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His smile dropped as her knees buckled underneath her. She struggled to rise back to her feet, wincing at the pressure in her right ankle. The same ankle that he swiped with his calf and sent her plummeting to the relentless ground.
He was prepared to laugh. A playful taunt lingered patiently at the base of his throat. He was waiting for her to get up. Because she always does. No matter how hard the hit. No matter how fierce the pain.
Okoye never stays down.
Yet with her ankle already inflamed and bruising, she gritted her teeth. However, she could not silence the sly, “ouch” from slipping past her lips. And Attuma choked on his own tongue.
They had many private bouts. Some scheduled. Some after a cheap shot thrown in their joint training. Some not even fighting at all.
There was one where they sat on a dock. Okoye mindlessly dragged her toes through the surface of the water as Attuma floated closer and closer.
“Do you spend most of your leisure here?” his voice sent ripples through the water. “You look at home here. Near the water.”
“You are looking wrong then,” she scoffed. “I can never feel at home near water. And you are not subtle. You swim too close to me, shark.”
His wet tan skin paled slightly in embarrassment: his impish way of flirting thwarted. But he made no effort to widen the distance between them. Merely blamed it on the current pushing him along.
“Is it because of the swimming?” he leaned on the side of the dock, his elbow accidentally brushing against hers.
“No,” she smiled. “It is because I now know what lurks in the water.”
He joined her in laughter. A lightness that releases the tension in his chest. “You have nothing to fear, Warrior. Talokan and Wakanda are allies now. And we are friends.”
Okoye twisted her lips, considering their circumstances for a moment. She had been bloodthirsty, swearing that the next time she saw this cobalt giant she would tear his head from his shoulders. She would be bathed in his blood because she, too, understood vengeance.
He had come with his people. Took her princess, her queen, drowned her people in their own waters. He sought her out amongst the chaos. Amongst the destruction of her nation’s peace, he pointed his dastard finger at her, and she vowed to remove it from his screaming body.
Yet, here they are: Okoye trailing her toes below the surface mere inches away from the smiling brute shamelessly rubbing circles on her ankles. She never thought she would ever allow someone to touch her again. Let alone a former enemy of Wakanda, but they had their moments.
When Attuma arrived at their shores with a handful of those under his command, Okoye thought they were waging war. Yet, they began helping Golden City rebuild itself. Reluctant rain or scorching shine, they were there, using their strength to return what has been destroyed. In the following months, laughter was in two tongues and friendships in two cultures. Trust bubbled in the air, and talks of a treaty became more believable.
However, some wounds take a little longer to heal than most. And Okoye was known to pick at her scabs.
She was content with reconstructing her home by herself. Yes, it would take her longer, but it gave her something to mediate with. She needed not some grand purpose. Just something to do. She was free from the beck and call of the royal family with the surviving member on pilgrimage. She was released to travel as she pleased. The Midnight Angel suit was hers to use as she wished. But it laid in a box in storage, for she wished for a different life. To be Okoye the builder, to create instead of destroy. To heal instead of bruise.
Her hands ended many lives for which she is ashamed of. And seeing as they created Okoye the Dora, they can create something new for her as well.
Therefore, Attuma’s thundering footsteps were unwelcomed in her partially isolated corner of the river. Despite, he came every day. As he waltzed toward her with a kiddish grin, she returned him a grimace and silence. Whenever he reached for something, she would snatch it out of his hand, barking orders in her native tongue, and pointing away from her.
Every hammer, every bolt, every piece of wood - she wrestled it out of his hands. Sometimes, they got a little out-of-hand. On a fateful night, during the wet season, when the storm forced Okoye to take shelter, she heard the constant knocking of a hammer working. Not even bothering with her shoes, she rushed to the doors, knowing that the mighty general’s form would greet her.
As she forcefully tossed the door on the hinges, she stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. There he stood. His normal blue skin faded under the steady stream of rain. His dark hair coated his neck and shoulders. Water drenched his brown skin. He was gorgeous in his true form without his traditional garb. He was beauty unmatched, undiscovered. Hidden under the curtain of rain, like a secret, that was just for her.
He spared her a glance. Unsmiling as he dared her to stop him. They were frozen. Sizing each other, a quiet moment before she charged at him, and he planted his feet deeper in the mud. He was steady, but she was fast. And he was plummeting to Earth with the most delicious weight pressed against his body.
She mounted him, pressing his wrists to the ground. He was pinned underneath her, and the sorrow on her face was unbearable. She strained her teeth in an attempt to force her tears away. But they dripped. They raced down her cheeks until they mixed with the rain. She was in pain. An ache that threatened to burst from her bones.
Without warning, she released a deathly scream. It sounded of exhaustion, anguish, and all the other extremes of a warrior beyond her years. And Attuma stayed there. Because he understood. He was at her mercy. If she needed to scream at him, he would allow it. If she needed to draw his blood, he’d take it with a smile.
Under the harsh drops of rain, he stared up at her as she wailed in anguish. Stumbling over words he did not know, she struggled to breathe. He rubbed calming circles on her wrist. And was met with a rough punch that cut his lip on impact.
She froze. The talks of a great treaty now halted by her hands. The hands that she swore would create her a new life will destroy her country. Her punch fueled my anger and pain and invited war for her people. A war that she doubted she would be permitted to participate in.
“In akaljantik,” her body shaked. “I’m sorry.”
And Attuma’s heart stopped. He freed himself from her grasping, and snatched her back before she could protest. She was underneath him this time. His robust body shielded her from the rain, and he knew it would not be the last time that he wanted to protect her.
In her wide, frightened eyes, he saw myself. Reflected in all her shame and fear, like they had become one.
“Okoye, I cannot apologize enough for the pain we have caused Wakanda. And for the pain, I have caused you. I will be at your mercy. I will beg for your forgiveness until the end of my days. I cannot right all the wrongs against you. Let me fix the ones I can.”
She did.
That fateful day led to her struggling to lift herself from the ground. Much like the night that they met, she grimaced in pain. Her glare pierced when he made a move towards her.
“I do not need your help,” she gritted.
“You are hurt,” his voice low and stern. She was being irrational. They both knew that, but he couldn’t allow her pride to lead to any more damage to her. “I will help.”
“I do not want it. We are in the middle of a bout. My enemy would not help me.”
His heart sank. “I am not your enemy.”
Her foot swelled with a nasty purple color. She couldn’t look at it, and Attuma couldn’t look away from it. If it was anyone else, he would relish this blow. He - still formidable - was as swift as he was clever. Both the brains and the brawn: nothing could stop him. But her. It could only ever be her.
“Attuma,” she warned. He had inched closer to her. His fingertips brushed over her throbbing bruise, and she winced. “You are lurking too close to me, shark. Back up.”
She tried to sound as firm as she could, but she failed. He was leaving a trail of goosebumps as he glided up her skin. He gently held her knee in place, careful not to disturb her injury. His stare sucked the air out of her lungs. Suffocatingly serious, he leaned into her with a trained eye. His lashes fluttered with every blink, and she was stunned. He truly was beautiful.
With a hand on his chest, she stopped him. “Attuma?” she breathed.
His eyes drifted close. “I am going to pick you up.” She scoffed. “And you’re going to let me. We’re going to see your healers, and you will rest.”
She rested her hand on his as she inhaled. Breathing in him, addicting and titillating, she didn’t know what was happening. The wind quieted, and the birds got quieter. The Earth kept spinning, but she and him and every atom in their bodies remained still. Remained glued to each other.
“Too close,” she whispered against his cheek.
“Impossible,” he replied dangerously close to the shell of her ear. “This isn’t even close enough for me, Okoye.”
Oh. was all she thought. His palm pressed deliciously into her backside as he lifted her off the ground. Sliding to cup her knees and neck, he focused solely on her face, watching for any signs of pain. But all he saw was her sweet mouth agape and her eyes begging. His knees buckled, and she wrapped herself around him like a vice.
And she stayed like this all the way to the infirmary. With her body pressed into his, they were both weightless and yearning for more.