Archive of Our Own

When Okoye flies him out of the woods, Everett Ross is just grateful that he doesn't throw up.

It isn’t until she deposits him in an actual plane that he realizes he might finally, finally get some answers.

At the pilot’s helm, Okoye has retracted the alarming mask to reveal her familiar, cheerfully disdainful visage. The Atlantic ocean, slate gray and unassuming, stretches out below them into the horizon.

Everett eyes her from the passenger seat.

“So. When do I get to learn what’s actually been going on?”

Okoye smiles. It is not a reassuring smile. Her direct gaze does not flicker toward him – she’s looking out to the edge of the ocean, to the destination far beyond their sight line.

“I can tell you right now. But it might be better if you rest first.”

Everett exhales a short laugh. The aftershocks of adrenaline are still pumping anxiously through his system—there’s no way he could rest yet, even if he wanted to.

“I’ll manage. Just…start with the facts, first.”

~

Well.

Okay.

Even just the facts leave him reeling.

There’s a Mayan kingdom beneath the seas, ruled by a centuries-old king with inhuman strength and winged feet.

A king who destroyed a mining ship in less than half an hour.

Who demanded Wakanda’s aid to find Riri Williams. Who kidnapped Shuri and then attacked the capital city with his forces, killing Queen Ramonda.

Who spurred Shuri to don her brother’s mantle and become the Black Panther in order to defeat him.

Now, Wakanda is tied to an alliance with this same king.

In his mind’s eye, he feels the missing pieces fall into place.

He’d heard, in snatches between his arrest and imprisonment, that Shuri had refused the crown and that M’Baku stepped forward as king.

None of these events are technically out of his realm of expertise. Especially not when he has seen gods fight and behemoths fall out of the sky.

And yet.

“Holy shit,” he says, and can’t quite manage to say anything else.

“Yes,” says Okoye. She’s not smiling anymore. “Wakanda has avoided war with Talokan. But part of that price was our secrecy.”

Everett leans his head back against his headrest. In another life, he’d be considering the political ramifications of the alliance, of the existence of a new world power, and mapping out his agency’s next move.

But that’s not him anymore. Wasn’t ever all that natural to him, really.

When he looks back at Okoye, he sees a new weariness in her features, drawn from grief. She no longer wears red because she’s no longer General of the Dora Milaje.

She continues, “Now we must do what we can to avoid war on land and in the halls of the rest of the world. Do you think you can help us?”

He nods. Of course he would. He threw his lot in with Wakanda after they first revealed their kindness. He’s in it now.

Okoye smiles again, but this time it’s something more familiar.

“Good. You really should get some sleep — we won’t have time to waste once we land.”

Everett doesn’t know how he’s supposed to sleep after all these revelations. But he crosses his arms, shuts his eyes, and tries not to feel the earth shifting under his feet.

~

On the walk up to the throne room, there’s a trail of damp footprints still drying on the stone.

Okoye curses under her breath, and tightens her grip on her spear. A Dora woman Everett vaguely recognizes but cannot place stands at the door, with the gold ornaments on her neck and clothing that Okoye once wore — the new Dora General.

“General.” Okoye salutes her, completely professional. “I bring Everett Ross to see the king.”

“You still are,” replies the new Dora General, her tone clipped and efficient.

She steps aside.

“He’s here,” Okoye mutters to Everett. “It would be best if you didn’t talk.”

Everett nods, and then swallows, his throat dry.

The throne room is empty except for M’Baku, leaning back on his throne, and the lone figure standing in front of him, spear in hand.

Both turn to look at Everett. M’Baku’s face splits into a wide, delighted grin.

“Everett Ross!” M’Baku’s voice booms. “Just the man I wanted to see.”

Everett lifts his hand in greeting, but his eyes are stuck on the King of Talokan.

He’s not immediately impressive. The king wears little armor, carries a simple spear in hand, and stands barefoot with bandaged feet, still dripping with seawater.

Everett is glad he knows better than to trust a first impression.

His second impression is that this man would not be so lightly armed in this particular room if he was not also very, very dangerous. There’s something strange about the metal on his collar and armbands, and the spear in his right hand gleams with sharpness.

And then there are his dark, cold eyes that slide over Okoye and fix upon Everett.

“What interesting guests you entertain in Wakanda, King M’Baku.” Namor’s tone is polite enough, but it raises the hairs on the back of Everett’s neck, makes him feel like he just got burned in the field.

Okoye glares at Namor like she’s ready to spear him clean through. Everett subtly inches back, out of shot.

“Our consultant,” corrects M’Baku, without missing a beat. “As I told you, Wakanda makes use of whatever resources she has at hand. Ross is a proven friend of the royal family.”

Namor tilts his head to the left, still studying Everett. It looks uncomfortably like he’s about to take the edge of that spear and vivisect him open, just to see what his insides look like.

But Namor just turns back to M’Baku.

“When do you expect the Black Panther to return to her duties?” he asks, apparently deciding that Everett isn’t worth considering further.

“When she’s ready, however long that may take,” says M’Baku, with great firmness. “But we are in contact. I will inform her of your request.”

Namor nods as if accepting his due from a petitioner — not as if he was the petitioner himself.

“Send her my regards,” Namor says.

Then he just turns and walks right past Everett and Okoye as if they are not even there, and out the door.

Everett doesn’t dare look around until the doors slam shut behind him.M’Baku lets his head drop back with a deep groan.

Everett sympathizes — his meetings with the State department used to go like that.

“What was he doing here?” demands Okoye.

“Honoring his side of the treaty,” says M’Baku, pressing his fingers to his temple. “His people had intelligence on foreign agents prowling around the center in Puerto Rico. We alerted the Dora stationed there and he agreed to send soldiers to help. But Hanuman’s beard! Negotiating with him is like butting heads with a hippopotamus.”

Okoye snorts. “Don’t sulk. What did you expect when you became king?” .

“I am not sulking, demon,” grumbles M’Baku, without particular rancor; Okoye seems unbothered by his insult. “He had another request as well, but Shuri will need to see to the details of that one.”

“Again? The princess shouldn’t have to deal with him,” snarls Okoye, bristling. She looks ready to say more — say a lot more — but M’Baku taps his staff lightly to the throne room floor.

“It is not as simple as that, and you know it. She set up the original terms of the alliance, she decides the Design Group’s projects, and she wears the Black Panther’s mantle.” He ticks off her accomplishments on the hand not holding the staff. “Even if he wanted to avoid her, it would not be possible.”

“Then why do we have you?”

“Diplomacy,” says M’Baku promptly, without even a flicker of a smile. “Who else can you trust to sweet talk the Elders and the United Nations?”

Everett blinks.

“I dearly wish she had consulted me on your championship,” sighs Okoye.

“Don’t be like that. The Black Panther used her discretion, and you could have challenged me if you felt otherwise.”

“With what time? I was breaking this white man out of a prison van.” She gestures with her spear at Everett.

“Ah yes, our favorite colonizer. Welcome back to Wakanda — I trust that Okoye did not treat you too unkindly on the journey over?”

“Oh, not at all,” says Everett, not pleased to be remembered. “She was great. Must you call me that?”

“Of course. Now,” M’Baku leans forward, that grin taking on a sharper edge. “Enough pleasantries. I have several governments trying to sanction Wakanda. How do we stop them?”

Ah. Maybe he should have slept more on the flight over.

“Oh, just that?”

“Yes.” M’Baku’s grin stretches even wider, a hard gleam in his eyes.

“Great.” Everett’s voice is totally steady. It definitely did not go up a couple of octaves. “I’ll see what I can do.”

~

His suggestions on how to defuse the United Nations’ scrutiny works, thank God.

Wakanda is no longer in danger of sanctions, and he’s not in trouble with anyone in what will now be his new home.

They set up a safe house for him on the outskirts of the city in a small, comfortable hut — apparently, the area was once used for War Dogs just out of the field. He doesn’t have much in the way of neighbors, but General Ayo does ask him about his feelings on goats.

It takes a minute to figure out that, yes, she is absolutely dead serious about setting him up as a goat herder.

“It worked for the last American,” she says, shrugging, when he finally makes it clear that, no, him and goats do not mix.

Aneka laughs at both of them. He likes Aneka; she’ll hang around and answer questions about Wakandan tech and food and other details he’s going to need to know to live here. In turn, she has questions of her own about the places he’s been — questions he’s more than happy to answer.

Otherwise, Everett spends his first several weeks in Wakanda alone. He’s still nervous about what Val could do next. In the grand scheme of their world, he doesn’t matter very much, but he wouldn’t put it past Val to spend a lot of time searching for him, if she was in the right mood.

So long as she was distracted, he was happy to sit tight.

At least for now.

~

Eventually, Shuri returns to Wakanda.

He finds out when General Ayo drags him out of his house, onto a shuttle to Mount Bashenga, and then throws him through the door.

Once his head stops spinning, the first thing he notices is the new terrariums and plantlife, scattered around a space still glowing and modern.

Shuri is standing by her main interface, drawing figures on an empty screen. When she sees him, her face lights up.

“Colonizer!”

She looks good; different, but good. He thinks it might be the black clothes – every other time he’s seen her, she’s been in eye-popping colors. Today, the only colors she’s wearing gleams around her neck and on her wrist.

“Princess,” he greets.

“Not a princess anymore,” corrects Shuri. “M’Baku holds the throne, and his children will inherit if they choose to.”

“I thought the Golden Tribe was the ruling family?”

Shuri shakes her head.

“Historically, yes. But we are the line of Bashenga and the Black Panther first.” She taps the golden circlet around her neck. “That is more important. The Black Panther is not always a ruler. I am not a ruler — too many rituals for me to remember.”

She smiles, but Everett can see the strain of it.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” he says, because it needs to be said. He’d like to give her a hug, but he’s never really been that guy. She’d probably make fun of him if he tried.

“Thank you,” says Shuri softly, then visibly pulls herself together. “How is your new home? Are you comfortable?”

“Snug as a bug in a rug.”

She pulls a face at him; he bites back a grin.

“Are you bored?”

“Only a little,” he lies.

She laughs; she sees right through him. “Well, Agent Ross, you are always welcome to visit me here.”

“Thanks,” he says, and means it. He likes the bustle of Shuri’s lab, the chatter of voices and the clean lines of it all. “Uh, not an agent anymore, though. Just Ross is fine.”

“Of course, Colonizer.”

He sighs. “Are you going to keep calling me that?”

“It is what you are.” She grins up at him, impish and more relaxed. That’s familiar; more like the Shuri he knows.

“Place looks nice.” He glances around the lab, his eyes skipping over T’Challa’s old suit, diagrams thrown up on the interface for Black Panther claw modifications and, for some reason, the specs for a Barracuda.

He also dodges a couple of technicians hurrying past, nearly clipping him.

“Busy, though.”

“We are.” Shuri beckons him over to the main sand table. “Wakanda needs better surveillance now, and Talokan needs to stay hidden. I’ve outlined at least three new projects for the next six months, and Talokan is still sending more data to help us determine what we’ll work on next. And I’m not counting some new personal projects I want to try – like this one.”

She taps her beads and some sort of silvery suit surfaces out of the sand.

“What is it?”

“A water suit. To withstand pressure at depths of tens of thousands.”

“In that little suit?”

She looks pleased by his incredulity. “Yes.”

“Wow. Uh, I’m not going to be in your way, am I?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ross. Though, if you want a job, I could use a test subject.“ She wiggles the suit; it shimmers at him. “I need to see if this material conducts electric currents properly.”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll pass — I don’t think that’s my size.”

She beams. He catches himself smiling back.

“It’s good to see you, Shuri,” he says; she ducks her head.

“You too.” When she looks up again, her face has grown serious. “You did a lot for my mother — I’m sorry it got you in trouble.”

He’ll pick favors for Wakanda over anything Val was planning.

“I’d probably do it again. Don’t worry about me — there’s games in the safe house, so I stay busy.”

“Games?” There’s a funny little smile around her mouth.

“How about you,” he asks to change the subject. “Did you have a good vacation?”

“It wasn’t exactly a vacation, but yes. I did.” Her eyes go soft. “I went to stay with Nakia in Haiti— she runs a school there now.”

Nakia. Good to know she’s doing well.

“What’d you guys do?”

“Enjoyed the beach,” she says. “Talked about my family.”

Shuri twists her bracelet as she speaks. Jade and pearls strung together — looks like old, good craftsmanship. Very pretty.

~

He starts visiting the lab regularly. Everett suspects that Shuri had a word with Ayo so that he doesn’t have to have other Dora assigned to him when he’s with her. Soon, the arrangements are set; to get there, he takes a special shuttle to Mount Bashenga with whichever Dora are assigned there for the day.

In the lab, he spends a lot of time learning how the sand table works, building sand models of the Dragonfly he’d flown the last time he was in Wakanda. Despite Shuri’s jokes about using him as a test subject, he mostly holds things or puts slides under microscopes or carries out other simple tasks.

Shuri’s changed a lot since the first time he met her. She’s more subdued between bouts of laughter; doesn’t rush around quite as fast.

She handles everything around her with such care. She’ll break down a process over and over through holographic projections or nanosand before she picks up the physical components.

“It’ll settle eventually,” she assures him, when he notices her hands shake. “My body is just adjusting to its new needs.”

She talks him through the biology behind her powers: her heightened metabolism, the enzymes working overtime to break down materials, the enhanced muscles and bones. The heightened senses; how she sometimes finds herself reflexively swiping out when she feels someone behind her.

She talks about the water suit, how it is designed to function without air tanks and the challenge of balancing the right mix of gasses as the diver descends.

She talks a lot to him. More than he thought she would.

He thinks she might be lonely, though he doesn’t know what gives him that impression; she’s always talking to someone. There’s always someone calling her to ask about an opinion or a decision.

Maybe it’s because their relationship is so simple: she makes fun of him, he sighs and asks questions.

Maybe it’s easier than being around people she knows.

He appreciates that she asks for his company, anyways.

~

As his residual paranoia about Val fades, Everett starts to go a little stir crazy.

It takes a couple tries, but he’s able to persuade Okoye that he might actually die of boredom, and she returns with an assignment.

She takes him to the citadel, sets him up in an unused office the size of a shoe closet, and hands him an as-yet-unbroken code used by recent vibranium smugglers. They’re outshoots of Klaue’s old network — no longer big fish in this new world — but it’s something that helps keep his brain from shriveling up. And at least he has a window with a different view.

On his second day, he looks out the window and catches a glimpse of an odd procession entering the building.

There’s a Dora standing guard in the hallway — not any particular security detail, just one of the women who make rounds around the palace. He nods to her; she inclines her head shortly back, and doesn’t try to stop him when he heads out to the main area to follow the noise.

This hallway is on the third floor — he leans over the railing to get a better look down into the atrium.

M’Baku’s voice carries easily, though Everett can’t actually hear what he’s saying. He’s in full Jabari regalia today—polished wooden armor and magnificent furs that Everett hasn’t seen before. To his left, Shuri is a slim figure in black—no color at all except for her necklace.

To his right is Namor.

From this angle, Everett can only see a golden snake’s head and a spectacular array of blue, green, and turquoise feathers that fan out behind him. Even from up here, he can see the detailing on the carving, and the glittering eyes when his head shifts.

Namor is angled toward M’Baku; from above it looks like the snake is fixed on Shuri. Shuri’s head is tilted, as if listening, arms folded. A few steps behind the three leaders, General Ayo follows, flanked by a Talokani woman with a magnificent, fanning headdress in orange and white.

Or Everett assumes she’s Talokani — he’s never seen a blue woman before.

Everett squints down for a better look, fascinated, only to be unceremoniously yanked back by the collar, like a wayward dog.

“You should not be out here,” hisses Okoye, scowling.

“Why? Isn’t this an official visit?”

“Yes, but not public.”

She pushes him back into the shoe closet, then chastises the poor Dora.

He stays there for the rest of the day, completes the numbers, and passes the book back to Okoye when she gets him to take him home. He feels a bit like he’s back at school again.

At least Aneka’s back from her mission. She drops by with takeout and they chat idly about flight patterns and play different variations of mancala, including a slightly fiendish one that she swears is Ayo’s favorite.

It takes him a few tries, but he’s able to get the hang of it by the last round.

~

The next time he sees Shuri, she doesn’t mention anything about Namor’s presence, and he doesn’t ask.

They’re sitting at Shuri’s lab table — Shuri in the middle of a far more detailed physiological explanation of decompression sickness than Everett really asked for — when she abruptly stops, frowning. She whips her head around and holds very still; Everett wonders if her Black Panther powers give her some kind of special hearing.

“Oh, Bast,” she mutters. With a pained glance at Everett, she slips off her stool and runs to the hallway that leads to the entrance.

Everett blinks, and turns to one of the nearby technicians. “Is everything all right?”

She shrugs.

But then her kimoyo beads flash, and she puts down her instrument and heads for one of the special project areas.

The rest of the technicians are doing the same thing, actually. Everett is left sitting alone on his stool, feeling a bit foolish. He gets up and starts to head in their direction – better than finding out there was a dangerous gas leak or something and he wasn’t in the loop because he can’t access the functions on his more limited beads.

Only to bump into Shuri, rounding the corner from the glowing blue screens.

“Ross?” Her shoulders are set and her back is very straight.

Right behind her is the King of Talokan.

He’s dressed simply, in a brown tunic with a white shawl thrown over his shoulders, with no headdress to be seen. He looks at ease, as if he belongs nowhere else.

But his eyes are still hard and sharp, and send a bolt of ice down Everett’s spine when they fix upon him.

“I did not expect to see you again, colonizer,” Namor says mildly.

Fuck.

The warning buzzer that has served him so well all these years goes off in the back of his skull. The same one that he felt the first time he read reports about the Hulk or the Scarlet Witch. Everett hastily backs up, accidentally knocking into a metal counter that houses a small aquarium. The fish glare balefully at him.

Shuri quickly steps between them. She tips up her chin at Namor.

“Ross is a guest in my lab this morning. I wasn’t expecting you until later. That’s what we agreed upon.”

Namor smiles slowly, like he was waiting for her to say that. He slides his gaze away from Everett and refocuses entirely on her.

“We did,” he agrees. “But plans changed. Your king ended our session early. I saw no reason to delay seeing you.”

“He did not inform me of this change in plans,” says Shuri, perfectly polite, and Everett can feel his back go rigid. “I will speak to the king so that he might better inform me.”

“Perhaps he was just ready to be rid of me,” says Namor. He doesn’t sound particularly troubled. “What brings the colonizer to your lab?”

“He’s my friend. I asked for his assistance today.”

Namor glances at Everett, then at their work table, his gaze falling on the mannequin wearing the silver suit. His eyes gleam.

“As a test subject?” says Namor. “I understand better now, Black Panther.”

Is he joking? Everett can’t tell.

Everett makes an undignified sound that’s meant to be “Hey,” but gets strangled halfway out of his throat when Shuri steps very much on purpose on his foot.

“No,” says Shuri firmly, raising her voice. “I enjoy his company. And you should be pleased — he helped fix it so that Wakanda is no longer under scrutiny for your actions.”

Everett holds very, very still. Like a deer in the lights of a very big car.

But Namor shrugs and steps closer — too close for Everett’s comfort, though Shuri still doesn’t flinch.

“Yes, the former CIA agent turned consultant. I am aware.”

Well, fuck.

He glances at Shuri and sees she looks startled, but resigned. Namor raises his eyebrows at them, though his gaze settles again on Shuri.

“I did my research, Black Panther. I wanted to know more about who Wakanda relies on for their information.” He steps away, circling the table to get a closer look at the suit. “Will he be assisting you in our work, as well?”

His tone very clearly conveys that the answer cannot be yes. Everett has a brief, horrible vision of being tossed into Mount Bashenga.

“No,” says Shuri firmly. “That is between you and me.”

“Then why is he still here?”

“Because I must ask him to leave,” she snaps, before casting Everett a guilty look. She takes him by the arm and pulls him out of Namor’s orbit.

“I’m sorry, but this is part of our agreement,” she says in an undertone as they walk. “Anything about the inner workings of Talokan is still classified. Once we don’t need those anymore, I can let you know.”

“It’s fine, Shuri. Don’t worry about it.”

“I did not expect him so soon.”

“Shuri, seriously, I get it, I’m not offended. No discussing top secret stuff around ex-CIA guy.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Shuri’s eyes go wide and she presses her lips together.

“Please don’t say that. His hearing is very good,” she says flatly.

Behind her, he sees Namor turn toward them, his eyes narrowed. Everett’s heart rate spikes high enough to make his old doctor in DC start making unfortunate humming noises.

Oh, he needs to leave now.

At least the new Dora on duty looks sympathetic when he runs out like his ass is on fire.

~

After that strange encounter, he doesn’t see Shuri for a while.

Perhaps Shuri tells Okoye that he has more idle time, or perhaps Okoye would’ve taken it upon herself anyways, but one day she shows up outside Everett’s safe house and announces that he is going to learn some basic self defense, and his lessons start right now.

“I know self defense,” he protests.

“Nothing good,” she snipes back, and after that first lesson drops him facedown in the dirt five times before he stops counting, he is forced to agree.

Officially, he’s not allowed to know anything sensitive about Talokan. Unofficially, Okoye asks him for his perspective on their mysterious ally. When she does, he takes it as a sign to bring up his own concerns.

“I don’t like it,” he tells Okoye. “Why is he here so often?”

Okoye’s lips thin. “He brings us regular reports of spies and plans for our vibranium outreach centers. He has many reasons for his visits.” She taps him lightly on the shoulder with her staff — he goes tumbling down.

“Easy! I’m an old man here.”

“My uncle is at least twenty years older and he would call these simple love taps,” sniffs Okoye. “Get up.”

Everett gets up.

“Can’t he send a representative?”

Okoye swipes at him again, this time slowly enough that he can dodge. “He does not trust us with his people yet, even though we permit him to walk the very halls he flooded. The only counsel he brings on land is his generals. You might have seen them.”

He has. Okoye has started talking to him more and more about vibranium smugglers and black markets, and he’s out of the shoe closet and in a more comfortable office, even if it’s still spartan. He still has to stay in the office, but he’s caught glimpses of the Talokani, on occasion.

“Right. The girl with the fan on her head and the giant with the hammerhead skull.”

Okoye snorts.

“Exactly,” she says. “There is talk of an exchange — a few of our scientists will go to Talokan to work in the city directly, and I assume that the Talokani scientists would come here as well. But I don’t know anything about when that would happen.”

“Right.” He thinks of Shuri’s water suit. “Will Shuri go with them?”

“She plans to return. It was part of her agreement with Namor,” Okoye’s displeasure drips from every word, though her stances never falter.

“You okay with that?”

“I am no longer her guard. How I feel about it does not matter. It is her choice,” says Okoye, clipped.

“When I first got here, you said that Shuri shouldn’t have to deal with him. Why?”

Okoye sighs.

“You did not see what I saw after her mother died,” she says. “How devastated she was. She has gotten much better since returning from Haiti. It’s good to see her laugh. I don’t want to make her endure the person who stole that part of her away.”

She takes a deep breath, recollecting herself, then twirls her staff in an intricate, sweeping maneuver that has him backing up a few paces.

“Now, enough talking, colonizer, and defend yourself.”

~

Shuri invites Everett back to the lab a few days later.

She warns him that Namor will now be actively involved in one of the Design Lab’s primary projects. She reminds him that Namor is dangerous and asks him to promise to avoid talking to Namor alone.

He could say ‘no’. Play it safe and just stay at home and look for something else to fill his hours between Okoye’s assignments and his self-taught lessons and his reading. That’d probably be the smart move to make.

But he thinks about what Okoye said. If nothing else, he can keep an eye on the situation, make sure that Shuri is all right.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” he says instead.

Besides, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

~

True to his word to Shuri, Everett doesn’t try to speak to Namor at all.

But he observes him, as unobtrusively as he can.

Namor makes Everett uneasy — even if he doesn’t talk very much, it feels like there’s something gliding under the surface. Waiting to strike.

Shuri doesn’t seem to notice. She is perfectly polite to Namor. Contained, almost, which is a far cry from her usual carefree laughter and teasing remarks, but is probably completely reasonable behavior when interacting with a former enemy-turned-ally. For his part, Namor tends to act like she’s the only person worth listening to in the room.

She’s watchful — Everett catches her studying Namor more than once, flicking her eyes up from behind her screens and projections.

But that’s not surprising either. Namor is direct, but Everett has trouble getting a read on him. Maybe Shuri knows better.

~

“What is Namor’s game?” Everett asks Shuri, the next time they sit together at her main lab table.

Maybe he shouldn’t ask about the political situation in Wakanda so much for an ex-CIA agent, but he’s going stir crazy. He’s still not allowed to jog by himself, his Xhosa lessons are going more slowly than he’d like, and he has very limited access to any information that could answer any of his truly pressing questions.

“Game?” Shuri is concentrating on a section of fine net mesh that glitters blue under the overhead lights, a small furrow between her brows. She’s forming the metal into new configurations in squares smaller than the head of a pin. Some new suggestion from Namor for her water suit.

“Yeah. What’s his angle? Is he trying to get his hands on more vibranium, or a better pulse on world politics, position his nation as a new superpower —that kind of thing.”

Shuri blinks and looks back up at him — the scientist faltering under the language of politicking. “No. Namor doesn’t want any of that.”

She sounds so certain. As certain as she is about the properties of vibranium.

“But he wants something, right? You know enough politics, Shuri — you know that’s probably true.” Not everyone is like T’Challa, he almost says, but he holds his tongue.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t be careful,” says Shuri patiently. “But Namor’s word is his angle. He has given his word, and as long as Wakanda can keep hers, we can maintain this alliance.”

“You really don’t think he has any ulterior motives? Playing a larger game?”

The corner of Shuri’s mouth twists up, and her eyes go unfocused, like she’s looking inwards.

“Namor isn’t the type to play games. If you set a board in front of him, he’ll study the pieces, but if he can get what he wants by knocking them off the table, he will.”

“Reassuring.”

“He would be a dangerous enemy, Agent Ross.” She still calls him that, sometimes. “He isn’t just a king, he’s a god to his people. I take him very seriously. But he takes me seriously, too. We understand each other, and as long as we keep understanding each other, he’ll be a valuable ally.”

“How? It seems like all you’re doing is making things for him.”

“You haven’t seen his soldiers or buildings or technology for living underwater. You would not ask me that if you saw what I’ve seen.”

That’s the first time she’s mentioned her actual trip down to Talokan. A real-life Atlantis — Everett still can’t fully picture it.

“How did you persuade him to show you?”

“I asked.”

“Just like that?” That doesn’t sound like what Okoye described.

“Just like that.” She’s quiet, threading something blue and metallic through the mesh with a featherlight touch – she does that, he’s noticed, when she is self-conscious.

“What was it like down there?”

She smiles, animated. “Beautiful. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

~

A giant water tank materializes in the center of the lab, with a retractable net of blue vibranium fitted across the top. According to Shuri, the net is supposed to simulate conditions at the very depths of the ocean. It’s not their main project; it’s the setup they need in order to find out if their technology will work as expected.

Namor is the one to calibrate it. He doesn’t make any preparations, just flies up and climbs in. It’s the first time Everett sees his wings unbandaged.

Shuri instructs Griot to start increasing the pressure — various charts monitoring both Namor and the tank are projected on the nearest interface.

Everett watches, fascinated, as the numbers tick higher and higher. The net pulses blue in time with the numbers.

“Stop,” Namor calls, and the numbers freeze on the screen. The net flushes completely blue, the glow now steady. Inside the tank, Namor floats with his arms crossed.

Shuri starts to play with the readings – inputting new formulas with dizzying speed.

“Incredible,” she breathes.

Everrett can’t decipher the readings himself, but he doesn’t need to — unlike Shuri, the additional information doesn’t make him curious, it makes him sweat.

Namor looks human, but he might have more in common with the aliens.

Space and the deep blue sea, Everett thinks. The last domains to be discovered. And they have better maps of long lost planets than they do the ocean floor.

“It works!” Shuri pronounces, grinning. Namor smirks right back through the glass.

It’s a shark smile – for such different faces, they mirror each other in an uncanny way.

His head itches.

He really needs to bug Okoye about a new project. Vibranium smuggling, teaching English — anything to get him to stop reading into things.

~

He catches Namor staring at him occasionally, but it seems like the underwater king has decided to treat Everett as an amusing novelty.

Fine by him. It makes it easier to keep his promise most days.

~

Then there’s a day when Shuri disappears to another floor to check in on a different project, and Everett happens to be nearby when Namor is preparing to go into the tank. He removes his cloak, only to reveal several sets of livid red scratches across his biceps and chest.

Everett stares – he can’t help it.

“Something to say, Agent?”

The reply comes automatically. “Not an agent. No, those just look, uh, bad.”

“Mere scratches,” he says, and dives into the tank, effectively ending the conversation.

Everett doesn’t stick around, but he doesn’t need to – he recognizes those types of marks.

“Was that you?” He asks Shuri later, in an undertone, after Namor has presumably vanished back into the ocean. She’s been relying on her sand table today, and keeps her left elbow tucked close to her body.

“We sparred,” says Shuri shortly. “I needed the practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yes. Don’t look so worried — we’ve had ground rules since Haiti.”

The back of Everett’s head itches; he scratches it idly.

“You saw him in Haiti?”

Shuri shrugs defensively. “It was before M’Baku settled things fully in Wakanda. Haiti was neutral territory; we needed to understand what the other needed.” A pause. “I was still a little angry.”

“So you fought?” He prompts, still flummoxed.

“We sparred. It was useful, so we kept up. Nakia and Okoye have taught me a lot, but there are certain moves I can’t practice on them. And there isn’t anyone else here who I can fight at full strength, especially if I want to try something new. Simulations can only do so much.”

“So you practice on Namor instead?”

That seems like it should be very fraught, diplomatically speaking.

“Just because something works doesn’t mean it can’t be improved,” says Shuri, smiling to herself. “Don’t be a mother hen, Ross. I’ll be good as new by tonight.”

He files away the new information, mentally adjusting his assumptions of what Shuri thought of Namor. He wondered if Namor frightened her, the way he frightened Ramonda. But whatever fear must be long gone, if Shuri trusts that Namor won’t make an attempt on her life in such a risky situation.

“And don’t worry about Namor, either,” she adds. “He has his own regenerative qualities. By tomorrow, you won’t see a scratch on him. You can challenge him to one of those basketball games you play with the Dragonfly team.”

“I wasn’t going to worry about Namor. Or basketball — he’d probably cheat with those wings of his.”

That makes Shuri laugh.

“Do you play?”

“Better than you,” she says, grinning. “Why? Are you tired of our chess games?”

“C’mon, Shuri. Can’t let me win something once?”

“I will delay my victory by ten minutes,” she offers generously. She laughs again when he rolls his eyes up to the heavens. “No more.”

If she can joke about Namor, then it can’t really be that bad. His worries must be unfounded.

His head itches again.

~

It’s a small thing that makes him wonder.

He sees them outside of Shuri’s lab one night, away from the bright white glow — it outlines their silhouettes, shades their faces.

They are talking. Shuri taps something into her kimoyo beads, and something golden flickers between them — a diagram unfolding of some diamond like shape. Then Namor reaches out to Shuri and hooks his fingers into her beads and draws her closer. He pulls up her wrist, and Shuri lets him, and keeps talking, as though there is is more than just a sliver of light between them.

She’s looking at the diagram; Namor is looking at her.

Everett retreats.

Huh.

It could be nothing — Namor is not exactly one who keeps a respectable distance on the best of days.

But he wonders.

It makes the itch worse in the back of Everett’s mind. It’s the same kind of feeling he had when he met Val as a young rookie, when he looked across the canteen and caught an impression of violet hair, and a beautiful girl with knife blade cheekbones grinning right at him.

Same sense of foreboding, but now dread replaces anticipation. He’s lived through that — he fears what happens next.

~

The new king of Wakanda is brash and loud and takes an unrestrained enjoyment in making Everett as uncomfortable as possible. But he’s astute, and he doesn’t treat the subject of Namor with anything but the utmost seriousness.

Ensconced in the royal study, he listens to Everett’s concerns without interrupting.

Then the king sighs, the sound as deep as a cave.

“Everett Ross, I appreciate everything you have done to help Wakanda,” says M’Baku, and fuck. If M’Baku’s decided to be courteous, it means he’s made up his mind and he’s not budging. “But Shuri is not a child. This alliance is her doing. She understands who Namor is, and what he wants, better than any of us.”

“But what if he’s got some ulterior motive?” asks Everett. “I’m not saying that Shuri wouldn’t figure it out, but even the brightest minds can miss things.”

M’Baku huffs a laugh that’s more rote than sincere.

“Namor’s motives are no mystery. He wants to see the surface world drowned for threatening his people. You should thank Shuri that any Americans still seeking vibranium these past few months are only found dazed, not drowned.”

“However,” M’Baku drums his fingers against the arm of his seat. “You are not alone in your concerns. I suspect that he’s biding his time. He believes that your government will act first against Wakanda and we will call for his aid.” M’Baku’s eyes flash cold. “As much as I would like to think that no nation would attempt such a stupid action, that would be naive.”

Everett is silent. He agrees; he hates it, but he agrees.

“I’m still worried,” he says. “He…he hovers around her.”

“I have eyes, Ross,” says M’Baku. “I see what you see.”

“Does Shuri see it?”

“I trust her judgment,” says M’Baku. “You must ask her if you want to know anything more.”

“Right,” says Everett. “Thanks.”

~

When she doesn’t have a mission, Aneka sometimes drags him to the capital city. They walk among the night market and see the street performers and she laughs at him when he eats something that’s a little too spicy.

Afterwards, they’ll stop by the lab to bring Shuri something to eat. Shuri works in her lab at all hours — it’s a well known fact. So far, she’s been there every time.

Tonight, it’s just going to be a quick run — a favor for Aneka when Okoye calls her away early in the evening. Make sure the princess eats before he heads home. He takes the shuttle himself to Mount Bashenga.

When he reaches the lab, he wonders if Aneka was mistaken. Usually most of the lights are on, even if Shuri is working alone. But tonight, the former mine shaft is almost completely dim. It’s eerie.

Maybe he wasted a trip. But hey, more curry for him. He’ll check with Griot at the door and see what time he can catch her tomorrow and make fun of her for actually going home at a mostly reasonable hour.

“Everett Ross,” Griot greets him.

“Griot,” says Everett. “Hope you’re well.”

“I am.” The AI sounds pleased.

“I was looking for Shuri, but it looks like she’s not in, so I’m just gonna—”

“I will let her know you’re here,” says Griot, and the glass doors slide open, the hall lights flickering to life.

It looks a little bit like an abandoned hallway in a high production horror movie, actually. Everett isn’t sure he wants to go in.

“Everett Ross?” prompts Griot. “The princess is on the second floor — she’ll be down in a moment.”

Slowly, with great trepidation and a reminder to himself that killer AI is already on his bingo card, he inches his way in.

But at first, nothing is out of place — it’s just the lab. Empty, but still the lab.

A loud thud jolts him, sends his heart right into his throat.

But it’s only Shuri, quickly rounding the corner into the main space.

“Colonizer,” she greets, out of breath but grinning. She’s wearing a nice dress — black, trimmed with orange lines — but her skin is damp, like she was swimming.

“Did you jump out of the tank to see me?”

“I was already out,” she parries between breaths, still smiling. “How is downtown tonight? Aneka has been sending me pictures.”

Everett winces; great. He hadn’t noticed Aneka doing that, which means she probably did it when that performer successfully convinced him to dance for a hot second before he came to his senses.

“Hopping.” He’s about to describe the performances, and the bold young couple who ended up taking over the street, but then he catches movement from the corner of his eye.

Namor materializes out of nowhere, despite the lack of shadows in which to hide. He’s wearing a cloak over his shoulders, trimmed with red. He must have been in the water as well, though his hair is drying.

“King Namor,” says Everett, stumbling a little bit. “I didn’t realize you were here, too. Uh, Griot didn’t say.”

Griot does not offer any explanation.

“The Black Panther just summoned me,” says Namor. “We were testing the last installation for my scientists’ quarters.”

That is probably the longest, most civil sentence that Namor has ever spoken to him.

“The Talokanil are coming here?” he asks Shuri. She nods, beaming.

“That’s what the filtration system was meant to be,” she says, gesturing at the row of flower-shaped vibranium beads he’s watched her pierce together these last few weeks. “Ideally, they’ll stay in the Amanzi river, so they can come and go as they please. But the scientists may want to stay at the lab overnight sometimes, or refresh themselves if they need a break from the rebreathers. Having somewhere they can rest safely is important.”

“That makes sense,” says Everett. “When do they get here?”

“Once we have this filtration system up and running…a few weeks? Oh, Bast, what was that estimate again—“ Shuri turns, and Everett blanches.

“Uh, Shuri…”

Shuri twists back to look at him, and eyes go wide, and she does a quick backwards maneuver to face Everett again, but it’s not fast enough for him to miss that her chic, close-fitting dress is still unzipped.

“Shit, sorry!”

She reaches around, trying to fix it. Everett blinks hard, and glances politely to her right. Unfortunately, that means he’s looking straight at Namor.

But Namor doesn’t notice — he’s too busy staring at Shuri.

There’s that itch in his head again.

“Stupid dress,” Shuri mutters. “Stupid suit still won’t –”

“Allow me,” interrupts Namor. He steps right behind her. And Shuri doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lash out; she lets him.

Like he’s done it before.

There definitely could be an innocent explanation — hell, Everett’s helped more than a few colleagues straighten up after missions before. He could have talked himself out of it, but then Shuri looks at Everett and freezes at whatever she sees on his face.

He hears the little click in his brain as the pieces fall into place.

Ice curls down his spine.

It’s one thing to wonder. Another to confirm it. A bit like finding Val in his kitchen when she turned up the broadcast of Queen Ramonda’s death. The way his stomach dropped felt about the same.

Shuri squeezes her eyes shut, her shoulders tensing; Namor’s hand comes up to the small of her back. He stares right at Everett, unflinching.

“You have something you wanted to say, Agent?” prompts Namor, shaking Everett out of his shock.

Yeah, he needs to not be here.

“You know, it’s been a long night. I was just here to drop off some food before I head back,” says Everett, dropping the folded bag on the nearest counter devoid of any type of biological or chemical life. “Don’t let me keep you from your work.”

“We really were working,” says Shuri quickly, her voice still a bit high pitched. “The filtration cycle needed —”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Shuri,” cuts off Ross. “I'll see you later.”

Shuri doesn’t say anything, but Namor inclines his head.

Everett grinds his teeth, but he nods back, and leaves.

~

So.

What do you do when the former (current?) princess of the most powerful country on earth, with uncanny strength, a brain to rival the greatest minds in the world, and also saved your life, is sleeping with a murderous underwater king?

Everett’s by-rote CIA training starts reciting in the back of his head about what he probably should do if he discovered two powerful players are so entangled. But that’s not him anymore; that can be safely ignored.

He shouldn’t have ignored that itch at the back of his head; how else could he have missed it? He attributed Shuri’s distance to protection and Namor’s behavior to arrogance, not intimacy.

The script fits. But —

It’s Shuri. Brilliant Shuri.

She has to know how this looks, right?

He wants to ask, but—

But he can’t ask that. The very idea is horrifying, like those slasher films he used to sneak into as a teenager.

But he can’t—

He has to say something.

~

Of course, that depends on whether Shuri wants to hear it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Shuri announces, when she enters the little office that’s rapidly becoming his own. Okoye has brought his results to M’Baku, and now they both want to rope in his expertise to seek out those unscrupulous enough to sell vibranium secrets to outsiders.

He’d be happy, if it weren’t for last night’s scene still burned in his brain. They were supposed to meet with Okoye, but she’s not here.

Everett shuffles some papers together, just to give his hands something to do. “You’re an adult. As long as you’re taking care of yourself, I have nothing to say.”

That’s the biggest lie he’s told since he was brought to Wakanda — every protective instinct in him is cranked into full gear, and he’s putting his foot on the brake as hard as he can without stalling the car.

Shuri looks at him, wide-eyed. Bambi eyes. Like something light and fast and beautiful that must evade everything with teeth.

“But you don’t like it,” she pushes, and he squirms.

“Shuri, don’t make me say anything. You’re not going to like it.”

“I already don’t like it. M’Baku told me about your warning,” she bites, and he remembers that for all of her youth, that she’s one of the predators, too. “I don’t know what idea you have about me, about whether I’m being seduced or turned into a stupid pawn—”

“You’re the one who told me he’s dangerous, Shuri,” snaps Everett. “You said not to be alone with him. Forgive me for being a little surprised you aren’t following your own advice.”

“He is dangerous. To you.”

“Not you?”

“No. You listen,” she cuts him off. Her eyes are hard. “Let me deal with Namor. I know him better than you. I have defeated him in battle, and I work with him now to ensure that other nations’ greed won’t destroy us both.”

He flinches.

“Trust that I know what I’m doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m actually very busy. Okoye will tell me if you have anything urgent.”

~

He doesn’t pretend to know the weight of the burden that Shuri bears, not only as the last member of her family but as the Black Panther.

But something about it rankles him.

He doesn’t think of her as stupid or naive — it’s just a completely unprecedented situation.

He just wants Shuri to feel like she can talk to him, but he doesn’t know what to say.

~

“You have upset the Black Panther,” says Namor, very mildly, from the guest chair in Everett’s office.

Everett freezes. He wishes he’d looked up before he shut the door.

He hasn’t had a Dora detail in weeks, and right now that seems like a huge mistake. There are probably Dora stationed at the end of the hall, but that’s probably too far—

“She has a name, you know,” he says, stalling, trying to think.

“It is more appropriate for me to use her title,” says Namor. “I do not wish to seem overly familiar.”

Oh, fuck you, thinks Everett.

“So you aren’t friends, then? Shuri asks her friends to call her by name.”

Namor’s smile doesn’t falter, as Everett hoped it might.

“All that matters to you is that I am her ally. Her interests are my interests.”

“Okay. Great. It’s not my business.”

“It’s not. But that has never stopped your government’s people from interfering in others’ business. Is that right, Agent Ross?”

Well, shit.

Everett doesn’t bother to correct him. “What are you talking about?”

“Simply that I find your presence in Wakanda to be very strange.”

“I’ve helped out the royal family before. And they’ve helped me.”

“Yes — you met her brother, didn’t you? I did wonder if sentimentality is what prompted the Black Panther to summon you to her.”

“I had a deal with Wakanda. Not that different from what you have.”

Namor’s fingers drum against the armrest.

“I would disagree. My alliance with the Black Panther, with Wakanda, has terms and conditions set by both of our nations. If I violate those terms, I face repercussions. It is in my best interest that this alliance endures. ”

“I know how treaties work.”

“Good. But you have no such interests, no terms and conditions to bind you. That concerns me.”

Everett stares at him, flummoxed. This is completely surreal.

“What are you saying? You think I’m here as an operative?”

“No.” He smiles humorlessly. “Then I would kill you.”

He’s serious. He’s dead fucking serious. He’s dead fucking serious, and Everett is in a room alone with him.

“That’s insane.”

“Is it?”

I am here because you threatened Wakanda, thinks Everett, bewildered. But his mouth won’t actually say any of that; he suspects it might not matter.

Namor laughs; Everett jolts.

“I am not going to kill you right now, Agent, or I would have done so when you walked through the door. Anything less than absolute certainty would violate my treaty with Wakanda. And I have no desire to see the Black Panther needlessly upset.”

Everett can’t believe his ears, the conciliatory way he talks about her.

This man killed her mother in cold blood.

“Great, neither do I. I want to help her.”

“Do you? How do you help, aside from watching? I’ve seen how you watch everything around you. So I’ve watched you. I would not have the Black Panther blinded by tricks. ”

Oh, that is rich.

“I’m not trying any ‘tricks’ with Shuri. It’s not like that.”

He doesn’t quite realize how that sounds until it’s out of his mouth. One of Namor’s very pointed eyebrows arches impossibly higher, but the bastard doesn’t move a muscle.

“How fortunate for you.” He sounds vaguely amused. “Otherwise, you’d be disappointed.”

Everett grits his teeth. “Not the point. Shuri’s a friend. Maybe a niece or something. I’m just trying to look out for her. You having a problem with me doesn’t change that.”

“I would say you have a problem with me, actually,” muses Namor.

“I don’t—”

“Ask. I will answer.”

“What brings you to Wakanda so often?”

“I enjoy the weather,” says Namor, with a completely straight face.

“Ha ha. Very funny. You’re funny.”

“I am not so foolish as to share anything more than jokes with a foreign agent.”

Everett’s not hot-blooded, not really. But he can feel his temper start to kick up.

“Ex-agent,” he bites out. “I’m not in Wakanda for a vacation.”

“But it is what you are.” Namor leans forward, hands braced on his spread knees, like he’s hearing a petition in his throne room. “I could be grounded, in the center of the continent, stranded on a desert, and I would still be King of Talokan. I suspect being an agent is very much the same.”

If he was less of an agent, Everett thinks glumly, he might not have let himself get into this mess.

“But you’re not stranded in the desert. You’re not in the water. You’re here. Why?”

“There is much knowledge to share between two nations of vibranium.”

“You have scientists to do that.”

“Only after the Black Panther and I have assured their safety. And I would be remiss if I didn’t offer myself first to test any technology they would need here.”

“Well. Very noble of you,” says Everett, but it’s not as cutting as he’d like it to be.

“If I said my presence was required by the Black Panther, would you prefer that answer?”

“Why would she do that?”

“It is part of our treaty.” His eyes glitter. “Of course, perhaps she just enjoys my company.”

He’s being baited. Everett knows he is being baited, and yet.

“Or maybe you’re bored.”

Namor cocks his head to the side. His eyes don’t look like they’re laughing anymore.

“I have rarely been bored. Your people have made sure of that.” His voice grows bitter.

Everett tries again. “Look, this has been a lot. At the end of the day, I just want to know that Shuri is safe. That’s it. That’s all I was asking her.”

Namor holds himself astoundingly still. When he finally speaks, his voice lacks the musing, mocking humor he’s had throughout their conversation.

“She had a spear to my throat, did she tell you that?”

“No. Uh, no. She didn’t mention any details.”

“She could have cut my throat and been done with me. I live now at the Black Panther’s mercy and all it entails. Nothing I can do now could hurt her more than what I’ve already done. ”

He sounds terrifyingly sincere.

“Then why not just leave her alone?”

“That is not possible. Shuri embodies Wakanda, as I embody Talokan. We meet as equals.”

“She’s a kid.”

But even as he says it, Everett knows that’s not true. Not really.

“To you. Once. She is also the sole protector of her people, and the strongest person in the surface world. A mind of a generation. Before her, I was undefeated. And still, in her victory, she gave me the alliance I wanted. I need her, as she needs me. It is only natural that we are drawn together.”

Everett’s head aches with all the pieces that he’s missing.

“Shuri has more allies than just you,” says Everett. “She has friends. There’s a lot of people up here who really love her. Who will care if anything happens to her.”

Namor scowls, unimpressed. “This alliance would not succeed if either of us were unloved.”

That’s not what Everett expected to hear. Whatever sea monster shifts beneath the surface of Namor, he sees it looking out of Namor’s eyes now. It’s a terrifying glimpse of the unearthly. An inhabitant of a world beyond him.

“I’ll leave you with a question, Agent. I attacked Wakanda in retaliation for their wrongs against my people. Their queen died by my hand. The Black Panther had every right to kill me, but spared me instead. So let me ask you — even if she has such friends as you, why does she still choose to align herself with me?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. “There are undercurrents in this world that you will never see. The Black Panther sees them. She recognizes that I am her best option for Wakanda’s survival.”

He leaves, stepping sideways to avoid touching Everett.

Everett sinks down into his chair, his hands slack.

~

“What gave you the right to speak to Namor about me?”

Shuri is seething.

He’s never seen her angry before. In this moment, he thinks of T’Challa, in Sorkovia, after his father was killed.

“It’s not about having the right — he was sitting in my office!”

Shuri growls under her breath.

“I will deal with that. But you know better.”

“I just wanted to—“

“Antagonize him?” she snaps, marching over to her main interface. Everett follows haplessly along. “I told you not to speak to Namor alone.”

Her back is rigid through the lines of her black jacket. She’s always in black these days— she stands out against the glowing white walls and sculptures of the Design Lab.

“What should I have done, ignored him? Walked out of my own office?”

“Yes, definitely!”

“You said he’s honest. I wanted to try to understand him.”

Shuri whips around to face him. “Is that all? Did you find what you were looking for?”

He’s still not sure. “I don’t know. Only you know that, Shuri. Please — what does he want?”

“He wants the Black Panther’s protection for his people.” Shuri is shuffling paperwork without looking at him. Everett didn’t even know she allowed paperwork in her lab — he thought it would be all in the cloud or nothing.

“Damn it, Shuri! That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Why does it have to be anything?” Shuri shoves herself away from the table — it wrenches off its foundation and skids nearly a foot back. She growls deep in her throat. “Not again!”

“Shuri, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” says Shuri, turning away from him. “What if I say it is very simple between Namor and I?”

He doesn’t believe that. He would believe it of a lot of people. But he doesn’t believe it of Namor, from the way he spoke, and looking at Shuri, he can’t tell if she wants him to believe it or if she wants to believe it.

Everett has to close his eyes and breathe, deep, through his nose. He doesn’t want to think about any of these things. He really doesn’t want to think about the Black Panther getting into bed with a so-called god king, politically or otherwise, but he needs to make sure that Shuri knows — that she’s safe.

She’s fiddling with something. That bracelet from before. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the carvings before.

Everett suddenly feels very, very stupid.

“Is that from him?”

“It was a gift after I visited Talokan,” says Shuri evasively. “It was his mother’s.”

That is so much worse.

“Why do you wear his mother’s bracelet?”

“It’s a symbol. I thought you more than anyone would understand them, after your super soldier and his shield.”

“Of what?”

“Of rebirth. Something new,” she replies. She fingers it gently, turning it like she’s turning over her private thoughts. He can’t get a read on her.

“Shuri, do you really expect me to believe that it’s simple? After everything that happened? After what he did to your mother—“

It’s the absolute wrong thing to say.

She stiffens, her whole body going taut like wire. Her eyes go cold and metallic.

“Oh? Namor is responsible for my mother’s drowning?” Her voice is high and thin, like when the wind whistles through the top of the old oaks. “Of course, I’d forgotten. How good of you to remind me.”

“Shuri…”

“No. How dare you. You call me brilliant, but all you see is a little girl — in over her head. That’s why you ask Okoye about me. That’s why you ask M’Baku.”

“I didn’t say that—”

“No, but you thought it. And you’re right. I am in over my head. I could have killed him, and caused eternal war for my people and avenged my mother. I didn’t kill him. I made him yield, and that is why we are here now, with his people coming to be safe in my care.”

She slinks toward him, her voice deadly soft. He eyes the tray in her hands, and briefly imagines it coming down on his head.

He’d thought Shuri was more subdued; maybe he should have asked where all of it went.

“But don’t think I’ve forgotten. I don’t forget. I don’t forget that Namor killed my mother. I don’t forget that my brother got sick because the heart-shaped herb was gone. Because N’Jadaka burned the grove to try to break us. And he knew how to break us because your people trained him to do it.”

The tray she’s holding in her hands is warping, buckling under her hand as she twists it. The pressure of her grip scrapes the metal; it screams in his ears, making his head swim. Everett desperately wishes he could cover his ears, but she’s still talking, and he owes her to bear the torrent.

“I don’t forget, but I can’t let my anger guide me. I can’t let it make my decisions. Instead, I let Namor live. Instead, I honor my mother by using every resource possible to keep the world from tearing Wakanda apart. I honor my brother, in that I keep building bridges instead of burning them.”

She wipes angrily at her eyes. “I wanted to burn everything when he died. Every day, I am trying to find new ways to build bigger, taller bridges, so high up that no one will want to go into the water, and will pass by Talokan none the wiser. If I can do that, I will have held up my end of the bargain, and Namor will uphold his.”

“How can you be sure?” Everett sounds pathetic to his own ears, but he means it. He’s begging Shuri, that she knows what she’s doing and that he won’t have to hear about anything bad happening to her, the way he did with the rest of her family.

She hesitates, her shoulders shaking, then draws herself back together.

When she speaks again, she sounds only tired.

“I told you, Namor’s word is his angle. He’s warned us about water attacks on outreach centers, tapped us about new spy outposts and unregistered ships and drones. He’s been diligent. And unlike every other person on this planet, I know he doesn’t want our vibranium.”

“Right.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Shuri. I wasn’t doubting you, but I shouldn’t have said that.”

That cuts through. She pauses, and looks down at her shoes. Swallows, and sets the damaged tray on her lab table. It wobbles, then tilts to rest gently on its side, like some postmodern art piece.

“You are concerned. I am, too. You must understand, Ross, that there is no one who is more concerned about this than I am.”

Shuri lets her hands fall from her face, straightens the arch of her neck. She looks uncannily like her mother, a queen without a crown.

“But unlike you, I am not afraid of him. He needs me, and I need him for this to work. What is between us, is only between us. It will end if I want it to end.”

She is resolute; he accepts her conviction wordlessly. That is probably the most she’s going to tell him.

“Right. I know I overstepped. I was worried.”

“Everyone is.” A pause. She fiddles with the bracelet again. “So eyes are on Wakanda right now, almost as many as when we first revealed ourselves.”

“Yeah.”

“T’Challa could have done this, that’s what you think, right?”

The look on her face. He’s never seen that before.

“Shuri…”

Her shoulders slump. “I think so, too. Sometimes, I think he would have been able to handle all of this better than me. He was raised for it. But he is not here. My mother is not here. Because of their absence, I must make do with much less. The only thing I’ve added to my side is the King of Talokan and his people.”

Shuri looks up at him, looking very young.

Carefully, he reaches out to touch her shoulder, very lightly.

“The first time I met you, you pulled a bullet out of my back and healed me to be good as new. I know you’re doing everything you can. It will be enough.”

She smiles, then it fades. He takes his hand away.

“Thank you. I am grateful for all of your help, Ross. Please, don’t ever think I don’t recognize what it cost you. But there is much more beyond us.” She chews her lip. “And if I don’t do something for myself, I will break. Do you understand me?”

“I’m trying to,” he says, mustering up a smile. “I’ll trust you.”

He wishes, very badly, that he could hug her.

~

He leaves after that. Okoye is back between her missions; he calls her and asks if she’s free for a sparring session.

Whatever she sees in his face when she arrives, she doesn’t comment on it.

~

Everett stays away from the lab for the next couple of weeks. Instead, he hangs out in his safe house, practices Xhosa, and chats with Aneka.

Okoye visits, too, and asks him to draw up plans on how he would trap a smuggler.

“Give you something real to do,” she says. “Aneka says you’ve been moping like a sad buffalo.”

“I’m not that bad,” he objects.

“Says a man who has clearly never seen a sad buffalo.” A pause. “The princess asked me how you are doing. What should I tell her?”

That does make him feel better.

“Tell her I’m fine.”

“She’s not angry with you,” says Okoye. “I hope you won’t avoid each other for too long. You’ve made her laugh.”

“We won’t,” he assures her, grateful. “But let me start this, first.”

He appreciates it, working with real numbers and data again — mapping out a plan of action. It puts his feet on nice, stable ground.

~

Three days after the Talokanil scientists arrive, Shuri sends him an invitation.

A peace offering, of sorts.

The lab has changed again. The tank has been moved against the wall, and repurposed as an aquarium; filled with plants and fish unlike any Everett has ever seen before.

They are a small group of four. The head scientist looks to be about Okoye’s age, but the other three scientists look younger than Shuri. Or maybe it’s the way Namor hovers around them like a parent.

He hasn’t seen Namor like this before – speaking rapidly in Maya and asking many questions of his young charges, who answer him half-distracted, much more overwhelmed with their surroundings.

They are certainly fearless; they explore the lab, running up and down the stairs, asking questions in a never ending stream. When they speak to Everett, he has a little trouble understanding their speech through their rebreathers, but the Wakandan scientists have no such trouble.

They’re kids, he thinks. Kids are the same everywhere.

He doesn’t get to talk to them for long — Namor still has his eye on him and that makes him nervous. But he sees how the weight lifts from Shuri’s shoulders.

Once, he glances up at the second floor and sees Shuri and Namor surveying the lab together, watching as the young scientists draw up plans, practice using the interfaces, and teach each other their names.

Shuri is laughing. Namor is smiling too, for once without that sea monster’s edge.

They stand very close together, not looking at each other, but Everett sees more than he did before.

He watches them for a long moment, then slips away.

He sends a message to Shuri later that night, thanking her for what she showed him.

~

“I can’t explain it.”

“Explain what?” He’s poking at a hologram, testing new aerodynamics of an updated Dragonfly design. He’s no engineer, but he’s getting the hang of it. Too bad his time is getting tight — after his success with Okoye’s last mission, M’Baku is requesting his expertise on ways to fortify their internal intelligence, particularly around vibranium leaks.

At the lab, it is quiet on the first floor today – it’s a weekend, so they are stripped down to a skeleton staff.

“Why Namor and I are—” she swallows. “As we are.”

“You shouldn’t. It’s your business and I don’t want to know any details.”

“Ew! I don’t want to give you details,” snaps Shuri. “I just need you to know that I know that it’s…messy.”

She grimaces, like she recognizes exactly how inadequate that word is.

“Any time you mix politics with relationships, it gets messy,” he says, sympathetic. “You know that the CIA director is my ex-wife, right?”

Shuri’s eyes go huge. “Didn’t she arrest you?”

“Yeah.”

“How did that happen?” she asks, fascinated. “How did you not tell me that right away?”

“I was married to her a long time ago. I was trying not to think about it.”

“Don’t do that — you have to tell me now.”

“I know, I know. But I’m going to need something stronger than tea for that story, and your lab has a strict no-alcohol policy.”

Her grin fades, and she turns pensive again.

“Shuri?”

“It’s not just politics,” Shuri hesitates.

“Shuri, seriously—“

“Talokan is who he is, as much as Wakanda has made me who I am. We don’t exist without our nations, that’s true, but the politics are not the important part. When he and I are together—“

“Please don’t—“

“I can hurt him,” she says in a rush. “I don’t need to be careful with him. He tells me who he is. I don’t forgive him for what he’s done, but I don’t think he can hurt me any more than he already has.”

Everett twiddles with his hologram a little more. It’s strange, hearing Namor’s words out of Shuri’s mouth. Or is it Shuri’s words out of Namor’s mouth?

It’s incredible, he thinks, the many different ways that people can fit together when the right pieces fall into place.

“Thanks for telling me,” says Everett. “I promise I won’t ask again. I was just curious.”

~

It takes a few days, but he finally sucks up the courage to approach Namor in the lab. He finds the king on the second floor. This time, however, he’s looking out the bay windows, right into Mount Bashenga’s shimmering violet heart, and the vibranium trains that so fascinated Everett on his first visit to Wakanda all those years ago.

“Aj K’uk’ulkan?”

Namor’s face twitches. Everett grimaces — he thought he was doing so well. Apparently not.

“Namor,” he corrects curtly.

“Sorry. So, is this what you wanted?”

Namor smiles without looking at Everett.

“What else would I want?”

“World domination?” Everett guesses. Namor frowns, as if confused.

“What do I need from the surface world? My people cannot live there. My people deserve to live their lives undisturbed and without fear. That is all I want.”

“So if this alliance guarantees that Talokan remains secret forever, you’re happy with that?”

Namor shrugs, his massive shoulders lifting under his cloak. “So long as my people are safe, healthy, and content, so am I.”

Again, that sincerity, but far less alarming than before. Everett could almost relax, until Namor adds, “But that won’t happen.”

“Why not?”

Namor tilts his head toward Everett, though he still doesn’t look at him; the violet glow of the vibranium casts jeweled light across his skin. “Your people, colonizer. Now that they know that even the possibility of more vibranium exists in the world, do you really believe they’ll give up their quest to obtain it for themselves? You think that they will be content with Wakanda’s centers and teachings, not their raw resources?”

“I know Shuri has some ideas that could help divert them,” says Everett, instead of agreeing. “New tools, new alloys that are cheaper, easier to use. She may surprise you.”

“Perhaps,” allows Namor. “She is very brilliant.”

Below them, Shuri crosses the lab to speak with one of the Talokani scientists — Namor’s eyes follow her path.

“But history repeats itself, Agent Ross. It is far more likely that your former government will turn its eyes again on Wakanda.”

“I trust her,” says Everett, hoping to match Namor’s terrifying sincerity. “You never met him, but her brother was just as determined to find a better way. They’re cut from the same cloth. She’ll do it.”

“As I’ve told you, Agent Ross, hope is dangerous,” says Namor, his eyes still on Shuri. “Don’t let it blind you to how things are.”

That’s not something Everett has to be told twice. Hope has been a terrible game these past few years.

“I don’t.”

Namor nods. Silence forms like a sheet of glass between them, for a moment.

“Shuri tells me you are investigating leaks in intelligence about vibranium tools,” says Namor, and Everett takes some pride in the fact that he doesn’t twitch to hear Namor use her name.

“Yes. I told you, they’ve saved my life twice over — this is the least I can do.”

“I will want to hear those reports.”

“I’ll give them to Shuri and the king. They can decide what to share with you.”

Namor laughs. Everett eyes him.

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“I know,” says Namor, still clearly amused. He strokes his beard, and studies Everett with a long, considering look. “As long as we are not in conflict about Wakanda, Agent, you can live, and I will let you be.”

There was that sea monster again, gliding under the surface. Everett shakes his head.

“I don’t understand you.”

“You don’t need to,” returns Namor mildly.

He leaves Everett on the second floor, making his path toward Shuri. Everett watches as Namor steps into place next to her, as if he expects to be welcomed there. How Shuri simply turns to him as if she expected him to already be there.

It’s strangely inevitable. Everett feels the ache again in the back of his head.

But then his kimoyo beads chirp, and he looks down to see that Okoye is calling him.

“Okoye?”

“There you are, colonizer,” she says, impatient, as if he didn’t answer immediately. “Aneka’s coming to get you — someone took the bait we set.”

“Great. I’ll head to the doors.”

He heads out.

They’ve got their place. He’s finding his. But he’ll keep watch — see where the rest of the pieces fall.