice that belied the depth of her love for him without tears. She had done the same today, bringing forth the boy she called "our son", the evidence of the love she shared with T'Challa—Wakanda's King and her everything.

Nakia had introduced him as Toussaint. He was now napping in Okoye's room with one of the Milaje watching over him, still jet-lagged and overwhelmed by everything he had seen in Wakanda.

She vowed to never use his French name. That boy was T'Challa, son of T'Challa, the most noble King to have been blessed by Bast.

"If this isn't part of Wakanda or any of their operations, then what are you doing here?" Val was sitting up now, her shoulders pulled back and hands clasped in her lap.

The hairs on Shuri's neck stood on end. She rested her right hand over her Kimoyo beads as Val took her in from head to toe. She was wearing her tracksuit — wearing a dress in an exosuit would destroy the fabric and give away too much to the hostages — and for the first time felt her fashion choices unfairly scrutinized.

"I'm their protector."

"Okay. Then why are you stuck here?"

Shuri had come to get her questions answered and commiserate but somehow the tables had turned. She was prey to a dangerously calm predator. Most of the others followed suit like well-trained dogs, previous delight at seeing her wiped from their faces. She cleared her throat, summoning her mother's poise.

"Allow me to clarify. I came here and I don't want to leave until this situation is resolved." There, a truth somewhere in this complicated mess she'd found herself in. She forced a small smile. "Call it a moral obligation. Why did you come? Where did you get another vibranium sensor from?"

"I interrogated the Riri girl personally, you know." Val made a popping sound with her mouth, her nasally voice sounding more grating by the second. "She didn't say much we didn't already know but curiously never mentioned the Princess of Wakanda's independent ventures. What do these people do, hmm, to keep you so protective? I'm genuinely curious about what they've offered you. You don't need more vibranium now, do you?"

"You can't be trusted with it, obviously." She snapped, previous attempt at poise gone. Bast, how had her mother put up with this? Verbally assaulting the CIA director might end her political career but the smug look on the woman's face was aggravating.

Two minutes. She rolled a Kimoyo bead between her fingers. If she had to pounce, even in this cramped space, she would. This woman was a fox. T'Challa was never so liberal with the suit, Killmonger remarked, impressed.

“You're a bartering chip, Princess. Why else would you be treated better?" She patted her chest and bobbed her head in an impression of an understanding nod. "If you need help, come talk to me. I don't have my business card but I'm not going anywhere far these days."

One of the many quirks Shuri developed growing up as a younger sister was strong verbal sparring skills. She hated not having the last word. She absolutely despised losing. And now the head of the CIA and her stupid purple-streaked hair confused her, clearly trying to sow doubt and make her believe that allying with them was better when their greed sent Namor to Wakanda in the first place.

She sighed. She could go back and try to trace the chain of events as much as she wanted, but in reality, what hurt was being called a bartering chip.

The guards were waiting for her when she broke through the water. They lifted her out of the exosuit with damp hands. Thank Bast Patli wasn't around because she wasn't sure she could handle another gripe about her toes right now, not when T'Challa was the one who roamed around with his ugly toes out.

Used to. Used to roam around.

When she advanced towards her room one of the guards held out a spindly arm. The feather crown bobbed on her head as she craned her neck to the left. "No, Princess. You will stay there tonight. Your items have been moved." Shuri's gaze followed her arm to where she was pointing at.

It was Namor's cabin. Her mouth dried. She'd told him she was fine with her room and floor. Actually, the hammock was sounding better too.

Shuri laughed nervously. "I know my way around here now," she joked, taking a step forward towards her room. The second guard lowered her spear and nudged her with its helve.

"Heart rate, abnormally high." Griot announced.

She choked. "Namor's not — in there — is he?"

"He's at the Sun." That was new. The guards never told her where or what he was doing when she asked, either "he'll call for you" or "be quiet, girl" (Patli).

The Sun, what they called their palace. How Namor had introduced his beautiful city.

She was having another out-of-body moment again. Her feet moved of their own accord, no matter how much she cursed at them. She could fight the guards right now. She could made a mad dash for the exosuit and paddle away, up, up, and out —

A familiar face met her at the entrance to Namor's office, but it was not him. Fen wrung her hands together. "Don't be alarmed!" She blurted. A squirt of bubbles flew up her nose and she coughed. Shuri frowned — a vibration device could help prevent bubbles from forming at all.

"K’uk’ulkan is not here." The healer gestured generally to the catacombs. The lights seemed brighter, the stalagmites and rocks glistening under them. "He will do his, um private business, in his water chambers."

As feeling returned to Shuri's limbs (Griot confirmed a normal heartrate soon after), Fen turned to berate the guards in hushed voices, something about different customs and not getting any funny ideas. Shuri's brain, for its part, was definitely coming close to a great many funny ideas. Bartering chip was one of them. Beauty was another. Her stomach flipped as Fen led her past the office to an archway that led to a room not unlike hers in size but absolutely charming.

The furthest wall billowed outwards around a small lake. The floor turned into steps that sunk into it. Vines with water-lilies and other aquatic plants twisted out of the water and across the walls on each side. Ancient Mesoamerican artifacts hung from stalagmites all around her.

On her right was a hammock tied to protruding rock formations, and in the center of the room was what impressively imitated a mattress except it was one made of woven cotton and dried kelp. Tips of leaves and other stuffing materials poked out of the gaps in the weave. One of the dry blankets from her room was now draped carefully over the center. On the corner of the bed was the teal dress, neatly folded.

Fen poked a webbed finger at her shoulder. "If you take these off, I can clean them."

Shuri's eyes softened, still in awe. The view from her room in Wakanda was prettier, but this was...beautiful. It was the same emotion that overcame her when she saw Talokan and the vibranium sun for the first time. "You're not my maid, Fen."

"You are a Princess."

She gave her a rueful grin. "Not a very good one. I will clean them myself." A thought struck her. Fen had answered some of her questions earlier about microbiota. Talokanil were susceptible to different illnesses, but illnesses caused by microorganisms just the same. The solution was vibranium filtering systems scattered throughout these parts. 

In other words, a she was overdue for a bath. "That lake, does it lead anywhere?"

"Yes, it's K’uk’ulkan's private route to the city."

Shuri had a feeling the woman would pass out if she asked permission to bathe, then cringed wondering why seeking permission was necessary when Namor thought it was fine to drag her around as appropriate.

Fen lingered at the open archway. "There's a couple ladies who will be on the next shift that I think you will enjoy meeting. Would you like to meet with them?"

Smiling but regretful, Shuri shook her head. "I would love too but it's been a long day. I'll see you all tomorrow?"

Fen nodded, confirming there was nothing else she needed. After Shuri was assured that Namor would "do his private business" of sleeping miles below, Fen and the guards left her alone for the night. She could distantly hear their soft pitter-patter outside the cabin but for the first time in two days she was as alone as she could be, here.

The mental and physical fatigue she had pushed to the wayside over the last few hours hit her at once.

There was still so much to do. Her original plan was to be back in Wakanda by now. She still didn't know what the terms of Namor's agreement with Okoye entailed. There was no doubt in her heart that Okoye pushed him to concede as much as possible. What worried her were the conditions of the outside world that required such a change in their plans. Was it because they hadn't trusted her to deal with Namor? How had Bucky and Sam sought her out for a goodwill project and then the very next day she was barreling back to the Feathered Serpent God as a barely tolerable ally?

Maybe mother was wrong. Sympathy did not always work in a world that turned it into a weapon of self-destruction.

Bartering chip.

She didn't know why the words wounded her the way they did. Val's pompous sweet-talk did little to alleviate the shame. 

Confident the guards were now further out in the catacombs, Shuri undressed and unraveled the bandages around her arm. Fen had said to wait until tomorrow but it felt good enough. The vibranium embedded in the bandages speeded her recovery. The skin puckered where Namor's spear pierced her right below her elbow and minor bruises littered the rest of her forearm. She left her hand jewelry and inner garments on. Donned in her trusty cropped white tank top and boy shorts, she strode to the edge of water.

She wanted to run and dive into it but the splash would cause the guards to come running. Instead, she dropped a kimoyo bead into the pond to check the temperature and heat the water to a suitable level. Once it buzzed, she dipped in an eager toe and suppressed a moan. Exhaustion melted from her body as she slid from the humid, moist room into the lukewarm water, more comfortable than she had been in days. She needed to tell Nakia to consider digging a hot tub in her yard.

Perhaps one day she could invent an exosuit or modify the Black Panther suit so she could enter whirlpools and feel the water rushing by on her skin. Would it be as sublime as jumping from a ship and tunneling into the air beneath her? Would it feel any different?

She hated water for so long, for its depths took her mother. But her father died from high pressure oxygen setting off an explosion, and her brother from a deadly disease. Bast knew she could never meet the ancestors like her brother did, but somehow, the elemental spirits seemed to take on new meanings away from the tidy, measurable way she used to view them.

The water exploded to her right.

Shuri twisted her body, her wet fingers swiping at her kimoyo beads. She never finished the launch tap sequence because a deplorable figure rose up from the middle of the splash like water erupting from a spring fountain. 

Namor and his staff were dripping wet. She didn’t like folklore, but she wondered now about the end of the mermaid story her mother never finished.

Chapter Text

Let the record be known that Namor was innocent. He left Fen with clear instructions: "she wants company, so introduce her to the others and let her speak about her inventions." If Juana's retelling of her afternoon with the girl was anything to estimate by, Shuri should have been neck-deep in conversation with the new guards. While he hadn't intended to return to the catacombs until the next day, Attuma insisted he needed to see the flint knife now to start new weapons production. In hindsight, Namor wondered if that was an excuse.

The water had felt warmer, and some part of his brain imagined what Shuri would be up to once he arrived to her new accommodations—if she was trying to spy around his office or was deep in debate with the guards, but he was honest to Chac busy with things far superior to care.

By the time he'd seen her bare legs, moving in hypnotic, measured strokes, the momentum of the whirlpool sending him upwards was too strong to stop.

Shuri scrambled up the steps, almost jamming a toe against uneven rock. There was a rush of voices and footsteps outside. Namor stilled, water up to his waist and his dark hair pressed against his forehead. Water dripped from the jade in his ears and nose.

The beginnings of a fight crawled up her face as her hands fiddled with the Kimoyo beads. There was a beat of silence, him looking at her, her looking at him. And then —

"What god possessed you to—"

"You backstabbing liar—"

"You would call me a liar when it is your word that you failed to— "

"Princess, we heard a—"

More silence. The guard cleared her throat, and Shuri and Namor turned to her in unison.

"Out! " they both shouted.

She fled and Shuri felt only a twinge of guilt, her mind too preoccupied to keep up with her racing heart. Namor's breathing (why is he breathing, he doesn't need to breathe!) was too loud. Her eyes traced a bead of water as it rolled down his face with each heave, slid around his neckpiece, fell onto his abdomen, dipped into his golden belt, and finally joined the rest of the water flowing around him and his staff.

Shuri spoke first, her voice frosty. But it wasn't exactly because she was mad. No, she felt shy. Like he'd breached a boundary and she was scared what he would see on the other side because she herself didn't know what was there. So she lashed out.

"Why so surprised?  You wanted this—" 

His eyes lifted, incredulous. His lips opened with the signature of an impending growl, but nothing came out. Finally, his jaw seemed to work again. "That's not what — you — I was told you would be occupied for another hour — "

Oh. The anger left her as easily as it came. Her palms rested on the floor behind her, propping her body up. Her neck craned to watch another bead of water slide down his cheek.

"Shuri." Her name rolled off his tongue like sweet honey, damnit, had he never said her name until now? His broad shoulders were dryer now with only a thin sheen of water remaining. The muscles on his neck and arms pulsed. He spoke slowly, in even tones. "What reason drove you to enter these waters?" 

"I was bathing, genius!"

"Bathing," he murmured, voice raspy. He was talking again. Why was he talking again? And why did his voice make her shiver more than the damp air breezing by her skin? 

Shuri looked down. Her fingers must have missed her Kimoyo beads because in place of a Black Panther suit were semi-translucent underclothes. One hand lurched up as she struggled to find the right Kimoyo bead, her fingers shaking and head all fuzzy and blasted headache and stupid bed and stupid water-king that always found reasons to get mad—

If Namor seemed like he was constantly wound up and easy to anger, that was because he only got angry to protect his subjects. And threats to Talokan were plenty, even for an isolated water nation — climate change, war, disease, predatory water animals, just to name a few.

Shuri’s patience and sympathy for everything but him was becoming a concerning pattern. He was impressed, of course: if the Black Panther was too cowed by the Feathered Serpent God, then their nation did not deserve their rich vibranium and a place alongside Talokan. 

He didn’t trust her to not escape, or throw another wrench in his plans, but he trusted her, despite his jests, to not kill him. Because no matter how much he’d broken her, she was Shuri and she was sympathetic. If not for him, then at least what his existence represented and his people.

But for a fleeting moment, when he had seen her eyes widen in shock, her half-naked body shivering and the wound he'd given her months ago faded into her dark skin, he thought of her mother. How easily humans fell to water. He could not save her mother, but he could save her. He needed her to be alive.

Namor marched out of the water, droplets flying around them. Staff forgotten behind in the lake, he observed quietly as Shuri scrambled with her beads. Silence was his natural nature. Hundreds of years could not be filled with a constant stream of speech but she had a way of pulling more words out of him. There was so much he wanted to utter at that moment but something in her face silenced his voice. Instead, his body moved of its own volition in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

Shuri’s frantic movements were halted by a large pair of hands pulling her up to her feet. He was wet, always wet. She tried to crane her head up to steal a glimpse of his face.

He pulled her flush against him. 

Her initial desire to jerk away disappeared at the feel of his thick arms coiling around her, his golden wrist cuffs digging into the small of her back.

“You’re shivering,” he murmured into the crook of her neck. She swore she felt his lips touch the top of her ears. The usual spectrum of emotions Namor ignited in her—anger, annoyance, mild amusement—came to a screeching halt. There was only a dark void, dark as the eyes he often had around her. “I wished—your comfort—”

A wisp of something foreign ignited in the void.

“I—it's okay.” She swallowed. Her arms hung limply at her side. She should be clawing at his back with the intent to kill, the way she had done the last time he was this close, was around her, enveloping her like he had any business being everywhere in her eyes and nose and ears.

“Your trip to the Americans, did you find your answers?” She felt his warm nose and cool jade skid across her cheek, like it was normal to be in this room, him cradling her like some sort of, some sort of…

“No. I'm unsure.” Whether this was an answer to his question, or to her trail of turmoiled thoughts, she didn't know. Finally, “I’m tired.” I want to go home. I want to go back to Haiti and disappear. I want my brother back and I want to leave the Black Panther behind.

Namor straightened and tightened his grip, dragging her with him. She was almost standing on his feet. Her small breasts pressed into his chest below his golden collar. One of his hands left her spine to press the back of her head into him. Her left cheek met his chest. She stared at the hammock in this room as though it was the only thing in the world that could keep her from drowning. Water dripped from her curls and into her eyes.

Like her body had done in the water, it melted into him. Only her thin top separated her chest from his. She felt every movement ripple through his body and into hers.

“Tell me the rest of your terms. Consider if the Black Panther can trust the Feathered Serpent God and I will—request your presence tomorrow and explain our arrangement.”

Say my name again, her traitorous mouth almost said.

Shuri lifted a hand to his chest and pushed him away. Or herself back, because he was a solid rock, body sculpted from the sun itself and— 

Breathe. She couldn't see his expression before, but now his usual, mildly-interested expression graced his bejeweled face. The foreign feeling in her stomach quivered again. She was too tired and drained to muster up the confidence of a Princess but willed her body to form a passable neutrality. 

“Giving up your room was unnecessary, but thank you.”

Whatever spirit had ahold of him for the past few minutes was gone, because he was smirking again. “I do not need your thanks, woman.”

“Then what do you need?”

His lips twitched in the start of a smile. “Your terms. Had you spoken of your want to bathe —”

“It's a universal need. I'm human, in case that requires repeating.”

“—Fen would have prepared a suitable location and…clothes earlier.” His voice hitched on the word clothes. With a start, Shuri remembered where she was, who she was with, and what she was wearing.

She whirled around. Not that it helped, considering she was just as naked in the back, but she was out of the strength required to not crumble when facing him right now.

“Don’t touch me, don’t look at me, don’t breathe in my direction.”

She heard his footsteps—wet and squeaking and solid—move towards the archway. She squeezed her eyes, willing him to leave, but he stopped.

“I hear you breathing.”

A chuckle. “Not in your direction, I assure you.”

A sense of normality returned and Shuri embraced it. “The last time I communicated a human need, the guards and Fen almost passed out. I didn’t want to bother them.”

“Not them, me. You should have communicated this to me.”

She grimaced, extending damp hand to clutch her wrinkled tracksuit to her chest. She braved a look at Namor. The water-king was looking at one of the artifacts on the wall, a curious look on his face.

“So I can tell the fishboy about my personal needs but sleep is where Talokanil draw the line?” 

Namor flinched. Good. He should feel as disoriented as she did.

“A bed,” he said slowly, “is a personal need. Is the Black Panther not satisfied?”

It hadn’t escaped her that they had resumed using their titles—nicknames, Shuri laughed internally, the elf—like it could widen the space between them after meeting so close.

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” The reminder cut through the thick air. They were not friends. They were allies born of political need and moral imperatives.

“Tomorrow.” He left through the archway, and that moment she finally identified the feeling swirling in her gut.

Comfort.

Namor didn’t think twice about what possessed him to act the way he did. He was close with the gods, meditating often and going to land for rain rituals. His temper flowed from earth and mud. His flexibility and submission flowed from water and their god of rain, Chac.

He saw Shuri constricting, so he could not do anything but flow around her.

If she was to stay for a month, she needed some way to keep her fire at bay. Atzi wanted the engineers to meet her, and keeping her busy with her inventions was one way to do it. He wondered, not for the first time, what connection she had with her gods and ancestors. Having the mantle of the Black Panther thrust on her without solidifying the connection to the god that granted it could be part of the problem.

He made a mental note to request her to accompany him to his ancestors. Chac favored Talokan, but water looked fitting on Shuri.

A grin tugged at his lips. Very, very fitting.

Bucky wrestled through the collapsed doorway, giving Nakia privacy to update Okoye and speak to her son outside. The annexed capital city of Sokovia was still recovering, and it hadn't improved substantially since he was last here with Zemo. The area with the memorial was still beautifully morose, but deeper in the city, disorder reigned. People lived in the streets. Dilapidated neighborhoods and crushed buildings hosted a small trickle of humanitarian workers.

"Why can't we ask the wizards to help? One whoosh," Sam made a circle movement with his arms, "and they'll find him. Boom, done."

"Sorcerer. Calling them wizards is like calling you an eagle."

"Easy now, Buck."

"You heard them—legal problems, busy with restoring their temple. Wanda destroyed it in Nepal."

At the mention of their old acquaintance, the two quieted their banter. Nakia joined them from outside, observing the them carefully. Sam held up an old DVD boxed set, covered in soot and ash.

"No sign of him here."

Nakia nodded slowly. Bucky had begun to recognize it as a tick—she was running through options in her head. 

"We can see if he comes back here," Sam said, "but if he's not at Wanda's childhood home, where else would he be in a city like this?"

"Don't ask me, I wasn't part of that fight." At that time, Bucky was the Winter Soldier, committing terrible crimes far away from here.

Sam chuckled. "Neither was I. Was busy tracking down your ass, actually, at Steve's command."

Nakia spoke. "What about one of the other Avengers? Can you ask? Unless your friend we left on Cape Verde—" Bucky opened his mouth to protest John being called a friend but decided against it, not wanting to interrupt her train of thought, "was lying, there must be some reason why he was spotted here. It's never a coincidence."

Sam replaced his goggles, his wings extending in preparation for another flight out of the caved in roof. He'd done about three circles around the whole city so far, with no leads. "Yeah, a pastel evil version of an android Tony and Ultron cooked up. Not so sure sentiment's driving him."

At this, Bucky had to disagree. "He got his memories. Memories change a person."

Sleep did not come easy to her that night. It hadn't come easy for many months, even years. What was new, was the culprit of her insomnia this time: the freaking bed.

Fen told her she'd made it after Shuri injured Namor. He'd slept on this at least for some nights, however Talokanil slept. What did he think in those days fresh from the loss of battle? Did he curse her to the heavens for forcing him to yield? Did he toss and turn, plotting ways to get his revenge? Was that what was happening now — revenge for clawing his face, burning his back, and stamping on his pride?

Okay, not pride. The masochistic bastard had a mural illustrating his defeat in the next room for everyone to see.

She, however, did not remember her defeat at his hand at all. It couldn't be called that, because it was before she was the Black Panther and there had been no combat. Just him leaping and flying over their aircrafts like it was a game of hopscotch and then throwing water bombs into the palace. Her memories were hazy between the glass of her Dragon Flyer cracking and Griot announcing the Queen's terminated heart-rate.

It was not him specifically, she decided. Without her mother and brother, there were few people on this planet gave the kinds of hugs that kindled warmth and comfort.

She would not forget the momentary kindness of the water-king, because that's all it was: a momentary lapse, an outlet for the grief she was still healing from. Where he drew his warmth from and how was none of her business.

Chapter Text

The next morning, no guards greeted her. Instead, Fen was lurking about in the room with a bundle of fabric in her hands. Shuri groaned and rolled over at the noise, but then the unmistakable gurgling through a rebreather hovered over her ear. She lurched of off the bed and soundly onto the floor. The healer had the audacity to laugh. 

Shuri sent her a mock glare, now fully awake. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“My husband says I’m endearingly annoying. Now, get ready.” The Talokanil paused. “K’uk’ulkan requests your presence at this hour. If you want. But you should.”

She rubbed her eyes. Her Kimoyo beads told her that it was midday in Haiti, but she felt robbed of rest. Resigned to having a perpetually confused sleep cycle for time being, she lifted herself off the ground. The wound on her left arm itched, though that was probably because she had slept in her tracksuit.

Fen set down the fabric on the bed and immediately latched onto her with soft hands. “Why did you take your bandages off? I was going to unwrap them today and rub a salve.”

Shuri massaged her arm, shrugging, not wanting to explain the bathing ordeal. “I checked with my Kimoyo beads. It was fine.”

Annoyance marred Fen’s face but she said nothing. She retreated to the bundles of fabric and ordered Shuri to change. 

There were three new outfits. The first was a white gown that reached her shins, so simple that Fen’s lack of explanation that it was for sleeping confirmed her guess that it was a nightgown. Next to it was a dress strikingly similar to the white, jade-studded piece she’d worn after Namor's minions kidnapped her and Riri. 

“The seamstress made some alterations. She wanted to make a new one but K’uk’ulkan said this was fine.”

Good, she thought, touching the fabric. It was one of the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen. Not her usual style—a bit traditional and too evocative of the 19th century for her—but the alterations toned down the neckpiece and added a sash around her waist. The last item was a gold cloak that would drape over her shoulders and meet at the base of her neck with a jade clip. “For when you’re cold,” Fen said, as though it necessitated explanation.

The memory rushed into her mind unbidden. “You’re shivering,” he murmured into the crook of her neck.

Cheeks burning, Shuri waved Fen out of the room and took a few shaky breaths to ground herself. She’d hugged boys before—namely cute boys her age in the River Tribe after T’Challa's coronation before him and Nakia sent them scurrying.

The blood in her veins turned to steel. Let him try and touch me again.  

Resolved, Shuri quickly changed into the white dress and fixed her mess of curls. They had dried into an erratic frizz last night. She tried and failed, inwardly sulking at the messy reflection staring back at her in the Kimoyo bead’s mirror function.

“If I knew how to work with hair in the air, I would offer to help.” Fen fiddled with the headpiece keeping her bun secure. It was smaller than the ones the guards wore, made of delicately woven rope and a sea shell pinned on the right side.

“It’s alright,” Shuri dipped her hands in the lake and used them to rearrange her curls into some semblance of decency. 

Namor greeted them in front of the cabin. He wore the white and gold cloak from when he’d first greeted her within his chambers, the first time he shared their history with a surface-dweller. It covered most of his chest but a slit exposed his right side. The jangle of his decorative shoulder panels echoed loudly in the catacombs when he stood up from where he’d been lounging in a shallow pool of water.

“So what’s all this about, another trip down Talokanil memory lane and offer to burn down the surface world with you?” She joked. It must have contained less malice than usual because Namor didn’t sulk. Maybe he was flattered that she remembered.

She wanted to burn down the world, once, but not for the reason he wanted to. Never for the reason he wanted to (“The world is not divided into conquerors and the conquered,” she once heard Okoye tell W’Kabi). Her rage was at the world giving her gifts and the technology and ability to save her brother, only to be too late.

Namor had mentioned he would meet her today to finally explain what he was up to, but they normally didn’t meet this early. She figured he spent his first hours with his people and performing his kingly duties. Her mother once said that being a good ruler often meant putting their subjects first and families second. 

She frowned, remembering her conversation with Fen. Namor’s own family. Did that mean he had siblings? Kids? But that would require a woman in his life — a wife?

She shook her head, breaking out of her reverie. The right corner of Namor’s mouth quirked upwards.

“I sense a desire that you wish me to make that offer again.”

“I’d kill you.” The guards immediately crouched into an offensive stance, pointing their spears at her. Fen gasped from a few paces away.

Namor waved them back, dismayed. “That was a jest between the Princess and I.”

“Are you certain, K’ulk’ulkan?” One of them sneered at her, the spear in her hand wavering. She looked too young to be a guard.

“If the Princess wanted me gone,” Namor strode towards her, “she would not have spared me the last time. We are allies now. Jests are a liberty we can afford the Black Panther.” 

Assuaged, the guards retreated. He leaned in so that only she could hear, adding, “You know very well what would happen then. Do not be so casual with me in front of my people.”

Her eyes flashed. “Do you think I’m joking?”

He lifted a hand to her black Kimoyo earring, stroking it softly, but his voice is testy. “I...am still deciding.”

She heard Fen’s curious eyes linger at her back. Namor swiveled around and jumped into the water.

“Pallee, help her into the suit.”

Climbing into the exosuit with a white and jade outfit made for princesses was an idea so ridiculous that someone as shrewd as Namor should’ve noticed. The fabric bunched around her legs and the long sleeves hindered the already limited movement she had in the bulky suit. Whatever joy she’d felt at donning the garment again dissipated as she sourly yearned her tracksuit.

“Stay close.” He ordered, and they were off. It was a short swim away, and less than half a minute later she was being pulled out of the suit by Namor himself, the guards having stayed back.

His grip was still tight on her right forearm when she shook her head to clear the view in front of her. They were in a large cavern, even larger than his. The shimmering lights above were blinding. Hues of gold and yellow reflected off metallic rock creating a warm glow that emanated throughout. If the vibranium palace of Talokan was the sun, then this room was its rays.

Murals similar to that of his office lined the walls, but on a larger scale. They were also interspersed with Mesoamerican carvings and glyphs—stories of some kind.

The floor in the middle of the room was depressed into a soil bed. Bunches of flowers sprouted from it, the golden light placing a warm tinge on the end of the petals. 

Shuri inhaled. Next to her, Namor’s chest rumbled with a pleased chuckle.

“This is the room of our ancestors. Would you like to see?” His hand was still around her arm. He was so big and her so lanky that his fingers overlapped on the other side of her limb.

“I would love to.” She moved forward briskly, and thankfully he let go. It was like standing in the garden of the heart-shaped herb again. She felt the vibranium in her body, Bast’s blessing enveloping her, as she uncurled her fingers to touch a delicate petal. "But why are you showing me all of this?”

He began to circle around the room at a languid pace, reverently looking up at the murals as he spoke.

“Chac gave my ancestors a vision. My mother gave birth to me knowing I would live to be king. Talokan flourished because they always had a protector. In return for protecting them, my subjects serve me. That is how we have lived for centuries.”

“Are you…” she tried to think of a delicate way to word her question because her mother had instilled her with at least some reverence in the presence of ancestors. In the end, her blunt nature won out. “immortal?”

“I do not know.” He confessed. He was standing across her now, meeting her eyes from the other end of the garden. “These are the flowers my gatherers have found over time, but we have never found the flower that saved us and sent us under water again. Chac and our ancestors have always taken care of us, though perhaps recently they have taken to testing us.”

Shuri straightened, taking note of the variety of flora. Some were plants she recognized; others were as foreign as the concept of a water-nation had been a mere two months ago. “Good for them. Our ancestors were not so kind.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“I once thought the Black Panther a relic of the past.” The venomous sentences she’d spouted at her mother before her death clawed at her chest.

“And now?”

“I am the Black Panther, but the ancestors would not have chosen me unless they had to.”

“You mentioned your brother to me before, adorned as you are now. Tell me, was he as entranced by the work of science and technology as you are?”

She stilled. She had opened up to this violent king about the man she loved most and failed saving. It felt so different now, like she was looking into an abyss. Namor was in control, pulling the strings of her puppet body taut and swinging her around as she wished.

But looking at his ancestors, the paintings on the walls and the remnants of the ocean he commanded, she plunged, hoping Bast would catch her. 

“He was the perfect king,” she started in a near-whisper. “He understood the unseen world and his duties better than I ever will.”

“I will tell you a secret, Princess. I was born to lead, but the ancestors forced me to earn it. They may end me yet. But you are the Black Panther, first surface-dweller to have seen Talokan, and brokered an alliance with a god to avoid eternal war. Even your brother could not boast such a feat.”

Only the most broken people can be great leaders.

He was moving towards her, having completed his circle around the room. “I am Talokan’s god, but I still pray to Chac in thanks of our vibranium and our water.”

“Does he listen?”

“Sometimes.” He raised his hands in a grand gesture towards a series of carvings in the wall on her left. “Until she took the blue flower, my mother grew up having lost faith in the gods. Her own parents succumbed to disease and her life was full of hardship. When she told me these stories, I never understood what appealed to her about land. I had no family like the ones she left behind, but I had a family in my people. That was enough.”

Her feet were welded to the floor. She could not move when his hand made his way under her chin for the first time that day, the second time in two.

When his eyes flickered to her lips, her breathing hitched. Her voice died in her throat. She tried, desperately, to summon rage from the pits of her soul, from the shimmering air around them, even him, but there was nothing. He was still, oh so still, and calm, and comforting—

“But now there is something of land that I covet. I am beginning to understand her."

More vibranium? She wanted to ask. When her mother told her how Namor had threatened her with her daughter's death, he'd very clearly said that there was nothing Wakanda could offer them except an alliance. And now he had it. What else would a water-king need after building an empire like this?

"I hope that means you've sworn off waging war on the surface world."

He smiled, amused, his fingers tapping across her cheeks. His eyes had the audacity to dazzle in the light, she didn't even know eyes could do that, let alone trap her so thoroughly that the thought of looking elsewhere was akin to choosing a pebble over vibranium-encrusted jewels.

"I told Namora that one day you would come to me. You called me, and I offered you and the Americans safety because I trust your sympathy. Will you trust me, now?”

“I—” Her head spun. She needed to get out of here. The walls were closing in on her, his hands were about to crush her face, and she was going to be the world’s greatest fool for trusting this man. She had only agreed to tolerate him to protect Talokan. To do what was needed to help innocents but nothing more. Asking trust of her was too much.

Somewhere, a voice in her head told her she would've accepted two months ago. Not this time—she'd been played a fool once, and could not afford to do it again.

“Take me to the Americans.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t show it.

"Wakanda is new to international politics and you're young. Not trusting your allies is normal. None of us can afford to trust anyone but ourselves." Val nibbled on a bit of kelp. 

"A horrible way to live. If you want to make an ally out of me, you’re not doing a very good job." Finally able to cross her arms, Shuri grimaced at the woman. "I'm not here on your offer of help—I'd sooner trust a nuclear bomb."

Val stopped chewing. The woman likely wasn't used to people not kowtowing to here, or trying to play dirty politics the clean way. Shuri was here to set her own rules and abandon every alarm bell telling her to not make an enemy of the CIA and every government they had their claws in.

Namor stood outside the closed door. His pointy ears made her suspicious, but none of her research into Talokanil physiology suggested an ability to hear through rock. When they had arrived to this cave, he made it a point to stay out of sight when one of the guard's unlocked the door. That confirmed her suspicion that Namor hadn't conducted any interrogations himself. 

"Have any of...them, spoken to you?"

Val laughed. "Your highness. My, you're frightfully naive. I'll give you your first lesson in negotiation: to get information, you have to give some up yourself. Answer this: are they aliens? Are they the ones who brought vibranium to Earth?"

Fine, two could play at this game. "No to both your questions." She didn't ask for an explanation, so. "My turn: why did the Americans come here again, knowing what happened the last time?"

They continued like this for a couple minutes. Val picked apart her questions with the skill of an annoying exam proctor and Shuri dodged her like a panther. What emerged, however, was a curious picture of the past week's events.

Having assumed, like much of the world, that these waters were part of Wakanda, Val led an expedition masquerading as innocent scientists to see for her own eyes (betrayal was rampant in her division at the moment. She muttered something about her ex-husband). She wanted to provoke them. Wakanda wouldn't kill them a second time, if they were right, since their country was now open to the world. More importantly, Val herself was going to smuggle vibranium out or give America and its allies the signal to launch a full-scale war on Wakanda. 

"And what do you think now, knowing there is a third player here?"

"I think," Val's eyes danced over the delicate beading of Shuri's dress, "that you might be in danger more than we are."

"What do you mean?"

"Your second lesson: pay attention to the gossip." Val plucked at her shirt. The grime was beginning to leave stains. "An alliance, you said, between Wakanda and these people? I remember being your age," a dramatic sigh, "I was very beautiful. Still am, but there's something else about that age, I'm sure you know. You're stuck here too, yet treated like one of theirs."

"I'm a Princess of their allied country, and I didn't lead a suicidal mission here." Shuri snapped. "Get to the point."

Val hummed. "I called you a bartering chip last time, but I don't think alliances with young, attractive princesses work so simply. What made Wakanda such a staunch protector of this place that you say isn't theirs? Wakanda's refused to live up to their promises and share, so I can't help but wonder...what they must have bargained. Such loyalty...almost familial, if you ask me."

When Shuri exited the cave, Namor was gone.

Her breakfast went untouched. She asked the young guard to convey her apologies to the girl she'd yelled at the night before and tried to distract herself with Atzi's chattering. Juana wouldn't be around until the next day but even the girl's cheer about Talokanil technology couldn't fully quash her internal turbulence.

"Princess? You look sick. Should I call for Fen?" Atzi raised her spear, prepared to dive into the water. They sat around the water and lounged against a clump of rocks. The young guard's name was Zuma, though she remained reticent. Shuri would be, too, if someone had threatened to kill their ruler even jokingly. 

Shuri didn't like admitting weakness but she was doing their presence a dishonor by drawing into herself. "I'm sorry, ladies, but I didn't sleep well. I don't know if you guys have these things called naps, but I think I'll sl - do my private business." She'd explain to Atzi later the intimate idea of napping later.

"You didn't eat either," Atzi pointed to the bowls at her feet, "humans need to eat more, right? Are we not feeding you enough? I'll go to K'uk'ulkan's chef to get you more food."

At his name, Shuri wheezed. "No, no, it's fine. I'll eat this for lunch." She bid them a pleasant goodbye. Atzi's chatter faded away as she padded into Namor's office and sunk into the chair across his. He was not there right now but she could use this time to prepare herself.

Just a day ago, she would've ignited a storm, seeking him out to shred him into pieces verbally, possibly physically. She felt like a pendulum, swinging from left to right, always back to where she started no matter what direction she moved in. Pulled back just when she began to open up to him.

Her breathing steadily quickened.

In the office, now, she remembered Patli's comments, Fen's lingering gazes and sudden adoption of handmaid duties even though she and her healing weren't needed anymore. 

She lifted her head to look at the mural immortalizing his defeat at her hands. It occurred to her for the first time, in actual words instead of fleeting, unformulated thoughts, that Namor was not only a god and King, but a ridiculously, impossibly beautiful man with silly feet wings.

Her mouth ran dry, her thoughts coming in rapid-fire bursts.

The first time they met, he was a strange intruder adorned in foreign materials, the only thing familiar to her the vibranium in the air around him. She'd taken in his features just enough to warn the others of a fishman threatening war.

In the Battle of Talokan, her evaluation of his body had been purely mechanical, anticipating strikes from his limbs because they were deadly weapons, clawing at his back so his muscles would snap to release her. He was no different than Killmonger or the aliens in Thanos’ army. She’d grown up during war. Descriptors like man or woman, attractive and not, were replaced with high-level and low-level threat.

The only time she had viewed his physicality as anything else but that of a hardened nemesis that would take everything from her to defeat, was when they sat in this very cave, his hand caressing hers and soft, urgent words about protecting their nations. At the time, she had acknowledged the beauty of the Talokanil people and impressed by his passion, but nothing more. She’d been too busy to read sincerity on his face, the raw honesty with which he’d asked her to burn down the world with him, and the panic in getting the scientist out of here alive at all costs.

When all was said and done, though, she was a young woman, staying in the caverns of what was the world's most dangerous foe, with only her wits, skills, and promises to reign him in to balance him on the thin precipice of peace. She was the only one in the world who could claim to have reduced Namor to her feet.

What did she expect? What had anyone? Is that why her mother had made such an uncharacteristically rash decision, not just out of grief, but because she was a young woman kidnapped and alone with a god who was used to getting what he wants?

He'd given her his god-forsaken bed. Held her, woven an earring into her ear, told her in no uncertain terms that he trusted her (or her sympathy, was that the same thing?). Accepted each of her listed terms with little protest, had guards deliver her the best foods, the best clothes, and simply listened to her demand that he take her to the Americans despite spending the first day arguing about it relentlessly.

And his mother's bracelet, still around her wrist. Shuri was inexperienced, but not naïve.

She burst into laughter. It sounded—it sounded — 

"..there is something of land that I covet."

"Ridiculous," she whispered.

An advanced empire like Talokan wouldn’t stoop to such ridiculous, archaic notions, despite how frozen in and protective of their traditions they were.

But Bast only knew why the first thing she blurted out to Namor when he entered was, “In Wakanda, even royalty don’t bother with political marriages.”

Chapter Text

If there had been any sign of White Vision at all in Sokovia, he was long gone.

Bucky crouched near the small fire Nakia started, grilling a stray rabbit they'd found hopping around the outskirts of the desolate city. Nakia fiddled with her kimoyo beads, more anxious as the night darkened. They'd wasted over a day here and there were no other leads. For all they knew, White Vision could've been off-planet. The idea he'd joined Thor and his band of ruffians was starting to seem more plausible.

Bucky grimaced, remembering the talking bear pursuing his metal arm.

"The Americans are stubborn," Nakia announced. "We must bring them back something. Ayo is worried the next attempt won't just be a warning. France and Germany are preparing to join them."

"Maybe we're thinking about this too hard," Sam finished folding his wings. "He's been spotted in areas that were meaningful to him. What other places would he go?"

Bucky looked up, an odd feeling rising in his throat. "If a man loses everything but his memories, he'd try to visit them again." He would know. He thought of all the apologies he had given over the past few weeks by traveling across the U.S., and of the weeping mothers and sons and wives, some who held his hands and cried in forgiveness, others who kicked him out with a litany of curses. The sorrow, the solmn joy of closure, the damnation — he deserved all of it.

"Then make a list. Places he went, places that were important." Nakia tossed a chunk of the rabbit into her mouth. It was easier said than done. The years before the Blip, Vision and Wanda were on the run. While Sam and Steve had occasionally checked in with the weird duo, for the most part, they had wanted to be alone. As if they'd known they would be short on time one day. 

Nakia had made this point throughout the day, and as much as Bucky loathed to admit, he was quickly arriving at the same conclusion: he would have to touch base with old acquaintances. Hawkeye was close with Wanda. Pepper probably had access to Tony's old files, the old man's habit to track everyone and know everything well-known.

"Why are you helping us?" Sam straightened his legs out. The shadows of the fire's flickering flames gave the amiable man an unusually ominous look. "Not that we don't appreciate your help, Nakia."

Bucky's muscles tensed, prepared for when Nakia struck. But she only shot Sam an impatient look.

"I had my time to rest, to be away from all this. You knew T'Challa, yes?"

Sam nodded. "We met a couple times." Bucky didn't miss his omission that it was usually with the king's claws at his neck.

"I must do my duty to restore Wakanda and create a beautiful world for our son."

“In Wakanda, even royalty don’t bother with political marriages.”

Namor thought he was overdue for a session with Fen, because surely, his super-powerful, all-knowing ears had misheard. Or maybe Shuri had damaged them while they fought, and he was only now suffering the consequences. 

She was curled into her chair, fire in her eyes. They were narrowed to a point sharper than his staff. She wore the look of what he imagined when he thought of panthers: in the moments when they pulled back, before they unleashed their claws and pounced. If he wasn't positively flummoxed, he would've been thrilled to see her engaging in new ways of challenging him. Every time he thought he was beginning to understand her mind, she quickly reminded that although he knew her soul better than she herself, the machinations of her hyperactive brain remained a mystery.

Except, he was unprepared for this shift in tactics. He'd expected her to demand an answer for abandoning her with the Americans (the call of a disgruntled council member pulled him away), not an abrupt comment about surface courtship rituals that sounded more like it was meant for private conversations with her burgeoning group of Talokanil friends.

At his long pause, during which he could only swing his eyes between her and the murals around him as he settled into his seat, Shuri seemed to take his hesitation as a sign to escalate.

"It's stupid." She laughed weakly. "Wakanda and I would never agree."

She rendered him speechless. He’d never run out of words in his life.

Was she…propositioning him?

An odd feeling washed over him. He knew his pupils were blown into black voids without needing to look at the scrap of metals Talokanil used as mirrors.

He considered potential responses. One would be to ignore it, but he was Namor. He always had the final say. Second was to turn around and begin interrogating every guard and quash whatever gossip kept his people from duty and had clearly reached her ears. Or third —

“They prefer to fornicate, then?” 

If Shuri had been mildly annoyed and confused before, she was downright furious now.

Another realization. Did she think he was propositioning her now?

Well. If he were to be honest—

“That is not—" he started, then winced. He rolled his shoulders back, something he did before every council meeting. Shuri was his subject, and he could be her King. There was no need to indulge her whims. Except, he wished to touch her face again. Graze his fingers over her lips, her smooth legs, press her against him —

Something low in his belly twitched and purred.

She was yelling now. “Isn't it? You gave me your mother's bracelet and all these gifts, put me in your room, and now you won't tell me why I'm still here and you promised me, what am I—"

Namor stood up, swiveling on his heel to face the mural of his mother and the baby. He held up a hand. "I will explain, and then you will tell me what possessed you to start our conversation like this."

If Shuri was honest with herself, which she wasn’t, she would admit she found his back…nice. For a back. If her body wanted to curl itself up against it, it was the hysteria of not seeing the sun in days.

She wasn't sure what made her to hint at him something that was surely, clearly, so downright ridiculous that it was impossible in every universe. Suddenly, that she'd ever gone down that lne of thinking and make this conclusion made her cringe. There could be other explanations. Perhaps kindness had suddenly seized him. Or giving her his mother's bracelet was a strategic maneuver. And she was a Princess, of course she couldn't be treated the same way as other prisoners.

Alas, no one told Shuri to be silent and expected her to put up with it. "No, you answer me. You asked me to trust you. Well, I don't. What do you," she inhaled, "what do you want from me?"

"You ask me difficult questions, Princess, but as I said, I will generously explain." His voice was steel. He held a hand up to the mural so his fingers could rest on his mother's visage. He was too slow, damnit. Months didn't matter to an immortal, but every day here cost Shuri a lifetime. "I told you about our blue flower, a variation of huacalxochitl. Our shaman saved us with it. We could never find another one after we went under water."

He turned to look at her, his hand still hovering over the painting. "But now we finally have a chance to restore it."

She watched his eyes flicker to the bracelet. The one she'd exploited into restoring the heart-shaped herb. The one she kept on her, Bast knew why, all this time later. Realization came faster than she could stand up.

The floor dropped under her.

"You—you knew," she said in a strangled voice.

For a feathered serpent, his smile looked rather like that of a cat: mischievous and sharp. "That I gave you the power to make me yield? Yes. Not intentionally, but you were no Black Panther when we first met, Shuri, or you would have fought me when I first came to Wakanda."

"Don't say my name," she snapped. "Who told you?" Not that someone had to have told him. Namor was a genius of a different type. He'd carved a vibranium sun and ruled a vibranium nation. 

"I had some theories but your blue warrior confirmed it. Unlike your mother, who could not offer me anything to tempt Talokan to break its half a millenia long promise to leave foreigners alive, she offered your skills. To restore our flower like you did your herb."

Okoye would never. "You're lying."

"I do not lie, Princess, and you don't believe that, or you would be in your panther suit right now—"

She leapt over the table and had him slammed against the wall before he could finish his sentence. "You don't know me."

He wasn't scared, and he knew she knew it. She felt like a puppet again, him wielding the knowledge of five hundred years and his brutal strength to support his reign over her. She had miscalculated; he wasn't an archaic fighter, unlearned in the refined art of modern international politics and negotiations. He was a serpent, and had wound his slippery way around them all. 

"I know you very well, Princess."

One of her hands tightened against the smooth rock of the wall. Her other hovered above his right side, her Kimoyo beads ready to burn holes into his flesh. But what else was so valuable to make him negotiate for it, the logical, rational part of her brain asked. If Okoye had indeed divulged it, it meant she was desperate. But it did not sound like her at all. 

"Were there others with her?" Shuri grit out. Namor's head was tilted up towards the lone source of light in the room hanging from the ceiling. He wasn't looking at her. Her forehead came up to his lips. Her eyes traced the even trim of his beard, barely tickling at her skin. 

"A man in a metal suit. Agent of some kind."

“You know my ex-husband too.” That annoying, nasally prisoner had taunted.

"Agent Ross," Shuri breathed. This sounded more like his doing. If he had indeed mediated a deal between Okoye and Namor, what did Talokan promise in return to receive such a great offer from Okoye? "What did you promise them?"

At this, his face shifted down, his nose coming to rest in her curls. If she leaned just a millimeter closer, his lips could meet her forehead. 

"Talokan will release the American prisoners," he murmured, "who will confirm to their government that Wakanda did not attack them, neither then nor now." 

She inhaled a sharp breath. Her hand lowered from the wall, releasing him from her confines. She didn't step away. 

"One month, princess. Recreate the flower, and you may leave."

That—that seems too simple. There had to be another ploy. Some deeper contingency plan that let him get everything he wanted. He would never concede an inch. 

Except, he had. When she made him. Namor's moral compass was his people. He surrendered to Wakanda when it meant protection from the rest of the world. The blue flower was to Talokan like the heart-shaped herb to Wakanda. She was ready to give up a limb if it meant perfecting the herb before her brother had passed away.

"Just like that?" she whispered. 

"If I'm feeling magnanimous."

One of his arms circled her waist. The movement jolted her forward. 

He was damp. It was humid. Half his face was buried in her hair. And his lips were very, very warm on her skin.

She lifted her left hand to his chest, tracing the edges of the gold and jade plate enclosing his long neck. "I still don't...trust you. A part of me wants to," she admits, "but this is madness. I don't know if I can fix the flower even if I tried, and I don't have my lab here. Your DNA, minerals, everything is different."

His voice lowered an octave. "Are you saying no?" A threat, a challenge.

"No!" She pushed away from him, her back hitting his desk. "No...not yet. What happens if I say no?"

"I kill the Americans," he responded, with far too much of an undercurrent of glee.

Damnit. It should be uncanny how he knew a threat on her life would make no difference. She was the Princess of Wakanda, yet hadn't hesitated for a moment to offer herself in place of Riri. 

She lied. Her knew her. And she was terrified what that implied. 

"Alright." She acquiesced. "I need a lab and your best engineers."

Of course, he wasn't surprised. "Juana will join you tomorrow and introduce you to them. And your other terms?"

The words tumbled out of her, careful not to insult their customs or sound ungrateful. "I appreciate all the accommodations, truly, but I don't want any more gifts or clothes. Don't bother Fen so much. Also...don't touch me without permission."

If she could take another step back, she would. But the desk was in the way, and he was close, too close, his face and stupid chest and hands making her want to pull close like a panther in the night.

A strange emotion enveloped his face, one Shuri couldn't place. His mouth was tilted up into a small smirk, like he was simultaneously annoyed and enjoying this tête-à-tête. Enjoying messing with her.

"Ah," he drawled. That couldn't be good. "What, Princess, prompted that earlier comment?”

Shuri blanched. “Cultural exchange. I was informed of your culture, it’s only fair I share mine.” Bullshit.

“I have hundreds of years worth of information in my head. Royal courting practices since Talokan is the only empire of the seas and is the business of rotten surface politics is not one I need to sacrifice headspace for. And, as you said," he bent forward, "Wakanda would never agree."

She wanted to punch him. Bast, just give me one chance. I've been good. 

He looked smug. “'Without permission'. Interesting qualifier.”

She lifted a hand but he caught her wrist like it was a practiced move. He slid his fingers up until they met her Kimoyo beads. His mouth opened to reveal a set of gleaming white teeth.

"If I were to touch you, it would be when I make you want it." He said softly.

Her heart hammered in her chest. She wrestled out of his grip with ease. "I just said I didn't want you to touch me," she seethed.

"You are young, Princess. Words are not the only way to communicate want."

She was a fish in a shark tank, and he would consume her.

Fen apologized to Namor later that day. She didn't think explaining courtship and marriage rituals in detail were necessary because Shuri had only asked her about sleep, but there was an odd look on her face. Namor was starting to care less about what his subjects thought him to be doing in relation to a particularly mesmerizing human visitor.

"I don't know where she got that idea, but K'uk'ulkan, you must know what some of the younger guards have been saying." 

Namor knew. Patli must have said something. If some of the Talokanil didn't understand Shuri's status, independent of all else, they would in time. He, too, would have never accepted a foreigner into his home and led her into the city. His words had been planned by the gods themselves when he agreed to bring her down her. And her gods must have done the same, for her to ask him to see it, with those curious eyes and soft voice before her people sent everything aflame.

"These issues should not concern them. Tozi will scold them. Assure her so she can focus on her work. She is only here for a month."

"Understood, K'uk'ulkan."

He didn't want Shuri's submission. He wanted her to set him ablaze. It was true; the idea that their sacred flower could be restored was a dream beyond their means. He'd never expected the gods to open up an opportunity like this. But that was only the strongest reason. The others...

His enemies called him Namor because you could not fight an enemy you had any sympathy, love, for.

Yet his first surface-dwelling enemy in centuries knocked him off his feet, burned the flesh off his back, and then stopped because she loved his people. She had sympathy for him, leveled him with eyes that said she wasn't sure she wouldn't have done what did, had she lived his life. 

He'd approached her first because he overheard her saying she wanted to burn the world. Now he wasn't sure if he could burn anything, anymore, if it meant burning her with it. 

And that was a problem, indeed.

Chapter Text

When Shuri was young and experienced emotional turbulence, whether it be a crush on her nanny's son, some upstart kid beating her in math lessons, or finding T'Challa hiding in the kitchen muttering sweet nothings to Nakia, she knew where to go. An airship out to the nearest cliff, down an elevator and two flights of stairs to the laboratory hidden away in Mount Bashenga.

She was a grown woman now, thousands of meters deep under the ocean, surrounded by fishpeople in a hunk of metal, and it was not simply turbulence but a Dragon Flyer ramming against her ribcage at full speed, but same concept. There was one guaranteed method to pass time without falling off the proverbial cliff, and that was in occupying her mind with innovation. 

The Talokanil palace, their Sun, was just as breathtaking as the first time she laid eyes on it. Talokanil used vibranium well as anyone could but it wasn't as efficient as Wakanda. Network of tubes and pipes transporting vibranium spiraled outwards from their Sun and around the city. They lived in clusters of domes, each dome assigned to a sub-tribe and each family housed in a section of it. They had no need for internet or the communication systems she was used to; the city was so small that conch shells and glowing rocks embedded with vibranium were enough. If you needed to talk to someone, you visited them via whirlpools that shuttled larger objects, and people, from one side to the other.

The engineers and scientists worked together in one dome. A section in the back was cordoned off for the equivalent of a laboratory, but it was mostly junk.

Shuri's first task was to remove the clutter and rebuild it up by hand but it was only after Juana brought direct orders from Namor that the Talokanil let her go about her business. They were a reticent bunch; their awkwardness not unlike surface-dwelling engineers (Shuri easily won best-dressed in her class every year, simply because she put on earrings), but a hint of resent tinged their standoffishness.

"They think you think you are better than them, because of all your technology," Juana explained.

"What? Our vibranium is the same as yours and some of your technology is better." Shuri frowned, remembering water grenades and Talokanil spears. "And technology doesn't have to change your way of life; if you use it right, it only makes the good parts better."

At this, one of them, Totl, let her pass into the lab. The only problem was her the bulky exosuit. It didn't allow her to do much of anything except float. She needed a lab to improve her suit, but she couldn't do that unless her suit allowed her to tinker around with sensitive materials, and this here was the conundrum.

"Quite the quagmire, my dear," her father would say. If Shuri got her style and kindness from her mother, then her intellect and love for puzzles was from her father. King T'Chaka would often work at his desk, pausing to read her word puzzles and tongue-twisters while she bumbled about in his office.

This puzzle was not too complex.

"If I'm the first visitor to come here, how and why do you guys have exosuits?" Talokanil had no need for an exosuit and its structure was different from anything else she'd encountered down here.

Juana shifted uncomfortably. "It's not ours...the divers of the first American attack used these."

Oh. Shuri tried not to think too hard about whether the diver had been struck dead while in the suit or not.

Eventually, she returned to the catacombs and decided to tear the exosuit apart to use its parts to build a better one. There was a second exosuit in case all else failed but with the help of her Kimoyo beads scanning the Black Panther suit structure, she was able to come up with something passable. The end result was a suit that resembled Ironman in its assembly, but thinner and more flexible. It could hold off the cold and pressure of deep Talokan waters.

The engineers had returned her oxygen tank unharmed and by the end of the day, she was able to make two laps to and from the city safely with oxygen to spare. Her only gripe was that all the air available was murky and damp but there was nothing she could do.

The guards hadn't been instructed yet as to whether they should follow her in her excursions away from the catacombs and she smugly attributed this to Namor's underestimation of her wits. Hah! I'll be out of here in no time. Escaping in the wetsuit crossed her mind more than once, but with the Americans locked up, it was out of the question.

I don't have a choice.

Killmonger appeared less frequently these days, but now she felt his sneer against her neck. You always got a choice, little cuz.

The Talokanil kept songs and carvings about the blue flower, but spiritual odes didn't reconstruct DNA.

Shuri had even less to work with than with the herb. She'd seen and felt and smelt the garden of the heart-shaped herb her whole life. It had just been a matter of getting the right materials to conform to the blueprint she already had.

Here, it was like inventing a new plant altogether. She was a genius, but she was not a god. She told Juana as much, who simply laughed and left for a snack break. Talokanil ate only twice a day, preferring to nibble on an assortment of weeds throughout and leave for a large meal in the evenings.

So it was like this a full three days passed without a single notable thought of Namor: she paced and wrestled with an ancient mask hanging in her room; moped with Atzi about the lack of Netflix; debated Fen on the best method to heal broken bones; learned about a ritual dance preformed whenever a shark carcass was brought to the city ("I can't eat shark, its toxic to humans." "I heard humans cook fish before eating it. There's no flavor then!" "Ever heard of sushi?") that was more enjoyable than a Coachella concert; and learned more about Zuma's dating life than Okoye's. The former general had been notoriously taciturn when courted by W'Kabi (though Shuri wasn't entirely sure it hadn't been Okoye doing the wooing). 

As the youngest, Zuma was the target of the others' teasing. Shuri was more confused about the mechanics of it all. 

"So he brings you a large fish, and then if you just eat it that means you like him?"

"Just eat it, she says." Atzi clapped her on the back. They were sitting on the floor again, having made a habit of this spot in the catacombs. The guard's spear had rolled away somewhere, and not for the first time Shuri hoped the Talokanil women viewed her as a friend rather than a job. "It's not the fish itself, Princess. It's him becoming a man by swimming into the depths of the unknown, finding the most delectable, sought-after meal, and you spending a whole day to consume it to show your appreciation."

Shuri wrinkled her nose. She preferred lamb. "Okay. Then what? You start dating? Holding hands and all of that?"

Atzi fell over, giggling. "All of that? All of that?"

"C'mon, guys," Shuri rolled her eyes. Zuma was progressively reddening. "I'm curious! Last time you told me about family and clan organization, but who doesn't want to know about romance?" Not her, not really until recently because having crushes on good looking celebrities was better than whatever reality was starting to offer her, but she was stuck in this cave and dating always made for good, spicy conversation.

In the years before the Snap, she and Okoye pestered her brother at least once a week. She'd even made a holographic display of his head on an antelope. Outside of that, the social circles she floated around were limited to high-ranking nobles, palace workers, and scientists, whom didn’t really care for spicy gossip. Most of what she knew about romance came from her mother, and trashy Western shows only told her how messy dating could be.

Juana shook her head. "Not me," she muttered, to which Atzi pointed with a teasing finger and something about Totl.

"Well," Zuma gulped, "If other men are interested, they also bring their fish. Then you choose. He must carve you jewelry first in acceptance of your choosing him. When you wear it you become his wife."

Shuri nodded understandingly. Jewelry was an important part of Wakandan weddings too: long earrings, intricate headpieces with tusks and vibranium chains, a full set of rings.She listened as the three took turns explaining that families were larger down here; multi-generational, lots of children, with either the wife or husband moving in with their spouse's family, whoever had more space or needed more help. This made sense. Sociology wasn't her best subject, but remembered Wakanda to be the same until recent decades. Many communal societies organized themselves this way.

She really didn't want to ask her last question, but...at least Fen wasn't around.

"So this sleep situation," she internally giggled at the collective hush. Zuma turned puce. "Fen said there's always someone awake to watch the others. Does that mean anyone in the family, or is that limited to the spouse, or..."

Juana quickly escorted Zuma away, shoving her into the waters. The young guard protested until her face was fully submerged by Juana's large hands. 

Shuri stared, a piece of seaweed halfway to her lips. "Er, shouldn't we..."

"Oh no, it's fine," Atzi quipped, "It's more comfortable for us underwater anyway, mask or no mask." The Talokanil smirked at her, and she had the sudden feeling of being an antelope caught in headlights. She didn't know where this was going. "So, the finn and the eggs talk? I'll call Fen."

"The what and the what talk?"

Shuri resolved to never talk about beds, or hammocks, or sleep, ever. Fen definitely thought the same, given by how utterly full of bubbles her watermask was. Still, the healer kept choking. 

"I could've asked Atzi," Shuri muttered. They were in the room, Fen using an excuse to check her injuries to keep herself busy. The scars on her ankle were gone and the scab over the wound in her arm was beginning to fade. Shuri waved a Kimoyo bead over it every night to be sure but the vibranium-infused bandages worked unexpectedly well. Her arrogance in having assumed otherwise wasn't in thinking Wakanda's use of vibranium was better, it was just that no Talokanil equivalent of Shuri existed. 

Well, she thought, if they were going to choose one scientist to trap for this task, then duh, who else would they have picked? 

Her respect for efficient technology aside, she watched as Fen examined her ankle for the third time. "K'uk'ulkan asked me to speak to you about this, regardless."

"About my ankle?"

"About your extended stay and any...unsavory rumors that may have reached your ears." Fen trained a stiff eye at her. "Our king is simply being kind. You did not take his life. Any favors on you are in return for what you have done and are doing for us. Nothing more. We are a gracious people to a temporary guest."

Fen couldn't be malicious, Shuri thought, but there was a sudden turn in the air. A tension that made her hesitate to intensify despite the curiosity nagging at her. "I see."

"As long as you understand." The healer's eyes softened, and she immediately changed the subject to stammering about Talokanil sexuality. The only man that could watch a woman sleep was her husband and vice versa — older Talokanil, usually in need of less sleep, watched over the young ones, and each domes had a separate facility when a couple wanted to leave the home and "do even more private business."

Shuri winced. "Fen, I'm good, please stop."

Namor always drowned (hah!) in excursions this time of year. The frequency of fishermen, stray ships, submarines and other water vehicles reached a peak in the summer and early autumn seasons. Security around Talokan was tightened; he had visited six threats in five days, weighing whether sending a whale (or explosives, perhaps), was necessary. The yearly sickness was starting to visit his people again, but one healer had been lost to that Wakandan woman's gun, leaving only Fen and three others. His council asked every few days about the Princess' progress, and as much as he wished to visit and see the lab personally, there was simply no time. Besides, he had survived five hundred years without seeing the woman. 

“Are you sick, too?” Fen asked when he returned from another trip. “You have touched your face a number of times since the meeting this morning.”

"Have I?" Namor ran his fingers over his lips, struggling not to grin despite himself. The touches of others paled to the feel of his lips on her skin. "I will come see you later today, but a king only ails with the worry of his people. Attuma did not look well. See to him first."

"As you wish, K'uk'ulkan."

The next day, the solution struck like a lightening bolt when she put on her watersuit and a stray fiber nicked her finger.

As a bead of blood pooled onto her skin, Shuri remembered: the heart-shaped herb was inside her. Its effects tampered with her every nerve and cell. If she extracted her blood even now, she could see exactly where and how the herb reconfigured her biology. She had to work backwards, like creating a blueprint of an existing ship by looking at every part and testing what it did. The blue flower had not been around in a long time, but its effects lingered in the hundreds of thousands of people below. 

The whirlpool to the city felt like walking through mud compared to rapid-fire of her mind. It could work. Her Kimoyo beads alone didn't have the capacity to sequence an entire genome but she could put together a machine somehow. Juana would be ecstatic to help (none of the others had been told about this project, but she, despite her burly size, was like an eager child trailing Shuri and picking at her brain wherever she went). 

So far, their corner of the dome was passable. Not good enough to be called a lab yet, especially by Wakandan standards, but there was enough vibranium whirring in the amalgamation of metals Shuri scrapped together that it felt comfortable. Like home, even. Totl had gotten some of his fellow males to warm up to her, too, but usually he was too busy sending Juana gifts of fish eggs and bouquets of kelp to help. Mostly, he ran errands.

"It's going to hurt a bit, but I just need a couple drops." 

Shuri pricked Juana's finger with a clean needle and immediately pressed a vial against Juana's blue fingers before the blood wafted away in the waves. She could now add another first: doing science underwater.

Now was the problem of actually sequencing it. She needed actual computers, ones that Talokanil simply hadn't developed yet. They didn't have computers beyond the capacity of old-school calculators. Without her old lab, or some scraps from the modern world, her project would end here.

Namor would never let her go the surface. Even if she proposed taking a squadron of guards with her, how would she find a computer in a developed city with them around? It was the same problem if she sent any of them, and she didn't think his gatherers had the ability, or even desire, to creep into a local university. 

Shuri was not a god, but she was a genius. She beamed at Juana who was still nursing her finger. Oh. Of course.

She hoped for another meeting alone but she wasn't so lucky this time. The guard joined her in the prison-hold, his webbed feet gleaming and a towering spear waving indiscriminately around her. At least he'd relented—Namor agreed to give her the movement and items necessary to do her job and this was part of it.

Val being annoying was unfortunately part of it. "Give me a secret, hon, and then I'll tell you about the submarine."

Shuri rolled her eyes. Val, and a young man named Rick, were the only ones who talked to her now. The others were under strict orders to not speak to her, she supposed, but she still sent them lingering smiles. One woman with shockingly red lipstick on waved back, regretful. The group was starting to reek and Shuri didn't even want to know where their waste was going.

"I know about the submarine, I was there, remember? I can even ask the others where they put it, or if it's still out there. I just need to know what types of machines you had on board."

"You don't think they destroyed it?" Rick looked green in the face, perhaps from all the kelp. "Letting a vibranium-sensor out like that is dangerous."

Val hissed and elbowed him in the stomach. Shuri tapped her foot impatiently. Yes, they probably destroyed the sensor, but that didn't mean everything else was unusable.

"Right, look. I have a way to help you guys out, but I need to do something first."

The brunette chuckled. "And you need military-grade equipment to do it?"

"My toys growing up were made out of American military equipment."

"Touché. The people here have vibranium and still are living in the dark ages. It would be in much better hands with us —"

Shuri's jaw clenched before the guard behind her could growl. "They are a brilliant people. Tell me about the submarine or I won't let you all get a bath."

Val opened her mouth to retort but Rick leaned over, muttering loud enough that Shuri could hear, "We could really do with a bath."

The woman harrumphed. "You've taken my lessons to heart, your highness. Fine, just this once."

Val went on to detail the sensors and equipment their submarine had carried. They were not typical of a military submarine, considering they'd disguised themselves as a civilian one (and on the chance Talokan alone had discovered them, the difference wouldn't matter. Shuri thanked Bast that whatever situation she'd gotten herself into, she'd helped these people, though she could do with Val sinking at the bottom of the ocean).

Val left her with another parting lesson this time, the most sinister of them yet. "Be careful with the equipment, your highness."

"I need to talk to Namor," she told the guard upon her return. The guard, one she didn't recognize, shook her head. 

"He will come to you."

"No, he won't." Shuri frowned. "He hasn't, actually, in almost a week." The water-king hadn't used his private whirlpool again nor had he visited his office as far as she knew, despite her long hours in the lab. Was that normal?

"He is very busy with his people. May I help you instead?"

"Tell him it's about the project he assigned me."

The guard left and Shuri returned to her room. Over the days, she had scavenged the cabin, for what exactly she didn't know. Aside from a small area containing a wash basin, the office and room comprised the whole of it. Shelves in the corner of the office contained some carvings in a language even her Kimoyo beads couldn't translate, and his wide catalog of weapons were sprawled around the room in baskets, drawers, and across his desk (not a momentary lapse, considering her vibranium claws alone were more lethal than the pointiest knife here).

Other than the artifacts in the room, there were no hints as to Namor's personal life. Either the cabin had been cleared out of anything damning before she was moved here or he didn't have very many keepsakes to in the first place. He also had his water home, after-all. 

She supposed she could ask him directly. He'd never hesitated to open up about his mother and ancestors to a stranger, and these many months in a tenuous alliance should earn her some liberties. But then she wondered why she wanted to know about him, personally, at all. To better understand his people and know what I'm up against, she told herself.

She peeled off her water suit and changed into one of the dresses, patiently waiting. When Namor entered through the lake in the room minutes later, the first thing she noticed were the heavy lines carved under his eyes. Fury contorted his face. She stood up from the bed, her muscles tensing, but he didn't speak.

His fury wasn't directed at her. Instead, she registered the slash on his left hip, stretching from under his golden belt and stopping at his belly button. His trousers were stained with speckles of blood.

The dress swished around her legs as she took large strides towards him.

"What happened?" She pulled a bead out of her Kimoyo bracelet. It glowed red, Griot announcing its healing mode, but before she could press it against his hip he stopped her with his staff.

"I have no need for your technology. Fen will take care of it."

"It'll scar!"

"Gods don't scar."

"Your right foot is still wingless. Sit down and shut up."  

Her hand had touched his chest before, but through the Panther suit and with the fire of revenge. She touched him now with the soft pads of her fingers and the intensity of a healer, as though he could break, knowing full well he was carved from gold. He didn't sit down, nor shut up, but stayed silent as she trailed the bead across the seam of the scar, leaving it puckering in its wake.

"To answer your question, a particularly vicious school of stingrays attacked the left district."

She giggled and raised a curious eyebrow at the image of him swarmed by stingrays. He scowled. "A great many were injured severely."

"Sorry," she offered, resuming her ministrations. He would need to rinse out the dry blood but otherwise the scar would heal. "Why did you go personally, couldn't you have sent your warriors?"

"People will not do what their leader does not."

She hummed, speeding up her movements. He sounded oddly like T'Challa, if one looked past blood-thirsty behavior and his more remorseless tendencies. Had he lived not scorned by the surface world and held onto centuries-long need for vengeance masquerading as protection, his loyalty would be begrudgingly...admirable. 

A vicious thought crossed her mind, and it was not from Killmonger. I ran away and left my people behind.

She looked desperately for another topic to busy her mind with. "How fast do mutants heal?"

He indulged her. "Talokanil heal at a speed faster than humans. Water keeps wounds clean, but losing blood is the largest risk. I make use of both air and water."

"Sounds like the surface world does more favors than you'd like to admit." Shuri kneeled, prodding at the lower end of the scar where it was thicker. She heard Namor inhale slowly, and he never breathed out of need, but paid no heed, distracting him with conversation. "I could heal your foot too."

"No need, woman."

She looked up and grinned. "Shall I slice the other one off to match?"

At that, he took her by the arm and pulled her up. Her Kimoyo bead still glowed. 

"Sorry, that was a joke." Perhaps days away from him had cooled her temper towards him. Look at her, scrubbing wounds and apologizing. Killmonger returned with a violent force, one that made her squeeze her eyes shut to banish.

"You are generous, but I do not need your apologies. What did you call me here for?" He was more formal than he usually was with her. His eyebrows were pinched together and his thick hair sat in ruffled waves, more-so than water naturally made them as though he'd spent a good portion of the day running his hands through it.

She squinted at him, having forgotten to swat his hand away. "Are you...okay?"

He said nothing.

"Namor?"

Something was wrong; she'd never seen him like this. It unnerved her. He was supposed to be constant among variables: dependable to provide obstacles and be a thorn at her side; sharp in battle and slow to follow in other matters; and occasionally warm, like when he spoke about his mother or asked after her health and whether her accommodations were comfortable and told her in a round-about way that she exceeded her brother in some things. That he thought she could restore the sacred to him and his people.

Instead of spouting off like she usually did at moments like these, she mulled over her decision carefully. Weighed the benefits. A stressed feathered serpent would be less amiable to her requests than a happy one. Showing him she cared could soften him up to other humans and allow her to help the Americans more. 

These were all the reasons that people like Val and Killmonger would calculate. T'Challa would tell her they were unimportant, because he was noble and she was made of sympathy.

She was beginning to think she was more like her brother than she'd thought.

"K'uk'ulkan?" she tried.

The hand on her arm left for a crushing embrace as he kissed her.

Chapter Text

His hands were everywhere. He was wet, she was wet, his hands were wet where they intertwined at her back, tangled into her hair, pressed into her neck and her undercut. They were rough. The staff had fallen somewhere on the floor along with her Kimoyo bead, and she couldn’t breathe. Her senses were flooded with salt and soap and sweat and Namor.

Shuri had never been kissed before, and Bast, she never understood the appeal. But then his tongue swiped over her lips and they parted traitorously, her hands grabbing at his back like she’d done with her claws all those months ago except now she pulled him in instead, willing him to stop, to keep going.

His hot mouth stopped biting at her lips and he dragged his tongue from her jaw to her ear. “Who,” he rasped, “gave you the right to greet me like this?”

She panted, her face inhaling the scent in the hollow of his neck, the jade in his ears tickling her forehead. A dozen sensations flooded her body simultaneously, igniting every nerve in her body like the force of a thousand tons of vibranium. Every limb of hers was wound around him so tightly that she felt as though she would break if they were to part as two instead of move as one. How did his mere presence set her on fire and then mold her like mud, when she had to summon a reservoir of energy just to still her turmoil? 

One of his hands pulled at her face, cradling her jaw and forcing her to look at him and his dark irises. His forehead lowered to touch hers in the quietest of whispers. “Answer me, Shuri.”

It was at that moment that she realized who he was, and who she was.

She shoved him away and ran.

She wasn't a coward. Yet she entered her lab and worked long into the night, only the danger of oxygen running out forcing her back to air.

Her mother did not come to her that night. Or the next. If Queen Ramonda used to visit infrequently, then she did not now at all.

Namor had worked so slowly, to show her bits of the mercy she’d shown him in the subtle ways of a serpent. To work her carefully, bashful when she asked for more and more pieces about him, his people, and their way of life. But he gave them to her without hesitation.

He’d shown her the room of the spirits, hoping to quiet her soul. He left her to her inventions to reignite her passions. He gave her the space a woman of her caliber needed, leaving himself to sleep across an old water hammock in discomfort. Somehow, he’d taken to needing more and more air but kept himself submerged just to let her fire roam. She once asked him “what do you need?”, as though he could answer with anything but her name a prayer on his tongue.

But in the end he was also feathered — showy by nature, and unable to keep his feathers silenced for long, he struck. 

She won a second time in a different kind of battle and dance. Her tender fingers at his hips, concern shining in her eyes, thin eyebrows softening her angular face, her witty jests and merciful offer to restore what she’d once torn off and held with scorn.

If only the Americans had not stuck their noses here. If only that woman hadn't brought her technology and killed his handmaids. If he hadn’t drowned her mother. If Shuri hadn’t spared him. 

He had never doubted the gods, but wondered if they finally saw him as he truly was, as others of land did: unloved, damned to swim in an eternal dance he could never escape.

Nakia returned to Wakanda frightfully cold but happier than she'd seen them last.

"It was mostly useless," she announced. T'Challa burrowed into her shoulder.

"Where did you go? Did the wing man fly you around? Did the metal man fight anyone?"

"Many places, no and yes." Nakia ruffled the boy's hair. He laughed and Okoye was flooded with overwhelming warmth and an ache for his father.

Time was running out with less than twenty days left. The CIA was in shambles, apparently, with their missing director, but Ross kept them at bay with a promise of exposing the name of the attackers of the expeditions by the end of the month. Bucky and Sam were on a road-trip across the U.S. trying to find old compatriots to find clues to White Vision's location.

"It was hard, Okoye. They found traces of this android in New Jersey, New York, and all of Stark's old residences, but nothing substantial. It is like he does not exist, but falcon-man insisted his sources in the FBI are dependable."

Okoye nodded gravely. "If Shuri were here," she started by reflex. If Shuri were here, she'd rig up some device and have the man tracked down in days.

At the Princess' mention, Nakia placed a hand on her arm. "Okoye, please tell me. Tell me what deal you and Ross made."

She did. It sounded uglier the more she said it.

"I don't know, Nakia, I don't!" Okoye hung her head in her hands. "I had to do what I could for the best of Wakanda and Shuri. We cannot win against them without her. They know this."

"Bast protect you, you are the best of Wakanda." Nakia twisted away from the sleeping T'Challa and pulled the former general into a hug. "I did not mean to blame you. You did what you could. Shuri is an adult now, we must trust her."

"Her earring is still on, but if only there were some way to communicate with her and ensure she is all right."

“Princess,” Fen coaxed her out of bed, “you need to eat.”

“I’m fine,” Shuri insisted, clutching the golden cloak closer. This was the first time she wore it but she didn't have the need to before. She was cold, her body the coldest it’d ever been down here. She was sick of it all—the damp air, the corn and the stalagmites. She wanted to see the sun, the real sun. 

She steeled herself for another day in the lab. “I heard that there’s something going around. You’re needed elsewhere. I can take care of myself.”

“Juana told me you have worked long hours. She called me here. Let me at least check your body temperature. K'uk'ulkan excused our meetings today—"

"I'm fine, Fen." Her voice raised an octave as her hands unwittingly went to her lips. "Please. I'm sorry, I need to be left alone today."

Annoyance crossed over the Talokanil's face but she nodded. "As you were."

An hour passed before she summoned the strength to resume the day's activities. Emotional turbulence, Shuri thought again. No matter how much she wanted to stay the day in bed, only sleep would distract her, and it was a hard-earned relief these days. Distraction it is, and the faster she could recreate the flower, the faster she could leave and never look back. 

The swim down the whirlpool no longer scrambled her stomach. With a startling swiftness that she hoped no longer resembled the bumbling of a newcomer, she arrived at the city within minutes and navigated the waters with ease. A group of Talokanil transporting a net full of fish waved at her. One of the metal workers gifted her a strip of seaweed from their freshest batch. 

She was sick of seaweed, too. Once she returned to Wakanda, never touching a water weed in the rest of her life would still be too soon. After accepting the gift graciously, she promptly handed it to Totl upon arrival to the lab, who in turn shared it with Juana. It was cute, actually, watching their burgeoning romance. Yesterday she overheard him collaborating with other men on which areas carried the nicest, juiciest fish.

Shuri poked the girl, grinning. "I hope you like fish."

Juana's face contorted with confusion. Shuri was quickly beginning to prefer meeting her friends under water because she could see their full faces. The above water blue tinge of Talokanil skin was human-like pallor below.

"I am happy you are back to making bad jokes. If we didn't like fish, we'd die." Juana fiddled with a vibranium tank. 

"I'm funny! My jokes are hilarious!"

"They are full of surface world references and they sound unfunny."

Shuri rolled her eyes while using her Kimoyo beads to scan the lab's progress. The two worked quickly, checking the vibranium levels and safety seals. After an hour, it was clear that any more work would be repetitive. 

"Juana," she started, "I need a favor."

"Anything, Princess."

She forced a smile. "We can't do anything else unless I have surface world equipment. I mean no disrespect, but I grew up with it and am limited down here without it. I have an idea but it involves equipment left over from the American submarine, but I don't know what happened to it."

"Oh," Juana nodded thoughtfully, "K'uk'ulkan and the warriors destroyed most of it, but the scraps are still all out there. We have no need for foreign technology. Except yours," she hastily added.

Relieved, she bit her lip. "Could you ask him if we can use it? I think the two of us can handle hauling the equipment down, but he probably would never let me go, so then I'll have to explain to you what to look for, if it's even there, but you wouldn't know if there were other things we could use, and I won't escape and endanger everyone—"

"Princess, it is alright. I can make a request through Tozi." Juana looked alarmed at her rambling, but lowered her voice so the others chattering about outside couldn't hear. "He would be more likely to listen if you asked, however. Is something on your mind?"

"It's nothing." Shuri was glad the watersuit covered her face with thick glass. Her strained breathing left a foggy haze, so no one could see her crumple and fall apart. "He doesn't listen to me."

Juana came back during Shuri's lunch time with mixed news. Her request to scavenge old parts of the "Americans' unsavory technology" was granted, but she herself could not go. 

"I am sure that if you asked him directly and explained—"

"No need," she chuckled. I would rather stab myself. "If you can go with whoever's going up there, it'll be enough. Just be very careful."

Shuri explained the specifics of the submarine, but without knowing how damaged it was, the information could be rendered moot. All she knew was that it hadn't been turned into ash, at least, if a team was being gathered for this. 

"One more favor, I'm sorry to ask." Shuri typed quickly into her Kimoyo beads. The vibranium network around Talokan was a tightly-knit fish net, protecting outsiders from coming in and trapping inside signals from leaking out. Even a second above, however, would be enough time to link to Wakanda's high-speed network and send any pending messages.

"Here," she held out her bracelet, "Wear this. I recorded my voice when I explained the different parts to you. If you forget, just tap here and it'll replay it."

Juana looked at it like it was the last scrap of seaweed in a two-day old shipment but relented.

My sisters and brothers,

I am fine. I am working on rebuilding their flower. Okoye, don't blame yourself. You did the right thing. If I succeed, the Talokanil will owe us much and we can avoid the world's unjust wrath on us, though I fear we will always face their antics for having something they don't.

Agent Ross is a sly man, tell him his ex-wife sends her curses (really, colonizer? of all the women? ask Okoye to set you up with one of the Dora).

Tell Toussaint I love him and not to bother his mother. Tell M'Baku I am defending his carrot-munching furry-faced honor so he better thank me when I'm back. When you get this message, just send me an okay. I don't know how long my Kimoyo beads will be active and just want to know you all are in Bast-good health.

Love you all.

Regent King M'Baku peered over Okoye's shoulder. "She is right, my beard is furry."

Be careful, Shuri. We are doing all we can from our end. Still cannot find Vision. Wing and Arm are working to track him down. Colonizer is keeping Americans appeased with promise of accountability if they hold off until month ends.

I am so sorry. We love you.

Juana, a group of two engineers, and three warriors were gone for the rest of the afternoon which was more than enough time for Okoye to tap a message back. Shuri nearly cried seeing the Kimoyo bead glow, her words scrawling across the holographic screen. She could hear the words read aloud in Okoye's voice—rough like a Dora, unbending and dependable as a loyal Wakandan, and warm like a sister's.

She was thousands of miles from home, deep in a society unknown to most of humanity, but she still had a family and people to live for.

We love you. Three words, inscribed on her pounding heart, kept her going.

She resumed work with renewed vigor, directing Totl to place that scrap there, a frayed wire here, and that machine above the vibranium storage. Bast had mercy on her, for one machine remained fully intact. The team had hauled every scrap they could find except those obliterated into ashes and soon the lab was overflowing with a random assortment of pipes, wires, and the smell of burnt chemicals from equipment that crumbled at this pressure level. There was too much to sift through and Shuri was pressed for time, functioning purely on adrenaline.

Val's general description of the functional unit matched the one in front of her. With the help of vibranium, it could generate enough power to preform clonal amplification and start sequencing Juana's DNA. 

Feeling guilty for having taken advantage of Juana's trust, for as noble a cause it was (if only I could go myself, damnit), she divulged the nature of her project to her in compensation. Juana's eyes rapidly expanded to the size of saucers, her head piece bobbing as she paddled excitedly in the water. "That is unbelievable! How do you simply recreate nature?" She frowned. "Are you not playing god?"

Shuri shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm not very spiritual, but my brother asked me to rethink my inventing simply for the sake of inventing after I made him a pair of sneakers—a type of shoe—that turned to ice whenever it sensed Nakia around. 'Just because you can, doesn't mean you should'. What we're about to do, it's for a reason." Her fingers itched with what she was about to do. The genome would be sequenced by tomorrow, then followed by a couple days of analysis, and lastly, with the help of a 3D printer, she would be done. 

She would be free.

Juana nodded, deep in thought. "Progress is not using the world to shape it to your will. We are painters, using what the gods gave us to make a more beautiful world. This changes everything, Princess. The huacalxochitl has been revered for centuries. It saved us. We grow up singing and dancing in ceremonies to honor it, paint blue flowers into our homes and braid it into our hair for celebration. To see it with my own eyes..."

"I'm going to try my very best," Shuri grasped her hand, "I promise."

The machine whirred to life. Numbers scrolled across her Kimoyo bead screen. It indicated a sluggish connection but it was better than what she could have built with raw vibranium. 

"What now? Should we wait until tomorrow?"

"We could, but sequencing takes time." Adrenaline pumped through her veins. "Let's start now."

Shuri was a genius and not a god, and so very, very human. She made many mistakes. A number of her synthetic heart-shaped herb attempts had often ended in toxic gas, or a minor ("Mother, the palace can live with a power outage for an hour") problem. 

In her haste, she failed to run system checks and clean the machine's primitive coiling. She hadn't filtered through the other waste. She was human, she was tired and homesick and sleep-deprived and trapped by a violent water-king who dared make her want him. 

So it shouldn't have been a shock when a small explosion sounded in the scientific dome in the capital city of Talokan.

The last time her inventions injured someone was when Okoye came too close to a spear Shuri was trying to improve. The general was sent twenty feet back after being electrocuted, but she was the general of an elite group of warriors and was familiar with Shuri's shenanigans. The Princess had pulled her fair share of pranks in her pre-teen years too, so a day in the medical ward was akin to nothing, business continuing as usual (Okoye later stole her makeup in retaliation).

Juana was strong and well-built. But she was of water, a trainee engineer, and just a teenager. Her instincts were hardened for defensive battle, not scientific mishaps. So when she ducked around the corner, her arms flying upwards to shield her face, Shuri moved to cover her at the last second as she instinctively knew that her watersuit would survive.

The Talokanil's arm did not.

Shuri blinked back tears the whole way to Fen, ears ringing and clutching at Juana's peeling skin and unconscious body.

Chapter Text

In the healers' dome, Fen and another healer worked rapidly over Juana's body. Shuri's oxygen tank had plenty left but she felt her throat constricting, numbing her from the inside. Fen paused to tug Shuri's frantic hands away.

"She will be fine," Fen said evenly. "We have seen worse wounds after battles."

Another healer yanked out the Kimoyo beads she had embedded into Juana's arm. He tossed them at her without looking. "We have no need for any of this."

Fen said nothing to that, escorting her to another room so she could stay out of the way.

The idea of visiting the Sun with Atzi and some of the other guards had crossed her mind at some point. After the blue flower's blueprint was done, maybe, or as a goodbye tour, but not like this. The head of the guards—the famed captain Tozi—collected her from the healer's dome, bringing summons from their council. The other engineers were thankfully unharmed beyond minor scrapes but the incident quickly made its way to leadership.

Shuri could barely process her arrival to the palace. The only thing her mind registered was it was like the sun rising the closer she swam forward, flanked by Tozi and one of her minions. 

"Totl said you shielded her. The council will determine what to do, but I do not believe it was intentional," Tozi said, guiding her to an open archway. Shuri distantly registered her words, almost wishing the woman raged at her. At least she could respond, then, with justifiable anger at an unfair accusation. Not this. Not...listless, gutting guilt.

It wasn't noble idiocy demanding she take accountability. It was that it had been an entirely preventable ordeal. What scientist didn't conduct secondary checks? How dare she wear the title of Most Gifted when her gifts refused to bestow her wisdom and stillness? They burned her when they failed to save her brother until it was too late, and now she put her friend in harms way and created a potential cause for retaliation. Another conflict, more lives on her head.

He was the first person she noticed when she was paraded into the throne room. A crowd of two dozen Talokanil parted to let her through, each wearing progressively intricate headdresses as she floated past them and came to a stop near the front.

A feathered-serpent headpiece sat atop Namor's body, casting a shadow over his eyes. A beaded neckpiece different from his usual thick band of gold, adorned his body, this one showing more of his chest. Pearls dangled from it. Elaborate golden shoulder-pads tapered at each end. The scar she'd healed that fateful night left a thin, discolored seam, barely noticeable amid his commanding presence. He sat in the jaws of a shark, rows of pointed teeth jutting at him. He was the king of the waters, a man no shark could swallow for he was worse. She was a panther, out of her depth and futilely stretching her last moments before she inevitably drowned.

No matter. Shuri almost killed him.

Tozi and the others opened their hands into the Talokan gesture. Namor opened his palms in return. She couldn't tell where he was looking; his face was barely discernible in the dim expanse of the large room.

A figure floating to the right, wearing a shark headpiece, started. She recognized him as the warrior who best Okoye and brought her here the first time. "We kept this intruder here, deceived into thinking that she could restore to us our sacred fruit, and you have all witnessed the consequences." He turned to Namor. "K'uk'ulkan, we need the leader you used to be. Land has made you soft, and I do not speak alone when I say that your judgment has been dubious for a long time."

Over half the room erupted into hisses. Shuri felt Tozi tense next to her.

Namora from her position next to Attuma. "I am in agreement with Attuma's assessment of this intruder, but I reaffirm my faith in our king that he hears our concerns." 

Namor lifted his staff and pounded it into the ground twice. Namora and Attuma turned towards Shuri, and she felt the those behind her shoot daggers at her back. She breathed heavily into her oxygen mask, unsure who to address but eventually settling on Attuma, the warrior who spoke first.

"It was an accident. I am very sorry. I requested the American machines—" another hiss, "to help with the restoration project, but I failed to conduct my duties thoroughly."

The guard who was with Tozi spoke. "We confirmed with the engineers, K'uk'ulkan. She is not above reproach, but considering the circumstances and the time-sensitive nature of this issue, we should allow her to continue but increase oversight and assign her our best engineers."

A barrage of voices exploded behind her.

"You speak out of line, that is my niece with the healers now. The engineers are needed to keep this city running and we cannot spare them for child's play."

"She is restoring our huacalxochitl."

"Damage to our city is not a simple mistake."

"Your daughter has done worse. Tell her to beg for my forgiveness after denying my son's fish for that stinky—"

“My children,” Namor intoned, voice booming in the throne room, “please leave us.”

Attuma grunted and Namora frowned, but they obeyed, treading out with the thinning crowd. Namor nodded at Tozi and her minion. The two left after lifting their hands in the salute. 

Then they were completely alone. If he was looking at her, she was none the wiser. Half his face was shadowed. He was draped languidly on his throne, the staff gleaming in one hand and his unoccupied one uncurled over the stone armrest. The sight was breathtaking and menacing all at one. No one else belonged on that throne.

She wished for nothing more than water to flood her watersuit and put her out of her misery. Unfortunately, she was a good engineer. But not good enough to have prevented this.

“I—" she started, steeling her nerves. Was it futile to explain to his man who invaded her country her sincerity? Her regret prickling at her eyes, not just out of fear of his retaliation, but truly at what happened? "I messed up."

Silence.

She continued, undeterred. "You have every right to be angry, but vengeance is not the way. I will have no patience for your threats. I take full respons—"

"I see," his voice beckoned her forward, "in front of me a woman who tried to stay behind and save the life of the handmaid keeping her captive." 

Air rushed out of her lungs as her helmet began to fog. "But—"

“Shuri, you are not a woman who mopes."

“But I'm a woman and the Black Panther. I can kill gods, but I can’t…” she protested again.

He shook his head slowly, the feathers of his headpiece swaying around his face. “I recently learned failure again at your hands. You have learned failure repeatedly and returned with stronger fire each time." He stood up from his shark jaw throne and swam to her, meeting her at eye level. He was a head taller than her on land, but for the first time her eyes looked directly into his across an equal plane. The rich cloak set on his shoulders flowed behind him in two halves: a mesmerizing dance. She could see his eyes now, still shadowed by his regal adornments but clouded over.

Her heart pounded against her chest.

"You have been avoiding me," he said. It was a statement of fact, not a question. Part of her also realized this meant he had sought her out, in her—his, their?—catacombs.

"I've been busy," she sniffed.

"You overworked yourself to the position you are in now."

"And whose fault is that?" For a moment, she wanted to blame him for adding to her sleeplessness by violating her rules, forcing her to use her brainpower to keep thoughts of him at bay, for not letting her go to the wreckage itself. The last time she was alone with him, she was clawing at his back and yanking him closer. She couldn't trust her own body, and now she couldn't trust her intellect. She had nothing. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I failed. I almost lost a friend, and will lose her friendship now because I was impulsive, half of the Talokanil don’t trust me even more, and I think Fen hates me. I don't have anyone here. Let me go. I'm really not in the mood for your sass right now."

She would not cry.

"You have me."

She wondered if he was toying with her, if it was some sort of cosmic joke Bast thought it funny to witness. “Please,” she breathed, a sob breaking through. Hot, fresh tears spilled into her helmet. “Please…” Comfort me. Leave me alone. Touch me.

“Begging is beneath you.” Namor's face softened. "I trust your judgment, but your evaluation of yourself makes me doubt if I was wrong.”

Something warm flickered in the hollow void of her chest and spiraled outwards, soothing her nerves.

“Come here,” he murmured. She didn't give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer after lowering herself to plead to him, but when he opened his arms, she barreled into his chest. He was a god who came to her as an answer to her prayers. She thought she almost saw her mother smile.

Atzi spotted her lurking around the healing dome late in the evening and dragged her inside, her protests useless. Some of Juana's family and Totl were milling about, only to come to a still as Shuri approached. 

"I know how you feel," Atzi said, "I once flooded our home with poisonous plants and got everyone sick for two weeks."

That, she thought, is absolutely not the same thing, but her heart swelled with hope. The usually jovial girl quieted as they came to a stop at the entrance to where Juana laid. "Juana's my best friend. Just be there for her, alright?"

"I will."

Juana was awake, but her foot was tied to a hammock with a thin rope to keep her from floating and jerking around. Where her left forearm should have been was a stump. All the melanin had drained from her face, leaving her pale. Shuri spotted a box of bloody shards nailed to the wall — ones the healers had to pull out, she realized with a jolt — and bloodied vibranium bandages hung all around them. 

"She keeps bleeding," she heard one healer tell Fen. She remembered Namor's warning about the risk of bleeding out underwater and scurried to Juana's side.

"Get away!" Fen said, blocking her path. Behind her, Juana turned her head.

"I can help," Shuri protested. "Move her to air and that will stop the bleeding. I can use my Kimoyo—"

"That is enough. You have done enough." A large, curvaceous woman entered. She resembled Juana, only older and like she had witnessed a life of hardship, with knobby knees and a missing eyelid.

A voice so small it almost went unheard reached her ears. "Let her." 

They all turned towards Juana. Shuri saw the recognition, and pain, dawn on her face.

"Juana. She is of land and science. It almost killed you." The woman who Shuri assumed was Juana's mother rebuked, while Fen continued scurrying around, muttering about delirium.

"Please, Iahui." Atzi pleaded while Juana's eyes fluttered shut. "She wanted to be an engineer. We need to try."

"How is she?" Namor asked, his head barely above the water. He'd left the palace as soon as one of the council members, Juana's aunt, pleaded with him to either kill the Wakandan or exile her. It took some wrangling but she was now in possession of a year's worth of watercress and a personal promise he would revisit the discussion once Juana stabilized.

Shuri's tracksuit, as Tupoc had told him it was called, had splotches of blood around her sleeves. The ring of beads she usually wore were gone, and she tapped frantically into one remaining bead she held in the palm of her hand. Numbers and moving lines floated above her head. She'd settled well into the room — her clothes were folded into a woven basket he recognized was from his office (he hoped his daggers hadn't been dumped onto the floor) and a neat stack of dried seaweed next to the...bed...threatened to topple over.

"We stopped the bleeding, but needed four Kimoyo beads to stabilize her. Totl recovered some of her fingers. If I can get the DNA sequencing going, I might be able to build a vibranium arm in two days." She said in a measured voice, eyes still on her screens. Namor placed his staff against the wall and joined her at the edge of the bed. He felt her tense next to him. 

"Where is she now?"

She resumed scrolling. "In my old room. She'll need to be submerged in water again soon before her lungs stop working."

"Your old room?" He quirked an eyebrow. "That makes this your new room."

She swiped at the screen with the numbers, scowling. "Did you hear literally anything I just said? I need to sequence her DNA because the Kimoyo beads have only worked with humans before, but I have no idea how my lab downstairs is looking or if the council will even let me use it." She growled, frustrated, and Namor thought it was rather delightful to witness. Suddenly, she shut down all the screens, and whipped towards him.

"That's what I called you for...the other day," she paused and cleared her throat, "I figured out a way to reconstruct the flower."

Pride moved him to place a finger on her cheek, lifting a stray curl to place it behind her ear. In mere days she solved a problem his people had endeavored for over centuries. He fought a smile, wishing to drop his forehead to hers the way he did others, and wondered if reminding her of the gifts the ancestors gave her would bring about a premature stop to a civil conversation. He was not ungenerous with praise; each of his children had such differing personalities that time provided the best teacher in raising them. 

She was not his child, though she was under his protection, yet he was not above meeting her where she needed him to be.

"You have profound gifts."

Conflicting emotions of suspicion and delight warred on her face until the latter won. Seeing through her was sometimes as easy as looking through jellyfish; at others, she was as inaccessible as limestone sinkholes. 

"Right. So, that's why I needed to use the submarine equipment. I need surface-world technology. There might be remaining equipment I can use. I don't even want to consider right now what I'll do if not."

He nodded, remembering the request he granted Tozi. "You are to come to directly to me with these issues."

Her eyes narrowed. "I was busy, genius."

"Thank you for the praise. You may use your lab, but I should warn, the damage is extensive. The council imposed a condition that two guards oversee all activities."

She wrinkled her nose but sighed in resignation. She likely didn't notice this herself, but when stressed, she would lean imperceptibly into his touch. Her eyes may not have been of water but her explicit reprimands for touching her were fewer today, something he hadn't failed to notice. Her irises now, as they’d done many times before, expanded as if it could not take in the entirety of his visage otherwise. The muscles of her lean arms relaxed.

The last time he entered through this tide pool, Shuri panted at his neck. The thought alone deepened his breathing, thinking of the times since she must’ve used this very entrance no one else deigned to use to bathe, her deadly legs moving back and forth and eyes twinkling.

K'uk'ulkan. That accent of hers.

Juana hadn't said anything else to Shuri in her bouts of consciousness. Her mother cradled her the whole way and Shuri already knew she was testing the bounds of their trust. She would do it. She would make it up to them even if it cost her days of delay.

She wanted to ask Namor if he had supported curtailing her freedom again but decided against it. The conversation was going smoothly and she enjoyed not being up in arms, to just...exist. As herself.

She extended a hand to his wound. His chest stopped rising as a breath he didn't need to take stilled. Her finger pressed at the end of his scar, just above his belt. It didn't need any further healing and would disappear completely soon but Shuri still moved a bead over it. The perpetually damp feeling of the man's skin after a swim in the cold waters soothed her.

"Why were you so anxious that day?" She imagined him sniping at her with something like, "not my chest, woman" or "our secrets are not for Wakandan ears." Instead, he shifted so she could better rake her bead and finger across him.

"You know about the illness?"

"Yes."

"It is an annual problem but has worsened this year. Multiple council members have been feeling ill, as have a quarter of our guards and warriors. It has left Talokan unprotected and more vulnerable at an inopportune time."

Fen had told her about this before their friendship strained but she hadn't known it was this serious.

Her bead reached the other end of his scar. She bit her lip, wondering what to do next, and opted let her hand loosen to fall against his lower abdomen. "You sure I won't send a pigeon and tell Wakanda to attack?"

"Pigeons cannot breathe under water," he chortled and she felt his muscles under her fingers relax. She laughed, the anxiety from the day's events dissipating, but didn't know what else to say. Ideally, she would kick him out and resume her work.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Having him around made her lose focus and somehow made crunching numbers less of an immediate neccessity. You've gone mad, a part of her taunted. The absolute blasphemy of abandoning a formula midway.

The growing awareness that she liked this, that she wanted his company like the Black Panther wanted vibranium — which was not so much want as a deep-rooted need — soured into a spiral of fear. He knew her. He knew how to comfort her. He kissed her and she could not taste anything else for days.

The bludgeon of terror knocked her off her feet. She moved away from him, scooting to the other end of the bed and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. He peeled his eyes off of her and looked at the cavernous ceiling, leaning back onto the bed with his hands crossed under his head.

They said nothing for a few moments, weighing the silence. Shuri was never good at playing the waiting game, so she started, "I need to talk to the Americans again," and promptly slapped herself inwardly because reminding the feathered serpent of their precarious political condition was a fantastic way to avoid deepening a crisis.

"Are you asking for permission? I was told you were carrying out your duties heeding little to my word these days."

She almost stuck her tongue out at him. "You just said to come to you with these things."

"The Americans are of little use."

"Did you interrogate them yourself?"

"The ocean will dry before I speak to them." He sneered, his voice steel.

There were so many things she wanted to ask. Why did he change his mind about exposing Talokan to more people? How would his people take accountability? Would Wakanda still be their protector? Did he still hate the surface world? All this and more swirled in her head, but before she could get a word out, he slid onto his feet. She stood too, for whatever reason, and hesitated. Does one say see you later to a feathered serpent? Namor watched her intently, and she knew he would leave without notice if she didn't speak now. 

"Thank you. For earlier today."

"I have no need for your thanks." Despite this, he smiled and his eyes dilated.

"You don't have to stay away," she blinked and then quickly added, "from your cabin. It's your place, I mean, and your office. Just don't use this whirlpool unless I ask."

He leveled a small smirk at her before exiting through the open archway, his face turned to the side but eyes trained on her. "Your...Kimoyo bead was off. You should check for malfunctions before tomorrow."

Her kimoyo beads were perfectly fine, thank you very much—

Oh. She fell back onto the bed, head spinning and cheeks burning. So that's what I was afraid of.

"If I were to touch you, it would be when I make you want it."

Killmonger returned, jeering. You're in trouble.

Chapter Text

Hawkeye whistled after Bucky finished describing their trip across three continents in just a couple sentences, with added commentary from Sam. The former Winter Soldier was just thankful the archer's mohawk was gone, that the man had finally settled into some semblance of peace and now focused on raising his family. The somber remembrance of Natasha would forever scar Hawkeye, like Steve's loss did to Bucky, but they had an opportunity here to prevent it from happening to others. Hawkeye didn't know Shuri, but he'd fought T'Challa too.

Then he said something interesting about Wanda and Vision hiding out in Scotland for sometime.

"After we fell out with Tony, I was under house arrest and they had to run around Europe." Hawkeye held up a bow, aiming the arrow at a practice target near his country home. "Wanda...she called me before everything that happened with Westview. I should have known something was wrong. I was so busy with family everything after the Blip that I..."

"It's okay." Sam put a hand on the archer's shoulder. It wasn't okay, Bucky thought. He couldn't fault anyone for prioritizing the people around him, but he too was an orphan of war and time. No one looked after them, and always wondered after the fact what went wrong. How did he become the Winter Soldier? Why did he run? Why did he not kneel in gratitude for being spared on only forced to therapy? 

Trauma was a word spoken by but seldom dealt with by the virtuous. Steve was the only exception. 

Hawkeye released the arrow and it missed. "She told me S.W.O.R.D. kept Vision's body."

"We know."

"She also said high-ranking operatives messed with his programming. If what you guys' are saying is true, it's not just his memories they messed with. He'd be their most powerful weapon. They wouldn't just lose him so easily...if they did at all."

Bucky and Sam left soon after, but not before dialing Nakia and Okoye, hoping the iPhone they'd bought the former was still in one piece.

Namor didn't see her the next day, and she didn't care, because if Shuri had been working hard before, she was on the verge of manic now. The guilt that took residence in her gut yesterday dissipated to a simmer, and she would accept nothing other than razor sharp focus moving forward.

Her first order of business was to clear the lab. The explosion left the lab full of ashy, black water. Totl and one of his friends helped her drain the room, replace the filters and reroute pipes to fill it with fresh water. She briefly toyed with the idea of building a lab in one of the caves so that she could work in familiar conditions, but transporting copious amounts of vibranium out of the water without the safety of Talokanil transportation systems was dangerous. And the synthetic blue flower, if and when she succeeded, wouldn't bloom in air.

She worked into the night to improve watermasks so that Juana could stay above water for longer stretches of time. Family and friends watched the Talokanil around-the-clock. Her condition worsened in the evening only to improve when Fen scavenged enough medicinal herbs to stabilize her. Juana was out of the danger zone but the problem was that her lungs, even with the current masks, could only hold out in air for a few hours before requiring a return to water. Yet water slowed the recovery of her severed arm. This cycle of movement in and out of the water would deteriorate her body; she needed to stay above air long enough for her arm begin healing on its own.

Finally, around dawn, Shuri managed to finish a working prototype. As she slept, Totl volunteered to test the 12-hour watermask before securing it on Juana. The boy was turning out to be supremely useful and defensive of Shuri's presence whenever someone took to glaring at her. The new guards — older, seasoned women — followed her with a hawkish stance but usually said nothing. Word began to ripple throughout the domes that she was trying to recreate their sacred flower, and for better or for worse, most of the Talokanil were either too fearful, annoyed, or reverent to bother her. Oh well. She had enough seaweed gifts. The children, at least, still waved at her, and Atzi's group of friends always poked their friendly heads into the lab, though she was unable to take them up on their offer to go whale-driving.

On the second day, after a forceful lunch and a heaping bottle of green slush (Atzi insisted it was an energy booster but even those American energy drinks tasted better, and why did so much of the food here have to be green?), she confronted the problem of the damaged machine. The main unit was blown into smithereens. She salvaged some of the well-insulated wires and panels but the core of the machine was hopeless to recover. The only option was to work with another device Juana and her team collected, except it was half-damaged and didn't match any of the descriptions Val gave her. 

It looked familiar, though. Its main component looked not unlike the ones in the plans Riri had once shown her. 

"No," Shuri whispered, "It can't be—"

Recognition of a different detection mechanism led to her relief. It was not Riri's work, but it was close. What she held in her hands were the remnants of the world's second non-Wakandan vibranium sensor. 

"Who made it?"

"I feel like I'm giving you so many of my secrets with little in return. Did you forget my lessons already?" 

The room smelled horrid. Shuri wanted to vomit and made a mental note to ask a guard — erm, tell Namor directly — to be a better host. At least they looked well-fed, though two men were moaning about the lack of food that didn't grow under water. Rick was sound asleep in a crevice nearby.

"Just tell me. I promise you better living conditions."

Val tugged at her purple shock of hair. Shuri resisted the urge to point out her scraggly roots. "You said that last time but my hair is still grimy."

"Washing it won't make a difference."

"Oh, catty today, are we?" Impressed, Val nodded but with a hint of derision. She lounged in a tucked away corner of the cavern hidden behind a stalagmite. It was where she could see everyone at once, but not immediately be detected by visitors. A fitting place for a shrewd woman. "Okay, I'll bite. Tell me first if you found any part of it."

Shuri must have hesitated a second too long but Val was also the Director of the CIA. She didn't get to where she was without a modicum of intelligence and a bullshit detector. "Hm, so these people didn't recognize this one? Interesting."

"Did you steal another college student's plans?"

The beginnings of a frustrated scowl glower broke across Val's face and Shuri understood that as a yes. If Val was the best the CIA had to offer, then outwitting them would be easy.

Near the end of the second day, Shuri send a guard to call for Namor. She came back minutes later, relaying a message that he was busy and would "come to her later."

He didn't come that night, or even the next morning. Shuri spent the third day mildly annoyed, making plans to go to the palace herself but a guard stopped her. She wasn't allowed anywhere but the catacombs, the Americans' cave-prison, or her lab. Shuri could easily out-maneuver them but then she'd be prevented from helping Juana, so despite instincts harkening back to her pre-Snap rebellious teen years, she swallowed her spunk for the greater good. She was getting quite good at that this year.

After sending Totl on his merry way with a message requesting that the Americans be allowed to bathe, she resumed working with parts of the vibranium sensor. Whoever made it was brilliant (not on her level, but close). Launching the final sequencing program after triple-checks was simple enough. She retired for the night, miffed at Namor but confused as to why since he had left her in peace for three whole days (Doesn't he want to make sure I don't explode anything else...but obviously I won't.). At least he'd granted her request for better accommodation of the hostages and told Totl as much.

When she woke up on the fourth day, she realized that was exactly the problem. He hadn't bothered her.

She wanted to be bothered.

She waited until the DNA sequencing system worked seamlessly before sending a request for his presence. He had to come now, right?

The guard she sent came back alone. "There was an unmanned underwater vehicle spotted outside the outer radius. He will be absent for the day." 

With the sequencing system underway with a new sample of Juana's blood, Shuri gritted her teeth and removed the vibranium mold for the synthetic arm from its cavity a little too hard. It cleaved cleanly into half. 

Totl's jaw dropped. "Was that your panther strength?"

"Sure. Yeah." Shuri clenched her jaw.

The next day, Juana was able to keep her eyes open for a full three hours. Shuri greeted her and exchanged casual pleasantries but was too nervous to stick around while her family and close friends swarmed her. She could be most helpful by getting her back into good health with two arms.

That afternoon, Juana's genome sequence was fully mapped. Shuri was acutely aware that she was now hovering at less than two weeks to finish the blue flower but she ploughed through with what she did best.

No matter that she was being avoided. In fact, she was avoiding him. Panthers were equally adept at short bursts of speeds and consistent strides over a long period of time. Namor was semi-immortal, but she was Shuri and she was stubborn.

So what if he'd caught her basically massaging his abdomen and fake healing him? Was that a crime? Hadn't he kissed her first? 

The idea of clawing a matching scar into his chest and healing it again did come to mind. She banished the thought. She didn't want to be kissed, she just wanted...something. Anything, really. He had been so liberal with his presence and touches when she first arrived that it felt abysmal now that she was left to dry, literally.

By the fifth day, the vibranium arm and hand were completed, and the sequencing machine was prepped to receive more blood samples to put together an analysis for the blue flower's DNA. She asked a guard to send for Namor, this time with the explicit reason that she needed his blood, but the guard returned with a shake of the head. Namor was visiting outer sector domes with Fen to evaluate the rippling effects of this season's illness.

The pipette Shuri held crumbled between her usually nimble fingers. Maybe she should delay restoring the blue flower and cure this damned illness while she's out saving the planet. 

That night, at least, Juana was fully conscious and almost back to her normal self, draped across the hammock she once slept in. The relief in the catacombs and its latest round of visitors was palpable. The Talokanil said nothing as Shuri fitted the prosthetic over her elbow, the material melding with organic material perfectly. The vibranium was coated with a shimmering blue metal-pigment alloy and the three fingers the healers preserved attached to the other end next to two fingers that Shuri crafted meticulously. 

"I can replace them with extendable tools, if you want." Shuri offered. "A screwdriver, a light saber, anything."

Juana forced a smile. "No need for that. Thank you." In the background, her mother gave her a stiff nod.

It wasn't much but it was a start. Shuri didn't dare wish for forgiveness but at least her happiness. On her way out of the room, she pointed at Totl and told him to find her the best fish or else.

On her return to the cabin, Shuri thought of all the ways she could claw Namor's pointy ears off. This should have been right up Killmonger's alley, but after his last laugh, he disappeared all week. She reasoned that he was a grown man, with no need to step onto the ancestral plane and meddle with her girlish musings unless it helped him. His absence was joyfully welcomed but it left her uneasy. She stepped into the cabin, about to cross to her room as she'd done the nights before, but her eyes latched onto the mess in the office.

He was here, she thought. But there was no one inside now; only a clutter of items across his desk and daggers scattered on the floor. She worked quickly. A cluttered room was as bad as a messy lab.

She straightened her back, arms full of weapons, when a shadow crossed over her. Her instincts compelled her grabbed a dagger out of the pile and brandish it at the intruder.

Namor quirked an eyebrow, dripping at the entrance. Shuri felt annoyed and light-headed.

“I’m going to rip your left wing out.” She managed. She hadn't thrown something at him in far too long.

He crouched to clear his desk. After his wandering hands — his hands, Bast help me — found what he'd come for, a small slab of stone, he grimaced at her. “Then will you claw my back again?”

Very funny. “Masochist.”

“Sadist.”

“Elf-looking fishboy.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Fishboy?”

Shuri turned on her heel and began to place the weapons on the lone shelf in the office one-by-one, keenly aware she was dressed in her now frayed tracksuit, multiples washes to wring out blood taking its toll even on Wakandan jersey fabric. The impeccable timing on this jerk. "Don't you have work to do?"

A pause. "A king is a king even during rest."

She jutted a chin out at the slab in his hands. "What's that?"

He was gracious with answers today. She should point a dagger at him more often.

"My cousin wishes to carve a necklace for his betrothed. His wedding is in two days." 

She remembered Fen's explanation of Talokanil courtship, but she hadn't thought to ask about weddings. A Talokanil wedding would be a sight to witness if her impromptu dance party all those days ago was a measure of how Talokanil celebrated. The only wedding she'd ever attended was Okoye's and she was barely thirteen at the time. Thanos took away T'Challa and Nakia's chance to wed.

"Can I—" she started, the same time he spoke.

"Do you—"

Another pause.

Fine. It was business as usual, then. She tightened her grip on one dagger and his eyes flashed as she released it slowly onto the shelf.

"I finished the machine." She detailed her updates, from cleaning the lab to Juana's new super-powered arm. She would collect more samples of Talokanil blood tomorrow and finalize a genome map of the blue flower. Then she'd print it (when he asked what printing meant, she ignored him, despite her base instincts to describe the fantastic 3D printer in her Wakandan lab in fine detail) and she would be done.

Namor rubbed his jaw. "That sounds unusually simple."

She waved her free hand. "It's not, usually. For me it's decently challenging."

"Boasting is beneath you, too."

"It's not when you disappear and act like this isn't a project that will end a political impasse." And then she cringed, because that sounded petty and like she was angry, but a different kind of anger like—like—jealously. She bit the inside of her cheek. "You don't know me."

They both knew she was lying. He departed with a strange look and she went to sleep plotting for something she only acknowledged when she woke.

She was going to corner him into embracing her by the end of the day.

Namor gave the slab to the first warrior he spotted on his return to the city, one he knew was hoping to gift a fish soon but didn't have the means to afford carving materials. His cousin had completed his carving weeks ago.

Shuri spent the morning in the catacombs instead of her lab. A break, she told Atzi. Atzi was no longer on duty to guard her, but the Talokanil joined her for meals on the cave floor occasionally when not worrying over Juana, fiddling with aquatic plants she would consume once she returned to water.

Her target arrived soon after her breakfast, and as expected, his eyes widened just enough to convey surprise. He nodded at them in a brisk greeting, leaping towards his office. Shuri excused herself and followed, teal dress swishing with her swift movements.

This part of the plan was not as clear. Namor did as he wished; he was equally likely to go about his day ignoring her, start a conversation about his ancestors, or...touch her. Closely.

The last option happened twice in her room. Once in this office, and once in his throne room. She calculated the variables, beginning to arrive at a possible output. He spoke in the awkward lull that hung between them.

“Are you plotting my demise?” He stared at her with a touch of concern, conch shell in hand, as she entered behind him.

She tilted her head. What expression must have been on her face?

“No.”

He put down the shell, turning his full attention towards her. "The sickness is spreading to the inner city. The healers do not know its impact on humans. Consider your lab quarantined for time being."

She crossed her arms. "And delay making the blue flower? Neither of us want that."

"A dead inventor is of no use to Talokan."

"Is the sickness killing people?"

His nostrils flared over the jade in his nose. "Keep your excursions to a minimum."

He left the way he came.

After lunch as she prepared to dive below, she was perhaps a little too clumsy, woops she slipped on a puddle, and oh no, the glass of her water suit's helmet was cracking.

It wasn't, actually, she just loosened it enough for air to rush through, but to be sure, she needed glass. And thus, Namor. She said as much to one of the guards, who blinked at Griot's translation.

"I can ask the collectors. They may have glass collected from their excursions outside Talokan."

She shook her head, summoning the decidedly mischievous look she would give her parents, and started to pout. "I'm not sure if they will work, and since I can't go to them myself to see the items, and they can't bring everything here, I need to speak with your king." It was too defensive.

The guard looked at her oddly and shrugged. Namor took one look at the suit and made a noise of irritation. 

"Are you so heavy that a simple fall broke it?"

"You're calling me fat."

"I am questioning why the person who made a near indestructible suit made something so poor."

Aghast, she crossed her arms. "I'm not a god, K'uk'ulkan."

He twitched and waved a hand, turning to leave. "I'll send an engineer."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That's fine. I think I can just patch it with an extra scrap of vibranium."

He stared at her, long and hard. He left wordlessly and she mumbled fruitlessly to herself as she snapped the helmet back in place.

Short of setting off another explosion, Shuri decided that perfecting at least one analysis in the makeshift lab that early afternoon was sufficient enough reason. She asked a guard to call for Namor again and offered a muttered prayer to Bast.

Namor arrived an hour later. It was his first time in her lab. She was highly protective of her equipment. Newcomers often fiddled with the objects and machines strange to their eyes, but one wrong move could set off another explosion. She told him as much and her guards moved closer to him, just in case, but he was not a stranger to research. She watched, at first with protectiveness but then respect as he scanned the instruments of her lab, naming them with startling accuracy and questioning whether using liquid vibranium would be more effective than semi-solid vibranium as an underwater insulator. 

"I heated vibranium before carving it into the sun." He explained.

It should have surprised her, but a king of the strongest nation in the seas—if not the whole planet—had to have been a genius in his own right. More blessed than Chac than she was by Bast, perhaps.

I'm still better, she thought, as he focused on her thermal cycler, a DNA amplification machine, with a curious look. When he was done poring over her machines, she held out a needle to his consternation.

"I am a mutant. My blood is not necessary for this."

"Actually," she started, her voice taking on the feather-light tone of awe when speaking about her work, "it's probably the most useful. You still have the flower's effects in you, but not fully. It's perfect as a cross reference for my blood as a human sample and the ones of Talokanil blood."

He eyed her needle suspiciously. She rolled her eyes, tugging the hand that didn't hold his beloved staff towards him. "Don't you trust me?" She taunted.

He waited until the vial of his blood was sealed to respond. "Do you trust me?"

"I'd rather stab you."

He grunted in approval and left.

It was too late by the time she wondered why he accepted her request to come all the way to her lab just to tell her she didn't need his blood.

That night, Shuri lounged in her room, reflecting on her failures. Having run out of believable reasons to call him, sans an impending invasion, she decided that she could accept this failure because the whole ordeal was embarrassing anyway.

Then Namor came striding through the open archway just as she turned over to sleep. He stopped at the foot of her bed, evaluating her. A standstill and a battle of the wits ensued, though markedly less life-threatening and ominous. Shuri sat up, pulling the blanket up to cover herself. The white night gown covered enough but the thin strips and high-neck still felt too...

It wasn't the clothes, she realized. She has worn shorter dresses with her arms out for fancy events at the palace or even to work in her lab. It was the mutant in front of her causing her brain to fire in five different directions at once.

He let his staff fall onto the bed. "Explain."

There was a delay in finding her voice as she pushed aside a reservoir of colorful, un-Princess-like vocabulary.

"I was about to sleep." She snickered. "Surely you know how inappropriate this is."

He bit the inside of his cheek; she knew by the momentary dimple this created on his otherwise defined face. "This is an early time for you to retire. Go see Fen tomorrow."

"I'm fine — I have my beads."

"Your beads are functional, again?"

She rolled over. "Yes. Now go away."

He exhaled a long breath. "You are good at arriving at wrong conclusions. I am too, occasionally, except this time I will request an explanation from you before making my own."

She turned back over and sat up, the blanket pooling at her waist. His eyes flickered down his nose at her. "And that is?"

"You want something from me."

She repressed a strangled yelp, opting to glare at him. "Obviously. I want you to let me go, let the Americans go, stop the desire to escalate to violence where possible so my country isn't in the crossfire for your vengeance, and accept my help before it's too late."

He reached over the bed to grab her wrist and pull her up. She could've resisted, had she wanted, but followed through with the motion, swaying onto her feet on the cold stone floor. The dress thankfully fell to cover her knees before she left the warm comfort of her blanket. “Overwhelming, long talks suit me, not you, Shuri. You are more intelligent than that.”

She pursed her lips. “Then why do I feel like an idiot?”

When he didn't answer, Shuri turned around, attempting to resettle onto the bed. She felt a rustle behind her and a rush of air. One of Namor’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her backwards and taut against him. The mixture of sweat and water smelled like salt. His chest was a controlled fire. He cradled her head against jaw, his beard tickling the side of her temple. Her body instinctively recognized his, curling against him, her tense muscles relaxing.

“What are you doing?” Her breath hitched.

His lips brushed her ear. "What you were asking me to do all day."

Chapter Text

The last time her father hugged her, it was when former King T'Chaka and T'Challa were on their way to Vienna. Shuri had been sitting in a lesson with her tutors, but eager for a reason to escape, caught her father before he boarded an airship. This was before Wakanda was open to the world, so he would be traveling to the nearest airport in Africa to take a plane ("How sad, imagine sitting in a cramped space for twelve hours!"). 

Shuri couldn't remember what her last words to her father were. She could guess, though — a whine about her classes, a request for more toys to tinker with, or a tease about his graying hair. Sometimes, she would reconstruct the memory in her head and yell at young Shuri that this was the last time she would ever see him, the ancestors didn't exist, and show him you love him so, so much, Bast-damnit. 

All she actually remembered was that he hugged her while her brother promised to bring a report detailing how a Starbucks Frappuccino compared to Wakandan coffee. 

He came back with a coffin, instead.

Shuri cringed at hugs after that. She preferred fist bumps and friendly jostles. Then her brother passed, and the only hugs she received were from the select few she kept in her heart: her mother, Nakia, members of the Dora Milaje, and Bucky. 

So when Namor hugged her, so tight that his golden arm bands dug into her belly, the panther in her dozed off, trusting her to fall apart.

Shuri's hands moved to rest on his. For a long moment, the world around them stilled, only the flowing water of the room's lake reminding them of the march of time. 

He lowered his chin to her neck. His breaths came out in long, drawn-out rumbles and warmed the left side of her face. She kept her eyes studiously trained in front of her on the bed that she'd been in moments ago, ready to leave this day behind. 

"No response? Shall I be preparing for an elbow to the gut?" He teased, voice low.

There was no use denying she'd hoped for this. If only she could control how hot her cheeks felt, so she resorted to what she did best: wit.

"An obvious request by a masochist. I can put on the claws if you want."

"This is not for my wants. What does the Black Panther request of the Feathered Serpent?" He unclasped one of her hands, the one adorned with his mother's bracelet, and lifted it up to his face. His lips touched the underside of her wrist, just below where it met her palm. Her world titled on its axis.

"You want me to make requests when you've already made your conclusion?"

"You did not deny it."

She turned around in this little circle he kept her in, his mouth still hovering over her wrist, to see if she could read him like he read her without words. His water-swept hair glistened in the light. Both his eyebrows drew towards his nose, his face one of full attention and dark irises resting on her. She removed her hand from his as it twisted at an awkward angle. 

And then replaced it with her other hand, weaving her fingers through his. One corner of his lips tilted upwards in a small smile of surprise. He spoke first.

"Have you drawn up your requests?"

She shook her head. “I’m okay now.” She was. This was enough to satisfy her. This was all she wanted today, her frantic imagination going no further than this. 

“Your state of mind is irrelevant to holding you.”

"I thought you said this wasn't about your wants."

"My wants," he began, his lips returning to her skin. He spoke into her fingers, uncurling them as his lips moved around them. "are few. My needs, however, are many. So many that it would take the rest of your life to describe them all." His eyelashes lifted as he looked at her again. "I can do the speaking."

He pressed his lips into her wrist again, and the bracelet, and then pulled her hand higher and higher to access her arms. Then he flung her arm over his shoulders and left soft pecks on her upper arms, around her bare shoulders, the crook of her neck. "Beautiful," he muttered, "soft as water and firm as a panther."

All the while Shuri watched, spellbound, straining to remain still on the tilting floor. She'd fought in battle and leapt in circles around this man, but the panther was fast asleep, leaving her defenseless. His fingers left scorch marks on her skin wherever he tapped them, stopping only when his mouth reached her ears. His beard tickled her skin through her undercut.

"Talokanil women usually leave their hair long and pulled into intricate head pieces." His hand lifted her other arm over his shoulder, and she immediately clasped her hands behind his neck. "But it is easier to tangle in tight curls than loose hair."

"Have you?" She blurted. He pulled his head back to rest her forehead on hers. "Tangled, that is." 

A chuckle. "There is no one alive to be jealous of."

Relief flooded over her, for some reason. "Oh," she said dumbly. And then she realized, with a start, that she wasn't satisfied. A laugh reverberated in his chest while she mumbled something under her breath. 

"Speak up, woman."

Shuri had no problem saying a great many embarrassing things — clapping at her brother's ritual combat for the throne and complaining about her uncomfortable corset; or telling Okoye she named the new suit Midnight Angel, of all things. But she was careful to protect her heart. There was no room for vulnerability when she grew up near the throne and the threat of exploitation lingered over their heads, even in the isolation of Wakanda. 

So why should this be any different?

She blinked up at him, the Feathered Serpent water-king, half air and half water, her hands unwinding from behind his neck and grasping at the beads at the base of his neck. The pads of her fingers touched his beard and she heard him repress a strangled gasp. Surely she'd touched his face before?

What she repeated must have come from her heart because no set of facts in her brain could have led to her next request. "I have a request. If you don't kiss me in five seconds, I will claw your ears off."

He kissed her in two.

A strangled moan escaped her mouth while one of her hands flattened against the angle of his jaw, the other crawling into his hair. It was so soft and slick, but not waxy despite how it often looked. She explored his face, his head, his ears and ear jewelry— they were adoringly pointy, she decided — and even though his hands returned to her back, she didn't need him to push her close because she did it herself. She threw the full weight of her body onto his, and he returned the favor by lifting a hand to her upper back and tilting her over. She felt a moment of falling — to the floor or into him, she wasn't sure and she wasn't sure that she cared — and then realized it was so he could angle his mouth better against hers. His other hand stablized her head. It was like fiddling with scraps of metal, welding them so they fit together better, but a flexible panther and the curves of a serpent had no need for her design. 

He pulled away. She parted her lips, incredulous, but he returned at a different angle. His tongue dove into her mouth without coaxing. She bit at his lip; pressed into him as much as he did her, their kisses a sequence of pushes and pulls. Her hands left his hair and lowered to his back, tugging at this strings of jade and thick collar of gold. He groaned, nibbling her lower lip, swiping his tongue across her teeth, then into her mouth. Passing by the sun itself could not have consumed her whole like he did her.

Her lungs began to constrict. When a bundle of nerves near in her lower body warmed the base of her spine, her fingers left their ministrations at his back. They untangled their bodies simultaneously. She studiously kept her eyes trained on his, the straps of her nightgown falling off her shoulders and the material thoroughly wrinkled.

Namor straightened, running a hand through his hair. It was too daunting to look away.

If he was going to say anything, it was cut off by the entrance of a guard. Shuri wondered if doors should be her next invention.

He turned around and shifted to shield her and her unruly appearance. She averted her eyes, the sight of his bare back replaying the memory of her fingernails scraping against them mere moments ago.

The guard raised her palms, one to the floor and the other to the ceiling. Her eyes narrowed and flickered around the room before settling squarely on the floor.

"K'uk'ulkan, Tomas requires an update on tomorrow's ceremony."

He nodded and grabbed his staff, stiff and silent. She wondered if he felt as she did: thoroughly satisfied, but unable to speak.

Shuri couldn't sleep. There was no stress; only the feeling of her heart repeatedly slamming into her ribcage. It was suffocation, but of a good kind.

Juana was moved back into the water, this time permanently unless any health issues lingered. She moved her new arm around in circles, testing the joints of her fingers and poking at where organic flesh met vibranium. 

"It feels so...natural," the Talokanil said, but she was looking at her mother. Iahui nodded stiffly, her hands clasped under Juana's good arm. They waded into the water, Shuri watching from afar.

"You wouldn't have needed it if that girl didn't almost kill you."

"Mother..." Juana craned a neck to meet Shuri's eyes. The Talokanil seemed almost apologetic but Shuri shook her head, pulling all her guilt forward to contort her face into one Juana could perceive as an apology. 

"Thank you," Juana mouthed in return.

Then they were gone, and she was alone with the guards. They had changed shifts overnight, and she thanked Bast. Her mind needed to focus on the flower completely and couldn't afford anymore delays.

One of them stepped forward.

"K'uk'ulkan sends a summons." 

Shuri looked up at the ceiling and dangling coils of light. "A summons or a request?"

The guard shrugged, as if there was no difference. She sighed, trying to quell the volley in her stomach. A small delay couldn't hurt.

It was her first time outside the lab in days. She was normally escorted straight from the end of the whirlpool and into the engineering dome but this time she waded closer to the palace behind the pair of guards. Namor was hovering near a side entrance, speaking in tones that exemplified benevolent authority with a group of Talokanil. They wore small headpieces, some none at all, but they differed than the usual appearances of civilians. The men wore formal cloaks in place of the regular topless state and the women's dresses looked not unlike her own Talokanil ones.

She shoved aside the stupid feeling in her stomach that had erupted since the guard mentioned his name with a surprising ease. He hadn't hovered around her in the week; a sudden request did not bode well.

He betrayed no feeling in his eyes, his mouth set in a half-smile as he greeted her formally as he did the others. The civilians swam away while Shuri treaded to a smooth stop.

"You swim with ease now." He remarked. In the lab, she preferred to place her feet on the floor as much as possible. Most of her equipment was welded to it, anyway, but still, two weeks of swimming up and down to the lab left her feeling like she could best an Olympic swimmer. "My cousin weds today."

She frowned, hoping he could see it through her helmet.

"Did something happen?"

"You asked me once to show you my culture. A wedding is not an infrequent event here, but the bride's father is a council member. It will be a large festivity."

Was he...inviting her to a family member's wedding?

As a date?

She coughed, and her oxygen tank sputtered. He squinted at her. 

Talokanil didn't date. Not really. She turned the logical side of her brain up a notch and yelled at it for disappearing at the most inopportune times. "I need to get to work on the flower. I already lost a couple days with the explosion."

He didn't push. "As you wish."

Her forehead wrinkled. Maybe she hadn't egged him on in too long, or maybe he was treating her like another one of his subjects, but his offer was cordial. Kind, even.

"It might be nice to see one before I go." She relented. A strange emotion crossed his face but she continued unfazed, "But...the others don't like me very much. I don't know how appreciated crashing a wedding after causing your people trouble would be."

He grinned, baring his teeth. "Follow me."

She and her entourage followed him into the palace. This entrance, unlike the one Tozi took her through, led them into a narrow set of halls. The stretched in every direction and angle and she briefly felt she was at the middle of a latice structure. He zipped upwards through a hall — tunnel? — and then diagonally into another one that took them higher and to the right. Finally, they emerged into a room shaped like the inside of a pyramid, made entirely of red rock except one floor to ceiling window. 

"I brought the sun to my people, and these rooms are the stars. They are all around the palace and allow us to overlook most parts of the city." Namor beckoned her to approach the window. She glanced down to see a criss-crossing set of paths winding into a district and set of domes she recognized as residential.

"Watch the areas of there," he gestured. "Talokan weddings are a series of many rituals. This is the first one. The procession and the bride's acceptance of a carved necklace is the first step in her acceptance as a wife." 

She nodded. Wakandan weddings were similarly winded, boisterous affairs. "Who solemnizes it? A shaman?"

"Yes, and myself." He answered a few more of her questions as she watched a crowd begin to gather in district. When it grew to at least twenty Talokan, he took his leave.

Minutes after he was gone, one of her guards spoke. They never said anything except when they brought news or carried her requests so this made her jolt from her spot where she had pressed herself into the window.

"He favors you."

She made a face. "What gave you that idea?"

The two guards shifted, trading a knowing look, but said nothing more. She sighed. 

"I'm the Princess of Talokan's protector. It does him well to treat me well, and I appreciate it."

A sort of doubt emerged from her words, but she refused to ruminate on it right now. The procession was starting. 

Spirals of lace flowed from a cluster of Talokanil. When they moved closer to where she could identify faces from this angle, she realized they were emanating from the bride's back. The woman was beautiful, from the faint features Shuri could discern. She donned an enormous headpiece, from which cloth also flowed. Meters and meters of fabric trailed behind the bride as she and her entourage swam across a series of buildings and into narrow alleys between them. Crowds of the water people lined either side of her, leaving floating seaweed and other assortments of plants in her wake. 

Eventually, the bride reached another cluster of Talokanil. Her dress by now flowed across the entire district. Near the edge of the cluster, Shuri spotted Namor, his distinctive golden brown skin and feathered crown easy to identify among the pallor of full-blooded Talokanil. His split red cape looked like the tongues of a serpent behind him. 

Some minutes went by, and with the jostle of the crowd, the groom appeared. In one hand was a large spear, and in the other dangled a strings of glittering stone. One woman pulled the bride's headpiece off, revealing a bun twisted with intricate pearls, and the groom placed the necklace around her. 

Then the dancing began. Namor didn't join, floating off to the side and away from the circular, graceful movements of his people swimming and spiraling upwards, then down into intricate concentric shapes. If there were gaps in the window, Shuri knew she would hear foreign chants and whooping and drums that only worked underwater. It reminded her of incense and drums at Okoye's wedding, her and W'Kabi chanting as they proceeded through the Golden City and then their parents wrapping them in blankets.

This went on for an hour. Content with what she had witnessed, she prepared to leave. It was a beautiful memory and was honored to have witnessed it.

Totl volunteered his blood and convinced two of his friends to have their fingers pricked too. With Juana and Namor's blood, that totaled five samples, enough for her to put together a rudimentary map of the blue flower's shape. 

The core of Takolanil physiology was the same as humans. Most internal organ systems worked similarly, only that they were attuned to the use of water molecules as opposed to oxygen. Outward impacts of the flower were minimal in comparison. Interestingly, where humans needed water, they needed iodine, which explained their obsession with seaweed.

Namor's blood was unlike anything she had ever seen. His genes coded for a repetitive stream of telomeres, which she guessed slowed down his aging (she was no geneticist, but she'd watched some YouTube videos about it). Some of his genetic code mirrored the Talokanil exactly, and at others resembled neither water people nor human, even her blood with the herb's influence.

He was truly alone. 

She wondered what that kind of isolation—being the sole composition of a species—did to someone. How many generations of Talokanil had he ruled over? 

Namor met her in the catacombs again while she ate dinner. Without the constant chatter and flurry of activity over Juana, and lack of friendly guards, it was a welcome silence that he broke the surface of the water into.

"How does Namora age?" Was the first thing she said. He padded up and out of the lake, waiting for water to puddle around his feet before he joined her at her spot between the cabin and a series of misshapen rocks. "What's the average lifespan of Talokanil?"

"Is this a matter for scientists?"

"Yes," she gulped down her corn and kelp. She offered him some, but he waved it away citing an ample wedding feast.

"If it is in regards to the flower, I will oblige."

He turned to her like he had the moment he'd clasped his mother's bracelet around her wrist. Their knees, his bare and hers clothed, bumped.

"Namora is my aunt's daughter, born a decade after her mother took the flower. She and her siblings are the only ones to have lived as long as I have, though they have aged slowly while I stopped completely."

Shuri nodded slowly. If Namora were human, she'd pinpoint her age to be around forty. Namor looked to be in his early or mid thirties.

"And the others?"

"The typical age of passing onto the ancestors is one hundred, though some have lived to be well into their sixteenth or seventeenth decade." He looked at the lake, its edge a full pace away. "The shaman believes it to be my cousin's nearness to my blood that distills some of Chac's blessings from me to them."

She frowned. He noticed.

"You do not believe that to be an adequate explanation?"

She picked at her corn. "I analyzed your blood with my kimoyo beads. There's genes for aging, so it could've been something than ran in your family —"

"My mother did not give birth to a kind of coincidence," he grit out. "Does science explain the ancestors? As the Black Panther, you see them, do you not?"

Not recently, she hadn't. "I believe in it, and I've gone to the ancestral plane," she rebutted.

"And what did you see there?"

Her appetite disappeared as she crossed her arms. "Talokan and Wakanda are the same. We both have vibranium that sets us apart from the rest of the world and makes them the target of their ire. Maybe that makes us particularly susceptible to the ancestors, because both our people need protectors from the world. I don't know. But what's important is science helped me, and can help you restore the source of protection."

"Perhaps you are right. I did not yield for naught."

"Why did you yield?" Shuri knew she was provoking him now, but now that he had brought it up, nothing could stop the words from coming out of her mouth. In the weeks after the Battle, she'd often anticipated revenge: a fishman swimming into the flood that he'd turned the Capital City into. "You wanted to burn the world, you could have done so with Wakanda in it."

"There was a spear at my neck." Namor said. But she knew that he knew her understanding of him; he would die if it was necessary to protect Talokan. Unfortunately, she concluded keeping him alive was the only way to avoid eternal war.

Still. Maybe without Wakanda, Talokan would manage but would be too weakened. When he refused to elaborate, Shuri tried again.

"If you agreed to our protection of your secrets, then why are you considering exposing Talokan to the Americans?" The question visited her occasionally ever since he spoke of his deal with Wakanda. He straightened at this. 

"If that is what is required to keep Wakanda's continued protection, and restore our flower, then it is a possibility. Wakanda chose their path in opening up the world for reasons that have yet to make sense but I will choose what is necessary for my people in the face of two ugly options."

Her temper flared. “Do you think the choice to open Wakanda was done on a whim with only you bearing the consequences? The African continent suffered for centuries because we isolated ourselves. My brother sought to fix our father's wrongs. And now, we suffer the patronizing condescension from people too insecure to confront the idea an African nation could be a super power whilst trying to make a grab for the very resources we exposed to help others.”

Killmonger didn't appear. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing her heart to calm.

Namor turned an unsettling gaze on her, words flowing out of his mouth in a bitter rush.

“Wakanda and Talokan are the same in vibranium, and I affirm we are more alike than surface-dwelling fools. The difference is that we were driven from our homes. Water was foreign to my mother and she died grieving for her land. Wakandans suffered no such displacement, regardless of the war that ravaged your ancestors." He stood up when a guard called for him, relaying an urgent message.

As he waded into the water, he parted with his last words.

"We carry no such noble misgivings of aiding others, Princess."

In her muddied mind of physical urges and fleeting glimpses of comfort, Shuri had forgotten that Namor could be cruel. She blinked at the ground he had sat on moments before, so deep in thought that she missed the first woosh! of air. 

The hairs of her neck stood up in time, hands flying to her kimoyo beads in time for a second rush of air. Her eyes furtively scanned the catacombs. Her two guards were crumpled on the floor.

Shuri recognized the footsteps before she recognized the face. Nakia emerged from her old room, holding a weapon.

"Don't worry. This one is not lethal."

Chapter Text

"They will wake up in ten minutes with no memory of what happened. Come, we have to be quick." Nakia grabbed Shuri with her free hand.

Her mind reeled. 

She hadn't seen another Wakandan for weeks let alone Nakia. The woman looked worse for wear and thinner than when she lost saw her. Her heart plummeted at the stress lines carved deeply into otherwise glowing skin (her skincare regimen was composed of nothing but water and a simple moisturizer, for Bast's sake). Scrapes and dents littered the shoulder pads of her green and blue suit and a small bag rested at her hip. She was here, alive, and the fever dream that had been the past few weeks screeched to a halt.

Panic bubbled up Shur’s throat. She dug her heels into the ground.

“How—Nakia—”

“Hurry, Shuri. Move the guards into the room with me in case someone joins us.”

Shuri obeyed, tossing one of the lithe bodies and her spear over her shoulder with ease. Nakia dragged the other one across the stone floor, careful to avoid stray rocks. She spoke in hurried whispers. 

“You need to leave. It’s dangerous, if they catch you—” There will be war. A foolish recreation of what had happened before replaced in her mind.

But for Nakia to come all this way… had something changed outside? Had something gone terribly wrong? While her mind swarmed with the possibilities, Nakia positioned the bodies onto their backs near the hammock, folding the Talokanils' hands over their abdomens. From afar, they looked like they were taking a nap. 

“Listen, Shuri. We have word that America, Germany, and France will attack us next Wednesday.”

With the help of her Kimoyo beads announcing both Haiti and Wakandan time, Shuri did quick math and blanched. “Nine days.”

Nakia nodded. “We don’t have much time. Ross cannot delay them any longer.” 

“How is Agent Ross negotiating with them? Have the Americans decided to grow a brain?”

Nakia grinned wryly. “They know their hypocrisies, but he is currently the only method of communication to their missing CIA Director.”

The idea of Val and Ross married and at one point procreating was an idea Shuri never wanted to ponder on. Her disgust must have shown on her face because Nakia’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“You spoke to her?”

“I saw all of them.”

“Good,” the spy nodded. Shuri’s hands twitched with a curious bout of annoyance. 

“You thought he killed them?”

“The thought crossed our minds,” Nakia confessed, “but Okoye was resolute that you would not do them this favor unless their lives were protected. Namor is a bloodthirsty beast, Shuri, and is now telling us he is willing to expose his people to protect Wakanda’s status as their protector. He’s hiding something.”

As Nakia fished into her bag, Shuri’s breathing stilled. He was always hiding something behind his tender touches and veiled praises, he was stubborn and acted, not rashly, but always in favor of what he thought was best for Talokan. He was generous but inflexible. Shuri often had to force things out of him but he never lied.

Yet the seed of doubt took root at the back of her mind.

“Sam and the White Wolf found this in Scotland tucked away in a small hotel room.” A wad of papers followed the sound of rustling. “The android didn’t have many possessions but there are traces of his touch and gamma radiation on this.”

She cradled the papers with tender hands. They were frayed with the constant touches of someone who loved them, and its owner, very much. It was a property deed. A little heart in red enclosed the words in the middle, a note to the woman Vision loved. She met Wanda thrice, and twice was in the heat of battle. The last time was at Tony Stark’s funeral. She could count the words they exchanged on her two hands but remembered with a startling clarity the pleading look on the witch’s face as she begged a teenager to save Vision, to extract the stone from his head so there could be one less casualty of war.

This was why Shuri was a scientist. An engineer, the inventor. The Avengers had come to her to help a robot that developed a heart, and she never turned her back on those that needed her gifts. She failed him once; they all did. She did not know Wanda but she knew loss. And that was enough.

“Please find him, Shuri.”

She looked into Nakia’s eyes. “You’re not taking me back?”

“I would if I had it my way.” Her answer flooded Shuri with relief. To avoid war, she told herself. “Okoye is trusting of your judgment to remain here but she is a former Dora. I am your War Dog, but also like your sister.”

“You are my sister.”

Nakia drowned her in a hug, careful to avoid crushing the papers in her hand. “You smell like seafood.”

“Tell me about it.” Shuri squeezed her eyes, savoring the feel of her arms and memorizing every curve. “How are Toussaint and the others?”

“Eagerly awaiting your arrival home.”

She was always welcome in Haiti, but Wakanda was her home. Her eyes watered thinking about the boisterous boy, the Dora Milaje, the Wakandan skyline, and even the Jabari thumping their chests. "What about you? Have officially returned to the War Dogs?”

Nakia released her, smiling. “Only until M’Baku reinstates Okoye as general.”

“I’m going to burn down his carrot garden,” Shuri muttered under her breath, and then, with a pained voice, “You need to leave. If they see you, it will ruin everything.” 

Nakia closed her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“Please, Nakia.”

The spy inhaled deeply. “Keep those plans hidden. Ross said there should be an American scientist who has previous experience with Vision and the witch’s magic among the hostages, if they didn't change their expedition plans before he was arrested. She can help.”

“You don’t trust me to build a gamma ray detector on my own?”

“Not without this.” Nakia gifted her an extra Kimoyo bead. Its sigils glowed red and an array of screens flickered to life, containing a number of blueprints of American technology. The last screen displayed a half-completed neuron-reprogramming cascade, one she instantly recognized as her work before the Snap. The holographic map of Vision’s brain rotated above them. Having been rendered moot, his information had been discarded from her current set of beads, needing them afresh for herb-related research. "It also contains a small aquatic vibranium fly. Once you find his location, release this into the waters above. We will receive the information once the fly is near the surface."

A distant groan from behind them punctured her reverie. Shuri moved to drag Nakia outside.

“You need to go!”

“Usisi, I need to know.” Nakia put a palm up to Shuri’s face, halting them in their footsteps. “Is he treating you well?”

She looked down at herself. The purple tracksuit was fully frayed at the sleeves now; her hair was in disarray, not having fixed it after her latest journey into the city. The watersuit often did its job too well and sucked the moisture out of her skin, leaving her as dry as a prune. She looked worse than she felt. The Talokanil treated her honorably, as much as they could for someone who caused an explosion and harmed one of their own.

“Very well, Nakia.” She said firmly. When Nakia shot her a skeptical look, she added, “You know how I get when I’m busy with my projects.”

The familiar swish of an impending arrival through the lake echoed through the catacombs. Shuri shoved Nakia’s gifts into her pockets and hoisted her up into an alcove, whispering, “I’ll distract them.”

The spy clambered upwards, shielded by a row of stalagmites, just as the guards stumbled to their feet. Shuri spun around, schooling her face into one of distant concern. Her heart thumped inside chest. Outside the room, someone sloshed out of the lake.

One of them, a middle-aged woman named Tayanna, rubbed her eyes. Confusion lingered in her chestnut eyes as she bubbled through her mask, “How did I get here?”

Shuri scratched her head, willing her shaky voice to still. “Ah, Namor and I were talking and needed privacy.”

A believable lie, but it would only feed rumors or whatever notions the guard had about Namor's supposed favor on her.

After a couple moments, the guards looked at each other and shrugged. She pivoted on her heel, trying to suppress a fleeting glance to where Nakia was huddled. There was no sign of her, to her relief. She skidded to a stop outside the room. Her eyes landed on a hulking figure and his familiar back. Namor was languidly walking towards the cabin, his ears twitching at her rapid intake of breaths.

He didn’t turn around, grinding his staff into the ground.

She needed to get him out of here. “I —what are you doing here?”

The grip around his staff loosened. He turned his face to the side, enough that she could admire his striking jawline and thick eyebrow. She had clawed that cheek, once.

“Did you not tell me I may visit my cabin as needed?”

She rubbed her hands together. “Yeah, but, eh, is there something I can help with?” Stupid. In no universe would she rationally follow up their argument with an offer to help the god-King . Luckily for her, her rationality decided to make an appearance only after the fact.

Namor turned around, examining her carefully. Waiting with a bated breath, she almost expected him to leap over her head and rip Nakia out of her hiding place.

“I chastised you too harshly.”

“What?” she blinked. Embarrassing. Get a grip.

He frowned, sliding his gold-cuffed hand down his staff.

“The Feathered Serpent never regrets actions or words done for the sake of Talokan.” The realization dawned on her slowly as he continued to speak. “However…you are not the leader of Wakanda at the moment, so my ire was ill-directed.”

Her anger towards him had been fully subsumed by the joy and worry at seeing Nakia so there was little to remember by way of what they’d argued about just half an hour prior. She looked at her feet, then back at him.

“Leader or not, I will never agree with the actions you took, and your brutal methods.”

“No.”

“But, I didn’t lie when I said I admired what you had built here.” She straightened her shoulders. “I still do.”

They were at a stalemate in a fabric woven so tightly that she could not unwind herself out of it if she tried. This was the moment where in those Netflix movies, the protagonist would distract with a kiss—a convenient plot drawn around to push a burgeoning romance forward.

But she was not a protagonist of a romantic comedy. She was an orphan trying to keep the surface and water worlds from perpetual war. She was also a young woman on the precipice of feelings she could barely begin to ascertain. The impetus that drove her the night before was a blowtorch’s initial flare. It would take time before it settled down into something more constant and nurturing, without the threat of burning or being burned.

She thought fast. Something believable, but something sincere too. The idea of lying to Namor was as unappealing as the thought of him keeping secrets. There was an implicit understanding and respect underlying each of their moves. no matter how far they escalated.

“Do you have time tonight?”

He looked at her, incredulous and smug.

“Not—I—do you want to fix your foot?” She cursed under her breath. “Or me, fix your foot. In my lab.”

“Now?” he drawled. Bast-forsaken accent.

“I finished Juana’s prosthetic arm yesterday and it grafted nicely with her skin. The machine is ready to stimulate organic growth, and it would be beneficial to try it before I take it for a run in mapping the flower.”

Her head tilted upwards as he drew closer. Confidence in her work propelled her to continue.

“I know you’re suspicious of my technology. You have every right to be. I understand that its been used to threaten your people and many others. The threat of nuclear war, well, no one’s appreciated that.” She swallowed, the urgency to distract Nakia fading to the background. “You don't like me thanking you, so let me do something in return for considering to help us and in the process allowing more potential threats to come your way.”

He was so much larger than her. His shoulders and face towered over her, swallowing her whole body in his shadow, as he stopped a mere pace away. “It is not a favor to return an offer owed to Talokan.” 

She jutted her chin out. “Some would call that noble.”

He slipped into the water, waiting as she slipped into her watersuit. “Where are your guards?”

She hid her face under the material of the watersuit. “We were…cleaning up the old room, since Juana was there for a while.”

He opened his mouth to call for them but she shook her head. Nakia could slip past the guards and Shuri didn’t know what the effects of Nakia’s weapon were, if they were still groggy or confused. If their story conflicted with hers, Namor was not above threatening her into giving Nakia’s location and tearing the cave apart himself.

“I don’t need them if I’m with you.” When her face reemerged in the helmet, he was already submerged.

Namor almost turned around three times and it was only when Shuri threatened to cut him up into sushi (how that would work, she had no idea) that he seemed to humor her and let her lead him into the lab. Or rather, allow himself in first, because he was the Feathered Serpent God who followed no master. Regardless, Shuri left him to float while she grabbed the required equipment and activated her Kimoyo beads. The one Nakia gave her was securely in her tracksuit pocket,. Her brief encounter with the woman felt like a dream. She prayed to Bast she'd made it out alive. Nakia was nothing if not a wily woman with a talent of escaping enclosed spaces unscathed. 

"Lift your leg up." Shuri paused in her maneuvering to add, "It's a request."

Namor remained silent throughout the whole ordeal. He growled when she removed the gold and metal cuffs around his foot, hissed when she drew a vial of his blood and injected a vibranium alloy into the stump of a wing, and frowned when she rerouted blood vessels to the injured area.

"Oxygen is vital for healing, but this should help," she provided as an explanation. Few had patience for the mad scientist and less so for the technicalities behind it. All most people wanted to know was that it worked, but she felt alone without her assistants, or at least her brother hovering over her, providing unwarranted commentary. She couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Is this humorous to you?" Namor shifted his body, hooking his staff onto the edge of a table so he wouldn't float away. 

One of her hands massaged the tender flesh around his left ankle, close to the baby wing, another of many firsts only she could claim. Since Wakanda was open now, writing research papers for the public was no longer out of the question. If she ever got the chance, and Talokan's name was made public, she would begin with Talokanil healing and medicine.

"I was thinking about my brother. He often joined me in the lab when he needed to escape from the elders."

"A king does not 'escape' from the needs of his people."

She pinched his stump. Hard. He yelped.

"Sorry," she said, not meaning it at all.

Some of his skin was tough around the area where the wing sprouted right above the bony protrusion of his fibula. The rest of his foot was calloused yet soft; she had yet to look at what kept Talokanil skin impervious to bloating from perpetually living in water. Either way, it wasn't fair. In water, this close, it was preposterous to deny that Namor was beautiful. Not simply handsome, in the way of boy bands or celebrity actors, but a sort of aesthetic godliness only the divine could bestow. Sinewy muscles embedded in soft ochre flesh stopped at his knees, only to continue around them and disappear into the hem of his shorts. One of his thighs were thicker than her two arms together, but it wasn't the bulky build of Steve Rogers or Thor. He was graceful, in a way. His abdomen flexed as she poked and prodded her way around his right foot, limiting her indulgent glances to twice a minute. 

To be honest, she would wear shorts too if she looked like him.

"You speak more openly of your brother now. Do you see him with the ancestors?"

 She didn't know what possessed her to answer honestly. Perhaps to compensate for all the lies she might have to tell him. "No."

"Death is not the end for your people. He sees you, if you do not see him."

She pulled her fingers away from him, eyes flashing. "Don't speak of things you don't know." Killmonger was still gone. She saw no one in her sleep, only a repetition of nightmares and a drowning city and a man she spared —

Namor's hand curled into her gloved one. He tilted his head, looking at her not unlike he'd done long ago, when he treated her as gentleman courting a lady would, toured her around his city, and shared with her in hushed tones why he was offering what he did as if they were souls aligned in grief and hope and not discussing the casual need to slaughter the scientist who'd inadvertently threatened his people. 

"Join me tomorrow morning in the ancestors' room. I would enjoy your company." He let go of his staff and grasped her other arm, pulling her close. "Wear the white dress," he murmured.

"I can't wear it in this suit. It'll get wrinkled and it's uncomfortable."

"I am partial to wrinkles."

He was madness, and in her efforts to reign him back, she was being roped in too. If her helmet wasn't on, she wasn't sure if she wouldn't have embraced him at that moment. She cleaned up the lab and told him to keep his weight off of his right foot overnight. Griot estimated that the wing would grow to full size within twelve hours. When he swam to escort her back to the catacombs, she shook her head, formulating a schedule for the next day and running through calculations an exorbitant number of times to relax. 

"There's nowhere I could go, anyway." She teased. "I could escape but I won't."

"A Queen does not escape either." He nodded and left.

The rough edges of his ankle that he'd become familiar with over the weeks tingled. Namor lifted his fingers and the electricity stayed with him; it was not his ankle, but his wishful heart, wondering what fate Chac had planned for him to swing him into her arms again and only to take her away just as quickly.

Shuri stopped by the prison-cave that night.

Chapter Text

Dr. Darcy Lewis was a piece of work. She had permanently red lips (“I keep this lipstick on me at all times otherwise I look like an albino peacock”), thick glasses (“I like people assuming I’m smart until I open my mouth and then they realize I have a doctorate in astrophysics), and gorgeous blue eyes. Shuri remembered her vaguely from her first visit before Val imposed a strict “don’t talk to the Potential Enemy-Potential Ally” rule, and whatever power the CIA Director seemed to work on even someone as talkative as Darcy. Thankfully, the promise to bring corn the next visit and over a dozen pair of eyes shooting daggers at Val so that she give up the identity of the scientist who had experience with magic, forced her to revoke that rule. At least for a few minutes.

Shuri crouched in front of Darcy, aware of a guard lingering in the background. She hadn’t reclaimed her free-to-wander privileges yet, and though Namor was in the dark for now, if this was indeed the scientist Ross mentioned, then she would have to tell him. She couldn’t bring another human to her lab without a fit the size of Talokan itself.

Darcy, for her part, looked all too eager to oblige.

“I would’ve loved to talk to you earlier but she threatened to fire me. Normally I’m not a buttkisser, but gotta tell ya, job market’s been rough for the non-royalty. Academia sucks and no one wants to do magic research after East Coast cities keep blowing up.” The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. “Huge fan, by the way. Love the fashion, love the vibe, the saving the planet thing. Pretty well-acquainted with that. My friend was Thor’s girlfriend, actually —”

She straightened. “You knew Dr. Jane Foster? The Einstein-Rosen Bridge?”

“Oh yeah, she even traveled to Asgard. Before it fell to a blazing fire.”

Shuri nodded thoughtfully. “I read about it in her book. So you worked with an infinity stone—”

“Dr. Lewis, you are under strict orders—” A nasally voice pierced their conversation but her eyes widened as Darcy nodded.

“Oh yeah. It sort of swallowed up Jane at one point.”

She lowered her voice, not wanting the others to hear. Hopefully, Darcy was the kind of person willing to work for peace or could at least be swayed into secrets by the promises of finer scientific endeavors. Dealing with Namor was manageable after a night’s worth of rest but Nakia was right to imply she was in need of help. She couldn’t recreate a sacred, ancient flower and track Vision down in nine—now closer to eight—days.

“You have experience with other magic too, right?”

“Mhm. Curses, hexes, got stuck in a circus once. I’m starting to think I should write my own book—”

“Enough, Dr. Lewis!”

“Val, please take a nap.”

A choking noise. “You're fired.”

“The prissy head of an intelligence agency versus a child prodigy with good hair sense?” Darcy pursed her lips, addressing Shuri. “Your royal majesty, highness, excellence, I’ll help. Get me a Wakandan fellowship though.”

Shuri decided she liked her, very, very much.

“A Queen does not escape either,” he told her. In her dream tonight, she wore a gown with cloth that flowed for miles, a necklace of jade, and a curious taste of salt in her mouth.

Namor was stroking his almost-restored wing when a guard entered his water office. It was smaller than the one he had in air, but it was in the heart of the palace and conveniently close enough to Tozi, who's daily duties often required his attention. 

After two months of left-side-heavy swimming, it was a blessing to return to balanced feet. The last time his wings were injured was after a nasty stray shark bit into him seventy years ago and nicked an inch off his left wing. Despite Talokanil healing and prayers to Chac, it took over a year to heal. Whispers of old Greek mythologies often wandered Talokan, and if Namor were to name a physical weakness, it would be a sort of feathered version of an Achilles' heel.

“She visited the Americans last night, K’uk’ulkan.”

He straightened, testing his wings with a flutter. He swam downwards with controlled speed, and the guard smiled with awe lacing his voice.

“It has healed?”

“With the help of the Princess.” Namor reached for his staff. “What is this about her visiting the cave?”

“She came to the cave last night by herself. I could not understand their language fully but she talked to a different American than usual. I apologize, I did not know protocol for her visits had changed.”

Namor’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Were her forceful instructions to get rest and jests to not escape a ruse? Bile rose in his throat as his arms clenched. Had his trust of her judgment and sincerity clouded his judgment of their precarious position?

It was almost morning and it was time to visit her regardless. With a stiff nod to the guard, Namor zipped through the city. His people laughed and waved as he pulled his arms out, letting the whirlpool suck him in and deposit him at the feet of—a Princess.

Shuri stepped out of the cabin in a white dress but she must have spent more time preparing herself than usual, or she had rested remarkably well, because her eyes were dazzling in the glow of the catacombs. The flowing sleeves revealed arms that he had no scruples about their ability to choke him despite their wiry form, the very arms his had lips traced. The shadows between her collarbone and neck left him panting with want; the belt at her waist cinched her athletic frame; and the flowing bodice that danced with her every step exposed legs he had seen in detail but had yet been given the permission to touch. The jade stones of her dress were honored to sit on her skin.

Every day was testing his discipline in ways they hadn’t since he burned down a Spanish village. He could wait. He had to. But surface-dwelling men lesser than him had taken wives better than them throughout history. He wondered if he had played the political game wrong all this time. Perhaps Talokan was not above Wakanda in arranging the courtships she briefly so ceremoniously assumed of him.

No. If and when he had her, it would be because she was so taken that there was no choice but towards him. Chac and the gods robbed him of his choice and laid him broken at her feet. He would do the same of her.

“Good, looks like the wing is back.” Shuri smiled. His anger simmered, but he bit the inside of his cheek. “Namor—”

“Do not call me by that vile name,” he interrupted. “I was informed—”

“I went to the Americans—” She stopped. He watched a curious set of emotions conflict on her face. “Am I not your enemy?”

Did she still think that, after all his hard work and their alliance?

“Make your conclusion, Shuri. Talokan will prepare for war if Wakanda—”

“Stop doing that.” She hissed. “You're water, but you behave like fire. Escalating for no reason in the guise of protecting your people. Can we stop going in circles? I went to the Americans last night because I had an idea for creating the blue flower. I have a potential sequence mapped out, but I don’t have a printer built yet, and I need help from an American scientist familiar with the technology since I'm using their submarine parts. I should have told you earlier but was going to tell you when you were available today.”

Namor didn’t understand half of what she said but he didn’t need to. Sincerity was written all over her, contorting her face into an expression he’d rather not see. She should never apologize or thank him. Those were feelings he would not accept from her.

She was…exposing her weaknesses to him, and it was a responsibility he didn’t tread lightly.

“I have no need—” 

She interrupted him. She did that quite often, lately, and it didn't bother him.

“For my apology. I offer it to you anyway.”

“I trust your judgment.” He affirmed, but his lips thinned. “I will not allow humans to desecrate Talokan.”

“I’m human,” she pointed out, in that impudent and wonderful way of hers. 

Yes, but you are Shuri of Wakanda, the Black Panther to the Feathered Serpent God.

Shuri decided not to push the topic further, considering it lucky that Nakia had made it out alive and detected. Namor had superhuman senses along with godly-strength but super hearing didn’t extend to air if it was that simple. The other option was that Nakia was a really good spy (she was). Last time, they escaped with little fuss (except for the two dead Talokanil they left behind, her brain reminded her).

Instead, she bartered for more visits with the Americans. If Darcy couldn’t join her, then she’d figure out a way to get her input on the Vision-finder. Keeping it a secret from Val was another issue.

You lied to him. Her mind whispered traitorously.

Technically I didn't.

Namor motioned for her to remove her suit as they entered the ancestor room. Wearing a dress was unsurprisingly uncomfortable in the less roomy watersuit than the exosuit. Her dress was hopelessly wrinkled. She struggled to smooth it down, brushing it down with her hands as far as they could reach. When she noticed Namor watching her movements with a keen interest, she stopped. He had the audacity to move on as if he hadn’t been ogling her legs.

Heat rushed to her face.

She knew she was a beautiful woman, not as curvaceous as Nakia or tall as Okoye, but still pleasing to look at, as signaled by the lingering glances of American boys during visits to the Wakandan Outreach Center. Wakandan men were less conspicuous especially in the presence of royalty. But Namor would never let something slip from his face that he didn’t want to. Which meant it was purposeful, which meant he wanted her to know, and now she knew about her legs in his eyes and his stupid request to wear this lovely dress.

Bast. I’m no pining fool.

He shuffled to stand in front of a large statue, putting the garden behind him. The ceremonial cloak he wore covered most of his upper body, for which she was thankful for, because she couldn’t exactly pray while boring holes into his back.

Ahem. Had it been that long since...

“Come.” Namor gestured to his left. “Join me. This is Yopaat, our god of storm. He used his weapon to crack the shell of a turtle, and from it came maize, or corn, as Englishmen call it. This is why corn is one of the only surface-foods that we eat. It is originally of water.”

Shuri said nothing, only looking at the statue ahead of them with bright eyes. The statue had a large head and a progressively large headpiece of carvings until it reached the ceiling. Namor began to chant a hymn, one her Kimoyo bead translator could not follow, so she closed her eyes and let herself get lost in his low, rhythmic murmurs.

When he finished, she opened her eyes to turn towards him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He turned to her. “So you can learn more about my ancestors, and now you can speak of them. Tell me something about yours.”

She remembered chastising him and felt almost embarrassed now. Here he was, standing earnestly in front of his ancestors with likely the only human who would ever step foot here. It was more than a favor of an ingratiating sort; it was a sincere compliment. 

"Okay," she agreed. She told him about Bashenga, the first king of Wakanda, the Great Mound, her lineage of panthers. That the Black Panther need not always be the ruler, but the mantle was a noble one that fewer than those qualified to reign as a ruler were eligible for. "We always thought we were the only nation with vibranium, and our tribes warred over it. Bashenga united us."

Namor nodded as though he knew all this. Perhaps he did through snooping Talokanil scoping out a potential enemy. Hadn't even his mother mentioned Wakanda to him? "The shaman who had the vision and gave us the flower told us Chac also gave him visions of Wakanda. A land so secretive and closed off. I endeavored to make my people prosper like your people in these stories."

She lurched, surprised.

"When I visited the surface world for a regular visit to collection information, and I learned of what your brother did, it was difficult to believe. For centuries we prayed for a return to land, no longer hiding who we were."

Remembering the cold conclusion of the conversation about her brother's choices the day prior, Shuri quickly thought through ways to change the subject. She would not speak of T’Challa to him, for now, but maybe…

“I told you yesterday that I have visited the ancestral plane. But the person I saw used to be an enemy.”

“I see.” He resumed his reverent stance in front of the statue. “The ancestors come with what we need and often what we do not realize we need. This enemy of yours could have given you more than others could, at that time.”

“But I don’t understand it,” she started, “I needed my family, and this—this person is the reason my brother is dead. He burned our garden and our herbs that could have saved his life. And I—” she heaved, realizing who she was speaking to. She wanted to stop before more of her heart fell out of her chest, the parts remaining after being buried with her mo—

Namor yanked her into his arms. Her face hit the soft knit of his white and gold cloak, one hand cradling the back of her neck and the other flared over the middle of her back, his palm pressing into the cool fabric of her dress.

“I grieve my mother every day,” he said into her hair.

Then you know what you did to me when you took mine from me. She wanted to shout at him. She wanted him to be consumed by grief that it squeezed sobs out of him at random moments, just before the stitches on his heart began to heal, never to grant him relief.

”I know,” he rasped. “I know.” 

It was not an apology. It was an offering of his pain, and there was nothing she wanted to say to that.

They stood in silence, her curled up in him and him curled around her, her neurons firing with the beat of his godly heart, until one of her guards entered the room with a message from Totl asking how to turn off the sequencing machine.

The day proceeded with little else. A preliminary map of the blue flower was done. The papers and bead remained in her pocket, her mind just beginning to froth in anxiety.

Totl waved a hand in front of her. “Did you hear what I said?” He coughed and pounded on his chest.

“Sorry, no,” she rubbed her eyes. It was past dinner time, and she was still running on the dregs of her breakfast. 

He smiled softly. “Juana sends her greetings. She wanted to visit you, but she is strictly confined to her home.”

Shuri’s heart leapt. Juana was a permanent fixture in her nightly prayers.

“Tell her she needs plenty of rest, because she can’t be Talokan’s best engineer otherwise.” 

He grinned, and she grinned with him, because family was few but she had friends everywhere.

That night, she asked a guard to send a message to ask Namor if she could join him again for his prayers. The next day, she met him directly in the room of the ancestors, this time adorned in her (wrinkly) jade dress and tight curls pulled back in a tight bun. He smiled upon seeing her but it quickly turned into a frown as she advanced towards him. He dug his fingers into her hair and undid ten minutes of hard work.

“Leave your hair as is.”

“Talokanil women wear it this way,” she said, sending a stray curl up with a huff.

“As I once mentioned to you, though you were rather occupied at the time, they wear it with a headpiece, or at least a shell.”

She shoved him, causing him to stumble. “Then bring me a shell, unoccupied one.”

Something flashed in his eyes. She suppressed a snicker, and he chortled, straining to return to his stiff position in front of the statue of Yopaat. 

“You’re better when you laugh,” she muttered, joining her hands in front of her and lifting her eyes to Yopaat’s decorated visage.

“There is little to laugh about.” He responded, almost playfully.

“Your people laugh.”

“As long as they remain protected.”

His last words began to veer into sensitive territory again, and Shuri was in no mood to, as she said, go in circles. So she tried to focus on the statue in front of her, the hymns rumbling in Namor’s chest, and the aroma of the flowers behind her. When they finished, she swerved their post-meditation banter towards her request. There were less than seven days left and she couldn't take advantage of all those days because it would take time for the others to actually find Vision, no less drag him to the council and figure out what condition he was in before presenting him to the Americans. 

She hoped Vision wouldn’t become just a bartering tool. The goal was to absolve Wakanda of whatever contrived conspiracies the foreigners accused them of but after she returned she would help fix him. Bucky had hope in her, and she would prove that hope well-placed.

“Do you trust my judgment?”

He frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Again with the answering questions with a question.”

“When they are ridiculous ones.”

She fluffed her dress, internally beaming when he followed the movement with his eyes. “Please…trust me on this. I can't divulge every detail and most details are of the scientific sort, but I need help from the Americans. Just one American. She is on our side and she won't compromise us.”

Namor’s face darkened. Her hope wilted; she would have to become a gamma ray expert within a few days without the help of any outside sources. She almost resigned herself to her fate when she heard him click his tongue.

“I cannot wager the safety of my people on the word of a wretched surface-dweller.” 

“Have you even spoken to these people?”

His face contorted into one of disgust. “The ocean will dry before that I ever do that.”

“I hate what they stand for, too. You're not the only victim here.” Shuri closed her eyes, mulling over her next words before she forced them out. “Making the flower will be next to impossible without her help.” It was a half-truth, but her father often reminded her that the most dangerous lies were truths slightly distorted. Silence stretched out between them. 

“One meeting a day,” he finally acquiesced, “ten minutes unsupervised, but a guard must remain in the area. Nothing more.”

Her eyes flew open as her feet lurched forward before her mind could stop them. She collided with him in a tight embrace. He looked flabbergasted for a blinking moment, then wound his arms tightly around her and sunk his face into her hair, holding her in this little space he shared with her.

Shuri asked the guards for four bowls of corn for lunch instead of whatever variation of kelp the Talokanil chefs had prepared. The Americans passed them around like they were bottles of beer, whooping and holding it up with reverent hands. 

“You spill my portion and I’m stealing yours,” Darcy sniped at Rick. The young man was too busy cheering with the others. “Anyway, you find a way to get me out of here?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Shuri beckoned her up and strolled towards the exit. The others watched with curious eyes and Val scrambled up to stand. “I’m taking Dr. Lewis right outside to have a private conversation with her. She will be back shortly.” 

There was a ripple of annoyance among the other occupants. Val looked like she was going to burst a vein. As the pair strode through the rock-slide door, Darcy watched the guards with a calculated look. 

“Have they told you much?” She led her towards the small lake, putting as much distance between them and the guards. One of them leveled a spear at them.

“No,” the American sighed. “We’ve seen a couple of them around, some of them know English and ask us if we need anything, but overall it’s so weird. An underwater city? Wasn't Atlantis a cartoon?”

“They're descents of a people who were hunted for a long time.”

Darcy nodded sagely. “I’d love to ask you more but guessing you’re running low on time.”

She peeled off enough of her watersuit to expose the pockets of her tracksuit. She fished the papers out, her back turned to the guards, and Darcy’s eyes widened to saucers when she explained the global manhunt former Avengers and Wakandans were leading to find the synthezoid.

Darcy quickly explained what she knew: Wanda’s domestic fantasy in Westview, a figment of Vision arising from it, and a combination of S.W.O.R.D technology and magic leading to a real Vision, who gained the memories of Wanda’s imagination of Vision. The two Visions were the same, but not, and White Vision was made more out of vibranium than the first one and only possessed traces of an infinity stone in his forehead. It was all very complicated and involved some references to 70s shows, but eventually Darcy arrived at her point when there were only three minutes left. 

The woman left her with enough instructions on broadcast frequency and tuning it to his energy signature, which Shuri had knowledge of, but she shook her head at the idea. “It won’t work down here. Signals don’t go through.”

“I’ve never had vibranium to work with, but I’m sure you can put together something.”

That something ended up burning her hand.

While Totl had been sent away on a mission to find wood for a polymer-wood composite that a 3D printer needed ("Vibranium does infinite things, but not everything." "What? That's impossible." "Vibranium doesn't do lots of things, Totl. Have you tried eating it?" "No..."), Shuri worked surreptitiously on a machine that could be attuned to the signatures on the papers. There were two: one a combination of vibranium and gamma rays, the same ones from her brain scan of the original Vision, and a weird red pulsing energy more for wizard types to deal with.

She didn't expect the Vision-finder to work on the first day, obviously, but she had at least expected it to start detecting something. Instead, one of the gears—sourced from the pile of submarine parts she had yet to fully sift through—couldn't hold the weight of the vibranium and the machine promptly melted in her hands, her watersuit with it. No water pierced through, though, sparing her lungs, and she suspected in air the incident could have been an explosion comparable to the first one, though it still caused the fibers of her suit to become gooey and burn the flesh beneath it. 

She left Totl a note, a stone with the word "break" carved into it (there were others the engineers used like "rest", "food", and "seaweed break") left near the sequencing machine, and rushed to the catacombs. Her trusty watersuit maintained its integrity but the second-degree burns littered across her right hand tested her patience. Less than the pain, it was the sign of incompetence that irritated her. You're doing science underwater, she assured herself. New conditions, unforeseen consequences.

One of the guards watched her step out of the watersuit with rising alarm and sent the other into the water before Shuri could protest. "K'uk'ulkan will be upset to see you like this."

"Which is why you didn't have to tell him. He has plenty other to focus on." She poked at one of the blisters.

As much as she wanted to see him, having less to explain was appealing. If Namor thought she wasn't the all-knowing genius scientist Okoye promised him, or that her work posed another danger to others, then the plan could be suspended. She didn't like failure. She also didn't want Namor to witness it.

The man flew out of the lake not five minutes later, making good use of his foot wings. His supple body arched into the air and landed to her right, tossing his staff aside to snatch her hand and interrupt her careful work with the Kimoyo beads.

"Be—ow!" She winced, "Panther or no, burns hurt.”

He observed her hand, flipping it over and back like it was a page of book. Then he leaned closer to blow on it. The cool air soothed the blisters.

“The Black Panther was bested by a machine? That belittles me."

She pointed to his cabin with her good hand. "I'm not the one who memorialized someone beating my ass by painting a mural of it for everyone to see."

"It is our history. Had anyone else had the luxury of making me yield, they would be memorialized as well, perhaps in less detail." He hummed. "Fen is on her way."

Shuri saddened at the mention of the woman. She hadn't seen the healer for days, and there was no reason to, now.

"Don't bother her. My Kimoyo beads are enough."

"I assumed you both were friends." He looked at her thoughtfully. She tugged her hand out of his and resumed healing it with a bead.

"Yes. I don't want to speak ill of her, only that I don't know what I did, and she has plenty to be angry for on the behalf of Juana as a healer."

The bead did its job, cooling the blisters and drying them at rapid speed, but she bit her lip and hesitated. It had been a few hours since he held her, right?

Decision made, she extended her hand again, jutting her chin out and averting her eyes. She heard the smirk in Namor's voice rather than saw it.

"It takes an injury to pull your mind from your technology." He placed her hand in his, gently this time, and curled his thumb around the edge. A chill rose up her spine as she felt him methodically make his way over her fingers and the back of her hand, sending occasional bursts of cool air over her skin. When he was done, he moved his thumb over her fingers to push them to curl into his. He stood, hauling her up with him and walked towards the cabin. He stopped only to retrieve his staff, Shuri careful to glance at anything but him.

When they were in her room, still joined at the hands, she finally looked at him. She didn't want to pull away but her arm was itching and she needed to change. "The guards are going to get weird ideas."

"What ideas?" he asked, deceptively casual.

She tugged her hand out of his for a second time that evening. A part of her moped at the immediate flow of air across her fingers. "Don't be coy."

When he didn't move, she sighed and left her tracksuit on before slipping into bed. Why aren't you leaving?, she wanted to ask him, but then he would either be forced to answer or leave. She didn't want either. An answer would require a response. Leaving would leave her.

So she watched him observe the different artifacts hanging on the walls around the room, touching some of them and muttering a prayer, and straightening the others. He looked lost in thought, almost ignorant to the fact that she was there and about to sleep, but he was no longer an enemy. They meditated in the mornings together, traded offhand anecdotes of their previous lives—Namor before her, her before the Snap—and he had come here, all this way, to see an injury that failed to reach her top ten list of most lethal attacks. He himself had stabbed her; he knew what a serious injury on her looked like.

He was not an enemy. If he was, then he was the sort that gave her what she needed even before she knew it herself. She had clawed his back. In return, he was beginning to claw into her heart and force a permanent resident for himself, this insufferable Feathered Serpent Water King God with silly foot wings and dark eyes who took on the name of the unloved.

"Thank you," she mumbled, cradling her hand as she fell asleep to his soft footsteps.

There was a tulip shell on her bed when she woke up, placed atop the pile of seaweed (said pile looked suspiciously shorter). She spent twenty minutes getting ready this time, leaving her curls out but pushing the sharp end of the shell into it.

Chapter Text

Six days until Western superpowers converged on her nation and Shuri moved like a woman blossoming in the soil of tentative hope. 

Namor watched her sleep, protecting her from the spirits that roamed until her breathing deepened into one of heavy sleep, and then hours later observed her saunter into the ancestors’ room, a silver and white tulip shell poking out of her hair, beads of jade strung across her shoulders and a small smile on her face. He strode to meet her before she could take her place at his side to lift a hand to her cheek.

Rebellion lingered in her eyes. His ears convulsed at the hitch of her breath and clenched jaw. A panther’s first instinct was to pounce as a fearless and solitary animal. They also purred and curled up to sleep when content, so when the smallest of whines left Shuri’s lips at him hovering over her, close but not quite falling into her just yet, he smiled the way his mother used to at him.

“Is this also your mother’s?” She breathed, lifting a hand to her hair. “I was worried it'd break in the watersuit.”

He caught her wrist midway, his eyes cascading over the shell. It was a small one—he was familiar with her people’s culture of intricate hairdos using braids and pearls in contrast to Talokan's preference for the weight of large, towering feathers. Yet he preferred this: to see her face fully unshadowed by unnecessary luxuries, only bathed in the golden glow of the room in front of the gods. 

“No. It was a shell of my own choosing.” He had found it buried deep in the sand some odd years ago when watching a sunrise on the summer solstice. “Would you prefer it to be hers?”

“Not if it reminds you of sad times.”

“On the contrary, Shuri,” he used her name with purpose: her throat would bob and her pupils would expand to the size of her irises, “very little makes a god sad these days.”

This was how it should have gone the first time—after she traded her life for that cursed scientist, before her mother tricked him and he was forced to break her heart.

The very hands grasping at him moments earlier shoved him away. She breathed heavily, noncommittally ensured the shell was still in place. Her blistered hand was tucked into her skirts. He wanted to check every expanse of her skin. How many wounds did she carry after he speared her? Did any of them compare to the pain he wrought on her?

A solitary finger stroked over her knuckles. Her hand unfurled like a blooming ych-kaan flower. Only faded bumps remained on her palms.

Her eyes squeezed shut and he saw the walls around her heart lift again.

“Can we make the prayers quick today? I have much to work on, as I’m sure you do.”

He barked, rather than chanted, his hymns that morning.

“The machine exploded?” Darcy held up a bowl of mashed shrimp, an offering from Shuri’s own breakfast. She sat criss-crossed on the grotto’s floor, making faces at the food but dipping her hands in it anyway. "Neat."

“It melted, actually.” Shuri lifted her hand to show her. “I reprogrammed the circuits but I can’t find the right materials down here.”

The two brainstormed as much as was possible in mere minutes. Darcy took the quill and parchment Shuri borrowed (read: stole) from Namor’s office and drew rough outlines with squiggly lines masquerading as legible. Then Shuri offered her a Kimoyo bead, and Darcy wasted a solid minute rolling it over in her hands like a child on Coronation Day. 

“Quickly,” she directed the American's attention to a screen with a picture of her first attempt at a Vision-finder. An American keyboard flickered beneath it. "Also, if you have ideas for how to get a 3D printer to work under water, that would be great. But this is a higher priority right now."

Darcy clicked her tongue. “What’s that in your hair?” She lifted a stray finger at her, eyes trained on the screen in a picturesque model of focus, but Shuri knew the woman well enough now to hear the eager curiosity in her voice.

“Oh, a gift.” She responded absently, thinking about how pleasantly surprised she was at the look. She enjoyed her undercut, but missed the long braids she and Nakia often played with. Wearing the shell made her feel less belligerent and almost...ladylike, as much as she hated the term and everything associated with it. Hating tradition didn't mean not appreciating the more aesthetic sides of it. “The women here decorate their hair with shells.”

Darcy hummed. “Did you know a seashell is—”

“—an animal exoskeleton.”

The two made eye contact and laughed. Darcy resumed typing, a smirk growing on her face. “They’re still romantic. Would you say you're one of them now, the ‘people here’?”

She thought warmly of Atzi, Totl, Zuma, Juana, and all of the others.

“I’m a friend.”

“No romantic prospects?”

She coughed. The woman pretending to be oblivious continued.

“Though, I don’t know how their genetics work, so sex and procreating might be incompatible, but still, some of the guards were kinda hot. Once you’re in academia it’s hard to find cute single dudes but there was this one dorky agent—”

A guard interrupted them before Shuri could pull out her panther claws. They were dormant for too long.

Namor joined her for lunch. Shuri had intended for it to be a short affair, the one dependable routine as the days whittled down to her last week here: return from the lab, pull off her helmet, gulp down a couple helpings of corn and fish, and jump into the whirlpool after giving her stomach a few minutes to digest. Another healing session with a Kimoyo bead faded the blisters on her hand into barely noticeable and painless bumps so the morning was spent repurposing the melted metals. While her watersuit took less than half an hour to repair, separating the wires and vibranium from the lump of metal proved an arduous task and the dawdling further delayed her start of Vision-finder 2.0. Her fingers itched to return.

The water-king evidently did not have enough on his hands or his job was simply to wait while she ran around in circles. Yet, for as sacred as it was to him and the Talokanil, he seldom mentioned the flower at all. The idea he had his guards report to him the updates crossed her mind but they wouldn’t have understood the mechanics of what exactly she was doing. 

Nakia’s words echoed in her mind again: that subtle seed doubt that once planted, lingering in her mind ever since. So a calm and gentle Namor that should have been welcome set her nerves on edge. Still, she shot him a playful look.

“Do you not have adoring subjects to serve?”

“Do you not count yourself among them?” He countered as he waved for the guards to leave (“I don’t need them if I’m with you,” she remembered. The words sounded more than an admission of practicality, in hindsight). He set down his staff and joined her, lounging atop a rock while she leaned against a stalagmite next to him.

She monitored him and his, ironically, presence on her body, despite the fire he set on her nerves and brain like he demanded every facet of her attention and nothing less.

“An adoring subject, no. A subject to serve, absolutely.”

He patted her hair, his fingers catching in the springy coils. She swatted them away, confirmed that the shell was still in place, and resumed dutifully to eating her corn without spilling it everywhere. Where had her princess manners gone? Some weeks in a cave and suddenly she was slobbering everywhere.

It was just him, she decided. Her limbs didn’t work right when he was around. They did as they pleased, digging her fingers into his back and touching him and letting his mouth —

She munched into a fresh strip of seaweed; there was only little variety by way of water snacks and her displeasure at seaweed was only outdone by her hatred of kelp.

“If not adoring, do explain the look that graces your face when I touch you.”

Shuri spun to look at him, eyes narrowed and hand hovering in the air. “Excuse me—”

Namor placed a hand under the crook of her elbow and lifted her onto him, her frame engulfed by his build as his hands settled in the dips above her hips. Her back collided with his front, his damp beard resting on her head and a thumb swiping over her lips.

She stiffened.

His slow, even breathing eventually loosened her muscles, lulling her into folding her body against him. There was something about the curve of his arms, at once a muscular curvature ruthless in battle yet embodied the grace of a nimble, feathered serpent, that cradled her body as though it was fragile. She was far from fragile; her claws could rip any Jabari warrior in half or send an average Asgardian warrior scuttling back into space. But her strength was precisely to protect the still-healing crevice of her chest, regrowing the heart she’d buried months ago.

The lake shimmered with the scattered reflected lights of the catacombs. There was a moving stillness. Each sway of a wave matched the inhale and exhale of the man holding her. He shifted so she could wrap her arms around her legs, pulling them up onto his lap and moving her head to rest against his chest. The gold and jade necklaces tickled her cheeks. Darcy's stray comment about physical compatibility echoed in her head.

“Your hand?”

“Completely healed.”

He reached for the shell in her hair. “If you wear this in your suit, it will break.”

She toyed with one of the embellishments of his neckpiece, food entirely forgotten. "Then you can gift me another one."

His hand curled around her shoulder, fingers weaving through one of the holes in her tracksuit. The touch of his fingers on her bare skin sent a shudder through her.

"You asked for no more clothes but this is unbecoming of a Princess."

"It's uncomfortable wearing a dress in the watersuit and no one sees it anyway."

He lowered his nose into her hair. She had taken to washing it with a bowl of water steeped overnight with the fragrant vines and flowers of her room.

"I am someone."

She bit her tongue. "It's not the same."

"How so?"

Those two words penetrated her skull with the force of a maglev training carrying vibranium. It was the flare of a blowtorch again, or a climbing wave turning into a tidal wave, and as the wave reached its peak, she climbed off his lap, his lingering caresses trailing after her. Her mind had been entirely her own since Killmonger taunted her for her want for this mutant, so now she had no one to blame but herself.

"Will our Princess be ready?"

It was at times like this that W'Kabi's solemn presence was sorely missed. Okoye turned to look at the King Regent, the gorilla man and bald-head hater.

"That is not even a question, my King."

Next to her, Nakia huffed for the umpteenth time.

Despite their adamant, confident faces, the women had not rested for days. The members of the King's council turned their gazes to the city's skyline, praying to Bast for their Princess to be safe. She had to be ready. She restored the heart-shaped herb; not finding the synthezoid was out of the question.

Or this would be the first fire to set the globe ablaze.

Shuri spent the day in deep thought, her hands moving in practiced movements to fuse wires together and rebuild a circuit board. The vortex of her insides were an entirely different matter. She felt Namor with every movement: when her fingertips grazed a corner of the sequencing machine, in her breaths warmed by the stuffy helmet, and his gaze in her Kimoyo beads.

How, she muttered to herself, how is he different from others? Not as a physical being, but to her. What did he offer that no one else in Wakanda could?

A lot, actually, her heart seemed to think.

She spent the first few hours that afternoon pointlessly fiddling after completing a circuit board. Another engineer sent word that Totl was sick, and remembering his frequent coughs from the day before and the spreading illness, she decided that half a day of delay wouldn't hurt. She sent one guard with equipment needed to draw his blood—Totl was familiar with the procedure now—and three hours later, was developing a rudimentary form of a vaccine that could slow down the spread of the illness.

For Talokan, she told herself.

Before dinner, Atzi entered after having shoved off half a dozen engineers indignant at her intrusion. She waved jovially to some of the men who finally relented at her dazzling smile and allowed her entry. The dutiful guards groaned and hovered outside the entrance as Atzi tumbled inside. Happy to be distracted, she threw her arms around the girl, spinning upwards in excited circles until they drifted against the sloped ceiling.

"Ma'ach in túukulkech, I miss you! How fares our favorite land-dweller?"

She pulled away, wrinkling her nose. "Land-dweller sounds like a pejorative. How are you? How's Juana?"

Atzi shifted her headpiece and threw out her arms to still her spinning. "I met her yesterday. Her condition is improving, and she was even showing off her improved aim. Captain Tozi estimates she can return to work in a couple weeks."

"I'm glad."

"You should come see her."

She hesitated. Even if Juana seemed to be at peace, ruffling her family's feathers (literally and figuratively) as though the past was a merely small mistake would be presumptuous. She told Atzi her concerns but the Talokanil shook her head.

"They don't hate you. You saved her life."

"After putting her at risk in the first place."

The prospect of a fellow passionate and woman engineer joining her had made her lose sight of the consequences of technology. Shuri knew it was was not completely her fault, for many accidents were simply that, but the utter ease with which it could have been avoided...prevented Juana from teetering on he brink of death, was a guilt she would live with for a long time.

"People make their own choices. She knew enough about science and unknown tinkering that part of her anticipated the consequences. Do you not feel the same when you work?" Atzi gestured to Shuri's hand. "I signed up for the guard way before we...our people battled, and even as an isolated kingdom we face so many threats, natural and man-made. If death were to greet me during my duties, I would greet it back knowing I chose it."

A lone tear pooled in the corner of her eye. She wasn't thinking any longer about Juana, but the entire string of names she repeated every night and woke up with it branded on her tongue.

"When did you become so wise, Atzi?"

The Talokanil grabbed her leg and swung her downwards. Mindful of her strength, Shuri kicked back playfully, taking care to avoid the delicate instruments below. "And how'd you know about my hand?"

"So, about that..." A mischievous gleam rose to Atzi's eyes. She clasped her hands together, a blush sweeping over her cheeks. Shuri swallowed, her gut sinking in anticipation. "There has been some, how can I say, interesting rumors reaching my ears in these last few days."

She returned to the floor, bouncing towards a row of tiny vials that contained test rounds of the vaccine. "Hyperactive rumor mills are another one of many cultural universals, and everything reaches your ears."

"Hmm." She felt Atzi drift behind her, peering over her shoulder curiously. "I heard K'uk'ulkan spends his mornings with you."

"We meditate together."

Praying with others wasn't an activity she grew up with; communal praises to Bast and holy festivals aside, Shuri preferred to square herself away in the humdrum of laboratory work or catching an extra hour of sleep instead of waking for prayers. Joining the water-king, on the other hand, was initially out of curiosity. In those precious moments, he was alone and in deep thought; more amiable to her requests, willing to answer questions, and chanting with an undercurrent of gentleness in his expression before it hardened when speaking of the day's work ahead.

As far as she knew, only she had been granted the honor of joining him, so Atzi's curiosity was not unwarranted. The Talokanil giggled. "You speak to the ancestors?"

She had an answer prepared for that too. "My time here has shown me I need more of a spiritual balance."

"Mhm. I suppose him dismissing Tayanna and Eztli during mealtimes is part of that?"

She lifted a vial with a fluid motion and added buffer to stabilize its pH levels. "We need to discuss sensitive political matters."

"Maria told Tayanna who told me that she escorted you to watch Tomas' wedding on K'uk'ulkan's orders."

"Cultural exchange is beneficial to an alliance."

"Paula said he left your chambers late into the evening twice. One time she walked in and it seemed like you were arguing—"

She spun around. "We didn't argue that night!"

Atzi's jaw dropped as she wheezed, the action acting as thrust and sending her propelling a pace backwards. A giddy laugh echoed in the lab.

"So he was there! It is true!"

"It's his room, technically."

"Correct, but—" Atzi's mousy face scrunched up and phased through a plethora of emotions before landing on unadulterated horror. "Does that imply—are you saying—he observed—" Her words dissolved into choking squeaks as Shuri slammed a fist into the counter. 

"Yes, but we didn't do anything."

The choking noises came to an abrupt stop. Distant coughs from her guards echoed from the outside. There was no possibility of a pin dropping in an underwater city to indicate the sort of silence that followed not just through her lab, but the entire dome, but she did drop a vial. It floated up and spun in front of her face almost mockingly while Atzi sucked in a sharp breath. The changing current of water pulled the vial, and Shuri's face along with it, who stretched out a numb hand to curl gloved fingers around it.

Atzi dropped her voice to a whisper. "Are you planning to stay here?"

She stuffed the vial back into the makeshift rack, heart stuck in her throat. "I'm sorry, Atzi, but I'm really busy," she shoved the rack at her without meeting her eyes.

The Talokanil flinched. "But—"

"Take this to Tozi. Tell her it's a substance that can slow down the illness but test it on a volunteer first. If there's no reaction in the next six hours, it should's safe for everyone who hasn't gotten ill yet to take."

"I would love to but right now we're busy finalizing our formation—"

She gently escorted her out of the room and waited for the guards to rejoin her before slamming the door shut. She curled up on her knees and let the water spiral for her. She allowed herself ten minutes to breathe, the air of the oxygen tank smelling muskier than ever, before returning to the Vision-finder.

"Five days," she imagined Nakia whisper.

The next morning, Shuri did not greet him in the ancestor's room, sending a guard to notify him and request to join her when he finished his morning prayers. He had robbed her of sleep entirely, occupied her every toss and turn in a way he had no right to. He had moved from her dreams to reality, and that shift made all of this—whatever this was, what she let go out of control—a dark reality she'd cocooned a bubble of warmth in.

Atzi's innocent words had punctured it. Shuri, as the Princess of Wakanda, was not here to stay. The idea was preposterous.

The talokanil unwittingly reminded her that she was here for a very specific purpose she intended to see to fruition by all means necessary. Thus, she sat in his chair in the office this morning, wearing a tracksuit and shell tucked into one pocket. From this angle, she couldn't see the mural of her forcing Namor's hand to yield or the painting directly behind her illustrating his blessed birth. The familiar sound of someone breaking through water and even footsteps emerged into the bane of her existence, the emblem of her wants. He almost stalked by the office completely and straight into his room, stopping only when he spotted her.

"Shuri." He greeted, taking her in. "You did not join me today. Did you sleep well?"

Look at him, acting like they were participants in the same routine, asking after her like a—

"Thank you for asking. I was busied with worry about my people."

He nodded approvingly. "The head of my guards informed me you provided an invention to aid our people."

"It doesn't kill, I assure you." She lifted her eyes to meet his, but the joke fell flat. The confusion on his face almost made her relent.

"I offer my people's gratitude."

She clenched and unclenched her jaw. "While I'm happy to help, these detours detract from the sole reason I am here. Why don't you ask about the flower?" 

He strode forward, setting his staff against the table. "Am I to waste my time with such trivialities?"

"Every day of delay is a delay in perfecting your sacred flower," she grit out. "Am I to believe you're not as concerned with the outcome as an agreement like this requires?" Circles, her brain was reminding her, you always go in circles with this man. Hot and cold. Land and water.

Even in the dim lights, she spotted the moment when her words took effect and the amber of his eyes morphed into inky pools.

"What are you implying, Princess?" 

Back to Princess, now? She rubbed her eyes. There was no anger in her words, only the numbness of one exhausted from mental exertion.

"I want to know if you're lying to me."

"I do not lie to my allies," he said coldly, appalled at the accusation. "Does Wakanda do me the same honor? Do you, when you begged me to trust you not two days ago?"

The papers and bead that she carried everywhere weighed down her pocket. "I don't beg. And I have not lied to you.” Her need for the American scientist's help in both projects was not a lie, and the idea of outright lying to him in a dishonorable, underhanded tactic made her sick to her core. 

She was not her brother, but her sympathy could not extend that far.

His lips curled. "When you first called me to you, you omitted that Wakanda was also under attack."

"Omitting is not the same thing as lying."

He waited for her to continue, tilting his head imperceptibly in acceptance of her reasoning. She took a shaky breath, Nakia's warnings now ringing in her head.

“I have...omitted other things to you. Recent developments. Can you believe me when I say it's for Wakanda?"

He leaned over the table, eyes glittering dangerously. She mirrored his movement, unwilling to fall to his commanding presence and attempts to daunt her. "Do those omittances compromise my people?"

She shut her eyes and shook her head.

"Answer me with words, woman."

"No. It's for their safety as well." Her eyes flew open to his face hovering inches away from her. "You didn’t answer my question about the flower."

"Do not tell me it is difficult for you to believe that I trust your skills enough to be assured you will complete the task ahead of you. You know more than others what failure entails."

She clenched her jaw. "But you’re omitting something, as I am?"

He smiled a predatory smile, brutish and dark. "As you are."

Fair. "Alright. I will trust you." The words had their intended effect; he exhaled audibly. "Then you will return me to Wakanda, and this will be over." 

I’m not staying here. You and I are nothing except allies by necessity. 

A lie.

"I see."

He advanced forward, his lips reaching her ears, and her heart continuing its thumping that hadn't seized since Atzi said those cursed words. He left a feather-light press on the skin below her black earring before pulling himself back, his body a coiled serpent poised to attack. "However, remember that I omit far less to myself than you do, Princess."

He uncurled his fingers under her jaw, and beyond any sense of control, a small whine left her parted lips.

He dived.

The first time, he kissed her after those beautiful syllables of his name fell from her lips in a string of pearls. The second, she’d demanded of him of it like he was a servant at her beck and call and kisses were an offer he had always available. This time, they met in the middle, as she sat on his seat, in his place as she should.

He parted her lips immediately, familiar enough with its shape but not familiar enough. Her nimble fingers moved to rest against his chest, his neck plate, then threaded through his beard, his jade earrings, his pointy ears.

He panted and shifted when she bit his lip, the table an enemy hindering him from fully engulfing her. It was a spit at the sacred, to do this here in front of the histories of his people, but he could imagine nothing more sacred than pulling her out of that damned suit and —

The very hands grasping at him stilled.

"What do you mean?" she whispered, but he was gone.

Midday found Shuri thoroughly ensconced in her lab, hacking at metals and reorienting Vision's brain scab for a third time so she could make something at least presentable for Darcy to evaluate. The woman's haphazard scribbles proved useful; her knowledge of basic witch magic helped her adjust the frequency to one that would recognize its lingering effects on White Vision. Part of the problem was that he was multi-faceted, composed of an amalgamation of vibranium, other metals, residues of the Mind Stone, and Chaos magic. One could not simply track him like a Wakandan princess did a slice of lamb.

Lamb. Bast, when this was all over, would she ban seafood for the rest of her life.

Her makeshift underwater welding tool melded two vibranium metals together. A stray spark jolted her right arm and sent her elbow into her hip. A small crunch dragged her from her calculations. She pressed her hands over her watersuit, realizing the shell was still in her pocket. Her fingers felt a jagged edge rather than smooth curves through her watersuit and she left the welding tool floating as she took a break to mourn the damaged gift.

Then it came to her, all at once—epiphanies that should have be earned after a life-changing, ocean-parting event, at the brink of war or threat of imminent death. But the tidal wave inside that crested yesterday began to drop, its edge curling over itself as it began to fall over her like this: in the unwieldy glow of a vibranium sun, thousands of feet underground in a hidden city after breaking a delicate shell offered to her in an omission.

First, that he watched her sleep, adorned her in the gifts of his people, and yielded to her over and over and over again.

Second, that she accepted those gifts, sought his arms, and let him hold her over and over and over again.

She staggered backwards, vision dotting with red. Dark eyes and pink lips and comfort and praying to the ancestors together in matching clothes and comfort—blasted comfort—and warmth and she'd forgotten everything, why she was here, too busy with the how of it all.

Third. You fell for the man who killed auntie. Gotta say, cuz, thought the world was cruel to me.

Chapter Text

Killmonger repaid his absence with a pounding force that threatened her skull to split. His words tipped the manic that lack of sleep and inadequate variety of human nutrition induced into a full-blown derangement. There was no denial or bargaining or even anger, only acknowledgement of her visceral need of the water-King, Feathered Serpent God and threat to all surface-dwellers.

The Black Panther could not keep herself from laughing sardonically and clutching at her head in a spasm, before her vision finally blackened to the sharp yelps of her guards.

“She is a strong human but she has overworked herself.”

“The strongest human,” Namor corrected. His subjects knew the matter of his defeat in great detail but he would not sully himself by suggesting anyone other than the Black Panther’s wily use of vibranium technology and spears could have forced him into submission. “She has ample time. There was no need for her to work like this.”

“Did you give her that impression?” Fen’s face contorted into something curious, an expression rarely found on the gentle woman. “Or perhaps her intellect was over-estimated.”

Namor remembered the drying trap and leveled a cool glare at Fen.

“Speak of her with respect, my child. I will not have Talokan known to Wakanda for treating their Princess as though she was a common servant.”

Fen turned her away from him, not entirely to impress the disrespect forcing him to look upon her back would but enough that he cursed under his breath. Had all of his cousins and their chosen spouses grown so comfortable with his favor? Namora’s increased vitriol this month implied as much. 

She worked quickly in his cabin. The guards had fetched for her immediately and moved Shuri's body back to air, but word only reached Namor after Fen’s absence at a meeting with Tozi. Shuri’s strange liquid had worked, with healthy members of households with sick families staying healthy. Tozi request that enough of it be produced to be administered to all healthy Talokanil, not only those in the outer sectors, had been interrupted by Totl, the young man Namor remembered worked with Shuri in Juana’s place. Tozi knew Namor long enough to know the ticks on his face he kept so carefully under control that she herself shooed the Feathered Serpent God away.

That, or from the glances the guards tried to sneak at him and the stifled mutters about the Princess they thought he couldn’t hear, Tozi had made her own conclusions.

“Your care is generous, K’uk’ulkan, for it to extend to her people. Chac be with you and us.” Fen lifted a vibranium-infused cloth to Shuri’s forehead.

The Princess was resting peacefully on the… bed he himself recovered on not too long ago from wounds she inflicted. The curves of her lovely face that he had memorized while she slept conflicted with the ones before him now: eyebrows scrunched in pain, teeth gnashing, her pale neck contorted with coils of tension. Sweat pooled in small beads across her face. One rolled over her jaw and into the crevice between her neck and clavicle. 

He tensed, the memory of his tongue hovering so close to that very spot flickering in his mind.

“You have also trusted her with a number of technologies,” the healer continued. “Improved rebreathers, healing our own by flaunting her beads, witchcraft to alleviate this sickness and your foot where I failed…” The bitter edge in her voice gave him pause.

“What bothers you today, Fen? We are benefitting from an ally that may never repay what is owed our people. The healers are suffering twofold. Do you degrade the gifts this woman’s ancestors gave her?”

Fen paused, her expression horrified. “I would never do such a thing. We are a generous people. But—” Her jaw snapped shut. She looked down at her hands, wringing them shyly. “No. My life for yours, K’uk’ulkan.”

He arched an eyebrow coolly. “See to it that she wakes before night is completely upon us.”

“Will you not stay?”

"No."

He wasn’t the sort of man to linger over someone’s weakness. Shuri would recover as she always did and had done before when he first laid her unconscious frame in these caves, and he did not see it fit for her to know he saw her like this. It was enough to simply reaffirm that she was alright and that the devotion his subjects showed him extended to her. 

He would protect her in her sleep again, soon, despite her tearing his heart again with flighty promises and reminders that she would leave in mere days.

Even when she hurt him. She gave him no choice. The shell he gave her laid chipped on her stack of clothes, sparkling in the light.

People loved their gods, worshiping and sacrificing for them. But they could not have loved them the way every fiber of Shuri's being imprinted on her, lifted her from chaos only to abandon her at one, singular, impossible conclusion.

When she was eight, a chill that only the Jabari were prepared for entered all of Wakanda and sent her running to T’Chaka’s arms. The man had chuckled while she complained and refused Queen Ramonda’s admonishments to wear a sweater.

(“Baba, the blankets will ruin this outfit.”

“Am I to fight the weather itself to alleviate you of this condition?”

“Yes! You are King!” 

A laugh. “How can I move the clouds themselves? I am human, my dear. Bast help the man your heart chooses one day, he will truly be something.”)

And so he was. Somewhere in the moments that sluggishly passed in this grotto, she went to sleep hating this man and woke up never wanting to leave him.

He killed my mother, she cried into oblivion. Her unconsciousness did not respond. He attacked my people.

Her mother greeted her the last time she almost became someone irrevocably consumed by zeal. Where was she now? Where was her mother, telling her to stop and remember who she was?

This was who she was: a coward seduced by the madness of gods, and she didn’t know whether to stop or accelerate it. Because this, at last, was proof her heart was not gone.

It seemed the more one knew the gods, the more they knew themselves. Shuri was more introspective than most, but she lived in her mind a different way than her father’s traditionalism, her mother’s spiritualism, or her brother’s nobility. Her connection to the gods was still fragmented and worsened by her impetus to move by action. This was why engaging her grief and finally burning her ceremonial clothes took longer than the others, why she preferred to work frantically than to give herself space and time to placate the murmurs of her heart. She knew facts and logics and calculation; they were dependable and unchanging. 

While Shuri could not fully explain whatever was happening to her, she would approach it the same way as building a machine. Collect facts. Gather input. Work. Arrive at a conclusion. It was with this — prayer — that she sat up, Killmonger’s last words sour on her tongue. Fen watched, horrified, as she ripped the blankets off her body and leapt up, panther instincts one step ahead of her. 

“You need to rest!”

“Where are the guards?” Her voice sounded hoarse and foreign to her ears. She moved methodically while numbers hovered over her Kimoyo beads. That's right, Princess. Do what needs to get done, Killmonger cheered.

"You are going somewhere in this condition?"

The day wasn't over yet. Shuri hadn't used her ten minutes to speak with Darcy today and she had no intention of wasting more time dawdling. She quickly made a secondary list as she shuffled over to her stack of clothes: Fix the black panther suit. Build the Vision-finder. Send coordinates. Build the printer. Print the flower. It would be a brutal few days, but it would be enough. Her eyes landed on the shell resting atop her tracksuit and resisted the urge to chuck it into the pond. The blasted object that started all of this, that set her heart racing and cheeks tingling.

”I need to visit the Americans. Guards!" 

Fen gripped her arm. "K'uk'ulkan is extremely concerned. He would not like you going there right now."

"I don't care what he thinks!" She snatched her arm from her clutches. Don't lie to yourself. Now that Killmonger was talking again, he wouldn't shut up. "Go away."

The healer flinched. Shuri was horrified at herself. It was like swallowing a handful of Jabari fur.

”Fen — that wasn't — that wasn't directed you. I just..."

"Understood, Princess." The Talokanil replied, and that distant look that Shuri saw more frequently in their recent interactions fell across her face. She couldn't place when things had shifted but it was before Juana's injury.

"Fen, I have a question."

"I am to serve you as K'uk'ulkan orders me." Her response was frustratingly robotic, one she recognized in herself whenever proceedings at the palace had been too overwhelming and she received one too many admonishments from her mother. It was the sort one used to be eerily distant, sugary sweet to give nothing away. 

"I don't want you to serve me. I want a friend." She stopped to note the impact of her words on Fen. The healer turned away. "Did I do something? I assure you, I mean no harm to you or your people."

The guards waited for Shuri to join them. She finished pulling her arms through the sleeves of her tracksuit, shell tucked beneath her beautiful dresses, when Fen answered.

"It is not what you did. It is who you are."

She smoothed down her top. "Which is?"

"A human who has distracted us and brought turmoil."

The accusation was laughable. She had known nothing but turmoil in her life. The happiness and comfort of her early years were tinged with the loss of her father, her Baba, and since then she was turmoil personified.

"The world is changing, Fen." She gestured at the ancient artifacts hanging around their room. "I regret what opening Wakanda to the world has done to your people, but I often wonder: even if we hadn't, human greed and the technology enabling it would have led them here at some point, regardless. We are not alone in the universe, did you know?" Nightmares of aliens falling through the forcefield, Wakanda's lands littered with their bodies, battling Thanos' army moments after resurrecting... "You told me you thought of me like your own. What changed?"

Fen's eyelids fluttered shut. "You began to distract our King. I did not see it earlier, and from what I hear these days, you are toying with him."

Her thoughts screeched to a halt. The guards shuffled out, though no doubt they still had their ears pointed towards the room. "Are you—" she sputtered, struggling to finish the sentence, "Are you accusing me of seducing him?" The words erupted from her as a shriek. 

The woman turned purple. "Not like that." She squeaked. "Perhaps. I am unsure."

"He watched me sleep! I did no such thing!"

The healer turned a darker purple. Her rebreather exploded into cough-induced bubbles. The Talokanil grabbed furiously at the contraption, tapping and shifting it around, but her coughing refused to subside.

Shuri looked at her Kimoyo-clock again. It was almost midnight. She needed to go down to the cave, now. "If you're going to fling ridiculous accusations at me, take them up with your Feathered Serpent King." It was petulant, but her walk out of the cabin sounded like stomps. She would have time to regret her words later, but now she fumed the entire journey to the prison-cave.

Darcy was slumbering on a heap of dried kelp when Shuri walked in. Some of the other hostages groaned while the Wakandan poked incessantly at the young woman until she dragged her feet out of the cave.

“It’s late, I’m sorry.” 

“What’s the emergency? Did you locate Vision? God with a hammer show up?” Even half asleep, Darcy squinted at her like she was a specimen in a lab.

"Actually," Shuri twisted her lips into a small frown, "It is god related."

"Okay." Darcy yawned and tumbled to the grimy floor of the grotto. 

"It's a private question, but I had a question about your friend, Dr. Foster. The one you mentioned was dating Thor."

"Jane? If you're asking about her book, don't. I only read the introduction because hey, astrophysicist, but the woman's a science genius, not a genius at writing. I dreamt about wormholes and worms for a solid month..." Darcy shifted to lean her head against a rock. 

Shuri squeezed her eyes. Collect facts, collect facts. "No, not her book. About her relationship with Thor."

"Hmmm, yeah. They collided like the rainbow sparkly bridge and then fell apart."

"How so?"

Darcy yawned, lifting a hand to rub her eyes. Instead, she rubbed her mouth and the red of her lipstick smeared across the right side of her face. "Are you asking me for godly dating advice in the middle of a night?"

"No."

"Oh, okay, well it sorta sounds like it. Is this the feathery god they all talk about? Please tell me he's not made of actual feathers."

She rolled her eyes. "How did Dr. Foster...manage with Thor?"

"She has cancer. Stage four." Darcy was fully awake now, presumably enticed by the lure of gossip, and touched her face gingerly. She grimaced when her fingers pulled away with the red of her lipstick.

"I’m sorry to hear that. A great loss for science and the world."

Most cancers were curable in Wakanda and seldom passed stage two or three, usually having been detected and treated before then. By stage four, it was only curable with a highly trained doctor, and Wakanda right now could not offer their treatments to the world yet. Perhaps one day.

"For science." Darcy grumbled. "That's all she thinks about; her whole life's work. I think Thor struggled to understand her sometimes. He's a god with over a thousand years worth of warrior knowledge, but he didn't see eye to eye with her all the time. Was always traveling and had to leave on a whim, and then she was going around to conferences and building something here on Earth."

Shuri said nothing.

"Look, you're not the first woman to have a problem with immortals. Even Wanda with Vision, the guy was a literal computer. Until he died. Twice. Point is, life's short, aliens exist, and you don't have time to mope over these things." 

"That's not what—"

"At the end of the day, Thor was over a thousand years old and fell in love with a brilliant scientist. It was inevitable. The guy's a hunk. It didn't work out but she never moped about it. She was content to love him from a distance."

She was about to ask what she initially came here to ask—how Jane stopped herself from following her god to the ends of the universe—but Darcy curled up and fell asleep on the dank grotto ground. The woman was a nightmare to carry back into the prison, not because of weight but because of the drool (the guards insisted on helping but Shuri didn't trust Darcy to not start mumbling about hot gods again), but she wondered if the American unwittingly answered a question she didn't know she had. Jane was one of the world's renown scientists. Yet, Thor was an Asgardian, a decent man and not a serpent, and he did not kill her mo—

He did not—

He—

It was inevitable. He was inevitable. She accepted it with a startlingly clarity.

The Black Panther suit was fixed that night, and by the time the vibranium sun rose, Shuri's suit glistened with new threads of vibranium reinforcing the dents and minor patches and no less than two upgrades. She didn't ponder on why it took so long to repair it when these fixes were ones she could make in her sleep with one arm tied behind her back, because she already knew the answer. In four days, she would shove it to the deepest crevices of her empty chest, but for now, she would carry out her duties with perfection.

She was no stranger to sacrifice. While Killmonger continued to rage at her nape, she adorned herself with beautiful jade jewelry and slipped into her white dress and asked the guards to escort her to the ancestors' room. Namor was not surprised. For a tranquil minute Shuri wondered, now that the tidal wave had crashed over, if he should be shining brighter in her eyes than anyone else, if her heart should be speeding up rapidly or if the lights themselves should disperse while she went to him like a water did a water-god. But nothing changed, because that had always been the case.

After they finished praying, he gave her a cordial nod, one an honorable King gave to his subjects, or stern father to his children, and she nodded in return. He didn't mention their quarrel.

She had never felt like such a girl before.

"Wait."

He waited.

"Spar with me." The suit solidified over her hardened body. 

"Now, in the room of my ancestors?" Namor's tone was disbelieving, but his feet already moved into offensive stance. The beads on his neck jingled. She made the first move, dragging him out the archway and slamming him against a rock formation. The guards cursed at her in their Mayan language and brandished their spears; only his deep assurances deterred them.

There, she thought, give me a reason to feel nothing but hate towards you.

He was faster this time, uninjured and unhindered by dry-trap tactics. This was Namor with raw power. His foot connected with her abdomen and she returned the favor with three attempts to elbow his face, only one of which landed. One leg extended to connect with his sturdy thigh, but it did little. He stumbled a mere foot backwards and swung into a backflip. Sharp swipes through the air later, she was on her back, heaving and feeling as though the wind had been sucked out of the cave. Was it the adrenaline of finally having her yield to him? Was what she felt—what he made her feel—a grotesque sort of revenge for the humiliation of yielding she unleashed on him?

"We train our soldiers to be equally strong as the vibranium in their weapons." There was no aid from him in getting up, as she expected and wanted. That would've meant she yielded, and she would never yield: not to her secret, and never to this man-god mutant before her.

"As do we," she huffed and brushed herself off. Her legs ached. "I didn't grow up thinking I would be Wakanda's protector, so I wasn't trained as the others were."

"But you recreated the power of the Black Panther, for what if not to be strong?"

He's got you there. Remember what I told you, cuz.

"I am weaker than my brother was," she accepted, "but I will never yield."

He hummed to himself and left.

She spent her afternoon with Totl, apologizing for disappearing but spending hours to train him in advanced electricity as they worked. Before dinner, a working (and decidedly non-melting) prototype of a Vision-finder was completed, and she captured enough schematics in her Kimoyo beads to run by Darcy. The meeting with her this time was much more in character for the both of them, though she wasted no time in not-so-subtle references to their delirious conversation. "Bring me a pillow next time you wake me up to do girl talk" and "please tell me who this hunk is, is his hair at least better than Thor's?" were her favorite talking about.

By the end of the day, Shuri returned to her room so exhausted that she collapsed in her tracksuit. 

Yes, his hair is prettier and glossier.

The next day, she wasted two minutes observing the ominous countdown she set. Three days. She dressed for her morning meditation, practiced a few punches in the air, and left for the ancestors' room confident she would beat him this time. Instead, when she called him to wait again and they brawled, he had her underneath him in even less time. Though he didn't command her to yield, he made a comment she ranked as almost as terrible.

"You are holding back.”

"I am not," she declared, huffing between every word.

Namor combed his hair with a bruised hand, his eyes never leaving her heaving body. "You win with tactical brilliance, not strength alone. Training your muscles and body to move at will is as much a matter of spiritual discipline as it is a physical one; another reason we meditate. I have had almost five centuries of training in addition to countless enemies."

"Braggart. I beat you when it mattered most. Don't forget that." It was cheating and underhanded to do after he technically won, but she severed a stalagmite of two feet and hurled it at him. No severe damage was wrought, but at least he flinched and groaned, presumably remembering the destruction a pillow impressed on his stomach.

"My people and I see it every day on my walls, Princess. I do not forget, but you fought me with hate that time."

"I don't hate you anymore."

His mouth parted and voice lowered. "Then whatever you feel now, you are holding that back."

She held his gaze, confident that she had tucked away her secret so deep he would never find it, even in her eyes. "I simply don't wish to clip your wings again."

He picked up his staff and jumped into the lake, bobbing only to offer a curt nod. "Physical battle is not the only way to hurt."

She pondered him and his words again, as she too often did, and retracted her panther suit.

Later that morning, she worked to fine-tuned the Vision-finder with Darcy's feedback, and resumed pacing when she thought about the 3D printer. With the heart-shaped herb, it had been so easy (in hindsight): master robotics, solve the DNA problem, launch some code through Griot, and watch as a purple herb emerged in the middle of her lab. Here, she did not have the raw materials necessary to use as printing material to begin with even if she managed to build a printer.

Looking at the old vials of her rudimentary vaccine, she wondered if the approach in a Talokanil culture required something more biological. All this time, she'd been working with biology after all: Juana's arm, the vaccine, even the planning for genetic analysis and bloodwork. Talokanil rode whales instead of boats; used vibranium-enriched organic material instead of pure vibranium even though they had plenty to work with. 

"Totl, stay here and take a seaweed break." She ordered. Her guards sent her disapproving looks as she bartered with them to let her go to the ancestors' room, and when they didn't budge, she relented and asked for Namor. He won't come, she thought but he did. The other engineers gasped and gestured at him, and he took the time to ask after them and their families before approaching her. The somber gentleness with which he treated each of his subjects, like they were his own family, stayed with her as he escorted her to the garden in the room.

"Thank you. I know you must be busy."

He stiffened. "Yes, but no need for your thanks." When he didn't turn to leave, she crouched near the garden, eyeing the different variety of flora. Griot's database could only identify about half of them. The others were extremely rare or undiscovered by humans on land. She palmed the stem of a pale yellow plant.

"Don't these need to be in water?"

"These ones can survive in air," he explained from behind her, "There are flowers that my gatherers found that can only exist underwater."

Shuri stood up. "Where are they? I'm thinking to preform gene editing on a cell of an existing plant with as many of the genes I attribute to the effects of the blue flower, and regrow it in vibranium-rich soil. You don't have to escort me there; I can go with my guards." 

He waved her guards away. "They are in the palace, near my private quarters."

Considering she had been sleeping in his cabin for the better part of a month, the mention of his private spaces should not have sent her brain teetering from its precarious path she'd set it on the morning prior. But it did, and she pulled at the collar of her tracksuit as she bounded for her watersuit. She couldn't very well send him away to leave her snooping so close to his workplace. His worksplace, where he greeted Talokanil with their grievances, where he slept. She was overcome with a sudden urge to embrace him again but promptly dismissed it.

The return to the capital city was longer than the trek up to the ancestors' room. Distrustful gazes still watched her, but they were subtler in his presence. Most paused in their work or play to open the palms of their hands as he tunneled by. Eventually, they reached the palace, where he led her through the same entrance used to enter the watch room for his cousin's wedding. This time, the halls were teeming with warriors and guards armed to the teeth (literally). Clusters of them scattered to let the pair through, mutters and curious glances rippling through the crowds. They plummeted towards another hall that opened out to a wide room, revealing rows and rows of Talokanil swimming in intricate formations underneath them. She recognized Tozi leading them in a set of sharp movements and wanted to stop to convey her gratitude for defending her in front of Namor's council, but the mutant was already disappearing through another set of open archways.

Namora swam into view and stopped them in their tracks. She leveled a distrustful gaze at Namor.

"K'uk'ulkan. You bring her here?"

"My cousin," he intoned patiently. Namora's extravagant feathered hat bobbed angrily. "It concerns our flower."

The Talokanil scarcely looked Shuri in the eye the few times they had the displeasure of meeting. Shei wasn't sure if it was her status as a warrior or general personality. Still, diplomacy demanded decency, and she was a beast of a warrior who could prove useful if the Western powers arrived unexpectedly strong, so Shuri shot her a wiry smile. 

"I extend my gratitude to the Talokanil for hosting me." She stamped down the annoyance remembering her and Attuma's attempt to kick her out after the explosion. "Your king is generously helping to restore the sacred plant."

Namor glanced at her strangely but Namora scowled and ignored her. "We need you today, cousin. We do not have much time left."

Namor touched his forehead to hers and muttered something under his breath before motioning to Shuri to continue following him. What was that about, she wanted to ask, but the words fizzled from her tongue when they entered another pyramid-shaped room teeming with greenery. Vines and plants and leaves twirled down from the ceiling, tangled against the walls, and sprouted from every free inch of space across the floor. Griot recognized none of them. She sighed, resigned to spending the rest of her afternoon to mastering marine biology.

"There are many others around so you may work without your guards today. I will be further down this route should you require anything."

She nodded as he exited, knowing she couldn't, wouldn't, ask him for anything more. She was preparing for a life without him. I don’t require anything, she should have said.

I want everything from you, she wanted to say.

Hours of perusing through the plants delivered hopeful results. She worked through the crowded room, narrowing the options down to analyze only those plants that resembled the six-to-seven leaf plants in the murals in Namor's office. That left about a dozen options, and at the end she chose a small green plant to gather sample cells from. Griot was at 72% completion of its genetic analysis when Atzi drifted inside the—garden? greenhouse?—and shot her an apologetic smile.

"I thought I saw you swim by earlier."

"Atzi," Shuri started at the same time the Talokanil bowed.

"I'm sorry." 

"For what?"

Atzi scratched the back of her head. She must have been training because she was wore stiff fibered cloth and thick armbands.

"I thought over our conversation when I visited you. I may have teased you too much on what is a serious matter. I'm unsure what exactly I said, but it insulted you, and for that I'm sorry."

"Atzi." Shuri swam to her and lifted her arms in an awkward hug amidst poking leaves and a vine dangling over their heads. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry I rushed out. You made me realize that I was leaving soon and that I was getting too distracted. I needed to focus." She gestured to the room. "I think I've figured it out."

Atzi exhaled audibly. "I can't believe it."

"Neither did I with our herb until I punched the daylights out of a warrior's suit."

"What does it feel like to taste it?" Atzi extended her fingers to touch the vine above them. "The effects of huacalxochitl were passed down to us through our blood, and it will continue through our children. Only our ancestors knew what it felt like to take it for the first time and transform."

She thought about it for a minute. It was indescribable: the heightened sensitivity, the ability to carry out vengeance fully because not only did she have rage, once, but power surging through her veins that enabled her to see it through.

"Dangerous," she answered finally. 

Atzi's small nose scrunched up. "That sounds...sinister. Then why restore it for us?"

"It was dangerous for me, but not anymore. Besides, you all already have gills so not sure what else it will do. Turn you into a whale?" 

The Talokanil paused in the roll of her eyes and began to giggle. "Whales! Fantastic idea! I'll find Zuma."

A sense of foreboding came over Shuri.

Namor was alerted to a missing military whale thirty minutes later but by then it was too late and Tozi struggled to stifle a laugh under her decorated Captain's headpiece. 

"We have two days and Ayau holds three dozen of our water bombs. What possibly amuses you at this hour?" he chastised.

Tozi pointed at the floating bag of water bombs below them, and then up at a window. A whale zipped past with three figures holding onto its fin, screaming for dear life.

"Atzi, Atzi, don't hit anyone—"

"You cannot leave without doing this at least once!"

"The Princess is right, and Tozi said—"

Atzi cackled and pushed her right heel under the whale's pectoral fin. It, named Ayau because of course Talokanil named their transport mammals like other humans named their cars and ships, lurched and made a hard left, sending them tumbling straight through a large cylinder of a marketplace. Shapes blurred past Shuri as she reexplored Talokan and relearned its faces from new angles. Her helmet bumped against Ayau's firm flesh. She tried to limit her hollering. It wasn't out of fear but the natural reaction one felt on rollercoasters or when escaping American feds on a motorcycle.

Despite herself, Shuri smiled at the memory.

A shadowed figure leapt onto the head of the whale. Ayau squirmed and slid to a stop, sending her, Zuma, and Atzi tumbling across the fishnets. Another figure joined the shadow. When she slowed, Shuri recognized Namor by his staff before his face solidified into view. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. 

"You said fifteen minutes!" Atzi whined, crawling towards the front and kneeling into a reverent hand gesture in front of Namor.

Tozi frowned. "It has been twenty." She shifted her eyes towards Shuri. "Was that to your satisfaction?"

Shuri broke out into a wide grin. "That was fantastic," she said, voice full of awe. Tozi was startlingly similar to Okoye, in both mannerisms and enablement of shenanigans despite verbal protests otherwise. "But please don't let Atzi be a pilot, or whatever you call the person navigating the whales."

Tozi coughed while Atzi spluttered. Shuri looked at Namor, his face difficult to discern. 

"Are you not busy with work?" he asked, finally. Shuri was thankful for the helmet and watery distance between them. 

"I have made good progress."

"I see."

Atzi nodded vigorously next to her. "I saw her working. She's almost done it."

"Wonderful," He stated flatly, and leapt upwards. The flurry of his feet wings left a mini tidepool. Tozi's eyes trained on spot he'd left with a discerning look before turning towards Shuri.

Tozi and Okoye had similar knowing looks, it seemed. Shuri tilted her head and sent her a small smile while the Talokanil wrangled the whale back towards the palace. Zuma, ever-reticent and introverted, excused herself after bidding Shuri a polite goodbye, but Atzi watched her with an unnerving quiet.

Atzi followed her all the way to her lab, and it was Shuri who broke the silence.

"What happened, did the whale take the words out of you?"

Shuri felt her watch closely as she opened Griot's analyses and pulled out a vial of the plant's cells, hoping the whale-driving hadn't centrifuged them into mush. Atzi shooed Totl out of the lab before clearing her throat.

"K'uk'ulklan doesn't want you to leave."

Careful not to react the same way as she had done previously, she turned to busy her hands with the movements of a scientist: adding gene splicing enzymes, grasping a needle with nimble but shaky fingers, and sprinkling soil she'd collected from the palace plant room over a Petri dish. She could answer Atzi in three ways: by saying nothing, by joking, or by opening up her heart.

The last one was out of the question. Joking would make it seem like her and Namor were pals instead of ideological opponents allied to fight a bigger enemy, and saying nothing would be, in fact, saying something. Fortunately, but unfortunately, Atzi's Bast-damned nosiness made her continue.

“Even when I was your guard, though I didn't recognize it at the time, having never courted myself…he does not treat you with the favor of a princess, but the favor of a man. I saw you wearing a Talokanil bracelet too."

Shuri kept her back straight. She had learned, over the weeks, that turning one's back was a clear signal of rudeness in Talokan akin to a curse. But Atzi knew she was very human, a human who was busy trying to finish her last mission so that she could go home.

"Do you favor him?" Atzi squeaked. "Or am I overly prying?"

She exhaled through her mouth. "Yes." The need to run back to Namor was clawing up her spine, raw and demanding to be heard, demanding to be yielded to. She would not let it win. "To your — overly prying question. Not—favoring—Atzi, I need to finish this today. This is not a game for me. My people may be going to war."

The stark reminder cut through the bubbly fun of earlier. It dawned on her, as she hoped it would dawn on her friend, that these days would be cherished memories but would remain just that: a small blip in time, meager in the grand scheme of things, ideally. That every preparation she and they and Wakanda made now would never be needed. Yet, as her father often said, "A wise King never seeks out war but he must always be ready for it." That was what she was trying to do here, in both the wars of the world and in the turbulence of her chest.

"My apologies, Princess," Atzi said, her serious tone giving way to something more distant and professional. "You are right, of course. Thank you for your company today!"

Shuri looked over her shoulder and nodded. "Thank you. I had a lot of fun today and I hope to see you again before I leave."

"You will. We'll be coming to Wakanda."

She slowed her movements in clipping the Petri dish to a hook to stabilize it. Admittedly, she had given little thought to the exact mechanics of Namor's agreement with Okoye and Ross on the Talokanil side. Whether him and a delegation would join them in Wakanda for an official meeting, or if he would simply give them the go ahead to reveal Talokan to the Americans in return for the prisoners, was more under King M'Baku's purview than herself. And she had been distracted. So, so distracted.

"What do you mean by 'we'?"

"Our entire army." Atzi answered.

"The whole army?" All of it? Were they looking to start a war?

Her stomach dropped. It was Namor. Of course he was, of course he wasn't—but if it was the threat of war plaguing the only nation standing between Talokan...

Omission, omissions, damn omissions.

She thought fast. It could be that he meant to only intimidate. Or to be prepared for the worst case scenario, if White Vision wasn't found in time and America decided they had enough and launched a full-scale war. But Namor didn't know about Vision. All he knew was Wakanda was being intimidated by the West with a threat of attack, and he would confess to attacking both expeditions in return for Shuri's help and Wakanda's continued promise of protection.

If there truly was war ahead, as Nakia warned, then while the help of Talokanil would be crucial, was Namor taking advantage to...to...

Wage war on the surface world. Burn the world down, together.

Atzi's eyebrows knit together. "There's an army-wide debrief tomorrow. You didn't know?"

"No," Shuri muttered. He omitted that part.

She stared at the beginnings of a flower growing in the Petri dish. The vibranium soil cast a glow in the room. The powers it could grant, one could only imagine. Killmonger, of course, had done plenty of imagining. His flair. Shit, I'd marry him myself, take two thrones, raze the colonizers to the ground.

Shuri stopped by the American prison for what was hopefully the last time. She showed Darcy her fixes, and the woman made some adjusted calculations specifically attuned for White Vision's encasing of Chaos magic.

"I think you're good to go. His smell will still be detected even if he's hiding in another hex."

"What if he's on another planet?"

"Eh, I haven't tried it, but if you're saying there's only one Vision-like mind out there, then yeah, hopefully."

She wanted to scream. She knew White Vision's mind, yes, but there was so much about AI that was unknown. His mind could have changed. He could have split into four different children synthezoids and occupied an island, or turned into scrap for another Ultron. 

She forced herself to take a deep breath and trust in her, and Darcy's, skills. "Okay. I'll run preliminary checks and have it started in the morning."

"Good luck," Darcy whispered.

Today and tomorrow was all that was left. Shuri woke before the equivalent of surface-dwelling dawn, put on her trusty, raggedy tracksuit, and travelled to her lab with guards hot on her heels. A bright blue glow emanated from her lab. Her eyes landed on the flower even before she entered; tendrils of woven vibranium glowed through its six leaves. A pulsing blue bulb in the middle shocked her, and the Talokanil behind her, into a quiet stillness. The leaves swayed with the currents of the water. 

The guards fell into a reverent pose, hands open and looking up at the plant sitting on her lab table. She felt a sense of déjà vu while lifting it from the petri dish and scanning a Kimoyo bead over it. Griot read out a series of numbers while she set it carefully aside and turned to the Vision-finder. Its simple appearance bellied the complex wiring and vibranium nerves inside. Nerves, she termed it, because it was like building a brain, connecting every thread of vibranium together like a nerve to a synapse. 

She turned it on.

Chapter Text

Bucky and Sam returned to Wakanda for the second time that month. This time, the Dora were less suspicious of Bucky although Ayo never failed to shoot him a glare and mutter about Zemo. Considering a war was brewing at the country's borders, Bucky knew he was more welcome than most at the moment. Sam, for his part, adjusted swimmingly among his African brethren. The Wakandans initially held him in distaste but the man's good-natured jokes became an appreciated source of humor ("There are not many options, and I prefer his jokes over our King's." "Okoye, just because he called you a bald-headed demon—" "Ayo, never bring those filthy words up again, and stop laughing Nakia.").

While Sam tried to impress some of the elders in the throne room, Bucky pulled the spy aside. He had gotten to know her better during their days in Sokovia and her input was invaluable.

"Any word from Princess Shuri?"

Nakia shook her head. "No. She knows to send us a message when it's ready."

"We don't have much time. This isn't like a surprise counterattack on the outreach centers. We have to counter every single coordinated attack. They're launching a power grab."

"Ross gave us the full picture, in detail. They will give us until tomorrow, knowing we confirmed their citizens are alive, but we are weak after multiple transitions of power." Nakia rubbed her eyes. "We must do what we can and hope she is ready."

Bucky offered a quick nod. "She will be." 

"Hey Buck, where's the Dora who origami'd your arm off? I'd like to get a lesson from her."

"Sam, I swear to you I will skin you like a turkey."

While the Vision-finder whirred with noise of its microprocessor executing four million instructions a second, Shuri started to clean her lab before planning to return to her room and change her clothes. Namor would start his prayers soon, and she would join him and indulge her wants for one last time. Then Griot would announce a successful result, and if White Vision was somewhere on this planet, she'd send the vibranium fly up to the waters and pray to Bast another war would never come to be. 

"We cannot leave our flower alone." One of her guards, Tayanna, stopped her. 

"I need to leave." Shuri protested. The two shook their heads. "Fine, one of you can come with me and the other can stand guard."

They muttered in annoyance but obeyed. She returned to her cabin, moving quickly but wanting to memorize the way the glowworms cast light across her hands and arms, the deep mysterious pockets of the catacombs, and the carvings in her room—his room. Her weeks here dwindled into hours so quickly. A pang stabbed her gut. 

The seashell was still tucked under her clothes. She could not look at it or touch it. She slipped into her white gown and cupped water out of the lake to massage into her hair. Her undercut had grown out substantially and almost blended in with the rest of her hair. 

With a placid expression, she swam down to the ancestors' cave and entered the room. For the first time, Namor asked her, "Did you restore the huacalxochitl?"

She smiled wistfully and nodded. He turned to Yopaat's looming visage with a blank face.

"You will be a god to my people, Shuri."

Her eyes closed. His scent mingled with the aroma of the garden, and she wished for time to stop and let her taste joy, after so, so long. Bast was not kind to her because time rushed away from her and Namor began chanting. When he finished, he placed a hand over Yopaat's stony cheek. Shuri sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. 

"Are you lying to me?"

His hand stilled. "No."

"But you're not telling me something."

"Many things." He tilted his head down at her. She wanted to duck under his arm and block him from his god and force his attention on her. "Are you still lying to yourself?"

"I did, once, and almost killed you."

He stifled a laugh and lifted his hand away, eyes glittering with mirth. He picked a stray thread off of his cloak and Shuri recognized the motion as one in preparation to spar. She mirrored his movements and flicked her Kimoyo beads to send the vibranium of her suit threading over her shoulders, around her legs, arms, and hands. She kept her face uncovered and pounced. He grabbed her ankle and flung her outside the room, then leapt into an arch to punch her down. She rolled away moments before his hands made contact with the ground. A cobweb of cracks in the ground extended from under his knuckles. 

He rolled his neck, preparing to strike again. She swung around a stalagmite and launched her body at his back. Her legs wrapped around his shoulders as they tumbled to the ground. The impact broke her form enough for him to shrug her off and maneuver her into a chokehold. 

"Yield," he commanded.

Her vision blurred. "Never." Her claws lengthened and she swiped at his arms. The cuts weren't deep but enough to make him flinch. She skittered away from him.

He stood up, huffing. "I won."

"I didn't yield."

"You cheated. You are holding back, still."

She dissolved the panther suit and looked away from him. "I'm not lying to myself."

A pause. The hairs on her neck stood up. She felt him move closer until his footsteps were next to her, behind her, and his arms came into view, meeting at her middle. She leaned backward and he pressed forward. Shuri's sole guard shuffled out of her vision and as far into the cavern as possible to give them privacy, as if they were something.

"You didn't tell me you're bringing your entire army."

His arms loosened and the warmth left. He still hovered behind her and spoke in a low voice.

"Had I wanted it secret, it would not have reached your ears so easily." He was right, in a way. She thought about Atzi's passing comments days before about formations and the increased army presence in the palace. She should have recognized something was not right, but she was busy — too busy with her heart. 

"You omitted it enough that I only found out yesterday. Do you still wish to burn down the world?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in his answer.

She swiveled around but the way he stared at her made her pause. She wanted to scream and tear into his lungs about becoming a man who refused to see war for what it was and was so consumed by vengeance that it destroyed the very thing he sought to protect.

"This is madness!" She shouted. "Did you learn nothing—"

He took a step closer, his cloak brushing against the beads of her dress. "But I will not burn down the world, so long as you are in it." The palpitations in her heart rose to a chorus. He lifted a hand to her chin, swiping a thumb over her mouth. "I only affirm that I wish to, but Wakanda and you made very clear the world we live in today and what I must do to protect my people."

She stopped his movements by grasping his arm right above a golden band. Her lips parted in surprise.

"Then what are you planning? 'A wise king never seeks out war, but he must always be ready for it'. Is that what you're doing? We might be facing enemies tomorrow, but let me advise you as your ally: showing up to Wakanda with your entire army is not simply preparing; it's asking for full-fledged war."

The Feathered Serpent God chuckled, lifting his fingertips to swipe over the thin scars she left on his arm. "A month ago, you would have attempted to stab me thrice by now."

Shuri flinched. He was coming dangerously close to a secret no one should ever know.

"I'll be happy to stab you if you don't give me an answer," she replied coolly. He scratched his chin. 

"Tomorrow, Princess. Bring the flower to me tomorrow and we will escort you and the Americans to Wakanda, per our agreement."

"You are a madman, Namor," she hissed. His nostrils flared as he waded into the lake.

"That disgusting name and language should never leave your lips. And I am a king who protects his people."

You are a Princess who ran away.

The Vision-finder was still scanning. Shuri tried not to hover around it but swim-pacing would not help. She could not afford a single mistake. Western superpowers would be on Wakanda's borders tomorrow, and everything, nearly everything, depended on a box the size of her hand. It would have been funny in a macabre way if it were not her people at stake. 

The day was far from over. Lunch crawled by at a shrimp's pace, and by mid-afternoon, the Vision-finder's beeping drove her delirious. She sent a guard to find Namor, fully prepared to show him the flower and speak to him now. Tayanna returned after ten minutes and shook her head.

"He's about to lead a meeting. It will be some time before he is available. He will come to you."

Shuri remembered Atzi's words about the debrief and internally groaned. Resolved, she folded the blue flower carefully into a small pouch borrowed from Totl and attempted to leave the dome. Again, Tayanna shook her head. She pursed her lips, annoyed at her restricted movement, but an idea struck her.

"Alright." She nodded at Tayanna and the nameless guard. "I'll head back to my room."

She tied the pouch around her waist and held it closely the entire way back to ensure enough water remained in it to submerge the flower, unsure what damage air could unleash on it. She put on an admittedly extravagant display of exhaustion and bid her guards farewell before she slipped into her room still wearing her watersuit. With luck, they would assume she was too tired to remove it where she usually did outside the cabin.

She looked over at the lake in her room and the smaller whirlpool that she had yet to use: Namor's private means of travel she'd unintentionally seized from him due to her ongoing rivalry with hammocks. Praying to Bast no one was on the other end—and she wasn't sure if running into the water-king himself or one of the Talokanil was preferable—she jumped. 

The route was longer than the main one, likely going to the palace directly. She watched the outskirts of the city, and then the city center itself, pass by through the gaps in rock. Soon, the tide flushed her out into the open. She continued to soar until the whirlpool deposited her onto the red brick roof of one of the pyramid watchtowers. 

It was empty. No, wait. A Talokanil with a shield rounded the corner. She ducked into an opening that carried her down into the lattice maze under the vibranium sun. The emptiness contrasted with the days prior. A rumbling coming from deeper in the palace confirmed her guess that the meeting already started. 

The loud noises grew louder, but the maze was indecipherable. She took one route in the direction of the sound but it wound around and spiraled upwards until she was back to where she started. Flustered, she chose a hall at whim and it took her down and turned right twice, and finally she emerged in one corner of the second floor of the throne room behind a surging crowd. She was unable to spot Namor through the throng of people but identified the edges of his shark-jaw throne through the dimly lit water. 

"Líik’ik Talokan!" The sound of a staff pounding the floor echoed throughout the room. Everyone followed, raising open palms. Namor's voice didn't need the help of acoustic wall structures and deep carvings to echo and pierce every ear in the room. "My children. Tomorrow, we leave for Wakanda." 

A sickening panic twisted in Shuri's gut.

"The Princess of Wakanda has restored to us Chac's favor. The huacalxochitl has been returned to us, and that is a sign that so will we, to the world."

Murmurs undulated among the crowd. Clusters of Talokanil whooped and chanted.

"The Americans have bothered our allies for too long. Not only do they hold them responsible for our great feats, but the surface world has shown us once again that it cannot be trusted with vibranium. As technology evolves, the more we will face such threats and attempts to mine our resources. Even if we and Wakanda protect our secrets, we will never be free. How long will we be made to hide while they never learn? Stopping their first mining expedition did not work. Stopping their second has not deterred them yet either."

She exhaled a breath and her helmet fogged. Her world spun and something was beeping and the water was getting lighter. 

"The world is angry at Wakanda and the time has come that they need us. Tomorrow, we will fight our enemies. We will show them that if they ever place another ship in this ocean, or send a plane to Wakanda, we will spare none of them. There will be none left to mine our vibranium."

His final words were a thunderclap. Shuri took a deep breath, then another. It was not burning down the world, but he was—they were— 

Griot was saying something. She couldn't make out his words because the room flashed white like lightening. The thunder that followed was an alabaster metallic figure dropping from the waters above. A cloak of pure, raw vibranium fluttered behind him.

Her Vision-finder had worked a little too well.

"Where is Princess Shuri of Wakanda?" White Vision announced, his speech modulated and unnatural. The spaces between his words were too even and there was no tonal fluctuation to his sentences. That was all Shuri could fathom before everything descended into chaos.

Attuma attacked first. Most of the crowd below and above dispersed, scattering out of formation as thin white beams exited the robot's eyes and cleaved a pillar in half by the time she wrestled through the rushing crowd. She tumbled over the railing, using it to propel her downwards. Namor shot out of the jaw throne just as Attuma's spear made contact with the intruder's arm and fragmented into pieces. This was vibranium meeting vibranium: a synthezoid, not Wakandan nor Talokan, who was not simply covered with vibranium, but made of it.

"Stop!" She cried. Another pair of laser beams burned a Talokanil's hand. Three more Talokanil followed in Attuma's trails, swinging their spears into the synthezoid. Their weapons, too, turned into smithereens. "Don't kill him! He's sick!" She clawed through the water, forcing it to move around her body. "Vision, it's me! It's Shuri!"

White Vision locked eyes with her. Then his eyes glowed blue, and beams began to extend from his eyes. She dodged and slammed into his right abdomen, hisssing at the contact. The tingling of vibranium and magic winded her but she had no time to ponder over it as Namor zipped around them, his wings moving so fast they looked like permanent spheres at his feet. His headpiece still on, he barely grunted as he landed a few dents into the synthezoid's outer covering but it was not enough.

White Vision swatted away other Talokanil like flies when they moved to intervene, keeping his eyes locked on her. She could not use her Black Panther suit down here and the watersuit was made for small movements of lab work, not battle. It weighed her down and she flailed wildly to dodge his every aim. Half of them missed her because of Namor, who flew upwards and let himself drop onto the synthezoid's body with his full force. 

"Don't kill him!" She dodged a beam to her right. It hit the Talokanil behind her in the leg. "We need him against the Americans!" 

He whirled around and punched White Vision in the jaw. "Your brilliant mind did not think to tell me—" He snarled.

"Look out!" Shuri tunneled towards an empty spot between dark red carvings that looked like a mezzanine and waved frantically for nearby Talokanil to move. At the last second she swerved right and the mezzanine crumbled from White Vision's continued attacks. Her body continued to tunnel right, currents from the Talokanil circling the synthezoid interrupting her attempts to change direction. She barreled into Namora. The warrior's feather crown bobbed. 

Namora gripped her arm. "K'uk'ulklan!" She called. "He wants her. Let him have her."

Shuri kicked Namora in the shin. They broke apart as a stream of light hit the spot they occupied moments earlier. "I saved your damn life!" She shouted, her back hitting a wall. The impact sent her helmet digging into the back of her head. Dark splotches dotted her vision. The moment's hesitation was enough; White Vision zipped towards her, moving like he was in air instead of water, and the glow in his eyes shone brighter.

"Shuri, move!"

Namor's roar pierced her ears but her headache would not abate. Shuri pounded her fists against the wall and pointed her feet towards the ground. White Vision's fist landed above her head. She poured every ounce of energy into her arms and threw a punch at his shoulder. Her gloved fingers crushed the outer layer of his body and entered the second. His internal wiring sparked. She lifted her legs and swung them outwards, taking advantage of the water's waves to build momentum until her knees collided with his chest. 

White Vision tumbled backwards. The color of his eyes turned so white they were almost blue but beams didn't have a chance to leave his eyes. Namor flew from behind him and coiled his arms around the synthezoid's midsection, squeezing. The sound of crushing metal echoed even louder than Namor's grunt. White Vision curled his pale fingers and mauled the water-god, alternating between punches and elbowing his face. The yell that erupted from Shuri was guttural. Her eyes flickered around her, evaluating and measuring the room, racing to find anything she could use. They landed on his staff. It was floating upwards towards Attuma, but the warrior was farther away from Namor than she was.

"Throw it to me!" She shouted. Attuma yanked the staff and swung it behind him, his shark-themed armbands glittering dangerously in the light as he wound up a throw.

Then he released. The staff spiraled towards her, pointed end of the staff over the knobby carvings of its bottom slicing through the water. She counted to three and pushed off from the wall with her feet. Her fingers seized the staff at its middle. She forced her hand down, feeling the pain of a twisted wrist, to adjust the direction of the staff's momentum, and let her body follow its current as it took her closer to Namor. He left sizable craters on the synthezoid's body. She spared a millisecond to think about how fighting alongside Namor felt more right than fighting against him.

Namor placed a hand on White Vision's upper neck to lock his jaw but the synthezoid continued to elbow him, jab after jab. An ugly purple bruise blossomed underneath his adornments. Just need to stop him before the others destroy him, the rational part of her mind told her, but between one heartbeat and the next, she didn't think of protecting Wakanda or the need to keep White Vision alive. She thought of Namor.

She let go of the staff just as White Vision locked eyes on her again with glowing eyes.

The pointed end pierced the blue hollow of where a mind stone used to be just as his beams hit their target. They sheared her watersuit across her thigh, taking the oxygen tank with it. 

Namor had given her the spiel he gave every intruder unlucky enough to visit the air cave, which amounted to merely four or five over the centuries. Descending into Talokan was impossible for surface-dwellers because hypothermia would kill them. The deep ocean pressure would break every bone in their bodies. But he offered Shuri the suit, because one, they conveniently had one after taking down the Americans, and two, denying her request when it was made with curious eyes and a kind smile was impossible.

Shuri was special, and the ocean was going to rip her apart in seconds. In less than a second, Namor reached her body, aware of the intruder's body crumpling and floating slowly to the ground but uncaring. Wisps of blood escaped from where her suit was damaged. In a few heartbeats, water would flood all her organ systems and begin to drown her. If the cold didn't kill her, then she would die by being squeezed from the inside out by pressure only Talokanil skin could withstand. A panther could not fight this kind of force from all sides. 

"Oxygen levels: critical." A voice he recognized now from her beads announced. The sigils in her Wakandan beads glowed an ugly red.

He heard Attuma, Namora, and others shouting at him. Some shrieked in concern. Others moved towards the fallen intruder. He was a semi-immortal for whom weeks, months passed like mere hours in the long stretch of his dark existence. But now, time slowed until every tenth of a millisecond became a tick in his pointed ears. 

Tick. 

Tick. 

The nearest air cavern was a thousand meters above the city. His fastest speed through fastest whirlpool would take at least a minute. He could cover the hole with his cape, but it extended across her thigh and water already submerged her limbs. It would not keep the pressure at bay.

He prayed to Chac and swallowed the taste of saltwater and the thought of her laughing and crying and sharing the deepest of her soul's turmoil with him. A soft blue glow began to emerge around her head. Lifting inky eyes, he registered a floating blue plant unfurled in the water, tangled with the fibers of an old Talokanil pouch.

It could have been different. 

No.

I will make it different this time. She never gave him any choice in loving her, so the choice was made. He would give her no choice in dying. 

One of his hands tore her helmet off. The other ripped a leaf from the plant and crushed it. He placed the remains in her mouth and closed her jaw, whispering a reverent prayer.

Shuri was not in the throne room.

She was on the sand where her mother first told her about the mourning ritual and where she met Namor for the first time. The sky was not a purple-pink, but a brilliant teal. Only a select few countries high in the northern hemisphere witnessed the northern lights but it was incomparable to the view here. The colors gave the world around her an ethereal glow as though she was simultaneously on land but talking a casual walk on a riverbed.

She strolled across the beach next to the seam where land met water. She wondered where she should sit, since she's waiting —

She frowned. Waiting for who? And for that matter, how did she get here?

What's here, a dream? 

An otherworldly, strange feeling pricked at her skin like she was there but her body was physically elsewhere. Her limbs weren't the gangly ones she was used to, wiry only after instituting Black Panther workouts. She lifted a land to touch her face. It felt older. Wiser.

"Shuri."

She could lose every memory and her soul, her heart, would know that voice. 

"Mother." She choked. She turned and ran, colliding with the scent of spices and the warmth of her mother. "Mother, you came."

Queen Ramonda smiled, cradling Shuri's face in her hands.

"I never left."

The Queen Mother was beautiful here. She wore the brightest, whitest dress and was a source of light brighter than the sun. Her smile stretched for miles.

They collapsed into the sand, Shuri's hands clasping over hers, memorizing every touch and knuckle and scar the hands of this woman witnessed.

"Mother." She choked. Her tears fell into her mother's lap.  "Why did you abandon me earlier? Why didn't you come?"

"Child. I never abandoned you." Queen Ramonda lifted a finger and connected the tip of it to her chest, right over where her heart should be. Where it was. "I was always here, listening when you didn't want to listen to yourself, loving you and guiding you. Your Baba and brother sit with you everyday in the breeze."

Shuri cried an ugly cry. Her face scrunched up and her hands shook and with every heave her mother held her tighter.

"I couldn't kill him, Mother. I couldn't kill him."

"Good. That furry gorilla was right, as much as it pains me to admit it. I did not wish for your life to be wasted in vengeance." 

She forced a laugh through her tears. "I'm a coward. And I—he—he killed you, and I..." 

Queen Ramonda threw her head back in genuine laughter. “Shuri, my love. Your father killed his own brother. If a man can kill whom he loves, then can you love whom you hate and almost killed in retribution?"

Anger surged through her veins. "He took you from me. I will never forgive him."

"You don't have to, and you shouldn't." Queen Ramonda wrapped her arms around Shuri's shoulders. "But you cannot only think of what is good for Wakanda. I often spoke of sacrifice, my dear, but that day you were kidnapped, I had to choose between being a great Queen and being a great mother, and I chose to be a mother. I do not regret for a single moment what the cost was. I would have ripped his land apart."

"It was cruel, mother. You had me back in your arms for mere days before you chose to protect another woman's daughter."

Shuri herself never regretted helping Riri. She was ready to negotiate with Namor, her life for the scientist's, and she knew ultimately that this was only misplaced anger. But it was as though a dam had been broken, and everything from the past year flooded out of her every pore. Her kind, elegant mother, who deserved a better life than a husband murdered in a bombing and a son whom her daughter couldn't save. She deserved a life of joy and rest and even though now she had it now, Shuri could not be the one to give it to her.

It hurt. The pain consumed every nerve and demanded she feel it until there was nothing left to feel.

“I made a choice. Sacrifice is never larger than one person. What you did to land yourself here shows you, of all of us, know that lesson best. My daughter is no coward.” 

The hues of blue and green swirled around them as they sat quietly, seconds stretching into minutes stretching into hours. She wished for this pocket of this plane to stretch forever. To loop again and again just for another second with her mother's face.

"You sound like Baba with wise one liners. Is that what they teach you here?"

"Here, hmm, no. It's my first time here."

She realized for the first time, squinting through the startling beauty of the world around her, that this was not the same ancestral plane she visited before. There was a different, glistening shine to everything, as though...

"Water. Mother, what—"

"Hush, my child." A distant look entered her mother's beautiful eyes. "You must wake up now."

"No!" Shuri clutched her robes like she used to do as a child, when she would hide from T'Challa and seek solace in her arms.

"He is trying very hard to save you. He owes me, you see." Queen Ramonda tightened her hold on her, rocking her back and forth. "The ancestors are proud of you. I am so proud of everything you are and everything you will become."

Shuri's voice shook. "What will I become?"

The Queen brushed her hair with her fingers. "A protector of two nations, but do not fear. You will always be the Black Panther first."

"Don't go. Please don't leave me."

"I would never." Queen Ramonda pressed her lips to her forehead. A single, last tear escaped Shuri's eyes. "I am in your heart."

Chapter Text

One Month Ago

The white man stepped between Namor and the warrior dressed in a hideous blue costume. 

“Here's what I propose: return Princess Shuri, release the Americans and take responsibility for the attacks. In return, Wakanda will offer continued protection and whatever else you require.”

Ridiculous.

The image of the Agent in a bloodied heap on the beach crossed his mind.

“You assume I left the Americans alive?” The white man's flinch was rewarded with the Feathered Serpent God's snarl. “That's not a deal. I already have what I desire.”

Ross turned to the blue warrior—Okoye—with pleading eyes, while she in turn peered at Namor with unadulterated disgust. Disgust that should be reserved for the people subjugating them all.

He forced a chuckle. “Wakanda is weaker than Talokan, but they can manage an army.”

Okoye brandished a gleaming blue and gold spear and lifted it to his neck. It fizzled with coils of raw vibranium. Such a weapon was almost as dangerous as Attuma, and it carried all the technological ingenuity of one Princess Shuri of Wakanda.

“We will no longer serve at your whim.”

Namor curled a hand around the tip of her spear. It bent between his fingers. Okoye was unmoved. Centuries of various conflicts taught him to recognize the unbending nature of a loyal warrior, a respectable quality when not in opposition to him, so he switched tactics. “Will you dishonor the alliance and judgment of your Princess, the one currently under my watch?”

Okoye faltered.

He inwardly scoffed at their doubt of him, and her. “Your…former Queen asked me something similar. You know the consequences if that spy intrudes again. There is nothing Wakanda can offer Talokan.”

“Do not speak of our Queen Mother.”

He raised a noncommittal brow, knowing his lack of fear would unnerve her.

“But the conditions have changed,” Ross interrupted. The ridiculous metal can he wore made him look rather small like ample replacement for a table in his palace quarters. “A weakened Wakanda harms Talokan. Name your terms. Security, medicine, weapons.”

They were desperate for him to ask something of them. He was no political pundit, yet he did not believe for a second America would agree to leave Wakanda and Talokan alone if he were to take accountability, as they purported. Utter drivel.

He would have to make his own preparations. 

“What,” Okoye seethed, “do you want?”

Namor wanted for little. He had millions of subjects to rule over and protect, no fear of death, hundreds of years of life left in him, and enough vibranium to last those years and thousands more. He was not a human who chased after meager provisions. 

His needs, however, were many. He needed to set the world ablaze for what it did to his mother and his ancestors, an option Shuri robbed from him. While he could certainly live without an alliance with Wakanda, he needed Shuri’s trust in him. He needed to repay everything he took from her and yield again, and again.

He had needed her in Talokan since the moment she had left, and Chac himself delivered her back to these waters in a repeat of events he’d broken her so thoroughly in. This was the moment he spoke of to Namora: when Wakanda and the strongest human on the surface would come running to him in need.

So, Namor, the Feathered Serpent Water-god, agreed. And then he prepared to erase the land that bore the cursed scientists that threatened them both, but such a plan required time and power of the strongest human to walk the land.

“The Princess told me once of the gifts the ancestors gave her, and she arrived not a week later to kill me with the mantle of the Black Panther. Answer me truthfully or I will kill hostages…”

The Present

Namor drifted in the middle of the throne room, the feathered headdress of the Feathered Serpent God swaying with the silent currents. Around him, injured Talokanil sought rest against the walls and floor. Attuma pulled the water-king's staff out of vibranium man's head and somewhere in the distance Namora and Tozi found a fishing net to hurl his body into.

Shuri’s body hovered above Namor’s arms. Without the helmet, her curls danced around her head and ears and her limbs hung at her sides. 

He had lost innumerable people, the children he loved as a protective father, in his five centuries among the living. “When you age as I do, we all lose everyone we love.” 

Her people were right to doubt him.

It began with the death of his mother, but there was no end to it. His cousins aged slowly but they, too, would be gone within five hundred years while he had a millennium left in him. His children were strong but even they fell to the march of time. Death was not the great equalizer, as land heathens parroted, but Chac’s mercy on humanity—one that did not include him.

She sunk into his arms, and he sunk into her. She had to live or the last barrier between him and the surface world’s destruction would be gone.

There was darkness in Shuri's head, and then a flickering flame that grew into a fire engulfing her world. A winged boy, the child without love, fluttered into view, a cold smile plastered on his face as the village in front of them perished in ash.

She opened her eyes to the man she loved with a beating heart. At first, she saw nothing but him. Her mouth ran dry from the adrenaline of a fight, but her ears heard everything: his chest expanding with relief; layers of rushed whispers and subdued cries from over a dozen Talokanil; White Vision’s circuit brain still sparking; and further away the pulse of the vibranium sun above them, the dance of fresh seaweed in the markets, children hitting reed pipes, the rush of whirlpools —

When Namor spoke, his voice reached her ears with the force of vibranium slicing through vibranium. His face was soft through a smattering of blood that evaporated from his face and into the water despite the harsh shadows created by the angles of his headpiece.

“Breathe, Princess.”

She erupted into a violent fit of bubbles. Something hot coursed through her veins.

“Where am I? What happened?”

“War,” he answered simply. His arms twisted under her, one under her back and the other under her knees. “We need to go.”

He clutched her closer, and she turned her face into the cold of his skin, fragments of a memory scrambling to piece themselves together. White Vision. 

“We need to help him,” she protested. She floundered in his tight grip as he tipped backwards so that gravity pulled her further against him. “Let me go. We —  I — need to — I’m sorry I — ”

Her cheek flattened against his bare chest. One of the pearls dangling from his ceremonial necklace and shoulder jewelry tickled her forehead. Namor was tunneling upwards, up and out into the heat of the vibranium sun. It was as hot as a summer day in Wakanda. The heat in her body escalated to a scorching symphony. She thought, for a moment, that in the chorus of Talokan’s waters that she heard her brother’s voice.

“How,” she started quietly, lifting a gloved hand in front of her face. He raced across the spires of the palace. His foot wings flapped so fast they buzzed as they entered a whirlpool, “is my face feeling every muscle of your chest right now?”

“Not my chest. And how is never as important as why.”

Shuri basked in the lights under the glowworms. Her torn watersuit rested on the rock a few paces away, his headpiece next to it. She peered at the palm of her outstretched hand. It was not blue, but when she turned her wrists just so, she felt rather than saw blue and purple dancing in her veins. 

Namor assessed her from her right. He told her, in measured words chosen carefully that were not meant to trick but to keep her rage at bay, what he had done. He used more Mayan than usual, either more comfortable now in the way he spoke to her, or the inability of the English language to explain himself entirely.

"Meent'uts." Please. “The world could not lose you today."

She had died once before, after Thanos. And then again when Wakanda buried her mother.

"You need to be alive to protect Talokan and Wakanda."

A protector of two nations, the taker and restorer of her heart said. Her mother held these very hands, shimmering with the pulse of blue sanctity, in her own. Scores of possibilities hung in the evanescent second between the last vibration of his words and his last confession.

“I need you alive.”

She said nothing. She thought only of her mother and her brother and the reality of her ancestors.

She was a twice-made protector not by her choice. The first time had been out of a feral need for vengeance. The second was in a damning impetus to protect a Feathered Serpent God who had no love for the surface world and his people.

“Please…” she finally uttered. Leave me. Stay. I need time.

She sighed. There was no time to fight him right now. “Please tell me I don’t have feet wings.”

The Feathered Serpent God laughed and the axis of her world spun. She turned to face him, returning her hand to her side.

“No, but you are beautiful all the same, Princess.”

“Not Princess. Shuri.” She wanted to go to him and drown him in the water with her, or lock them both in a dry-trap. She wanted to embrace him and sink —

The shine of her flower-infused skin pulsed and moved her to him. His fingers encircled her thin wrist under the bracelet he gifted her, pressing his lips to a pulsing vein. The sensation was magnified tenfold: the purr of a panther and the listlessness of a serpent, dual desires cried at her to demand more of the water-god and satiate a painful want. It was a want that started in her heart and bloomed outwards, and she wondered if it was too early to moan because he was peppering her hands, her fingers, her arms with small presses of his lips and all the while peering at her with a narrow, unflinching gaze. He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time.

The surface of the lake broke. They turned in unison and she recognized Zuma’s face. The left corner of her jaw was charred — Shuri didn't remember the girl during the fight, but White Vision had fired at least two dozen times. Her lungs constricted while the Talokanil held out Namor’s staff with a shaky hand. 

“K’uk’ulkan, one of them is ready to speak.”

Namor’s visage contorted into contained fury. His hand released her. “Stay here.”

Shuri fingers, the very ones that had felt his lips and tongue just moments ago, curled into a fist. “No—”

He straightened slowly, assessing her with a distant look. “It’s not a request, but an order.”

He dived, and she dived after him.

The alarm that bubbled at the initial contact with the water dissipated when Zuma moved to stop her.

She didn’t need her watersuit. Her body recognized the water. Her flesh, transformed by a flower of her own ingenuity that in turn was fashioned by the ancestors, throbbed with the waves. Her lungs expanded to welcome the rush of water through her mouth. This was not water that quenched thirst; this was water every lung cell learned to pluck oxygen out of. Every expanse of skin immediately warmed as though a fire burned from within it, heating the water swishing around her body. 

It was not as easy as an existence over air, and it took Shuri twice her strength to move and speak. Yet, she let go of a breath and with it the final dredges of her panic. Never would a member of the Golden Tribe be drowned again.

“I have to go,” Shuri spoke. It was as natural as speaking above air, but her voice wavered, unused to compensating for water’s density. It sounded distorted and lost some of its commanding intonation.

Zuma recoiled. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers as her watermask fell away, but Shuri had already maneuvered her body into the entrance of the whirlpool. Without the weight of her watersuit, she tumbled through it at breakneck speed.

Namor was a speck in the distance. She heard Zuma hurtle after her, and it was only halfway down when she managed to keep her arms pinned at her sides, ignoring the way her hairline threatened to recede at the increasing momentum and the pressure at her eyelids. The bright entrance approached at a startling pace. The flash of Namor and his staff disappeared into the light, each second thereafter stretching for what felt like painful minutes.

Darcy, she intoned to the gods. Please don’t hurt her.

She swung her legs out too late and her toes hit the surface of the lake before her face. Her shouting began from in the water and continued into the air. She was met with general astonishment. The Feathered Serpent God stood tall with a gaggle of warriors around him. White Vision’s crumpled body rested against a stalagmite, trapped in a net made of thick ropes. 

Attuma and Namora flanked Namor’s each side. The tips of their spears pointed at Darcy and Val’s hearts. Darcy had her hands up, her eyes wide in surprise rather than horror, and Val looked almost…bored. But there was a shake in her hands and a primal fear threatening to break onto her face as she finally faced the god she and her country dared provoke.

Namor’s lip was curled into distaste. Shuri had never witnessed him interact with surface-dwellers aside from Wakandans, but his face convulsed with fury, a hotter and redder anger only existed in hints in the way he talked about colonizers before.

“I was able to…stop them from mining it.” He’d said to her and her mother about the first mining expedition with an arrogant smile, pleased at himself.

Shuri thought of burning villages when she stepped between him and the Americans, sopping wet in an irreparable tracksuit. A third warrior turned his spear on her, but when his eyes swept over her, he wavered.

“Move,” Namor ground his staff into the floor.

“No. If you hurt any of them, it will mean war.”

“It already was war. This is another reason among many.”

She gnashed her teeth together. “It was already war because you wanted it to be. I didn’t tell you but I should have. They wanted to use vibranium to make more weapons like him,” she gestured to White Vision, “and assumed we stole him to do our bidding, but we didn’t. It’s not his fault —”

“Not his fault?” He roared. “You almost died.”

“Namor, listen to me—”

“Don’t use that vile—”

“K’uk’ulkan. You let me finish.” She snapped. “They’re planning to attack—”

A slow clap thundered from behind her. 

“Oh, this is just lovely.”

Namor’s eyes jerked to a place above her shoulder. Shuri followed his line of sight to land on Val. The woman clapped twice, thrice, before twirling a blasted strand of purple hair around an index finger. Her other hand lifted to her distended belly and she looked like she was holding back a burp, or stopping herself from puking.

“So this is your…ally. Not a bad choice, your highness.”

Dread overcame Shuri. Extraneous variables clicked into place. No. “You had Vision in your pocket all along. You knew Wakanda would never do such a thing or make such terrible weapons against the world.”

Val smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. “Not exactly. We lost him a couple times here and there. It’s funny, though. My ex-husband was almost as insistent that Wakanda was this utopia too.” She crowed. “As if anyone can’t not dream about the power they can wield if they just had vibranium. The difference is, you people actually have it.” 

Namora inched closer to Val, her spear a hair's width away from the woman's chest. Darcy looked genuinely confused and scared, and Shuri prayed to Bast that the woman was innocent of Val’s dirty tactics. 

Shuri stabbed an angry finger at her. The woman raised an eyebrow as if to say, who, me? “Talokan almost decimated us and they had every chance to do the same to you for centuries. The only lowlife in here is you.”

Val smirked, “Doubtful. Licking the boots of your captors, now that is a new low." Her eyes flitted to where White Vision sat crumpled. "Such a shame, I thought we programmed his aim to be better.” 

Namor thundered at his warriors.

The Black Panther suit was still in the midst of covering Shuri's arms when she swept a leg under the nameless warrior pointing his spear at her. He tumbled into the lake as leapt in front of Darcy, thwacking Attuma’s new spear. For the second time that day, his spear snapped. She twisted her body and thrust her hand forward with her claws bared. Her fists meet air, the shark-themed warrior proving adept at dodging despite his large size. Using his blocky build to her advantage, the strength of two plants gathered in her legs as she slammed a foot into his belly.

He gagged and fell over sideways. Another spear swiped at her. Namora stabbed the air between her legs and her shoulder and neck, keeping Shuri busy with leaping around the quick movements to form an offensive stance. Above their heads, Namor vaulted into the air, his staff hanging still for half a second before it would swing down and inevitably slice through the weak flesh of his target. 

Val screamed. Shuri leapt.

Her right foot connected with Namor’s thigh, and she spun to land her left heel onto his chest. He flew into a narrow recess in the cavern, crushing a stalagmite along the way. She landed on the balls of her feet and teetered forward. The thought of severing his wings crossed her mind but she really didn’t want to heal him again. Another punch will do. As she approached, he started to stretch out an arm to hook around her neck. She lifted her arms to block him. It was a trap; the movement left her abdomen open, and at the last moment he landed a hit on her side with his foot in the same spot he’d stabbed her cleanly through. The ache shuddered through her body.

“Don’t,” she wheezed, collapsing to the ground near his fallen staff. “Don’t hurt them.” I don't like fighting you like this.

Namor answered with a deep bellow. He hovered above her, pulling back a fist. She felt for his staff and smiled when her claws hooked into its pointed end. 

And she swung. It connected with his back and his body sagged over hers. His shoulder almost collided with her jaw. She writhed from underneath him and jumped onto her feet. She bared her claws at the rest of the Talokanil who swung their weapons at her.

“No one touches these prisoners until we hear from Wakanda,” she shouted.

Killmonger's jeering laugh joined her, but his presence now was not foreboding or terrifying. In the aftermath of her mother, he only seemed like a small, lost, and angry child. You didn’t hold back this time.

I only win when I fight as who I am fully. She answered, sending a fearsome gaze at every warrior. Whatever it was on her face that had them flinching in fear and awe, she leveled it. When I was no longer vengeful, and no longer like you, I only had love left to fight with, N’Jadaka. 

Her cousin, N’Jadaka, son of N’Jobu, quieted for a moment.

Touché, cuz. And then he was gone.

The other Talokanil moved closer, encircling her. Zuma stood furthest from her and began to lower her weapon. Namora barked at her to fall in line while she closed in on Shuri.

Namor groaned and pushed himself off the ground. He looked eerily somber at his defeat in front of a crowd warriors and turned his eyes to her. He approached slowly, each step a thunderous clap in the cavern. The other Talokanil took another step. 

“I cannot let them live.” Each word pierced her like an arrow, even though he spoke apologetically. “You must understand why. When this happened with the American scientist, it led to our nations warring. Is that what you wish: to side with them, when they injured a dozen of my men and condemned you to death?”

“I built a machine and it somehow brought him here. Your anger should be directed at me.”

Something in him softened. “I do not care right now about the reason, Shuri, and I will not fault you when you were hurt.” He picked up his staff and shook it of debris. 

Shuri held her arms out and heard the muffled cries of Val and Darcy behind her, although Darcy was more muttering variations of “holy shit” under her breath.

“Move,” he intoned plainly.

“Absolutely not.” 

Namor’s chest rose and fell, breathing so heavily that the jade in his nose almost cracked. “And make the same mistakes? The short lives of humans should induce urgency, yet a god learns from his errors faster. You ask for mercy. Mercy will kill us all.”

"I had mercy on you!" She shouted. He said nothing, tilting his head and lifting a hand to swat her away. Her heart thudded in her chest. She swerved on her heel to stop him. "Take the offer you didn’t last time. Keep me instead.”

He stilled. The Talokanil warriors looked at each other. Namora made a strangled sound while the glowworms above their heads sparkled and the soft sobs of some of the other Americans came to the fore.

Namor’s jaw loosened. Faint traces of something indiscernible colored his face. “Shuri, do you understand—”

“Yes.”

"We are not bartering with your life."

The panther mask dissolved to reveal her face. "I am."

He swiveled around, brandishing his staff at the warriors.

“No one touch my Queen,” he ordered, “and return the Americans to their prison.”

Zuma grabbed her by the hand, a reassuring squeeze and an apology in her eyes, as she was whisked out of the cave.

Chapter Text

Namor heard the swift movements of the head of his guards, Captain Tozi, before she came into view. The council before him was not the catastrophic uproar one expected such as the hasty meeting after the first mining expedition was taken care of, though it was close. Namora, ever the one to critique perceived softness, spoke loudly and clearly, cushioning her blows only with rote deferences to his kinghood. Attuma was unusually quiet. Juana's aunt, Lucia, had her say, but she was still fuming from her niece's injury and unable to remain calm at an opportunity to press her luck in using it to barter for favor.

"She has brought nothing but bad omen to our people."

"Why are you here, Lucia?" Tozi asked bitingly. "This is an issue of security."

Namora nodded, her feathered headdress bobbing as she did. "We should have killed them the moment they arrived in these waters. For decades we have done this, with no exception, and in a matter of months we change our policies?"

"This is different, Namora. Talokan needs Wakanda and they need our help." Tozi and Namora rarely interacted. The few times they did usually ended with quarreling only an orca or Namor himself could stop. Namor suspected Tozi secretly enjoyed rattling one of his closest advisors.

Another council member nodded in agreement. "She saved our flower. We thought we had lost it for forever."

"She brought this thing made of vibranium and could have killed us all. How do we know she is not in cahoots with him?" Lucia's accusation sent a rush of cold anger down Namor's spine. To imply betrayal of that sort was akin to spitting on him.

"Alliances are built on trust. These people wish to see us fight each rather than fight them. Speak of her with respect," he responded coolly.

His cousin bristled. "And you trust her? They were military. The Princess knew and jeopardized this entire city's safety and undermined your authority —"

"I was aware." Namor interrupted. He repeated it when Tozi and Namora continued to argue. They finally ceased when he held up a land. "She informed me they were a mix of scientists, researchers associated with the military, and the head of their intelligence agency."

Namora was one sentence away from throwing her spear at him, god or no. Her expression contorted into one of exasperation, and the Feathered Serpent tensed for what would be a change of tactics. Five hundred years with the woman and unfortunately, she knew how to pour salt into his wounds.

She didn't disappoint. "The military almost killed this Queen of yours, and you acquiesced? Shameful how easily gods can fall."

The council quieted. Namora blanched after the last word left her lips, and Attuma watched her with something akin to admiration. Most of those present now had not been aware of Namor's ceremonious announcement in the prisonhold. Lucia screeched and three behind her joined. Their words were a garbled mess.

Namor felt the beginnings of a pounding headache. The fight had left him the moment Shuri had left the cave. The last tendrils of rage dissipated as he stood up from his throne and boomed into the half-destroyed throne room,

"Leave, my children, except Tozi."

Half of them turned purple but they all lifted their hands to open their palms before leaving. Namora fled without greeting him, and Tozi approached him with a sort of trepidation. She updated him on the status of the prisoners, taken care of but with extra security, the body of the vibranium man was being watched by no less than six warriors in case he returned to life, and two of the engineers were in Shuri's lab at this late hour seeking to analyze the components of her invention, despite the unlikelihood of being able to understand its functionality. 

"Speaking of the...Princess," she ventured, "why did you lie about her excluding knowledge of the Americans' identities from you? And do you intend to make her Queen?"

He had no answers for either question that he could give her. When those damning words left her lips—keep me instead—all he could think of was betrayal. The spy that killed two of his handmaids and the one she tried to save, the start of a war where he kept his word to her mother, and her arms around him, seeking comfort in the very man who buried her heart. He thought of her body limp in his arms, the one body that should never, ever be so broken.

"You administered the flower to her."

His eyes flicked down to meet Tozi's dark eyes. "Yes."

Tozi flinched, water flowing into her gaping mouth. "I recognized the remaining leaves in this room after the fight and gave it to the gardener. When Zuma told me what she saw, and some of the others mentioned seeing her arrive without her suit, I realized...but why?"

The Captain had worked under him for seven decades now. He remembered her birth and the marks of Chac's many blessings as she quickly grew into a formidable warrior. Her whale-navigating exploits and humor were well-known among even the outer sectors. She carried out every command with little protest, but would occasionally seek out justification. He had come to respect her for this, because unlike Namora, she sought answers, not reasons to become angry.

"I saw her die today, and I am a god that protects his subjects."

"K'uk'ulkan, I have served you in the worst of times, spent months cleaning oil spills and ash from surface-dwelling warfare. I understand we must change as Wakanda does, and I admit I am charmed by the Princess and what she has done for us, despite her rashness, and she is good at whale-driving. I see how you look at her. I warn you that as you faced today, you will have to choose between being a good King and being good to her. Some in Talokan grow restless at your wavering. There have been murmurs..."

"Explain what it is that you wish to advise me, exactly."

"Not advise." She swam closer and he descended in tandem. His headdress was still in the catacombs above, so without its shade, he scolded his face into one of mild courtesy. "You assured me repeatedly that you trust her sincerity and judgment. You have no love for the surface world, and not one of us can forget what the anger of five hundred years. Will you continue to seek disproportionate retribution on the surface world that she has judged is worth loving?"

"Tozi," he warned dangerously.

"The world your mother loved and died in grief for?" Tozi shifted her decorated chest armor. "Chac's rain cover you."

She gestured and left before he could touch his forehead to hers.

Shuri stared at the reflection in her Kimoyo screen that doubled as a mirror. 

The tops of her ears tapered into sharp ends.

That explained the strange looks, but that was the least of her worries at the moment, regardless of how much instinct insisted she run — swim — back to her lab and do a blood analysis. She had some guesses from previous analysis of Talokanil bloodwork: most differences between Talokanil and humans were internal, so Shuri wondered if the sudden need to consume copious amounts of water and raw fish was because of the blue in her veins or the simple matter of having fought a god again and drying herself out in the process.

Behind her, Zuma breathed in and out deeply through her watermask, the gurgling sound the only noise to come from her in the past hour. The injury on her jaw had turned a deep purple. The Talokanil had promptly called Atzi upon their return, who joined them in a frighteningly short time but did nothing but pace craters into the catacomb floors. She would look up at Shuri, breathe, and then pace again. 

Shuri turned off her beads. "Do I have gills or something?"

Atzi threw her hands up with an accusatory glare. "You, Princess—Queen?—are far too calm. Why are you not panicking? I am panicking. I am very much panicking. Do you know the level of chaos probably ensuing in the palace right now?"

Shuri could imagine it, and yes, she was too calm. She wasn't sure if it was her body granting her some semblance of relaxation before the firestorm of a water-man arrived, or if it was, Bast help her, a sign that things would work out. She toyed with Nakia's bead in her pocket, itching to send a message to Wakanda. Night was falling and tomorrow, armies would be on Wakanda's borders.

But she needed to meet Namor first. They both made foolish mistakes that could no longer be tolerated. She thought of Nakia's warnings, of Namor's incessant heavy-handed approach, and her own vengeance that once drove her. She would have thrown Val into the lake herself, but Shuri was not a woman who's actions were hers alone. Strangely, it was M'Baku's booming voice, one that warned her about eternal war due to personal revenge, that lent her clarity now. Her own words joined the Regent King's, him talking to her, and her talking to Namor.

"You are water, but you behave like fire. Escalating for no reason, in the guise of protecting your people."

"Princess?" Atzi tapped her on the back, interrupting her reverie. Shuri turned and raised an eyebrow, and the Talokanil gasped. "Yours ears..."

"Don't say it."

"I was not lying." Zuma huffed. "She swam to the prison cave without her technology. Namora and the others saw it."

Atzi inhaled sharply. "Did you...the flower...did he..."

The 'he' in question broke through water and waded up the steps. Atzi and Zuma scurried into the lake despite Shuri's pointed looks otherwise and disappeared as Namor came to a stop in front of her. His disheveled appearance and stormy eyes were cause for concern, but she was too preoccupied between the choices of slapping him or wringing his neck out. And trying not to squirm under his scrutiny, the new title he'd offered her flashing across her mind.

Instead, she started with, "We need to get word out to Wakanda."

She held out the bead and explained in clipped tones told him everything: what had happened with Nakia, the information she had so desperately wanted to get to her country, and the sad tin-can of a man she impaled and prayed wasn't completely destroyed now. A cold fury slowly grew on Namor's face throughout her recollection. The corners of his lips pulled down into a deep frown, but he said nothing.

He turned and moved towards the office. Shuri followed, and when they settled into their seats, he dragged a hand across his face. 

“Tell me honestly,” he started, “am I to believe you wanted this?”

She frowned. "Wanted what?"

“I am serious, Shuri." He spoke slowly, as though every word pained him. "It was never my intention to keep you here longer than necessary, only long enough to resolve this problem and give you the time to restore our flower.”

Her heart stilled. That was the highly-sought after question, one that even her heart couldn't fully articulate. “I'd have you on the ground yielding before letting you lay a finger on me with the intent to truly hurt."

“There's a striking pattern of you leaving those who seek to harm to you alone." He grimaced and a touch of red sparked on his face. "Excessive sympathy leads to demise.”

“As does rage," she countered. Perhaps she was a person of extremes—now liberated from the need for vengeance, she sought to preserve every life in the shadows of her brother.

"The Americans will be fine. What I struggle to understand is sparing the woman who wished you dead and nearly succeeded."

Shuri flinched.

What had happened was nothing short of miraculous, her mother's own hand and Namor claiming her from death's clutches. The rush of the day's events had little time to process. It was only now that she contemplated properly: the herb she didn't have ready in time for her brother, but the flower that was ready for her.

She forced a shaky breath, willing her mind to focus. “I've met very few people more deserving to die at the bottom of the ocean, but we need her alive. She’s the Director of the CIA."

Namor pinched the bridge of his nose. "They have loyalty towards their own, or is it that she has many secrets that pose a risk? If that were the case, she should not have come here."

"And they still took that risk, for whatever reason. Doesn't matter; we can force America's hand with it. I have made mistakes before, but my biggest was to send my people to battle for my vengeance. There were other ways to fix this situation, maybe.” She shifted her eyes to him. His hands were flat against the desk in front of him, and stray droplets of water dripped from his hair and onto his shoulders. His expression would impassive to a stranger, but to her it was strained and exhausted. “But I calculated and offered the only thing you could not say no to.”

“I said no to your offer in exchange for that scientist before—"

“That was before we battled.”

He closed his eyes. “I will not barter with your life, yet you begged that I make you mine, in front of my people. How is a man to win against that?”

She leaned over the desk to grab him by his blasted neck adornments and yanked him towards her. His eyes flew open and amber irises darkened immediately. His blasted ear—so pointy—twitched.

“Not any man. Just you, a god.” she said, satisfied at what she saw in him. “I don’t beg. I made you yield. You said you would make me want you, but you forgot to worry about yourself.” She stood up and left for the room, tapping a message into Nakia's kimoyo bead. A vibranium fly lifted from the inside and flew out of the cabin.

“What did you just say?”

Sam was halfway into his wing suit. “We got word that Vision was spotted flying across the Atlantic ocean towards Mexico. There's no time. We have to intercept him before SWORD does.” 

Bucky facepalmed. Around him, some of the Dora Milaje sheathed their spears and slipped into flight gear. A blue mask resembling an owl with wide eyes and a garish mouthpiece covered Okoye’s face. “All of a sudden he appears? Out of nowhere?” Memories of camping out in Sokovia and driving a beat-down Subaru around the U.S. with the new Captain America flashed in his mind. Shuri owed him.

A flurry of footsteps skidded to a stop in the lab. “We received communication from Shuri!” Nakia shouted. “They were attacked. We need to go, now .” 

Okoye and Aneka jumped out the window before she finished her sentence.

"And where is Ross? If he is too weak to take care of his ex-wife, I will."

Shuri spent the better part of ten minutes looking at her hands. A mere hint of a pale blue sheen glistened from some angles, but that could also be attributed to an assortment of vitamin deficiencies, lack of natural sunlight, or exhaustion. The lab and any furthering tinkering would need to wait, except the idea of sleep at this time was impossible.

Still, there was a calm in her heart, the very one she'd reclaimed those hours ago in a vast expanse of land that could only be called a dream, if Shuri were to disbelieve. But she didn't. She hadn't rejected the god since the heart-shaped herb showed her N'Jadaka, and today belief had become a permanent fixture of her being. She felt her mother ruffling her hair, in the water that carried her back to this cave, and in the damp breeze grazing the back of her hands. She clasped them together, squeezing her eyes shut and imagining the feel of Queen Ramonda's fingers between hers.

My daughter is no coward. I am so proud of everything you are.

Soft footsteps padded close to the archway. Shuri straightened and wiped a lingering tear from her eyes.

Namor...looked deflated, as though he was once a balloon on the verge of bursting but instead a small needle-shaped hole squeezed the anger from him until there was little of it left. He appraised her again in that way he had while cradling her wrist earlier, a form of thanks for her being alive.

"Earlier, you gave me a reason why, but you didn't answer if you wanted this."

She got up from the bed. “Define 'this' and make your conclusion." When he didn't answer, sweeping his eyes over her face and body with a twinge of relief, she continued. “Words are not the only way to communicate want.”

He stared. She stared back. Her hands yanked the rope near the archway to dim the lights. She didn't trust herself to continue, and in the dark he could not read her face and body. Then she thought how a child who had no love and was revered by his people likely would not recognize it even if it stared at them.

So she said, "You saved my life."

"You did. You created the impossible." The sound of gold clinging against gold echoed in the room. "The remaining portion of the plant is with Tozi. She recruited a gardener to care for it."

In the dark, Shuri's panther-enhanced eyes discerned the shapes and colors of furniture around her without assigning them colors. Hoping this to be the end of the conversation, she slipped into the bed and pulled a blanket over her body. "Thank you," she said, for both saving her life and the care over her inventions. She rolled over, anticipating his usual response. She heard nothing. Assuming he left, she closed her eyes and promptly heard a crash.

"You can’t see in the dark?" She stifled a laugh while Namor groaned from somewhere on the floor.

"My senses are painfully more mortal-like in air. Many on the council have insinuated I am more air than water over the years."

She couldn't help it; she broke out into guffaws. The space on the bed to her right shifted as his breathing drew closer. She noticed a distinct lack of the usual sea salt smell — her new mutant (?) organs were desensitized to the general murkiness of ocean water and it gave way to more subtle notes: some rich underwater spice, or a clean floral scent to him.

"I was terrified you'd hear Nakia lurking in the caves." Her laughter subsided into a final giggle as her eyes landed on the shimmering lake across the room, memorizing its shape and the coils of vines twisting into it. Where she would be in twenty-four hours, only Bast knew.

“Do you know,” he started so quietly that his voice was almost subsumed by the ripples of the water, “why I say no need when you thank me?"

She blinked slowly, tracing the curls of the assortment of flowers woven into the vines with her eyes.

"Because you should never thank me. I have taken too much from you for you to ever say that." The weight shifted again as he laid next to her, his front to her back and voice millimeters, miles from her neck. His jewelry clanged noisily, but it was a beautiful sound, like water falling in Warrior Falls. 

Tears pricked at her eyes.

She wanted to ask him about what he did to her people, what he did to her mother. If he ever thought of her as often as she thought of the handmaid she tried to save, or the Wakandans and Talokanil falling, dead before they hit the water. She heard her mother again; that she need not forgive because love and hate could exist as two parts in her whole, a panther and a serpent together. 

She knew he knew what she hinted at by the pause of his breath at the one subject she would never let him enter or put into words for a long time. The pain was too precious and infinite to fit into something as small as syllables.

"I will never forgive you." She whispered.

"I do not dare seek it. I only ask that when we are at odds, you still see what I need to protect, Princess." 

She willed him to move closer, but he wouldn't—not with the lights gone and her back to him and her words evasive.

"Princess?" She murmured, turning over. She reached out a hand and it met air. He was further away than expected. "Didn't you announce me as Queen?" The ensuing silence was consuming. "Or do I need to overthrow you for that honor?" She joked. The quiet worsened. She felt like how she withered under her father's scrutiny after she fumbled her first international visit.

A minute passed, during which she counted the number of glowworms hanging from the ceiling, before he responded. "Answer my question."

She extended her arm out fully and it connected with his bearded jaw. Her finger moved across it until it met his square jade earring and dipped into its carved lines. Jewelry suited his face. "We have matching ears. Why is that?"

He lifted a hand to still her wandering finger. "I do not have an answer for you. It may be because your body already holds one herb so it muted the effects of the other, as did my mother's pregnancy did me. It could also be that the flower is not an exact replica of the original and you created something entirely new."

"And dangerous. People may seek it like they seek vibranium to strengthen themselves. There was this one American hero, Captain America, who took a serum and —" She stopped. "Is that what you wished to use the flower for?"

"We have heard tales of this captain. Yes, to strengthen our warriors and protect our oceans."

"It saved me. Talokan could save so many others."

A sharp inhale. "Is that your philosophy or your brother's?"

She smiled despite herself. "Both."

"Excessive nobility does not protect when it can be taken advantage of."

"And isolation does, when it is so easily provoked?" She looked up at the dark ceiling, deep in thought. "I made a mistake, but you didn't make it easy for me to trust you."

She wondered how things would have changed, if they changed at all, had she told him. Would news of a formal invasion have sent him deeper in the depths of anger? Would he have remained eerily calm and directed her to leave? Or would nothing have changed, because she was Shuri an he was the Feathered Serpent God blessed, cursed, with the duties only broken leaders bore. She thanked Bast that no lives were taken today, and that she would airlift medicine herself from Wakanda to heal Zuma's face.

She attempted to put a hand over his mouth before he could rebuke her apology, "The apology is for your people. Many of them treated me like a friend."

Her hand landed over his nose instead, and he shifted under her until a small sneeze escaped him. The jade nose piercing tickled her palm. He lifted her hand and thread his fingers between hers, caressing them. He kissed them again, pressing his lips on the pads of her fingers and her knuckles and the back of her hand. Adrenaline raced, from the places where he poured over her, to the base of her spine. Her blood thrummed under her skin, under his touch.

But he could not see her, and she didn't trust herself to speak, so she had to move first. She scooted across until her shoulder hit his, then turned to face him fully. She wished to see the color of his skin and the shape of his nose instead of their general shapes, but it was enough to maneuver her face into the space between his jaw and shoulder.

"Do you want this?" he asked for a third time.

To be a Queen of Talokan when she was still an absent Princess of Wakanda? No. A young marriage was not unfamiliar to her as a member of the royal family, but she had always been content in her lab with only distant notions of courtship and the occasional romantic comedy to keep her occupied.

Yet she very much preferred this, whatever this was, over physical sparring and battle and going in circles and sleeping in Haiti with unfinished business casting a shade over her head. She definitely preferred this over maybe her maglev vibranium stabilizers, though whether it was better than trips to Oakland with her brother remained to be seen.

"Take me to the surface when my people arrive and I will decide," she whispered into the dark. In response, he shifted and entwined his arms around her, offering a small peck on her forehead.

"Are you sleeping here?"

He pressed his nose into her hair. It tickled. "The protector will be protected tonight."

Namor woke her mere hours later, announcing the arrival of her people with Atzi pretending not to stare behind them. Shuri thought about doors again, and then she smiled in anticipation to see Okoye and the others—though her hugs had a higher standard to meet now.

Chapter Text

Shuri slept like she fought. The first time Namor stood in this very room, protecting her from the spirits as a generous thank you parted her lips, he’d noticed the telltale signs of a fitful sleep without meaning to: an irregular breathing pattern, kicking the blanket off the lower half of her body (he’d averted his eyes at loose pants rolled up to her knees, when he were to look at her it would be when she was able to perceive see his want ), and her nose twitching every few minutes. He had no doubt that the moment he posed a threat, her body would leap up, her panther instincts driving her faster than that brilliant brain of hers. 

But had she continued to sleep. Fitfully, but as peaceful as a broken leader could.

He’d eventually dimmed the lights and left, for all that he could do to protect her from external threats, there were battles only she could fight despite him seeing echoes of them in him. Then he'd spotted one of her handmaidens arriving with breakfast, a shell in her hair, and the reminder sent him digging through old possessions collected from the surface-world for the most beautiful shells could only be found at a shoreline embedded under layers of sand. That he was more willing and more frequently thinking of the surface in appreciation, instead of disgust, didn’t escape his notice. 

(“Is this also your mother’s?” she’d asked, breathless and in awe, like she hoped he would continue to adorn her with his most beloved of memories.

He would. She need only ask.)

Now, as he laid with his arms around her and breathing to her melodic heartbeat, despite absorbing air through his skin, he thought of the tip of the shell poking out of a neat stack of clothes that he’d seen when he first entered. It lay broken and untouched, because what he’d given to her out of concern was now a dark mark of his violence. Yet the equation was simple. 

He was a god-King who’s rigid, obstinate philosophy protected his kingdom for generations. 

Shuri was part of his kingdom. The surface world tried to kill and successfully injured several of his own.

He was a god, but only Chac had mercy.

"I will not burn down the world, so long as you are in it."

He still saw red thinking of the woman’s cackle, but what he felt now was pure numbness. It was not the anger of fire, but the anger of water: a cold, simmering hatred that would wait for the precise moment to attack. It was an anger borne of five hundred years encompassing the only woman after his mother to tether him to the surface world. 

He couldn’t stop his mother’s grief from killing her, but short of Talokan’s downfall, he would limit Shuri’s sympathy before it killed her. There was nobility; and then there was destruction. So when Atzi tore into the room, announcing the rumble of a conch shell, he woke the woman in his arms, prepared for war. 

He was a man — god — of his word, after all.

Shuri woke with a prayer on her tongue. It should have been a curse. She was still in Talokan, faintly lit glowworms swaying above her head, and she felt as though she swallowed an entire desert. As she broke into a fit of coughs, the memories of the previous day washed over her in a slow trickle. Something strange pulsed in her veins now. Her body was cocooned within the curves of another. 

When the lights flickered on, she spotted a small bob of a head, Atzi. With Namor watching over her, there was no need for the others to be there. 

Doors. I swear to Bast—

A warm finger touched her cheek. It left an inferno. 

“They are here.”

Shuri sat up with him. Excitement overtook her slowly, then all at once — she scrambled over him, uncaring that Atzi was doing a poor job of not looking or that her hand accidentally brushed against the gold of his belt or even that her nightgown rode up to expose her thighs. She was going to see her people, her family. 

“Water,” she rasped as she reached for her tracksuit. She heard Namor stand up but Atzi was faster, slipping outside and returning not a minute later with a clay cup of fresh water. Her nerves and lungs sputtered with relief instantaneously. 

She waved Namor to turn around, and he squinted his eyes in suspicion before obliging. A fleeting question crossed her mind, suddenly curious about how many women he’d seen, how many human women, and if he’d ever spent the night protecting them, his skin and beard pressed against them—

“Why are you so…warm?” Not just warm, the air didn’t feel as damp anymore. “Normally your skin is colder to touch.”

Atzi was plenty embarrassed for her at the open mention of them touching, lingering at the entrance. Her skin turned from blue to purple. Shuri trained her eyes duly at anything but Namor, even as he spoke.

“Likely the effects of the flower. Our skin needs to hold in body heat or we would die of hypothermia.” 

Halfway into her purple tracksuit, Shuri changed her mind and ruffled through the dresses. The jade one.  She fumbled with the straps, slowing down just enough to sure the treads of jade didn't tear. Namor tilted his head when she announced she was ready, curiosity flashing in his eyes. She dipped her fingers in the lake and brushed her curls back.

“I don’t want them to think you didn’t take care of me.” It was true. In his own way, she thought, thinking of the morning meditations and his round-about way of defending her work. Though she’d have a word with him about some of his guards and the lack of food variety.

“I did not ask, Princess.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“They are waiting,” Atzi interrupted weakly.

They followed her into the catacombs, Shuri stretching her neck up to bask in the light. She didn’t know if she would still be here by nightfall or in Wakanda. There was so much of her heart here now, so much that she couldn’t begin to describe its shape or form; only that it thrummed in her ribcage, perpetual and permanent. 

“Your mask,” Namor nodded at Atzi. The Talokanil pulled the mask from her face and bid them with the open hand gesture —at both of them, Shuri noted with a start—before slipping into the lake. He lifted the mask to Shuri’s face. “It is a long swim, and we do not know the extent of the changes in your body. There will be no chances with your life today.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Namor stabbed his staff twice into the ground, pulled her to him, and flew into the waters above. He was faster than a whale. The spirals he left in his wake descended endlessly below them, his body cutting through the water above like a knife through soft lamb roast. The dawn sky moved closer and closer, the sun's rays at first an indiscernible shimmer, her eyes a camera coming to focus as she emerged from the water. 

The mask shifted, exposing surface air to her for the first time in a month. It was glorious and filling, but the four shadowy figures standing on the shore took it away. Namor fruitlessly tugged at her, but she rather thought the whales would be impressed at the speed she swam then climbed out of the water. She flung her arms around Okoye, laughing and her dress soaking wet, tears mixing with the droplets weighing her eyelashes down. Curiously, the woman was not dressed in the outfit of a Dora, but still her Midnight Angel fit.

Okoye held her face with both hands as her suit disappeared. She looked as though she had aged years in mere weeks, her eyes shadowed with sorrow and mouth twisted into a grim line of both relief and worry. In her hands was the conch shell Shuri once threw so valiantly at Namor’s head.

“Princess. My dear Princess.” Her fingers moved dangerously close to Shuri’s ears, an odd look crossing her face, but it was interrupted by Aneka’s arms joining them.

“Thank the ancestors. Who did this to you?”

Bucky clapped her back. “Nice to see ya.”

Shuri shared a few more moments of respite, shifting to hug Aneka properly and greeting Sam with a quick nod. Namor waded up to the shore behind them, shaking water out of his hair and muscles glistening in the emerging sunrise. Sam and Bucky looked at each other, bewildered, but said nothing as Aneka’s spear was at his throat in a flash. 

“How did they attack you?” She asked Shuri, eyes trained on the water-god.

“I am in one piece, Aneka.” Shuri tried to move between her and Namor, but Okoye stilled her with a hand she could easily shrug off using her panther strength. She immediately backtracked, hoping her words were enough. It would not do to anger Okoye at this time. “Thanks to him.”

“Bast forgive me, I bartered with your skills, but had he agreed to release—”

Shuri squeezed her eyes. Bast, how did her brother do this sort of peacemaking thing? “This is an alliance. We must give and take. I chose to remain there.”

Namor lifted his free hand to Aneka’s spear. His fingers curled in. They could snap the vibranium spear the moment he willed it. Shuri wondered what this was like—outnumbered by surface-dwellers, Wakandan and American alike.

“Harm came to the Princess because I neglected my duties. I would have the Americans drowning at the bottom of the ocean, where their cries would reach neither light nor sound.” He said, almost bored.

Sam crossed his arms while Bucky slid closer to Shuri. His hair was longer now, and though not as long as before. His eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Aight, man.” 

Namor’s lips thinned, his eyes flashing at the White Wolf where his hair tickled Shuri's cheek while Okoye loosened her grip.

Shuri leapt at the lull in the verbal spar. “Val had White Vision under her control the whole time. I built the machine with the materials you sent,” Shuri nodded at Sam, “through Nakia, but it ended up doing more than just tracking him down.” She rambled for a few minutes to explain the whirlwind of week, leaving out details of her near-death experience and ascension to the ancestral plane, during which Aneka reluctantly lowered her spear. Bucky cursed using very colorful language, and Shuri thought she imagined the glance of approval Namor gave him. 

“I should’ve known, damnit. She sent Walker after us to stop us. Seems like she’s getting super-powered humans like collectibles to do her bidding.” Bucky sighed.

It didn’t make sense—Val wouldn’t have known Shuri would be there at the exact moment they were captured. Had she intended to kill her long before then? The woman’s ominous warning crossed her mind ("Be careful with the equipment, your highness" ). She inhaled a sharp breath, distantly aware of Okoye speaking.

“The American woman is a fox and not unintelligent as far as intelligence agents go. She hacked into the Princess’ kimoyo beads. She was aware there was a third party by listening to Ross and the Queen Mother.”

“That’s impossible.” Aneka shot Shuri a look. “The beads are not hackable.” She stated, but there was a question in her voice. Shuri knew better than others that nothing was absolutely impervious to hacking, but the thought of her beads’ weakness exploited by a purple-streaked nasally woman was a bit humiliating.

“There’s vibranium in the sea, and a man wearing a speedo glaring at us.” Bucky intoned. “This is our world now.”

Namor bristled. “I am a god made of speed—”

Something clicked in Shuri’s mind. The heat of the rising sun enveloped. She began to sweat profusely, her body akin to that of a polar bear wandering the desert, and Okoye’s eyes were on her ears again. “She was after me from before. If she overheard Ross, then she knew Wakanda was not to blame for the attack and that there was a third party the whole time. That’s why she led the second expedition. She’s letting the world think we’re building high-powered weapons while she provokes war—”

“We need to go.” Okoye resumed a tight grip on her. “How badly did you damage this synthezoid?”

Sam shifted his red goggles. “Can you fix him? If we can present him at the UN, have him testify—”

Okoye shook her head. “In that kangaroo court? No, Val will stand trial in Wakanda.”

Shuri held up a hand. She was the youngest of the group, the next oldest Aneka at thirty years, but she held the most authority. Authority that she now knew she must wield carefully and justly, official leader or no, because she was the Black Panther, sister to King T’Challa, one of the most noble men to have ever walked this Earth. For the first time, she thought of him fondly, the pain only a murmur in her new heart. 

Four pairs of eyes swung towards her. Namor was already looking at her from before. She cleared her throat. 

“When do they attack?”

“If the eagle-man can be trusted, before dusk.” Okoye tapped her beads.

Shuri thought as carefully as one could in mere seconds. White Vision’s…glowing hole in his forehead was destroyed. Namor’s staff had pierced through it cleanly, and Shuri suspected that was where his personality and memories were stored. Last time, the Avengers all but begged her to extract his mind from an alien magic stone more complex than the most developed AI in the world. How hard could American technology and witch magic be? "They messed with his mind and turned him into a killing machine. But I think I can do it."

She turned to Namor, still speaking to the others. “I wish for an audience with K’uk’ulkan.”

A small smile graced his face while the others exploded into immediate objections. The only voice absent was that of Okoye’s, and Shuri turned to her, pleading. The Midnight Angel's face tightened. It was the dignified stance of a warrior, the one that made her among the Dora's most formidable generals and a woman who could turn against her husband without hesitation for something greater.

To Shuri's surprise, Okoye addressed Namor. “You will bring the hostages with you, or do you dishonor your protector?”

“I dare not.”

“You killed our Queen Mother. Did you lie when speaking of your neglect that brought her harm?”

Namor’s eyes began to turn dark, but they remained on Shuri. “No.”

“Swear on it. If the Princess was not here, I would spear you without question.”

Aneka fingers twitched, slowly raising her spear again. “As will I.” 

Shuri tried to protest, worried their overbearing stubbornness would break their frail alliance before war would, but to her surprise, Namor answered.

“The Princess is part of Talokan. Her safety is bound to my people.”

“So be it, or Bast curse you.” Okoye released her grip on Shuri, who pulled her mask over her face, mostly for show. The farce didn’t convince the former Dora general, because she raked her stubby nails across Shuri’s ears. Aneka followed the motion but Shuri untangled herself from the group. The four stood still, eyes boring into the back of her head as she trudged into the water behind Namor.

There were small vibranium weights woven into the hem of her dress, she noticed, that kept the skirt from billowing out and floating. It was a dress made for her, prepared as though she would one day sink into waters. No one could have anticipated she would one day become part-water, but that Namor adorned her as such, perhaps hoping that she would design a way to carry herself into the depths of his home, made her skin tingle more than their last kiss did.

Namor didn’t hold her this time, twisting his body to prepare swimming back to their cave, but when she called to him he stopped. He kept his back to her. Shuri spread her arms out to pull her deeper into the water to meet him. His shoulders lowered and lifted with every breath, and she ripped her mask off, the rush of water into her lungs a strange but comforting feeling. The dress flowed and twisted around her legs.

“I must go.” She said, finally. Her voice warbled. The instinct to keep her mouth shut was over two decades in the making; but still, she would meet him as an equal. "I can't fix White Vision in the lab here."

“Yes.” He agreed.

“My people are in danger, and so are yours.”

“My people will always come first, as do yours.”

She reached a hand out to his back, pressing strong fingers absent of claws into his sinewy flesh. “Yes.”

He turned to gaze up at her. Her head floated a few inches above his, her body floating perpendicular to his. His foot wings could propel him higher but he stayed where he was, suspended as a statue. Only the currents of water from her every breath flowed around them, swathing them in a still moment.

“K’uk’ulk’an?” His name came freely to her. She lost count of how many times she uttered these syllables by now.

“What is it, Shuri?”

“Thank—no.” She grabbed a fistful of dense curls just to give her hands something to do. She bit her lip. “I’ll…have to come back for the shell. And I’d like to visit Juana. Fen still owes me an apology. Totl said he’d teach me pitz—”

“Princess Shuri of Wakanda is always welcome in these waters.”

She suppressed a snicker. “We’ll make a diplomat out of you yet.”

“May Chac suspend my entrails before that happens.”

This time, she couldn’t help but laugh. When the amusement faded shortly thereafter, the severity of their situation laid out in a multitude of paths ahead of them, so many that even the ocean couldn’t contain them, she moved a hand through the water and let her forehead drift to his. Touching him in water was different than in air, as though the heaviness of the water drained their touches of weight and left their words lighter. Shuri realized suddenly that trying to compensate for water's density with a louder voice was wrong; that the strength her voice needed in air was unnecessary here for he could hear even the smallest of whispers.

She was not a woman who spoke lightly, but she still let the water absorb her and carry her hand to his jaw. “Are you going to bring your whole army, still?”

He closed his eyes. "There are risks I cannot take."

"Okay." It was not relenting, but granting him a space that would would require him to make his own conclusions. The beginnings of trust. ("I will trust you...then you will return me to Wakanda, and this will be over.") And if he didn't, she would be there to stop him. "We will fight to protect Wakanda and Talokan. Do you trust me?"

He uncurled his fingers around his staff and moved higher to close the gap between them. She parted with the last of her restraint. The kiss of water was lighter than air, but heavier than the ocean. The was no floor under her to give out nor any ground to tilt and spin her into oblivion. She craved what she had never known until this moment, their noses grazing and his jewelry digging into her skin and large hands propping up her jaw, their tongues meeting in a dance and foreheads brushing in soft caresses. This was want. This is need.

"You didn't," she panted, because she was not a full mutant like him and needed her lungs to absorb oxygen (he panted too, but for very different reasons), "you didn't answer."

His eyes opened, their foreheads still touching. "I trust your judgment," he stated. His hands dropped to her neck and grasped at the jade jewelry resting on her slick skin. She let the water put inches between them, their still moment vanishing into the sea.

"We need to grab White Vision's body. And...you're not going to like this, but Darcy, the one with the red lipstick. I don't think she was involved with Val's scheming, and she might help explain why the Vision-finder brought him to Talokan."

"You trust this woman?" He questioned, his voice steel, as if to say, you trust her but not me?

"I don't trust her. But if every alliance was built on unshakable trust, we wouldn't be here." She reminded him. "It will take too much time to update the Wakandan scientists on this. She knows magic."

He pressed a thumb to her bottom lip. "As I do?"

Oh, Bast.

He removed his hands from her before she could yank him towards her again. He stuck a winged foot out to push the suspended staff upwards and caught it with a flourish. "Go. I will send Attuma, some of our engineers, and that scientist with the tinfoil man, but she must remain in Wakanda. Our army will be upon your shores before the sun sheds its golden light on the Wakandan air."

She knew he didn't want and would not accept her thanks, but there were other ways to communicate want, love, gratitude. She pulled off her black earring, her fingers demanding an inordinate amount of strength in the dense environment. After some wrangling, she swam to his right and removed his square jade earring, familiar with its shape from her ministrations mere hours ago.

"How long have you had these on?" She muttered, trying to work quickly. If she didn't reappear on the surface soon, Okoye would send a search party, alliance be damned.

"Centuries."

She paused. "Then—"

He removed it with a startling fluidity. "Quickly, or I may take you back with me."

The incongruence of his ear jewelry was strange at first, but the further she backed away, the more apt it looked. If he noticed her keeping his earring with him, he said nothing. He nodded at her and spiraled into the dark depths without looking back. She kept her eyes on him all the same. Only when he was a small speck, indiscernible from the sprawling civilization below, did she reach for air. The Midnight Angels were knee-deep in water when the water cleared from here eyes. 

They stiffened. Her head bobbed above the water as a shudder crawled up her spine.

Her mask lay forgotten meters below.

Okoye leveled a stare at her. "What did he do?"

Chapter Text

To be selected to join the Dora Milaje as an initiate was among the highest honors for a woman in any tribe. They spent weeks in isolation, meditating; months climbing the tallest mountain of Jabari Land; practiced swinging spears until their hands bled and their hearts gave out. After four years of gruel training could they ascend from trainee to full warrior. Okoye completed her training in two, and was promoted to general in another three.

In another life, if Shuri was somehow left bereft of a full-scale laboratory and Bast cursed her with a hatred for science, she envisioned herself training under Okoye’s watchful eye, deep in the Sambisa forest, sweating alongside Aneka and probably getting beat up by Ayo, away from the politics and culture of palace life.

This was the moment she banished all thoughts of that imagined life, because making an enemy out of Okoye was among the top five of Namor’s worst mistakes, five centuries of life be damned, and perhaps now among her top three.

She’s not mad at me. She’s mad for me.

Sometimes, it made little difference. Now a Midnight Angel in an admittedly gaudy but extremely effective fit, Okoye revealed only her face as her eyes swept up and down Shuri.

“Okoye, the ship is waiting.” Bucky ventured. Indeed it was; it hovered over them with a shimmering beam landing a few paces away on the beach. “We need to go.”

“Princess.” Okoye's eyes clouded with a thousand different emotions that Shuri could not discern. Feelings were not numbers, and she only knew what grief, love, regret, and worry looked like in warrior's eyes. “You sent a message saying there was an attack and you were injured, and earlier repeated those facts. I look at you and you take his name, wear these clothes, and move and look as he does. What did he do?”

“What he had to.” Shuri confessed, and then more quietly, “I was in deep in the ocean when White Vision attacked. My watersuit split. I…almost died.”

Okoye closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. A tear escaped her right eye. “You said you finished the flower. Did you take it?”

“I did.”

The tear rolled down her cheek. Shuri’s heart shriveled inside. 

“I did this to you.”

Aneka reached an arm out, one that Okoye held up a hand to stop. “Okoye, no—”

“You are one of two members remaining of the Golden Tribe. The Queen Mother stripped me of my title because I failed. But to fail her again? Bast has cursed me because I failed to stand by your brother’s rightful claim to the throne—”

“Stop it,” Shuri cried, wading closer so the water stopped at her ankles. Aneka whipped her head between her and Okoye, unsure what to do, while Bucky and Sam trekked away from the water, smart enough to give them privacy. “No one deserves the title of General more than you. You turned a weapon on your husband. Your loyalty was and will never be in question.” She heaved, the words pulled out of her against her will faster and faster. “I didn’t want any of you to worry. He saved me with the flower I made. That’s it. I’m in good health, once I get back to the lab I can figure out exactly how it affected me, but it’s like the herb and —”

Okoye shook her head slowly. “Your brother entrusted your safety to us all, and we have nothing to show for it.” 

Fully out of the water now, Shuri clenched her fists. “I don’t need to be protected! I am the protector. I am not a child. I led you all into battle, I fought for my mother with my life on the line, I am the Black Panther.” She grit her teeth as hot tears stung her vision. She refused to let them fall. 

“Princess—”

“My mother blamed you for what I chose, because she was still grieving. You didn’t lose me; I told the Talokanil to take me to Namor. Now you blame yourself?” Understanding flickered through those stubborn, beautiful eyes Shuri grew to recognize as ones like a sister’s. “White Vision hurt my friends. I ran away from Wakanda. I’m younger than my brother when he became King, but please don’t treat what I do as if they’re the simple mishaps of a child.”

Okoye quieted, flinching in the heat of the sun and the fully blue sky. Shuri heaved, embarrassed at her outburst and her lungs crying for water again and Bucky and Sam were trying not to listen but definitely looking at the wreck of a mess she was.

“My dear,” Aneka pulled her head into the crook of her neck. “You are so brave and admirable. But to be strong does not mean others do not care and worry for you. Every Dora learns that one does not bear their burdens alone. That's what makes us a formidable force.”

Shuri peeked up from Aneka’s shoulder to watch Okoye. She waited until her heart rate slowed to speak again, voice muffled by Aneka's shoulder. “You don’t need to feel guilty. I’m going to ask M’Baku to make you general agai—”

Okoye pierced her spear into the sand. “He did make the offer. This is not guilt, Princess. It is love. I have loved you since you were born. It's out of love for the Queen Mother that I will never pick up a Dora spear until my dying breath.”

Shuri thought warrior honor and tradition was really stupid. She laughed anyway, because she had love in the ocean, love in the air, and so many people her brother sent to keep loving her. She almost felt the ridiculous urge to hug M’Baku or knock Bucky out in a fancy freezer again.

“Ladies, not to interrupt a heartfelt moment, but we need to go.” Sam’s wings spread from east to west as he pointed above their shoulders.

She turned out of Aneka’s arms just to catch the fin of an orca disappearing under sloshing waves and water sprinkling over a ragtag group emerging in the distance. Attuma’s shark headpiece jingled as he bared his teeth and shook his silver weapon. His other hand dragged a net holding White Vision’s body. Totl and his friend—the name still escaped Shuri—breathed heavily into their watermasks and waddled out of the water. Darcy looked positively green but managed to crack a joke anyway.

“That,” Darcy breathed, pulling off her mask, “was still better than being brainwashed into joining a circus.”

Shuri’s chest flooded with warmth. These were all her people, the ones her mother enjoined her to protect.

“Have you made a decision, K’uk’ulkan?” Tozi’s eyes hovered to the right of his face. The disproportionate weight on his ears made him lift a hand to his right ear. His earrings were made of pure jade, carved by a jeweler some two centuries back after a trip to the Motogua Valley, to better adorn him as a king. Silver and gold were prized, but jade was fought and killed over. To see it replaced with Wakandan vibranium... 

Namora was struck quiet by his appearance, but she had the good sense to remain silent after her outburst last the night before. Some of the other high-ranking warriors were collecting the last of their water bombs, trying to hide furtive glances but his ears easily picked up their astonished whispers. If there was any doubt before, that this semi-immortal god had not only yielded but in all forms kneeled to a goddess, then it was made perfectly clear now.

The most important things never needed words to give them life. Shuri's unequivocal glances, gentle touches, strong kicks and claws—all of them said the same thing: want and gratitude, and something else...

He leveled a steely gaze at Tozi. “Our enemies will know fear tonight.”

She opened her hands, but something akin to dismay crossed her face. "We are ready, K'uk'ulkan."

Totl and his friend, Zolin, whom she learned was Atzi's cousin, sat frighteningly still against the ship's walls. It was their first long-term foray onto the surface, and their knees wobbled from the way air forced them to use their muscles differently.

("We are not taking that contraption. We will swim." Attuma sneered.

"I don't know if I can..." Shuri lowered her voice, unsure how much she wanted to be open about her new physiology, "swim that far, but your king chose you for this task. It is quicker and safer if we travel together, lest we meet the Americans en route. It's not a dry-trap, I promise.")

Okoye kept close watch over Attuma, who stood in one corner with a frown on his face no matter how often the others offered him a seat. She and Aneka commiserated about the better and superior Wakandan spears while Sam crouched over White Vision's crumpled body. Shuri had run a preliminary scan with her kimoyo beads to assess the damage, and though she expected it to take time due to White Vision's complex neural network, that five minutes had passed with Griot still processing was concerning.

Darcy touched her lightly on the shoulder. She'd apologized profusely after boarding and did so again. Shuri was inclined to believe her when she explained that she was careful not to tell Val what they were working on, but the woman could've known anyway—there were only so many reasons Darcy was sought out for, and now they wondered if Val hadn't recruited her for the expedition for similar reasons—but true to a scientist, she blamed herself for the machine's failure. 

"It shouldn't have...god. I'm just lucky no one died." She shifted her eyes to the side, her face unnaturally pale and sunken in from weeks underground. "Almost no one. They said you died, and came back to life—"

"It's okay. We'll get to the bottom of this." Shuri had her suspicions, mainly in the realm of whatever were in those submarine parts. 

"Are you part...fish now?"

Sam looked up from his poking at White Vision's arm and frowned. "Who's part what now?"

Darcy pointed at Shuri, who internally groaned. "New superpowers, hello."

"Aha, like the 'fishman'." Sam grinned. "King M'Baku's ready to greet him again. That, I won't be missing."

Shuri threw her hands up, aware that her month's absence may have created an odd set of friendships. "There will be no infighting with the Talokanil, just a united front. Sam, are you even allowed to fight your own government? You're Captain America."

Sam glanced at Bucky askance and stood up. "Let's just say I'm here for diplomatic purposes. I'm supposed to be stopping war, aren't I? The...Winter Soldier can handle the rest under the radar."

Bucky, who was fielding off Totl’s questions about his vibranium arm, looked up at the sound of his old moniker. Him and Sam started arguing like they were the love-hate duo of a buddy cop show. Darcy smirked at Shuri. 

"I see you defending your god—"

Shuri whipped around, lowering her voice to a fierce whisper. "He's not—we're allies—"

"There's different ways to be allies—"

Before Okoye got a whiff of the strange conversation, Shuri clamped a hand over Darcy's mouth. "You can't leave Wakanda for the time being. I guess we'll get you that fellowship." At the American's pleasantly shocked expression, and satisfied she wouldn't revisit the topic, Shuri removed her hand.

Darcy glanced at Bucky. “Will he be staying too?”

Sam overheard and jumped into their conversation, ever the literal wing man. Bucky glared after him. “He’s Cap’s best friend.”

“Who—” 

"You haven't heard of him? Let me tell you the gallant tale of Sergeant James Bucky Barnes..."

Shuri groaned and exited the conversation to do another headcount. Two Wakandans, three Americans, three Talokanil, and herself, an unconfirmed-mutant Princess returning home. 

Griot announced its analysis with a beep. "Scan complete, Princess." Two trillion neurons, about a quarter damaged. The primitive American wiring mixed with slabs of vibranium would require her to realign all the synapses. She and Darcy quickly prepared a plan while Okoye and Aneka prepared for battle. Attuma even offered a quip or two.

They disembarked at Mount Bashenga. The Talokanil dipped into the nearby river to replenish their lungs, while Darcy and Shuri all but flew down the flights of stairs to her laboratory. During their descent, she'd observed with a nostalgic clarity the beautiful skyline of the golden city, the sun beaming down at it from high noon. Her chest felt even warmer than her skin; no matter how often she saw this view, it always felt like coming home to the first time. ("Do you wish to come to the palace first? Nakia and Toussaint are there." Aneka had asked, but Shuri was not ready to see a palace without the Queen that should've been sitting on the throne.)

Sam beat them with his wings, carrying White Vision's body over his shoulder deeper into the mountain. A smattering of her scientists and lab technicians flattened themselves against the wall, shouting hurried greetings to their returned Princess. Four Dora Milaje nodded in greeting, flanking every entryway. She smiled tightly, now focused solely on the task ahead of them. Months away from her laboratory didn't dim the muscle memory; she maneuvered around the gadgets and tables with intuitive ease. Familiarity blanketed her fidgety nerves.

"We have two hours." Sam looked at one of the screens displaying the time. "We'll hold them off for as long as possible, but short of giving them vibranium, they'll continue with this attack. There's only so much the world can overlook, but using vibranium to make sentient weapons? They'll never recover."

Shuri flipped a white sheet over the med bay. Sam rolled Vision's body onto it. "K'uk'ulkan will bring the hostages soon. If we can get Val to confess..."

Another group of footsteps echoed in the lab, belonging to a particularly blue set of people. Everett Ross emerged behind them, directing them towards the corner Shuri and Darcy set up for their work. 

"Colonizer!"

"Your Highness. I heard what happened. I can't believe Val would—" he shook his head, carrying a distant look in his eye. He looked worn too, signs of sleepless nights on his weary visage clear in the harsh lab lights. 

"Uh, Princess, there's some weird sparking happening here. Help." Darcy put on a glove and reached into the hole in White Vision's head. Shuri nodded to Ross and motioned for Totl and Zolin to follow.

Within ten minutes, they were changed into lab-appropriate wear and zipped around the room. Totl had observed her work with vibranium enough that he provided support for manual replacement of Vision's parts. Zolin was not as skilled but helped clarify the potential damage that Talokan waters could have imparted to White Vision's wiring. The other Wakandan scientists pulled up a myriad of kimoyo screens with holographic displays of the synthezoid's molecular structures. A small screen, one that no one paid any heed to but Shuri flickered her eyes at every few minutes, tracked the location of a kimoyo earring currently worn by a certain Feathered Serpent God. The dot inched closer to the African continent. The jade earring she'd taken in its place rested in the changing room of her lab under a delicately folded dress.

All the while, Attuma stood guard. The hairs on Shuri's neck stood on end, but she attributed it to her changed body. She asked for buckets for water and trays of sashimi, pushing any thoughts not involving the synthezoid to the back of her mind.

"Toussaint is in a safe location with some of the Dora." Nakia rushed to Okoye as she, Aneka, and Bucky exited the ship and onto the platform near the palace. The damage from Namor's attack was completely gone; their flight into the city was just as beautiful as any other. King M'Baku proved himself a competent ruler by building morale and focusing on efforts to help Wakandans to return to rebuilt homes. All that remained of his attack was the new throne room, the reason for which Okoye suspected Shuri immediately barricaded herself in her lab. 

The Princess hadn't stepped foot in the palace since burying her mother.

Nakia wrung her hands together. "Where is Shuri?"

"In the lab with some of, er, the blue people." Bucky rubbed his human arm with the vibranium one. "C'mon, we need to get to the border."

Namor emerged from the water. Behind him, a whale broke through the surface, carrying a dozen unconscious Americans with masks covering half their faces. 

A line of Wakandan female warriors, dressed in red and brown garb, greeted him and his people. They didn't smile nor frown nor flinch. In front of them, a rugged, large man—one he recognized as the fearless warrior who attempted to land an inevitably useless blow at him—nodded once. 

"Fishman." He boomed. "I, King M'Baku, of the Jabari tribe, welcome you to Wakanda under...less watery circumstances." His furry skirt swayed in the slight breeze. He pointed his wooden club, new by the looks of it, at the whale behind him. Namora and Tozi lifted their spears and crouched, hissing.

"They are not dead." Namor rumbled before they made assumptions. His experience with the Wakandan warriors proved them too liberal with pointing those spears at him. "They were given medication, so they did not see neither Talokan's entry point...nor yours."

One warrior, her jewelry gold instead of silver which he assumed was the mark of the general, gave him a single nod of approval. She whispered something to the King, who nodded once at them again. "Come." It was an order, one that sought to undermine his standing. If he followed, he was a god at the helm of foreign mortals. If he didn't, then he was not above besmirching this alliance.

On his right, Namora snarled. He held up a hand. 

"Easy, my child. Remember what we are here for."

"We are giving everything with little in return." She said. "You did not give us the flower; only her, and made her your—"

Tozi point up at the tall, twisting buildings around them. Airships lifted from the tops of some of them, flying over their heads. "War is at their borders. We must go."

Namor and Tozi leapt out of the water while Namora directed some of the Wakandans to unload the hostages.

There was one thing Namor missed, however. He was the Feathered Serpent God, water-king of the strongest kingdom on Earth. His relentless, dogged voracity to protect earned Talokan relative solitude for generations. But he was not used to the ways of surface-dwellers; the modern politics and the dirty games they played, two-faced with dealings and counter-moves under the table. But just as there were other ways to communicate aside from words, there were others ways to win aside from sheer strength. 

Val did not fight with physical strength. She was a puppet-master, maneuvering others with a delicate balance of provocation soothed by sweet-nothings. She found people in pain, people like that fiery sister of Black Widow, the washed-up almost-Captain America-now U.S. Agent, and twisted a knife so carefully into their wounds they had no idea she was doing the twisting. It left them only aware that someone was hurting them, and they would strike in the direction she pointed them in.

It was her luck that Talokanil were not so different from humans.

Chapter Text

The slight shimmer of Wakanda’s forcefield was apparent from a distance. Namor was familiar with its general design. His engineers used a similar mechanism to surround Talokan, and Wakandan forcefields did not extend deep underwater. It was a weakness his people exploited, yet he prayed now it was one the enemies didn't notice.

If they did, ah well. He was a flying god. No matter. It was something he’d mention to Shuri and put his best engineers to work to in the future. After.

He looked out at the plains, flying a hundred meters above them all. Water bombs and skillfully removed dams from Wakanda's rivers directed his army to the border. Some of the Wakandans followed alongside them, riding on large horned animals; others piloted airships with flapping wings in imitation of a big water bug. Their speed was no match for him (even the bird-man with sad metal wings lumbered far behind him). He remembered fondly showing off in a somersault flip to land on Shuri’s airship with a spear through her window. He guessed she designed the vehicles; she wouldn’t have died, but he had delighted in the way her lips parted in surprise, her face twisting in a flash of anger as she’d sunk. Lips he’d become closely acquainted with in recent weeks, but perhaps it would never be closely enough, even in the time immortality gave him.

Steel tanks flattened the Wakandan plains. He felt irritation shoot through him, not unlike the one that drove him to protect Talokan waters. This was another empire of vibranium, its air pristine and landscape beautiful, protecting a people that never had to leave yet wanted to open its walls anyway. 

Large airships of many assortments hovered with sweeping lights and cylinders pointed at the forcefield. A speck of a human moved out of the closest airship, holding something to his mouth. “We know you are there.” 

It was an amplifier of some sort, because everyone in the area could hear this tiny man. Namor flew closer and the bird-man followed, the forcefield now meters ahead of them. The bird-man stopped at his left and shot a strange look at his feet. 

“Namor? Kooklan?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You will call me Namor.” 

“Right. Uh, stay here. I’ll tell them to stand down and that the hostages are here. If they start breaking the forcefield…”

“I have more soldiers than this land has blades of grass. The surface world will dare never cross us again.”

The bird-man to his credit did not flinch, though his eyes widened under the red tint of his goggles. The wings of his suit curled and he spoke quickly into a ring of beads around his glove, not unlike the ones Shuri wore, and a small opening widened in the forcefield. He flew through and landed on one of the airships. The forcefield closed behind him, and Wakandans and Talokanil watched, with bated breath, the blue and red bird-man and an American military general speak in a rushed jumble of words. Sam shook his head vigorously, and the general pounded a fist into his hand, yelling.

Then one of their airships launched a missile into the forcefield. It didn’t pierce it, but it also didn’t crumble easily. It broke into enough shards that it caused cracks of blue to spiral outwards. 

Another missile hit the same spot. Continuous, sustained impact would break the forcefield. Sam flew up, too slow to block another missile, and a crack widened in the forcefield. Namor flew towards the general’s ship. The humans inside barely registered the flying man adorned in vibranium, too shocked and slow to act.

They will know fear tonight.

Shuri missed Riri Williams sorely because at least her jokes were funny and well-timed. Darcy, on the other hand, was a master of mild disinterest and bad timing even when she eventually resorted to puns of all the choices in humor out there.

“His name’s Namor?”

“His enemies call him that. His people call him K’uk’ulkan.”

Darcy looked up, one hand occupied with lifting a slab of vibranium off of White Vision’s head and the other tapping at a screen. “So...either he puts the cuckoo in cuckoo-kan, or the namor in enamored.”

Totl choked into his watermask after Griot finished translating. The cable in his hands shuddered in tandem with Shuri’s glare.

“Darcy, if you don’t shut up—”

“Lay easy on the murderous tendencies, yeah?” Darcy dropped a hand from a screen and pried the vibranium off of Vision’s head. Half of his face was exposed to the air: a complex system of circuitry and uneasy magic.

She had codes of his memory pulled up, each one larger than Griot’s central computer. Bast, please help me. And then, for good measure, Chac help us. The blue in her blood thrummed approvingly.

Darcy continued. “Speaking of murderous behavior, how do we know this guy’s not gonna shoot laser beams at us the moment he’s up?”

Behind them, Attuma’s baton jingled threateningly. He preferred to stand in corners, clearly. She didn’t ever remember him being so amenable to silence. When Totl and Zolin squirmed at Darcy’s implication, Shuri backtracked from her distracted thoughts.

“I’ll add a code to dismantle his weaponry when he wakes up.”

Ross returned with a circuit board. “If he does.” He shot curious looks at the Talokanil, unused to their presence and lithe movements the way the other Wakandans and even Darcy was. 

“He will.”

“Not doubting you, Princess, but my ex-wife was…well, she would have input a failsafe into his code, or whoever she had helping her.”

She paused scrolling through his memory and pulled up a scan of White Vision’s ‘brain’. “You think she had help?”

“Yes. She would never get her hands dirty directly. Multiple people in the CIA, S.W.O.R.D, Congress, researchers at top universities.”

“Is that how she got her hands on a second vibranium sensor?”

His shoulders sagged. “I was arrested before I could be made privy to that information.”

Shuri eyed the screen tracking Namor with a worried look. He's flying around the border.

Darcy noticed the movement and with startling awareness sent her a hopeful smile. “He’ll be fine. They always are. It’s us mortals we have to worry about. We’re sixty percent of the way there. Let’s trust the others are doing their job.”

She nodded, forcing down a gulp. She sent Ross a sideways glance. “Shouldn’t you be out there, flying a ship?”

“Actually,” one of the Wakandan technicians interrupted, “the white man has taken to flying a suit.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Riri’s suit?” She asked dryly to his squeamish expression. “For the record, the one she built here was much nicer. She wasn’t allowed to take it back, of course.” 

He laughed. “I’m waiting for the remote piloting system to boot. Figured out how to do it myself.”

The wings of their ships bent under Namor's leaps like fresh kelp. He left indents in the shape of footprints on every surface he touched. It was laughable; if the Wakandan aircrafts required his focus to dodge, this was child’s play. These airships were slower than adolescent orcas and creaked as they moved. Within a minute, Namor dismantled four of them, sending them spinning into the trees below.

He sliced his staff through a fifth on his way back to the clearing where dozens of their soldiers and a hundred of his battled. The enemies' initial surprise at leaping water people was gone, and Namor wondered if facing space people lessened the novelty of an underwater empire, though they were still woefully underprepared. The one-vibranium-armed man who was far too comfortable with Shuri was holding his ground against a group of soldiers with silly guns. A Dora threw a spear and it sliced through a tank cleanly. King M’Baku thumped his chest and growled like an animal after each soldier he knocked unconscious. The furry man was quickly earning his respect as a fellow leader who put himself on the frontlines to fight. Over the years, he had heard of too many cowardly leaders that barricaded themselves in the most remote of towers while their subjects did their bidding and fought for useless causes.

He landed on the ground just as Namora appeared at his side, dripping in water of the Wakandan river. “The world will know Talokan now.” She said, an odd lilt in her voice. Above, Sam flew around and yelled at the remaining airships. " Stand down."  and " Wakanda will hand over the survivors of the second expedition."

Namor's ears twitched as the one-vibranium-armed man yelled—

“Look out!”

The river to their left exploded. Namor grabbed Namora and flew to the right, bits of soil, hot water, and metallic sparks burning his eyes. A Wakandan airship soared above them and shot at the French ship. It flew into the trees, but it was too late. The projectile had sent whips of water lashing outwards in all directions. Namor landed on his feet, Namora’s body slamming into his, and watched as puddles around them turned a sickly red. 

He spun. There were at least eight dead, mostly Talokanil. A familiar figure sat up near the edge of the crater the projectile left and coughed, holding her stomach. Remnants of a watermask slipped from her face. 

“My child,” Namor flew to Tozi’s feet in an instant. Namora ran to them, screeching at a nearby medic. “My child.”

Red flowed out of her wound. It was too much. Talokanil lived long, but not long enough. They healed quickly, but not quickly enough. They were not gods; he was. He was a god that witnessed life and death and was born to protect this cycle.

Tozi closed her eyes. “Wakanda was more beautiful this time, fighting for it.”

Namora began to choke, her battle-hardened fingers frantically reaching for Tozi’s. The medic she called spared one look at them and shook his head mournfully. Namora cursed at him in Mayan before turning to Namor. 

“You! We suffer and die and—”

Namor held Tozi’s hands over hers and dropped to his knees. Burning villages. People in chains. He repeated a prayer to Chac, one that descended to their heaven and then up to the clouds that gave them rain. The shrieks and chaos of the background faded into his repeated words as Tozi’s breathing slowed with his each utterance. 

“K’uk’ulkan.” She called a final time.

He lifted his hands to her cheeks. “Yes, my child?”

“A god serves his people. His people serve their king and queen, too.” She looked at Namora, in too much pain. A smile lingered in her eyes before it flickered out.

Namora dived into the river, disappearing with its currents. Namor turned his head to the sky Talokan never saw and held back a weep with a rain that never came.

Then the boy without love raised the underworld to the surface.

Nakia triple checked the location of her son as she pulled on the water and green fighting suit, its colors shimmering in the late afternoon glow. She wore her River Tribe roots proudly despite having spent most of her life finding ways to leave Wakanda. She prepared to jump into a Dragon Flyer, watching the explosions in the far distance with a growing alarm. The first attack, if it could be called that, was a mere couple of airships and novice soldiers. This…this was warfare. She hadn’t been present when Thanos attacked, only witnessing wreckage in the aftermath: constant cycles of news channels with pictures of dead bodies littered across the pristine plains and forests, half the population including her beloved T’Challa falling to ash—

“Nakia!” The new Dora Milaje general called. Nakia paused with one foot in the air, hand holding onto the wrung of the ship’s entrance. “Have you seen the hostages?”

She shook her head. “No. You all took them to the holding cell below the palace?”

Ayo’s face tightened. “The Dora keeping guard did not answer my calls. I went down to check; the Talokanil guards are missing, the Dora and hostages were knocked out except one. The CIA lady is missing.”

Nakia hissed. “Shuri.”

“Or she’s making her way back to the Americans.” Ayo tapped her beads and barked into them. “Send more Dora to the border and to Mount Bashenga.”

Nakia scrambled into the airship, Ayo leaping in after her. She input the location and angled the engines towards Mount Bashenga but Ayo halted her. “Okoye will protect the Princess. Head to the border.”

Eighty percent. Come on, come on.

The frontal cortex was complete. The synthezoid equivalent of the hippocampus and temporal lobe were halfway to completion. The thin strands of vibranium that acted as tethers for existing axons to wind around sparked to life. Shuri used to play this building game with T’Challa as a child — stacking wooden pieces on top of each other, taking turns pulling one out of the bottom and hoping it wouldn’t collapse. It was a bit like that now, except one misalignment wouldn't cause a mere tumble, but the closest thing to a minor black hole.

Thanos once got what he wanted. Val was an annoying human being, but not an alien with magic stones. If she had the sheer grit to get this far, then failure was out of the question. Shuri thought of the witch, the other Avengers, her family and the streets of the Golden City, crying children and mourning widows. Eighty-five percent completion. 

In front of her, Darcy strained to stay upright. Her fingers were coiled around a rotating live-feed of the circuitry, arms suspended in a slow dance. Ross returned to them, his black tunic falling off one shoulder and hands shaking. 

“The French shot down your best Dragon Flyer. Waiting for Aneka to get me another one.” He raked a hand through his hair and Darcy squinted her eyes at him. 

“Everett Ross, huh? Didn’t your uncle send the avengers to prison?” 

“Darcy, hold the circuit!”

Ross looked at his kimoyo beads (Shuri realized he had a bracelet now and wondered what the tribal elders had to say about that) and shrugged. “Every family’s got an ass.”

“He’s our favorite colonizer for a reason.” She beckoned Zolin forward. He handed her a micro drill.

Darcy nodded, her expression serious. “What does that make me? Do I get a bracelet too? I’m not an intelligence agent creep—sorry dude—and the worst thing I’d do is download Loki fan fiction.”

Ninety percent completion. Shuri tried to come up with a funny response to Darcy’s forceful attempts at jokes but the hole in White Vision’s head was the size of a dime now. Any minute, he would burst to life, and this would all be over. Please.

“Did you add the code?” The lights in front of Darcy finally glowed a bright blue. She dropped her hands, heaving. “I want to die in a better way than frying to a crisp from laser beams.”

Shuri nodded, sending a side glance at Ross. “He won’t be violent when he wakes up. I didn’t find any other suspicious coding other than excessive orders to attack with the intent to kill. I’m surprised Val managed even that.” 

Ross’ kimoyo beads beeped. “Great, but she might have—” He turned around, paused with a foot midair. The odd bunch of ragged, tired Talokanil and Wakandans looked at him curiously. He continued in a small voice. “Your highness. She tried to kill you, and I gave her the idea.”

Shuri almost dropped a wire. Her panther hands continued to move but her very human heart and brain squeezed. Attuma inched closer, his bare webbed feet leaving damp footsteps 

“Ross. Explain.”

The former agent blanched and inhaled sharply. “Not intentionally. I…” He pinched his nose. “When we met with the President’s council and they mentioned taking offensive action — before I was arrested — they wanted to destabilize Wakanda. The CIA deployed units like those of Erik Stevens’ to strike at transitions of power.” He paused. Ninety-five percent completion.

She stepped away from the med bay and glared at Ross. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Colonizer, I’m assuming you didn’t actually send her to kill me, because by Bast I will put back the bullet I took out of you.”

“No, no. But that must have given her the idea. She overheard all of my communication with your mother. With her passing, and confusion on a global stage as to who was going to lead Wakanda, it was the perfect time to go after the last living member of the royal family. Provoke this unknown third party,” his eyes swept over Totl and Zolin, "drag Wakanda to the global stage for accountability, blame it all on them. ‘They can’t be trusted, they were making dangerous weapons that killed their own leader’, et cetera. Force them to hand over vibranium.”

Shuri pointed at her ears, ones that Ross only absently seemed to notice. “She didn’t succeed.”

And then her kimoyo beads beeped, Ayo’s face flickering into view with a message, “Val escaped the palace,” just as Ross said, “She always has a failsafe.”

Her first thought was of Toussaint. There was absolutely no way Val could have known about him. She sent a message to all of the Dora. One of them responded instantaneously. Her brother’s blood was alive and well, deep in a hidden location.

The relief was short-lived. Thrashing from the floors above resounded in the laboratory. The Dora standing at the doors vaulted over to the staircase only to be thrown back by a crowd of Talokanil. 

Darcy shrieked just as Griot announced, “One hundred percent completion.”

Shuri saw White Vision’s eyes twitching, beginning to open, before a water bomb entered her vision. A click of her kimoyo bead later, she was crouched in the Black Panther suit, Attuma’s arm wound around her neck. She heard Okoye’s voice yelling her name as the window exploded and water swept them away.

The airships made lovely colors as they hit the ground and exploded across the horizon. Fireworks were not as beautiful underwater, often muted and painful to Talokanil ears, but now, Namor hovered a few inches above the ground, observing his handiwork. Medics scrambled around him to pull out the living, and blanket the dead. 

People on their side fell too; Wakandan and Talokanil warriors alike hit by missiles and bleeding to death. He could not save them all, and left them, even the Wakandans, to Chac’s mercy with gentle touches to their foreheads in between hurling airships into the distance.

Shuri clutched the edge of the maglev train tracks. The trains had screeched to a halt, Griot smart enough to halt all function without her verbal command. A second bomb, and then a third, sounded in the interior of the mountain. Indistinct screaming and wet, muffled sounds of flesh hitting flesh was subsumed by the water cascading out the window of her beloved laboratory. 

Attuma graped her leg, his body dangling below her. The warrior must have weighed at least three hundred pounds because Shuri strained to keep her claws hooked around the railing. The vibranium would hold, but her muscles threatened to tear.

“Swing your leg!” he shouted. She heaved her body forward, once, twice, then thrust her legs backward. Attuma let go and sailed over her head. She scrambled up onto the platform and his webbed hand balanced her by holding her arm.

Shuri started to whirl around to face her laboratory and prepared to leap into the broken windows. But everyone was gone. A sinking feeling curled in her gut as she peered over the edge and into the rocky depths below criss-crossing train tracks. Groups of blue faces peered up at her, mouths contorted into disgust and growls of anger ripping from their mouths.

“Chalchiuhtlicue,” called Attuma. She thought the kimoyo beads were damaged because they failed to translate the term, but he continued. “You are in danger. Some of the Talokanil seek to kill you.”

She closed her eyes and gulped. Part of her had known not all the Talokanil would accept her with open arms, but to seek her death in open defiance of their alliance? When their king had…done the unspeakable and she still, against all fibers of her being, had mercy? 

“And you? You sought my banishment after I injured Juana.”

Attuma peered at her with an odd look and approached the railing. Spear in one hand, he crouched towards the ground. “I initially thought your sparing of our king’s life was just to keep us at your whim. Then you saved him again.” He didn't wait for her response. He jumped onto the tracks below, his yells intermingling with that of the other Talokanil. She remembered clearly the day before, though it felt like decades had passed since, when he had thrown her the spear that she aimed at White Vision, nearly giving up her life in the process.

She clenched her claws and backed from the railing, preparing to run and leap after him. She could hear the cries of the humans below. Wakanda had seen too much drowning. Water would take no more lives —

Her back tensed and she swiveled on her heel. Her claws met blue flesh. 

A Talokanil warrior whimpered. She snarled and yanked Shuri’s arm out of her neck, only because recognition loosened her panther grip. 

“Patli?” Shuri blocked the swing of the woman’s spear. What are you doing? She wanted to shout, but it was a dumb question, one that Patli didn’t need to answer. 

"Your people took my brother from me." Patli spat into her food.

Patli was half as strong as Attuma. Shuri fought to defend, not kill, and within seconds had the woman on the floor and breathing heavily, but her eyes narrowed, smug. Three more Talokanil leapt out of the water below with spears swinging above their heads. Shuri wondered how many of them carried similar stories of family members killed, drowning and dying because vengeance had consumed them all.

She rammed her foot into the belly of one warrior. Her claws wrestled the mask off the face of another and she swung him over the railing so he would hit the water and live to be punished. The third swiped at her thighs and blocked one of her punches, but she jabbed him across the neck. He crumpled to the ground. 

Patli scrambled up from the ground and howled into the air. Four blue figures arched into the air with the help of a water bomb. Shuri planted her feet onto the ground, her arms criss crossed in front of her to force the water’s pressure around her. When it cleared, she slowly spun in the circle created by the Talokanil. 

Shuri’s heart sank further, seeing Namora among them. Her feathers and spear glistened in the pulsing glow of the maglev train tracks. She prepared to dodge as Namora curled her fingers tighter around her weapon and inched forward.

But her eyes were not on Shuri. They hovered elsewhere, anger and grief swirling in her button-like eyes. 

“She’s dead!” Namora shouted.

Shuri’s eyes flickered between the warrior and her target of ire.

“Tozi’s dead!” Namora pointed her weapon at Patli, and then swung it around to the other warriors. “They killed her. We were wrong.”

Shuri’s stomach lurched. A cold numbness took over her body, burrowing into her gut. No. Her eyelids felt heavy, like they were trying to shield her eyes from the beginnings of sorrow. Still, a small tear stung where her eyelashes met skin.

A hollow laugh escaped from Patli’s mouth. “The Wakandans killed my brother. Where is the peace in that?” The other Talokanil murmured in approval and turned to Namora. 

Namora jumped and sidestepped Shuri altogether. Patli brandished her spear around her head, slicing half of the feathers off of Namora’s headpiece. Another Talokanil managed to hit Namora's ankle and she cried out, stumbling backwards. 

Shuri pounced at the Talokanil, severing his spear in half. She turned on Patli, wrath driving her, when a whirring noise echoed from their right. Okoye flew straight into Patli, knocking her into her compatriots. They fell like a sack of carrots. 

Over Okoye’s shoulders were two bodies. She dropped Darcy and one of the Wakandan scientists onto the platform. They were unconscious and soaked through, covered in bruises.

“Princess!” Okoye landed on her feet, inches from Shuri. “The vile American woman is at the border.”

Patli laughed, the water in her mask swirling with blood. “Wakanda is no different from the rest of the surface world.”

Namora limped towards her and placed the tip of spear next to Patli’s heaving body. Her face did not soften, but she looked at Shuri with something akin to regret.

“Go, Chalchiuhtlicue. That creature is hoping to leave with the military.”

Shuri calculated the odds, the seconds rushing by—could they leave Namora and the other Talokanil here alone? Was everyone safe? How many more Talokanil were waiting to leap from the flood below? Chac, Bast, a miracle, please.

They answered. A glowing, alabaster figure emerged from the dim depths below. His vibranium cloak was full of holes and jagged at the edges. He did not float with the grace of a Talokanil nor the angles of a human. He moved too smoothly, as if he was plastered against a green screen. 

Namora and Okoye leapt in front of Shuri, shooting each other appraising glances before lifting their spears to the approaching figure. Behind them, Darcy and the Wakandan scientists sputtered and groaned to life.

White Vision watched them, numbers and memories scrolling across his vibranium eyes. Shuri dissolved the Black Panther mask to expose her face.

“Princess Shuri of Wakanda.” There was no intonation or emotion in his voice. 

She clenched her fists, prepared to fight if it came to it. “Have you come to kill us, or help us?”

The synthezoid’s lips parted. He did not blink. “Neither.”

“My guy,” A voice said weakly from behind her. Shuri recognized Darcy’s sputtering and cursing. “I met a version of you made of magic. Wanda…wouldn’t have wanted this for you.”

White Vision stilled further, if it was possible. “She is dead.”

("This is not what your mother would have wanted for you.” M’Baku rebuked. But was her mother not worth eternal war?

“She’s dead. Her hopes and dreams, all gone.” )

“The people you love still live in your memories. I can help you,” Shuri breathed. “And get Val out of your head. I've worked with your brain twice. You are your own person.”

The Wakandan scientist and Darcy wobbled onto their feet, coughing the rest of the water out of their lungs. They stepped around the Talokanil warriors scattered on the tracks and joined Shuri at her side. 

Darcy nodded vigorously at Shuri's words. “I watched you guys act out different shows, except it wasn’t acting.” She added. “You deserve to love and grieve.”

Something human flickered in White Vision’s eyes. Shuri wondered what memory came to his artificial mind because the light in his forehead dimmed and brightened, each pulse creating depth in his artificial eyes. He floated closer to the platform, the tips of his feet barely hitting the tracks. Okoye and Namora inched forward as he held out metal fingers. Shuri pushed her way through the two women protecting her and met his fingers with her claws. 

“I’m coming with you,” Okoye fired up her Midnight Angel thrusters.

Shuri shook her head. “Make sure everyone down there is alive.” She jumped onto White Vision’s back before she could protest, watching the platform and its dozen bodies become specks in the depth of the mountain. White Vision carried her out of Mount Bashenga and towards the fires.

The sun dipped into the horizon. The beginnings of sunset brightened the licks of flames. A Wakandan aircraft shot down the last aircraft, this one German, and two figures jumped into a shimmering beam that carried them to the ground. Namor recognized one of them as Nakia, the woman Shuri spoke fondly of, the woman that had shot two of his handmaidens dead. In her hands she carried round blades glowing with vibranium. 

The other, the Dora in gold, ran to him, her shouting interspersed with the fighting around them. “The American woman is gone. Some of your guards—”

He did not hear the rest of her sentence because he launched straight up into the air, spinning to observe the ground below him. His skin soaked up the oxygen in relief. The fires below consumed the oxygen, and the itch for water crawled up his throat. His eyes scanned over the battle, now scattered into small pockets amidst fallen bodies. With all of the enemy airships down, explosions slowed to one every ten seconds caused by the small tanks still standing at the border. The Wakandan forcefields began to recover, jagged edges zipping together to patch the holes. Nakia fought off a group of soldiers near the river while the Dora General fielded attacks at their furry King close to the forest. The one-vibranium-armed man attempted to take down a tank.

A whale, one that was used for transportation only and not supposed to be here, rose out of the water. Three Talokanil jumped off its back, and two carried a pale figure between them. 

Namor dived. The bird-man seemed to note his target as he followed after him, yelling at the Americans below. 

"Stand down! They have your Director—"

The shooting stopped as Namor landed, the force absorbed by his feet but rattling his brain. His eyes swept over the watery figures: five of his own people circling the wretched woman. She laughed unintelligibly, her eyes a milky white and crazed look on her face.

"Children," he scorned, "leave this woman."

Nakia rushed towards him. The bird-man landed behind him, yelling unintelligibly.

One of the warriors moved in what Namor thought was obedience. He was wrong. Instead, the warrior swung his spear at Nakia. The Wakandan grunted in surprise. Her rings clanged with his baton, easily overtaking him, but another Talokanil joined from behind her and slammed a spear into her arm. She fell to her knees. 

The wretched woman crawled out of the water, arms caked in mud. "Welcome to politics. Lesson one: there is no absolute loyalty."

The Feathered Serpent God grit his teeth. Anger started at his toes and shot up his spine to encase his thoughts in a hazy heat. There were many times when his children begrudged him or questioned his decisions. He was a benevolent father and god, never hesitating to listen and sooth their wounds when needed. But they never disbelieved or undermined his orders. How broken must he have been lately, to be blind to the hurt in his people?

He ground his staff into the ground and took a step forward. "Move, my children." The Talokanil standing between him and the wretched woman wavered.  His eyes flashed, voice was laced with pain. "Whatever this surface-dweller promised you will kill you. She seeks to end Talokan."

Two of them squeaked and shuffled aside, but the other three stiffened. One of the ones who remained closed his eyes and let out a cry, but his words were cut off by another damned flying figure — too many surface-dwellers could fly now—as it skidded into the chaos. A black figure slid off its back and dashed towards him, running like a panther. 

"Sam!" Shuri screamed, waving her suited arms. The gold fibers sewn throughout it glistened in the darkening sky. Her face was bruised and beads of sweat rolled down her neck. Namor didn't need lungs to breathe but felt the oxygen leave them all the same. "White Vision is here! Tell them we have—"

"Shuri!" Nakia yelled. One of her rings lay shattered. The other hung off of the tip of a Talokanil spear. Its bearer poked it into her neck, but she did not raise her hands in surrender. "Don't come closer."

Shuri stopped in her tracks, a calculating look crossing her face, but her hesitation cost her. A group of three soldiers with guns in their hands approached, pointing them at her. 

"Give us the woman!" One of them shouted. "Or we shoot!" 

Namor lifted his staff and kept his eyes on the Talokanil warriors in front of him. Two he recognized as high-ranking warriors, second only to Attuma. The other was one he recognized as Juana's cousin. She had a water bandage around her lower leg—he'd ordered all the Talokanil injured by the tin-man's attack yesterday to avoid this fight, yet this woman came, driven by a hungry revenge he all but understood too closely. 

One of the high-ranking warriors lowered his weapon but didn't move. "K’uk’ulkan. You told us the biggest enemies were them," he gestured to the soldiers, "but most of our deaths were at the hands of Wakandans. That woman killed my innocent sister." He looked at Nakia, his face one of pure wrath and grief. 

The Talokan hovering his weapon over the woman seethed. "She killed my wife. There is no alliance with any surface-dweller, vibranium or no." 

The fighting on the outer skirts of the plain began to wane. The still tanks, the soldiers hovering their weapons over Shuri, who's Black Panther suit was all but impervious to bullets, and somewhere Wakanda's King fell silent too, waiting.

Namor took another step towards the wretched woman, he would not dignify her with her name, as she stumbled onto her feet. Sam shouted at him to stop, and Shuri broke out of the group of soldiers, only to stop again when the Talokanil hovering over Nakia pierced the tip of his spear into her shoulder, cutting through her suit.

"You can't kill me," the wretched woman taunted him. "I heard from your warriors. You're weak. Your nation is not ready for the world I dream of. I can make it stronger."

"K'uk'ulkan." Shuri called, his name sweet on her tongue.

He lifted his staff at the wretched woman. "There is no more hiding behind my people that you corrupted. I will not yield." His voice was stone. Fear tore down the last of the Talokanil anger in front of him as they parted. Namor willed his wings to lift him a few inches into the air so that he could peer down at this woman who sought to subjugate and kill and exploit.

What was one more body, when his people lay scattered around them? Wakanda, Shuri, had come to him seeking help, and he would give it, and these surface-dwellers would never breathe this beautiful air again. He heard the whirring of metal wings behind him, of course an American was still ultimately loyal to his own. He heard Shuri breathing, and he thought her breaths of water befitted her better. His staff burned in his hands as he thought of burning villages and his people in chains. He thought of Tozi and the hundreds, thousands of Talokanil tasting a mercy from Chac that he could not, a price he paid for the mantle of King.

A strangled howl pierced the beat of silence.

He whipped around to see one of his children, lifting his spear in betrayal above the woman who killed his handmaids. The woman grabbed a shattered shard, a remnant of her vibranium ring, in desperation but before she could lift it, the spear entered her flesh and exited from the other side of her arm. The spear kept going.

Shuri cried. His eyes locked onto her. She sprinted and a rain of bullets followed, nipping at her suit. Flashes of purple in her suit absorbed the impact but it slowed her down. The Talokanil who had surrendered moments before launched their spears at her. They sped through the air, the blue and silver of vibranium glinting mockingly at him. Her eyes widened at the spears, but her hands were already outstretched to block the spear about to drive through Nakia's body.

Wakanda's Queen once gave her life to save the scientist he sought to kill. And he knew, more than any truth known to the world, that Shuri would do the same for another without hesitation . She was Black Panther; Princess of Wakanda; the last member of the royal family; if she fell, Wakanda would surely weaken and his kingdom with it. And she would still give her life for another, and every Wakandan would think her all the greater for it, because Wakanda would continue forever, however difficult or painful, without any single person. Wakanda had no need for Queen Ramonda or Princess Shuri.

He was not merciful. He could continue to burn the rest of the world.

But never would he accept a world without Shuri. 

A manic screech escaped the woman as he flung her carelessly aside. "Oh, he loves her—"

He lunged. His right hand caught the tip of the spear with his hand, inches away from plunging into Nakia's stomach. Shuri twisted to change her direction, one spear flying over her shoulder and the other caught by her claws. They broke under the force and she flew backwards from the impact. Namor removed his hand, the flesh of his palm torn, the rain of bullets little more than pinches at his back, and hurled Nakia over his shoulder. He leapt to Shuri as she rolled over, grunting, and he snaked an arm around her waist just as he took flight again.

The world did not burn. It was reborn.

"I had it under control," Shuri muttered into his shoulder. Somewhere below, the bird-man and tin-man grabbed the wretched woman and a furry King thumped his chest and the enemies surrendered. Blood dripped from Nakia's arm trickled down his back.

He chuckled. “I do not yield to them. I yield only to you."

Her face was turned so she could not see his eyes, but he hoped she could read the love between his words, regardless.

Chapter Text

Shuri had not seen the palace in months but she failed to register where she was, adrenaline driving her to squirm out of Namor’s grasp the moment he reached the roof of the Citadel and shout for a medic. Her body moved with muscle memory alone. Val’s cackling and manic taunts echoed between her ears, but with a final surge of energy, she forced her thoughts to focus on Nakia and the water-God carrying her. He moved faster than a med-bay would; within seconds he flew down the elevator shaft to the floor teeming with doctors while she sprinted down the stairs.

By the time she found them amidst over a hundred wounded, and more being flown in by Dragon Flyers by the minute, Nakia was on a bed while Namor dutifully watched over her, barely-concealed concern on his face, while a doctor tried to pull the spear out of her arm. Shuri looked away and winced, certain memories coming to the fore. Some of the Wakandan doctors looked up from their screens. Whispers of the word ‘Princess’ and ‘Black Panther’ surged through the crowd. Even their sick looked up from the beds, watching her with surprise and geniality. 

The Princess of Wakanda had returned. 

She straightened her back and walked over to Nakia’s unconscious body with as much elegance as she could muster. “I’ll do it.” She told the doctor.

Namor’s lips thinned into a flat line. “Rest.”

She shook her head. Rest would come later. When she opened her mouth to convey a thanks he didn’t want, he left through a window, citing a need to attend to his people.

The sky blackened and the Golden City, wounded but jovial, celebrated.

The exhaustion of two days and King M’Baku releasing an official royal mandate that no one bother the Black Panther for the next twelve hours (Namor gave the messenger a twitchy nod of approval) was the only reason Shuri finally acquiesced to half the Dora Milaje, Okoye, and the Feathered Serpent ordering her to sleep . She insisted on finishing with Nakia first, though, and muttered about opening a vibranium limb shop to anyone who would hear it.

People rushed in and out of the room, dragging the wounded behind them or looking for their family and friends. Ayo stopped by to update her on Val’s detainment while Shuri stabilized Nakia’s wound with a kimoyo bead. Toussaint was on his way, currently on an airship from Jabari Land where some of the Dora hid him, and she prayed the boy would not see Nakia as she did now, coughing and squirming in pain. The spear in her arm was gone, but bits of vibranium remained in her muscles.

“What happened?” Ayo hissed.

Shuri looked sideways at Namor. He was busy speaking to Attuma near a group of wounded Talokanil. One of the Border Tribe warriors offered to airlift them to the river before their lungs ran dry.

“He saved her life.”

The skepticism in Ayo’s eyes was plain as day. The gold of her outfit jingled as she swiveled on her heel. “Bring him to the council meeting.”

Namor replaced Ayo’s absence across Nakia's bed. “You are not resting.”

“Give me your hand.” She ordered the water-King. 

“See to her first. I will heal quickly.”

“The salve will take a few minutes to kick in. I’ll have Griot scan the damage and get a medic to do the rest, so come here.”

He didn’t move, so Shuri went to him, already pulling a bead out of her bracelet. “Do you want to scar?”

“As I have told you before, gods do not scar.”

“They can still hurt.” She bristled and grabbed his hand. He winced. Fresh pink skin puckered under dried blood. While Nakia’s breathing steadied behind them, Shuri let the bead’s heat sew his godly flesh together. His eyebrows rose steadily at her soft ministrations, her fingertips roaming across his hand and towards his arm for a time longer than his injury necessitated. Finally, she met his curious eyes. They were a shade lighter than ink, now, even in the bright room.

“I think I lost your earring.” Shuri’s eyes flickered to the black earring in his right ear lobe. “Maybe the dress too. They were in my lab when it flooded.”

“When my people flooded it," he corrected. The lightness of the moment vanished as Shuri averted her eyes and replaced her kimoyo bead. She wondered how much Attuma told him, if he’d been made aware of Namora and Patli yet. Okoye seemed to have developed a burgeoning camaraderie with Namora’s perpetually acerbic existence, but the Talokanil's near-betrayal left a discomforting twinge in the air. She was Namor’s closest advisor and one of the few to live nearly as long as he did.

“It’s not…well. They’ll be held accountable. None of the lab techs died, thank Bast and Chac.”

His lips parted in surprise. “You pray to both?” 

She lifted her hands, one wrist adorned with a Talokanil bracelet and the other with beads of Wakandan vibranium, and touched her ears, strange and familiar all at once. “Why not?”

He touched her empty earlobe with his injured hand, and then lifted it to caress her ear’s sharp point. She shuddered. It was…sensitive. More sensitive than when she fiddled with it. 

“Lost adornments beget replacement with new ones with new meanings.”

Her breathing hitched. “What meanings would those be?”

The doors to the medical room flew open for the tenth time that hour. Bucky shook a stray strand of hair out of his face and yawned, walking over to the bed Nakia rested on. “How are you feeling?”

A croak. “I’ve been better.”

She turned and noticed belatedly that Nakia was awake. The woman was on her back but observed her carefully through half-lidded eyes, and though Shuri had been on the receiving end of her spying numerous times before, it rarely ended with questions she didn’t loathe to answer.

Thankfully, Bucky offered a diversion. “Val and the surrendered generals are in the prisonhold. Vision’s testifying to the council. There’ll be a council meeting in a few hours before midnight. But…” He turned to Namor. “Have you decided what to do?”

Shuri bit the inside of her cheek. Being interrogated by Nakia would be better than this: the issue that started it all, the promise of Wakanda to protect Talokan’s secrets and the help of Talokan to defend Wakanda’s borders. She lifted a hand to Bucky’s vibranium arm, hoping to gently guide him outside where they could continue this discussion without the sick watching, who were a reminder of why they fought in the first place.

Namor beat her to it, his jaw twitching. “One-vibranium-armed man, let us speak outside.”

Bucky leaned closer to Shuri. “What exactly is he—a mermaid? An underwater bird?”

She lifted her lips up to his ear and whispered. “Only he can fly. Unfortunately, I didn’t get that power.”

“Your claws are plenty enough.” He nudged her playfully.

“Now, Barnes,” Namor barked. Bucky raised an eyebrow and strode out of the room while Shuri leveled a curious gaze at Namor.

“You know their names?”

“I know all their names,” he responded immediately, sending a withering stare at Bucky’s disappearing back. “Such knowledge is useful for war.”

A smile played at Shuri’s tired visage. “Sure.” She was not the sort to enjoy the egos of men and their trite power plays, but for the Feathered Serpent God to fall prey to something as mundane as jealousy made her light-headed.

“Listen to your King. Rest.” 

She looked at him, incredulous, and he tilted his face up at the ceiling. “Regent King M’Baku of Wakanda.”

“Right.” She bit her lip. She heard Nakia grunt in pain. “Wake me up for the council meeting. Your presence is requested too.”

The request was made as though he knew where she would be. He always knows. She hummed as Namor raked a hand through his hair and left, and Nakia coughed again. The pain in her body language was unable to conceal the curiosity in her hard gaze.

Shuri turned away but it wasn’t quick enough. Nakia was the woman deeply loved by her brother. She was intimately familiar with the look of a girl turning into a woman.

(“Oh, he loves her.”)

(“I do not yield to them. I yield only to you.")

(Their hushed whispers echoed in the caverns. Nakia, here again, but not to take her away. “Is he treating you well?”

“Very well, Nakia.”)

Blood pooled around the bead pulsing in the hole in her arm. “Usisi …”

“I can’t, Nakia.” Shuri rubbed more salve into Nakia’s wound, refusing to meet her eyes. “Not now.”

The former spy responded after the salve turned pink, hopefully numbing the pain. “I was going to ask for my son.”

“He’ll be here soon.”

After a stern meeting with the one-vibranium-armed man, during which he made references to something called a ‘speedo’ twice and stared too long at Namor’s golden cuffs, the water-King concluded that this particular surface dweller should be allowed continued presence in Wakanda (conveniently ignoring the fact that it wasn’t his decision to make).

The broken man had no family or tribe to call his own and thus stuck to the Wakandans like algae. Good choice. Shuri having people around that cared for her safety when she didn’t and could tear (most) threats to shreds, were redeeming qualities in his eyes, though he would keep an ear perched in his direction. Send a lady friend, perhaps, to keep the man’s more forward affections elsewhere.

Familiar footsteps pulled him from his newfound interest in surface-dweller courtship practices.

“K’uk’ulkan.” Namora approached him outside the throne room. He noticed that it was a new one, facing the other direction than the one he flooded. “I wish for your ear.”

His eyes swept over the woman, his cousin and closest confidante, and noticed an embittered sorrow to her. He knew already what the discussion would entail. Over the last few hours, his mind, with centuries worth of information about mortals and their wants, passions, and wounds, was able to piece together the rest of the battlefield. Attuma had collected Patli, keeping her and a few other Talokanil in a net around their largest orca, awaiting his orders. There were injured Talokanil to attend to, the glaring question of what to do with prisoners of war now aware of waterpeople led by a ‘flying fishman’, and whether Talokan would welcome a Queen tonight.

She is resting. Let her rest.  

Namor leaned his forehead to meet Namora’s. “Your formality leaves unease. What bothers you?”

She averted her eyes. “Outside, where few can hear. I am also in need of water.”

He nodded and flew out the closest window, much to the annoyance of the Dora guarding this floor. Namora followed but slower, needing to leap from ledge to ledge down the tower while he waited patiently.

They submerged themselves in the river in the outskirts of the city, its glittering towers blinking brightly under the dark sky. The stars were so clear that they looked like dancing dots from under the water, unhindered by thick pollution that sometimes hovered over Talokan's waters and hid Chac’s sky from them.

Wakanda was a treasure, and he was glad for the umpteenth time today that it remained standing. 

Namora wept as she shared her pain with him. She did not lead the rebellion, but she turned a blind eye to it, and perhaps even passed along angry quips about what she felt was an unsatisfactory turn in Talokan's direction. She and Tozi argued often. A growing number of Talokanil, bolstered by more open opposition to Namor’s decisions, began to discuss far from where his ears could reach in the outer caves and caverns. 

The Americans overheard guards discussing Shuri’s accidental explosion and that wretched woman latched onto it. She pretended to listen where they felt K’uk’ulkan didn’t, asking about their deceased and spinning half-truths about how Wakanda must not have cared about their dead, how they must mock them as inferior if their King yielded, seduced by a woman’s youth. She promised them that Talokan would be left alone and free from the whims of such a patronizing nation, if they only got rid of the one thing that kept their King tied to this alliance.

Namora knew nothing of their plans, her grief her own, until she encountered a healer fiddling with the medication that was to be administered to the hostages. During her confrontation, the healer provoked her by mentioning K’uk’ulkan’s willingness to oblige a foreign Princess more than his own family. They didn’t want the girl dead, no, but they needed their King to see reason.

Tozi’s last rebuke came at her death. And Namora realized then, where Wakandans killed during battle, it was to avenge and protect. They did not kill to exploit and take.

Namor listened and understood. He was a father and King and god, but he could not forgive betrayal of this sort easily.

“Namora. You will protect her with your life, so long as she lives.” It was an irrevocable punishment, but she latched onto it in repentance.

When Shuri returned to her room, bypassing the floor with the throne rooms altogether, she inhaled slowly.

The room was untouched. Her neat tendencies balanced her internal hyperactivity, but any maids would have placed the books at her nightstand back on the shelf, shut the closet door entirely, and replaced the cap on the bottle of jojoba oil. Her room was neat, but not perfectly clean. M'Baku, in another episode of striking foresight, might have ordered her room to stay untouched but this felt more like the work of Okoye — the Midnight Angel who always called when she was in Haiti, no matter how many times Shuri sent her to voicemail, and waited for her no matter how many times she ran away.

Shuri walked over to the window and slid it open. Her overthinking mind slowed to a trickle of thoughts, and she mulled over each one as they came, one at a time. This wind, one above water and in her beloved homeland, was calm. It signaled the peace settling over the city. Its wisps stroked her cheeks, drying the tears before they could spill.

"I feel you in the breeze, Mama. Wait for me, Baba, brother."

A knock at the door was followed by a maid carrying a tray of spicy fish and rice. As she tore through it, she asked Griot to look up the word ‘Chalchiuhtlicue’. Though her answer to Namor would be a day late, she slept feeling neither purple nor blue, Griot’s answer coloring her insides pink with giddiness just shy of embarrassment.

Namora all but screeched at anyone who attempted to wake Shuri. Even Aneka frowned, arguing that Shuri’s presence at the council was necessary, but Okoye clasped Namora’s arm approvingly. The Feathered Serpent God fluttered by, citing a need to speak to his advisor but barely spoke at all, opting to bore holes into the Princess’ door.

Bucky watched all this with a startling outward calm, even as Ayo came by and barked at them to leave for the throne room. 

“I did not know I would end the day babysitting,” the terse Dora general snapped. Bucky followed behind her as Okoye joined them. 

“I do not miss that part of the job.”

“Bast. Too many intruders in Wakanda.”

Bucky opened his mouth but Ayo held up a hand, proving that the Dora had uncanny vision from the back of their heads. “Not you, but your debt from outrageous schemes with Zemo remains unpaid. Fetch the American scientist from the medical clinic."

The former intelligence agent fidgeted, unable to tear his eyes away from the smattering of Talokanil. Namor watched with an apathetic expression, used to the fearful and curious glances of mortals in during his and his people's surreptitious treks above land. 

An extra seat was added to the circle of chairs. King M'Baku's was the largest, Namor noted, but he would respect another sovereign in his own land. Namora, now assigned to the Princess, left an opening at his right. Attuma stood behind his left shoulder.

One of the elders chanted a prayer to convene the council. Without the Black Panther, it was an informal gathering but necessary. In quick, reverent speeches, the Wakandan elders reported the death count, updates as to the prisoners' locations, resettlement of other hostages into proper accommodations until negotiations with the Americans resumed in the morning, the synthezoid hovering in a corner of the room agreeing to confess Val's crimes, and finally, they arrived at the turnabout of some of the Talokanil warriors. Everyone looked at Namor.

"Attuma has placed them in a holding net. They will be tried for their crimes when we return to Talokan."

The occupants of the throne room collectively exhaled. King M'Baku placed his chin over the knob of his club. "When will that be?"

He felt Attuma tense behind him. He thought of the wretched women, the piles of bodies they were to mourn, the fears they needed to allay. His mother, holding out a hand as he yielded to the Princess, weaving him stories about the beautiful, lovely, ugly surface world.

The synthezoid broke the silence, his robotic voice ripping into the melody of the water-King's thoughts. "I am here now, in the last place my memories tell me I saw Wanda as she killed me for the greater good. I could not contain my grief, and La Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine abused it. I will announce to the world that it was I troubling those waters."

"No." Namor stated. The world is reborn. He straightened in his seat. "Talokan will admit accountability for the expeditions. Wakanda shall reinforce protection of our waters, and serve as representatives for both vibranium empires in international matters. We will send warriors to protect your outreach centers and posts as needed in return."

The room erupted into chatter. King M'Baku thumped his chest and the similarly-skirted warriors chanted with him. When he regained the focus of the room, he nodded at Namor with an amused look. "Fishman King. Jabari Land was a long isolated land within an isolated country. My people can advise you, if you accept, on how to deal with the tribes, but my vegetable garden is off limits."

It was almost high-noon when Shuri woke. Over twelve hours of sleep invigorated her, but news of the missed informal council meeting was frustrating. Only one day back in Wakanda, but already she was cast aside like a child in need of sleep and rest.

Her churning stomach forced her to pause pacing. It cried for water, and it was Namora, not a Wakandan, that returned with a bucket. She plopped it at her feet and the water sloshed over its edges, forming a puddle in the middle of her room. 

"Hurry. We need to go."

Shuri's lips twitched. "You're not here of your own will, are you?"

Namora cursed in Mayan and turned to leave. "I pray that the flower did not make you immortal."

"Don't try to be sneaky." Shuri called after her. "I know what Chalchiuhtlicue means now!"

After changing into the formal set of white robes a Dora brought for her, she joined the crowd in the streets of the city as the rising sun lingered at its peak.

The world woke to news of a strong, mysterious underwater nation as Wakanda mourned their losses and buried their dead. Namor and some of the warriors watched with a keen, almost reverent eye, as the Wakandans lifted the coffins of their loved ones and carried them through the streets. Crowds of people on each side danced in mournful celebration; Shuri's tusk earrings dangled as she lifted her head above her funeral shroud, thinking of grief. Wakanda had seen too much war on their lands in mere years. A small thought lingered about her father, who would have eliminated threats even before they touched Wakanda's walls, whether it was right to do so or not. She then thought of T'Challa, because he knew the price of helping others, and Okoye's steadfastness even when it cost her, her love.

("This will be the end of Wakanda." Shuri heard M'Baku say through the earpieces given to all the tribal leaders while she fiddled with Vision's mind and aliens arrived on their land.

"Then it will be the noblest ending in history." Okoye answered without hesitation.)

There were multiple ways to live on: just as the dead left a mosaic in the hearts of the living, if Wakanda were ever to be destroyed, it would never cease from the chants and reverent stories and histories. 

This was one tradition Shuri would never part from. Her arms crossed in front of her, bidding the dead a farewell. Wakanda Forever.

She kept the silver paint on her face even as she returned to the palace. No one followed, even Namora, as the Talokanil prepared their own mourning ritual. Now, Shuri took her time crossing to the Citadel, letting her hands drift along the walls of the floor with their personal quarters. A Dora standing in front of what used to be the King and Queen's room, a room now bereft of both, nodded to her as she meandered. It would be her room if she became Queen of Wakanda; the guards would be even less tolerant of her sleeping some nights away on the couch in her lab. 

She drifted past her father's library. Someone was in charge of cleaning the place, because she immediately noticed books on the wrong shelves. Her father didn't arrange his books alphabetically; he kept the ones he liked most on the shelves carved from willow bark, and the ones he hated — books about Western philosophy and Enlightenment ("The only things they 'enlightened' our continent with, Princess, was war and slavery.") — in a basket near the window.

Her brother's room was next to hers, but in the months before he passed he spent most of his time in and out of different hospitals and her lab. He never complained but she saw how the sleepless nights slowly wore on him; a king aching to be with his people but stuck between sanitary walls with crowds of doctors hovering over him. She remembered one evening when he'd asked her to take him to see the sunset, ignoring her protests that the sunset was just as beautiful from the hospital room. She ended up relenting, not naturally a stickler for rules and too loving of her brother than she'd had the chance to tell him, and they watched that night's sunset from the the top of Mount Bashenga under the shadow of the watchful panther statue. 

She often blamed herself for not walking away from her desperate attempts to save him to tell him goodbye, but if she thought about it, that savored hour was when she truly bid him good night, farewell, good luck on your journey and wait for me.

Did I tell him I loved him? 

Her mom responded. My daughter, he always knew. 

She could not leave this palace, the place that held the whispers of her family's footsteps, but she didn't know how to stay either.

A Dora escorted her to the dining room for lunch. Riri rang and left multiple messages, Darcy's pale but healthy face brightened at Shuri's appearance, and news of Nakia's recovery made rounds. No one mentioned her ears except Toussaint, though Totl swore he saw the beginnings of a gill on her neck. 

"Where are the others?" She swallowed down a chunk of lamb. Meat was just as juicy as she remembered it, but she ate a side dish of pickled shrimp prepared for the Talokanil with fervor too. 

Attuma clutched a portion of shrimp as he and Totl prepared to return to the river to eat. She never saw him without his hammerhead headpiece that kept others at least five feet away from the towering warrior. "If you are asking about K'uk'ulkan, he said he will return for the council meeting." 

"Not just him," Shuri began to protest but the two Talokanil passed a knowing glance. They ducked out of the room, ignoring the strange mutters the rest of the Wakandans passed about fishpeople, but they weren't vicious; only jests about their eating habits and lamenting how they dripped everywhere. 

At the formal council meeting, there were two new chairs: one for the Black Panther, and another for Talokanil representation. She settled into her chair with unease. Leaders were given little time to mourn and personal time away. Less than a full day after battle and they were expected to have everything sorted. She heard some updates in muffled conversations after the funeral processions, and tried to flush away the anger at having missed the previous night's council. 

Namor was the last one to enter. Attuma and an unfamiliar Talokanil woman joined behind him. He ran a hand through his hair in that amusing way of his, lifting the hair, flattened against his head by water, into a semblance of waves. It turned him immediately from a god into a roguishly handsome mutant who still had to bother with mundane things like hair. 

She averted her eyes, aware that her lungs had paused for a moment. At least he didn't have his feathered serpent headpiece with him, or she would truly stop breathing. Stupid feathers. 

King M'Baku chanted and called the council to start. "Glory to Hanuman. Fishman King has agreed to let the world know about Talokan and that the violence in their waters were not the fault of Wakanda. His waters were never longer international waters for others to meddle with, but the world will now heed this declaration."

Her eyes snapped to the water-King, definitely not breathing now. For a broad man, Namor lounged delicately in his seat, feet planted firmly on the ground and eyes trained with unshakable focus on M'Baku. He was a statue, if not for the soft swaying of his wings the breaking from the illusion.

He—

Talokan—

An inexplicable joy threatened to bubble over, one that she leapt to keep at bay but it was too late. A giddy laugh escaped, and the Talokanil's focus locked on her. 

The beginning of a smile broke onto Namor's face. He lifted an eyebrow, quirked the edges of his lips, and jutted his chin out while M'Baku continued. Then Shuri straightened and spoke her turn, briefing the events of the past month and the vile dealings of Val. All the while, Namor looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

See? His expression said. It is safe for you to trust me.

Later, Shuri found Namor silent and standing waist-deep in the river. Ahead of him, Talokanil warriors carried their fallen into the water. She wanted to help, but she was needed in five other places, and the small lab in the palace she was just barely able to sneak away to after lunch was slow to process her blood. Griot's initial scan was clear: she was not close to immortal, so she would die to see her family again. Other effects of the flower were minimal, limited to thickened organs, changed blood flow, and odd cravings. Long-term living in Talokan would still require technological aid, and drafts of an improved, pressure-impervious Black Panther suit were already laid out in her mind.

"I'm sorry about Tozi." She waded into the water as lightly as she spoke. His shoulders tensed. "How do you bury your dead?"

"Cold fire under the vibranium sun." Without looking, he reached for Shuri's hand and yanked her close. He explained in a low voice, eyes locked onto the rows of his people arching into the water and disappearing into the river, the way they cremated bodies under water and scattered their ashes to the ocean floor. Tozi's death was one of thousands, hundreds of thousands, he'd witnessed and blessed in his lifetime. "I forget how short life is for most. Every death is an ocean of grief."

She squeezed his calloused hand. "You still remember your mother's. You might be called a boy without love, but you stand here grieving every single one of them. One of the Wakandans mentioned they saw you touching the foreheads of our fallen too."

He stiffened, but Shuri kept her fingers locked around his.

You still have a huge debt to pay, she wanted to say.

I love you, she also wanted to say.

Her mouth wouldn't shape the words, so she leaned into him, these curves she'd begun to familiarize herself with and slowly fantasize about. She had been waiting for permission, she realized, and now she had it: from her mother, from Namor's decision, and herself. She still needed to speak to Nakia about this (“Define 'this' and make your conclusion."), there was the issue of what her return to Wakanda meant for leadership, and her poor water-logged lab was waiting for her attention. Ross had told her at lunch that he was going to interrogate Val himself, and Toussaint deserved an entire day with his only auntie.

Still. Still. The world could live for a moment without them.

She was ready. She willed, prayed that Namor would ask the question again ("Do you want this?") and rake his eyes over her like she'd hung the sun in the sky herself. When she was met with only the sound of rippling water, she began to conclude that she would answer in words the question he kept asking her anyway through his hands, eyes, and face, when he turned to look at her. "There is something I must do, Shuri."

Her heart stopped short of a catharsis. The resounding emptiness made her brain screech and she took her hand away. Something in Namor's face made her soften, just a little. He lifted a thumb to her lips.

"I will return with tomorrow's light."

"Fine." She turned, lifting her white dress—see if I wear a dress tomorrow, stupid feelings—to trudge out of the water. "I'm busy too, Namor."

"Namor?" He grabbed her hand, pulling her back to his front. The remaining Talokanil had the good sense to dip under water, but they were still in public, and at any moment a River Tribe or Border Tribe warrior could pop out of the trees. She squeaked and tried to leave, but she knew that he knew that it was for show because he barely used his full strength and shoving him away with her's was child's play. She pretended to acquiesce, swallowing her pride, as he pressed her against his damp chest, water coming up to his belt and her abdomen. He chuckled into her ear.

"Will you give me a gift?"

Shuri's brain zoomed into a billion directions, warmth pooling somewhere she really didn't want to label, and attempted to squirm out of his hold to again. He lowered his hands to her hips, subduing her frantic movements her. How far away could River Tribe folks be? How could they trust their Princess with this fishman?

"I'm going to scream if you don't—"

"Ah, not that sort of gift." He said, but there was a grin in his voice and she wished the water would swallow her whole and scatter her ashes, "But I am generous and will not deny the gift of a sovereign. I once struck you with violence that left you unable to walk for many days," he lowered his voice to a whisper so quiet that none but her panther ears could hear, trailing the edge of her ear with a swipe of his tongue, "if you wish to repeat such a condition under more pleasant circumstances.”

She dipped her hands into the water and flung it at him. The cascade of water forced him to drag his hands over his face, giving her enough time to half-swim, half-dash out of the river. It was the least elegant display she'd ever made, a disrespect to the very name of the Black Panther, but she didn't care about the soil damaging the hems of her dress or her water-proof sneakers covered in mud.

"Just go, K'uk'ulkan." She muttered. "And keep that earring on."

Chapter Text

Riri's relentless attempts to contact her were for two reasons: one, "What the hell is he doing on the news?", and two, she did not make the second vibranium-sensor. It turned out MIT had other geniuses hellbent on proving themselves. The same professor who sold Riri's designs to the CIA roped some kid named Peter Parker into making a design that could detect rare metals, and then tweaked it enough to scurry off with another million dollars from the government.

Politely 'extraditing' this idiot professor fell to Okoye. Shuri was assigned to launch a Wakandan program for disgruntled, gifted teens, and Darcy immediately nominated herself as its director despite the stream of news releases about American hostages and controversial debates about whether the CIA jeopardized the lives of their own people or not.

All of this, of course, if Shuri agreed to remain.

She wasn't sure she liked the growing assumption that she would. Even if she stayed, she strongly preferred the restoration efforts of a science orientation over ruling and dealing with diabolical international scheming and political discontent.

Ross returned in the evening after interrogating Val, shaken but somewhat at peace. The woman requested an audience with Shuri but she refused to give her one. Whatever she was and whatever she wanted, the woman would live with the knowledge that she hadn't trusted Wakanda and Talokan to release her on fair terms, and in the process jeopardized and was responsible for the lives of many. She might've risked her own life to serve the vision of an American vibranium empire in her stead, yet the choices she made for others, toying with their lives...Shuri hoped there was enough of a moral bone, no matter how small, left inside her so should be tortured with that knowledge for the rest of her life. She would not be released from Wakanda.

The American generals, and the hostages with them, left Wakanda that night with an understanding to revisit this at a global summit in two weeks' time where a tribunal would decide their punishment. It was the same summit Talokan would officially be acknowledged in. The prisoners of war would remain here until summit negotiations.

"What will you do?" Shuri asked, finding White Vision floating at the edge of the forest after a hearty dinner. The walk here was short, though Namora's presence some paces behind her made it feel longer — at least the Dora no longer hovered over her with the Talokanil warrior around ("How do they trust her Okoye, she was so close to betraying us all even when I saved her life once." "I can tell she likes you the way I like that Riri girl." ).

She had hoped to escape from the cascade of people who wanted her attention. Asking M'Baku to release another mandate would signal to others her willingness to take advantage of her status, but the idea was tempting after Totl chased her down, reluctant to go back to Talokan just yet. He wanted to show her his idea for a fishing contraption that would secure absolutely the biggest fish Juana would ever receive. Some of her scientists were already making hesitant plans to visit Talokan to help improve the forcefields and entry points around their waters, but only the upper caves. There was an unspoken 'for now' in there, and it was strange how relationships forged and rebuilt in the wake of war.

This meeting with White Vision was another strange relationship. Trying to save his older self was a memory subsumed by larger concerns post-Blip, but now, after finding his glowing body roaming these woods alone, she wondered what possibly lay ahead for a synthezoid. 

"S.W.O.R.D may be ordered to disassemble me after the summit." He answered.

"Wait here." Shuri told Namora, and jumped onto the nearest tree, climbing its branches until she reached White Vision's height. His voice reached her the same whether she was here or on the ground because he calculated the strength of vocal cord movements needed to reach others perfectly, but it felt less like talking to a wall when face-to0face with the synthezoid. In the dim moonlight, she could catch the bits of humanity lingering in his face.

"Does death scare you?"

"My own or others?"

She thought about it. Her own death excited her in a macabre way. She had witnessed too much loss to have the energy to pour into another. "Both."

He considered her question. "I have died many times, twice in this very place. I was made again with magic, and again in this form. It is not death if you think of it as rebirth."

Death is not the end. In the days following her failed vengeance that she now saw as a successful show of who she was, the idea of hastening death once crossed the back of her mind, but only the living could could mourn the dead. So the need to mourn saved her, as did Toussaint's beautiful face, her brother's blood reborn in the boy.

"And others'?"

If a synthezoid could smile, she saw it now. "What is grief, if not love persevering?"

He floated away, dissolving through Wakanda's forcefields.

Namor had heard her answer clearly in her squeeze of his fingers and the mention of his mother.

Upon his return to Talokan, he visited Tozi's family members, touching each of their foreheads with a minute of solitude. Juana, the novice-guard and engineer-trainee also received his attention in the form of a quick update about an one-vibranium-armed man and Totl's survival. Their dead were burned under the light of the vibranium sun he carved, and they took whales out to deeper seas and scattered their ashes. He gathered his council, commanded his gatherer of news to weave oral stories about the Battle of Talokan and Wakanda, announced a subsequent timeline to address the rebellion in his court, and allayed the fears of bloodthirsty generals that Wakanda would continue to protect them, but they too must offer support.

He prepared pigments to start a new mural, ordered the tailors and seamstresses to work with his gatherers to design dresses more "fashionable" for a 21st century woman, finished praying over the dead, changed the lights in the ancestors' room, and cleared the prison cave and tasked his engineers to turn it into a full-scale laboratory. He sent handmaids to return all of his personal items from his water room to the cabin and secured a broken seashell that was once briefly worn in beautiful locks onto his shelf. He bent his knees in a form of prayer in the palace's botanical room under the glow of a blue flower missing a leaf. He checked the strength of their walls, knowing these waters would face heightened scrutiny in the next few years. The Wakandans would keep to their word, but Namor was also a god of conviction. Then he sought out Fen, and though he was not injured, she was needed to weave together a better...bed.

"Fen." He called in the healer's dome. The woman hurried to him, worry and adoration on her face. The future held one less healer until the novices finished their training; the healer who interfered with medications would be removed from his post after their wounded were tended to. "What do you think of Chalchiuhtlicue?"

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes flashed briefly in alarm as she recollected herself. "My thoughts be cancelled by yours, K'uk'ulkan."

Satisfied at her answer, he spoke stonily. "Make amends. She can help in providing support for your duties."

"Yes, K'uk'ulkan."

A mousy guard, the one who slinked around Shuri, poked her head through the door with twitchy ears. Behind her was another young guard with water bandages on the lower half of her face. "Did you say Chalchiuhtlicue?"

"Atzi, Zuma," Fen chided, "It is not polite to eavesdrop." 

The two girls left as quickly as they came, and Namor heard the gossip spiraling outwards before he even reached the whirlpool that would take him to his air office. His last task involved a slab of jade stone.

After the late evening crowd dispersed, Bucky lounged by a large window. His vibranium arm glimmered, reminding him of everything this place meant to him and what he owed it.

Shuri was conspicuously absent from post-dinner social activities, but the woman deserved everything if not a simple break, so his thoughts wandered to Namor. He’d exchanged only one direct conversation with him, but he still didn’t know how to feel about the mutant. Mermaid? He hadn’t known this was the ‘them’ Shuri and Nakia spoke so secretly about until the Dora updated him, and never could his Thanos-fighting Winter Soldier self have guessed it was an underwater vibranium empire that nearly brought Wakanda to its knees. 

He also couldn’t believe no one said anything about the Princess’ fidgeting whenever the water-King was mentioned or the nauseatingly longing look in his when she pranced by. Maybe modern folk were unfamiliar with the pining of days of yore, before romance dramas showing more than innocent pecks became mainstream, but of course Shuri, genius Princess of Wakanda, would find no one but a veritable god suitable.

There was also the issue of Queen Ramonda but Shuri was no child. She tried to do what was just and right, even in the thick fervor of emotions. Bucky was still in the process of healing his moral grounding so he felt it apt to distantly appreciate the mutant's help and begrudge him as the object of Shuri's affections where the others would bury him alive once they found out. He was not alone in his thought process, though Darcy had the benefit of not knowing the details of the water-King’s violent history. She joined him next to the window to speak about Wanda and Vision, each of them having only a handful of experiences with the unexpectedly fitting couple.

“This superhero love…it doesn’t always work out, does it?” The corners of Darcy’s red lips turned down. “I need to ask the Wakandans if I can make a quick trip to see my friend because she’s dying and her god might not visit her.”

Bucky grimaced. The woman was quick to bear her heart and too chatty for his liking, but she had managed to soften him a bit since he escorted her from the medical clinic.

“I hope it works out with the Princess. I still believe in soulmates.”

At this, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “She shouldn’t get close to him. He struts around in shorts. He’s ruthless. He was touching her ears when I saw them yesterday.”

“Alright, your hundred year-old man thing is definitely obvious.”

“Their ears are pointy.” Bucky said, and promptly paled. “Does that mean they…”

“I don’t know what health education they taught in the last century, but nowhere on planet Earth does getting it on with someone change your ears.” Darcy clicked her tongue. The days since her rescue returned some color to her face though she was still pale. Bucky tried, and failed, not to look at her touched up red lipstick. “He’s hot, though. If you squint hard enough, you can mistake the crazy for passion.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Fine.” He relented. It wasn’t the first time he’d met super-powered beings with a penchant for walking around with little clothing (as much as Steve tried to convince the public otherwise, Bucky knew he enjoyed the looks he got in the gym). “I’ll give him that, but the wings?”

“Your best friend has wings.”

“He’s not my best friend and his wings are titanium, not ankle butterflies.”

She smacked her lips together. “Are you free for lunch tomorrow? We can plan for a royal intervention then.”

Bucky’s stomach did a backflip. Across the room, Sam gave him two thumbs up. 

In the early hours of the next morning, Shuri greeted a flash of blue and green.

"My favorite auntie!" Toussaint cried as he launched into her. He wore the cowrie-shell shoulder sash of the River Tribe over a gold-embroidered tunic. Nakia had been moved into a private room for observation but her arm would be restored to almost full function within the week with only the aid of four vibranium nerve replacements. The woman sat up, careful not to nudge the cast around her arm, and leaned against the headboard of her bed.

"I'm your only auntie, brat." Shuri muttered, stroking the back of the boy's head. She looked at Nakia. "How many times were you injured during your War Dog days?"

Nakia shot her a warning look. If Toussaint didn't know about his mother's activities after a month in the country, then either he was hiding in Jabari Land the whole time or his mother was a liar. "Not enough to keep me away."

They slipped into easy, simple conversation, one reminiscent of Shuri's time in Haiti, and she wondered with a pang how long before this woman would return to the beautiful life she built with her son. Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Challa, would return one day to take his rightful throne, but he had years of growing to do. Shuri herself was not done growing yet. 

"Does she...follow you everywhere?" Nakia jutted a chin out to the Talokanil swaying at the entrance.

Shuri groaned. "When she's not in the river, yeah."

"I see." 

Nakia most definitely did not see, but the implication in her words were clear. She spoke into her beads, requesting a Dora to take Toussaint into the city, and after borderline begging Namora to leave under the threat of calling her — their , her mind reminded traitorously—King an elf, Shuri felt the resulting silence speak for itself. I'm getting good at that, she thought smugly. Communicating without words indeed.

"He yielded," said Nakia finally.

Shuri shrunk under a level of scrutiny that rivaled Queen Ramonda's. "Yes."

"He saved me."

"Yes."

Her eyes travelled to each side of her head, like so many others' did seeing their Princess here again, healthy and in one piece, but somehow different. "The question is whether it was for Talokan or for you, usisi." 

"Nakia, I..." She trailed off. There was so much to say. Whether Namor saved the people she loved for his people's sake or for her's didn't matter because they served the same goal. Wakanda and Talokan first — that was the axiom their existences revolved around. What mattered was Nakia was alive, and he saved her where Shuri couldn't save his handmaids.

Nakia turned her head to look out the window. Her red hair shined in the sunlight, as beautiful to Shuri as she must have surely been to her brother. She joined her on the bed and gathered her hair into her hands, unused to the movements that pulled locks into tight braids but having seen Okoye do them enough times, finished with something resembling a trendy look. 

"I overheard you two speaking in the caves."

The sudden break in silence made her jolt. "What?"

"When I snuck in. He sounded like he was apologizing, and he needs to learn how to apologize without hiding it with so many words, but then you offered to heal his foot."

Damned spy-nosiness. Shuri tried to read what Nakia was really saying, but her tone gave nothing away. She could have been speaking about the weather for all it betrayed, so Shuri opted for nervous laughter. "He has a way with words."

"Enough to make you leave?"

She jumped up as though the bed burned her. "I don't—I want to stay. Aren't you the one leaving?"

"You need to learn not to spin things back at me when you're uncomfortable." Nakia said, still looking out the window. There was a hint of teasing in her voice. "I will leave, and I will come back. I have the home your brother wanted to keep me in, and the home he wanted our son to be raised in. I'm not whole without either of them."

Did everyone speak in poetry around her, or was she the only one cursed, in exchange for her technological prowess, with a tied tongue? 

"You have fifteen years before T'Challa is of age to rule, so you have time to decide what to do with your throne." Nakia turned her all-knowing gaze on her. "But don't lie to me like you did about the ancestral plane. Now go, before that feathered woman curses me."

"You're late. The sun's been up for hours." Shuri crossed her arms. If she had been looking out from this balcony every hour, it was none of his business. Neither was the sleek outfit she wore, all angles and layers and bold colors, an outfit not appropriate for conducting a security check around the borders and visiting Mount Bashenga later that afternoon. The feathered-warrior stalking her was blessedly absent, napping somewhere in the waters out there.

Namor floated onto her balcony, his feet landing lightly as a feather. His wings flapped slowly. It was different from his usual commanding presence, and he looked now as he did before the first time he kissed her: formal and reserved. Namora’s sudden behavior as a guard she didn’t ask for made sense now; she must have spoken to Namor, and only one matter could worry him like this.

He spoke it into reality for her. “I promised your people your safety with mine, but my neglect betrayed our alliance.”

How did one comfort a god who served thousands of lives, their safety and happiness his only true source of nourishment?

Be yourself. The voice in her heart sounded suspiciously like her mother's.

She was not the lyrical sort. Words only flowed out of her like water when ignited by a new idea, so she gave herself a minute to think deeply about what to say. He started twitching near the end of it, an irony for a semi-immortal.

“Some of my people turned against my brother when someone arrived promising them better.” She started, leaning against the parapet and the words heavy on her tongue. Civilians seldom spoke explicitly of N’Jadaka's short-lived reign out of respect to the throne and people like Okoye, who bore the punishment of treason in ways more painful than those serving their sentences in a humane prison. “One of his best friends, W’Kabi, turned against him. Okoye's husband. He’s still in prison.”

He listened, captivated. His lips parted in surprise at the right places and twisted into a small frown at others. He showed more of himself to her, and she reciprocated by sharing more of her. 

“She never talks about it openly because it’s too painful. W’kabi was like my brother too, always around T’Challa. He joined the council as his tribe’s representative and was the head of security, but none of us saw his pain clearly enough to realize it would lead him to betrayal until it was too late. T’Challa felt guilty even after they made amends, and we all explained that it wasn’t his fault for not having expected it. W’Kabi could’ve shared his pain, or dealt with it differently, but his choices were his in the end. We can’t control that. Even an all-knowing god can't.”

The floor beneath them creaked as his wings stopped fluttering and his full weight joined them. He leaned his staff against the door that connected this balcony to her room. “Five hundred years, Princess.” His voice was calm, measured, and wistful all at once.

She tilted her head up as he approached, taking up the entirety of her vision. Her eyebrows stitched together. “Hmm?”

“Hundreds of years, and the surface-dweller in front of me teaches me a lesson I did not know I needed.”

“Humility suits you as well as a tracksuit would.” A mischievous smile crossed her face. The potential suits with gaps for feet wings that worked with his golden jewelry flashed in her mind. “Actually —”

He came closer. She resisted the urge to bite her lip.

“Shuri." 

Her heart sped up, but before she could think over it, he swung her body onto his back and jumped.

Her stomach fell. The air gushed out of her lungs leaving her none to scream with. When he'd flown with her and Nakia in battle, the adrenaline and relief at an alive Nakia had distracted her. Now, her eyes flickered wildly, straining to notice the details of the colorful streets, markets, and streetcars that passed in a blur beneath them. She clutched furiously at his neck and jaw as the initial direction of her stomach reversed, now hitting her throat.

This was not jumping off a ship and onto an airship at a reasonable height above water. He soared two hundred meters from the ground, as Griot politely announced. Her curls whipped in front of her eyes. She tried to focus on the numbers. How high could he fly? What minimum percentage of oxygen during flight did he need before his skin couldn't absorb anymore? How many times can he touch me before I lose my —

"Mind!" She shrieked as he swerved to the right and dove. "Have you lost your mind?!"

He chuckled, or laughed, or made some type of noise. It was hard to tell. "A panther does not like to leap?"

"I fly ships, not humans. Mutants. Slow down—"

"Then navigate me as you would a ship."

Shuri paused yelling enough to rearrange her arms and tightened her thighs around his waist. A different funny feeling replaced the one of her stomach in her throat, but she focused now to spot the river approaching them. This was closer to navigating a whale than a ship, and the exhilaration caught up to her as she pressed a heel into his left shoulder. He arched to the left, slowing as they descended. A moment of panic gripped her lungs. The land moved up to them too quickly, but he glided past the riverbank and dumped her ceremoniously into the river.

Her first thought was of her neatly arranged outfit and hair. Not anymore. The second was that he was late, he all but kidnapped her from the palace and her duties, and the Dora would need to barricade every window as well as door.

"That was refreshing." He flipped onto his back and moved his hands back and forth in smooth strokes to tilt himself upright. 

"Is that how gods have fun?” she mumbled, taking in the scenery. They were near the River Tribe's outpost but in an area she wasn't familiar with. A dense forest lined one side. The other side boasted a wide plain until it reached the mountainous terrain of Jabari Land. She treaded lightly, the river was too deep below her in this region for her.

He waited until her heavy breathing abated to a normal rate to speak. "I was late, but not without reason."

She remembered Nakia's words about his style of apologies and scowled. The layers of her outfit clung to her skin, sticky and hot. "This is a sensitive time. The world knows about Talokan and we're ironing out new terms for an alliance. The Feathered Serpent God can't just go missing." 

"I was not missing, I was with my people," he corrected.

"Right," she amended, feeling the tiniest twinge of understanding. 

"You can also track me."

Right, again. She glared at him. If he wanted to play this game, so be it. "Seeing a dot on the screen is very different from seeing you in person."

"How is it different?" 

"What 'meanings' ?" She challenged. The water rose to his neckpiece and she wondered if it would be better to continue this conversation above or below the surface. He seemed to notice her unease and swam closer. She focused on the blurs of his arms underwater as he wrapped them around her waist and lifted her onto his thigh, his leg bent at the knee without a hint of struggle. She placed her hands on his shoulders to still herself. The tips of her thumbs hooked onto one of his necklaces, this one made of pearls sitting between tiny beads of jade. 

As usual, he changed the subject. "You mentioned grieving yesterday. Do you believe a god grieves?"

"If you are one, then yes, you do." She humored him, leaning her cheek against his hairline. He pulled her closer so that every inch of her side was pressed against him. "I saw grief just now when you mentioned betrayal."

"I am a god. Not if." The statement rumbled in his chest and she felt it in hers. "I listen and grant my people blessings, and mourn when they mourn."

"Then you must've been mourning your whole life." She lifted her face and waited for his eyes to meet hers. "I learned something yesterday."

He licked his bottom lip and met her gaze. "What did this brilliant mind of yours learn, woman?"

She tried to lower her lips to his ear but felt his fingers dig into her waist. She hesitated, wondering if what she said made any difference at all, but perhaps it was less what she said and more that it was her saying it to this boy without love who took a label upon himself and bore it until he became a man she loved.

"Grief is proof that there was love. Not the sort of love a god or ruler has for everyone they serve, but the kind that stays with you even when the people are long gone."

The river rippled around them, his wings living them higher until the water lowered to her shins. 

"I loved my mother," he said quietly, "but love does not lessen the grief of betrayal."

She nodded sagely. “But you forgave Namora, if she’s still here?”

His necklaces clinked together as he shook his head. The rays of the rising sun above were wings of a bird spreading across the horizon. “She wavered in a way she did not for centuries. The others openly opposed me and sought your death.”

The words left her before she could stop them. “Then we live without forgiving and continue to love anyway.”

His lips met hers, hungrily and passionate and predatorily, like he was not a god who didn't need lungs but a man starved with his respite in her, in their kisses and touches and quiet words and fiery banter. He tugged her down, relaxing his legs so that she faced him. The gentleness from before morphed into a rough want, a rough need, coaxing her tongue to meet his. He buried his fingers in her coiled hair as she struggled to breathe, not due to lack of air but a desperation for more. It was electricity, it was fire, and if he asked for this kind of burning, she would turn into kindling without question.

“Do you know,” he said as he nipped at her lip, left kisses across her jaw, “what I gave as her punishment?" He pulled back, slowing in his succor but moving his legs to steer one of hers to twist around him. “To protect you with her life.”

Her heart made the decision to speak of her mother to him in a decibel just above quiet, just this once, because she could not help nor change who she was.

“I met — my — my mother on the ancestral plane. She said…you owe her.”

He stilled. He spoke as though his breath could crack glass.

“Then I, Namor of Talokan, the Feathered Serpent God, accept this sentence and tether my life to your protection.” He lowered his lips to hers again but she nudged him to keep the gap between them from closing. She heard something akin to a frustrated growl escape from him but she needed an answer.

Droplets of water rolled down his wide nose with its jade shining with a sheen of water, around the corner of his lips, and disappeared into a neatly trimmed beard. She watched the tracks they left on his smooth but firm skin. “Why did you leave yesterday, when I was about to give my answer?”

He lowered his forehead to hers, noses bumping and lips hovering an inexcusable centimeter away. “When I was going to have you, I would do it properly, not due to the banalities of an international affair. I did not ever envision making you my Queen in any less of a way but you upended every plan and forced my hand.”

“But you imagined it.” She teased, closing the gap between their mouths for a small moment and relishing in the desperate, muffled sound that left him. She retreated and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You said you’d make me want you. It's your fault, if you think about it.”

“That—" He had the gall to look affronted. She pressed herself closer to him, daring him to deny it. His eyes locked onto her mouth. "Yes."

She repressed a snort. She wanted so badly to laugh, or cry, because her heart was exploding and pounding and threatening to leap out of her chest faster than he leapt out of her balcony. Was this the heart she thought she'd buried with in mother? So full it could burst? “I take back making you yield. Start over. Court me properly.”

She moved for another coy, feather-light peck but he was prepared for the taunt and responded with his Feathered Serpent God strength. His large hands held her in place, keeping her head angled. He dived, and dived again, and took as many kisses from her as he gave. Feeling brave, she pressed her hands in the dip of his back and traced his lips with her tongue. He moaned.

“So—confident—do you,” he panted between breathless and heedless touches, “wish me to bring you a fish?”

“I wish,” she gasped, “for this King to make me his Queen.”

He pulled her under the water, strung a necklace of jade carved by his own hands around her neck, and touched her, made love to her like he was painting her into another mural. 

Chapter Text

One Week Later

With days left until the summit, Shuri mustered her courage and accepted Aneka's invite to a ladies' gathering in her homey abode on stilts above the river near the Merchant Tribe. Namora followed, annoyed that she couldn’t swim while fishermen were out fishing, but otherwise intrigued by the idea of exploring more natural ways of surface-dweller living. Aneka was a stickler for the organic and ethical, even by Wakandan standards, and her assortment of natural textiles kept the Talokanil busy while Shuri practiced her rehearsed speech. Okoye and Ayo socialized easily, the former general imparting shrewd advice to the new general, and Nakia graciously explained to Darcy Aneka’s collection of uniquely Wakandan snacks.

“So,” Shuri rubbed her hands together. No one budged. She cleared her throat forcefully. Aneka paused in her engrossing conversation with Namora about the best weave for sitting apparatuses and tilted her head in concern. 

“Are you sick?”

Namora's back straightened like a ramrod. Shuri shook her head vigorously.

“No, I…Talokan…” She took a deep breath. Quite the quagmire, Baba. She summoned the spitfire she was before...everything, when she used to dole out blunt and witty jibes to her older brother, sneak past her mother's room in the middle of the night, and feared nothing except her own mad ingenuity. “K'uk'ulkan and I are involved.”

Okoye trailed off in the middle of her sentence. Ayo shot Shuri an impatient glower. Though she sighed in exasperation, Nakia settled onto a chair while Darcy waved a hand full of dried mango.

“You go get that fine god man.”

Okoye rose from her seat near the window and advanced, her flats leaving scorch marks on the wood-vibranium alloy floor. “Involved?” There was a manic tilt to her voice. “Did I mishear, or did the Black Panther imply she engaged in a diplomatic affair on her own?”

“That’s not…” Nakia winced, and Shuri knew it wasn't because of her still aching injury, “the type of involved she means.”

“I know what she means. I’m giving her an out before she finds herself unconscious and on a ship back to the palace.” Okoye snapped.

She felt cornered and horribly outnumbered, this was a bad idea, but at least Darcy cheered her on enough to continue. She explained the gist of it: vaguely but in enough detail how she had mercy on the cunning Feathered Serpent God, saved him, then he saved her, comforted her, and then she recreated a sacred flower and saved him from making a big mistake, and then he saved her and Nakia, showed her she had a heart all along only to steal it like an asshole, but not necessarily in that order.

Aneka spoke first. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

Namora lifted a throw pillow and yanked at a loose thread. “Queen.”

“It will take me time to…understand this." Aneka lowered her head, frowning at the floor. "I understand it was war time, and now we are at peace with his aid, but he was once our most dangerous enemy.” 

This was better than the scorn she spent the days prior preparing for. Namor may have saved Nakia and many Wakandans and smothered global greed into obedience, but how could they look at him without imagining water grenades in his hands? Creating the conditions that pushed Mama to sacrifice herself?

“Did he force himself on you?” Okoye asked quietly. Aghast, she shook her head but the warrior continued. “Does he wield something over you, or did you bargain for his willingness to negotiate? If it was tender company that you wished for—”

“No.” And Namor was not tender. He was…a lot. Many things. Wants and needs and omissions and confusion and really more attractive than was healthy for her palpitating nerves. “He has been sincere about Talokan. About everything.” Most things. He still sneered and pushed the council to their limits, and insisted on using self-indulgent nicknames for surface-dwellers (except Bucky, he seemed to have developed a strange favoritism for the White Wolf).

Ayo inhaled sharply. “And your mother?” The general was a woman of brevity but each word was precise and elicited the reaction she sought. Shuri froze.

She never told them what she saw when she took the heart-shaped herb, including Nakia with her strong will and ability to see everything she kept buried in her soul. Only one person knew who she saw both times she visited the ancestral plane, and she knew that one day she would tell the women in front of her too. But not today. After forcing a deep breath, she trained her gaze on each of them, hoping her eyes conveyed what her words only scratched at.

“I will not pretend this is right. It is not. If I had any say in the matter, I would have chosen him last." Shuri closed her eyes. "I couldn't control it. I can't. I'm so sorry."

The only sound was that of even breaths. She heard the shifting of bandages.

"Are you looking for permission from us, or absolution?" Nakia asked. 

Neither, Shuri wanted to answer, but that would have been a lie. She wanted someone to yell at her, to knock some sense into her that what she was doing — that her heart — was wrong and she was wrong. That there was no respite with such a water-God who could never absolve the past. She'd almost taken his life and even that wouldn't have been enough. By Bast she loved him and there was no world she was capable of creating that would keep her heart from crying for him.

As for absolution, that was only ever in her mother's hands, and her mother released her back into this world having allowed her heart to accept him. She opened her eyes.

"I will never forgive him.”

They collectively drew in a sharp breath. A twinkle of understanding only flickered in Okoye’s eyes. The warrior tapped her foot and pursed her lips, and immediately the tension in the room dissolved into one more light-hearted, though she felt no less cornered.

”Let’s say I ignore the matter of his immortality—”

“Thor and Jane.” Darcy piped from deep in the pantry. “Me and Bucky, but he doesn’t know it yet. Hmm, but he’ll age normally I think...”

She wanted to add that her lifespan was looking to be well over a hundred years (according to her latest blood analysis), barring global catastrophes, but didn’t think it wise to mention her Talokanil blood right now. She also spared a sideways glance to the American scientist, wondering if the chatterbox was purposefully private about her own dalliances for this to be the first time they heard of this. But it could also be that she was just...too occupied to notice the romances flourishing around her.

“— his ridiculous wings —”

She agreed they were ridiculous, but it was an assessment only she was allowed to make. “They’re faster than your thrusters.”

Okoye ignored her. “— and the disgraceful timing, there is the fact that King M’Baku is still Regent, and you a Crown Princess.”

“Queen,” said Namora.

“If Namor wishes to marry you, the issue of what power you will have over Talokan will impact our agreement and the negotiations with other countries. Did you not think of this?”

A cramp of irritation convulsed on Shuri's face. “Don’t imply I didn’t, because that’s why I’m here baring my soul to all of you. I don't like this anymore than you do. I know the cost of being the Black Panther.” It was just her luck that her only romantic endeavor could jeopardize not one but two nations. If she didn’t know any better, T’Challa was somewhere on the ancestral plane keeling over in laughter. Maybe N'Jadaka was with him too, plotting a coup to take over Talokan's ancestral plane while making fun of her hair. “King M’Baku can rule until Toussaint comes of age. I will remain Wakanda’s protector and Princess.”

Nakia frowned. Aneka facepalmed and Okoye nodded slowly, making a face that conveyed that she was mulling over her words carefully.

“And what of the other issue?"

For Bast's sake.

“I’m…he already said—there hasn’t been a formal announcement yet, it just slipped out—but I’m already his, er, Queen.” Four disbelieving faces stared at her, Namora continued to fiddle with whatever object she found next, and Darcy bit into a plantain chip. “Of Talokan. I forced his hand, but he was hoping for it, and we're...technically married.” 

“You did what?” Nakia asked calmly. 

Shuri toyed with the new necklace around her slim neck. It was intricate, traditional, and in complete clash with the rest of her attire, but in a way that worked. While Namor had returned to Talokan twice since the battle, she made it clear that queenly or whatever regalia was the absolute lowest priority right now, though she agreed to wear the necklace after his insistence ("So my people know who their god worships."). Unbidden memories of the past week, of riverside spars turning into passionate touches and praises that flowed more openly and easily between them, made her squirm, so she returned to the present, devoid of any bright ideas on how to manage the situation. She could spear enemies in half and leap down mountains but these four women made her want to scurry to the furthest corners of the Earth.

Nakia would find me anyway.

“Accepting a necklace finalizes the union in Talokan. There, you don’t technically need witnesses and a tribe elder to bless it and he’s a god.”

Nakia dropped her eyes to her neck, returned them to her face, and then slowly slinked towards the kitchen counter, breathing through her nose. “We’re in Wakanda. You got married without informing—”

Sensing impending doom, Aneka held out an arm. “Nakia, you and T’Challa had a secret son, with what standing are you—”

“We had no wedding because of some Bast-damned alien and hiding my son was a necessity. Shuri is a Princess during peacetime who deserves a proper wedding.”

“Queen.” Namora intoned again.

"That's not her fault." Okoye's fingers twitched. "I'll hang the fishman up myself."

“Why are you all like this?” Shuri wanted to stomp her foot but the self-cleaning sneakers were a new invention of hers she would hate to ruin so soon. Also, Aneka was shooting Okoye thinly-veiled angry looks at the damage already wrought on her pristine floors. “We can have another wedding, but it was bound to be an international affair and you know how I feel about tradition. We’re not children. None of us are maidens!”

Three voices spoke at once.

“I’m with a woman—“

“Our marriage was names on a paper for Toussaint’s lineage—”

“My husband is in prison—”

Everyone paused. Darcy munched.

“See,” Shuri smiled wryly, “my story is not that ridiculous.”

Realization darkened Nakia’s face. “You laid with him that night.”

She opened her mouth to object. Well, more than just that night, if we’re being honest. It was difficult to find time alone. Namor, busied with sending the last of his people back to Talokan except for Attuma and another woman poised to replace Namora's former post, also faced everyone pestering him both inside and out of official council meetings. They were curious about his empire and what the summit would mean for Talokan. They also thought him a funny specimen, and his intimidating glares worked little when Shuri openly teased him. He flew away whenever his patience stretched thin, and whenever she wasn't in her lab, he would take her with him. She wished he would now. Bast, focus Shuri. I'm no lovesick fool.

The split second of silence cost her. Namora choked in her watermask and Ayo ran over to shake the bubbles out of it.

Nakia closed her eyes and Shuri felt a tiny bit guilty. Nakia was a sister and mother in one, and would take on the role and traditions of her mother should a wedding in Wakanda happen. Queen Ramonda was a romantic. She would've wanted a lovely affair for her daughter too. “You came back wet—” This time, Aneka let out choking noises, “and smelling like water lilies, too happy for a Black Panther out for a simple security check.”

She looked away, abashed but not regretful.

Okoye swore. “My ears. Bast curse my ears. I’ve known you since you were a babe—”

“Didn't think to invite me to this 'wedding'. Let me send her to the ancestral plane, I beseech the ancestors—”

“Water lilies?” Aneka echoed to no one in particular.

“You are no better than Toussaint inducing these headaches, no colorful exchange of garlands, no isicholo—”

“She is a young woman who makes her own choices.” Ayo’s deep voice interrupted. Shuri shot her a grateful look as she ducked behind a counter while Aneka scrambled towards the former spy, who was menacing even with one arm out of commission.

“Not the ladle, Nakia!”

“Call the Gorilla King and urge him to release a royal mandate—”

“Not the plate, that’s expensive quartzite you’re holding!”

“—that any man of courting age present in this country cover his thighs—”

She poked her head from behind the counter, a prayer to the God of rain escaping her lips. “Chac help us.”

A pause. “And he turned you into a fish woman, don’t think I forgot—”

“Namora, help!”

The Talokanil strained her neck around from where she lounged on Aneka’s couch. “I am only bound to protect your life. Chalchiuhtlicue is too strong to be struck down by a mortal.” She sneered. “Though I fear for your reputation.”

Nakia didn't need Griot to translate. She was a former War Dog who learned languages faster than a child learned bad words. “Chalchiuhtlicue, 'she of the jade skirt' and goddess of water and fertility?"

Unbeknownst to them, Namor lingered in the water some houses away, far enough to not be privy to the private conversations of ladies, but while he sharpened the points of his staff he heard the screeching all the same.

Namor asked about it later, after Aneka kicked everyone out for breaking one of her vases and Shuri managed to escape through the river, eager to put a sizable distance between her and the women out for both their heads. She sunk into his wet embrace near a hidden valley, away from prying eyes (though Namor seemed to care little who was around when he sought her out with rapt attention, 'forgetting' humans had decorum to adhere to like Talokanil and their business of sleeping). She preferred meeting him on land, but water offered privacy. Water lilies.

“They want you to wear more clothing,” she muttered, explaining the rest in clipped sentences. When she finished, he broke out into a laugh. It was a beautiful sound. 

“They believe my legs seduced you to my waters?”

The tension from her shoulders lifted. Shuri fiddled with his necklaces, fighting back a smile. “They’re not…wrong. But it wasn’t just that.”

He raised an eyebrow and dipped his head to press his lips to her forehead, over each eye, and her chin. A growing hunger Shuri recognized as voracious pooled in his darkening eyes. “What else?” 

She pushed his shoulders down so he floated at a height lower than her. He tilted his head up and she stroked his beard. “You already know.” Every interaction now carried the possibility of ending in an argument, or like this. She could not return to being innocent of his looks, devouring hands, or touches.

He hummed. “A god is to be worshiped and praised.”

“Jerk.”

There were times when their touches began soft and with a cherished gentleness. Then others like this, where the thrill enlightened her to many imaginations of what else his battle-worn hands could do.

When they broke through the surface, her to breathe, she confessed.

“I don’t want to rule. I want to protect.” And she told him about Toussaint, that the little boy at Nakia's side he might have seen around the palace was her brother's blood.

The solution came in the form of Ross.

During the next council meeting, after details of the summit officially announcing Talokan's existence were negotiated, Namor's new advisor, a peckish woman who looked no more than forty, tried to clear her throat. M'Baku turned to her on her third throat clearing attempt, and Shuri added oxygenation technology that would leave the Talokanil's mouths open in air to her ever-growing to-do list. It was as though a dam had been broken, her heart flooded with love again. She was churning out projects now so quickly that even Totl and Zolin tried to find excuses to leave her lab.

"Zyanya." M'Baku nodded to the water-king's advisor. "Your King submitted one agenda item we have already discussed. Our scientists will leave in two weeks'," he paused, correcting himself. Nakia and Namora had quickly proven themselves adequate representatives of cross-cultural learning. "Two surface weeks, or fourteen days, to build larger barriers around your waters. Was else is there to discuss?"

Namor lifted an eyebrow at M'Baku's not very subtle attempt to end the meeting. Shuri recognized the annoyance lifting to the surface and was delighted when he closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them again with heavily-concealed distaste. 

"Many things, King M'Baku, however, we offer our time and aid so long as Wakanda needs it."

She sent him a small smile and noticed only too late that M'Baku noticed her movement. She shifted in her seat — a smaller chair for the Black Panther, for Wakanda's ruler and protector were two separate mantles and would be for what she hoped was a long time. The Jabari King's response was cut off by Namor's signature unfurling of his palm to the audience around him.

"Let my advisor speak." He nodded at Zyanya who cleared her throat again.

"To solidify our new relationship, we propose a wedding between our King and your Protector."

Shuri's heart rate quickened. Some of the Talokanil already spotted them along the riverbanks, but it was no more damning than rumors of him watching her sleep, so while there had not been a formal announcement, those of them still in Wakanda had taken to her new title without hesitation. 

The Wakandans should have been surprised. They were; they simply did not shout or erupt into chaos as she expected. Instead, the Merchant and River Tribe elders tilted their heads quizzically; the Jabari Tribe elder (who replaced M'Baku after he became King) guffawed, and the Mining Tribe elder choked. Okoye, now the Border Tribe representative, looked like to be suppressing an eye-roll. Only Ross openly stumbled with a yelp of disbelief.

There was a long pause after which even the new throne room could not contain M'Baku's raucous laughter. The Jabari elder joined him.

"Fish King, this advisor has a sense of humor." M'Baku thumped his chest. "Did my people teach you these politics?"

Eyes flashed. "No. It is an agreement your Princess and I have come to."

"Did she now?"

She was prepared for the curious and slightly furious look M'Baku leveled at her. She had considered speaking to him in private as she had done with her sisters in everything but blood, Bucky, and Riri, but the King was even busier than Namor as ruling a country that would represent Talokan to the world. 

"I see the Black Panther forges her own path." He rumbled.

She scoffed. "I am right here, Great Gorilla."

He tilted his head. "Did you make this agreement to solidify an alliance thinking I was not doing enough, or out of a personal...inclination?"

Every pair of eyes in the room turned towards her. Heat rose to her cheeks and she saw Namor's fingers twitch out of the corner of her eye. If she looked at him now, she would never hear the end of it. Instead, she looked to Okoye, who thinned her lips and gestured towards the middle of the circle their council made as if to say, the floor is yours, Queen consort of Talokan to royal consort of Wakanda.

M'Baku spared her. "Apologies. Do not answer that or my lunch may make a reappearance. At least the Fishman is strong." He appraised Namor with an edge of respect. "The better question is, do I do your brother a disfavor in my promise to look after you by granting this request?"

"You do her a dishonor by assuming she is not capable of protecting us all." Namor interrupted. M'Baku kept his eyes on her. "But I will leave no room for her ancestors or Wakanda to say I did not treat her with utter loyalty, and Wakanda will have my help at your disposal. She will know nothing from me but pleasure."

The room quieted sans M'Baku's second round of laughter.

Bast. There is no way he is not familiar with surface world euphemisms. The heat of her cheeks grew to an audacious flame. She sat unflinching while Ayo and Okoye traded a look that only those familiar with the Dora could catch. The other elders shifted uncomfortably.

"I keep my word," Namor finished. Then he smirked, presumably at her but she refused to confirm it.

"That, you do," M'Baku acknowledged.

"If you two are done flirting," she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing while both men — infuriating fighters with more brawn than brain at times — glowered, "we have never had allies before. What's the protocol for announcing this, my King?" She asked this directly looking at M'Baku, and the heat that radiated from where the Feathered Serpent sat next to her promised a week's worth of headaches and protests at her levying such intimate language at anyone but him. For a being who called her Princess as a term of affection, calling another King was akin to calling him husband. 

Well. He had assumed she and M'Baku were married last month, hadn't he?

M'Baku stroked his chin, unaware of the internal battle fueling between her and her other King. "A fine question to ask, had you asked days ago."

She rolled her eyes. "My personal matters hardly matter more than the people."

The Mining Tribe elder nodded approvingly, her otjize locks swaying with the movement. "We honor you, Black Panther, but it is a personal matter that needs public negotiation." 

"Hence our ask to this wise council."

M'Baku chuckled. "Wise indeed. How indeed does one announce a strange, though not unwelcome, pair who's combined power can destroy us all?"

"A warrior who knows his weakness." Namor grinned while M'Baku bristled. She had a sinking feeling that he would one day become a council favorite.

A new voice entered the conversation. “Make the marriage look political.”

They turned towards Ross, who stood next to Okoye as her charge. His face betrayed worry and concern especially as he looked at Shuri and smiled tightly. "It works in our favor. The world's practiced marriage alliances for long time. It'll make Talokan and Wakanda's friendship seem impenetrable and they'll see it as a political gambit."

She didn't miss his use of 'our' and smiled inwardly.

“It is political.” Zyanya provided, but half the room held back a snort. The other half considered this very seriously, especially the River Tribe elder, Nakia’s father, who shook his head.

“The world will see it as Wakanda, a nation that stood its ground against external forces until now, easily bowing to the demands of an isolated new nation.”

“No.” M’Baku thumped his club. “The woman who scoffs at some traditions allying with another vibranium empire will show that we are willing to work with nations that respect our authority and that we are not to be trifled with. It also offers better protection of Talokan as their waters would be under our jurisdiction, with fishman King an official consort of a Golden Tribe family member.” He said to general astonishment. With every passing day Shuri wondered how she ever wasted time considering anyone as Regent King except him.

Then while the tribal elders debated, he sent Shuri a sly smirk and she willed Namor to punch the Great Gorilla King M’Baku of the Jabari Tribe into a hut again (she could do it herself, but she was quickly learning as a wife that a husband was happy to oblige, plus his muscles were nice to watch when he fought). Finally, when the council was done speaking of them, despite them being present to offer their own counsel, the hodgepodge group of Wakandans, Americans, and Talokanil turned to Shuri.

“So,” M’Baku started, bored and twisting his club, “it seems we can start wedding preparations shortly, but will the Black Panther be fighting me for her throne before or after the marriage?”

She tensed. Aneka and Nakia were not present, and Ayo and Okoye twitched. Namor held up a hand, the cuffs and bands around his sinewy arms gleaming in the sunlight.

“That will not be a problem.”

The room stilled, waiting for the Feathered Serpent God to continue. Shuri reached over from the chair erected for the Black Panther and dug her claws into his arm, but he only leaned back in the new permanent seat carved for Talokanil representation.

“The Princess is already my Queen.”

She really, really preferred Nakia to this.

"Queen consort," she corrected to harmonic disarray. 

Okoye helped her escape (she was getting quite good at pulling people out of difficult places) and left her in America for the duration of the summit. Namora was cranky but her blue skin wouldn't do their goal of anonymity any favors, and the world needed time to warm up to the notion of water people, so she returned to Talokan without a word, though Shuri had found a feather sitting atop a folded white dress on her bed that morning. It was the one she thought she lost in the lab flood, but it was patched with only a few mismatched threads.

"You're not going to take that off?" Okoye pointed at Shuri's neck. Her necklace was tucked under a sweatshirt but some of its pearls peeked over the neckline. When Shuri dug her hands further into her pockets and walked away, the warrior groaned.

They strolled up to a familiar residence hall at MIT where Shuri would be collecting Riri and this Peter Parker. Before Okoye could bid her farewell, she halted her with the question that gnawed at her ever since she told Namor the story. To her surprise, Okoye limited her twitches of annoyance to three, but softened upon seeing Shuri's face.

"Bast no. I could not forgive him if I tried. I am so angry with him that just thinking about it hurts my heart in a way more than my mother's death does."

W'Kabi would be released from prison with highly restricted movement at some point, but not for at least another few years. "Do you visit him?"

The corners of her eyes wrinkled. "After he told me he would be sorry for the rest of his life? Every week."

"I knew it since that beauty and the beast crap, he had two outfits made for you when we were barely there for a day." 

Shuri rubbed her eyes. "I was a Princess and representative of Wakanda, so—"

Riri looked up from her lab bench, a blowtorch blazing in her hands. Shuri couldn't see her expression through her goggles and mask but heard the skepticism in her voice. "Blah, blah. Giving a Princess he's met twice a bracelet that belonged to his mother? Who died more than four centuries ago?"

"But—"

"I don't care. Just invite me for the wedding, your Highness—there better be one or what's the point of all that money—and get your fish stick ass outta here before this torch fries you."

Bucky and Ross watched the summit proceedings from the comfort of one of the Citadel's lounges. The moment Ross stepped outside the country, the bounty put on his head would threaten the peace of the whole continent, but the man didn't seem so dejected at the prospect of living the rest of his life in Wakanda other than worry for his children. He told Bucky that they were with a relative now since their mother was in prison and father here. Sam briefly mentioned the idea of sending Val to the Raft where Zemo now wasted his days, but the possibility of America or France finding a legal loophole was too high. 

"Thanks for the tip on Vision and S.W.O.R.D, by the way." Bucky leaned back on the couch. Ross grimaced.

"Had I know Val had control of him all along, I wouldn't have sent you and Captain America the message."

The former Winter Soldier raised an eyebrow at him. "You owed us. Your family held us in prison."

Ross's grimace deepened as he poured himself another cup. Peace felt nice. Bucky was committed to enjoying it until his country eventually called him and Sam back to deal with John Walker and other anti-heroes collected by Val. 

"The Princess Shuri of Wakanda will also wed Fi—King K'uk'ulkan of Talokan in three months time." King M'Baku's first international trip was as bombastic as one could imagine. Vienna was warm this time of year but the King kept his furs, only agreeing to wear a formal blue tunic under them. The camera focused on his face struggled to keep the large man completely in frame as he continued, speaking of Wakanda's dedication to protect Talokanil waters. Underlying his promises were a strong threat. Countries were leveling America and parts of Europe with heavy sanctions. Vibranium was not open to trade, if ever, but their knowledge and relief programs would continue to grow. 

"That," Ross took a swig from his cocktail and referring to the wedding announcement, "I didn't expect."

Bucky did. Not this quickly, but when Shuri came to him the week before, using his name instead of the White Wolf moniker and wringing her hands together, he knew it was Namor-related. 

That Namor had told him himself the day after their spiritual underwater necklace ceremony or whatever wasn't mentioned to her, of course. He played the part of a dutiful old brother that T'Challa would have, questioning his behavior but eventually relenting.

When all was said and done, King T’Challa, son of King T’Chaka, greeted her on the ancestral plane on a random Tuesday some weeks after Talokan's name was released to the world. Between the extremes of isolation and conquering were many choices and she felt in her bones that her brother made the right one for them to follow. She was not dying and though the world faced another alien threat, Wakanda was at peace, yet he came to her. There were many times she imagined this moment but a little sister would always remain one, so she reminded him of this by jostling him before crushing him in a hug so tight he might die.

He won't. Never again.

“Did Nakia get me in my sleep?”

“Not yet.”

“Am I dead? Will I meet you here?”

“Not dead, but soon if you cause more trouble.” T’Challa smiled, toes out in traditional sandals and lively cheeks without a hint of sickness. “Until then, Baba is in the waters that carry you. Our mother prefers the wind, occasionally your chaotic heart for some reason.”

She elbowed him again. “What about you?”

“Wherever you and umkhwenyana are not kissing.”

“Brother!”

She had no need to read the ending of the mermaid tale her mother never finished, and one day, while stroking his fingers over the bracelet that his mother once wore, Namor said:

“I never shared with others the real reason why I gave you this, and I understand it now.”

They lounged on a hammock she updated for their use, her hands crawling under his cloak to toy with the red embroidery and draw circles with her fingertips onto his chest.

She still preferred beds, but when he lounged here between trial hearings and meetings with his gatherers and personal time praying or painting, she would do him the favor of joining him, or watch (read: did some work with her kimoyo beads to get some damned connection down here) him while he napped. It was less uncomfortable when she rested against his firm flesh than the rough ropes, and she looked forward to every bit of time she could sneak in with him during her weekly trips across the Atlantic (she could come twice a week, but this god had to learn to plead). The details of their wedding were still being ironed out by bickering councils ("What does a wedding with a god giving himself away look like?" "Why am I the one given away?" "Because you’re my consort and you’re going to give me everything until you pay off your debt."), and Namor kept his word, sending his warriors to protect Wakanda’s outreach centers and graciously working with King M’Baku to improve both nation’s defenses. They would be busy for years to come.

But here, time slowed, just enough to give the semi-immortal Feathered Serpent God K'uk'ulkan and Shuri, the Black Panther, daughter of Queen Ramonda and sister to the noblest King of Wakanda, to give them infinity in this cave of theirs.

“Oh?”

“Because I wish to grieve again one day, but I could only do that by beginning to love you.”

Fin.