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The change in her was subtle and by many, it went unnoticed. It’s not that she was fragile. It's that the amount of bullshit she was willing to deal with had diminished significantly. Because she no longer had to.
For years, her job was to put the safety and comfort of others before her own. She took the most dangerous missions, she took the biggest risks, and she worked tirelessly in a way that it was not proper to expect from anyone else except her.
Often, she was forced to bite her tongue and do as she was ordered, accepting insults and disregard as they came. Occasionally she slipped, replying in likeness to how she was addressed. But by and large her tongue was tied behind duty and honor and respect for those who did not respect her as anything other than her position.
Yet that was no longer her position. Nothing was keeping her from replying in the same manner that she was addressed, but what she found was she didn’t want to be treated the way she had been for so long. She wanted to be treated differently, like a person, with a gentle respect she’d been denied for nearly a decade.
She’s not fragile. She’s not sensitive. She’s a person. And since she was so publicly returned to mortal status, she demanded to be treated as such.
“You’re different.”
“I am.”
“Don’t tell me the bald-headed demon has gone soft.”
Okoye grimaces. This is the part where she might call him a fuzzy-brained great ape, but she finds the familiar back-and-forth riling to be tiring.
“What makes you say that?” she asks, instead. If she wanted to be treated differently, she would have to act differently.
His brow crinkles. “You don’t correct others’ mistakes like you used to. You used to…” he trails off feeling out of step but not sure how.
“It’s no longer my job to do. Ask General Ayo.”
She walks away. He watches her, sensing a change but not knowing what.
“Okoye, what do you think?”
Only decades of training keeps the confusion from her face. It’s not her place to dictate anything anymore. Hers is to follow orders and that’s a welcome reprieve amongst others.
“It’s not my place to decide, general. I will do as you command me.”
In the moment Ayo conceals the shock she feels. Later, she pulls Okoye aside to assuage her own worries more than to reassure Okoye that her thoughts are still highly regarded and her opinions appreciated.
“Just because it’s not your place to decide doesn’t mean your thoughts are unwanted.”
“Yes, General.”
“So why not share your thoughts when asked?”
“I simply did not think it was appropriate.”
Exasperatedly, Ayo replies: “So because you’re no longer general, you feel you no longer share the burden of the work?”
Okoye blinks, tilting her head to analyze the situation properly. It never fails to surprise her how openly and easily her peers speak of the worst moment of her career.
“That’s not what I intended to convey, General. Simply that it’s not my place to give my opinion in such a context.”
“When you were general, you always asked my opinion.”
“I was training you to take my place. Besides, I’m rankless. The lines of my current position are still being drawn. Moreover, you’re the general. I’m not. It’s unfair to either of us to give anyone an impression of otherwise.”
“I still value your opinion.”
“And I’ll give it. In private.”
“You’ll understand as your general that I may decide otherwise. If I ask for your opinion, it’s because I want to hear it.”
Okoye sighs internally. She knows Ayo means to show that Okoye is still a part of the fold, that she’s still revered amongst the ranks of the Dora Milaje. But in practice, her insistence is more harmful than helping.
“Yes, General,” Okoye replies. Little by little people will realize that things are different now.
The catalyst comes in a council meeting. Okoye is there listening to her life be dictated once again by those who have no regard for her as a person–this time she has absolutely no say in the matter.
There’s comfort in knowing that whatever happens won’t be her fault. Also in knowing that where she’s being sent is more welcoming to her than where she is now. But the council would never know it.
“What do you think, Okoye?” It grates at her nerves that Ayo insists on asking her opinion so publicly. She knows she means well but especially in this room, to be prompted in such a way, is so… nerve-wracking.
She opens her mouth to reply demurely but she’s interrupted by a council member.
“Why even ask her opinion? She is no longer in a place to make decisions. She will do as she is told or she will find herself even further cast out.”
In normal circumstances, Okoye as general might have replied in likeness to the errant council member in a manner that would simultaneously brook all further arguments while also returning the scathing insult in kind.
This time the shock is too cutting to keep from her face. The stabbing sense of betrayal at the words of her own tribal elder tears the remaining pieces of her dignity to shreds, scraps not even the best seamstress could sew into a quilt.
There are some hums of agreement from other council members while the majority remain quiet, watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ayo is slow to react now that the pieces of Okoye’s distant behavior seem to be coming together in an image she didn’t see before–the reason for Okoye’s hesitance to be addressed in such contexts as these, the acknowledgment that were the roles reversed Okoye would have never put Ayo in such a situation.
M’Baku barks once–which his primes echo–though it's unclear whether in support of the council member jabbing at Okoye’s failures or in warning at the council member’s insolence.
Okoye tries to respond and is again interrupted.
“Is it not a typical practice to hear the opinions of the people whose lives you dictate?”
Okoye closes her eyes and inhales deeply while attention is taken from her to this new speaker. She hadn’t wanted Attuma to speak for her. She could very well speak for herself.
Still, he continues: “You plan to send her to a realm she’s never been to for an extended period with no regard for her thoughts or opinions on the matter? And if she refuses you threaten her? How is anyone loyal to the Wakandan crown?”
The council room turns into an uproar. At this foreigner, the council members do not fear speaking against them. Whatever disdain they feel for Okoye is certainly overshadowed by their utter detestation of Talokanil. This whole meeting to determine who would go as an intermediary between the two nations as Talokan had already chosen their own further demonstrates why there needs to be an intermediary–feathers are ruffled too easily.
Still.
Ayo stamps her spear once which is echoed twice by the Dora Milaje who surround the room. The council members begrudgingly quiet themselves, trailing off in stilted grumbles and hums of indignation.
“All parties will show respect in this room,” M’Baku says, his words echoing those of the late Queen Ramonda, many months previous.
“Ile Dora will not be addressed in such a manner. They are mine alone to command.” Ayo adds. “Okoye, I asked you a question.”
Okoye nods. “I will need to work with the design group to ensure my gear is suitable for long-term underwater use, but otherwise I don’t believe two months in Talokan is too much. It will be as you command it, General. Thank you for asking.”
Attuma mumbles more under his breath but he seems disinclined to repeat himself when prompted. Okoye heard what he said and she isn’t particularly pleased by it but she’s willing to address it without the audience.
The meeting shifts toward logistics and expectations but the tone is very stilted as all parties attempt to fill in the spaces that used to be filled by Okoye’s strict discipline and dynamic ability to maintain order in chaos.
It’s no longer her job to maintain order in this room and she won’t overextend herself to do so.
Later, when she’s packing for her two-month stint in Talokan she receives a visitor who lets himself in.
“I didn’t need you to speak for me,” She says by way of greeting.
“I know,” says Attuma. “I lost my temper. How have you bared this for so long?”
Despite the personal nature of the insult thrown at her, she’d witnessed the council members say even worse things to each other when debates became heated.
“It was my job for longer than it wasn’t.”
“No one should be spoken to that way.”
“I know.”
“You’re a human bean.”
Okoye snorts. “Human being.” She corrects, though her nose crinkles as she smiles.
He steps closer to her, gently nudging her chin so their breaths intermingle. “My human bean.” Okoye laughs as he presses his lips to hers. “No one is allowed to speak to you that way.”
He deepens the kiss and his hands start to wander.
Okoye indulges for a second before stepping back. “I have to finish packing.”
“Ah yes. The one good thing to come of that council meeting. Your council orchestrating a two-month vacation for the two of us.”
Okoye shakes her head. “I will be working for most of the trip. So will you!” She can’t keep the grin from her face when he’s near her.
“Yes, yes, of course.” He takes a shirt from her, folds it, and places it in her pack. “But we’ll have uninterrupted time for each other as well.”
Which reminds her, “What was it you said earlier? It will be your pleasure?”
“And yours as well.”