Keep your friends close and your enemies closer
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There’s a side-ship that appears at the end but side ships are not a focus in bloody waters. Look out for interludes that will be in a separate work in the series if you wanna see more for non-T’Cherik pairings.
-:- Erik -:- Accompanying track “Do Not Disturb” When he wakes up, T’Challa is still sleeping, lying on his side but facing Erik, restfully still. For once, T’Challa isn’t twisted up in the covers like he’d been tossing and turning all night. He was an uneasy sleeper, Erik noticed. He wonders if T’Challa has always been so restless. Erik tugs at the covers first just to test and, when he gets no response, he leans in closer. He has the sudden childish impulse to pull the covers back and startle T’Challa awake, but he ignores it. He’s feeling good, relaxed, so instead he lets his hands wander while watching for signs that T’Challa is waking. Usually it seems like he has a sixth sense about when Erik gets close, going non-verbal or stiff. Erik‘s expecting some sort of response when he lightly draws his hand down T’Challa’s bare side. When T’Challa doesn’t stir at all, Erik cautiously moves his hand even further down to the man’s ass. Getting no reaction still, Erik gives it a nice squeeze. T’Challa doesn’t even twitch. Erik smiles and continues to wander with his hands, enjoying himself, carefully watching T’Challa’s face as he considers him. Someone definitely enjoyed his massage. He guessed as much from T’Challa’s relaxed demeanor last night. T’Challa’s current state of deep sleep is icing on a very satisfying cake. A salute to his skills. Linda would tell him sometimes after he worked on her how good it was and T’Challa seemed to concur. After the massage last night, Erik jerked off in the shower. Thinking about the way T’Challa’s skin felt under his hands, how he felt the muscle in his shoulders and back untense under his attention. How visibly strong his cousin was; how much stronger Erik is now. If Erik closes his eyes, he can see the soft contemplative look T’Challa gave him after. The way his eyes were before Erik gave him that kiss on the temple. T’Challa’s unbothered body language had been so relaxed. Made him fantasize his husband was ready for what would have been a phenomenal fuck. It almost made him reconsider their whole agreement. Almost. Touching T’Challa now, letting his hands continue to lightly roam, to caress, to cautiously squeeze, once more brings back vivid memories of their wedding night. The anticipation, the brief but viciously fun struggle. T’Challa is a good fighter, the challenge on the waterfall had actually been challenging. But on their wedding night Erik handled him like he was some untrained civilian. Feeling his newfound strength and restraining a man like T’Challa so easily was a new kind of rush. The sounds T’Challa made, fuck. The man’s panic hadn’t been fake, but he still responded to Erik’s touches. It’s fucked up how hot the night was, incest and all. The first time he’d come in the man’s ass, it felt amazing. He hadn’t thought it could get any better, not with both of them coming at the same time. But then it had gotten even better. The second time he came that night, T’Challa had already come three times. Erik’s pretty sure his cousin hadn’t been all there for the later rounds. He hadn’t struggled too much after that first round. Let Erik manipulate his body, even leaning into him, practically pulling Erik into that second orgasm. Then the massage last night? T’Challa has a fantastic ass, really a fantastic body and Erik knows what it feels like to be buried in all that heat. Feeling him slowly relax under Erik’s hands was unreasonably arousing. He’d been hard most of the massage and then T’Challa looked at him like that . Like he didn’t hate Erik’s guts and wouldn’t fight viciously if Erik grabbed some lube and tried to bury his dick in all that heat again. It’s kind of scary how much his cousin makes him want. He’s used to restraining himself. Biding his time, putting his mission first. Being logical, seeking the path of least resistance. Wakanda has been his goal for so long. Now that he’s here, it’s a bit disorienting. Fucking with his cousin after his coronation was not the logical thing to do, or the path of least resistance. He hadn’t gotten this far by being cocky. T’Challa is a threat, he should clearly kill him. He’s playing with his food. It was definitely not his best play, and he knows it, but he made his choice at the waterfall, and now that he’s had a taste, he is even less inclined to do away with him, no matter how much cleaner that would be. Besides, he’s king now. Wakanda is his. The vibraniuim is his. His plans were already in motion. Keeping T’Challa doesn’t change much of his long-term plans. There is strategic use in keeping him around. Leverage his knowledge for Erik’s own gain. Leverage his continued good health against those who might be inclined to work against Erik. Like his aunt. Another person he might ultimately decide he should remove. He checks the time, then he gets out of bed. Before he gets too carried away. No need to tempt his restraint any more than he already has. He leaves T’Challa still sleeping, peaceful and oblivious. He wanted to watch the sunrise. The view from the king’s suite isn’t as nice as the view from the honeymoon villa, but it’s still beautiful. The palace’s location at the capital’s center gives him a different kind of view with the sun peeking through the large buildings surrounding them. Some of the styles of the closest buildings remind him of ancient architecture he’s seen in what used to be the Akan and Benin Empires. Which makes weird sense, Wakanda wasn’t always isolationist and some of the buildings in the capital had to be hundreds of years old. The mix of ancient and modern architecture is fascinating. Some minutes into the sunrise, Erik starts to scroll through his private and public calendars. Today wouldn’t be very busy, he had some meetings planned, staff selection with T’Challa, and some personal matters for later. From what he can see he is only attending to half of what he will be handling in a few weeks’ time. His aunt and mother-in-law is apparently doing the other half. He would be meeting with her at some point this week to nail down all that. He still had the empty bottles of the wine T’Challa had given him. Apparently, the specific brand was discontinued in Wakanda. He isn’t sure if, when, or how he would lay this at Ramonda’s feet. Might not hurt to shake things up by asking about it. He also has other non-assassination related questions for his aunt. Though now, days after the fact and with more knowledge of Wakanda, he wonders about T’Challa’s future plans. The best time to kill Erik would have been at the honeymoon villa. There they’d been alone, not counting the two Dora who he knows now had probably been chosen for their loyalty to T’Challa. They would have looked the other way if their new king ‘mysteriously’ died. Same as that Dora who accompanied the princess to smuggle those two white men out of Wakanda. Everywhere they went now there were Dora Milaje or Kingsguard or W’Kabi’s men. Erik doesn’t doubt his dear husband could still make him disappear, but now there were more people around them who would be less inclined to look the other way. He closes out of his calendar and newsfeed, pushing thoughts of politics and assassination aside. He needs a shower and his morning wood isn’t going away by itself. When he comes back from the en-suite bathing area, T’Challa is awake. He greets T’Challa and is ignored in turn. Unbothered, Erik makes for the closet space. He hadn’t brought much in the way of clothes with him, so his wardrobe is all new, procured by palace staff and then approved by him a day before the wedding. From what he can see, Wakandan fashion is all over the place, but he likes the darker, looser, but still form fitting options. The vibraniuim infused alloy protection is also nice. By the time Erik is dressed, T’Challa has absconded to the bathing area. He debates leaving their rooms alone. Decides against it. He wants T’Challa close by these first few weeks. While he waits, he reads some more. His newsfeeds alert him to the next major Wakandan holiday, apparently only 2 weeks away. It was a three-day event for the goddess Bast. Erik doesn’t get a lot of information for what the celebration is actually about but there’s certainly a lot about how and where different city states and tribes would be celebrating. He spends a little longer than necessary watching some of the performers that would be present for the main ceremonies. It reminds him of Carnival season in the Caribbean: different attire, different music and dance, but the same amount of flaunted skin on display. On a whim, he sends a message to the princess. He’d been serious about his interest in her studies, and he wants to keep an eye on the family’s pet fugitive. He’s pretty surprised when only minutes later, the princess responds. He checks the time before reading her message. Were both his cousins morning people? Erik isn’t naturally a morning person. At all. But his time in the military and his own single-mindedness made waking up early a habit. He chats back and forth with her for a bit. She tells him she’s going to be at the Capital University’s main campus all day and that Barnes is still in his cryogenic tank; disguised. He tells her to send a containment plan to him by the end of the day. Erik’s still chatting with Shuri when T’Challa comes back to the bedroom. Fully dressed, of course. Erik gives T’Challa a once over. They unintentionally matched last week during the honeymoon. They weren’t matching today. Breakfast with T’Challa is as quiet as ever. Erik eats sparingly. Whoever was making the menu is obviously trying to appeal to his American background, but food in Wakanda tastes different enough that he’s still adjusting. The fruit he recognizes is all wrong colors--green oranges, red bananas--and some of the flavors are not what he expects. His workout schedule is also fucked so he’s not gonna be eating his usual high protein diet for a while, herb or no. "Are you a morning person?” Erik asks when he’s done eating. He’s managed to eat enough that he won’t be too hungry later. “Not particularly?” T’Challa looks confused. So, Erik clarifies. “I’m not a morning person. So, if we spar, it’s gonna be in the evening.” T’Challa just looks at him for a moment, then nods. “Where do you normally spar?” He keeps talking knowing T’Challa isn’t going to volunteer any information unless Erik prods. He’s already gotten a tour from the general and would eventually try and train with the Dora Milaje when he could. First, he needed to test out his new herb-infused limits. His new senses were one thing, but the strength and speed would definitely take some getting used to. T’Challa takes another bite of his breakfast before answering. Erik drinks some tea while he waits. “There are private rooms the Kingsguard sometimes use. Or visiting instructors.” Erik is thinking of some of the rooms he saw down at Shuri’s labs, so he asks, “Like the ones in your sister’s labs?” T’Challa nods stiffly and doesn't offer any more information. Feeling mostly satisfied with his line of questioning, Erik backs off. There were quite a few experimental pieces of tech in his cousin’s labs. He watched more than one ridiculous demonstration during his tour. He had also seen a gold necklace on display, like the one he’d worn after the challenge. There hadn’t been any information on what it did, but he’s curious to see it in action. Or have something similar made for him, he’s really feeling the all gold design. -:- Ramonda -:- Accompanying track “Shrine Hold” Ramonda wakes shortly after the sunrise. After her ablutions she does her morning meditation, then moves to her sitting room for breakfast. As she eats, she pores over a growing list of missives and inquiries. Sifting through well wishes and carefully worded probing from council elders and distant cousins alike. Some of which she knows are just for show. There are two official inquiries from the mining and merchant tribe councils. There is also a voice message from her mother-in-law, Azzaria. The fact that the older matriarch deigned to contact her at all is unusual. She saves the message for later. Her focus is on sorting the day’s affairs and responding to the fallout from the events of the day before. N’Jadaka intercepted Shuri at the border. Shuri sounded hopeful when she retold the events at the border, even despite them having been relieved of both T’Challa’s “guests” and N’Jadaka discovering all. When they finally got a hold of T’Challa he re-assured her that the situation was being handled. That N’Jadaka would not be revealing any of the events at the border, or all they implied, to the public at large. When she probed further, he admitted to negotiating some sort of new ‘agreement’ with his cousin. He had not spoken on what was exchanged. She still didn’t know the details of the arrangement the two clearly come to after his failed attempt at the honeymoon villas. She doesn’t trust whatever deals her son has struck with N’Jadaka. If he is as cunning as she is beginning to dread he is, he would try to milk the attempt on his life and his newfound leverage for all its worth. And the last thing she needs is for him to have a tighter stranglehold on her son. However, given the situation, it is an unfortunate necessity that they play along, for now at least. Her son made several decisions in good faith in relation to the outsiders he’d allowed in, including his cousin. Not decisions she would have made. That these all developed poorly did not surprise Ramonda, but that did not make it any less unfortunate. She hasn’t been able to meet with T’Challa for longer than an hour since the wedding and it chafes. Every time they get a moment alone, it isn’t more than an hour or two before the Dora Milaje come and retrieve him, claiming they have instructions from the king. N’Jadaka has kept her son very close to him these past few days and while she’s been in contact with T’Challa every day since his return, it is just not the same as seeing him in person, in private, taking the time to talk; especially when she considers the reports her own attendants and Dora have given her on T’Challa’s mental and emotional state. If she had her way, she would be having breakfast with her son this morning. Instead, she must settle for carefully worded messages back and forth. The staff selection happening this afternoon will be the first time after their very public arrival that she would be interacting with the newly wedded couple. She is not looking forward to it. Ramonda trusts T’Challa to carry himself with the grace and dignity befitting a king, now consort. She does not, however, expect anything from N’Jadaka. She hadn’t had much hope for civility after the man’s declaration in the throne room prior to that ill-fated challenge. Not after staring into an uneasily familiar face. Now after reports have come to her from their wedding night, and then their honeymoon, she holds no goodwill towards N’Jobu’s son, and she curses N’Jobu in good measure. She wishes again for the hundredth time that her own husband told someone of his actions regarding N’Jobu and his son. This whole mess could have been resolved quietly with less fuss. Instead, they were blindsided by a challenge founded on the death of a treasonous prince. Her own son at the mercy of a man who should have been dead with his father. Or brought back to Wakanda to be raised and properly managed. Silently, she thanks Bast for protecting T’Challa on their honeymoon. There has always been the possibility that T’Challa would be harmed by the wine, or his husband, fatally. She has already taken steps to ensure that all traces of the wine disappear. She kept a few bottles for testing purposes, but they would be too dangerous now. Not only would it be incriminating if left in her hands but also a future danger to T’Challa when this ugly situation is finally rectified. She gives up on breakfast and calls her main attendants. While she waits, she sends a cursory message to Shuri. Despite her daughter’s brave face, the events of the past month hit her hard. Shuri often reminds Ramonda of her late husband in his youth; pragmatic and hard headed in equal measure. Empathic but only to a point. They were close, Shuri and her father. The loss has been hard on her. She sighs. The loss has been hard on them all, more so for not having had time to grieve before N’Jobu’s son emerged. Vi’s report back to Ramonda did little to assuage her concerns. This new king was taking an interest in her daughter. Apparently, they shared a very spirited conversation on the way back to the capital. Asking Shuri to expand on her research, showing interest in her work, is a sure way to catch her attention. If Ramonda left him to his own devices, he could very well win Shuri’s sympathies. Unacceptable. Birufai and Uchena arrive and Ramonda collects her thoughts to give instruction. Both from River Tribe, like herself, they’d served her for years. Uchena was the one to attend T'Challa the morning after his wedding night. The stocky woman had been frank in her description of her son’s condition, which has only increased Ramonda’s own anger and resolve. T’Challa’s message that same morning further corroborated Uchena’s observations, his attempts to placate her with non-answers ringing hollow. First, she gives instructions to Birufai, mainly focused on preparing and assembling newly chosen and returning attendants for their new roles under T’Challa or his cousin. Birufai, an older man, is her go-between for managing her other attendants. He is skilled the way only the rare attendant is at knowing her wishes before she even spoke and ensuring they were fulfilled accordingly. Uchena already dealt with any evidence related to the failed murder attempt traceable to her or to T’Challa. Now, Ramonda instructs her on the upcoming festival of Bast. She has been organizing this festival since before N’Jadaka was even born. She knew dozens of discreet ways to disrupt the festival that would paint him as incompetent. She makes sure to remind both her attendants to be careful, they were dealing with several unknowns and lack of caution could prove fatal. Uchena’s connection to the box T’Challa brought with him on his honeymoon was something that would remain as obscure as they could keep it. Which is thankfully possible since her topmost attendants made a point of staying out of sight and out of the way of attention. Though the attendants under them knew to some degree who they were, in the ever-changing structure of leadership. Birufai would be handling much of the day to day organization for T’Challa while he reformed his own staff. Tradition dictated that many of those who would have served T’Challa would now serve the new king. Those who stayed with T’Challa would need to be assigned new roles. Those who worked with the new king but could still prove useful would be watched and managed accordingly. If they came out of this ordeal in a timely fashion, most of them would need to be relocated and new attendants picked anyway. The reports from his first council meeting are already troubling enough. The usually ornery council jockeying, however non-subtly, for influence with the new king. Ramonda plans to do all she can to guide T’Challa, but she honestly isn’t sure where some of the council will lean in the coming weeks. Rajvahi, the Merchant tribe Council Elder, would probably stay neutral until an opportunity presented itself. E’Nena, the Mining Tribe Council Elder, would hedge her bets with T’Challa for now, she knew. A successful challenge outside of challenge day was unheard of in the past century, Wakanda has weathered unexpected kings before. The Border Tribe’s allegiance is mostly clear. Elder Sanpani supported N’Jobu’s son’s challenge. W'Kabi's age and temperament dictated the rest. Despite being a matriarch herself from the River Tribe, Ramonda could not guarantee the River Tribe’s loyalty to T’Challa. Yetunde, while a favored cousin, would be representing the interests of the River Tribe as a Council Elder. So, whatever his sympathies, he would remain pragmatically open to new opportunities. Provided the new king survived his first few weeks, the River Tribe would be inclined to give him his due, as they would have given T’Challa if this uncomfortable situation never happened. Now more than ever, Ramonda is painfully aware of the politics and pressures that encouraged the River Tribe, the largest in Wakanda, to be opportunistic and self-serving in their loyalty. She already has her doubts with Nakia. Apparently, the new king already has the loyalty of some of the active and inactive War Dogs. Which in hindsight is to be expected. N’Jobu had been well liked. His son had probably gotten in contact with his father’s old friends and allies before even coming to Wakanda. All these factors blend together to make a truly perplexing and stubborn problem. Removing N’Jadaka would create its own share of issues she can already see but she knows without a doubt, it must be done. So, she would try to weather the next few weeks with grace. The rest would be as Bast willed it. Hours later Ramonda summons her resolve once more; T’Challa and N’Jadaka arrive together, meeting her in front of the assembly of palace staff. “Nephew.” Ramonda’s greeting is free from any inflection. Her address is proper, if informal. N’Jadaka appears to be in good health: whatever effects the wine may have had, it didn’t show now. The only change since she’s last seen him is a new scar; running down at an angle, from the left of his brow down to his cheek. A part of Ramonda settles at the sight. The wound is dangerously close to his left eye and most certainly T’Challa’s doing. “Good morning, Auntie.” N’Jadaka’s response is similarly informal. Ramonda turns her gaze to T’Challa. He bears no obvious new scars and appears well rested. “T’Challa.” She can’t help the warmth that creeps into her voice. It is good to see him. She wishes they could be alone, that he had spent breakfast with her. “Good morning, Mother.” T’Challa answers with a smile but does not speak beyond his greeting. Her gaze returns to N’Jadaka. A reminder of how things stood. She starts the proceedings without further preamble. “The attendants gathered today have a varying range of skills and previous experience. You may pick as many as you think appropriate.” N’Jobu’s son looks at the assembly of palace staff then back to her. “T’Challa can go first then.” -:- Ayo -:- The staff selection begins unusually. Customarily the new king would pick from the assembled attendants and then the remaining would be assigned to the king’s spouse. King N’Jadaka has T’Challa go first. Ayo thinks it might have something to do with the words he exchanged with the former queen. She watches the proceedings with the rest of the Dora Milaje standing guard, as is tradition. T’Challa, after the initial confusion, chooses most of the same attendants he’d picked after his coronation. While his new position as consort did not officially require the same amount of staff as his position as king would have, it is clear to Ayo that T’Challa is looking beyond the current uncertainty and into a future where his cousin would no longer be king. It also becomes clear to Ayo that their new king is searching for something. N’Jadaka, after T’Challa has made his selection, picks only half the number of staff T’Challa does, seemingly at random. Whereas T’Challa had spoken with several attendants before and after he made his selection, N’Jadaka simply walks through the assembly, non-verbally indicating his selection. There is no conversation or even pretense of engaging with the people he chooses, and Ayo wonders at his mentality. So far N’Jadaka has proven adept at following T’Challa’s example in other situations. Now he seems to deliberately be going his own way. Ayo’s gaze shifts from N’Jadaka’s odd selection process and to Ramonda, who is now speaking quietly to T’Challa. The two make a handsome pair even if Ramonda’s brusque manner as she speaks betrays her agitation and true feelings for the situation. T’Challa, in contrast, appears cool and collected as he nods or directs something to his mother’s attention. It is a nice change from the uncertain energy that followed him all morning while he accompanied his cousin. Ayo has heard from Vi what happened at the border with Shuri and their new king. She also guesses that T’Challa and N’Jadaka have come to some sort of understanding. Especially since the Winter Soldier is still under Shuri’s care and Agent Ross is presumably still detained elsewhere. She had not been chosen to accompany the two to the honeymoon villa but, being among the senior-most Dora, she knew there was an attempt on the king’s life by T’Challa. She also knew about the treatment T’Challa received from the new king on their wedding night. What remains is what she sees now. T’Challa hid his discomfort well during the first council meeting but he doesn’t hide it as well when they are in private. The new king seems to find T’Challa’s discomfort amusing. As uncomfortable as T’Challa appears, it is even more uncomfortable for Ayo to watch. The situation is not one that Ayo bears lightly. It is painful to see T’Challa so obviously not well and to know it is not her place to offer comfort or action. Not that there was much action that could be taken. Prosecuting a sitting king took time and did not happen often. Besides, T’Challa’s own attempt on the new king’s life complicated things further. An assassination attempt on the king is grounds for execution. But their new king had not commanded it and supposedly, according to the two Dora who were present for their honeymoon, taken the attempt in stride and even goaded T’Challa further. Ayo doesn’t know if she or other Dora would have obeyed if the king commanded them to detain T’Challa. She is grateful at least that they have not been asked. The entire situation is difficult. She looked forward to serving T’Challa when he became King, well now she would serve his cousin. Even if her own loyalties were to T’Challa, her highest loyalty is to Wakanda. That meant serving this man, this stranger. All sorts of rumors follow N’Jadaka. His unexpected ascension and his foreign background chief among them. The ongoing investigation into his father and the late king T’Chaka is just one more piece of hidden history. Ayo finds, as time passes, she grows more unsympathetic towards her new king. T’Challa had done right by him in the eyes of everyone and the council yet N’Jadaka re-paid that kindness with violence. Even the rumors the War Dogs bring cannot sway her. Aneka, her lover and also a Dora, is optimistic about how things stand, but Ayo does not want to think of a future where T’Challa is not king. Briefly, T’Challa looks up from his conversation with his mother and their eyes meet. He nods once to her and her heart swells with affection. All too soon the staff selection ends, and the selected attendants with their new assignments are sent off. Ramonda calls to her then. Ayo, under no standing orders, takes the opportunity to join the queen. Ramonda’s smile is apologetic but her words are not a request. “Vi will be unable to accompany Shuri as she will be assigned once more to me. Shuri requires a Dora Milaje for her activities this evening.” Ayo nods once but then Ramonda continues. Quieter, as the room slowly empties and T’Challa is called once more to the king’s side. “The king has shown interest in princess Shuri’s work. It would be prudent that she understands she must be careful.” Ayo doesn’t show that she hears this time, the gravity of the command sinking in. As she walks back to the formation of Dora, she notices the new king is looking right at her. She doesn’t acknowledge his gaze. -:- Shuri -:- Accompanying track " If I Had a Heart" ‘Your cousin, what is he like?’ Shuri stares at the message for a long time. It’s from Lekan, one of the other students in her material sciences class. They don’t talk much but they’ve been paired together now and again for assignments. She’s been asked this question numerous times since her cousin became king and mostly chosen not to answer, either going to the next non-N’Jadaka related question on her social feed or saying she hadn’t spent much time with him since his coronation. This time, for whatever reason, she pauses over the question. This is her first time back at the university after N’Jadaka became king. She doesn’t doubt whatever she says to Lekan will make its rounds around the student population quicker than any other rumor or scandal. People are curious, and the past few days, let alone the past months have been very unusual. Her baba’s memorial would be in two weeks’ time and people wanted to know what her cousin is like. She shakes her head, ignoring the message and refocusing on her work. The next time she looks up, it’s afternoon. Shuri doesn’t feel hungry but she’s learned it’s best to avoid the lightheaded feeling that comes when she forgets to eat. Vi has rejoined her mother, so she’s been on her own for the day. She will be contacting Captain Rogers in the evening so she’s expecting another Dora to accompany her. It had to be someone whom her mother has approved of. Shuri hopes she gets one of T’Challa’s favored Dora. He hasn’t responded to any of her messages since he left for the honeymoon. She’s seen him in passing but they haven’t spoken beyond stilted greetings and that panicked call from yesterday. Even then he’d been unusually concerned for the white men N’Jadaka took into custody, after his initial questions to her own location and safety. Shuri isn’t sure what to think. T’Challa hadn’t looked or sounded hurt or sick. But he isn’t answering her messages, their one and only call was short and stilted, never mind him making no attempt to see her since returning from the honeymoon. No matter how busy he was in the past, T’Challa has always found time for her. She wants to see him, and for longer than a few minutes. Wants to talk to him, even if she doesn’t have anything important to say. She needs to apologize. She was discovered by N’Jadaka, she failed at the one task she’s been given since her brother was dethroned. Shuri spends lunch alone, ignoring messages from acquaintances and the odd classmate. She wishes she could call Efi, but the older girl is busy with module exams. They just spent days with each other, she should give Efi space. She hasn’t seen her since their lovely kiss, and she doesn’t know what she will do when she does. On her way back to the research center she uses for her vocational work, she gets another message from N’Jadaka. ‘Your feedback loop for when you play Umdlalo Khuselo, it’s pretty high, doesn’t it hurt?’ The message is one among a steady stream they’ve exchanged all day. Her cousin first asked about Barnes, then the conversation moved to food, and now it is Wakandan video games. Shuri doesn’t understand why N’Jadaka keeps texting her, especially after she said she would have a containment plan ready by evening. Wasn’t he busy? She remembers some of the things T’Challa had to do before his coronation that her cousin is responsible for now. But he apparently had the time to watch videos of her playing Umdlalo Khuselo. Maybe these responsibilities don’t monopolize time like she’d been led to believe. Her annoyance at T’Challa increases a bit more. ‘It helps me. If it hurts when I make a mistake or lose connection, I make less mistakes and stay synced longer.’ Her cousin’s reply comes some minutes later. ‘Makes sense. What hurts more, losing a defender or misjudging an attack?’ The question is so odd to Shuri. She is used to people asking about her play style or why she does the things she does. But all her cousin’s questions thus far have been different. Not necessarily bad, just not what would occur to the average Wakandan. ‘Misjudging an attack. Losing defenders is part of a good strategy, so I think they lessen the sensory feedback loop on that response.’ She’s still texting him and working when the door to her private study room chimes. When she checks the door panel display, she sees it is Ayo. She opens the door quickly and the Dora Milaje steps in. “Princess.” Ayo nods to her then turns to what Shuri’s been working on all day. Elated, Shuri says, “Ayo! I wasn’t sure who-” Ayo’s sharp gaze makes her stop halfway through her sentence. “I am here by your mother’s request. But we must be discrete.” She realizes then that the Dora is not in her usual, red uniform but a dark utility ensemble. Communication to outside of Wakanda is monitored, evading such monitoring and colluding with outsiders is a crime. Well, on to business. Shuri begins to gather her things. She hadn’t been sure when whoever her mother chose would arrive, but she’s prepared to leave in less than five minutes. “I’m ready.” Ayo nods and then they leave through the room’s other entrance. Shuri leads Ayo away from the evening student crowd, and towards the emergency evacuation area where a nondescript passenger transport is waiting. They don’t speak again till they’re a few minutes on their way. “I’m glad it’s you,” Shuri admits carefully, once she’s sure it’s ok to speak. Ayo gives her a wan smile. “Vi had to return to your mother, so I was chosen.” Shuri takes a moment before asking the question she’s been hoping to ask all day. “Is T’Challa well? I saw him yesterday on comm and we talked, but not for long. Vi wouldn’t tell me anything even though I know she could have asked for me.” Ayo raises an eyebrow, “The Dora Milaje are not there to spy on your brother for you.” Shuri stalls, dithering on her next words. They both know the Dora Milaje did a lot more than guard the king. It also isn’t unusual for a member of the family to ask as to how another member was doing. Her mother used to ask her Dora about her father all the time. It’s not gossip, it’s expediency. “He hasn’t answered my messages. Not since the wedding.” Ayo doesn’t say anything. Shuri pushes, “He looked fine when I saw him yesterday. Why hasn’t he come to see me?” Ayo still holds her tongue. Now Shuri feels angry. “My cousin isn’t too busy to message me, but my own brother is?” “Princess-“ Ayo finally responds, but Shuri doesn’t stop, voice rising. “Mother won’t tell me anything and Nakia is avoiding me.” “Sister Nakia has her own duties.” Ayo’s voice is perfectly level. Like Shuri isn’t moments away from crying. “Is it because I failed? I tried, I really did, but I am not a professional smuggler.” Shuri’s voice cracks over the word, ‘failed.’ She made the right choice, she knows. Crossing the border would have been dangerous, getting past Wakanda’s robust shields and defenses in a passenger vehicle, especially with no real preparation, would have been suicide. She only planned to pass on the two canisters and evade border patrol. She’d failed both tasks. No wonder T’Challa didn’t want to see her. “There is a reason why T’Challa has not been his usual self.” Ayo sounds hesitant now, and it breaks the wave of recrimination and self-pity Shuri is feeling. Now alert, Shuri realizes something. “You didn’t answer me when I asked if he was okay. Did something happen?” Ayo takes a moment, obviously choosing her words very carefully. “You are not a professional smuggler. No one blames you for that.” “But there is a reason.” Shuri needs there to be a reason. Hesitantly, Ayo nods. Starts to speak, then stops. “I am not supposed to tell you why.” So, there is something! Shuri’s anger returns but she forces herself to think through the impulse to throw a very childish tantrum. Whatever this is really about, her mother and T’Challa are only trying to protect her. They were always trying to protect her. Shuri needs to show that she can handle the weight of the truth. Even if she feels like a failure thus far. Once she feels she has mastered herself, Shuri asks, as calmly and assuredly as she can, “Ayo. Please, tell me.” Ayo seems to consider her for a while. When she speaks, it is low and forbidding. “The new king did not approach his marriage with T’Challa in good faith.” Shuri goes over the words, stops and tries again. What did ‘good faith’ mean? “I don’t. I don’t understand.” The admission makes Shuri feel small. But Ayo’s words are too vague. Ayo looks conflicted but then she says, with obvious emotion, not meeting Shuri’s eyes, “T’Challa has not been to see a healer since his wedding ceremony. This is a continual surprise to the Dora who guard him.” Shuri realizes several things at once, but shock leaves her mute. Her cousin is hurting T’Challa? Since their wedding and T’Challa... Bast. T’Challa. Had the marriage been a cover to hurt T’Challa? How could— “He’s not well. Is he?” Ayo shakes her head. “I need to talk to him. He shouldn’t be alone. N’Jadaka can’t —” Ayo glares at her, lips thinned. When the Dora speaks again, Shuri is back to feeling very small. “The king’s privacy is not something that I break lightly. You need to keep your head and your composure.” Shuri forces herself to nod and her mouth to remain closed, even as her thoughts run wild. T’Challa didn’t want her to know. Whatever their cousin has done to him. Whatever he is doing to him. T’Challa didn’t want her to know. She stops to consider Ayo’s wording. The Dora Milaje hadn’t been referring to N’Jadaka, when she said ‘king’. “Mother knows. Does Nakia?” Ayo doesn’t answer and Shuri is left to her thoughts. Everything made so much sense now but remained just as complicated as before. She checks her kimoyo beads. There’s a new message from her cousin. She doesn’t read it; a new sick feeling rises in her belly. “He cannot know that I know.” Ayo nods. A part of her wishes she hadn’t demanded the truth. Another remembers, chillingly, the pictures from their honeymoon. T’Challa looked angry in the one that was shared the most. Angry and trying very hard to hide it. What happened during their honeymoon? Whatever happened, T’Challa has not reported N’Jadaka to the council. N’Jadaka found some way to keep T’Challa quiet. Thinking on her failure at the border, she feels even worse. No wonder N’Jadaka hadn’t been angry. She unwittingly handed him one more thing to hold against T’Challa. And now he is talking to her. Like he hadn’t hurt T’Challa. Like he isn’t the reason she hasn’t seen or spoken to her brother in days beyond a stilted conversation or two. T’Challa’s call last night suddenly came back to her. He sounded so afraid. He masked the fear somewhat but now she knows all of this is connected. Whatever N’Jadaka had done, whatever he threatened to do. T’Challa was managing all of it and trying to keep her out of it. Trying to keep her safe from the anxiousness she now felt. Shuri finds that her rising fury is calming her, giving her resolve. “What can I do?” Shuri knows now why her mother and her brother simply didn’t tell her. She doesn’t know if she can play at nicety or even keep her composure around N’Jadaka. How has T’Challa managed so far? Suddenly she wants to delete all her cousin’s messages, but she knows it’s too late now. If only she ignored her cousin when he first began texting her. If she stopped now, he would become suspicious. T’Challa would probably not be going to the council to hold N’Jadaka to account for whatever he had done. If he was going to, he would have done it already. “What are we going to do?” She feels lost, frightened, angry. “Your mother and brother will handle the situation. I am telling you this so you do not place yourself in unnecessary danger.” Or hand him any more leverage. Shuri understands. She turns to face the window, not seeing the scenery as it passes before her. The rest of the trip passes in silence. -:- Sam -:- Being an internationally wanted fugitive is not all it’s cracked up to be. Or at least Sam thinks so, waiting for the toaster to be done with his bread. Steve is on a grocery run now, so Sam’s making do with what’s left in the kitchen. He’s also touching-distance from the communication device T’Challa had given them weeks ago. He and Steve have been keeping a watch on it for what seems like days, but in reality, less than 36 hours. After being turned away at Wakanda’s border they’d headed to Morocco. Technically they should be back with the others at a safe house somewhere in Eastern Europe, but they’d both decided to wait and see, at least until they got a second call from T’Challa or his sister. Suddenly the device comes to life and Sam accepts the incoming call. “Sam Wilson speaking.” “Sergeant Barnes is fine, and under my supervision.” One sentence from the princess and Sam lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Then he sends a quick text to Steve before responding to Shuri. “So, Killmonger knows… about JB, and he’s just gonna let him stay?” “My cousin is interested in my work. He wishes for me to continue as I intended, so Barnes will remain with me.” Sam doesn’t like the sound of that. “He’s just letting you help him?” Sam responds skeptically. “Yes.” She seemed to gain confidence, “I have already begun considering Barnes’ situation and have begun developing a treatment program.” “And how long will that take?” T’Challa hadn’t given them a timeline before. But now something like that seems more than pertinent. “I estimate several weeks, depending on how extensive his conditioning reveals itself to be.” “When will you know? Will he be able to communicate with us during that time?” What would Killmonger do with him after JB’s conditioning got removed? Shuri doesn’t answer as quickly this time. "I plan to do the initial reports next week. I can’t begin until my cousin approves my plan.” “So where is he now?” She’d already told him JB was with her, but that didn’t tell him much about his current state. “He is still sedated.” Sam takes a breath. Barnes is fine. Still on ice, none the wiser to whatever craziness going on in this mythical supposed paradise. “How did this all happen, with Killmonger I mean–” Sam doesn’t get how Wakanda works, so much of it is beyond his imagination. How could one random American agent just become king? Shuri sounds strained, but still composed. “The situation is not normal, but being of royal blood, N’Jadaka has the right to raise a challenge for the throne.” Sam wondered that the most advanced nation on earth could be ruled like this. Or how they hadn’t known about Stevens sooner. “Are you guys ok? We were hoping to speak to T’Challa.” Not being able to talk with the man who gave JB the offer in the first place doesn’t sit right with him or Steve. “We are fine. My cousin cannot harm me or my family without significant backlash.” Somehow Sam doesn’t believe that, especially since the confident tone from earlier is gone. He hears the sound of the front door being opened and suddenly Steve’s there, having probably sprinted the whole way. “Hey, Captain’s here. Could you tell him what you told me?” They’ll be discussing this later anyway but it’s best Steve hears it from the source. Sam hands the device over to Steve after he walks up to the counter. “What’d I miss?” “I still have Barnes in custody, but the situation hasn’t changed.” “Will Bucky be ok? What happened after we left?” Shuri reiterates what she told Sam to Steve. Steve asks more questions than he had, but the princess is surprisingly mum on the whole situation. When Steve brings up seeing JB or talking to him the princess shuts it down fast. ‘Colluding’ with outsiders is an actual crime in Wakanda. Except if you were king apparently, which T’Challa wasn’t now. Sam wonders at the legality of JB’s continued stay in Wakanda. They don’t talk for much longer. After the call, Steve paces the tiny safe house and they talk through their next move. They’d both expected to be told to ‘sit and wait’ but neither of them were very good at it. Steve is more worried than even Sam is about the whole JB situation and Sam has to bite back some sarcastic responses to some of the stuff Steve says. Sam gets it, JB is Steve’s best friend from way back. It only makes sense that Steve is protective of him. But he is hardly defenseless, even missing an arm. Steve is worried about the moment, but Sam is more concerned about what will happen after Shuri works whatever fancy mind technology Wakanda has. With someone like Stevens calling the shots it probably won’t be anything good. It makes him think of a conversation JB and him had one of the times he’d showed up while Steve was elsewhere. During the long annoying period where Sam and Steve were chasing JB cross country and around the world. Sam was staying at a motel and came out of the bathroom to find JB sitting on the bed. Their conversation fell into what was by then a familiar pattern. “Stay, wait for Steve to get back.” Sam was always urging JB to stay. “I can’t, not yet. “Let us help you.” “I can’t.” “Let me help you.” Sam had been slowly walking toward JB but paused when JB looked up at Sam helplessly, looking like he was about to bolt. Just like every other time. This time, however, Sam threw a hail Mary, “You can’t keep this up alone.” JB looked anguished at that, showing rare vulnerability for him that was all Sam needed to close the distance and sit beside him, then tentatively scooting toward him until they were side by side from knee to shoulder. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting at the touch- Probably for JB to flinch violently and bolt. Rare were the moments outside of their random hookups when JB would permit Sam to touch him. Even their casual and intermittent sex was a fragile affair. It was common enough in their infrequent meetings that JB would bounce at a single wrong word or move. This time, instead, the man hunched an inch (for JB this was akin to crumbling to the floor) and leaned slightly toward Sam. “Talk to me, man.” JB leaned ever so slightly more, pressed his shoulder harder against Sam’s, but remaining silent. Sam whispered, “Talk to me. Tell me something, anything.” JB braced himself, then sat up squarely, facing the wall, to say, wearily, “I don’t know if I should. Keep it up. Soldiers talking about suicide was nothing new for Sam, so he could spot one thinking about it from a mile away. He turned to face him and considered JB gravely. Flicking his glance to the side, JB saw Sam’s expression and visibly changed gears, “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said grimly, hunched defensively, “I want to live. I want to see this future. I want to fight . But—” He paused and Sam waited it out, maintaining even eye contact as if he had all the time in the world. Eventually JB continued, back to facing the wall. “--But I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do, when it means risking becoming a weapon again. Of falling into the wrong hands.” Sam slowly, tentatively reached out and put his hand on JB’s shoulder. JB saw it coming and allowed it, even reciprocated— putting his own hand on Sam’s knee. He squeezed back and continued speaking as he stared a hole into the wall. “I can’t let myself be used again. It’s too dangerous. I’m too dangerous.” Sam took a gamble, “This isn’t anything new. You’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but you haven’t acted on it.” JB froze like he was being called out, like he was being court martialed. “I’m glad. That’s the right call. It means you want to live, and however tired you feel you do have enough energy to keep fighting to stay free, to protect yourself, to protect us.” JB, who was showing the tiny signs of crumbling visibly under Sam’s words, was now looking up to stave off tears. “JB, you deserve to live. And the risk might never be zero, but it can be reduced to slim to none. There are those of us who want to help you, who are willing to assume the risks of helping you. Just like we respect your choice not to come in from the cold, you should respect ours. Respect that to us, you are worth it.” Finally, JB broke. He shook his head at the ceiling and Sam squeezed his shoulder even harder. Firm, confident, Sam said, “Tell me what you need.” Unsure, JB shook his head. “Say…” Sam chased it, still confident and even, “Say what? What do you want me to say?” JB almost moaned at the pain of articulating what was clearly not something he felt he could give voice to. “Tell me I won’t be used again. Tell me… tell me it’s not inevitable I become just a weapon again.” Sam loosened his fingers and then squeezed to underscore his words. He needed JB to hear him. “You won’t. Be used. Again. We will make sure of it.” JB made to turn away but Sam tightens his grip, one JB was easily strong enough to break away from, and JB just barely let Sam hold him there, looking anywhere but at Sam. Sam spoke even more firmly. “You won’t . Be used . Again. I will keep saying it until you believe it. Part of you already believes it.” JB snorts, smirking uncertainly, “Anything’s possible.”